DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.11448#0050
5M
THE CRESCENT AND THE CROSS.
[chap. v
Looking now along the shore, beneath me lies the harbor in
the form of a crescent—the right horn occupied by the palace
of the Pasha, his hareem, and a battery ; the left, a long low
sweep of land, alive with windmills, the city in the centre : to
the westward, the flat, sandy shore stretches monotonously away
to the horizon ; to the eastward, the coast merges into Aboukir
Bay.
Having taken this general view of our first Egyptian city,
let us enter it in a regular manner to view it in detail. The
bay is crowded with merchant vessels of every nation, among
which tower some very imposing-looking three-deckers, gigantic
but dismantled ; the red flag with the star and crescent flying
from the peak. Men-of-war barges shoot past you with crews
dressed in what look like red night-caps and white petticoats.
They rise to their feet at every stroke of the oar, and pull all
out of time. Here, an " ocean patriarch " (as the Arabs call
Noah), with white turban and flowing beard, is steering a little
ark filled with unclean-looking animals of every description ;
and there, a crew of swarthy Egyptians, naked from the waist
upward, are pulling some pale-faced strangers to a vessel with
loosed top-sails, and blue-peter flying.
At length, amid a deafening din of voices and a pestilential
effluvia from dead fish and living Arabs, you fight your way
ashore : and if you had just awakened from a sleep of ages,
you could scarcely open your eyes upon a scene more differ-
ent from those you have just left. The crumbling quays are
piled with bales of eastern merchandise, islanded in a sea of
white turbans, wreathed over dark, melancholy faces. Vivid
eyes glitter strangely upon solemn-looking and bearded coun-
tenances. High above the variegated crowds peer the long
necks of hopeless-looking camels. Wriggling and struggling
amidst all this mass were picturesquely ragged little boys, drag-
ging after them shaven donkeys with carpet saddles, upon one
of which you suddenly find yourself seated with scarcely a vo.
lition of your own, and are soon galloping along filthy Janes,
with blank, white, windowless and doorless walls on either side.,
and begin to wonder when you are to arrive at the Arab city.
You have already passed through it, and are emerging intc the
THE CRESCENT AND THE CROSS.
[chap. v
Looking now along the shore, beneath me lies the harbor in
the form of a crescent—the right horn occupied by the palace
of the Pasha, his hareem, and a battery ; the left, a long low
sweep of land, alive with windmills, the city in the centre : to
the westward, the flat, sandy shore stretches monotonously away
to the horizon ; to the eastward, the coast merges into Aboukir
Bay.
Having taken this general view of our first Egyptian city,
let us enter it in a regular manner to view it in detail. The
bay is crowded with merchant vessels of every nation, among
which tower some very imposing-looking three-deckers, gigantic
but dismantled ; the red flag with the star and crescent flying
from the peak. Men-of-war barges shoot past you with crews
dressed in what look like red night-caps and white petticoats.
They rise to their feet at every stroke of the oar, and pull all
out of time. Here, an " ocean patriarch " (as the Arabs call
Noah), with white turban and flowing beard, is steering a little
ark filled with unclean-looking animals of every description ;
and there, a crew of swarthy Egyptians, naked from the waist
upward, are pulling some pale-faced strangers to a vessel with
loosed top-sails, and blue-peter flying.
At length, amid a deafening din of voices and a pestilential
effluvia from dead fish and living Arabs, you fight your way
ashore : and if you had just awakened from a sleep of ages,
you could scarcely open your eyes upon a scene more differ-
ent from those you have just left. The crumbling quays are
piled with bales of eastern merchandise, islanded in a sea of
white turbans, wreathed over dark, melancholy faces. Vivid
eyes glitter strangely upon solemn-looking and bearded coun-
tenances. High above the variegated crowds peer the long
necks of hopeless-looking camels. Wriggling and struggling
amidst all this mass were picturesquely ragged little boys, drag-
ging after them shaven donkeys with carpet saddles, upon one
of which you suddenly find yourself seated with scarcely a vo.
lition of your own, and are soon galloping along filthy Janes,
with blank, white, windowless and doorless walls on either side.,
and begin to wonder when you are to arrive at the Arab city.
You have already passed through it, and are emerging intc the