We resumed our way:  Suez now stood near.  In the blue distance rose the castellated peaks of Jabal Rahah and the wide sand-tracts over which lies the land-route to Al-Hijaz.  Before us the sight ever dear to English eyes,-a strip of sea gloriously azure, with a gallant steamer walking the waters.  On the right-hand side the broad slopes of Jabal Mukattam, a range of hills which flanks the road all the way from Cairo.  It was at this hour a spectacle not easily to be forgotten.  The near range of chalk and sandstone wore a russet suit, gilt where the last rays of the sun seamed it with light, and the deep folds were shaded with the richest purple; whilst the background of the higher hills, Jabal Tawari, generally known as Abu Daraj (the Father of Steps), was sky-blue streaked with the lightest plum colour.  We drew up at a small building called Bir Suways (Well of Suez); and, under pretext of watering the cattle, I sat for half an hour admiring the charms of the Desert.  The eye never tires of such loveliness of hue, and the memory of the hideousness of this range, when a sun in front exposed each gaunt and barren feature, supplied the evening view with another element of attraction.

It was already night when we passed through the tumbling six-windowed gateway of Suez; and still remained the task of finding my servant and effects.  After

[p.159]wandering in and out of every Wakalah in the village, during which peregrination the boy Mohammed proved himself so useful that I determined at all risks to make him my companion, we accidentally heard that a Hindi had taken lodgings at a hostelry bearing the name of Jirjis al-Zahr.[FN#32] On arriving there our satisfaction was diminished by the intelligence that the same Hindi, after locking the door, had gone out with his friends to a ship in the harbour; in fact, that he had made all preparations for running away.  I dismounted, and tried to persuade the porter to break open the wooden bolt, but he absolutely refused, and threatened the police.  Meanwhile Mohammed had found a party of friends, men of Al-Madinah, returning to the pilgrimage after a begging tour through Egypt and Turkey.  The meeting was characterised by vociferous inquiries, loud guffaws and warm embraces.  I was invited to share their supper and their dormitory,-an uncovered platform projecting from the gallery over the square court below,-but I had neither appetite nor spirits enough to be sociable.  The porter, after much persuasion, showed me an empty room, in which I spread my carpet.  That was a sad night.  My eighty-four mile ride had made every bone ache; I had lost epidermis, and the sun had seared every portion of skin exposed to it.  So, lamenting my degeneracy and the ill effects of four years’ domicile in Europe, and equally disquieted in mind about the fate of my goods and chattels, I fell into an uncomfortable sleep.