Part 1

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THE SHIP-DWELLERS

A Story of a Happy Cruise

by

ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE

Author of "From Van-Dweller to Commuter" "The Tent-Dwellers" Etc.

With Illustrations from Drawings by Thomas Fogarty and from Photographs

Harper & Brothers Publishers New York and London MCMX

* * * * *

BOOKS BY ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE

THE SHIP-DWELLERS. Illustrated. 8vo _net_ $1.50 THE TENT-DWELLERS. Illustrated. Post 8vo 1.50 THE HOLLOW TREE AND DEEP WOODS BOOK. Illustrated. Post 8vo 1.50 FROM VAN-DWELLER TO COMMUTER. Ill'd. Post 8vo 1.50 LIFE OF THOMAS NAST. Ill'd. 8vo _net_ 5.00

HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, N. Y.

* * * * *

Copyright, 1910, by HARPER & BROTHERS

TO MARK TWAIN HERO OF MY CHILDHOOD INSPIRATION OF MY YOUTH FRIEND OF THESE LATER YEARS

CONTENTS

CHAP. PAGE I THE BOOK, AND THE DREAM 1 II IN THE TRACK OF THE INNOCENTS 9 III DAYS AT SEA 16 IV WE BECOME HISTORY 23 V INTRODUCING THE REPROBATES 26 VI A LAND OF HEART'S DESIRE 29 VII A DAY TO OURSELVES 41 VIII OUT OF THE SUNRISE 46 IX EARLY MEDITERRANEAN EXPERIENCES 57 X THE DIVERTING STORY OF ALGIERS 62 XI WE ENTER THE ORIENT 68 XII WE TOUCH AT GENOA 86 XIII MALTA, A LAND OF YESTERDAY 95 XIV A SUNDAY AT SEA 113 XV A PORT OF MISSING DREAMS 118 XVI ATHENS THAT IS 139 XVII INTO THE DARDANELLES 146 XVIII A CITY OF ILLUSION 150 XIX THE TURK AND SOME OF HIS PHASES 158 XX ABDUL HAMID GOES TO PRAYER 172 XXI LOOKING DOWN ON YILDIZ 182 XXII EPHESUS: THE CITY THAT WAS 191 XXIII INTO SYRIA 208 XXIV THE HOUSE THAT CAIN BUILT 214 XXV GOING DOWN TO DAMASCUS 222 XXVI THE "PEARL OF THE EAST" 226 XXVII FOOTPRINTS OF PAUL 239 XXVIII DISCONTENTED PILGRIMS 247 XXIX DAMASCUS, THE GARDEN BEAUTIFUL 255 XXX WHERE PILGRIMS GATHER IN 263 XXXI THE HOLY CITY 274 XXXII THE HOLY SEPULCHRE 278 XXXIII TWO HOLY MOUNTAINS 288 XXXIV THE LITTLE TOWN OF THE MANGER 297 XXXV THE SORROW OF THE CHOSEN--THE WAY OF THE CROSS 301 XXXVI AT THE MOUTH OF THE NILE 309 XXXVII THE SMILE OF THE SPHINX 315 XXXVIII WAYS THAT ARE EGYPTIAN 322 XXXIX WHERE HISTORY BEGAN 328 XL KARNAK AND LUXOR 335 XLI THE STILL VALLEY OF THE KINGS 346 XLII THE HIGHWAY OF EGYPT 359 XLIII OTHER WAYS THAT ARE EGYPTIAN 370 XLIV SAKKARA AND THE SACRED BULLS 377 XLV A VISIT WITH RAMESES II 382 XLVI THE LONG WAY HOME 391

ILLUSTRATIONS

WE CHANGED OUR MINDS ABOUT BEING WILLING TO SAIL PAST _Frontispiece_ TO ME IT WAS ALL TRUE, ALL ROMANCE--ALL POETRY 3 SOMEBODY SENT ME A BASKET OF FRUIT 13 THEY ARE AN ATTRACTIVE LOT--THE REPROBATES 17 GAVE HIM THE "ICY MITT" 21 THEY COULD DIVE LIKE SEALS 33 TWO MEN TAKE YOU IN HAND, AND AWAY YOU GO 38 DID A SORT OF FANDAROLE 41 THEN IT DAWNED UPON THE DIPLOMAT 43 BUT NOW GIBRALTAR, THE CROUCHING LION OF TRAFALGAR, HAD RISEN FROM THE SEA 49 WE COULD HAVE LISTENED ALL NIGHT TO BENUNES 53 "THAT IS THE KASBA" 66 ONE DOES NOT HURRY THE ORIENT--ONE WAITS ON IT 68 MARVELLOUS BASKETS AND QUEER THINGS 72 WE DID NOT CARE MUCH FOR PARKS 74 ETERNALLY EAST WITH NO HINT OF THE OUTSIDE WORLD 76 TWO BENT, WRINKLED WOMEN WEAVING LACE OUTSIDE THE DOOR 109 WE LOOKED ACROSS THE ENTRANCE AND THERE ROSE THE ACROPOLIS, HIGH AGAINST THE BLUE 122 HE WOULD SWING HIS ARMS AND BEGIN, "YOU SEE--!" THE REST REQUIRED A MIND-READER 124 I WOULD HAVE APPLIED FOR THE POSITION IN THE CHORUS MYSELF 129 TOOK TURNS ADDRESSING THE MULTITUDE 131 ONE'S AGE, STATED ON OATH, GOES WITH A PASSPORT 148 KEYEFF 150 I WANTED TO CARRY AWAY ONE OF THOSE TOMBSTONES 189 ALL THE PLAINS AND SLOPES OF THE OLD CITY, WITH ITS WHITE FRAGMENTS AND POOR RUINED HARBOR, LAY AT OUR FEET 198 FROM THE TIME OF ADAM, BAALBEC BECAME A PLACE OF ALTARS 216 SO THE PATRIARCHS JOURNEYED; SO, TWO THOUSAND YEARS LATER, JOSEPH AND MARY TRAVELLED INTO EGYPT 225 URGING US TO PARTAKE OF THE PRECIOUS STUFF, WITHOUT STINT 243 ASKED HIM IF HE WOULDN'T EXECUTE A LITTLE COMMISSION FOR ME IN THE BAZAARS 249 THE PATRIARCH KNEW ALL ABOUT JAFFA 264 JERUSALEM--ITS BUBBLE-ROOFED HOUSES AND DOMES, ITS CYPRESS AND OLIVE TREES 294 A CAMEL TRAIN LED THE WAY THROUGH THE GATES 300 THE DEPTH OF THEIR FALL 302 THE WAY OF THE CROSS 304 THE TRUE GOLGOTHA--THE PLACE OF THE SKULL 306 A VAST INDIFFERENCE TO ALL PUNY THINGS 318 SANCTUARY IN KARNAK 332 GADDIS 332 I MADE A PICTURE OF THE FLY-BRUSH BRIGADE 338 ITS MAGNIFICENT PYLONS OR ENTRANCE WALLS ... AND THEN ONCE MORE WE WERE ON THE DONKEYS 340 THE TEMPLE OF LUXOR ... ONCE MORE REFLECTING ITS COLUMNS IN THE NILE 342 THINK OF WATERING A WHOLE WHEAT-FIELD WITH A WELL-SWEEP AND A PAIL 360 GOT IT MADE CHEAP SOMEWHERE, WITH HER PICTURE CARVED ON THE FRONT OF IT 386 SET OUT ON THE LONG, STEADY, ATLANTIC SWING 392

THE SHIP-DWELLERS

"The grand object of all travel is to see the shores of the Mediterranean."

--DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON.

I

THE BOOK, AND THE DREAM

It was a long time ago--far back in another century--that my father brought home from the village, one evening, a brand-new book. There were not so many books in those days, and this was a fine big one, with black and gilt covers, and such a lot of pictures!

I was at an age to claim things. I said the book was _my_ book, and, later, petitioned my father to establish that claim. (I remember we were climbing through the bars at the time, having driven the cows to the further pasture.)

My father was kindly disposed, but conservative; that was his habit. He said that I might look at the book--that I might even read it, some day, when I was old enough, and I think he added that privately I might call it mine--a privilege which provided as well for any claim I might have on the moon.

I don't think these permissions altogether satisfied me. I was already in the second reader, and the lust of individual ownership was upon me. Besides, this was a _New Pilgrim's Progress_. We had respect in our house for the old _Pilgrim's Progress_, and I had been encouraged to search its pages. I had read it, or read at it, for a good while, and my claim of ownership in that direction had never been disputed. Now, here was a brand-new one, and the pictures in it looked most attractive. I was especially enamoured of the frontispiece, "The Pilgrim's Vision," showing the "Innocents" on their way "abroad," standing on the deck of the _Quaker City_ and gazing at Bible pictures in the sky.

I do not remember how the question of ownership settled itself. I do remember how the book that winter became the nucleus of our family circle, and how night after night my mother read aloud from it while the rest of us listened, and often the others laughed.

I did not laugh--not then. In the first place, I would not, in those days, laugh at any _Pilgrim's Progress_, especially at a new one, and then I had not arrived at the point of sophistication where a joke, a literary joke, registers. To me it was all true, all romance--all poetry--the story of those happy voyagers who sailed in a ship of dreams to lands beyond the sunrise, where men with turbans, long flowing garments and Bible whiskers rode on camels; where ruined columns rose in a desert that was once a city; where the Sphinx and the Pyramids looked out over the sands that had drifted about them long and long before the Wise Men of the East had seen the Star rise over Bethlehem.

In the big, bleak farm-house on the wide, bleak Illinois prairie I looked into the open fire and dreamed. Some day, somehow, I would see those distant lands. I would sail away on that ship with "Dan" and "Jack" and "The Doctor" to the Far East; I would visit Damascus and Jerusalem, and pitch my camp on the borders of the Nile. Very likely I should decide to remain there and live happy ever after.

How the dreams of youth stretch down the years, and fade, and change! Only this one did not fade, and I thought it did not change. I learned to laugh with the others, by-and-by, but the romance and the poetry of the pilgrimage did not grow dim. The argonauts of the _Quaker City_ sailed always in a halo of romance to harbors of the forgotten days. As often as I picked up the book the dream was fresh and new, though realization seemed ever further and still further ahead.

Then all at once, there, just within reach, it lay. There was no reason why, in some measure at least, I should not follow the track of those old first "Innocents Abroad." Of course, I was dreaming again--only, this time, perhaps, I could make the dream come true.

I began to read advertisements. I found that a good many ship-loads of "Pilgrims" had followed that first little band to the Orient--that the first "ocean picnic" steamer, which set sail in June forty-two years before, had started a fashion in sea excursioning which had changed only in details. Ocean picnics to the Mediterranean were made in winter now, and the vessels used for them were fully eight times as big as the old _Quaker City_, which had been a side-wheel steamer, and grand, no doubt, for her period, with a register proudly advertised at eighteen hundred tons! Itineraries, too, varied more or less, but Greece, Egypt, and the Holy Land were still names to conjure with. Advertisements of cruises were plentiful, and literature on the subject was luminous and exciting. A small table by my bed became gorgeous with prospectuses in blue and gold and crimson sunset dyes. The Sphinx, the Pyramids, and prows of stately vessels looked out from many covers and became backgrounds for lofty, dark-blue camels and dusky men of fantastic dress. Often I woke in the night and lit my lamp and consulted these things. When I went to the city I made the lives of various agents miserable with my inquiries. It was hard--it was nerve-racking to decide. But on one of these occasions I overheard the casual remark that the S. S. _Grosser Kurfuerst_ would set out on her cruise to the Orient with two tons of dressed chicken and four thousand bottles of champagne.

I hesitated no longer. Dear me, my dream had changed, then, after all! Such things had not in the least concerned the boy who had looked into the open fire, and pictured a pilgrimage to Damascus and Jerusalem, and a camp on the borders of the Nile.

My remembrance of the next few days is hazy--that is, it is kaleidoscopic. I recall doing a good many things in a hurry and receiving a good deal of advice. Also the impression that everybody in the world except myself had been everywhere in the world, and that presently they were all going again, and that I should find them, no doubt, strewn all the way from Gibraltar to Jerusalem, when I had been persuading myself that in the places I had intended to visit I should meet only the fantastic stranger. Suddenly it was two days before sailing. Then it was the day before sailing. Then it was sailing day!

Perhaps it was the hurry and stress of those last days; perhaps it is the feeling natural to such a proximity. I do not know. But I do know that during those final flying hours, when I was looking across the very threshold of realization, the old fascination faded, and if somebody had only suggested a good reason for my staying at home, I would have stayed there, and I would have given that person something valuable, besides. But nobody did it. Not a soul was thoughtful enough to hint that I was either needed or desired in my native land, and I was too modest to mention it myself.

There had been rain, but it was bright enough that February morning of departure--just a bit squally along the west. What a gay crowd there was at the pier and on the vessel! I thought all of New York must be going. That was a mistake--they were mostly visitors, as I discovered later. It would average three visitors to one passenger, I should think. I had more than that--twice as many. I am not boasting--they came mainly to be sure that I got aboard and stayed there, and to see that I didn't lose most of my things. They knew me and what I would be likely to do, alone. They wanted to steer me to the right state-room and distribute my traps. Then they could put me in charge of Providence and the deck-steward, and wash their hands of me, and feel that whatever happened they had done their duty and were not to blame.

So I had six, as I say, and we worked our way through, among the passengers and visitors, who seemed all to be talking and laughing at once or pawing over mail and packages heaped upon the cabin table. I didn't feel like laughing and talking, and I wasn't interested in the mail. Almost everybody in the world that meant anything to me was in my crowd, and they were going away, presently, to leave me on this big ship, among strangers, bound for the strange lands. My long dream of the Orient dwindled to a decrepit thing.

But presently we found my state-room, and it was gratifying. I was impressed with its regal furnishings. After all, there were compensations in a habitation like that. Besides, there were always the two tons of dressed chicken and those thousands of champagne. I became more cheerful.

Only, I wish the ship people wouldn't find it necessary to blow their whistle so loud and suddenly to send one's friends ashore. There is no chance to carry off somebody--somebody you would enjoy having along. They blow that thing until it shivers the very marrow of one's soul.

How the visitors do crowd ashore! A word--a last kiss--a "God bless you"--your own are gone presently--you are left merely standing there, abandoned, marooned, deserted--feeling somehow that it's all wrong, and that something ought to be done about it. Why don't those people hurry? You want to get away now; you want it over with.

A familiar figure fights its way up the gang-plank, breasting the shoreward tide. Your pulse jumps--they are going to take you home, after all. But no, he only comes to tell you that _your_ six will be at a certain place near the end of the dock, where you can see them, and wave to them.

You push to the ship's side for a place at the rail. The last visitors are straggling off now, even to the final official. Then somewhere somebody does something that slackens the cables, the remaining gang-plank is dragged away. That whistle again, and then a band--our band--turns loose a perfect storm of music.

We are going! We are going! We have dropped away from the pier and are gliding past the rows of upturned faces, the lines of frantic handkerchiefs. Yes, oh yes, we are going--there is no turning back now, no changing of one's mind again. All the cares of work, the claims of home--they cannot reach us any more. Those waiting at the pier's end to wave as we pass--whatever life holds for me is centred there, and I am leaving it all behind. There they are, now! Wave! Wave! Oh, I did not know it would be like this! I did not suppose that I might--need another handkerchief!

The smoke of a tug drifts between-- I have lost them. No, there they are again, still waving. That white spot--that is a little furry coat--such a little furry coat and getting so far off, and so blurry. My glass--if I can only get hold of myself enough to see through it. Yes, there they are! Oh, those wretched boats to drift in and shut that baby figure away! Now they are gone, but I cannot find her again. The smoke, the mist, and a sudden drift of snow have swept between. I have lost the direction-- I don't know where to look any more. It is all over--we are off--we are going out to sea!

II

IN THE TRACK OF THE INNOCENTS

We are through luncheon; we have left Sandy Hook, and the shores have dropped behind the western horizon. It was a noble luncheon we sat down to as we crossed the lower bay. One stopped at the serving-table to admire an exhibition like that. Banked up in splendid pyramids as for a World's Fair display, garnished and embroidered and fringed with every inviting trick of decoration, it was a spectacle to take one's breath and make him resolve to consume it all. One felt that he could recover a good deal on a luncheon like that, but I think the most of us recovered too much. I am sure, now, that I did--a good deal too much--and that my selections were not the best--not for the beginning of a strange, new life at sea.

Then there was Laura--Laura, age fourteen, whose place at the table is next to mine, and a rather sturdy young person; I think she also considered the bill of fare too casually. She ventured the information that this was her second voyage, that the first had been a short trip on a smaller vessel, and that she had been seasick. She did not intend to be seasick on a fine, big steamer like this, and I could tell by the liberality with which she stowed away the satisfying German provender that she had enjoyed an early and light breakfast, followed by brisk exercise in getting to the ship. The tables were gay with flowers; the company looked happy, handsome, and well-dressed; the music was inspiring. Friends left behind seemed suddenly very far away. We had become a little world all to ourselves--most of us strangers to one another, but thrown in a narrow compass here and likely to remain associates for weeks, even months. What a big, jolly picnic it was, after all!

Outside it was bleak and squally, but no matter. The air was fine and salt and invigorating. The old _Quaker City_ had been held by storm at anchor in the lower bay. We were already down the Narrows and heading straight for the open sea. Land presently lost its detail and became a dark outline. That, too, sank lower and became grayer and fell back into the mist.

I remembered that certain travellers had displayed strong emotions on seeing their native land disappear. I had none--none of any consequence. I had symptoms, though, and I recognized them. Like Laura, aged fourteen, I had taken a shorter voyage on a poorer ship, and I had decided that this would be different. I had engaged a steamer-chair, and soon after luncheon I thought I would take a cigar and a book on Italy and come out here and sit in it--in the chair, of course--and smoke and think and look out to sea. But when I got to the door of my state-room and felt the great vessel take a slow, curious side-step and caught a faint whiff of linoleum and varnish from the newly renovated cabin, I decided to forego the cigar and guide-book and take a volume on mind cure instead.

It seems a good ship, though, and I feel that we shall all learn to be proud of her, in time. In a little prospectus pamphlet I have here I find some of her measurements and capacities, and I have been comparing them with those of the _Quaker City_, the first steamer to set out on this Oriental cruise. If she were travelling along beside us to-day I suppose she would look like a private yacht. She must have had trouble with a sea like this. She was little more than two hundred feet long, I believe, and, as already mentioned, her tonnage was registered at eighteen hundred. The figures set down in the prospectus for this vessel are a good deal bigger than those, but they are still too modest. The figures quote her as being a trifle less than six hundred feet long, but I can see in both directions from where I sit, and I am satisfied that it would take me hours to get either to her bow or stern. I don't believe I could do it in that time. I am convinced that it is at least half a mile to my state-room.