Early on the morning of the third-day, we reached Atféh, and were so fortunate as to find one of our iron track-boats, going empty down the canal. Whilst shifting our luggage, a second boat-load of travellers arrived in our wake, and joined us. Ten miles from Atféh we came alongside of the pleasure-boat belonging to Mr. L. of Alexandria, who no sooner caught sight of us, than he insisted upon our landing at his farm, and joining him at dinner.
From the conversation maintained at table, I was led to opine that the term of my quarantine at Malta was likely to be passed in very agreeable company, as most of the party intended taking the next French steamer. Among other visitors stopping at Mr. L’s house, was an English gentleman who had spent some months in a ramble through the fertile plains bordering on the Nile. In the course of his wanderings he had fallen in with Mehemet Ali, who, waiving all ceremony, had sent a Janissary to invite him to a tete-a-tete dinner. Such an honour had perhaps never before been conferred upon a Frank, in an ex-official capacity, and was even now enhanced by the fact of the impromptu meal being served as much as possible in the European style, at a table on which a white cloth was spread, chairs being also placed for the Viceroy and his guest. Between each dish, and there were many, the old gentleman took a deep draught[17] of the sheshè which stood on the ground at his side, insisting that our friend should follow his example. Agriculture formed the chief subject of discourse, the Pasha appearing quite at home in various farming operations, for which his guest would not previously have given him credit. With our relations with China too, he was very conversant, blaming us strongly for teaching the Chinese how to go to war, and confidently declaring, that with their extraordinary talent for imitation, the rascals would, one day or another, be turning round upon, and robbing us of India. The repast concluded with coffee, and a pipe was handed to the Englishman, to his no small astonishment, such being a compliment paid only to those of the highest military rank.
Our party sat talking over Mr. L.’s excellent wines, until so late an hour, that it was nearly dusk ere we returned to our boat, and we reached the quay at Moharrem Bey, long after the gates of Alexandria had been closed for the night. We were thus compelled to sleep in the boat, although some of our party refused to submit to this proceeding, until they had made trial of an expedition to the city walls, from which they returned after an unsuccessful attempt at parley with the sentinels on guard, in a language of which neither party understood ten words.
FOOTNOTES:
[16] Coverlids of quilted cotton.
[17] The word ishrob, which is applied to the act of smoking, means in Arabic, to drink, a synonyme explained by the practice of swallowing or inhaling the smoke, peculiar to Orientals.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE “MINOS” AGAIN—CAFE FRANCAIS—THE ENFIELD STAGE—DEPARTURE FROM EGYPT—CHANGE OF BOATS AT SYRA—A GALE IN THE MEDITERRANEAN—MALTA—THE QUARANTINE HARBOUR—FORT MANUEL—INQUISITIVE GUARDIANO—TRAVELLERS’ COLLECTIONS—SANITARY REGULATIONS AND LOW DIET—THE PARLATORI—RESOURCES IN QUARANTINE—HAPPY RELEASE.
On inquiring of my friend Furner, at the office, I found that the “Minos” French steamer was to start on the 7th, and that I had only one clear day to make my final arrangements for quitting Egypt. The packing of my few boxes was speedily accomplished, and my passport, which had so long laid dormant, was now once more drawn forth, and sent to the Consulate for the necessary stamps and signatures. I spent a portion of my last evening in Alexandria at my old quarters in the English Okella, now occupied by Mr. Portenier and his wife, and so thoroughly repaired and decorated, that I should scarcely have recognised it for the same dwelling. The improvement had, however, been entirely confined to the interior of the house. The Okella and its dark-covered gallery were unchanged, and on the outer-door of Portenier’s house, I could still remark the red plague-seal, which, on my first arrival in Egypt, had often caused a shudder.
I could not resist the inclination, before the evening had quite closed in, to pay a final visit to some old and well-known spots, so I strolled through the Café Français, as yet almost untenanted, and down its dirty stone-staircase to the back of the Okella, close to the sea-shore. There, in its cobwebbed solitude, stood the old Enfield stage, umwhile the pride of Glover, who little thought, as he rumbled along to and from the Bank twice a-day, with his six insides, that his rickety old machine was ever destined to run from Enfield Wash to the Red Sea. Such had nevertheless been the intention of Mr. Waghorn in purchasing it, and sending it out to Egypt, though if it ever get there now, it must certainly be through the intervention of miracle.