[p.201] considerably.  My morning had been passed in watching the influx of the tide, and the grotesque efforts of the Maghrabis.  When the vessel showed some symptoms of unsteadiness, I arose, walked gravely up to her, ranged the pilgrims around her with their shoulders to the sides, and told them to heave with might when they heard me invoke the revered name of my patron saint.  I raised my hands and voice; “Ya Piran Pir!  Ya Abd al-Kadir Jilani[FM#20]” was the signal.  Each Maghrabi worked like an Atlas, the “Golden Wire” canted half over, and, sliding heavily through the sand, once more floated off into deep water.  This was generally voted a minor miracle, and the Effendi was respected-for a day or two.

The wind was fair, but we had all to re-embark, an operation which went on till noon.  After starting I remarked the natural cause which gives this Birkat Faraun-"Pharaoh’s Bay,"-a bad name.  Here the gulf narrows; and the winds, which rush down the clefts and valleys of the lofty mountains on the Eastern and Western shores, meeting tides and counter-currents, cause a perpetual commotion.  That day the foam-tipped waves repeatedly washed over my cot, by no means diminishing its discomforts.  In the evening, or rather late in the afternoon, we anchored, to our infinite disgust, under a ridge of rocks, behind which lies the plain of Tur.  The Rais deterred all from going on shore by terrible stories about the Badawin that haunt the place, besides which there was no sand to sleep upon.  We remained, therefore, on board that night; and, making sail early the next morning, we threaded through reefs and sand-banks about noon into the intricate and dangerous entrance of Tur.

Nothing can be meaner than the present appearance of the old Phoenician colony, although its position as a

[p.202] harbour, and its plentiful supply of fruit and fresh water, make it one of the most frequented places on the coast.  The only remains of any antiquity-except the wells-are the fortifications which the Portuguese erected to keep out the Badawin.  The little town lies upon a plain that stretches with a gradual rise from the sea to the lofty mountain-axis of the Sinaitic group.  The country around reminded me strongly of maritime Sind; a flat of clay and sand, clothed with sparse turfs of Salsolae, and bearing strong signs of a (geologically speaking) recent origin.  The town is inhabited principally by Greek and other Christians,[FN#21] who live by selling water and provisions to ships.  A fleecy cloud hung lightly over the majestic head of Jabal Tur, about eventide, and the outlines of the giant hills stood “picked out” from the clear blue sky.  Our Rais, weather-wise man, warned us that these were indications of a gale, and that, in case of rough weather, he did not intend to leave Tur.  I was not sorry to hear this.  We had passed a pleasant day, drinking sweet water, and eating the dates, grapes, and pomegranates, which the people of the place carry down to the beach for the benefit of hungry pilgrims.  Besides which, there were various sights to see, and with these we might profitably spend the morrow.  We therefore pitched the tent upon the sand, and busied ourselves with