Chapter XVIII

Barrage — Cotton-boats on the Nile — The bazaars at Atfeh — Interior of a coffee shop — Villages on the banks of the Mahmoudieh Canal — Nile locomotion — Illuminations — An Eastern scene — A striking contrast.

Having settled everything to the satisfaction of all parties most concerned, and bade adieus to all friends, we embarked on board the ‘Eagle’ for Alexandria early on the 28th of February. The next morning we arrived at one of Mehemet Ali’s great works, which unlike most of them has been continued by his successors; and like all of them is vehemently disliked by the people.

This is the Barrage. It was commenced by a French engineer, and its object is to dam up the Nile by means of half a mile of arches, with a sluice in each; this will make the river, it is thought, rise considerably above this place, and enable the Government to keep all the canals and water-wheels full when the Nile is low. But there are persons who assert that the scheme cannot succeed; that experiments made with such large rivers have never answered, and that in the mean time the navigation is impeded and rendered dangerous.

There seems some foundation for the last objection, for the eight middle arches not having been completed, a kind of cataract has been formed, which boats going down are obliged to be cautious how they shoot, and others coming up must be towed through with a great deal of difficulty, unless the wind be directly north, and very powerful.

It is undoubtedly a handsome piece of work, consisting of about forty red-brick arches, corniced with stones, with large piers on both sides for some distance. It is supposed to be of sufficient strength to resist the strongest and most sudden inundations. We observed three or four steam-engines at work, planting and pumping.

Favoured by a strong breeze from the south we made considerable progress. We had a simoom loaded with dust, and the air was so oppressively hot as at times to create a difficulty of breathing. Village succeeded village, and the river was alive with cotton-boats, laden almost up to the masts with well-packed “Egyptians,” whilst crowds of men, women, and children lay here and there among the bales, their gay blue robes and red tarboushes creating an effect that artists would gladly have seized upon.

At Atfeh I landed and visited another bazaar. They are always amusing, and always in some degree different. Here you meet with a shop full of goods from Sheffield, Manchester, Leeds, Staffordshire, Lyons, and Nantz. The owner sits in the midst of them; a man generally about fifty, with a long white beard, smoking a long pipe with an amber mouth-piece. Very few persons enter, but when they do he gains much money, as he sells at about fifty per cent. profit. Besides he possesses the only scales in the village, and is considered an authority on matters of exchange, the value of money, &c., and as a natural consequence is often money-changer and banker. When he goes away, a donkey richly housed is brought to him, his eldest son lifts him on the saddle, his second shuts up the shop and takes charge of the money; and then the old fellow rides gravely home.

The next shop is a baker’s—his floor and a projecting stall in the street are covered with small round loaves, like an English tea-cake in shape and appearance; but if you buy one, which you can do for five paras, and taste it, you will find that it is like with a difference, as the flavour is very bitter, and it is made without salt. A crowd stands round bargaining and disputing with the owner, who smokes a glass-mouth- pieced chibouque and looks as if he did not care whether customers came or not. The fact is, he knows that he is the only baker in the place, and that Arabs must eat.

The next shop is probably kept by an old woman, whose blue veil is hung with nine piastre pieces, and from whose ears are suspended plenty of the same ornaments. She sells rice, cotton, corn, durra, wheat, and rye; her stock is small, in fact, it is all contained in little canvass bags, not unlike the sample-bags used in the Corn Exchange in London.

Afterwards, you arrive at a shop where a kind of date preserve is sold in large slices, which smells a great deal better than it tastes. A still more seductive smell attracts you to the next shop, which is smoking fiercely. On the counter, gridirons are ranged over charcoal fires, upon which a quantity of little rolls of beef and mutton are grilling; and several Arabs, having passed by the baker’s, are here regaling themselves with bread and kabobs.

But who approaches with the cry of “Moira,” which causes every one to rush eagerly towards him? It is a man carrying a large tin vessel on his shoulders, with a spout under his arm, and a little tin pot in his hand. He is the waterman. He drives a singular kind of trade. Every one rushes to have a drink, but his thirst gratified, appears oblivious of the obligation of payment. At first, I thought he was employed by Government—though it is rarely so thoughtful of the wants of the populace—but on closer examination, I saw that a rich man invariably paid, and then the waterman’s poorest customers are justified in demanding a drink for nothing. I now could understand the anxiety which I had observed in the faces of the thirsty throng whenever the man politely invited me to drink.

A little further on, we came to the coffee-shop, where every one, having had his breakfast, lingers till prayer-time. This man seems rich—he calls for a narghileh and coffee; that man must be poor—he modestly asks for a light, and then fills his own pipe from his own bag. One only calls for coffee, another only for a pipe, while a third calls for nothing, and is thankful if the end of a pipe is offered him by a charitable stranger. All are welcome, whether they order much, little, or nothing; from which fact some English shopkeepers might take a hint.

We voyaged quietly down the Mahmoudieh Canal, now and then enlivened by a collision with heavily-laden corn-boats coming down, or coal-boats going up, and occassionally tossed about by some steamer running between Alexandria and Cairo. There are numerous villages on the banks of the canal, but they are the most wretched I have beheld in Egypt, and can always be scented at a distance, in consequence of their using a fuel of dung, straw and mud, in little round cakes, which they plaster on the walls, that they may dry in the sun—producing a very curious and a very disagreeable effect.

On approaching Alexandria, the canal assumed much the appearance of a river, after we had passed where two walls separate it from Lake Mariotis on one side, and the sea on the other. It was thronged with boats. There was a constant succession of country houses, where gay English nursery-maids, with fine healthy English children, were seen playing in the gardens in front of which lay richly ornamented boats with Union Jacks, or Crescent and Star flags flying aloft.

Every species of Nile locomotion appeared to have been reserved for us: we had sailed with our large flowing sails, we had rowed with our shouting Arabs, and we had been towed along in that drowsy state which Nile tracking alone can produce in perfection. But Alexandria is at last in sight, and its innumerable towers and solitary Pompey’s Pillar, assure us that all our travelling miseries are at an end.

On landing at the end of the canal, the first spectacle that satisfied us that we were within the influence of European civilization was, I am somewhat ashamed to say, two English sailors perfectly drunk. This reminded me of the old story of the shipwrecked mariner, who, on crawling up a rocky bank from the raging waves, hailed with inexpressible delight that emblem of Christian enlightenment—a gallows.

I went from our hotel in the evening, accompanied by numerous Americans, to see the grand illuminations, got up to commemorate the abolition of the poll-tax by the Pasha. The Arab and Turkish bazaars were very well lighted: in the latter I counted fifty-seven glass chandeliers, averaging twenty-seven lights each.

The shops were handsomely decorated; costly mats and rich Turkey carpets hung around as arras, covering both the goods and the floor, while silk and gold lace cushions surrounded a little table bearing a fine silver narghileh. There were pipes, coffee, and negus in each shop, with servants in waiting; and prominent above all, the master receiving his friends.

I made acquaintance with one of these merchants, and while smoking a pysche in the seat of honour, watched the passers-by. Independently of the usual noble-looking Arabs, well-dressed merchants, Turkish officers, and veiled beauties, there were numbers of Maltese masqueraders—pantaloons, clowns, ballet girls, drunken sailors—acted as well as real. In one khan a body of zealous Mussulmen were performing the dervish dances; in the next, a group of pleasure-loving Arabs were encoring a dance by the Almi dancing girls. A few yards further on, a barrel organ was giving forth Jeannette and Jeannot, and on the opposite side a pretty girl, with a melodious voice, was reciting the touching loves of Bour ad Esseen and the daughter of the Great Wezeer, from the Arabian Nights.

Solos, male and female, varied the scene here and there; and, as a contrast, an old merchant might be observed reading the Koran to a select circle of smoking friends.

As I passed along, the streets were brilliantly illuminated; but suddenly I found myself on the shore of the deep blue sea, and nothing was heard but the waves breaking on the beach, and dashing over the bar, reminding me of the exclamation of Napoleon: “Alexandrie doit être la capitale du monde.” All was dark, save where the moonbeam falling on the rough water, cast a trembling light on the dancing boats half drawn up on the shore. Not a human being was visible, except in one direction, where a young Arab girl was silently weeping over a child that had just expired.

The contrast was exceedingly striking: from the brilliance of art to the calm beauty of nature, and from the busy hum of life to the solemn sorrow of death.