THE PASHA’S NATIVE BAND.
The Ghawazée or dancing-girls of Egypt, are now not often to be met with, having been banished to a distant part of the country by order of the Pasha. Their manœuvres are sometimes imitated, however, by a set of men or boys, called “Kowāl,” who, disguised in suitable apparel, are to be hired for the evening for a mere trifle, and these fellows exhibited one night at our house before a few English. Their manner of dancing is not easily to be described, inasmuch, as to a stranger, their motions are sometimes wholly unintelligible. There is also much that is unequivocally disgusting, and I never met with any who wished to witness the exhibition a second time. The scene in the present instance, lasted about an hour and a-half, with a perpetual accompaniment of drums and whistles, and I doubt whether the men themselves were much more weary than we by the time it was over, though they lay without movement on the floor in a state of profuse perspiration.
By the time I had been a fortnight in Egypt, I found the close fitting Frank clothes I had brought with me, almost insupportable, and I consequently threw them aside in favour of a linen jacket and wide trousers, à la Turke. Although the change was very agreeable in point of comfort, it was a long time before I learned to dress myself properly, for the loose trouser is a most unmanageable garment, and the silk scarf which encircles the waist is of so preposterous a length, that it is useless to attempt winding yourself into it, without the aid of a servant. My early endeavours to arrive at a complete toilet, were much assisted by a young lady from Beyrout, who being on her way from Cairo to Malta, was billeted upon us for a few days at the request of Mr. Raven. We found her, at first, extremely shy, and as she could by no means be persuaded to raise her veil, it was fully two days before we saw the light of any part of her countenance, except her eyes, which glowed out from above her long black nose-case, like two coals. By degrees this timidity wore off, and she was induced to take her tea and pipe in our company. She spoke Arabic and Italian, with a very few words of English, so that it was with considerable difficulty that we contrived to hold any conversation with her. We gathered from her, bit by bit, that she is running away from a French husband, who had once thrown her out of a window, besides attempting her life in other ways. We were consequently obliged to keep her as much out of sight as possible, as she was in great trepidation lest he should suddenly make his appearance and finish her.
I had at this time an opportunity of witnessing a curious Arab procession, occurring on the day of some yearly festival; though in honour of whom or what, I could by no means ascertain. Our dragoman, Hassan, secured me a good position in one of the narrow streets out of the square, from whence I was able to view it to advantage. The procession was led by a dozen men bareheaded, who, formed into a circle, were making a rapid succession of low bows towards its centre, chanting at the same time a mournful air; next came a band of native musicians, followed by a numerous body of men bearing long flags, similar to those used in the pilgrimage to Mecca; those who came next upon the scene were a score or more of half-naked fellows, all foaming and perspiring with excessive exertion, whose sole object seemed to be the endeavour to pull each other to the ground, by means of the little top-knot of hair on the crown of the head; a miscellaneous and unruly crowd of men and boys brought up the rear, whose incessant thumping of little copper drums, mixing with the shouting and doleful chant of those who had preceded them, produced as discordant a variety of noises as I ever remember to have heard. The women took no part in the procession, saving as lookers on, testifying their appreciation and enjoyment of the extraordinary display, by a loud gobbling noise like a chorus of frightened turkey cocks—a noise I believe which none but an Arab woman can produce;—as the exhibitors moved along, they as well as the bystanders were plentifully besprinkled with water of roses and lavender, which we were given to understand was a part of the performance. So plentiful indeed did Furner and I find this novel species of baptism, that, being unprovided with umbrellas, we were glad to beat a precipitate retreat.
On the evening of July the 18th, the mail steamer “Tagus,” arrived from Southampton, and from this day, I may date the commencement of my official duties. We were enjoying our after-dinner pipe in the verandah, when Hassan announced her near approach, so, making all speed to the shore, Furner and I rowed off to meet her. On gaining the deck, we found about two dozen passengers for the Overland, with a prodigious quantity of baggage piled up in one large heap, from which each was endeavouring to release his own particular property. The mail consisted of a number of square tin-boxes, which, when hauled on deck, it was my duty to see shifted into a barge alongside, destined to convey them to the mouth of the Mahmoudieh Canal, observing at the same time, that each individual case was duly ticked off upon the bill of lading. It is said there is a charm in every description of novelty, but I have yet to learn where to find that belonging to the landing of a large Indian mail on a dark and gusty night by the dim light of a ship’s lanthorn. The oaths of the sailors as they worked the tackle, mingling with the blowing off of the steam, the shouts of the Arabs, and the bumping together of boats alongside, formed a confusion of noises perfectly bewildering, whilst it was with some difficulty that I could maintain a firm hold at the top of the ladder, from whence I was obliged to watch the packages in their descent, until a welcome cry of “All out,” announced a temporary reprieve. Whilst the mail barge was making its slow way round to the Mahmoudieh, I had time to reach the shore, and join the passengers at Rey’s Hotel, as they were starting for Moharrem Bey, which is the point of departure of the passage-boats. The pushing and scrambling for donkeys, on such occasions, is sometimes highly amusing, and it is long ere the cavalcade is in motion. When there is no moon, the scene is lighted up by crackling pots of burning charcoal, raised aloft on poles, shedding a lurid light. The road to the Canal involves the passing of two or three gates, strongly fortified, having lofty tunnel-like arches, and paved with round stones. The pattering of hoofs as the motley train rushes through, awakens the lazy sentinel, who presents arms mechanically to those of the flaring pots, and, as the sound again dies away in the deep sandy road, once more relapses into slumber.
Half a mile’s ride brought us to the avenue of trees upon the banks of the Canal, where the covered passenger-boats were waiting to receive us, that containing the mails and luggage, having already gone on a-head. The choice of seats, for berths there were none, was of course given to the ladies, the rest accommodating themselves where best they might. Four strong horses, mounted by as many Arab riders, were attached to the one long iron boat, which contained us all, and the word having been given to cast loose, we bid a hasty adieu to our friends on shore, and by a little after midnight, found ourselves in motion. Our crew consisted of a fat Maltese pilot, two or three Arabs, and a cook, named Antonio, and it was gratifying to remark, that the latter had not forgotten several well-stored cafasses, or provision-baskets, with apparatus for making tea and coffee, and a large brazier of ignited charcoal for heating his kettles.
The dew was falling like rain, soaking every thing that was exposed to it, but this did not deter some of our party from throwing themselves at full length upon the roof, where, snugly shrouded in their cloaks, they ran a much better chance of getting a little rest, than when squeezed into a sitting posture below. Having given a look round to see that all was as it should be, I retired into my little cabin in the bows, where, after a cold chicken and a bottle of Bass’s ale, I was soon deep in my first packet of letters from England. Sleep however, overcame me before I had finished, and I was dreaming most agreeably of far-off persons and scenes, when a sudden shock and instantaneous stoppage of the boat, upset my candle and empty beer-bottle, and caused a dire commotion among the cups and spode-ware in Antonio’s pantry. I ran on deck immediately, and found, as soon as I could collect my scattered senses, that our precious Maltese captain had run us into the bank, having quietly followed the example of those around him, by dropping to sleep at his tiller. Fortunately for the horses, the rope had parted with the sudden check, or they would have been pulled into the Canal, which I afterwards found was not an uncommon occurrence. After a little delay, we were soon making way again at an average pace of seven or eight miles an hour, and met with no farther mishap before day-break. We were amused in the morning by the uncouth gambols of the buffaloes, who were taking their early bath in the shallow water at the sides of the Canal. Some of them seemed so accustomed to the passing of our rope, which often gives them an unpleasant rap over the horns, and sometimes completely upsets them, that they would duck under water at the approach of the horses, and rise again as soon as we had shot past. At mid-day we reached Atféh, a considerable village on the Nile, at the southern extremity of the Mahmoudieh Canal.
CHAPTER VI.
THE NILE STEAM-BOAT—A DECK DINNER—BOULAC—THE ESBEKIER—THE “GRAND EASTERN HOTEL”—MR. RAVEN’S OFFICE—THE TRANSIT-BUSINESS—LOADING OF THE CAMELS—DEPARTURE OF THE CARAVAN—THE DESERT—THE STATIONS—WATER.
The water in the Mahmoudieh Canal being at this season of the year very low, and the steep muddy banks extremely slippery, it was no easy matter to disembark all the heavy luggage belonging to our passengers. The Arabs, however, are excellent porters, and will carry enormous loads; so much so, that I was surprised at the apparent facility with which the shifting of so great a quantity of material was accomplished. One of Mr. Waghorn’s agents, who is located at Atféh, sends off a lot of camels to the landing place, which transport the heavier baggage to the river side, where it is immediately stored on board the Nile steamer. This agent, who is an intelligent Italian, must lead a weary life in Atféh, for of all places it has been my lot to visit, I never saw one so truly forbidding. It is a town of considerable trade, and the quays are covered with timber and bales of merchandize. Pigs by the thousand run about in all directions, whilst the path from the canal-boat to the steamer is through a perfect Slough of Despond. With the exception of the Pasha’s corn-store, there is but one decent-looking building in the place: this is, of course, the hotel, where, on extraordinary occasions they can make up three or four beds, though woe befall the unhappy wight who trusts himself to the tender mercies of its host. On the ground-floor is a sort of wine and spirit-store, where the traveller can be accommodated with all the various growths of the Levant, and this is perhaps the only redeeming quality in the character of the “Grand Hotel de France.”