For coffee and cigars we moved to the terrace outside.  Here an orchestra played, the peoples of many nations sat at little tables, the peddlers, fakirs, jugglers, and fortune-tellers swarmed.  A half-dozen postal cards seemed sufficient to set a small boy up in trade, and to imbue him with all the importance and insistence of a merchant with jewels.  Other ten-year-old ragamuffins tried to call our attention to some sort of sleight-of-hand with poor downy little chickens.  Grave, turbaned, and polite Indians squatted cross-legged at our feet, begging to give us a look into the future by means of the only genuine hall-marked Yogi-ism; a troupe of acrobats went energetically and hopefully through quite a meritorious performance a few feet away; a deftly triumphant juggler did very easily, and directly beneath our watchful eyes, some really wonderful tricks.  A butterfly-gorgeous swarm of insinuating smiling peddlers of small things dangled and spread their wares where they thought themselves most sure of attention.  Beyond our own little group we saw slowly passing in the lighted street outside the portico the variegated and picturesque loungers.  Across the way a phonograph bawled; our stringed orchestra played “The Dollar Princess;” from somewhere over in the dark and mysterious alleyways came the regular beating of a tom-tom.  The magnificent and picturesque town car with its gaudy ragamuffins swayed by in train of its diminutive mule.

Suddenly our persistent and amusing entourage vanished in all directions.  Standing idly at the portico was a very straight, black Soudanese.  On his head was the usual red fez; his clothing was of trim khaki; his knees and feet were bare, with blue puttees between; and around his middle was drawn close and smooth a blood-red sash at least a foot and a half in breadth.  He made a fine upstanding Egyptian figure, and was armed with pride, a short sheathed club, and a great scorn.  No word spoke he, nor command; but merely jerked a thumb towards the darkness, and into the darkness our many-hued horde melted away.  We were left feeling rather lonesome!

Near midnight we sauntered down the street to the quay, whence we were rowed to the ship by another turbaned, long-robed figure, who sweetly begged just a copper or so “for poor boatman.”

We found the ship in the process of coaling, every porthole and doorway closed, and heavy canvas hung to protect as far as possible the clean decks.  Two barges were moored alongside.  Two blazing braziers lighted them with weird red and flickering flames.  In their depths, cast in black and red shadows, toiled half-guessed figures; from their depths, mounting a single steep plank, came an unbroken procession of natives, naked save for a wisp of cloth around the loins.  They trod closely on each other’s heels, carrying each his basket atop his head or on one shoulder, mounted a gang-plank, discharged their loads into the side of the ship, and descended again