khateer_ as my excellent little Nubian pilot said. My sailors all prayed
away manfully and were horribly frightened. I confess my pulse
quickened, but I don't think it was fear. Well, below the cataract I
stopped for a religious fete, and went to a holy tomb with the darweesh,
so extraordinarily handsome and graceful--the true _feingemacht_ noble
Bedaween type. He took care of me through the crowd, who never had seen
a Frank woman before and crowded fearfully, and pushed the true believers
unmercifully to make way for me. He was particularly pleased at my not
being afraid of Arabs; I laughed, and asked if he was afraid of us. 'Oh
no! he would like to come to England; when there he would work to eat and
drink, and then sit and sleep in the church.' I was positively ashamed
to tell my religious friend that with us the 'house of God' is not the
house of the poor stranger. I asked him to eat with me but he was
holding a preliminary Ramadan (it begins next week), and could not; but
he brought his handsome sister, who was richly dressed, and begged me to
visit him and eat of his bread, cheese and milk. Such is the treatment
one finds if one leaves the highroad and the backsheesh-hunting
parasites. There are plenty of 'gentlemen' barefooted and clad in a
shirt and cloak ready to pay attentions which you may return with a civil
look and greeting, and if you offer a cup of coffee and a seat on the
floor you give great pleasure, still more if you eat the dourah and
dates, or bread and sour milk with an appetite.

At Koom Ombo we met a Rifaee darweesh with his basket of tame snakes.
After a little talk he proposed to initiate me, and so we sat down and
held hands like people marrying. Omar sat behind me and repeated the
words as my 'Wakeel,' then the Rifaee twisted a cobra round our joined
hands and requested me to spit on it, he did the same and I was
pronounced safe and enveloped in snakes. My sailors groaned and Omar
shuddered as the snakes put out their tongues--the darweesh and I smiled