In the Suez Canal
After a stormy passage through the Mediterranean we turned in towards Port SaÏd, and soon after sighting the handsome lighthouse took the French pilot on board, anchoring broadside on to the main street of the town and within fifty yards of the shore. A motley throng, in boats quite as motley soon filled up the space between the ship and the shore, and a wild jabber composed of a mixture of English, French, Italian, and Arabic filled the air. Presently the usual tribe of pedlars came on deck, and having spread out their wares invited the passengers to buy, somewhat after the fashion of London tradesmen in Cheapside hundreds of years ago with their cry of “What lack ye?” The inevitable Maltese with his lace, the Greek money-changer walking about with his hands full of silver offering to change, and astonishing the honest Britisher on his first voyage by his liberality in proffering twenty shillings for a sovereign—the rate of exchange, however, leaving him a very good profit. Near him is a Hebrew, whom I remember having seen at Aden, the black curls over his brow reminding one forcibly of Benjamin Disraeli. This man keeps to his trade of dealer in ostrich feathers.
A Feather Merchant
Here also are gentlemen of the long robe—not lawyers, but Arabs, in ample white night-shirts and turbans—offering to young ladies in the most seductive tones, at two shillings each, coral necklaces, which can be purchased in Birmingham at three shillings the dozen, while dealers in photographs, melons, and oranges walk about always ready to take one-fourth of what they ask for their wares. Parallel with us are the quays, on which are crowds of people of all nationalities. The Custom House in front is occupied by a company of English artillerymen, the entrance being guarded by a British sentry, while overhead the Egyptian flag is flying. Away to the left is the old Dutch hotel, recently bought by the British Government, and now occupied by two hundred men of the Royal Marine Light Infantry.
Immediately in front of the ship is the main street of the town. It is perfectly straight and about half a mile long, with a small public garden near the end. In this street are a large number of casinos, where music is dealt out at nights by bands of female performers, who are called “Bohemiennes,” and where, we are assured, everything is properly respectable—until eleven o’clock! Many of our lady passengers, in the innocence of their hearts, looking forward to a pleasant concert during the evening, are much shocked when they learn that the said concerts are held in casinos.
We landed at ten o’clock, and had a leisurely walk through the town and halfway through the Arab quarter, but the smells were so offensive that we turned back. A lot of young Arabs, however, urged us to go on farther, for there was an Arab hanging, but as we did not think a dead Arab would be likely to be a more agreeable sight than a living one we declined. The culprit had been executed that morning for the murder of his grand-daughter, nine months previously. An account of his crime was written in Arabic and attached to his breast, and the large scissors with which he committed the murder were suspended around his neck. Some of the young Arabs were vexed with us because we would not give them backsheesh, and began to be insulting, talking about Arabi, when presently a smart youth of ten years old interfered, and, cuffing the ears of the young monkeys, loudly proclaimed the prowess of the British.We went to look at the Dutch House where the Marines were quartered, and a young officer, Lieutenant Cotter, kindly asked us to go over the building. The rooms are very fine; but what a change in the scene since we slept here for a night two-and-half years ago! Then the hotel was in operation, and the rooms were furnished as elaborately as in the house of an English gentleman. But everything had been taken away, and the officers were sleeping on the marble floors, and the men on the floors of the adjoining warehouses, where also the horses were stabled. Lieutenant Cotter had made a bedstead for himself, and one of his men had made him a bath, and these, with a chair, completed the furnishing of his room; his wash-basin consisted of a large flower-pot, with a cork in the hole at the bottom. The Marines arrived in Egypt a few days after Tel-el-Kebir, and so saw no fighting; but they had to march over to Fort Gemileh, seven miles away, and fully expected a very severe fight, as the fort is heavily armed with modern guns, and was manned by Nubians, who are reported to be excellent soldiers. Fortunately, however, there was no need to fight, as the commander recognised that the war was over.
At night a number of our passengers, of all classes, went ashore to attend the concert, and one of them known as Cetewayo, alias the Carrib or the Pirate King, announced his intention of kicking up a great row at the casino (of course after eleven o’clock), and he was as good as his word, and others besides, several having to be locked up for the night. We visited the soldiers in the barracks, and they were very glad to have a chat. We sent them the newspapers we had brought from England; with which they were greatly pleased. They told us the numbers, variety, and voracity of the insects was something maddening; some being busy at night, and others during the day, and that it was almost impossible to keep oneself decent. Altogether Port SaÏd must be a dreadful place for Englishmen to live in; there was very little society, and I was told that at the time there was only one unmarried lady left.
The commanding officer of the Marines told us that the principal duty they had to perform as “police” was to keep the English sailors and visitors in order, almost all the drunkenness and trouble coming from them—to our disgrace be it said.
The land all along the coast lies very low, and is not seen until the yellowish-green water near it is reached. The water is discoloured by the mud of the Nile, one of the mouths of which (the Tanitic) is situated a little to the west of Port SaÏd. This ceaseless flow of mud was one of the greatest difficulties experienced in making the Canal, and necessitated important and expensive works to prevent its access to the harbour. Lake Menzaleh is formed by this Nile mouth, and covers an area of about 1,000 square miles. Good wildfowl shooting is to be had there, and there are numbers of flamingos and other birds. Port SaÏd, as is well known, owes its origin to the Canal, and is situated on an island separating Lake Menzaleh from the Mediterranean. The town was expected by M. de Lesseps to progress very rapidly—indeed to rival Alexandria, but it has not gone ahead so fast as he expected. At present there are about 12,000 people there, and I should say more than half are Europeans. The town is built very regularly, and consists of rather temporary brick and wooden houses. The making of the harbour was a very difficult work. It occupies 570 acres, and is excavated to a depth of 26ft. Two massive piers protect it, running out to the sea in a north-easterly direction for about a mile and a half. At starting they are 1,440 yards apart, narrowing to 770 yards, the navigable entrance being about 150 yards wide. The piers are constructed of artificial stone, composed of seven parts of sand from the desert, and of one part of hydraulic lime from France. The concrete was mixed by machinery, and then poured into great wooden moulds, where it remained for weeks, after which the wood was taken away to allow of the blocks hardening. Each block weighed twenty tons, and contained 13½ cubic yards; no fewer than 25,000 of these blocks were used in constructing the breakwater. The lighthouse is a very handsome structure, and is also formed of blocks of concrete; it is 164ft. high, and can be seen twenty-four miles away, being fitted with the electric light. (Baedeker).
At 4.30 p.m. our vessel started for the Canal, and having safely entered it made fast for the night, as no travelling is allowed after sunset. During the evening myriads of gnats and mosquitoes came on to the ship, the electric light being absolutely dimmed by them in many places, and we had good reason to expect a trying night from their presence.
While our ship’s doctor and a party of friends were ashore at Port SaÏd they were greatly amused by the attention of a number of Arab lads who followed them everywhere. During their walk in the native quarter the party came upon a great crowd, and one of the young Arabs referring to the man who had been hanged during the morning stated that the man was not an Arab, but a Greek, and proceeded to explain the distinguishing characteristics of the various nationalities represented at this cosmopolitan port; he said—
“The Greek, he bery bat man, he stab—so (with a vigorous motion as though stabbing an opponent in the chest).
“’gyptian, he bery goot man, he only slap, so.
“English man, he bery goot man (striking an attitude); he say ‘Come on and box.’
“English man—he bery goot man.
“English man—he bery goot man.
“Melikan man—he bery goot man.
“Melikan man—he bery goot man.
“’talian man—he bery bat man.”
Ending with a very uncomplimentary allusion to our Irish fellow-subjects.
What is wanted to make Port SaÏd really prosperous is a railway from the interior to bring the produce from the cotton and wheat fields, and then the steamers which bring the coals could at once load up for home, saving the necessity of going empty to Alexandria for their homeward freights. Last year 540,000 tons of coal were sold at Port SaÏd, and all the ships which brought it had to go away empty. But so long as the Canal Company are entitled to all the Customs dues at Port SaÏd, it is not to be expected that the Egyptian Government will favour the construction of such a line.Some of our fellow-passengers were members of the Blue Ribbon Army, and although they were by no means obtrusive in supporting their views, being contented for the most part with wearing the “bit of blue”—others resented this reasonable liberty, styling it an impertinence, and formed themselves into an opposition Order, which they called the Red Ribbon Army, and they busied themselves in enlisting recruits. It was noticeable that, with the exception of an old rouÉ or two, only young men with small heads and long legs, who, if they ever indulged in reading, confined their choice to books translated or adapted from the French, composed the rank and file, the officers being older men, who were not often seen out of the gambling or smoke-room. One of these latter was called the “Spider,” because from an early hour in the morning he sat in the smoke-room waiting to “play” with any who might choose to try conclusions with him.
The Patron and President of the Society was a noble lord, and certainly a better choice could not have been made. Amongst the rules of the Society were these:—
Any member found without his red ribbon is to be fined in drinks all round.
Members are to be neither too drunk nor too sober.
Members must never go to bed quite sober.
Members must never refuse a drink.
The President certainly set a fair example in his endeavour to perform the duties of his office, and would never be mistaken for a member of the Blue Ribbon Army, even if he did not wear the badge, for good wine had marked him for its own. Under the fostering influence of such rules and such a “noble” example, it is not to be wondered at that the Army showed a blatant front to the enemy, and that their proceedings soon became disorderly. At this juncture some good-natured moderate men joined the Reds, with the view, it appears, of moderating their offensive tactics, and the result was a manifesto which set forth, amongst other things—That the Red Ribbon Army entertained no feelings of ill-will toward those who did not agree with them, and invited all to join their ranks, and that they assured abstainers that there was always iced water on the sideboard of the smoke room for their convenience. One of the chiefs of the Reds was a dark man, already referred to as Cetewayo, alias the Carrib. I one day heard this worthy call one of the Reds to account for appearing without his badge, the defaulting member replying that he had “resigned.” “That won’t do,” said the Carrib, “Once a member always a member; come and pay up.” Yes, I thought, when the devil has once got his claws in a man retreat is all but impossible.
Every one of the young fellows who joined the Reds fell into the “Spider’s” web, and were most of them eased of their spare cash through the agency of a pack of cards.
This “Spider” was one day on deck sitting by the side of one of my friends who had just awaked from a doze, to whom he said, “You have had a nap?” “Yes,” I said, “Mr. — takes his nap on deck in the face of day, but you have yours in the dimness of the smoke-room” (alluding to the game of “Nap”). “That’s true,” said he, “I like to play when the light is somewhat dull. These fellows say I am always winning. Well, suppose I am? They keep coming to me, and in Melbourne if they consult an expert on any subject they have to pay two guineas, and I take no less.” “You take no less, and don’t refuse more,” said I. “Exactly, that is just it,” said the Spider, and he was said to have cleared out most of the card-playing fraternity. Ultimately, the almost unvaried success of the Spider caused a general feeling to be raised against him amongst the gamblers; but as long as there still remained some who had not been relieved of their money, and others whom the Spider had allowed to win from him occasionally, this feeling did not exist to any great extent. One evening, however, the Pirate charged the web-spinner with having cheated him, and a general disturbance ensued, the Pirate assuring the Spider that as soon as they quitted the ship he would soundly thrash him with a whip, which he displayed, so we were in hopes of having a little excitement on leaving the vessel. One result, however, was to practically dissolve the Red Ribbon army, and the Carrib then came out in a new character. At the fancy dress ball held on the promenade deck he appeared in a dress suit, and was at once saluted with the cry, “Here’s a lark, Cetewayo disguised as a gentleman!”
The noble President of the Reds was somewhat of a curiosity in his way, a very kind-hearted sympathetic man, as many a poor invalid in the second and third classes could testify. The doctor told us of many instances of his lordship’s kindness in visiting some of the sick third-class passengers, and giving them dainties from his private stores; and I heard one poor woman tell him she should never forget him for his goodness to her husband. Some of our colonial passengers, wishing to make the most of their unusual proximity to nobility, were too persevering in their attentions to his lordship, and evidently bored him; but the tact with which he “shunted” them, and the studied politeness of his language, did not prevent onlookers detecting a silent “confound their impudence” terminating each reply.
Cetewayo Disguised as a Gentleman
Once, in referring to the pertinacity of these people, he remarked to a bystander, in a hissing tone, “One must be civ-il.” The noble lord took a great interest in everything pertaining to sailors; his regard for them was evidently warm and genuine. While we were passing through the Canal, coming to our anchorage for the night, we found the space at our disposal was very limited, as the vessels were numerous, consequently our men had to be very active in getting the ship into her berth. I was standing by his lordship’s side, looking at the sailors running along the sandbank, carrying the heavy cable as nimbly as though it was a fishing line. Lord — was delighted, and, turning to me, and in his funny fashion grasping his clothes in front of the place where his stomach should be, exclaimed in tones of rapture, “Look at our de-ah blue-jackets, look!”
His lordship was very popular with the young men on board, but I hope he did not often make such observations to them, as one young gentleman informed me he had made to him, speaking of his past life. “I have committed many sins in my time,” said his lordship, “and I hope to live to commit many more.”
