There were some differences between this genuine Turkish bath and our British imitation of it which merit notice.
The court or hall in which the friends unrobed served the purpose of a drying-chamber as well as a dressing-room. Hence those bathers who entered to commence the operation of undressing had to pass between rows of the men who had gone through the bath, and were being gradually cooled down. They were all swathed from head to foot in white sheets, with large towels or pieces of linen tied turban-fashion round their heads, and as they lay perfectly straight and still, their resemblance to Turkish corpses was disagreeably strong. This idea was still further carried out in consequence of the abominable smell which pervaded the place, for Algerines were at that time utterly indifferent to cleanliness in their baths. Indeed, we may add, from personal experience, that they are no better at the present time than they were then! A few of the corpses, however, possessed sufficient life to enable them to smoke and sip tea or coffee.
This outer court was the immediate vestibule to the bath, or stewing-room—if we may be allowed the name. There was no passing, as with us, from a private undressing-box, through a mild cooling room, and thence into the hot and the hottest rooms. The Moors were bold, hardy fellows. The step was at once made from the cooling into the hot room, or bath, and in taking the step it was necessary to pass over one of the open sewers of the town—to judge from the smell thereof. But this last was a mere accidental circumstance connected with the bath, not an essential part of it. Thus it will be seen there were but two apartments in the establishment, with an outer lobby.
When the two friends had unrobed and wrapped a piece of striped calico round their loins, they were led by a young Moor in similar costume towards the stewing-room.
“Don’ be frighted,” whispered Rais Ali; “it’s pretty hottish.”
“I’ll try to be aisy,” replied the seaman with a quiet smile, “an’ av I can’t be aisy I’ll be as aisy as I can.”
Although he treated the idea of being frightened with something of contempt, he was constrained to admit to himself that he was powerfully surprised when he stepped suddenly into a chamber heated to an extent that seemed equal to a baker’s oven.
The apartment was octagonal, and very high, with a dome-shaped roof, from which it was dimly lighted by four small and very dirty windows. Water trickled down the dirty dark-brown walls; water and soap-suds floated over the dirty marble floor. In the centre of the floor was a mass of masonry about three feet high and seven feet square. This was the core of the room, as it were—part of the heating apparatus. It was covered with smooth slabs of stone, on which there was no covering of any kind. There is no knowing how much lurid smoke and fire rolled beneath this giant stone ottoman.
It chanced that only two men were in the place at the time. They had advanced to a certain stage of the process, and were enjoying themselves, apparently lifeless, and in sprawling attitudes, on the hot sloppy floor. The attendant of one had left him for a time. The attendant of the other was lying not far from his temporary owner, sound asleep. One of the Moors was very short and fat, the other tail and unusually thin; both had top-tufts of hair on their shaven crowns, and both would have looked supremely ridiculous if it had not been for the horrible resemblance they bore to men who had been roasted alive on the hot ottoman, and flung carelessly aside to die by slow degrees.
“Do as I doos,” said Rais to Flaggan, as he stretched himself on his back on the ottoman.