Early on Saturday morning we arrived at Port Said, and Sir William proposed that we should go on shore and escape from our uncomfortable quarters in the dirty little steamer.
We had no difficulty in obtaining a boat rowed by Arabs, but immediately we touched land we were marched off to the Custom House, that our passports might be examined. Sir William had been told in London that passports were now quite unnecessary, so we had not provided ourselves with any, and he was rather at a loss what to do. However, Mr. Stanley came to the rescue, and after he had harangued the Turkish officers in Arabic, and had given them a proper amount of “baksheesh,” we were politely bowed out of the office and allowed to enter the town, although we had no passports.
Here Mr. Stanley left us, and we found our way to the one hotel of the place, where we had breakfast amidst a crowd of English and American travelers, who we found were to be our companions into Syria.
The hotel was uncomfortably small and very noisy, so after breakfast we took a walk to see what was to be seen in Port Said.
It was such a curious town; it looked as if it had sprung up in a single night like a mushroom. Nearly all the houses were made of wood, and looked like large booths put up hastily for a pleasure fair, to be taken down again as soon as the fair was over.
The streets or rather the empty spaces between the rows of houses, for they did not deserve the name of streets, were covered with orange peel, oyster shells, dead dogs and cats, decaying vegetables, and all manner of filth; and the whole place looked, Sir William said, like pictures he had seen of the wooden towns set up near the gold diggings in America.
We met people of almost every nationality in the streets of Port Said. Many of them were very unprepossessing in appearance, and we were told that a number of the worst men of all nations find their way there, for they know that there is very little law or order in the town, and that they will therefore be free from observation, and allowed to do as they like.
The week before we arrived at Port Said there had been a great many murders there, and we saw a notice in the hotel advising Europeans not to go out after as dark, as the authorities would not answer for the consequences if they did so.
An open square in front of the hotel had been turned into a garden. There were not many flowers in it, but there were a few trees and shrubs, and small stone fountain stood in the center. There was a seat in this garden, and Sir William, Evelyn, and I sat here for some time, watching the tourists coming in and out of the hotel, consulting their guidebooks, asking countless questions of their dragoman, and apparently very impatient to be once more on the move.
There were several French shops, in a block of buildings which formed one side of the square. Evelyn caught sight of these, and asked me if I thought she would be able to buy one or two little things which she was anxious to get before going to Jerusalem, “where,” she said, “I suppose we shall find no shops at all.”
“Go and see, my dear,” said Sir William, “and I will wait here till you come back; I shall be close by if you want me for anything, and I can see which shops you are in as I sit here.”
So Evelyn and I opened the gate of the hotel garden, and crossed the road to the shops. They were very curious shops, a great variety of articles seemed to be sold in them; all kinds of French goods, fancy articles of every description, and a few useful things, such as traveling bags, knapsacks, sunshades, and pith helmets.
We selected the shop which appeared most likely to contain all we wished to buy. Evelyn went in first, and I followed her. The shop man was at the other end of the shop, attending to some customers, and Evelyn and I examined the articles which were exposed for sale until he was ready to wait upon us. Then he came up to us, and asked in French what we wanted. Evelyn looked up from the box of ornaments over which she was bending, and was about to answer him when I saw her suddenly start back in astonishment.
I looked up, to see what had taken her so much by surprise, and I saw in a moment what it was.
The young man in the shop was no French tradesman, as we had taken him to be; he was her cousin, Donald Trafford! Evelyn had not looked at him when we first came into the shop, but, as soon as their eyes met she recognized him, in spite of his foreign dress and appearance, and he at the same moment recognized her.
Before we had time to recover from our surprise he was gone; he had disappeared through a door into an inner room, and had sent a young Frenchwoman to wait upon us.
“Oh, May,” whispered Evelyn to me; “never mind about the things, let us go back to papa!”
1 made some excuse to the French girl, telling her we could not wait longer, and we left the shop at once. But when we were outside, Evelyn turned so white and faint that I did not know how to get her back to the garden. I made signs to Sir William to come; but he was reading the newspaper, and did not look up, and I did not like to leave Evelyn alone whilst I went to call him.
At this moment, to my great joy, Mr. Stanley came up, and seeing how ill Evelyn looked, at once offered her his arm; and walked with her back to her father.
As I followed them into the garden I could not help contrasting Mr. Stanley’s open, manly face with that of Mr. Donald Trafford, who had by no means improved in appearance since I saw him last. I wondered whether Evelyn was struck by the difference. I almost thought that she was, for she thanked Mr. Stanley very pleasantly for his kind help, and explained that she had suddenly turned faint when she was in the shop, but said she would be quite better in a few moments.
Sir William was very much frightened when he saw his daughter come up to him, looking as pale as death, and leaning on Mr. Stanley’s arm; but she tried to laugh him out of his fears, and told him that she was rather tired, and that it was nothing of consequence. Mr. Stanley, however, hurried up to the hotel to get a glass of water, and, as soon as he had gone, Evelyn burst into tears.
“What is the matter, my darling?” said Sir William, in a very distressed voice; “I am afraid the journey has been too much for you. Perhaps I was foolish not to follow Lady Eldridge’s advice, and go on with her to Cairo. You are not strong enough to rough it yet; I almost think we had better turn back.”
“Oh no, papa, it is not that,” said Evelyn; “it is not that at all. Tell him, May, what it was.”
“Evelyn had a great surprise when she went into that shop, Sir William,” I said, “for there, dressed like a foreigner, and selling behind the counter, was her cousin, Mr. Trafford!”
“Donald!” said Sir William, starting from his seat, “Donald in that shop! Surely not! Surely you must have been mistaken! I cannot think that he would dare to come to a place like Port Said where so many English people are continually passing through. Oh no, Evelyn, child, you must be wrong.”
“No, Sir William,” I said, “we certainly saw Mr. Trafford; I am quite sure we were not mistaken.”
At this moment Mr. Stanley returned, and we could not talk any more about it. But Sir William seemed lost in thought, and did not enter into the conversation, which Evelyn and I tried to keep up.
“Miss Lindsay,” he said, at last, “would you show me in which of those shops you made your purchases just now? Evelyn dear, you sit still here till we come back. Mr. Stanley, may I leave my daughter in your care for a few minutes?”
I thought Mr. Stanley was not sorry to be left in charge; but Evelyn had turned as pale as she was bet; To, and was trembling from head to foot.
Sir William and I left them on the seat near the and walked towards the row of shops. “I really think you must have been mistaken, Miss Lindsay,” he repeated; but I told him that I was sure Mr. Trafford had recognized us, for he had strangely and suddenly disappeared, and had sent a Frenchwoman to wait upon us.
I waited outside, whilst Sir William went into the shop. He came out in a few minutes, looking very much relieved.
“It is quite a mistake, Miss Lindsay,” he said; “Donald Trafford is not here; I have made full inquiries.”
Then he told me that there was no one but the Frenchwoman in the shop when he went in, but that he had asked to see the young Englishman who was waiting in the shop about a quarter of an hour before. The Frenchwoman, however, had assured him that there was no Englishman there, nor was there anyone who could speak English. It must have been her husband whom the ladies had seen; he was in the shop a few minutes ago, but he was an Italian—his name was Signor Rialti. Sir William had asked to speak to her husband, but she told him he had been suddenly called away on business; he was away now, and would not return till Monday.
“Then Signor Rialti is evidently the name Mr. Trafford has taken,” I said.
“Oh, I think not, Miss Lindsay,” said Sir William, decidedly; “you and Evelyn have been mistaken. I have no doubt that the young Italian bears a strong resemblance to Donald Trafford, and that that circumstance has led you both to imagine that it must be he.”
But, though I was silenced by Sir William’s very decided manner, still I was far from being convinced; for I was firmly persuaded in my own mind that it was indeed Evelyn’s cousin whom we had seen that morning.
Mr. Stanley seemed to notice, with the ready perception which he always showed, that something had happened to disturb us, and that we should like to be left alone, for in a few minutes he made an excuse about having to call on someone at the other end of Port Said, and took leave of us.
“Well, Evelyn,” said Sir William, as soon as we were alone, “you were quite wrong. You need not have been so agitated, dear; it was quite a mistake; and he told her what he had heard in the shop.”
“It is all a tale, papa,” she said, when he had finished; “Donald is afraid of being found out, and he has put her up to telling that story, in case any inquiries should be made about him. He would not be back till Monday, did she say? Of course not; he knows quite well that the steamer will not start until early on Monday morning.”
But Sir William would not be convinced. His wish was, I think, father to the thought, for he would have been very much puzzled as to how he ought to act had he indeed found his nephew, and he was therefore only too glad to believe that he was still in ignorance of Mr. Trafford’s hiding place.
I saw Evelyn glancing several times at the French shop as we sat there talking of other things; and I was glad for her sake when Sir William proposed that we should return to the ship.
We spent a very comfortless Sunday on board the wretched little steamer. It was impossible to find any place below, for the saloon was filled by the large party which we had seen at the hotel at Port Said, and most of them spent the day in playing cards and chess, and in talking over their journey in loud voices; and made so much noise that we found it was utterly useless to attempt to read or to be quiet there. So we went on deck and found a shady corner, where we were at least in comparative quiet. But the lower deck was the scene of great confusion and noise, for a number of pilgrims, who were on their way to Jerusalem, were coming on board. There were Greek pilgrims, Latin pilgrims, and Muslim pilgrims, all of them dressed in what seems to us the most fantastic manner. They were regular Easterns and dreadfully filthy, and they were all jabbering their various languages at the top of their voices. Mr. Stanley told us that as Easter draws near the steamers are crammed with these pilgrims, on their way to the different shrines and holy places. They come from great distances and go through wonderful fatigue, and spend large sums of money to obtain, as they vainly hope, forgiveness of sin.
“I often think,” Mr. Stanley said, “that their earnestness puts us to shame.”
“Yes,” said Evelyn, as she watched a fresh detachment come on board, “and do you not long to tell them how sin can really be forgiven?”
“I do indeed,” said Mr. Stanley; “but, Miss Trafford, have you any idea what a difficult matter that would be? How many different languages do you think I should have to learn before I could speak to all these pilgrims?”
We thought perhaps five or six would be necessary, but Mr. Stanley told us, to our astonishment, that he had just had a conversation with a gentleman who had taken the trouble to go round the vessel in order to find out what were the different nationalities of the people on board, and he had made the discovery that there were men from no fewer than thirty different nations in that one steamer.
We sailed from Port Said on Sunday evening, and came in sight of Jaffa at six o’clock the next morning. We were up very early, for we were longing to get our first view of Palestine. It was a lovely morning, the sea was as smooth as a millpond, and the view was exceedingly beautiful, as the sun rose behind the Judean hills.
Jaffa looked a very pretty place as we saw it from the deck of the steamer, with its white houses overlooking the blue Mediterranean, a green circle of orange trees round it, and the quiet hills beyond.
But we had little time to realize the fact that we were now gazing at the very spot from which Jonah took ship for Tarshish, and where Peter lodged and saw that wondrous vision, and where Dorcas lived and made garments for the poor, in those far-off Bible days. We had very little time for thought of any kind, for, as soon as we came in sight of Joppa, numberless boats came out to meet us, as they had done at Alexandria, and after the usual tumult, we secured one, and were rowed to the shore, which was a mile and a half away. This is not at all a safe undertaking in stormy weather, for the only entrance to the harbor is a very narrow opening between most dangerous rocks. The harbor of Joppa is a natural one, and has never been improved since the time of Solomon, when the timber, which Hiram cut down in Lebanon, must have been brought to land through this very passage between the rocks.
When we drew near the shore we saw crowds of Arabs waiting for us, screaming and fighting and wrestling in savage earnestness. They seemed ready to tear us in pieces rather than lose the chance of carrying our luggage to the hotel. It really was a terrible sight to those unaccustomed to Eastern vehemence. Evelyn was very much frightened and clung to her father, and even Sir William seemed agitated and alarmed. But Mr. Stanley’s quiet voice reassured us:
“Oh, it is nothing,” he said; “you don’t know what Arabs are yet; they always make a noise like this. It is nothing unusual, I assure you,” he added, laughing, as he fought a passage for us through the howling crowd, and led the way to the little Custom House, which was already crowded with the travelers who had arrived. before us. We had, therefore, to wait outside for some time; but Mr. Stanley kept the Arabs who had followed us at bay, and gave Evelyn a camp-stool to sit upon, for she was looking faint and tired, and the heat, even at that early hour, seemed to us to be very great.
At last the Turkish office was at liberty to receive the “baksheesh,” which Mr. Stanley had ready for him. He passed our boxes without opening them, and we were allowed to proceed to the hotel.
It was a tiring walk, for the streets of Jaffa are covered with hot, burning sand, in which your feet sink every step you take. They are very narrow, and every now and then we looked round to find ourselves nearly knocked down by a huge camel, with boxes on its back, which had come noiselessly behind us over the soft sand; or a mule, laden with luggage, and rushing frantically along, was determined to pass us, and pushed its way through our midst in the most resolute manner.
Mr. Stanley had advised us to go as far as Ramleh that day, as it is forty miles ride from Jaffa to Jerusalem, and he thought we should be too tired if we went so far in one day. Accordingly that afternoon he hired horses for us, and we mounted for our first ride in Palestine.
It was no easy matter guiding our horses through the crowds of Arabs, the strings of camels and mules, and the heaps of filth, in the streets of Jaffa. We were glad to leave the town and get into the road, which took us through one of the orange groves by which Jaffa is surrounded. Everything looked so strange and Eastern, and the scent of the oranges was delicious. We passed through the Plain of Sharon, and at about five o’clock in the evening we reached Ramleh, after rather more than four hours’ ride.