CHAPTER XXXIII—THE HOLY SEPULCHRE, AND SHRINE OF THE CITY OF DAVID
A Snow-Storm in Jerusalem—The “Doubter’s” Opinion of Gum-Shoes—Kicked by a Vicious Horse—An Obliging Moslem—A Guard of Turks—Bloodthirsty Christians—An Extraordinary Shrine—The Angel’s Seat—The Quarrels of the Greek and Latin Monks—A Spot of Marvels—The Soil Pressed by the Feet of Christ—Strange Traditions—The Discovery of the True Cross—The Spot where Peter Denied his Lord—The Scene of the Last Supper—What a Wealthy Jew Did—The Man who was his own Father—The “Good Thief”—Extracting Sixpence from the “Doubter”—A Pertinacious Guide—Trying to Elude Pursuit—. A Claim for Damages—Loading Up with Oranges—Talking in Four Languages.
AS we lay in bed all that afternoon at Jerusalem, the snow continued falling and the wind blew, so that the place was anything but cheerful. By sundown there were four inches of snow, the most—so the hotel-keeper said—that had been seen there in fifteen years. During the night it changed to rain, and in the morning the streets were as “sloshy” as could well be imagined. The pool of Hezekiah, just back of the hotel, contained a strange mixture of snow, ice, and water, and did not accord with the description of it as made by summer visitors.
When I looked out in the morning, the mingled snow, mud, and water that filled the streets brought me back to my own dear New York, and I fancied that I was once more on Manhattan Island in a January thaw.
The snow had ceased, but it was raining at intervals, and very hard when it did rain. We sent out and bought some gum overshoes, all except the “Doubter.” who didn’t believe gum-shoes were good for anything, especially when they cost so much as in Jerusalem. Furthermore, the “Doubter” had incautiously ventured too near the hoofs of an ill-mannered horse, and had been kicked by the latter to such an extent that he thought best to stay in his room.
We started out to visit the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and again found it closed. The different sects of Christians fight so much about the church that the key has to be kept by Moslems, as none of the Christians will allow the rest to hold it!
We held two or three consultations with as many sects of monks, and at last found that an order from the Armenian Patriarch could, at that hour, procure the key from its Moslem holder, who, on the promise of “backsheesh,” would consent to obey the request to open the church for us. At another hour, another patriarch would need to be consulted.
Two of us started with our dragoman, and with some rebuffs we at length found the Armenian Patriarch, or rather his secretary.
He sent a messenger with us to the Moslem key-holder, and the latter worthy, on promise of three francs, consented.
As at Bethlehem, a Turkish guard is constantly maintained in the church where Christ is buried, to prevent His disciples shedding each other’s blood! What a spectacle is presented for the contemplation of the followers of Mohammed! No wonder they look upon Christians with contempt. abandon his pipe and accompany us. Thus we succeeded in getting the church open, but there were half a dozen fellows in the way, each of whom wanted “backsheesh.” All this delay and annoyance comes from the quarrels of the Christians and their jealousy of one another.
The ponderous key was turned, and we entered the church. The door was closed behind us, to prevent the entrance of any person not belonging to our party. Immediately in front of the door is a marble slab, set in the pavement and inclosed by a low railing; this is called the Stone of Unction, on which Christ’s body was laid to be anointed. It is over the real stone, and completely covers it, as the guide explains, to prevent the latter being broken and worn by the numerous pilgrims that visit it.
Further off is the spot where the Virgin Mary stood while the body of Christ lay on the Stone of Unction, and further on to the right is the rotunda, which contains, in its centre, the shrine after which the church is named—The Holy Sepulchre.
The sepulchre is covered by a small building twenty-six feet by eighteen, of a style of architecture impossible to describe in writing. There is an entrance by a low door in the east end, and this brings you into the so-called Chapel of the Angel, for the reason that here sat the angel that rolled away the stone from the mouth of the sepulchre. A fragment of the stone is shown; the Latin monks say, however, that the real stone was stolen by the Armenians, and is shown by them in the Armenian Chapel on Mount Zion.
From this chapel we enter the sepulchre, a small vault about seven feet square, and having on one side the sepulchral couch, about two feet high, and covered with marble; in fact, everything is of marble to such an extent that no part of the original rock can be seen, and it is hard to accept the assurances that the whole tomb is carved out of the solid rock. The couch of the sepulchre is used as an altar, and is carefully portioned off among the contending sects. I presume that any one of them would prefer to see the church and its contents utterly destroyed rather than any one of the others should obtain possession of it. Quarrels are not infrequent in the church over the right of possession or service, and on one occasion there was a scuffle, with a good deal of hair-pulling and rending of garments, in the sepulchre itself, between a Greek and a Latin monk. The Greek was the physical superior, and came off victorious.
To enumerate, in the shape of an itinerary, all the places we visited in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, would be to make
a tedious narrative. It is rather curious that so many places have been found in the small space covered by the church and its annexes, and it is not at all wonderful that many Christians should be skeptical on the subject. There has been, and still is, a violent discussion as to the genuineness of relics and localities, and ponderous volumes have been written on both sides.
Tradition and history assert that the Romans built a temple to Venus, on the hill where Christ died, and that a marble statue of the goddess was set up on the site of the cross, and a statue of Jupiter over the place of the Resurrection. In the fourth century the Emperor Constantine caused a removal of this temple, and the erection of a church over the spot. The Empress Helena, Constantine’s mother, came to Palestine to search for the Cross and the Holy Sepulchre, and in her presence the discovery was made.
We were shown the chair where she sat during the removal of the earth that covered the True Cross and the crosses of the two thieves. According to the tradition, the three crosses were found side by side, and it was impossible to tell which was the true one. A woman, sick of an incurable disease, was brought and laid upon two of them, without any effect; when she was placed on the third, she rose and walked away in perfect health. Of course there could be no doubt after this, and the cross was declared genuine. It must have been of goodly size, as there is enough of it extant in churches and private collections to build a steamboat.
Whatever opinion there may be as to the genuine character of the relics and places exhibited, there is great interest attached to the spot, and the time spent in the church passes very rapidly. We were two hours in the church, where we thought we had been less than thirty minutes; we had lingered over each place whose name had been made familiar to us in the Scriptures, and would have remained longer had not the time pressed us. Finally we left the church as we had entered, and after paying our guides the necessary “backsheesh,” sent them away. The peddlers and beggars around the church redoubled their efforts and appeals, and kept a cordon around us till we reached the street.
From the Holy Sepulchre we went to the Palace of Caiphas, on Mount Zion, which is in the hands of the Armenians. Service was just ending in the church, and it had a strange appearance, in consequence of the Oriental costumes of the worshippers and the Oriental manners in which the service was performed. We were shown the stone that covered the mouth of the sepulchre, the spot where Peter stood when he denied ever having known Christ, and the rock on which the cock stood and crowed at the time of Peter’s denial.
They also showed the prison where Christ was confined, so that we had two of these from which to select, the other being in the Church of the Sepulchre.
Further along on Mount Zion we went to the Conaculum, or scene of the Last Supper. The building is in the hands of the Moslems, and one of them, a dirty looking Arab, showed us up a flight of stairs and into the “supper room,” where the supper is said to have taken place. At present the room is bare and dirty, and occupied by Moslems, who lounged around and begged for “backsheesh.” There is nothing peculiar about its architecture and nothing intrinsically to give it the slightest interest.
Under this building, Moslem, Christian, and Jewish traditions unite in locating the tomb of David, and also that of Solomon and other kings. The Moslems have a mosque there, and will permit no one to enter it far enough to reach the tomb. Once in a great while a special favor will be shown to a Jew by a Mohammedan friend, and he can get a slight glimpse of the interior; but although the spot is particularly venerated by the Jews, the government will not open it to them. Several attempts have been made to buy the place, but unsuccessfully.
The Latin monks once had possession of the buildings, but they lost it through bad management. A wealthy Jew of Constantinople was in Jerusalem, and asked to be permitted to visit David’s tomb and say his prayers there. They refused this very natural and reasonable request, and the Jew went off. As soon as he reached Constantinople, he sought an interview with the Grand Vizier, and induced him to expel the Latin monks from the building that covered the spot. In a year or two he went back, armed with the necessary firman, that enabled him to say his prayers at the tomb of David, and thus relieve his conscience of any burden that may have been resting upon it in consequence bring us to the Fountain of the Virgin. Siloah’s Pool is a basin or reservoir, about fifty feet by twenty, and not far from six yards deep. There is an underground passage between this pool and the Fountain of the Virgin, which has been explored by Dr. Robinson and others, and found to be very tortuous, and of any dubious transaction in old clothes, or in exorbitant interest for money he might have loaned.
Passing out from the Caenaculum and descending to the Vale of Hinnom, we can visit the famous Pool of Siloah or Siloam; and a walk of ten minutes or more further along the valley, will so small, that one is obliged to crawl on hands and knees in order to pass through it.
The Fountain of the Virgin is the more picturesque of the two. It is at the bottom of an artificial cave, and the stairway that leads down to the water has given it the name by which it is known to the Arabs, “The Fountain of the Mother of Stairs,” and old tradition says that women accused of adultery were required to drink of the water from this fountain. If guilty, they died immediately; but if innocent, they were unhurt.
A remarkable feature of this fountain is the irregular flow of the water, which has been verified by many persons. Sometimes the water in the basin will rise twelve or fifteen inches in a few minutes, then become stationary, and in five or ten minutes more, it subsides to its ordinary depth. In some seasons this phenomenon occurs twice or thrice daily, while at other times the intermittent periods will be several days apart. This is doubtless what was meant in the New Testament, where it is said “an angel came down at certain seasons and troubled the water.” The local belief is, that there is a dragon in the fountain; the water flows when he sleeps, but stops when he is awake.
From the Coenaculum we took a long walk to the tombs of the Kings—sepulchres hewn in the rock, and evidently of great antiquity. They have accommodations for about twenty persons, but are rather damp and uncomfortable.
The hills all around Jerusalem are full of these tombs, cut in the solid rock. Most of them have a legendary history that assigns them to some Biblical character, but the authenticity of these histories is extremely doubtful.
We managed to extract some amusement out of our guide, at Jerusalem, (a local professional, engaged by our dragoman,) but not so much as with the fellow who served us at Athens. He was so good natured, and showed so much readiness to do anything we wanted, that we hadn’t the heart to annoy him If he had been less amiable he would have been much more to our liking. His use of the English language was our best hold, and his conversation rattled on with an utter disregard of the relative positions of nouns and verbs. We asked how long he had been guide there, and he responded, “I guide have been thirty-four years. Before I was guide I was my father.”
Here was a case for Darwin. What the fellow wanted to say was, that his father was guide before him, and thinking we did not fully understand him, he went on:
“Before I was born, I was guide ten years. Before my father little boy was, I was guide. Before I was old man, I die my father. My father I die before he was twelve years. I was forty years before my father was born.”
The mystery increased, and the more he explained the more he got things mixed.
In the church of the Holy Sepulchre, when pointing out the historic spots, he did it somewhat in this wise:
“Here is where was Jew man crucify Christ. He was two thief with him crucify; one was bad thief and one good thief was. Here cross was for good thief.”
When we went to the mosque of Omar he offered to supply us with slippers for a sixpence each, and those of us who had left our own slippers at Jaffa consented at once to the arrangement. The “Doubter” was of the lot, but when it came to paying, he had no change and wanted to cheat the man out of his due. He had a Turkish coin worth about a penny, and told the guide he must take that or nothing.
While the “Doubter’s” attention was taken up with something, we told the guide to freeze to him and compel him to pay. We promised to support him in his efforts, and with this assurance he went ahead.
He came up from behind and silently placed himself at the “Doubter’s” side, and as he did so, extended his open hand before our companion’s face. He suited his word to his action, and his action to his word, by saying in a mild tone:
“‘Doubter’—sixpence.”
There was no response. Half a minute later the request was repeated:
“‘Doubter’—sixpence; for slippers, sixpence.”
The Turkish penny was again offered, and again refused, with:
I stopped him and developed a new plan. The guide remained on the sidewalk, in front of the hotel, and in a quarter of an hour the “Doubter” opened his door, peered out cautiously to see that the coast was clear, and then took his way to the parlor. He seated himself before the fire, and I gave the signal, and just as he remarked, “I’m glad that awful man has gone,” the guide slipped in like the ghost of Banquo at Macbeth’s feast. Again he extended his hand, and again he said:
“‘Doubter’—sixpence.” “‘Doubter’—sixpence.”
And so it went on for two hours, and I think the old miser was appealed to on the average, about once a minute. Whenever the guide lagged we urged him forward, and as he had right on his side and sixpence in his eye, he worked with a will.
In vain did the “Doubter” order him away and appeal to the rest of us, to tell the guide to leave We made no interference, except to offer to lend the “Doubter” the sixpence, which he declined. The “Doubter” slammed the door in the guide’s face, who then gave up the pursuit. The old fellow surrendered. He borrowed a sixpence and paid the guide, and the rest of us gave the man a couple of francs for his persistence.
There was nothing now for us to do but to leave Jerusalem, and the next morning by ten o’clock we were set down at the door of the hotel at Jaffa, whence we had started nine days before. We paid oft our dragoman, and at his request wrote a certificate, setting forth that he had served us to our entire satisfaction, and that we were as contented with him as it would be possible to be with any dragoman. He suited us all, except the “Doubter,” who wouldn’t have been satisfied even if he had had the Sultan of Turkey for a dragoman. He tried to get a reduction on account of the kicking he received from one of the horses, and was much chagrined when the dragoman, at our suggestion, pretended to misunderstand him, and said he did not make any extra charge for things of that kind.
While we were busy talking about something or other, the sharp eyes of Madame discovered the steamer, and we gave an Indian yell of delight. Our baggage was ready, and soon we had it on the shoulders of porters and were off for the landing.
The usual “backsheesh” took us through the Custom House, and the muscular arms of Arab boatmen swung us out of the little harbor of Jaffa and over the swelling waves of the Mediterranean. The ship was a full mile from shore, and it was a long pull and a strong pull to get us there. On board we found we were the only cabin passengers, and could have all the after part of the ship to ourselves.
I have before stated that Jaffa is celebrated for its oranges, which are largely exported. As soon as the steamer anchored she was surrounded by boats loaded with boxes and baskets, the boxes being made with open sides and tops, so as to allow a free circulation of air. The boxes and baskets were hoisted in over the ship’s side amid much confusion and a vast amount of talk. Italian, Russian, Arabic, and Turkish filled the air; everybody talked at once, and you could hardly distinguish one sound from another. The liveliest scene was when a boat was emptied and dropped away, and another came in to take its place.
There would be half a dozen boats struggling for position, and they would push and crowd at a frightful rate. The men of one boat would deliberately push another boat back and crowd their own in, and of course this would rouse the ire of the ousted ones. The volleys of words would set up an Arabic dictionary. I don’t know whether there was any profanity in what they said, but I fancy so. Now and then in the struggle some one would tumble into the water, but he was soon up again, and didn’t seem to mind the wetting.
Deck passengers on a Levantine steamer generally appropriate a part of the deck that suits them, and stay there during the voyage. They spread their carpets and blankets where they find room and squat by day and sleep by night on the spot selected. Directly in front of the after cabin, a lot of deck passengers were thus installed, and when the crate-like boxes and the canvas covered baskets were piled near and around them, they began to help themselves to oranges. Two fellows that were camped together would work in partnership. One would get near a basket, and would work cautiously until he had a hole large enough, then quietly withdrawing an orange, would pass it to his pal, who would conceal it behind his baggy breeches and flowing robes. The operation would go on until a peck or so had been taken, when another freshly arrived basket would be sought.
Nine o’clock came, and we were still at the same work, and the decks were covered. Finally the captain said that no more could be taken, and half a dozen boats were sent back to land as fully loaded as they came. Steam began to blow from the pipes, in a few moments the screw was started, the anchor rose from its bed, and we were under way.
Under a clear night sky of the Mediterranean, I sat on deck watching the bright stars above, the glittering waves below, and the phosphorescent gleaming track of the ship, as she plowed through the waters. The twinkling lamps of Jaffa faded into indistinctness and then went out, and, last of all, the staring light-house sank below the horizon and was hid from sight.
We lost sight of Palestine. Our winter journey in the Holy Land was a thing of the past, to be a pleasant recollection for the future.
CHAPTER XXXIV—THE LAND OF PHARAOH.—THROUGH THE EGYPTIAN DESERT.
In Sight of Egypt—A light-house looming through the fog—On the soil of the Pharaohs—An invasion of boatmen—Scenes in the streets of Port Said—Encore de “Backsheesh”—The great Suez canal—Negotiations with a cobbler—A ludicrous situation—A bootless customer—Egyptian jugglers—Going through the Market—A disagreeable spectacle—A pocket steamer—Drinking to absent friends—On the “.raging canawl”—Sleeping on deck—A sunrise in the desert—On the summit of the Isthmus—An onslaught by Arab-baggage-smashers.
THERE it is! There is the light-house!”
Half a dozen of us looked in the direction indicated, and saw a tall column that rose apparently out of the sea, as the fog and distance did not reveal the low coast of Egypt, nor the long jetty that has been thrown out to form a harbor.
The steamer moved steadily onward, and in a little while there was a fringe of houses, and then a fringe of masts, then a long line, lighter than the sea in its color, swept away on either hand to mark the coast. In its center appeared the jetties, that form the outer harbor of Port Said. A small steamer came out to meet us, and from her a pilot came on board, to direct us between the jetties and into the inner harbor.
These jetties, or moles, are of artificial stone, two-thirds sand, and one-third hydraulic lime, mixed in a frame and allowed to harden. Each block weighs twenty-two tons, and contains about three hundred and twenty-four cubic feet. The blocks are not piled regularly to form a well built wall, but are dropped in, hig-gedly-piggedly, like a lot of bricks dumped from a cart. This has been found to be the best form of sea wall, as it breaks the force of the waves more completely than would a structure with a smooth front. The sand has settled in and filled up the cavities below the water line; at first it silted through, but an occasional use of the dredge kept the harbor in proper condition.
The lighthouse is a magnificent structure of concrete, one hundred and sixty feet high, supporting a lantern twenty feet high, and flashing every three seconds with such intensity, as to be visible twenty miles. Three other lighthouses of similar construction have been placed in the interval—one hundred and twenty-five miles—between Port Said and Alexandria.
The steamer entered the harbor, and before her anchor was down, her decks were invaded by the usual swarms of boatmen, on the lookout for a job. We were almost within jumping distance of the shore, and had we possessed the strength and activity of fleas, in proportion to our size, we should have made short work of going ashore. Not being thus gifted, we made the usual bargain for transportation to the land, and from the shore, through the Custom House, to the hotel.
The customary “backsheesh” of two francs saved us from an inspection of our baggage, and we were soon at the hotel. I cannot speak very highly of this establishment; there are two hotels that keep up a warm rivalry, and are first-class in their prices, if in nothing else. Whichever hotel you patronize on visiting Port Said, you will wish you had gone to the other.
Port Said is modern; it was founded in 1859, and owes its existence to the construction of the Suez Canal. Previous to that time, there was no town there, and not even a single house. Early in April, a small body of laborers landed there, and on the 25th of that month, M. de Lesseps, the projector of the canal, in the presence of a dozen Europeans and six or eight times that number of natives, removed the first spadeful of earth in the great enterprise, that was to open a water way from the Mediterranean to the Red Sea. A few huts had been erected on the site of the present city, which was named Port Said in honor of the then Viceroy.
The spot was not an attractive one, nothing but a strip of sand without vegetation, and without a drop of fresh water. As the works of the canal progressed, the town grew and presented a scene of great activity. It was said to be at one time the largest workshop in the world. It has lost this character since the canal was completed, but is still a city of eight or ten thousand inhabitants, regularly laid out in streets and squares, and boasting a pretty and luxuriant garden.
There is considerable activity in the streets, and the numerous shops, stores, churches, hotels, mosques, and the like give it a permanent and not unpleasing appearance. The business is all more or less connected with the canal, and will doubtless increase as the business of the great water-way increases.
It does not take long to make a tourist’s survey of a modern town in the land of antiquities, where nothing is considered old that does not date further back than the Christian era. Where you count centuries by the score, you will not pay much attention to a decade, and grow enthusiastic over works where the mortar has scarcely settled, and paint, if there be any, is still wet.
Our first effort in Port Said was to ascertain when we could leave it, and we found that this could not be done before midnight. We could go on a small steamer as far as Ismailia and thence by rail to Cairo, and if we wished to take a detour to Suez, there was no law to prevent our going there.
We sauntered around the city; some of our party had their hair cut, some ate pastry in a café, some resorted to a beer garden in front of the hotel, and one, (myself,) took a seat by the side of a cobbler, whose stall was in the open air, while he mended one of my boots. Half a dozen Arabs stood around to look at me, as I crossed the bootless leg over the booted one and endeavored to appear pleased.
The cobbler had about half finished the job, when he suddenly remembered that he must go to dinner. To this I objected until my boot was done. I had no wish to sit there while he dined, and possibly took an after-dinner nap of an hour or so, and after a slight wrangle I succeeded in convincing him that he had better finish the job before doing anything else.
The Arab portion of Port Said is quite distinct from the Frank quarter, and is separated from it by a marsh, that can be crossed over a rickety bridge or circumambulated by following the sea shore.
We took a stroll there in the latter part of the afternoon, and found crowds of natives surrounding a few jugglers and mountebanks, whose tricks were by no means extraordinary. I had a lot of Turkish coppers, which I had brought from Syria, and found altogether uncurrent here. To get rid of the coins I threw some to the jugglers and to a few beggars. None of them appeared to be pleased to receive this money, and evidently they had been served the same trick by previous travellers.
There was a part of the market where fish and vegetables were offered for sale, the venders having little stands about the size of dressing-tables, and not particularly clean or attractive. There were two or three restaurants where fried fish was waiting to be devoured, the restaurant,—cuisine and all,—occupying a space not more than eight feet square. Many of the natives were suffering from ophthalmia, and on the eyes of some of the children there were masses of flies eating away the oozing matter and forming a disgusting spectacle I should say that one in twenty of those I saw there were blind of an eye, and one in fifty was altogether bereft of sight.
We dined at the hotel and then slept until nearly eleven o’clock, as we knew there would be no sleeping accommodations on the boat. It was New Year’s Eve, and some of the party proposed to celebrate the New Year, which would come in as we left Port Said, so we took a couple of bottles of champagne and some glasses to the steamer.
It was about half-past eleven, when we left the hotel, and followed our baggage on the backs of the Arab porters to the landing.
The boat was an insignificant affair, carrying the mail and having room for very little else. The cabin was not far from seven feet by twelve; there were seats for about sixteen persons, and there was a small table in the centre, which was speedily piled up with baggage. Two or three native officials were there when we arrived, and they had done what we should have done had we been first. They had taken the best places, and were comfortably settled into the corners. As the clock struck twelve, the ships in the harbor fired salutes and let off fireworks, and quite a quantity of rockets went up from the shore. We opened our champagne, and each drained a glass to friends at home, and a wi-sh that the end of the year might be as propitious as its commencement.
Our steamer blew her whistle and swung out from the wharf, and in a few minutes we had passed out of the basin and were in the canal.
Straight as a sun-beam the canal pushes away from the sea coast, and then through the low desert. For nearly thirty miles it has no curve, but is as direct as it is possible for the engineer to lay it out. The banks were not very high in this part, as there was not a large quantity of earth to be dredged out, and from the deck of a large steamer one can look over a wide extent of marshy lake and swamp.
As we were scarcely a foot above the water and in a small steam launch, we could not look over the bank, and were obliged to content ourselves with the contemplation of the sloping sides of the canal. They were very monotonous, even with the poetic addition of a full moon and clear sky. The night went on and so did we, but I fancy the night had much the best time of it. We could not lie down, and there was hardly room for us to sit inside. I secured a camp stool and got outside, making the end of the cabin serve as a rest for my back. Wrapped in my overcoat and plaid, I managed to keep warm, though with some difficulty, and after a time I felt sleepy, but dared not risk going to sleep there, through fear that I should fall overboard.
Then I sat down, or rather reclined on deck, and, making a pillow of an anchor, managed to get along comfortably. Every time I waked and looked out we were steaming along through the canal with the same interminable stretch of sand on either side. By-and-by there was a blush of light in the east, then there was daybreak and then there came sunrise.
We grew better natured as we thawed out under the welcome rays of the sun, and felt the dryness vanishing from our lips, and a gradual disappearance of that general feeling of mussiness that you have after sitting up all night. The sands became warm in the glow of the morning, and everything that before had been sombre was now brilliant with flashing light. I do not often see the sun come up in these later years, never when I can avoid doing so; but whenever I am caught with a sunrise on my hands, I think it is about the best thing out. A sunrise in the desert is rather an extra affair, and considerably “lays over” the ordinary one that we can see at home by staying up till the next day.
We touched the dock at Ismailia in little more than seven hours from Port Said, and were glad enough to get on shore. A crowd of Arabs at the landing was as ravenous as a lot of young tigers; we tried to keep them back with words and gestures, but to no purpose; they seized our baggage, and would not put it down till we laid about them with our canes.
There were a hundred of them, all vociferating and snatching for baggage at the same instant; and I flatter myself that it was a triumph of genius over muscle when we succeeded in putting that baggage in a pile and making the fellows stand back, and tender proposals for its transport to the railway station We let the contract to the lowest bidder, who took the lot at four francs. The instant the bargain was closed, he and half the crowd fell upon the pile as if they had been wild beasts, and it disappeared like a-pint of whiskey among a dozen backwoodsmen. At the station, after we had paid the money agreed upon, they had an awful row dividing it, and there seemed to be at one time a brilliant prospect of a homicide.
The history of the Suez canal enterprise was given to the world with great minuteness of detail, at the time of its opening in 1869, and I shall not attempt a description of it here.
