miles to as many yards (for the name is only applied to the narrow
portion which is capable of cultivation), it extends in a thin, green,
palm-fringed strip upon either side of the broad coffee-coloured river.
Beyond it there stretches on the Libyan bank a savage and illimitable
desert, extending to the whole breadth of Africa. On the other side an
equally desolate wilderness is bounded only by the distant Red Sea.
Between these two huge and barren expanses Nubia writhes like a green
sandworm along the course of the river. Here and there it disappears
altogether, and the Nile runs between black and sun-cracked hills, with
the orange drift-sand lying like glaciers in their valleys. Everywhere
one sees traces of vanished races and submerged civilisations.
Grotesque graves dot the hills or stand up against the sky-line:
pyramidal graves, tumulus graves, rock graves--everywhere, graves.
And, occasionally, as the boat rounds a rocky point, one sees a deserted
city up above--houses, walls, battlements, with the sun shining through
the empty window squares. Sometimes you learn that it has been Roman,
sometimes Egyptian, sometimes all record of its name or origin has been
absolutely lost. You ask yourself in amazement why any race should
build in so uncouth a solitude, and you find it difficult to accept the
theory that this has only been of value as a guard-house to the richer
country down below, and that these frequent cities have been so many
fortresses to hold off the wild and predatory men of the south.
But whatever be their explanation, be it a fierce neighbour, or be it a
climatic change, there they stand, these grim and silent cities, and up
on the hills you can see the graves of their people, like the port-holes
of a man-of-war. It is through this weird, dead country that the
tourists smoke and gossip and flirt as they pass up to the Egyptian
frontier.

The passengers of the _Korosko_ formed a merry party, for most of them