SMYRNA.
It was a glorious morning when we arrived off Malea, and we steamed near enough to distinguish the plateau on the rock where the celebrated old hermit—who isolated himself in that lonely spot for so many years—had always, on the approach of a vessel, advanced waving a flag.
The promontory passed, we were out of the Mediterranean, and we slowly passed the maze of islands—the Cyclades—past Milo and Delos, famed in song and story, Andros and Nicaria, and soon were making our way into the Ægean Sea towards the volcanic island of Chios or Cos. This island is off the Gulf of Smyrna, and has frequently been devastated by seismic agencies.
It was a thrilling experience passing through the Gulf, and there, in the light of evening, lay that ancient city—one of the seven Churches of Asia—with its background of everlasting hills, beneath a turquoise sky, carrying one’s mind back down the centuries, when St. Paul himself preached there, and delivered the message to the churches.
Smyrna is the key of Asia Minor, and Anatolia is as large as France.
After our luggage had been inspected, we, after some altercation with the drivers of various vehicles, were driven to our hotel, and, after divesting ourselves of our travelling attire, we descended to the table-d’-hôte, where dinner was served à la Russe. We noted the many little dishes filled, one for each guest, with black and green olives, and fresh beady-looking black caviare, the roe of the sturgeon, indigenous to the Black Sea.
It was a truly cosmopolitan company which sat down to dine—so many nationalities being represented—for Smyrna to-day is a very large and important city of the near east.
The caravans leave here for the desert with all sorts of merchandise, and they bring ivory, spices, and precious stones in return. The culture of silk is carried on to an enormous extent, and the figs are of an immense size. We watched, the day after our arrival, the loading of the camels for the desert. Some looked well, others as though they would not reach the end of the journey. Smyrna is the rendezvous of every eastern merchant. The Armenians being good linguists, they conduct the bulk of the business for the Turks, and are tutors in wealthy households.
The Angora goats and the Asiatic sheep—with tremendous tails, weighing ten and fifteen pounds—flourish here in great numbers. We drove to the Church of St. John some miles away. The scenery was truly magnificent, and we felt that Turkey possessed the garden of the gods. We passed pretty villas, buried in a wealth of magnolia trees, but the cypress trees predominate, and the mulberry is very plentiful. We visited the church, but were very much disappointed, the pictures being very tawdry and common.