The pelicans and storks remained motionless, their long bills hidden beneath their wings, but the cranes were startled by the mere beat of an oar, stretching their necks, and peering anxiously into the distance, if they heard but the song of the boatmen.

The air was perfectly motionless, and the unbroken reflection of the moon, lying like a silver shield on the surface of the water, proved that, wildly as the Nile leaps over the cataracts, and rushes past the gigantic temples of Upper Egypt, yet on approaching the sea by different arms, he can abandon his impetuous course, and flow along in sober tranquillity.
On this moonlight night in the year 528 B.C.a bark was crossing the almost currentless Canopic mouth of the Nile.

On the raised deck at the stern of this boat an Egyptian was sitting to guide the long pole-rudder, and the half-naked boatmen within were singing as they rowed.

In the open cabin, which was something like a wooden summer-house, sat two men, reclining on low cushions.

They were evidently not Egyptians; their Greek descent could be perceived even by the moonlight.