[p.135]patted my head, called for another pipe, and sat down to show me his wounds, and to boast of his exploits.  I could not help remarking a ring of English gold, with a bezel of bloodstone, sitting strangely upon his coarse, sun-stained hand.  He declared that it had been snatched by him from a Konsul (Consul) at Jeddah, and he volubly related, in a mixture of Albanian, Turkish, and Arabic, the history of his acquisition.  He begged me to supply him with a little poison that “would not lie,” for the purpose of quieting a troublesome enemy, and he carefully stowed away in his pouch five grains of calomel, which I gave him for that laudable purpose.  Before taking leave he pressed me strongly to go and drink with him; I refused to do so during the day, but, wishing to see how these men sacrifice to Bacchus, promised compliance that night.  About nine o’clock, when the Caravanserai was quiet, I took a pipe, and a tobacco-pouch,[FN#26] stuck my dagger in my belt, and slipped into Ali Agha’s room.  He was sitting on a bed spread upon the ground:  in front of him stood four wax candles (all Orientals hate drinking in any but a bright light), and a tray containing a basin of stuff like soup maigre, a dish of cold stewed meat, and two bowls of Salatah,[FN#27] sliced cucumber, and curds.  The “materials” peeped out of an iron pot filled with water; one was a long, thin, white-glass flask of ’Araki, the other a bottle of some strong

[p.136]perfume.  Both were wrapped up in wet rags, the usual refrigerator.

Ali Agha welcomed me politely, and seeing me admire the preparations, bade me beware how I suspected an Albanian of not knowing how to drink; he made me sit by him on the bed, threw his dagger to a handy distance, signalled me to do the same, and prepared to begin the bout.  Taking up a little tumbler, in shape like those from which French postilions used to drink la goutte, he inspected it narrowly, wiped out the interior with his forefinger, filled it to the brim, and offered it to his guest[FN#28] with a bow.  I received it with a low salam, swallowed its contents at once, turned it upside down in proof of fair play, replaced it upon the floor, with a jaunty movement of the arm, somewhat like a pugilist delivering a “rounder,” bowed again, and requested him to help himself.  The same ceremony followed on his part.  Immediately after each glass,-and rapidly the cup went about,-we swallowed a draught of water, and ate a spoonful of the meat or the Salatah in order to cool our palates.  Then we re-applied ourselves to our pipes, emitting huge puffs, a sign of being “fast” men, and looked facetiously at each other,-drinking being considered by Moslems a funny and pleasant sort of sin.

The Albanian captain was at least half seas over when we began the bout, yet he continued to fill and to drain without showing the least progress towards ebriety.  I in vain for a time expected the bad-masti (as the Persians call it,) the horse play, and the gross facetiae, which generally