He introduced to us several other Americans in the Khedive’s service, General Loring who had lost an arm in the Civil War, Purdy Bey, and Inman Barnard, whom I remembered in Boston. We had crossed on the steamer with Consul General Farman; thanks to these friends we met many interesting people, among others Sir Samuel and Lady Baker, with whom my mother talked endlessly. In speaking of her native Egyptian servant, Lady Baker said:
“I assure you he is the best human being I have ever known.”
The Bakers were very friendly; I remember Lady Baker showing me a remarkable necklace of lions’ claws she wore. Mr. and Mrs. Rivers Wilson, though we had some talk with both, were reserved and extremely formal. A reception at Mr. Goschen’s house was one of the few private festivities I recall. It may have been here that we met Mariette Bey, the French Egyptologist, under whose guidance we made our first visit to the Bulak Museum, of which he was founder and moving spirit.
Robert Irwin of Japan and his sister Maisie, who were at Shepheard’s, added much to the pleasure of our stay. We made many excursions together, among others the ascent of the great pyramid. To each of our party the Sheikh of the desert Bedouins allotted two Arabs. My men, Hassan and Osman, two superb bronze figures, each gripped me by an arm and practically swung me up from tier to tier of the huge blocks. One of our party seemed bent on making record time; he made no pause, and seemed to fly up those awful steps. When the rest of us reached the top this friend lay gasping flat on his back.
“Those Bedouins tried to kill me,” he murmured; “I kept calling ‘yaller!’ ‘yaller!’ and the more I ‘yallered’ the faster they ran.”
“You used the wrong word; you should have said ‘shwaiyer!’ ‘Yaller’ means faster!” Mahomet, the dragoman, explained.
We lunched luxuriously on the summit of the great pyramid, on roast quail, fresh rolls, and pâté de foie gras! The wilted one was restored with iced champagne.
“Do not let us hurry down,” said the eldest of the party. “I, for one, shall never again get to the top of Cheops.”
So we lingered, watching the changing color of the Mokatten hills, the yellow sands of the desert, the immutable face of the Sphinx till the sky blazed with Egypt’s sublime sunset.
We came again to the Sphinx by starlight. Out there in the desert the constellations seemed nearer than ever before; Venus hung low, as if suspended by a thread from the heavens, her reflection in the Nile a full golden orb. Last and best of all we came on the night of the full moon to take farewell, and each of us tried to guess the ancient riddle.