Away to the right of the palace was the barren desolate site of Carthage; and still further to the right was the Arab town of Sidi bou Said, where my friend Ben Ayad has his favourite residence. Its white walls glittered in the sunshine, and its grand situation and imposing appearance almost led one to believe, in spite of all the experience I have acquired recently, that it must be a desirable place of residence. The centre of the picture on which I looked from the deck of the Sicilia was the harbour of Goletta, with the broad sheet of the Lake of Tunis behind it, and in the dim distance the towers and roofs of Tunis itself. To the left were the high and precipitous ranges of the Lead Mountains, and far away I could dimly discern the sharp peaks of the blue Zaghouan Hills. How deeply one felt now regret at not having been able to explore the beautiful country which lies everywhere around the city of Tunis. What noble vistas of smiling valleys, rocky gorges, and billowy uplands were everywhere visible! Yet all had been a closed book to me during my stay in the Regency. Some day, however, I may come again to see Tunis more thoroughly and under happier auspices. Close at hand, in the bay, there were many stately vessels, including the Ville de Naples. How gladly I would have exchanged my present position as sole cabin passenger on board the Sicilia for a berth on board the noble French steamer, even although I had been called upon to face another storm like that off Cape Bon!
At three o’clock we weighed anchor, and started with a fresh breeze in our favour. There was comparatively little sea, but the vessel pitched horribly, and with the “usual consequences,” so far as my fellow-passengers in the fore-cabin were concerned. Whilst I was down below arranging my luggage, I heard a terrific noise on deck, accompanied by yells of “Allah! Allah!” I thought that at least a Mussulman mutiny had broken out, and rushed up the companion way to see what was the matter. It was only a couple of Arabs settling accounts with the Mediterranean, and piously invoking Allah in concert between the throes of sickness! Dinner was served at half-past four, and as the sole first-class passenger I had for my companions at table only the ship’s officers. The meal was rather better than I had expected, though oil and garlic were as usual too plentiful in all the dishes. Wrapped in a warm camel’s-hair burnous, I lay on the deck enjoying the fresh breeze and the brilliant starlight, and smoking innumerable cigarettes, until at last I dropped off to sleep. Fortunately for my comfort, my suffering fellow-passengers had all gone below, so that I was free from the gruesome sights and sounds that had abounded so long as they had remained on deck. I awoke, shivering, at midnight. The old boat was still tumbling along like a porpoise over the bright waters. I went below, but found that the vile little hole allotted to me as a state-room smelt so horribly that it was absolutely impossible to sleep in it, so I lay down in the saloon, and was soon lulled into the profoundest slumber by the thumping of the screw.
CHAPTER XIII.
HOMEWARD BOUND.
Malta — The Union Club — A delightful change — The harbour by moonlight — A thrilling scene — The Elettrico — Etna — Messina — Between Scylla and Charybdis — Sunrise off Naples — Home again.
Friday, November 4th.—When day broke I found that there was another lovely morning—a genuine Mediterranean day, in fact. By six o’clock I was on deck, drinking in the pure air of the sea, doubly welcome after the stifling heat and stench below deck. Not a sail was in sight. Breakfast, which was served at nine o’clock, was rather trying. It consisted of a sort of stew of meat, raw herrings, fried eggs, and fruit. But the long low outline of Gozo was now in sight, and my spirits were rising. Passing vessels, too, became numerous, for we were in the track of the homeward-bound steamers from Malta; and then, the weather was simply perfect. The sea was quite calm, the sky without a cloud, the sun hot, the air balmy, the colour of the water blue as a sapphire. Even although one was thinking much about England, from which I had received no letters for several weeks, and longing to get home again, it was impossible not to contrast this delicious weather with that which was prevailing at the same moment within the limits of the United Kingdom. Nor, as the white cliffs of Malta came full in view, could one refrain from thinking of the last visit I paid to this “sunny isle,” less than twelve months ago, when I had as my companions two good fellows, neither of whom moves by sea or land any more, and one of whom now lies yonder in the naval cemetery above the harbour of Valetta. A year ago, how joyous we all were as we drew near the island, after ten days at sea! And how quick, in my own case, was the change from joy to the anguish of suspense, when as my first greeting from home I received the telegram which told me of a battle between life and death which was being fought out under my own roof in far-away England! It was almost with a superstitious dread of the news that might be awaiting me now, that I found our ship running past St. Paul’s Bay, and making straight for the narrow entrance to that harbour of Valetta which is surely the grandest of all the harbours in the world.
But all gloomy thoughts and forebodings were swept clean out of my mind as I looked up and saw waving above St. Elmo our glorious English flag. What a thrill of pride shoots through the heart of even the most pacific of Englishmen when after long travel by sea and land he comes upon this noble island, and sees it standing “compassed by the inviolate sea,” stern, self-possessed, ready if needs be, to face a whole world in arms against it! Past St. Elmo and St. Angelo, whose mighty guns frowned down upon our decks, we came swiftly into the great harbour, where a hundred noble ships of all nations were lying at anchor on one side, and the mighty ironclads of the English Navy on the other. The church bells were sending their shrill clang out upon the breeze—for when are the bells of Valetta ever silent? Innumerable small boats, gaily painted and emblazoned, according to the Maltese fashion, with strange and unlifelike representations of cats and lions, of dogs and camels, were swiftly darting across the harbour; and the houses that rose tier above tier from the water’s edge until they reached the giddy height of the Barecca, were brilliant with glass and colour, and made home-like by the huge signs in which English names and words appeared. How wonderful the contrast between this scene and that upon which I was gazing at the same hour yesterday! I seemed to have leaped at a single bound from the heart of the East into England; from the remote middle ages into the closing quarter of the nineteenth century.
The small craft swarmed round our steamer, and a score of Maltese boatmen appealed to me to give them my custom when I left the ship. But, first of all, certain formalities had to be gone through. The health officers, the naval officer on duty for the day, and the port authorities, boarded the vessel, and I found that each passenger was required in turn to explain his identity and business; for this was an Italian vessel arriving from an African port. I was awaiting my turn in this tedious examination when one of the officers passed near me. I asked him a question in English. “What!” he said, “are you an Englishman? Then you can go on shore at once, sir.” It was a strange contrast, this, to the treatment I had met with in Tunis, where, between the French on the one hand and the Arabs on the other, the Englishman is often treated very much as though he were a Pariah; and where the mere fact of your being a Christian is a source of danger and discomfort. I saw my Arab and Italian fellow-passengers looking at me with envious eyes as I descended the ladder. “Turn about is fair play, my fine fellows!” thought I to myself; and I started for the shore in the humour of a schoolboy just let loose for the holidays.
Nor did that feeling of buoyant animal spirits desert me during the whole of that day. Remember that I had been living in constant danger of attack, and amid much discomfort, for several weeks, and here I was suddenly transported into that which is to all intents and purposes an English town. Nay; it is in some respects more English than England itself; for here the mere fact of your being an Englishman suffices to secure for you the respect and deference of the native population. Every true-born Briton who lands in Malta is allowed, and even expected, to strut about as though he were lord of the manor. Is it in human nature for him not to feel something of a Jingo under such circumstances? I hastened off to the Post Office, and gave in my card. “You’ve been expected a long time, sir,” said the clerk, smiling; and he drew forth an enormous bundle of newspapers which had been slowly accumulating for weeks, and a smaller pile of letters, which, to my intense thankfulness, I found brought me nothing but good news. So now I was free to enjoy myself. First, there was the inevitable bath and change of linen at the Imperial Hotel. How wonderful it was to be treated with respect by landlord and waiters, instead of meeting with the slightly veiled insolence which had characterized the demeanour of the worthies of my hotel at Tunis. Then I walked to the Union Club, and found that my good friend Captain P——— had duly entered my name as an honorary member. I declare that it made me feel positively nervous to hear nothing but the sibilant whisper of the English language all around me. I had only been out of range of my native tongue for a few weeks; but I had been so completely cut off from English associations that it seemed as though months had elapsed since I last met with a company of my fellow-countrymen. Presently Captain P——— came in, finding me deep in a file of the Times. What followed I shall only hint at. During the hot, thirsty days in Tunis, when steaming coffee and detestable vermouth were the only drinks procurable, I had more than once given utterance to my longing for a bottle of English soda-water—slightly diluted. My craving was satisfied now. Then I went off to Truefitt’s—for Truefitt has an admirable branch establishment in the Strada Reale at Malta—and had my hair cut as deftly as though I had been in Bond Street. Finally, at dinner I found myself positively sitting next a lady, and an English one, who moreover hailed from Yorkshire, and talked to me accidentally about the qualities of the Leeds Mercury. It was all like a dream, out of which I expected every moment to awake and find myself—perhaps in Susa.