On the 17th of April, eventful to me, being my birthday, we arrived at Suez for a short stay, without time or inclination to go ashore. But, seeing the Stars and Stripes flying from a ship lying in the distance, I could not withstand the temptation. Jumping into a native sailboat that described every point of the compass with oars and adverse wind, I reached the United States cruiser, "New York." Capt. Rodgers and his gentlemanly officers gave me a very cordial reception, ensuring an enjoyable visit. Capt. Rodgers informed me that Lieutenant Poundstone was aboard, who knew me as a "promoter" for the Smithsonian Institute at Washington, he having been aboard the "Chicago" when it visited Tamatave, and when Admiral Howison declined to convey my "gay and festive" collection of wild animals to America. I would be most happy to see him. He soon appeared with pleasant greetings and recollections of Tamatave incidents. My stay from ship being limited, after a chat, mingled with sherry and cigars and an expression of regret from Capt. Rodgers that, not being in our "bailiwick," he could not give me a consular salute from his guns, he ordered the ship's steam launch, and, escorted by the Lieutenant, under our national banner, I soon boarded my ship. I was much indebted to Capt. Rodgers and officers for their charming courtesy.
Leaving Suez at mid-day, we shortly enter the Suez Canal—85 miles, with numerous tie-ups to allow other ships the right of way.
At 8 o'clock the following morning we dropped anchor at Port Said, a populous city of Arabia with 30,000 inhabitants, much diversified as to nativities, Turks, Assyrians, Jews, and Greeks being largely represented. The city is quite prepossessing, and seems to have improved its sanitary features since my visit four years ago. There are many charming views; an interesting place for the tourist, alike for the virtuous and the vicious, for those so inclined can see human nature "unadorned." Wide streets pierce the city, the stores on which are a continuous bazaar, lined with many exquisite productions of necessity and Eastern art. But I have previously dwelt on Port Said peculiarities.
Leaving Port Said on the 18th, our good ship soon enters the Mediterranean, and with smooth seas passes through the Straits of Messina, with a fine view of Mt. Etna, as of yore, belching forth flames and smoke, with Sicily on our left and Italy and her cities on our right. Again entering the Mediterranean, we encounter our first rough seas and diminution of guests at the table. Neptune, who had been lenient for 17 days, now demanded settlement before digestion should again be allowed to resume its sway. For myself, I was like and unlike the impecunious boarder, who "never missed a meal nor paid a cent," but like him only in constant attendance, for I could ill-afford to miss any part of the pleasure of transit or menu costing $10 a day—happy, however, that I was minus "mal de mer," seasickness. But this temporary ailment of the passengers was soon banished by another phase of ocean travel, that of being enveloped in a fog so dense that the ship's length could not be seen ahead from the bow—every officer of the ship alert, the fog horn blowing its warnings at short intervals, answered by the "ships that pass in the night" of fogs. The anxiety of the passengers that the fog would lift was relieved after 36 hours, and our ship hied away and reached Marseilles on the 23d. From there by rail to Paris. Ensconced again at the "Hotel Binda," the next day I visited the site of the great Paris Exposition. Few of the buildings were in their entirety, but what remained of the classic beauty of their construction shone the more vivid amid the debris of demolition that surrounded them. The French were not enthusiastic in relation to the financial benefit of the exposition.
A few days in Paris, and thence to Cherbourg to cross the English Channel to Southampton, London. This channel, which has a well-merited reputation for being gay and frolicsome, was extremely gracious, allowing us to glide over its placid bosom with scarce a tremor.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
This was my first visit to the land of Wilberforces and Clarksons of the seventeenth century, whose devotion and fidelity to liberty abolished African slavery in Britain's dominion and created the sentiment that found expression in the immortal utterance of Judge Mansfield's decision: "Slaves cannot breathe in England; upon touch of its soil they stand forth redeemed and regenerated by the genius of universal liberty." With my English friend, C. B. Hurwitz, as an escort, I enjoyed an excursion on the Thames, and visited many places of note, including England's veteran bank, designated as the "Old Lady of Threadneedle Street," and the Towers of London. One of these, the Beauchamp Tower, is supposed to have been built in the twelfth or thirteenth century, the architecture corresponding with that in use at that period, and lately restored to its original state. Herein are many inscriptions, some very rude, others quite artistic. It was during the restoration that these inscriptions were partially discovered and carefully preserved. They were cut in the stone walls and partitions by the unhappy occupants, confined for life or execution for their religion or rebellion in the thirteenth to the sixteenth century. Many are adorned with rude devices and inscriptions denoting the undying faith of the martyr; others the wailing of distress and despair. Five hundred years have elapsed, yet the sadness of the crushed hearts of the unhappy occupants still lingers like a funeral pall to point a moral that should strengthen tolerance and cherish liberty.
Leaving Southampton, London, on the steamship St. Louis, after an uneventful passage I arrived in New York, and from thence to Washington, D. C. After my leave of absence had expired, I decided not to return to Madagascar. For after nearly four years' dalliance with the Malagash fever in the spring and dodging the bubonic plague in the fall, I concluded that Madagascar was a good place to come from.