We left England, and began our delightful journey at the end of October. Evelyn improved in health and spirits from the moment that we started, and Sir William was thoroughly happy in witnessing the enjoyment of his child. I need hardly say what a treat this journey was to me. I had never been out of England before, and, therefore, everything abroad was quite new and strange to me, and I felt as if I was having a very pleasant and delightful dream.
We spent some time in Paris, and went about to all the places of interest both in and near the city. From we went to Turin, where we rested for more than before undertaking the long and tedious journey from Turin to Brindisi. We arrived at Brindisi late on Saturday night; we were all very tired and worn out, and exceedingly glad to get to our journey’s end. We stayed at an hotel near the sea, such a curious Eastern-looking place, with bare stone floors and whitewashed walls, and only just as much furniture in the large rooms as was absolutely necessary.
The next morning I awoke early, and went to my window and looked out. It seemed a perfect fairyland to me. The harbor was as still as a lake, and covered with the reflection of the ships and boats, with their pretty latteen sails. And beyond the harbor there was the blue Mediterranean sparkling in the morning sunshine.
It looked very unlike Sunday, for work was going on just as on any other day; and the people of Brindisi were buying, and selling, and hurrying along, as though it were the busiest day in the week.
I took my Testament, and sat at a little distance from the window, and had a quiet time alone before Clemente came to say that Evelyn was dressed, and was going downstairs for breakfast.
We were to go on board the steamer that night, as it was to sail early the next morning; but Sir William arranged that during the day we should stay quietly at the hotel.
The weather had been very cold when we were at Turin, and we found a great change of climate at Brindisi. The sky was a deep, unclouded blue, and the sunshine was so hot that we found it difficult to keep cool. Evelyn and I discovered a seat on the flat roof of the hotel, where we were shaded from the hot sun and could read together quietly. We read aloud the Psalms for the day verse by verse. One of these was Psalm 122, and it was with a wonderfully strange feeling that we read those words: “Our feet shall stand within thy gates, O Jerusalem.”
“May,” said Evelyn, “can you believe that verse is really true of us?”
When we had finished our reading, Sir William came out to us, and persuaded us to venture out of the shady corner in which we had been sitting, and to walk to the other end of the roof, that we might look at the view to be seen from thence.
To our surprise we found that we were not alone on the roof. An English gentleman was leaning over the parapet with a book in his hand, looking towards the sea. He turned round as we came up, and slipped his book into his pocket. I fancied that it was a, Bible.
Sir William and the strange gentleman soon got into conversation about Brindisi and its surroundings, and he pointed out to us several objects of interest in the neighborhood. He was not a very young man, though I fancied that he looked older than he really was. There was something in his face, when it was at which made me think that he had been through a great deal of trouble, and yet, when he smiled, his whole face was lighted up in a moment, and he looked perfectly different. He was not exactly a handsome rote, and yet his was a face which, having once seen, yea could never forget, and which you could not help liking. That was my first impression of Mr. Stanley, so far as I can now remember.
Sir William was very charmed with him, and said afterward that he had seldom met such a well-read, sensible man. We sat together on the roof, and Evelyn and I acted the part of listeners, whilst the two gentlemen talked.
“You are going to Jerusalem, I think,” said Mr. Stanley, as Sir William was unfolding his plans to him; “I have been there several times.”
This led to many inquiries on Sir William’s part about the accommodation to be found in Jerusalem, etc. etc. But Evelyn and I wondered very much how Mr. Stanley knew that we were going to Jerusalem. Could he have heard us reading that Psalm, and saying that it was soon to be true of us?
“I am afraid you will be disappointed in Jerusalem,” said Mr. Stanley, turning to us; “you must remember that though it is still beautiful for situation, ‘yet Jerusalem is no longer the joy of the whole earth.’ It is, indeed, beautiful at a distance, and everyone is charmed who sees it for the first time; but when you go inside the walls, and know it well, you cannot help feeling depressed and saddened.”
“But there are brighter days coming for Jerusalem,” I ventured to say.
“Yes, indeed,” said Mr. Stanley, “Jerusalem will be a hundredfold more than she ever was before—the City of the Great King.”
But Sir William always regarded the study of prophecy as a mixture of presumption and romance, and he quickly led the conversation into a different channel; but I longed to hear what Mr. Stanley’s views were about the return of the Jews and the restoration of Jerusalem.
That evening we went on board the steamer which was to take us to Alexandria. There were a great many first-class passengers, and we had some difficulty in obtaining a cabin to ourselves. At length Sir William managed to secure a small one for Evelyn and me, in which there were only two berths, and as soon as table d’hôte was over we went to our cabin.
There were very few passengers present at dinner; Mr. Stanley was there, and a few others whom we had seen in the hotel at Brindisi; but most of the people came on board as we were going to bed. They had just arrived by the late train from Turin, and had secured their cabins beforehand by telegraphing to the captain.
Evelyn and I were undressing when we heard a voice in the saloon, which we were almost sure we knew. It was a lady’s voice, and she was giving orders to the stewardess in an imperious tone, with regard to the arrangement of her cabin.
“That must be Lady Eldridge,” said Evelyn to me; “it is exactly like her voice.”
Clemence went, at this moment, to get some hot water, and returned with the information that it was Lady Eldridge, and that she had taken the next cabin to ours.
“Oh dear!” said Evelyn, “I wonder where she is going. I hope not to Cairo; I remember she often spends the winter there. Well, we shall hear in the morning!”
As Lady Eldridge’s voice had been the last thing we heard at night, so it was the first thing that we heard in the morning. She had brought no maid with her; and, as she was utterly unable to do anything for herself, she was constantly calling the poor stewardess, who had already more work than she could got through, to help her in the various stages of her toilet.
“Oh dear!” said Evelyn, as Lady Eldridge’s voice was heard again and again, “I do hope she is not going to Cairo; we must find out at once.”
We met Lady Eldridge at breakfast; she professed herself delighted beyond measure at meeting Sir William and Evelyn, and wished to know where they were going, and how long she would have the wonderful pleasure of traveling in their company.
“It is such trying work traveling alone, my dear,” she said to Evelyn, “and I am naturally very nervous; it is really quite miraculous my meeting you. Sir William, I feel sure, will not refuse to take me under his care.”
Sir William bowed, and said he would be very glad to help Lady Eldridge in any way he could; but I did not think he seemed particularly glad of the addition to our party, for such Lady Eldridge, from that moment, considered herself to be. She turned over all responsibility about her baggage to Sir William, and she used Clemence as freely as if she had been her own maid.
“But,” said Lady Eldridge, as we were finishing breakfast, “you have never yet told me where you are going, Evelyn, my dear.”
Evelyn was about to answer her, when, to my surprise, Sir William prevented her.
“Our plans are not yet formed, Lady Eldridge,” he said; “I am going to consider this morning what our tour will be, and then I shall be able to let you know.”
“Oh, you must come to Cairo,” said Lady Eldridge, decidedly: “there is no place like Cairo in the winter. The climate is simply perfect, my dear,” she said, turning to Evelyn. “Now, Sir William, you must decide to stay at least three months at Cairo, and then we can all spend the winter together. Now come, I think that is a capital plan!”
Sir William smiled, and said he would consider the matter; but there were many other places that he wished to visit, and he could not make up his mind hastily. We did not see much of Lady Eldridge after breakfast, for she remained in the saloon the whole day reading a French novel, and seemed to think us very extraordinary girls because we chose to go on deck.
Evelyn and I found a sheltered seat, where the cold wind did not reach us; and here we sat with our hooks and our work until the evening. The steamer had started early in the morning, and though a fresh breeze was blowing, still the sea was not uncomfortably rough, and we were beginning to think that sea voyages were not half so disagreeable and uncomfortable as people made them out to be.
Sir William paced up and down the deck with Mr. Stanley nearly all the morning, discussing his future plans. Every now and then they stopped to examine a map or a guidebook; and at length they sat down on a seat, and Sir William took a pencil from his pocket, and wrote at Mr. Stanley’s dictation.
“I wonder what papa has settled!” said Evelyn. “I wish he would come and tell us. I am sure he does not want to go to Cairo, now that Lady Eldridge is going there. Did not you notice that he would not let me say where we were going?”
When Sir William had finished writing he and Mr. Stanley came towards us, and Sir William told us, to our great joy, that we were going at once to Jerusalem. Mr. Stanley had told him that there was a clean, comfortable hotel there, and that the climate in December and January was generally beautiful.
“So I think we will stop in Jerusalem a month or two,” said Sir William, “and then decide where we go next. What do you say to that, Evelyn?”
“Oh, papa,” said Evelyn, “it is just what I wanted. I am longing to get to Jerusalem!”
“Our feet shall stand within thy gates, O Jerusalem,” said Mr. Stanley, with a smile. And then we were sure that he had heard us reading the Psalm.
At sunset the wind became very strong; the ship rolled heavily, and the passengers were glad to go to their cabins. It was a dreadful night. I shall never forget it. Every hour the storm became more terrible.
I had never thought that a storm at sea could be so dreadful. The waves were beating over our heads, and, every now and then, the cabin was lighted up by a vivid flash of lightning, which was followed almost immediately by a terrible clap of thunder. Every two or three minutes we heard the crash of breaking crockery, and the broken cups, and jugs, and glasses were thrown backwards and forwards on the floor, as the ship pitched and tossed.
I wonder that so many people have such peaceful ideas of the Mediterranean Sea, after reading the Bible accounts of it. Oh, how often during that dreadful night we thought of the Apostle Paul in the storm, probably just in this very part of the Mediterranean; and we could so well picture that scene in Jonah’s life when the sailors, unwilling to cast him overboard, made a last mighty effort to bring the ship to land, but the sea wrought and was tempestuous, and they were not able to manage it.
And then David’s description of the storm, in Psalm 107, must refer to this very sea. How often we repeated those verses to each other that night: “He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still. Then are they glad because they be quiet; so He bringeth them unto their desired haven.”
“Oh, May,” said Evelyn, as I crept to her side when the storm was at its height, “what a comfort it is to know we are safe, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I said, “I cannot think how any one dare travel, and go through all the perils by land and water without knowing that.”
“I should not have known it if we had come a year ago,” said Evelyn. “Oh, May, I should have been terribly frightened then!”
We did not sleep once the whole night, and very long the hour seemed to us.
At about three o’clock in the morning we heard Lady Eldridge’s voice loudly crying for help. She was calling, first for Clemence and then for the stewardess, but their cabins were at the other end of the saloon, and neither of them heard her.
“What can she want?” said Evelyn.
I put on my dressing-gown, and managed to go as far as the door of Lady Eldridge’s cabin, that I might see what was the matter.
“Just look here, Miss Lindsay!” she said; “the porthole burst open, and the water has come over my bed. Do go and call the stewardess, and tell her to bring me clean linen and blankets.”
“I don’t know whether I can walk as far as the stewardess’s cabin, Lady Eldridge,” I said, “but I will try; it is terribly rough!”
“Oh, nonsense!” she said; “hold on by the wall, and you will be all right. You don’t mean to say you are seasick, Miss Lindsay; you should get over it. I never believe in seasickness; if people only try they can keep it off. I feel as well at sea as on land!”
I could not help thinking, that this being the case, she might have gone for the stewardess herself, instead of insisting that I should go for her. However, I did my best, and managed to stagger down the saloon, though I fell several times, and cut my hand very much with a broken plate, which was being swept across the floor, backwards and forwards, as the vessel rolled from side to side.
I found the stewardess lying on the bed in her cabin, crying. She told me that she was a widow with three little children, whom she had left in England. She had been persuaded to try this way of earning her living, and this was her first voyage; but she did not think she could ever go again, she had no idea that it would be so dreadful. She told me this as she was getting out the sheets for Lady Eldridge’s bed, and she said that, just as I came in, she was crying because she thought she would never see her little children again.
I tried to say a word to comfort her, but the noise of the storm was so great that we could hardly hear each other speak. It was some time before she had collected everything that was necessary, and Lady Eldridge was very impatient and cross when we arrived at her cabin. I helped the stewardess to arrange the bed, and then went back to my own berth, very thankful to be able to lie still again.
Morning came, but the storm still continued. It raged all Tuesday, all Tuesday night, and all Wednesday, and we were not able to leave our cabin the whole time. Only on Wednesday did the storm begin to abate, and we were able at last to have a quiet sleep. We awoke on Thursday to find the wind gone and the sea much calmer. We were to arrive at Alexandria in the afternoon, and everyone seemed glad that the stormy voyage was drawing to a close.
Lady Eldridge was very much annoyed when she found that we were not going with her to Cairo. She told Sir William that it was simple madness, on his part, to take a delicate girl like Evelyn to Jerusalem; but Sir William only smiled, and said it was Evelyn’s wish as well as his own, and he thought that, if Lady Eldridge made further inquiries, she would find that in the winter months the climate of Jerusalem was all that could be desired.
I had a talk with the stewardess that morning, and I was so glad to find that the poor woman knew where to turn for comfort and for help. She was a real Christian, and, in simple faith, she had trusted her children to God’s care, and she felt sure that He would watch over them till she was able to be with them again. She had left them with her brother and his wife, and her thoughts seemed to be constantly with her little absent treasures. I was so glad that I had spoken to her, for she thanked me very much, and told me that the few words I had said to her in the storm had been a great comfort to her, and had made her ashamed of herself for being afraid.
At length we arrived at Alexandria, and very much enjoyed the sight which met our eyes—the intensely white city, the blue water in the harbor—the pilot, with a dark hood over his head, arriving in his little boat, and coming on board the steamer; and then the countless other boats, filled with clamorous Arabs, who were contending with one another to secure the largest number of passengers to row to shore. It was very curious to watch them fighting like wild beasts for their prey, and looking so picturesque in their various costumes that it was impossible to feel angry with them.
After much pushing, and quarreling, and scuffling, and shouting had been gone through, we found ourselves in the same boat with Mr. Stanley, who had taken us all, Lady Eldridge included, under his care, and had bargained on our behalf in Arabic, and made, after much difficulty, a fair agreement with the boatman as to the price he would charge for his boat.
We stayed one night in Alexandria at the hotel, but we did not see much of the city, for we were too tired and worn out with the voyage to go out, and were glad to rest quietly until it was time to go on board the ship which was to take us to Jaffa, and which started early the next day. We left Lady Eldridge in the hotel and were not sorry to say goodbye to her.
It was a small old-fashioned vessel which was to take us the rest of the way, very dirty and forlorn, and very different from the comfortable steamer of the Peninsular and Oriental Company which we had just left; but the sea was calm, so we felt as if we could thankfully bear any amount of discomfort.
We were the only first-class passengers on board, but a large party of travelers were to join us at Port Said, and they had already engaged their cabins.
We stayed on deck until quite late that evening, walking up and down, looking at the sun setting over sea and talking of all that was before us. Sir William had numberless questions to ask about Jerusalem, and Mr. Stanley was well able to answer them all, for only two years before he had spent a whole winter in Jerusalem that he might sketch some of the many places of interest in the city and its neighborhood, and he promised, at Sir William’s request, to let us see his sketches someday.