CHAPTER XVIII--SYRIA, THE LAND OF THE SUN.--DRAGOMEN, GUIDES, AND COURIERS.

_A Rough Night on Shipboard--A Sea-sick Turk--What he said--Rum and Petroleum--Meditations on Turkish Hash--The Camel, his tricks and uses--A Knowing Brute--How he shirks a burden--George Smith, the Assyrian Savan--Beyrout--Its Antiquities and Wonders--Going on Shore--The Dragoman and his office--Eastern Guides and their Character--Travelling on Horseback in Syria--The road to Damascus--An unexpected trouble--Paying fare by Weight--Disadvantages of a heavy “party”--A trial of Wits--Waking up the Judge--Telling White Lies--The “Doubter’s” Predicament._

IT grew rough in the night, after we left Rhodes, and the _Tibre_ tossed about in a very lively way.

There was a Turk in the state room on one side of me, and an Armenian woman in the room on the other side.

The Turk rolled about very uneasily; the springs of his bed were rather noisy, and I could hear them creak every time he turned over. I venture to say that he turned in his bed not far from 243,654 times in the night; not that I counted them, but only guessed. Every time the ship gave a lurch he shouted “Allah!” and between times he cleared his stomach or his conscience of everything that had rested there in the last ten years.

As for the Arménienne, she took out her share in groaning, and she did that so well as to entitle her to the first place at an Irish wake. Had she asked me for a diploma, I could have given her one that would have made her fortune, but she didn’t put in an appearance till she came out to leave the ship at Alexan{253}dretta. She wanted to say her prayers, but was too weak to do so, though she shouted “Constantine” as often as the Turk said “Allah.” As for the Turk, he stuck to his employment with most commendable zeal. Between the two, I didn’t get much sleep during the night, and was glad when morning came and the steamer anchored at Mersina.

It was too rough to go on shore with comfort, and there was nothing to see after getting there, as the place is small and has no special distinguishing features.

Next morning we were at Alexandretta, the port of Aleppo; and there we went on shore.

Almost the first object that caught my eye, as I stepped on shore, was a barrel of New England rum, with the name of the Boston manufacturer carefully stencilled on its head. In nearly every part of the world where I have been, I have found that the enterprise of Massachusetts has sent its rum, a harbinger of civilization, that must puzzle the heathen in their efforts to understand the principles of Christianity. A barrel of petroleum was just beyond it, another bearer of light from the New World to the nations wrapped in darkness.

Our poetic fancies, on the juxtaposition of these gifts of America to the old world, were cut short by our entrance to the bazaars, a series of low sheds with a street between them, little more than a couple of yards wide. Merchants were squatted in their shops, with their goods piled all round them; shop, goods, and merchant, all included, rarely occupied a space more than eight feet square.

The official known in American stores as a floor-walker would be entirely superfluous here; he might as well try to walk in the cage of a canary bird as in an Oriental shop.

The customer stands in the street, or sits on the low bench that forms the front of the shop; a party as large as ours--half-a-dozen--blocked the street and made it inconvenient for others to get around or for ourselves to see anything. Then there were camels, dogs, and donkeys moving about, and you had to look sharp to prevent being run over.

There was a restaurant a little larger than the rest of the shops, but still very small; and there was a butcher’s shop, where {254}a couple of men, with large knives, were making mutton-hash for native consumption. The hash was rolled around on a large block, and cut with knives at every turn, and frequently the knife came so near the fingers of the operator as to endanger them. With ordinary carelessness, there ought to be about two per cent, of fingers in a lot of hash after its preparation is complete.

Outside the town we visited a group of camels.

These patient beasts have a dingy hide, with thin hair, and their appearance is so ungainly that I should think they would be ashamed of themselves. I would give something to know what is a camel’s idea of beauty; it must be something quite out of the ordinary run. A little distance away, they resemble large turkeys, and, with heads stretched out when they trot, you would take them for the aforesaid turkeys hunting after grasshoppers. A lot of the beasts were being loaded for the interior, and I was interested in watching the operation.

The camel is made to kneel, and then a quantity of old blankets is spread on his hump, on which to place the saddle. This is formed of a few sticks joined together, much like the ordinary mule saddle, only somewhat larger. The freight to be carried is fastened to this saddle by means of ropes, and the Arabs have a very keen eye for balancing the boxes and barrels that make up a camel’s load. My pity was roused for a camel that made half-a-dozen ineffectual efforts to rise after he was loaded, and was only brought to his feet by the assistance of one man pounding him and three others lifting at the load. But a gentleman of our party was familiar with the camel, and said: {255} “The chances are two to one that the distress of the beast is a sham. They are up to all that sort of trick when being loaded, as they sometimes secure a diminution of their cargoes by playing it sharp. I have seen an old camel sold by putting a lot of empty boxes on him. They weighed very little, and yet he tried half-a-dozen times to rise, and couldn’t, until he was cudgeled. The whining and groaning of the camel is a good deal of a fraud. You have seen western pack-mules in America do the same thing.”

Sagacious beast the camel!

If the Hindostanee doctrine of metempsychosis is correct, I wonder what sort of spirits enter the bodies, of the ship of the desert?

We saw the camel-train move out on the road to Aleppo, ninety miles distant, and we walked a mile or so upon the road. Two passengers who were bound for Nineveh and Bagdad, on the Euphrates, left us here, and we saw them off on their journey. One of them was Mr. George Smith, who was making researches at Nineveh for the British Museum and the London Daily Telegraph conjointly.

He expected to be twenty-five days making the journey to Nineveh, and said it was possible that bad weather might make his route somewhat longer. He made some valuable discoveries in his first explorations there, and hoped to make many more. I am sure all the passengers of the _Tibre_ wished him every possible success.

While I am writing these pages, his book on his explorations has been published in London, and is receiving the praises of the scientific world.

Camels and palm trees, ancient ruins, stray dogs, Arabs, water-pots, and other things, gave the road to Aleppo an Oriental appearance, and the temptation to push forward to the great desert and away to the eastward was by no means a light one. But this was not to be undertaken; we returned to the steamer, and were borne away towards Beyrout, where, three days later, after stopping at two unimportant points, we landed and set our faces toward Damascus. {256}Bcyrout presents a pretty appearance from the water. The land on either side sweeps gracefully around to form a bay, and at the end of this bay the city is nestled. Back of it is the famous Mount Lebanon, from which were brought the cedars used in the construction of the Temple at Jerusalem; the sides of the mountain are steep, but not precipitous, and the summit is frequently covered with clouds.

Seen from the city, the mountain has a bleak, barren appearance, owing to the masses of white limestone cropping out at frequent intervals and reflecting the sunlight to such an extent as to give it the name by which it is known, “the White Mountain.” The sides of the mountain are cultivated in terraces, and the front walls of these terraces frequently consist of the solid limestone rocks. As one looks up the mountain, he sees only the faces of these terraces, the verdure which they sustain being out of sight.

The old town of Beyrout is very old, and its streets are narrow and very often rough and dirty. The new town, or rather the new part of the town, has wide streets and is sufficiently well paved to allow carriages and carts to move about; the pavement is excellent for Syria, but would have been considered very poor in an American city. The population is now about sixty thousand, which is three times what it was thirty years ago; it is a mixed population of Moslems, Christians, and Jews--about as mixed as that of Constantinople or Cairo. Business is active, and the city has a very pronounced air of prosperity.

Antiquities and curious sights for the ordinary tourist are few in number and not very interesting. There are Roman, Assyrian, and Arabic remains, in the shape of tablets sculptured on the rocky walls of the Nahr-el-Kelb or Dog River, about half an hour’s drive from Beyrout; and there are a few traces in the town itself of the Roman occupation. All of them can be seen in a short time, and to a stranger who has come straight from America, without stopping, they would doubtless be interesting. But where you have done Rome and Athens, and half the cities of Europe and Asia, you won’t linger long over the antiquities of Beyrout.

But all this time, while I have been droning about Beyrout and Mount Lebanon, I have kept you waiting at the gangway of the

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{259}steamer. Well, you have the consolation of knowing that you have put in the time while waiting for the ship to undergo the quarantine formalities and obtain _pratique_.

A crowd of dragomen and guides invaded the steamer as soon as they had permission to come on board, and were very energetic in endeavors to secure our patronage. They presented credentials that would have entitled them to anything short of canonization, and to read their credentials you would consider them the best and most honest men in the world.

We selected the guide belonging to the hotel which we had determined to patronize, and repelled as best we could all the others, by telling them we had no need of their services, and should not take them. We obtained a boat, with a little bargaining, and went on shore, where a dense crowd of Arab porters were in attendance. Two francs of “backsheesh” took us through the custom house, and we followed guides and porters to the hotel, and were followed by a guard of honor of about a dozen dragomen, very much as an organ-grinder is accompanied by a troop of small boys.

While we were coming on shore there was a row between the guide of the hotel, and the dragomen belonging to the same establishment, in consequence of the former trying to fasten himself upon us, for the journey to Damascus. The latter requested the guide to stick to his business, and imperatively told him to mind his place and keep it. Some of my readers may ask the difference between the two positions, and for their benefit I will venture an explanation.

A guide is a necessary evil of European or Oriental travel, particularly the latter; you can get along in Europe without a guide, unless you are pressed greatly for time and want to see things in the shortest possible limit, but in Oriental cities you will find a guide indispensable, at least for the first two or three days of your stay, until you get the run of the place. The “guide” belongs to the city and its surroundings; he is called guide in the Orient, and _valet de place_ or _commissionaire_ in Europe. In Europe he generally knows something of the history of the city, where he shows you about and can tell you of the curiosities, the date of the construction of the cathedral, palaces, _et cetera._ {260}But in the Orient you must not expect anything of the kind; you must rely upon your guide book for all historical information, and as a general thing, must indicate to the guide the different places you wish to visit. His services generally consist in taking you to those places, and in acting as your interpreter. As for knowledge beyond his day and generation he has none. For example, a local guide in Venice will take you to the Doge’s palace, or the church of St. Mark, and tell you the date of construction, the name of the builder, the uses of each portion, and will go on step by step till he has delivered a sort of lyceum lecture, which he has carefully learned, has delivered a great many times before and expects to deliver as often as he can get an engagement for an indefinite number of years to come. In Constantinople you wish to visit the Mosque of St. Sophia; the guide will get the necessary ticket and take you there, and the most you can expect of him, after you get inside, is to tell you which is the floor and which is the roof. Sometimes he is not equal even to that effort of intellect.

In Europe there is the travelling courier; he is engaged by people willing to pay for luxuries, goes with them from city to city, looks after their baggage, makes most of their bargains, acts as their interpreter, and frequently as a local guide, and is supposed to know the continent and its belongings pretty thoroughly.

The dragoman is to the Orient what the courier is to Europe. The difference is caused by the difference of the two regions. In Europe you travel by rail and steamer; in the Orient there are no railways, and in all Syria and Palestine, with the exception of the one between Beyrout and Damascus, there is not a carriage road. You must travel on horseback, must sleep in tents, while between the cities, and must have a regular camp equipage.

The dragoman makes it his business to attend to all this. He supplies your parties with horses, tents, food, and everything else at a fixed price per day, and when in the cities he supplies you with a local guide, but never acts as one himself. He is to the guide what the horse is to the donkey, or a general to a captain, and he frequently puts on airs enough to set up a windmill. I hope I have made a clear enough explanation of the difference between the two. {261}From Beyrout to Damascus there is an excellent road, equal to the best turnpikes of America, and the _diligence_ roads of Europe. It was constructed by a French company under a charter or firman from the Sultan, and is a triumph of engineering skill. Twice a day there is a _diligence_ each way over the road; the morning departure is at four A. M., and the evening at six P. M. The time from Beyrout to Damascus fourteen and one-half hours and from Damascus to Beyrout thirteen and one-half, owing to the difference of elevation.

We went at once to the office of the company, where we were politely received, and after considerable talk, and an examination of the _diligences_, we hired a special carriage, which was to take our party of six to Damascus and back, stopping midway long enough to allow us to visit Baalbek.

The entire cost, including the halt _en route_, and at Damascus, was about sixteen dollars (gold) for each person, certainly not an unreasonable price. But we came near having to pay more, and it happened this way.

We conducted our negotiations in the outer office, and when we had settled the whole matter, paid the money and received the ticket there arose a question about some trivial matter which the agent said he would refer to the manager. The manager’s office was across the hall, and as the agent entered it, he beckoned for us to follow. We sauntered in, one after the other, and on entering found manager and agent settling the question we had raised.

The manager raised his eyes as we entered. They rested upon us for an instant and then he started back as though somebody had drawn a revolver upon him.

“_Mon Dieu!_” he exclaimed, “and is _this_ the party for Damascus?”

“_Certainement, monsieur_,” replied the agent, waving his hand toward us, whereat we bowed to the manager.

There was the portly form of the judge in the foreground. He weighed two hundred and thirty pounds, avoirdupois, net, before breakfast, and a great deal more after a square meal.

Then came my slender frame of six feet one, with corresponding breadth of beam and depth of hold. {262}Gustave was as tall as I but not equal to me in diameter. He happened, however, to be wearing one of my overcoats so that he bulged very respectably.

Charley and the “Doubter” were in the rear. They were fair to middling in size but the manager didn’t see them, his eyes being wholly filled with the foremost trio, and if he had been a young widow on a hunt for a husband he couldn’t have watched us more eagerly.

“Ah, _Mon Dieu, Mon Dieu!_” continued the manager; “we can never carry this party on single tickets. And where is the sixth?”

“Madame is at the hotel,” I replied, “she is so small that we call her the baby. You should see her. _Elle est très petite, très jolie, et trescharmante_.”

My endeavor to divert his attention by an appeal to a Frenchman’s admiration for a pretty woman (many persons not of French birth are troubled the same way) was of no avail. He t measured our heavy trio and returned to the charge by asserting: {263} “It is impossible to take you for that price. We calculated upon two horses for the carriage and we must have three. What enormous men you are.”

The judge now found tongue and repelled the insinuation that he was _enorme_.

“You think I am large? You should see my partner. He always rides in two carriages, and once when he slipped on the icy sidewalk, the people for half a mile around thought it was an earthquake.”

“_Pardon, Monsieur_,” I added, “_Son Excellence, Monsieur le juge_,” and I waved my hand in the direction of my friend, “is not as heavy as you may think. He is nothing but a big bag of wind, as you would find if you should stick a fork into him.”

This raised a laugh in which the manager joined. The judge retorted on me with a remark which personal respect impels me to keep back from this narrative. It was sufficient to raise another laugh, and under the diversion thus created we got the manager into good humor. We brought him around all right, but I firmly believe it would have cost us more if he had seen us before the ticket had been paid for and delivered. As we bowed out of the room the judge was in the rear and caught the manager’s remark to the agent.

“_Mon Dieu! Ils sont énormes_.”

The “Doubter,” not knowing French, was standing by during the conversation without the faintest idea of what was occurring. He looked on with an expression similar to that of a pig contemplating a railway train, and when we got outside he asked what it was all about.

“Something very serious,” said the judge. “The manager objected to so much weight, and wanted _you_ to remain behind. We tried to compromise with him, but it was of no use, and you are to stay in Beyrout till we return.”

Then the “Doubter” exploded, said he wouldn’t stay, and furthermore, he believed the judge was not telling him the truth; his doubts were so strong on the subject, that when we reached the hotel he hired an English-speaking dragoman to accompany him to the stage company’s office and learn the exact state of the case.

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