The saint, who had been singing all the time we were disputing, began now to shew some apprehensions for his own safety: He asked Hagi Hassan, if this was the way to Girgé? and had for answer, "Yes, it is the fool's way to Girgé."
We carried him about a mile, or more, up the river; then a convenient landing-place offering, I asked him whether he got my money, or not, last night? He said, he had for yesterday, but he had got none for to-day.—"Now, the next thing I have to ask you, said I, is, Will you go ashore of your own accord, or will you be thrown into the Nile? He answered with great confidence, Do you know, that, at my word, I can fix your boat to the bottom of the Nile, and make it grow a tree there for ever?" "Aye, says Hagi Hassan, and make oranges and lemons grow on it likewise, can't you? You are a cheat." "Come, Sirs, said I, lose no time, put him out." I thought he had been blind and weak; and the boat was not within three feet of the shore, when placing one foot upon the gunnel, he leaped clean upon land.
We slacked our vessel down the stream a few yards, filling our sails, and stretching away. Upon seeing this, our saint fell into a desperate passion, cursing, blaspheming, and stamping with his feet, at every word crying "Shar Ullah!" i.e. may God send, and do justice. Our people began to taunt and gibe him, asking him if he would have a pipe of tobacco to warm him, as the morning was very cold; but I bade them be content. It was curious to see him, as far as we could discern, sometimes sitting down, sometimes jumping and skipping about, and waving his flag, then runningabout
