We have booked on the steamer "Caledonia" seventy first-class passengers. Among them, my new-made acquaintances, Sir Richard Campbell, wife and two daughters. The former was none too happy in his retirement from active service to a passive one in the bogs of Ireland or to a shoot on the moors of Scotland. We will credit him with no desire to capture and hold captive the native coolies, but with a longing while still in sight of India's coral strand for the boar and tiger haunts. I suggested when he bemoaned of having no longer sufficient work to do to keep him happy, that he would write a book of experiences of his life in English service. He replied: "The market is overstocked and with but little variety or freshness in the productions of the pen." His wife will long live in my memory as a fac simile of gentleness and refinement. I doubt whether she is in the body at my time of writing, as a slow but sure sapping of life's strength was going on from her long stay in India's treacherous climate.
Sunday's service was read on board our steamer by an officer, at whose right hand at the table, I was seated during our voyage. He was clever and I enjoyed the conversations held with him. A smooth sea and a fresh-laundried shirt waist were most refreshing on that warm, but lovely sail. We landed at Aden, a British port and important coaling station, at 11:00 a. m., December 17 (Wednesday), where we lay three hours. From Aden is exported Mocha coffee. Where it grows I cannot imagine, for the port is to all appearances, the most rocky, barren shore we have yet seen—desolation of desolation. Fortunately no coaling was necessary for our vessel; it is a most disagreeable task, and passengers go ashore if possible to escape the dirt and noise. All the carpets and furniture are covered with temporary coverings during the transfer from the barges of these huge sacks filled with coal. From hand to hand are they tossed by the native coolies, the majority of the number employed being women. The labor here, as on the Nile, seems to be lightened by a cry, or wail, which never ceases till the work is accomplished. Natives in their canoes came in swarms around the steamer as she lay at anchor, bringing their stock in trade, which consisted of ostrich feather boas, black or a color bordering on it, with those of the original grey. In our excitement to get a bargain we purchased, but they were poor specimens and not worth the pound we paid for them, but we enjoyed the fun of bartering. Some of the passengers bought long, stiff, white plumes, which could be utilized in making fans. After our purchases were made Mrs. Dudley and myself having each selected a grey boa, were warned by one who had been there before that we had more than we bargained for, and that it would be better before depositing them in the trunks to investigate. We needed no farther explanation, but held at a safe distance the coveted articles and rushed to my cabin, while Mrs. Dudley sent to the head steward for a package of cayenne pepper, which had been my suggestion. After a fierce struggle, we succeeded in thoroughly sprinkling the feathery lengths, and then purloined a steamer towel, sewing them up until we should reach Paris, where we determined to have them steamed and curled, providing there was anything to curl. On my arrival in that city of fashion, I immediately sought a Tapissier or cleaner, and besought them not to sue me for damages, if they should, on opening the package, sneeze themselves to death. In a few days, on my return to our Pension with two friends, we passed the feather cleaner's establishment, when what to my wondering eyes did appear, but a huge caterpillar in appearance in the window, which we all declared, must have escaped from the jardin d'acclimatation. After many uncomplimentary remarks, I was compelled to acknowledge that it belonged to me and was bought in the Orient among other articles of "virtu." But to return to Aden. We were struck with the weird looks of the natives, with nothing to conceal their nakedness but the sacred cord around their loins. Their hair was red; their skin black; the "Witches of Endor" would have paled in comparison. The water seemed to be their native element; they would dive down and under the vessel, appearing on the opposite side for a piaster, which, when thrown from the deck of the vessel into the water, they would bring to the surface in their mouths.
The day following we were on the Red Sea—smooth sailing, and no land in sight; weather, (December 18th,) beautifully cool and pleasant. The passengers on deck enjoyed the sport so much in vogue on these "P. and O." steamers. "Pull for your life," which enlisted the participation of ladies and gentlemen; the latter, after removing their shoes, could stand on the well-sanded deck. The leaders locked horns and their comrades chose sides, each placing their arms around the waists of the one preceding them, and then came the "tug of war." It was as great fun to the bystander as it was good exercise for those engaged in the sport. A reward followed to the victorious side, which, perhaps, took the form of ginger ale or seltzer. We enter the Suez canal at 4:00 p. m., December 21st (Saturday afternoon). The evening shadows closed around us; the low shores sank into half-transparent vagueness, and threw into relief against the evening sky a solitary individual straying along the water's edge, while within, a hundred yards from shore, were a band of Arabs, folding their tents, preparatory to a long journey across the desert. It was a most impressive scene. The quiet was almost overpowering. The lonely hour and the more lonely surroundings, all combined, made an indelible impression. The camels were in the act of kneeling to receive the burden they must carry on the journey. In the moonlight, the undulating sands of the Lybian and Arabian deserts looked like the billows of an ocean, and the camels with their swaying motion like moving sail vessels, were lost to sight in solemn silence. This voyage on the Suez canal has a charm of its own indefinable.
The Suez maritime canal is about 120 miles in length from sea to sea (Mediterranean to the Red). Out of this length only thirty-eight miles were found to be above sea level; the remaining eighty-two were either below or on the same level. About midway between the two seas is Lake Timsah, nine miles in circumference. That basin is converted into a central harbor, where vessels may at all times find a safe and convenient anchorage. From El Guise, through which the canal passes to the Mediterranean, the width is 240 feet, and from El Guise to Ismalia it is 180 feet, after which it passes into the proper width, 240 feet. The estimate of keeping the canal in order, from its completion in 1869 to 1895, is about £75,000 sterling. Great dredges lie near the shore as we pass, from which vessels steer away. Charges agreed upon for transit are ten francs, or two dollars, per ton; hence, our steamer "Caledonia" paid for her weight of 4,125 tons, $825. The Indian steamers, instead of stopping at Suez, steam directly to Port Said, anchoring off Ismalia only long enough for passengers to land. We reached this point at 12:00 p. m. Before arriving a late supper was ordered by a few to celebrate the leave-taking, for many who had traveled together so far were to continue their journey to Marseilles and from thence to England, and others with us were to go into Egypt. We here bade good-bye to Mr. and Miss Donnesthorpe, who had been with us en route from Nagasaki, Japan. Before leaving Mr. Donnesthorpe gave me his confidence regarding his engagement to an English girl he had left at home. The outward-bound vessels, instead of stopping at Alexandria, steam direct through the canal to Suez and Bombay, while one vessel homeward bound passes through this canal every week. Thus, two vessels a week make 104 a year. Averaging 1,000 tons per vessel, the aggregate 104,000 tons at two dollars a ton will produce the sum of £41,600 sterling annually. These vessels carry to and from home about 10,000 persons a year, and this number pay £4,000, so that from the Peninsular and Oriental line of steamers alone the canal company will receive £45,000 annually, exclusive of the duties received from coal ships. Total averages from other lines are about £185,000, to say nothing of the pilgrims from Tunis, Tripoli, on their pilgrimages to Medinah and Mecca. $5,000 to $8,000 is saved on this route of travel to the merchants from England to India. The depth of this canal in every part is twenty-six feet. Steam is supplanting the use of sails, for the Red Sea offers no exceptional difficulties to steamers. No vessel would require more than her sails, for the wind blows strong and steady during nine months of the year.
The opening celebration of the canal by the viceroy was regal. An opera house, theatre and circus were constructed in Cairo; gas was introduced into the city of the Mameluke Caliphs; Ezhekiah plaza was renovated in a manner that ten years before would have been thought impossible; the streets were laid out and flanked by granite and freestone curbing, and sidewalks laid with massive flagstone; railway stations renovated and the streets leading to it improved, so that on first introduction a stranger would be favorably impressed. The viceroy's palaces were repainted and every hotel in Cairo was engaged for the guests of the Khedive, to feed them and lodge them at 48 shillings per day per capita; all carriages and cabs free and at their disposal, the cost of entertainment was $2,000,000. Light houses were erected at Bitter Lake, and electric lights of great power at Port Said. Ismalia, the center part of the Suez canal, is on Lake Tismah; it was filled with water from the Mediterranean, November, 1862, through the canal the average depth was nineteen feet. Ismalia stands at the confluence of three canals; the Maritime, Sweet Water from Suez to Ismalia, and the canal from Zazazed to Ismalia, which runs through Ancient Goshen, in whose confines dwelt the children of Israel 400 years.
"The harbor of Suez roadbeds was found to afford anchorage for 500 ships, its depth being from sixteen to twenty-four feet, bottomed with soft mud. In 1858 the canal company chose for its president M. Ferdinand de Lesseps. In 1859 the work was commenced. Mohammed Said Pasha of Egypt took 177,642 shares. In 1863 Said Pasha died and Ismail, son of Ibrahim, son of Mohammed Ali, succeeded to the vice-royalty of Egypt. England was jealous of the concession to France. The sultan wavered, but Napoleon III. had his eye on him, and he was frightened out of his intended course. Ismail broke his contract with the canal company and would furnish no fellahs. Napoleon III. came to the rescue of De Lesseps. A committee composed equally of French and Egyptians, was called by Napoleon and declared in favor of the company to the amount of £3,600,000, to be payable in installments in fifteen years."
De Lesseps, long calumniated, individually persevered against disadvantages in the undertaking, until finally (November 17, 1869) he exhibits with worthy pride his mighty achievement to the civilized globe, represented by crowned heads and dignitaries of all countries, monarchial and republican.
During our stay of twenty-four hours, or even less time, in Ismalia, we visited the home De Lesseps occupied during his sojourn here. It was within an enclosure where beautiful trees overshadowed the house and it looked lonely and forsaken. We also went to the house or palace which the Viceroy had built for himself. Dogs formidably guarded the entrance. We did not tarry long, but my brother and I wandered far enough into the sands of the desert to satisfy all our longings forevermore. The canal was built by the French, but the English bought most of the stock and have control of it, although it runs through Egyptian territory. From the inhospitable Hotel Victoria we rode on a tramway to the depot, where rather a poor train of cars awaited us, conveying us for miles through the desert sands, suddenly merging into plains and reaching Cairo at 6:00 p. m., the 22nd of December. Little by little the plain becomes less green as we approach the Egyptian capital; the valley contracted and the pyramids appear roseate beneath the rays of the setting sun. On the right, through the palm trees, against the yellow tones of the Lybian desert, are the heights of Mokattam, with the citadel and the mosques of Mahomet Ali, the dome of which shines brilliantly between two tapering minarets. A forest of minarets and white walls and we have arrived amid deafening cries of the cabmen and the running omnibuses for the different hotels. My brown "Cheap Jack" purchased in Bombay to carry a steamer rug which I had bought there again proved a white elephant, but after many gestures it is transferred by a porter to Shephard's Hotel. Crowds stand waiting for rooms to be allotted them, and as good luck has so far followed me both on steamers and at hotels, I find myself in a brief time nicely ensconced in a sunny room. We hasten to make ready for dinner, and are most happy to be seated alongside of Mrs. John A. Logan and her party of four young ladies and Doctor B., who heads the table and proves himself a most fitting decoration. The salon is crowded, and at one end on a stage is stationed a band of native musicians, male and female, with European musical instruments upon which the latest opera airs were played. It is customary after dinner is served to join the immense crowd that promenades or is seated, according to choice, in the corridors and exchange of the building. There tiny cups of coffee with brandy, absinthe and cigarettes are offered by the coolies in picturesque dress. Ladies, as well as men, partook freely, handling the cigarette with an air of nonchalance which bespoke its frequent use. It seemed that people from every nation and every tribe were assembled there. The air became dense, and it has been truly said that nowhere else than in Shephard's Hotel can such a transformation scene be witnessed. Many of my own neighbors from Chicago were here. We met our Japanese colonel again. He had just returned from the Nile trip. He walked with the assurance of a man who had won laurels and was wearing them. I was glad to meet him, as our close proximity at the table on the steamers promoted a good feeling between us. Cairo is a winter resort for English, Arabians, Swedes and in fact the climate attracts from all over the world. The ladies who are there for the season make as great a display of fine clothes as we see in our own drawing rooms at home; in fact, the display of jewels is regal. But of this the traveler wearies, as our days are so busy; we willingly retire early to restore nature's wasted powers. One old lady from Wales sat with her gouty feet on a cushion, to which you were oblivious, for she was so bejewelled. She was an Egyptologist, she told me. I found her an agreeable woman, but fond of display. I apologized for my Quaker-like garb, explaining to her why I did not feel at ease in such a crowd in my quiet silk gown; that I had only a steamer trunk with me, and while its contents might ordinarily have passed muster, the piling on top of them—a lot of "Benares brass"—had crushed what little stiffness my balloon sleeves had once maintained. She scanned me closely and, with a confidential air, whispered: "You are a good conversationalist, anyhow, so never mind." I really began to feel a sense of inflation, and looked to see my sleeves puff up.
The poor villages of Egypt, a collection of dilapidated houses built of clay, baked by the burning sun and roofed with dry sorghum leaves, were scattered here and there. Here are seen cafes built of loam and straw and rickety planks upon which exhausted beggars sleep in sordid rags, where poor peasants devour a doura cake and drink a cup of coffee; women in long, blue gowns, carrying water in heavy clay pitchers; camels loaded with sugar-cane; asses bending beneath bulky bags of rice; heron, plover and white pigeons; Pharaoh's chickens hover overhead, watching with piercing eyes their prey; pelicans amid the Papyrus, a blue lotus, a plant dear to the Pharaohs, which one finds everywhere engraved on the walls of their temples; dusky girls with long, slender hands and tapering fingers, the nails reddened with Henna, holding a corner of their garment between their teeth to hide their faces and pushing flocks of turkeys before them. They walk slowly, gazing frankly, while the copper bangles clank gently on their delicately moulded ankles.
The population of Cairo in 1895 was about 350,000. The Khedive lives with his wife and family at the Palace of Ismalia, near the Nile bridge. He is a strict monogamist, loyal in his married life and detests slavery as much as polygamy. All his attendants are paid wages. He is said to rise at 4:00 or 5:00 a. m., eats no breakfast, exercises two hours, and between seven and eight o'clock drives in state to Abdin Palace, which is about a half mile from Ismalia, his home. Abdin is the usual place for receptions and ceremonial visits. Here the Khedive spends the day, transacting various business, seeing ministers, reading letters and telegrams and talking with his courtiers. At 5:00 p. m. he drives again with his guard, preceded by his athletic sais about forty feet in advance, while in his victoria sits always some companion beside him. These sais attract much attention, so very graceful are they in appearance. Their white Turkish trousers, their gold embroidered bolero jacket, with bright, oriental sashes and a cap of bright color that sets off their fine features and well-shaped head. They are very fleet, but we were told that their earthly race is soon run, the exercise being too violent. We take donkeys to visit the bazaars. There is a change of temperature, about 60 deg. Fah., but the attempt made to keep our seat on our lively animals brought out the perspiration, as this was our maiden effort. The name of the present Khedive is Lewfak (1895). On a recent occasion he was asked: "What would be the effect on the harem if the slaves and eunuchs were no longer on guard?" He replied: "The women would rush into all sorts of license." He agreed that education was the one thing needful, and in accordance with his convictions has started a high school for girls, at his own expense. The Mussulman women's morals are very low; their influence on the children of the harem is most deplorable. The Ezbekiah Garden confronts us nearby the hotel. It was formerly a lake surrounded by trees and habitations. At the present, after many changes, it is of rectangular form, with corners cut off, surrounded by an iron railing. A basin with swan, and carefully sanded paths with strange trees brought from the interior of Africa is a beautiful sight. The limpid blue sky and the rays of the magnificent eastern sun makes it an attractive place to linger, particularly so at 4:00 p. m., when a military band performs its European repertoire. Beer shops, restaurants and photographic pavilions are installed in and near this garden; veiled women, men in silk gowns of various colors, mostly blues, roam about with the most perfect ease. Beautiful Egyptian tents were erected for a bazaar while we were there. No one can appreciate, without seeing their effective display, made of sailcloth, with red, yellow and blue calico in plain colors, appliqued on in strange hieroglyphic designs. Rugs were on the ground and tapestries were used as portieres, while the Turk or Egyptian sat in the doorway, apparently indifferent to the passerby. To visit Heliopolis, we took a victoria and an expert dragoman. We passed the viceroy's palace, with its lane of lemon trees and the well cultivated plain of Metarrah, covered with gardens. We stop at the virgin's tree, where Mary and the child rested in their flight to Egypt. This, with the field around it, is watered by a sakieh, which draws sweet and refreshing water from the bottom of a well. With the cooling draught, we are presented with a tiny bunch of flowers, for which we return a few piasters. A paling surrounds Mary's Sycamore, under whose shade, tradition says, she washed the infant's clothes, and that wherever a drop of water fell a Balsam tree sprang up. All that remains of Heliopolis, the city of the sun, is the obelisk of Usertesan. Heliopolis is the On of the Hebrews. It was here the Bennonz, Phoenix, the fabled bird, with its gold and crimson plumage, without a mate, came from Arabia every five hundred years to expire, and to be reborn of its own ashes on the altar of the sun.