[p.33]like Britons. A troop of the Kurd Kawwas,[FN#5] escorting
treasure, was surrounded by a group of noisy Greeks; these men's gross
practical jokes sounding anything but pleasant to the solemn Moslems,
whose saddle-bags and furniture were at every moment in danger of being
defiled by abominable drinks and the ejected juices of tobacco. There
was one pretty woman on board, a Spanish girl, who looked strangely
misplaced-a rose in a field of thistles. Some silent Italians, with
noisy interpreters, sat staidly upon the benches. It was soon found
out, through the communicative dragoman, that their business was to buy
horses for H. M. of Sardinia: they were exposed to a volley of
questions delivered by a party of French tradesmen returning to Cairo,
but they shielded themselves and fought shy with Machiavellian
dexterity. Besides these was a German, a "beer-bottle in the morning
and a bottle of beer in the evening," to borrow a simile from his own
nation; a Syrian merchant, the richest and ugliest of Alexandria; and a
few French house-painters going to decorate the Pasha's palace at
Shubra. These last were the happiest of our voyagers,-veritable
children of Paris, Montagnards, Voltaireans, and thoroughbred
Sans-Soucis. All day they sat upon deck chattering as only their lively
nation can chatter, indulging in ultra-gallic maxims, such as "on ne
vieillit jamais a table;" now playing ecarte for love or nothing, then
composing "des ponches un peu chiques;" now reciting adventures of the
category "Mirabolant," then singing, then dancing, then sleeping, and
rising to play, to drink, talk, dance, and sing again. One chaunted:
"Je n'ai pas connu mon pere
Ce respectable vieillard.
Je suis ne trois ans trop tard," &.;
Whilst another trolled out: