[FN#39] note to third (1873) edition.-I revisited Suez in September, 1869, and found it altered for the better.  The population had risen from 6,000 to 20,000.  The tumble-down gateway was still there, but of the old houses-including the “George Inn,” whose front had been repaired-I recognised only four, and they looked mean by the side of the fine new buildings.  In a few years ancient Suez will be no more.  The bazars are not so full of filth and flies, now that pilgrims pass straight through and hardly even encamp.  The sweet water Canal renders a Hammam possible; coffee is no longer hot saltish water, and presently irrigation will cover with fields and gardens the desert plain extending to the feet of Jabal Atakah.  The noble works of the Canal Maritime, which should in justice be called the “Lesseps Canal,” shall soon transform Clysma into a modern and civilised city.  The railway station, close to the hotel, the new British hospital, the noisy Greek casino, the Frankish shops, the puffing steamers, and the ringing of morning bells, gave me a novel impression.  Even the climate has been changed by filling up the Timsch Lakes.  Briefly, the hat is now at home in Suez.  Note to fourth (1879) edition.-The forecast in the last paragraph has not been fulfilled.  I again visited Suez in 1877-78; and found that it had been ruined by the Canal leaving it out of line.  In fact, another Suez is growing up about the “New Docks,” while the old town is falling to pieces.  For this and other Egyptian matters, see “The Gold Mines of Midian” (by Sir Richard Burton).

[p.186]Chapter X.

The pilgrim ship.

The larger craft anchor some three or four miles from the Suez pier, so that it is necessary to drop down in a skiff or shore-boat.

Immense was the confusion at the eventful hour of our departure.  Suppose us gathered upon the beach, on the morning of a fiery July day, carefully watching our hurriedly-packed goods and chattels, surrounded by a mob of idlers, who are not too proud to pick up waifs and strays; whilst pilgrims are rushing about apparently mad; and friends are weeping, acquaintances are vociferating adieux; boatmen are demanding fees, shopmen are claiming debts; women are shrieking and talking with inconceivable power, and children are crying,-in short, for an hour or so we stand in the thick of a human storm.  To confound confusion, the boatmen have moored their skiff half a dozen yards away from the shore, lest the porters should be unable to make more than double their fare from the Hajis.  Again the Turkish women make a hideous noise, as they are carried off struggling vainly in brawny arms; the children howl because their mothers howl; and the men scold and swear, because in such scenes none may be silent.  The moment we had embarked, each individual found that he or she had missed something of vital importance,-a pipe, a child, a box, or a water-melon; and naturally all the servants were in the bazars, when