p. 14 | Wonderful Light

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Apr 1, 1886

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 12, No. 13.

Wonderful Light.

AN ECLIPSE OF THE SUN AS SEEN IN EGYPT.

To CONVEY anything like an adequate idea of the effect of an eclipse on different minds the writer can hardly do better than describe the eclipse he witnessed in Egypt in 1882. On the banks of the Nile, about one mile north of the town of Sohaeg, a large concourse of spectators was assembled to witness the forthcoming spectacle. A small party of these spectators were gathered around a number of instruments, doubly protected from the injurious sand-winds by stockades of rushes and by tents. A space extending about 300 yards, and inclosed on the sides by the Nile and the outskirts of a grove of acacia trees, scarcely 200 yards away, was guarded by a body of Egyptian soldiery. Protection was only wanted from incursions of the curious; but had the natives been less informed of what was to take place, Egyptian soldiery, only a little less cowardly than the fellaheen, would have been small protection against any fanatical outbreak.

The river was lined with steamers, dahabeahs, and smaller craft, while to the south of the encampment on the sloping bank were gathered a large concourse of the inhabitants of the neighboring villages, squatting on the sand in their peculiar eastern fashion. The eclipse began and made some progress before the unscientific spectators noticed that the sun was fast disappearing; but when they became aware of it, they gave vent to their feelings by a low moaning, the sound increasing in volume as the moon passed on. The alarm now spread to the feathered spectators, who, becoming at last cognizant of the rapidly waning light, rushed cackling hither and thither into steamboats, or into observatory, and in search of a place in which to roost.

At last a thin streak only of light was left; it disappeared, and there was a sudden change from weak daylight to a dull violet, which threw on the neighboring scenery a weird, ghastly hue. At this moment a sudden shout arose from the crowd—a shout unheeded, scarcely heard, by the astronomers, who suppressed their excitement, and endeavored to make the most of the seventy seconds during which totality was to last. And yet even they were taken off their guard, for alongside the brilliant corona was seen a small but vivid cimetar-shaped coronet—a stranger unexpected and never afterward traced. Little wonder, then, if the regulation forbidding speech was for a moment disregarded. The short seventy seconds were soon over, the last observation made, and while one set of spectators were raising their thanks to Allah, the other had laid aside their calm reserve to join in mutual congratulations.—Cassell's Magazine.