CHAPTER II: LISBON—CADIZ
CHAPTER III: THE “LADY MARY WOOD”
CHAPTER IV: GIBRALTAR
CHAPTER V: ATHENS
CHAPTER VI: SMYRNA—FIRST GLIMPSES OF THE EAST
CHAPTER VII: CONSTANTINOPLE
CHAPTER VIII: RHODES
CHAPTER IX: THE WHITE SQUALL
CHAPTER X: TELMESSUS—BEYROUT
CHAPTER XI: A DAY AND NIGHT IN SYRIA
CHAPTER XII: FROM JAFFA TO JERUSALEM
CHAPTER XIII: JERUSALEM
CHAPTER XIV: FROM JAFFA TO ALEXANDRIA
CHAPTER XV: TO CAIRO
Footnotes:
DEDICATION
TO CAPTAIN SAMUEL LEWIS, OF THE PENINSULAR AND ORIENTAL STEAM
NAVIGATION COMPANY’S SERVICE.
My Dear Lewis,
After a voyage, during which the captain of the ship has displayed
uncommon courage, seamanship, affability, or other good qualities,
grateful passengers often present him with a token of their esteem, in
the shape of teapots, tankards, trays, &c. of precious metal. Among
authors, however, bullion is a much rarer commodity than paper, whereof
I beg you to accept a little in the shape of this small volume. It
contains a few notes of a voyage which your skill and kindness rendered
doubly pleasant; and of which I don’t think there is any recollection
more agreeable than that it was the occasion of making your friendship.
If the noble Company in whose service you command (and whose fleet
alone makes them a third-rate maritime power in Europe) should appoint
a few admirals in their navy, I hope to hear that your flag is hoisted
on board one of the grandest of their steamers. But, I trust, even
there you will not forget the “Iberia,” and the delightful
Mediterranean cruise we had in her in the Autumn of 1844.
Most faithfully yours, My dear Lewis, W. M. THACKERAY. LONDON: December
24, 1845.
PREFACE
On the 20th of August, 1844, the writer of this little book went to
dine at the—Club, quite unconscious of the wonderful events which Fate
had in store for him.
Mr. William was there, giving a farewell dinner to his friend Mr. James
(now Sir James). These two asked Mr. Titmarsh to join company with
them, and the conversation naturally fell upon the tour Mr. James was
about to take. The Peninsular and Oriental Company had arranged an
excursion in the Mediterranean, by which, in the space of a couple of
months, as many men and cities were to be seen as Ulysses surveyed and
noted in ten years. Malta, Athens, Smyrna, Constantinople, Jerusalem,
Cairo were to be visited, and everybody was to be back in London by
Lord Mayor’s Day.
The idea of beholding these famous places inflamed Mr. Titmarsh’s mind;
and the charms of such a journey were eloquently impressed upon him by
Mr. James. “Come,” said that kind and hospitable gentleman, “and make
one of my family party; in all your life you will never probably have a
chance again to see so much in so short a time. Consider—it is as easy
as a journey to Paris or to Baden.” Mr. Titmarsh considered all these
things; but also the difficulties of the situation: he had but
six-and-thirty hours to get ready for so portentous a journey—he had
engagements at home— finally, could he afford it? In spite of these
objections, however, with every glass of claret the enthusiasm somehow
rose, and the difficulties vanished.
But when Mr. James, to crown all, said he had no doubt that his
friends, the Directors of the Peninsular and Oriental Company, would
make Mr. Titmarsh the present of a berth for the voyage, all objections
ceased on his part: to break his outstanding engagements—to write
letters to his amazed family, stating that they were not to expect him
at dinner on Saturday fortnight, as he would be at Jerusalem on that
day—to purchase eighteen shirts and lay in a sea stock of Russia
ducks,—was the work of four-and- twenty hours; and on the 22nd of
August, the “Lady Mary Wood” was sailing from Southampton with the
“subject of the present memoir,” quite astonished to find himself one
of the passengers on board.
These important statements are made partly to convince some incredulous
friends—who insist still that the writer never went abroad at all, and
wrote the following pages, out of pure fancy, in retirement at Putney;
but mainly, to give him an opportunity of thanking the Directors of the
Company in question for a delightful excursion.
It was one so easy, so charming, and I think profitable—it leaves such
a store of pleasant recollections for after days—and creates so many
new sources of interest (a newspaper letter from Beyrout, or Malta, or
Algiers, has twice the interest now that it had formerly),—that I can’t
but recommend all persons who have time and means to make a similar
journey—vacation idlers to extend their travels and pursue it: above
all, young well-educated men entering life, to take this course, we
will say, after that at college; and, having their book-learning fresh
in their minds, see the living people and their cities, and the actual
aspect of Nature, along the famous shores of the Mediterranean.
CHAPTER I
VIGO
The sun brought all the sick people out of their berths this morning,
and the indescribable moans and noises which had been issuing from
behind the fine painted doors on each side of the cabin happily ceased.
Long before sunrise, I had the good fortune to discover that it was no
longer necessary to maintain the horizontal posture, and, the very
instant this truth was apparent, came on deck, at two o’clock in the
morning, to see a noble full moon sinking westward, and millions of the
most brilliant stars shining overhead. The night was so serenely pure,
that you saw them in magnificent airy perspective; the blue sky around
and over them, and other more distant orbs sparkling above, till they
glittered away faintly into the immeasurable distance. The ship went
rolling over a heavy, sweltering, calm sea. The breeze was a warm and
soft one; quite different to the rigid air we had left behind us, two
days since, off the Isle of Wight. The bell kept tolling its
half-hours, and the mate explained the mystery of watch and dog-watch.
The sight of that noble scene cured all the woes and discomfitures of
sea-sickness at once, and if there were any need to communicate such
secrets to the public, one might tell of much more good that the
pleasant morning-watch effected; but there are a set of emotions about
which a man had best be shy of talking lightly,—and the feelings
excited by contemplating this vast, magnificent, harmonious Nature are
among these. The view of it inspires a delight and ecstasy which is not
only hard to describe, but which has something secret in it that a man
should not utter loudly. Hope, memory, humility, tender yearnings
towards dear friends, and inexpressible love and reverence towards the
Power which created the infinite universe blazing above eternally, and
the vast ocean shining and rolling around—fill the heart with a solemn
humble happiness, that a person dwelling in a city has rarely occasion
to enjoy. They are coming away from London parties at this time: the
dear little eyes are closed in sleep under mother’s wing. How far off
city cares and pleasures appear to be! how small and mean they seem,
dwindling out of sight before this magnificent brightness of Nature!
But the best thoughts only grow and strengthen under it. Heaven shines
above, and the humble spirit looks up reverently towards that boundless
aspect of wisdom and beauty. You are at home, and with all at rest
there, however far away they may be; and through the distance the heart
broods over them, bright and wakeful like yonder peaceful stars
overhead.
The day was as fine and calm as the night; at seven bells, suddenly a
bell began to toll very much like that of a country church, and on
going on deck we found an awning raised, a desk with a flag flung over
it close to the compass, and the ship’s company and passengers
assembled there to hear the Captain read the Service in a manly
respectful voice. This, too, was a novel and touching sight to me.
Peaked ridges of purple mountains rose to the left of the
ship,—Finisterre and the coast of Galicia. The sky above was cloudless
and shining; the vast dark ocean smiled peacefully round about, and the
ship went rolling over it, as the people within were praising the Maker
of all.
In honour of the day, it was announced that the passengers would be
regaled with champagne at dinner; and accordingly that exhilarating
liquor was served out in decent profusion, the company drinking the
Captain’s health with the customary orations of compliment and
acknowledgment. This feast was scarcely ended, when we found ourselves
rounding the headland into Vigo Bay, passing a grim and tall island of
rocky mountains which lies in the centre of the bay.
Whether it is that the sight of land is always welcome to weary
mariners, after the perils and annoyances of a voyage of three days, or
whether the place is in itself extraordinarily beautiful, need not be
argued; but I have seldom seen anything more charming than the
amphitheatre of noble hills into which the ship now came— all the
features of the landscape being lighted up with a wonderful clearness
of air, which rarely adorns a view in our country. The sun had not yet
set, but over the town and lofty rocky castle of Vigo a great ghost of
a moon was faintly visible, which blazed out brighter and brighter as
the superior luminary retired behind the purple mountains of the
headland to rest. Before the general background of waving heights which
encompassed the bay, rose a second semicircle of undulating hills, as
cheerful and green as the mountains behind them were grey and solemn.
Farms and gardens, convent towers, white villages and churches, and
buildings that no doubt were hermitages once, upon the sharp peaks of
the hills, shone brightly in the sun. The sight was delightfully
cheerful, animated, and pleasing.
Presently the Captain roared out the magic words, “Stop her!” and the
obedient vessel came to a stand-still, at some three hundred yards from
the little town, with its white houses clambering up a rock, defended
by the superior mountain whereon the castle stands. Numbers of people,
arrayed in various brilliant colours of red, were standing on the sand
close by the tumbling, shining, purple waves: and there we beheld, for
the first time, the Royal red and yellow standard of Spain floating on
its own ground, under the guardianship of a light blue sentinel, whose
musket glittered in the sun. Numerous boats were seen, incontinently,
to put off from the little shore.
And now our attention was withdrawn from the land to a sight of great
splendour on board. This was Lieutenant Bundy, the guardian of Her
Majesty’s mails, who issued from his cabin in his long swallow-tailed
coat with anchor buttons; his sabre clattering between his legs; a
magnificent shirt-collar, of several inches in height, rising round his
good-humoured sallow face; and above it a cocked hat, that shone so, I
thought it was made of polished tin (it may have been that or oilskin),
handsomely laced with black worsted, and ornamented with a shining gold
cord. A little squat boat, rowed by three ragged gallegos, came
bouncing up to the ship. Into this Mr. Bundy and Her Majesty’s Royal
mail embarked with much majesty; and in the twinkling of an eye, the
Royal standard of England, about the size of a pocket-handkerchief,—and
at the bows of the boat, the man-of-war’s pennant, being a strip of
bunting considerably under the value of a farthing,—streamed out.
“They know that flag, sir,” said the good-natured old tar, quite
solemnly, in the evening afterwards: “they respect it, sir.” The
authority of Her Majesty’s lieutenant on board the steamer is stated to
be so tremendous, that he may order it to stop, to move, to go
larboard, starboard, or what you will; and the captain dare only
disobey him suo periculo.
It was agreed that a party of us should land for half-an-hour, and
taste real Spanish chocolate on Spanish ground. We followed Lieutenant
Bundy, but humbly in the providor’s boat; that officer going on shore
to purchase fresh eggs, milk for tea (in place of the slimy substitute
of whipped yolk of egg which we had been using for our morning and
evening meals), and, if possible, oysters, for which it is said the
rocks of Vigo are famous.
It was low tide, and the boat could not get up to the dry shore. Hence
it was necessary to take advantage of the offers of sundry gallegos,
who rushed barelegged into the water, to land on their shoulders. The
approved method seems to be, to sit upon one shoulder only, holding on
by the porter’s whiskers; and though some of our party were of the
tallest and fattest men whereof our race is composed, and their living
sedans exceedingly meagre and small, yet all were landed without
accident upon the juicy sand, and forthwith surrounded by a host of
mendicants, screaming, “I say, sir! penny, sir! I say, English! tam
your ays! penny!” in all voices, from extreme youth to the most lousy
and venerable old age. When it is said that these beggars were as
ragged as those of Ireland, and still more voluble, the Irish traveller
will be able to form an opinion of their capabilities.
Through this crowd we passed up some steep rocky steps, through a
little low gate, where, in a little guard-house and barrack, a few
dirty little sentinels were keeping a dirty little guard; and by
low-roofed whitewashed houses, with balconies, and women in them,— the
very same women, with the very same head-clothes, and yellow fans and
eyes, at once sly and solemn, which Murillo painted,—by a neat church
into which we took a peep, and, finally, into the Plaza del
Constitucion, or grand place of the town, which may be about as big as
that pleasing square, Pump Court, Temple. We were taken to an inn, of
which I forget the name, and were shown from one chamber and storey to
another, till we arrived at that apartment where the real Spanish
chocolate was finally to be served out. All these rooms were as clean
as scrubbing and whitewash could make them; with simple French prints
(with Spanish titles) on the walls; a few rickety half-finished
articles of furniture; and, finally, an air of extremely respectable
poverty. A jolly, black-eyed, yellow- shawled Dulcinea conducted us
through the apartment, and provided us with the desired refreshment.
Sounds of clarions drew our eyes to the Place of the Constitution; and,
indeed, I had forgotten to say, that that majestic square was filled
with military, with exceedingly small firelocks, the men ludicrously
young and diminutive for the most part, in a uniform at once cheap and
tawdry,—like those supplied to the warriors at Astley’s, or from still
humbler theatrical wardrobes: indeed, the whole scene was just like
that of a little theatre; the houses curiously small, with arcades and
balconies, out of which looked women apparently a great deal too big
for the chambers they inhabited; the warriors were in ginghams,
cottons, and tinsel; the officers had huge epaulets of sham silver lace
drooping over their bosoms, and looked as if they were attired at a
very small expense. Only the general—the captain-general (Pooch, they
told us, was his name: I know not how ’tis written in Spanish)—was well
got up, with a smart hat, a real feather, huge stars glittering on his
portly chest, and tights and boots of the first order. Presently, after
a good deal of trumpeting, the little men marched off the place, Pooch
and his staff coming into the very inn in which we were awaiting our
chocolate.
Then we had an opportunity of seeing some of the civilians of the town.
Three or four ladies passed, with fan and mantle; to them came three or
four dandies, dressed smartly in the French fashion, with strong Jewish
physiognomies. There was one, a solemn lean fellow in black, with his
collars extremely turned over, and holding before him a long
ivory-tipped ebony cane, who tripped along the little place with a
solemn smirk, which gave one an indescribable feeling of the truth of
“Gil Blas,” and of those delightful bachelors and licentiates who have
appeared to us all in our dreams.
In fact we were but half-an-hour in this little queer Spanish town; and
it appeared like a dream, too, or a little show got up to amuse us.
Boom! the gun fired at the end of the funny little entertainment. The
women and the balconies, the beggars and the walking Murillos, Pooch
and the little soldiers in tinsel, disappeared, and were shut up in
their box again. Once more we were carried on the beggars’ shoulders
out off the shore, and we found ourselves again in the great stalwart
roast-beef world; the stout British steamer bearing out of the bay,
whose purple waters had grown more purple. The sun had set by this
time, and the moon above was twice as big and bright as our degenerate
moons are.
The providor had already returned with his fresh stores, and Bundy’s
tin hat was popped into its case, and he walking the deck of the packet
denuded of tails. As we went out of the bay, occurred a little incident
with which the great incidents of the day may be said to wind up. We
saw before us a little vessel, tumbling and plunging about in the dark
waters of the bay, with a bright light beaming from the mast. It made
for us at about a couple of miles from the town, and came close up,
flouncing and bobbing in the very jaws of the paddle, which looked as
if it would have seized and twirled round that little boat and its
light, and destroyed them for ever and ever. All the passengers, of
course, came crowding to the ship’s side to look at the bold little
boat.
“I SAY!” howled a man; “I say!—a word!—I say! Pasagero! Pasagero!
Pasage-e-ero!” We were two hundred yards ahead by this time.
“Go on,” says the captain.
“You may stop if you like,” says Lieutenant Bundy, exerting his
tremendous responsibility. It is evident that the lieutenant has a soft
heart, and felt for the poor devil in the boat who was howling so
piteously “Pasagero!”
But the captain was resolute. His duty was NOT to take the man up. He
was evidently an irregular customer—someone trying to escape, possibly.
The lieutenant turned away, but did not make any further hints. The
captain was right; but we all felt somehow disappointed, and looked
back wistfully at the little boat, jumping up and down far astern now;
the poor little light shining in vain, and the poor wretch within
screaming out in the most heartrending accents a last faint desperate
“I say! Pasagero-o!”
We all went down to tea rather melancholy; but the new milk, in the
place of that abominable whipped egg, revived us again; and so ended
the great events on board the “Lady Mary Wood” steamer, on the 25th
August, 1844.