A special train was made ready for Thursday, December 6th; and, at ten a.m., after taking leave of their Highnesses, who courteously wished me good luck and God-speed, the Expedition found itself under weigh. We were accompanied to the station by many kind friends: my excellent kinsman Lord Francis, and Lady F. Conyngham, Yacoub Artin Bey, General Stone, and MM. George, Garwood, Girard, and Guillemine.
The change from the damp air of Cairo to the drought of the Desert was magical: light ailments and heavy cares seemed to fall off like rags and tatters. We halted at Zagázig, remarking that this young focus of railway traffic has become the eastern key of Lower Egypt, as Benhá is to the western delta; and prophesying that some day, not far distant, will see the glories of Bubastis revived. Here we picked up my old friend Haji Wali, whom age—he declares that he was born in the month Mízán of 1797—had made only a little fatter and greedier. We gave a wide berth to the future Alexandria, Ismailíyyah, whose splendid climate has been temporarily spoilt by the sweet-water canal of the same name. The soil became literally sopped; and hence the intermittent fevers which have lately assailed it. A similar disregard for drainage has ingeniously managed to convert into pest-houses Simla and other Himalayan sanitaria.
The day ended with running the train into the Suez Docks, so as to embark all our impediments on the next morning; and I fondly expected Saturday to see us sail. But the weather-wise had been true in their forecasts. Friday opened with howling, screaming gusts of southerly wind; and, during the night we were treated to a fierce display of storm,—thunder and lightning, and rain. The gale caused one collision on the Canal, and twenty-five steamers were delayed near the Bitter Lake; it broke down the railway and sanded it up for miles, and it levelled fifty English and forty Egyptian telegraph-posts—an ungentle hint to prefer the telephone. Saturday, the beginning of winter, opened with a cold raw souther and a surging sea, which washed over the Dock-piers; in such weather it was impossible to embark ten mules without horse-boxes. On Sunday the waves ran high, but the gale fell about sunset to a dead calm; as usual in the Gulf, the breakers and white horses at once disappeared; and the slaty surface, fringed with dirty yellow, immediately reassumed its robes of purple and turquoise blue. The ill wind, however, had blown us some good by deluging with long-hoped-for rain the now barren mountains of Midian.
This "Fortuna," according to the people, sets in with the fourth Coptic month, Kayhak,[15] which begins the first Arba'ín ("Forty-day period"); and the fourth day is known as the Imtizáj el-Faslayn, or "Mixture of the two Seasons"—autumn and winter. The storm is expected to blow three days from the Azyab (south-east) or from the Shirs (south-west). The qualities of the several winds are described in the following distich:—
"Mirísi Shaytán, wa Gharbi Wazírhu;
Tiyáb Sultán, wa Sharki Nazírhu."
"The south-wester's a Satan, and the wester's his minister;
The norther's a Sultan, and the easter's his man."
On the other hand, fair weather was predicted after the first quarter of the moon (December 12th), according to the saying of the Arab sailor:—
"When the moon sleeps, the seaman may sleep;
When the moon stands, the seaman must stand."
The "sleeping" moon—náim or rákid, also called Yemáni—is that of the first quarter, which we mark concave to the left; the "standing" moon is that of the last.
Our stay at Suez was saddened by the sudden death of Marius Isnard, who had acted cook to the first Khedivial Expedition. The poor lad, aged only eighteen, had met us at the Suez station, delighted with the prospect of another journey; he had neglected his health; and, after a suppression of two days, which he madly concealed, gangrene set in, and he died a painful death at the hospital during the night preceding our departure.
On December 10th we ran down from Suez Quay in the Bird of the Sea (Tayr el-Bahr), the harbour mouche, or little steam-launch, accompanied by the Governor, Sa'íd Bey, who has not yet been made a Pasha; by Mr. Consul West; by the genial Ra'íf Bey, Wakíl el-Komandaníyyah or acting commodore of the station; by Mr. Willoughby Faulkner, my host at Suez; by the Messieurs Levick, and by other friends. In the highest spirits we boarded our "gun-carriage," the aviso Mukhbir (Captain Mohammed Siráj); and, after many mutual good wishes, we left the New Docks at 6.10 p.m.