I listened with proper decorum to the description, merely remarking that, “although I always understood Noah had been a very great man, I was not aware he had been so very tall.” On remounting our horses to ride down to the valley I asked Braham, who had assisted the keeper in making his description, with all the gravity of a judge—“Do you believe this story now—and what did Mr. Buckle say of it?” Braham, who did not at all relish such questions, answered with great emphasis—“Mr. Buckle, master—Mr. Buckle, he believed nothing, sir.” Two or three years previously, Mr. Buckle (the eminent historian) had I think, along with his son, travelled over the same ground, attended by Braham as his dragoman. He took ill of fever near this spot, and died. He is buried at Damascus, where his grave may be seen. Braham, who frequently spoke of other eminent men he had attended, never willingly mentioned Mr. Buckle, perhaps because he may have stated his opinion of such legends rather freely for Braham (who, however, was far too intelligent to believe them himself), or perhaps because this traveller had been so unfortunate as to die while under this careful dragoman’s guidance. Dragomans generally seem to maintain the current belief in all legends and “places,” however incredible.
After passing several villages and Zacleh, a small town, we reached Shtora Inn, where we next day resumed our journey by diligence, and soon began to ascend the Lebanon range westward. From our road we observed from time to time donkeys, camels, and horses toiling along the old path, deep in the mountain gorges, loaded with goods. The French Company have an excellent service of goods waggons on their road, but the rate is high, and so the old mode of transport still continues as a competing route.
Near the highest point of our journey the sky became black, and thunder peals followed, but it cleared off in the course of two hours, and the prospect opened up as we proceeded south-westward towards Beyrout. The mountains became more and more verdant as we descended; we soon obtained a glimpse of the blue Mediterranean; and the rain having ceased, the view became grand. Altogether the Lebanon range is both populous and fertile. Snugly embosomed amongst the lower shoulders of the mountain were numerous cultivated patches with fruit trees, and even a few palms, but the mulberry was the chief. There are several of what are called Silk Factories. These, we were told, were recently introduced by a Scotchman, and seem to have prospered as well as any manufacturing project may under Turkish rule. The silkworms are kept in large wooden sheds, where they are fed on the leaves of the mulberry trees, and not—as many suppose—upon the growing trees. This explains the stunted appearance of so many trees in Italy and other silk-producing countries, the top branches being annually lopped off for the factories.
Beyrout is situated on a gently rising ground, with a good many trees, and is surrounded by plains—especially southward. These plains are of red and yellow sands, giving a rich appearance to the scene when the afternoon sun shines upon it. Here we settled once more in the Grand Oriental, kept by a tall Greek, a large and only tolerably comfortable hotel, highly recommended by our dragoman. We here settled up our accounts in a formal and business style, for Braham was a correct man in all his ways; and so we parted in a friendly manner, and to our mutual satisfaction, I trust, for Braham added our “certificates” to his already ample store of them.[12]
Finding no letters here, as I had expected to do, I telegraphed home—an operation which was by no means very easy. It occupied me and my guide—a Turkish official—and a clerk who spoke French—for more than an hour. I was asked to print it over again in Roman characters. The charge for twenty-six words was 32s. It reached Scotland a sad jumble, having been translated and transmitted oftener than once, I think. Fortunately, however, its meaning was guessed at. This guide I had found standing like a sentry at the foot of the hotel stairs. He was a tall, reverend-looking, elderly man, dressed in a long robe, like the pictures we see of the Pharisees of Jerusalem, and so dignified in appearance, and so very grave and ceremonious, that I hesitated to walk behind him, as he marched right before me with his turban and his staff through long streets of the city. He might have sat for a picture of Mordecai, I think, but with face more sanctimonious no doubt. Next morning, purposing to have a real Turkish bath, I walked out in search of it; but here again was my old patriarchal-looking guide unbidden marching before me. The bath was a very large building, well furnished, and I submitted myself to a pair of Arabs, who entered upon their duties with the energy and zest of schoolboys. They talked and laughed loudly as usual during the whole operation; but the only word I understood was “bakshish.” However, this bath, which occupied two hours, was, when finished, extremely refreshing.
I ascertained, on settling my hotel bill, that my dignified guide did not, after all, belong to the hotel, but elected himself as such to all strangers going into the city, so long as they permitted him, but always demanded bakshish when “discharged,” at a rate more commensurate with his dignity than his usefulness. On all other subjects he was a silent man and a deaf one, unless it suited him to hear.
We visited the principal educational establishments in the city, and found them in a state of great completeness in every respect. On Sunday we attended worship in the Scotch Chapel—a neat building, similar to that at Alexandria. The service was much the same as at home. The congregation seemed chiefly English, and there was no separation of the sexes, by curtain or otherwise, as at Alexandria. We felt it to be a privilege to worship in a Christian church after so long an interval.
We were detained in Beyrout[13] a few days by the equinoctial gales, which kept back the steamers. We had wished to return home by Constantinople and the Danube, but rumours of quarantine—and especially our anxiety to reach home early—decided our course to be viâ Marseilles. The embarkation on board the French steamer from Constantinople was one of some danger. The gale from the west raised so much surf on the beach that considerable dexterity was required in leaping or stepping from a small rock into the boats just at the proper moment; but the ladies of our party accomplished the feat very neatly, and we all got on board dry. In the evening we sailed from the bay southward, bidding adieu to Syria. There were very few cabin passengers on board; the state rooms and cabin, however, were half filled with tobacco, in large bales, the odour of which we had the privilege of inhaling free. Fortunately it was the Latakia—a Turkish tobacco of very mild quality.
Next day we anchored off Jaffa for unloading and loading cargo; and as the wind became very high, we witnessed one of the most exciting scenes I have ever seen as a mere onlooker. There are numerous boatmen, who do all this transport business each for himself and his own boat. The cargo for landing was delivered over the lee side of the steamer with comparative ease, but the cargo for loading was all taken in only from the windward side; and although not over thirty boats’ load in all, the day was spent and the sun was getting low without half completing the business. Many boats had to return with their cargo more or less damaged—some were upset, some adrift, and others driven on the beach far southward. Oranges in boxes, and many thousands loose, were floating all around, with half-sunk boats and young Arabs, some half submerged, some afloat, but all struggling and screaming as for very life. The scene exhibited the extraordinary activity of the Arabs, and for some hours the noise of their quarrels arose above the roar of the winds. There was an utter absence of any guiding spirit to direct, and so it was a scramble and fight not only against time, but against winds and waves, and each other. I must say that I thought a very little aid from our deck might have prevented this damage and waste of time, but the mate of the steamer made no effort to mitigate the confusion—perhaps, however, he knew it to be impossible; and certainly no human voice could be heard amid the general uproar.
The deck, except the poop, was covered with Moslem pilgrims, chiefly from Constantinople, en route for Mecca viâ the Red Sea. They were generally elderly people, but many families, and even children, were amongst them. They appeared to be Turks of the common people, but several wore rich clothing and were well provided with excellent cushions. The females were veiled only partially. Of course their deck fares were very cheap, but they may have preferred not to go below, as many of them were evidently not good sailors. They ate their meals—which seemed to be of the simplest fare—and performed their devotions very regularly, rarely moving about, and sitting just where they slept. They always seemed to know—even in the open sea—the direction of Mecca, towards which they prayed.