[p.203] extricating a box of provisions:  the labour was rendered lighter by the absence of the Maghrabis, some of whom were wandering about the beach, whilst others had gone off to fill their bags with fresh water.  We found their surliness insufferable; even when we were passing from poop to forecastle, landing or boarding, they grumbled forth their dissatisfaction.

Our Rais was not mistaken in his prediction.  The fleecy cloud on Tur’s tops had given true warning.  When morning (9th July) broke, we found the wind strong, and the sea white with foam.  Most of us thought lightly of these terrors, but our valorous captain swore that he dared not for his life cross in such a storm the mouth of ill-omened Akabah.  We breakfasted, therefore, and afterwards set out to visit Moses’ Hot Baths, mounted on wretched donkeys with pack-saddles, ignorant of stirrups, and without tails, whilst we ourselves suffered generally from boils, which, as usual upon a journey, make their appearance in localities the most inconvenient.  Our road lay northward across the plain towards a long narrow strip of date ground, surrounded by a ruinous mud wall.  After a ride of two or three miles, we entered the gardens, and came suddenly upon the Hammam.  It is a prim little Cockney bungalow, built by Abbas Pasha of Egypt for his own accommodation; glaringly whitewashed, and garnished with diwans and calico curtains of a gorgeous hue.  The guardian had been warned of our visit, and was present to supply us with bathing-cloths and other necessaries.  One by one we entered the cistern, which is now in an inner room.  The water is about four feet deep, warm in winter, cool in summer, of a saltish-bitter taste, but celebrated for its invigorating qualities, when applied externally.  On one side of the calcareous rock, near the ground, is the hole opened for the spring by Moses’ rod, which must have been like the “mast of some tall

[p.204] Ammiral[FN#22]”; and near it are the marks of Moses’ nails-deep indentations in the stone, which were probably left there by some extinct Saurian.  Our Cicerone informed us that formerly the finger-marks existed, and that they were long enough for a man to lie in.  The same functionary attributed the sanitary properties of the spring to the blessings of the Prophet, and, when asked why Moses had not made sweet water to flow, informed us that the Great Lawgiver had intended the spring for bathing in, not for drinking.  We sat with him, eating the small yellow dates of Tur, which are delicious, melting like honey in the mouth, and leaving a surpassing arriere gout.  After finishing sundry pipes and cups of coffee, we gave the bath-man a few piastres, and, mounting our donkeys, started eastward for the Bir Musa,[FN#23] which we reached in half an hour.  It is a fine old work, built round and domed over with roughly squared stones, very like what may be seen in some rustic parts of Southern England.  The sides of the pit were so rugged that a man could climb down them, and at the bottom was a pool of water, sweet and abundant.  We had intended to stay there, and to dine al fresco, but the hated faces of our companions, the Maghrabis, meeting us at the entrance, nipped that project in the bud.  Accordingly we retired from the burning