The Quiver 12/1899

THE HEIRLOOM From the Drawing by M. L. Gow, R.I.

I t was only just over a fortnight since we left England—according to the calendar, that is to say; but that way of reckoning time seems to me as misleading as the common method of £ s. d. in computing alms. Two days' weary railway travel to Marseilles after crossing the Channel, two days of smooth sailing to the Straits of Messina, then two of tossing in Adria, till we ran under the lee of Crete; one spent in plunging along its southern shores, followed by a bright, warm day which brought us to the coast of Egypt (only to learn that if we entered the longed-for haven of Alexandria we should be subject to five days' quarantine at our next port); a tiresome day's run across this most choppy corner of the Mediterranean to Jaffa, and a landing there through the surf on a glorious morning, which made up for everything, and plunged us straight into the midst of Eastern life, with all its warmth of colouring to eye and ear; three hours' run by rail to Jerusalem, and five days there and thereabouts, almost bewildering us with a constant succession of scenes half-novel and half-familiar; another railway journey back to Jaffa, a pleasant run along the coast of Palestine to Beirut, and a day spent there. All this lay between England and Beirut as we finished an early breakfast on a February morning, and drove to the railway station through the busy streets of Beirut, full of picturesque life, and yet much more European than those of other Syrian towns. Our driver stopped on the way, somewhat to our amusement, to light his cigarette from a friend's!
WALL FROM WHICH ST. PAUL ESCAPED, DAMASCUS.
( Photo: Bonfils. )
This railway line is a new one, due to French enterprise, and was opened in August, 1895. The Lebanon district owes much to the French. We were a party of seventy, and had chartered a special train. The distance is only about ninety miles; it seemed almost impossible that the journey should take nine hours, as we were told; but there are more than a score of stations, and at each one the train (even a special) stops for several minutes—by order of the Government, we heard. And, more than that, the line passes right over Libanus and Anti-Libanus, reaching a point some 5,000 feet up, where the coast of Cyprus comes in sight over the blue waters of the Mediterranean; while, as one journeys east, the snowy top of Hermon stands out against the sky away to the south. A system of cogs and several reversings of the engine carried us high into the mountains in a very short time. Beirut was left far below, and we were among the snows, glad of the rugs and thick overcoats which wisdom (not our own) had advised us to bring; glad, too, by mid-day of the lunch we had brought with us. Even in the midst of the grandest scenery we were vulgarly hungry, and rather sleepy when we felt the rare atmosphere. After a time, the scene changed: we were in Cœle-Syria, among mulberries and vineyards, from which comes Lebanon wine. Here and there were mud villages, with picturesque groups of natives and cattle. We were the first large English party to pass over the line; and at one station a red-robed Syrian, who had served in a London milliner's years ago, asked eagerly for an English newspaper, to know what was going on in Constantinople! He got one from us about a fortnight old; we had none later. Elsewhere the natives were wondrously pleased to see some of our party playing at leapfrog during the stops.