The morning was beautiful. The shelving sides of the mountains, across which the path lay, just began to show forth the blades of corn with which they were generally sown. The birds carolled; the goats were browsing on the rocks; the village girls, with their water-pitchers on their heads, models of elegance for a statuary, were going slowly in groups to the spring. Not a breath of air, and not a cloud disturbed the serenity of the atmosphere. Before me an active lad, as walking groom, according to the custom of the country, led the way, with a pace as light as the antelope’s.
The road, with various windings, from a height of some five hundred feet above the level of the sea, descends, after a two hours’ ride, to the river Ewelly, where, on crossing a bridge of no very ancient construction, the traveller enters the orchards of Sayda, which continue, for a distance of another hour, to the gates of the city. Close by the bridge stands a rude caravanserai, where travellers halt for a cup of coffee, to smoke a pipe, or, when the gates of the city are shut, which is always at two hours after sunset, to pass the night. A soldier or two may be generally seen squatted on the broad stone bench, or mustaby, as it is called, in front of the caravanserai, or khan, the more common name. These military loiterers are not such idlers as they seem, for they come here to watch for deserters, keeping a keen look-out upon all passengers that arrive by this road, and exercising, in fact, the scrutiny of a vigilant police, although with such apparent carelessness that it would be impossible for strangers to suspect their object.
Near the khan, about fifty yards higher up the river, is a water-mill, on the flat roof of which may be seen wheat just washed and spread out to dry, previous to being ground, and dozens of donkeys, with sacks of wheat or flour on their backs, coming and going to and from the mill and the city. Clumps of oleander bushes are scattered over the alluvial parts by the river side, and mulberry-tree plantations cover its banks.
I received a quiet salâam of recognition from two or three persons as I passed on; for here I was better known than I should have been at the same distance from my native place. Over the bridge the road turns short to the right, and follows the seashore; an upper road inclines to the left, along the foot of the mountain, the track for those who would proceed to Tyr without entering Sayda. The space between the two, which is thickly covered with orchards and gardens, in the widest part may be nearly half a mile broad. The Mediterranean presented an unruffled deep blue expanse of waters, with here and there a shakhtoor lying as still on its bosom as in a picture.
Under the old and venerable sycamore, which I now remembered for five and twenty years, sat some peasant women, resting themselves on their way from the villages to the city, whose brown and uncovered bosoms contrasted unpleasantly with their intelligent and fine features and their white teeth. But they were bearers of heavy loads, and field-labour and the heat had made restraint irksome to them. Now and then a beautiful girl of fourteen or fifteen might be singled out from among them, whose well-turned ancle and finely-shaped foot, where not an inequality disfigured the beauty of the toes—whose rounded arm and taper fingers, with a form and face all Eastern, and her chemise buttoned with a little coquetry high up the neck—with her white pantaloons embroidered at the ancles, and silver rings round her legs and wrists—would arrest one’s attention, whilst the action of drawing her veil closer to her face seemed to signify that the passing glance of admiration had not escaped her. Farther on, a long train of Druze women, known by the horns on their heads, from which their long veils, half crape half cotton, were suspended with more graceful folds, were seen winding along the sands, on their way to the Mountain, probably the harým of one of the numerous emirs or princes who inhabit Mount Lebanon. As I passed them they carefully drew their veils across their faces, and peered at me from one eye[3] with all the curiosity belonging to their sex. They were mounted on mules and asses, and their silk and brocaded dresses, with their cloth mantles, the trappings of their beasts, and the demeanour of their attendants, denoted them to be ladies of some rank.
Passing the Sebat ayôon, or Seven Springs, a clear rivulet of water which rises about a hundred and fifty yards from the seashore—the Shemaôony, where is a vaulted building enclosing the tombs of some ancient pashas, and also, as the tradition goes, that of one of the grandsons of Abraham—I approached the town. Close to the gate, but still in the suburbs, are two or three tombs held in great reverence, where some devout Mussulmans may generally be found in the attitude of prayer. Turning the corner by the barracks, I nodded to the blacksmith, who for many years had shod Lady Hester’s horses, and entered the city-gate. A few guards as usual were seated on the outside, and heaps of oranges and vegetables, the property of the gardeners, who had come with their daily supply for sale, were scattered about in such quantities, that it required some little attention to steer through them, without treading on the people who were squatted here and there on the ground in perfect confusion.
I rode to the French khan, to put up my horse; and, giving him to be tethered in the quadrangle under the shade of some lofty trees, I directed my steps to the house of one Lufloofy, where English travellers, on passing through Sayda, generally lodge for the night. For the good old times are gone by, when consuls’ houses were open for the reception of strangers, and the hospitality they received was thought to be sufficiently repaid by the pleasure which the conversation of a European, fresh from Christendom, was thought to afford.
I found that Messieurs Knox and Forster had passed through the preceding day, leaving a message of regret behind that they were obliged to resume their journey without seeing me. Returning after breakfast to the French khan, I waited upon the French consular agent, Monsieur Conti, in the hope of learning something of the prince’s movements. Having satisfied myself that he would not depart until the next day, I passed the morning very agreeably with Madame Conti, a lady remarkable for her conversational vivacity. A glance at the topics that make up the conversation in a gossiping visit of this sort in ancient Sidon may possibly afford some amusement to the English reader.
“You are a very bad neighbour, Mr. Doctor: we hardly ever see you now; and you have never yet brought your family here. You know this house is yours, and not ours: but then the air of the Mountain is so pure, and the road is so bad, that I don’t wonder at their seldom quitting it. We have had a very charming traveller here, who called on us in his way through—a man of most highly polished manners and agreeable address.”[4]
“Yes,” interrupted the husband: “I gave him such information as I could respecting the antiquities he would find between this place and Tyr, and I would have procured him a guide, but the nizàm has taken off all our idle fellows; so I advised him to address himself to the first peasant he met when he got near Sarfend (Sarpentum), and thus he would be able to see a particular grotto I directed him to.”