The ride home now commenced, and continued until the blinding heat proclaimed it to be nearly one o'clock. At last, roasted to a turn, we reached the river and crossed the glaring water to Assiout. All the way home we had discussed the iced drinks which, by special arrangement, were to be waiting for us; and I must admit that when tepid lemonade was brought to us with the remark that no ice was procurable the whole expedition seemed to have been a mistake.

CHAPTER XIII

A RIDE TO WADY SALAMUNI

It was at about noon in the month of August when my friend and I, perspiring in a rest-house at Sohag in Upper Egypt, conceived the idea of setting out at once for a sixty-mile ride into the Eastern Desert and back. The weather during the last few days had been unusually hot, and the thermometer had registered with regularity each afternoon its 115 degrees Fahrenheit in the shade. Looking now through the half-closed shutters towards the Nile, one saw the muddy river rushing past in full flood with the sun glaring down upon it from a leaden sky; the parched fields and weakly coloured trees stirring in the baking hot wind; and, in the distance across the water, the hazy hills of the Eastern Desert with no apparent vestige of shade upon them. In the sandy garden around the house the few flowers appeared to be scorched, and the despairing gardener could be seen lying asleep in the single patch of shadow. The sparrows, sitting upon the palings, held their beaks open and kept remarkably still. A dog, with its tongue lolling out of its mouth, crawled dejectedly past the sentry at the gate, who was too hot to kick it.

The morning's work being finished, we were seated in the long chairs, clad in pyjamas, drinking luke

warm lemonade, and talking about Scotch moors, when the idea came.

My friend had told me of a remarkable valley which he had visited some years ago, called the Wady Salamûni, wherein there were the ruins of a Coptic monastery still the object of a pilgrimage on certain occasions to pious Copts, and near by a well, known as Bir el Ain, charmingly situated amongst the rocks. It was to this well that we proposed to ride.

Speedily we arranged for horses to be sent round, and rapidly we filled our saddle-bags with the requirements for twenty-four hours: a small pillow and a blanket apiece, some hard-boiled eggs, cold meat, and biscuits, and two large bottles of water. That done, we dressed and ate a hasty luncheon, setting forth in the blaze of the sunshine at the infernal hour of one.

Mounting our horses at the gates of the rest-house, and accompanied by one policeman, we rode along the glaring river bank to the jimcrack landing-stage, where the little steam-ferry was waiting without a single passenger at this hottest hour of the day. The three horses were led into a clumsy native vessel which was then attached to the ferry and towed across the swollen river to the eastern bank, where it arrived with a bump that sent the horses staggering across the boat. We saddled up and were off well before two o'clock, cantering along the embanked road towards the town of Akhmîm. On either side of the road, and spreading around the town, the floods stretched in a glaring sheet of brown water, beaten into small waves on our left by the hot wind from the north, but smooth upon our right, and alive with millions of tadpoles swimming in the shelter of the embankment.

Here and there villages formed islands in the sheet of water; and a few palm-trees rose from the flood at various points like pin flags upon a large war map. Outside these villages the small boys splashed about in the water, having, it would seem, the time of their lives; and as we rode along the straight unsheltered embankment, buffeted by the wind, roasted by the heat arising from the road, and baked by the sun above, our horses jumping about until the perspiration streamed from them and from us, we cast envious eyes at those happy children bathing in the shade of the palms, and omitted to realise for a while that we also were out for our pleasure.

At length we clattered over the bridge into the town of Akhmîm, and were swallowed up for a while in the narrow streets and winding alleys, where the sun beat down on us with renewed force, and the dust rose in clouds around us.

Akhmîm is one of the most ancient cities in Egypt, and in fact Leo Africanus says that it is the oldest, having been founded by Akhmîm, the son of Misraim, the offspring of Cush, the son of Ham! It is built upon the site of the ancient Panopolis, the main seat of the worship of Min-the Egyptian god who was identified in Greek days with Pan. Herodotus tells us an extraordinary story which relates how Perseus came to this city while searching for the Gorgon's head, because he had been told by his mother that it was the place in which his ancestors had dwelt. It is now much fallen from its ancient glory, but it is still a town of some 30,000 inhabitants. It is a peculiarly picturesque place, unspoilt by the introduction of debased European architecture, as are so many Egyptian towns. It is now largely in

habited by Copts (i.e., Christians)—a fact that is made apparent by the presence of very filthy pigs which run unchecked about the streets, and which are rather inclined to frighten one's horses. The houses are well built, and in places pass across the street, so that one rides, as it were, through a tunnel, in the shadow of which the fruit-sellers spread their dates, pomegranates, and melons, upon richly coloured shawls, at the sides of the road. Akhmîm, by the way, is famous for the manufacture of these shawls; and Strabo tells us that in old days the inhabitants were notable manufacturers of linen.

There were few people about as we rode through the town, for the natives have a proverb which states that only dogs and Englishmen move abroad in the heat of the day. Nevertheless, we had sudden encounters, rounding sharp corners, with heavily laden camels or sleepy-eyed buffaloes; and once or twice we had to ride with caution through groups of sleeping figures. At the far side of the town we passed a very beautiful mosque, surrounded by a high wall, the doorway in which was ornamented with fine blue tiles. Through it we could see the courtyard with its cool-looking sycamore and place of ablution, and the highly coloured mosque in the background; but our horses were restive, and with this passing glimpse we were off once more along another embanked road leading towards the Eastern Desert, the hills of which now rose before us in the far distance. Again the hot wind beat upon us across the inundation, and once more the full glare of the open day surrounded us.

The afternoon was drawing in when at last we floundered through a half-flooded field on to the sandy slopes of the desert at the foot of the hills.