June 9th. It is now three days since we left Malta. We should have been in harbour to-day, but have been retarded somewhat by head winds.
June 10th. Expecting to enter port this morning, I was early on deck. We were already in sight of land. As we neared the coast, one of the first things that caught my attention was the number of windmills, standing upon an eminence along the shore; at first they reminded me of a line of soldiers in skirmishing order, but as we neared them they lifted their tall, circular forms, and stretched out their sheeted arms, like huge sentinels keeping watch along the coast. The entrance to the harbour is a tortuous and difficult one; vessels cannot get in by night or by day without a very experienced pilot. We were straining our eyes to catch the first glimpse of the strange land, and there, just upon that projecting point of land we are now passing, where you see an insignificant lighthouse, stood a famous and costly tower, bearing upon its top, as it lifted its colossal form above the waves, a beacon-light to guide the mariner to his haven. It is said to have been so lofty it could be seen one hundred miles at sea—which of course, is a mistake. The gigantic tower of white marble was erected by the old Egyptian kings three hundred years before the birth of Christ. It was one of the "seven wonders of the world." But here we are safe at our moorings. How strange everything looks. There are the hulks of a number of great old ships, rotting away and falling to pieces into the water. They were once the Viceroy's fleet. The flags of many nations float from the masts around us. There is a boat approaching with a Union Jack flying, and manned with blue jackets.
After landing the passengers, we had to pass through the Custom House. A liveried servant in Turkish costume, guarding the door, politely bowed us through, and we stood before the receiver of customs. He wore a rich Turkish costume, a magnificent turban on his head, a gold-hilted sword by his side; he addressed us in English and called all our names from a list; as we answered we passed on. No other questions were asked; personal baggage is seldom examined at this port. We had scarcely passed the door before we were surrounded by a crowd of donkey boys in blue shirts and red fez caps. They began pulling and snatching at our baggage for the privilege of taking it to a hotel. Luckily, an omnibus,—a European innovation,—from the very hotel we had selected, stood at the entrance, and we made a sudden dash into it. A crack of the driver's whip, and we were whirling through the dirty, narrow streets of the Turkish quarter of the city. We soon emerged into the English part of the town, and a magical change came over the scene; a fine open square ornamented with fountains and surrounded with beautiful stone houses presented a most inviting appearance. A runner from the hotel conducted me to the Marine Hospital, when I presented the order for the invalids to return with me to Malta, when the surgeon informed me that two of the men had had a relapse and could not be removed for some time. This gave me a good opportunity to visit several of the renowned localities, places of antiquity, and monumental records, that the ravages of war and the wreck of time have failed to obliterate. During the voyage I had made the acquaintance of two Frenchmen, and after I got back to the hotel they were pleased when I told them that I would have to stop at Alexandria for some time, and did not know how long; they could speak English pretty well and we got quite familiar. The hotel was kept by a Frenchman, and the business of the hotel was conducted on the European plan, but the floors and walls were constantly crumbling, scattering sand and lime upon clothes and furniture, and affording plenty of hiding places for bugs and fleas. Of the presence of the latter we had too strong demonstration, but fleas in Egypt are as common as sand on the sea shore, and we made up our mind to pay the tribute of blood demanded by those pests, with the resignation of martyrs.
We next visited Cleopatra's Needle, since removed to London. Of these remarkable obelisks there are two, just within the walls and near the sea shore at the northeast angle of the city—one is standing, the other has fallen down and is now nearly buried in the ground. They are of the same material as Pompey's Pillar, red granite, from the quarries of upper Egypt. These two obelisks stood about seventy paces apart; the fallen one lies close to the pedestal; its length, in its mutilated state, is sixty-six feet, and was given, many years ago, by Mohammed Ali to the British Government, who have lately brought it home. The standing one is about seventy feet high, seven feet seven inches in diameter at the base, and tapering towards the top about five feet.
Next day we visited the Catacombs, which are about three miles outside the city; the Frenchmen hired a guide and we all rode on donkeys. The grounds near the entrance were once covered with costly habitations and beautiful gardens. The vast extent of these underground tenements, their architecture, symmetry, and beauty; the more wonderful from the fact that they are all chiselled out of the solid rock, must excite the greatest wonder and admiration. In these tombs, generation after generation have laid their dead; Egyptians, Persians, Greeks, Romans and Saracens have, no doubt, in turn used them, and different nations have here blended in the common dust, at least such is the common opinion. Ancient Alexandria, with all her magnificence and splendour, is now nothing but heaps of ruins. The modern city stands upon the ruins of the past—well may we say the great, immortal past. An Egyptian city at night is a gloomy place—business suspended, shops all closed, no amusements, no meetings, no windows next the street to shed even a little light upon the gloomy alleys; all is involved in Egyptian darkness, but silence is not there, for dogs are among the wondrous speakers of this land. They howl about in packs like wolves, owning no master, making night hideous with their row and fights; in addition to this, the watchman's yell rang through the city every quarter of an hour; it woke me more than the guns before Sebastopol; a calm of fifteen minutes succeeds, and again the lengthened shout assures the citizen "all is well." Being disturbed by the watchman's call, howling of dogs, bugs and fleas, we could not sleep, so we were up early and had breakfast at seven o'clock, after which we all agreed to visit Cairo, and at once proceeded to the railway station, which, by the way, has only been lately constructed. The present facilities for reaching Cairo can only be appreciated by those who have been familiar with the former slow locomotion of canal and river. Then it was by the toilsome process of wind and oars. Now a first-class railroad of about one hundred miles connects the cities. At ten a.m., the signal was given, and we struck out into the great delta of the Nile; away to the left is the harbour of Aboukir, where the immortal Nelson with his fleet met the French in 1798. His victory was complete; all the French ships except two, were captured, and the victor was rewarded with the title, "Baron Nelson of the Nile."
The immense green plain stretched out each side of us as far as the eye could reach. Crops of some kind are raised all the year round, except while the soil is covered with water from the inundation of the Nile. There is no cold weather to prevent the growth of vegetables. Look out of the carriage window: do you see that long line of water just by the side of us? It is the Nile. The Nile! The famous Nile, that has a place in history with the Euphrates and the Jordan;—for thousands of years sending out a living flood from its mysterious and hidden sources, rolling onward through this great valley, and emptying itself, by its seven mouths, into the blue sea; a river which the Egyptians worshipped, and whose waters, by the rod of Moses, were turned into blood.
About 5 p.m., our train came to a halt in the station of Grand Cairo. We landed on the platform amid the strangest crowd of human beings I had ever seen congregated. There was the Turkish official, with his great loose sleeves and flowing robes, gold hilted sword and turbaned head, loathsome looking beggars, wretched women and squalid children. As we emerged from the station, a hotel porter, in English costume, addressed us in English, "Shepherd's hotel, sir? Omnibus just here, all right!" and in fifteen minutes we were in a good European hotel, built in the oriental style, with a large open court and pleasure-grounds; terms only two dollars a day. After tea, which was ready on our arrival at the hotel, we took a walk through the city. The streets are numerous, narrow and crooked, there being but one in the business part of the town wide enough for a carriage; this public thoroughfare being only about 35 feet wide, many of the others are not more than ten feet. The upper stories of the houses projecting over the lower ones, and the large prominent windows projecting still beyond the houses, the windows of the upper stories are brought so near together, you could easily step from one to the other. The bazaars are very busy places, and are thronged by a mixed and motley multitude of people, camels, horses, donkeys, men, women, and children, mingled together in strange confusion, while the noise and bustle present a wild and striking scene that can be nowhere witnessed but in an Arabic city. Amid this wild confusion may be seen a great variety of oriental costumes. But the turbaned heads predominate, the black of the Copt, the blue-black of the Jew, the green and white of the Moslem are mingled in strange variety. There moves a lordly Turk with loose sleeves and flowing robes, with all the solemn dignity of his nation; the grandee, with his rich flowing robes of silk and lace, loose breeches, white stockings and yellow slippers; the swarthy skinned, half naked fellah, the bare-faced, half-dressed, toil-worn country woman with tatooed lips and eyebrows, and by her side the dignified lady with long, close veil, red trowsers, long yellow boots, and dress of richly-embroidered cloth. These ladies ride astride of donkeys; the ample folds of their long veils and loose robes almost hide the little animal from view.
