Or again—­

    “The god of taste is in thy mouth,
     The god of knowledge is in thy heart;
     Thy tongue is enthroned in the temple of truth;
     God is seated upon thy lips."[2]

    [Footnote 2:  Kubban stela.]

To meet face to face this all-knowing, all-seeing, celestial creature, from whom there could be no secrets hid nor any guilt concealed, was an ordeal to which a man might well look forward with utter horror.  It was this terrible dread that, in the tale with which we are now concerned, held the captain of this Nubian vessel in agony upon his couch.

As he lay there, biting his finger-nails, one of the ship’s officers, himself a former leader of expeditions, entered the cabin to announce their arrival at the Shallal docks.

“Good news, prince,” said he cheerfully to his writhing master.  “Look, we have reached home.  They have taken the mallet and driven in the mooring-post; the ship’s cable has been put on land.  There is merrymaking and thanksgiving, and every man is embracing his fellow.  Our crew has returned unscathed, without loss to our soldiers.  We have reached the end of Wawat, we have passed Bigeh.  Yes, indeed, we have returned safely; we have reached our own land.”

At this the prince seems to have groaned anew, much to the distress of his friend, who could but urge him to pull himself together and to play the man.

“Listen to me, prince,” he begged, “for I am one void of exaggeration.  Wash yourself, pour water on your fingers.”

The wretched, man replied, it would seem, with a repetition of his fears; whereupon the old sailor seems to have sat down by his side and to have given him a word of advice as to how he should behave in the king’s presence.  “Make answer when you are addressed,” he said; “speak to the king with a heart in you; answer without restraint.  For it is a man’s mouth that saves him....  But do as you will:  to talk to you is wearisome (to you).”

Presently the old sailor was seized with an idea.  He would tell a story, no matter whether it were strictly true or not, in which his own adventures should be set forth.  He would describe how he was wrecked upon an unknown island, how he was saved from death, and how, on his return, he conducted into the Pharaoh’s presence.  A narration of his own experiences before his sovereign might give heart to his captain, and might effectually lift the intolerable burden of dread from the princely shoulders.

“I will relate to you,” he began, “a similar thing which befell me my very self.  I was making a journey to the mines of the sovereign ...”

The prince may here be supposed to have sat up and given gloomy attention to his friend’s words, for Egyptians of all ages have loved a good story, and tales of adventures in the south were, in early times, most acceptable.  The royal gold mines referred to were probably situated at the southern-most end of the eastern Egyptian desert.  To reach them one would take ship from Kossair or some other Red Sea port, sail down the coast to the frontiers of Pount, the modern Somaliland, and then travel inland by caravan.  It was a perilous undertaking, and, at the time when this story was written, the journey must have furnished material for amazing yarns.