"Well, I can't say much for their beauty," observed my companion. "They have good eyes and hair, but all of them look as if they had not washed their faces for at least a fortnight. Come along and smoke a Nargileh. If there is one thing I love, it is a Nargileh, and when I am inhaling the tobacco I imagine myself to be a Pacha surrounded by my seraglio."
We turned into a café; it was surrounded by a large garden. Some Greek merchants were playing at dominoes; an Italian prima donna, who might have been any age from seventy to a hundred, was singing a popular air; men with game and fish for sale walked up and down, regardless of interrupting the ancient vocalist, and offered their wares to the visitors. Presently my companion moved uneasily in his chair; some drops of perspiration stood on his forehead, and his face was becoming rapidly green under the influence of the Turkish Nargileh.
"I think I have had enough," he remarked. "The room is very hot. Au revoir." And he returned to our vessel.
In the meantime I proceeded to call upon a friend in the town. This gentleman informed me that the Christians and Turks in Smyrna were on the best of terms; however, he added that certain papers, believed to be in Russian pay, were constantly announcing that there would shortly be a massacre of the Christians; it was said that this was done to excite bad blood between the two sects.
The shrill sound of the steamer's whistle announced that she was getting up steam. Hastily retracing my steps, I arrived on board just as the crew were weighing anchor. The original number of passengers had by this time received a considerable addition. Greeks, Armenians, and Turks were walking about or lying stretched along the deck. Women and children were huddled up in close proximity with the men. A Babel of different languages was going on around me, and an old Greek woman was having an animated squabble with one of the ship's officers, the subject of discussion being as to whether the ancient female had paid the proper fare. The French officer could speak but little Greek, and the shrill-voiced dame no French; in consequence of this it was difficult for them to arrive at any satisfactory solution of the matter.
A Pacha, his son, and the chief of the telegraphs, were the only first-class passengers. However, four ladies, the Pacha's seraglio, had been accommodated on the deck; they were reclining on some cushions in close juxtaposition with their attendant—a negro. The voice of this sable gentleman was pitched in a feminine key, and he was busily engaged in arranging some pillows beneath the stoutest of the ladies—a comely dame who would have turned the scale at probably sixteen stone. Two pointer dogs in a large hamper, which was directed to a Bey in Constantinople, added their barking to the general clamour, and some horses, bound to Stamboul, were fastened by head-collars to the bulwarks, no horse-boxes being provided. Farther on, and towards the steerage end of the vessel, were 500 recruits, on their way to Servia, and in high spirits at the idea of shortly encountering the Russians.
It was a lovely evening, and I walked along the deck with the captain, gazing curiously at his motley passengers. The stars shone bright, as became an Eastern clime; a gradually freshening breeze for the moment had cleared the horizon.
"We shall have an easy passage," I remarked.
"Yes, for good sailors," was the reply; "but it will be a little rough for those poor women,"—pointing to the pacha's harem—"and for the half-clad recruits yonder."
The latter did not seem to anticipate the treat that was in store for them. They were scattered in groups about the deck, many of them squatting upon their haunches, and attired for the most part in rags and many-coloured patchwork.