" Without indulging this amiable boy's desire, we shoved
off; the three vessels rowed into the middle of the river, and hoisted
sail; a fair wind, and strong current, moved us rapidly down the stream;
the English flags fluttered gaily on the masts, and amidst the shouting
of farewells, and the rattling of musketry, we started for the sources
of the Nile. On passing the steamer belonging to the Dutch ladies,
Madame van Capellan, and her charming daughter, Mademoiselle Tinne, we
saluted them with a volley, and kept up a mutual waving of handkerchiefs
until out of view; little did we think that we should never meet those
kind faces again, and that so dreadful a fate would envelope almost the
entire party. [The entire party died of fever on the White Nile,
excepting Mademoiselle Tinne. The victims to the fatal climate of
Central Africa were Madame la Baronne van Capellan, her sister, two
Dutch maidservants, Dr. Steudner, and Signor Contarini.]
It was the 18th December, 1862, Thursday, one of the most lucky days for
a start, according to Arab superstition. In a few minutes we reached the
acute angle round which we had to turn sharply into the White Nile at
its junction with the Blue. It was blowing hard, and in tacking round
the point one of the noggurs carried away her yard, which fell upon deck
and snapped in half, fortunately without injuring either men or donkeys.
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