Subjected to the Beyrout quarantine

“Then shall we be subjected to the Beyrout quarantine, on arriving at Alexandria?”

“ Shouldn’t wonder at all, sir—unless they let the days of tho voyage count.”

I now saw that we wore trapped; and this did not tend to enliven the voyage that evening.

Our only other second cabin companion was a French priest — a thin grirn-looking fellow of five or six-and-twenty, so spare in form that he looked as if he had been allowed to grow up between two boards. He was constantly absorbed in a little dirty volume on Theology, moving his lips and muttering as he read. He was also affectedly humble — insisting upon pouring out wine for us at dinner, and abstaining from it himself, -with an unpleasant smile. In addition to this, he was remarkably grimy to look upon private guide turkey; and never undressed during the voyage. But he had groat faith. I could not bring him to understand that we wore to be put into quarantine at Alexandria; he said, it was impossible. I put the case as practically before him as I could, but he only smiled grimly, and said I should see. I brought the captain down at last, as it became a matter of personal principle that he should be convinced; but even this was unsuccessful. He said we were all wrong; and then returned to his thumbed volume.

She left the Archipelago

The next day, the 29th, there was a pretty stiff wind, and the boat began to toss, as she left the Archipelago. We passed many islands; all desolate-looking light reddish-brown rocks, impressing one with notions of great dreariness. It rained towards afternoon, and, at the first spit, all the Turks bundled up their carpets, crept under their long awning, and never appeared again for the rest of the journey. One or two of the Frank deck passengers made friends with the lieutenant, and came down into our cabin. These were an Italian physician, driven from Yerona by troubles, and going to practice in Alexandria; a young Hollander, travelling for an Amsterdam house of commerce; M. Abro, the Pasha’s dragoman, a very intelligent and communicative person, wearing the full Turkish costume; and the Count Stefano de, a young Ionian, speaking a little English, and first astonishing us by whistling “Patrick’s Hay” and “The girl I left behind me,” as he walked up and down the deck that morning. He had, however, learnt these tunes from the bands of our regiments at Corfu. He was very musical, with a beautiful tenor voice, and proved, both on board and in our subsequent quarantine, a capital fellow.

He had known Mademoiselle Angri, the contralto last year at our Royal Italian Opera, and told me many curious anecdotes connected with her early career—her father having been, as I understood, mess- man at Corfu, and keeper of the billiard tables. He said her popularity had been unbounded in the islands; and the greatest anxiety was evinced to know how she succeeded in London, when she had left them. lie added, they were all perfectly convinced that she was the greatest contralto in the world ; but then he had not heard Alboni, nor, indeed, had the report of her Venetian triumphs come down the Adriatic.

I have said that the engineer was an Englishman, as, indeed, the majority are, in the Levant boats. He had been on the stations between Cairo and Constantinople a long time ; and now knew no other world. One night, I was asking him about the capabilities of the transit boats on the Mahmoudieh Canal and the Nile, when he told me this anecdote, which I have put down as well as I can recollect, in his own words.

“ Lor’ bless you, sir,” he began—“the power of the boat hasn’t much to do with it! When Manned Ali started his boat on the Nile, Abbas I’acha started one as well, and tried to beat him ; and did it too, though this was not nigh such a good boat. When Manned Ali’s boat was on ahead, Abbas Pacha used to come down and say, ‘ Mr. Horton,’ he used to say, ‘ we must lick my uncle’s boat;’ (leastwise he did not say lick, but lie meant it in his tongue, as I might say), and then he used to go on and say, ‘ Mr. Horton,’he’d sar, ‘we’ll have a bottle of champagne together,’ says he. Now, they say the Mustapluis don’t drink, but, Lord bless us, I’ve had Abbas so overcome, as the saying is, down in the cabin, that we’ve often shut the doors to keep it a secret. Well, he’d send down the champagne, and then Abbas’ boat would creep up to Marmed’s, and then he’d send down another bottle, and then we’d get alongside ; and then another, and we’d go right ahead. I don’t mean to say that we used to put the champagne in the boiler; but, you may depend upon it, that it did more than the coals, and so it will, any day.”