British patrols thread the ancient course of the Nile now dry, the Pelusiac and Tanaitic channels that found the sea east of the canal and explain the delta-like lagoons that still remain. The ruins of Pelusium and the ancient channel explain how Cleopatra, defeated on the high seas, escaped by water inland to Damietta, and how the Holy Family found the road to Egypt far easier than it is now. Across Lake Menzalah from Port Said lie the ruins of Tanais, the capital of the Pharaohs in the time of Moses. El Qantara, a British post, closes the road from Palestine to Egypt that has run since time was, and that has seen in our own time the legions of Napoleon march by the bridge over the arm of the marsh for Syria. ‘Partant pour la Syrie’ with a vengeance, many, poor souls, to die miserably.
And no doubt over the El Qantara rode also the savants in their high hats and veils, their long directoire coats and their striped pantaloons—like any member of the various royal societies of to-day, but with the chill off—while the escorting chasseurs chaffed them and their umbrellas.
So to-day Port Said and Suez and Ismailia and Cairo are full of the soldiery, and a wide camp is spread under the Pyramid of Ghizr, and young officers walk along the groyne at Port Said, asking ‘what is the history of that funny old green statue’ which stands a wonder of the world, like the Phare in ancient Alexandria. Shades of Ferdinand de Lesseps and Rawdon Chesney! What, indeed, is the history of that ‘funny old green statue,’ and the ‘spine of the British Empire’ as the Hun has immortalised it? It is a phrase for which we may thank William of Hohenzollern.
The mass of the force in Egypt transferred from Gallipoli, rage the ‘unterseebote’ never so fiercely, is resting and retraining. If you’ve been six months on Gallipoli you’ll run a mile to see a nursing sister, and both Atkins and his officers are soft of heart. Graceful Cairenes in French cut skirts of black crépe de chine with ever the topmost button undone, with black head-shawls of the same material, and evanescent veils that faintly cloud to distraction the face below the eyes, are strong wine for young soldiers. So attractive is the dress that the old hand will tell you that many another than Cairenes will don the dress when out for a spree—a disguise that also enhances attraction is a good find, mesdames!
Atkins himself and Hotspur the yeoman are nothing if not gallant. Here is a true story from Port Said. Time about 8 P.M. Attractive English lady hears two soldiers walking fast behind who come up one on either side.
First Soldier. Beg pardon, miss, do you speak English?
Attractive Lady. Yes.
Both Soldiers. Oh, you are English!
First Soldier. I think we saw you waving out of the window.
Attractive Lady. I think you are mistaking me for Mrs. Brown’s nursemaid!