From Job to Job around the World

by Alfred C. B. Fletcher

At Sakara, where we saw eleven pyramids, including the famous step-pyramid, we negotiated with some native labourers for a camel ride. It was a couple of miles to the railroad and we arranged to travel the distance on these oriental beasts of burden. We were in the rural districts and the camels were carrying loads of dirt. My man agreed to a piastre (five cents) for the trip. When I was mounted he demanded a shilling. I paid no attention to him. He started the beast on the run in the hope of frightening me. It was simply fun. Then he urged the animal into a gallop. I didn't know a camel was capable of such a thing. I know it now. A scenic railway is as mild as a baby carriage when compared to the up and down movements of a galloping camel. There isn't much speed about it. Two-thirds of the energy of the beast is devoted to vertical motions. I hung on to the canvas bag on the camel's back with the grip of a bull-dog. My insides were nearly shaken out. The native continued to shout for a shilling and jab the camel in the belly with a sharp stick. The animal leaped and bounded about like a bronco. By a miracle I managed to hang on.

Fifteen minutes of such a shaking process was enough for me. I swung my feet over to one side and jumped from the camel's back to the ploughed ground. My ride only cost me a piastre. It was well worth it.

A man at the American Presbyterian Mission in Cairo told us that there was a crowd of American "free-lovers" in Jerusalem who frequently entertained travellers, and he thought we could get accommodations there. The free-love feature had an attractive sound to Richardson and myself and we concluded that if there was any of that sort of thing loose we would round it up. We therefore decided to go to Jerusalem at once. Our destination was the "American Colony," the name by which this group of people was known.

We scrambled out of bed, packed, paid our hotel bills, rode a mile to the station—all in thirty minutes—and left Cairo for Palestine. At Port Said we boarded the Maria Teresa of the Austrian Lloyd Company and took up our quarters in the steerage, along with a dozen French monks and others making a pilgrimage to the Holy City. There was one Austrian priest on board. He had a long brilliant red beard which looked as though it was the growth of centuries. When he saw me shaving before the common mirror in the steerage he was suddenly seized with the desire to part with the fearful brush he had on his face. He wanted to buy my razor. I, of course, wouldn't sell it. Then he asked to borrow it. I didn't very much like the idea of lending my razor to chop off the beards on strangers' faces. However, I passed over the weapon.

The priest asked me to assist him. My part of the work was trimming his beard with scissors down to the point where the razor would be of service. I refused to do more. He did the shaving himself. It took him half an hour to ruin a good razor.

It is but a night's journey to Jaffa and in the morning we were off the shore of that little town. The sea was very rough and we were unable to land. Jaffa hasn't any wharves and the captain considered it dangerous for the passengers to be taken ashore in the small native boats. We stood by all day, hoping that the sea would subside. Evening came and there was no change.

There were a number of Americans among the first-class passengers. A California judge and his wife, a Chicago gas merchant and his wife, an English clergyman and a Pentecost preacher proved the most interesting. Richardson and I paid no attention to the steerage limits. We mingled with the first-class passengers and made several lasting friendships among them.

We all wanted to be in Jerusalem and Bethlehem on Christmas Day. It was now the 22nd of December and unless we landed somewhere soon we couldn't make it. The captain decided to sail for Haifa, whence we could go to Jerusalem by land.

In the morning we arrived at Haifa. The purser presented us with a bill for two dollars for extra fare and food from Jaffa. All the passengers paid it. Richardson and I refused.

"But you have to pay it," said the purser.