over the deck, as they were fast retreating from the shore. "Ask
somebody what became of that other omnibus!" she exclaimed. "Perhaps
they have gone with the English people," suggested Mr. Peterkin; but he
went to the officers of the boat, and attempted to explain in French
that one half of his family had been left behind. He was relieved to
find that the officers could understand his French, though they did not
talk English. They declared, however, it was utterly impossible to turn
back. They were already two minutes and a half behind time on account of
waiting for a party who had been very long in crossing the gangway.
Mr. Peterkin returned gloomily with the little boys to Mrs. Peterkin.
"We cannot go back," he said, "we must content ourselves with going on;
but I conclude we can telegraph from Malta. We can send a message to
Elizabeth Eliza and Solomon John, telling them that they can take the
next Marseilles P. & O. steamer in ten days, or that they can go back
to Southampton for the next boat, which leaves at the end of this week.
And Elizabeth Eliza may decide upon this," Mr. Peterkin concluded, "on
account of passing so near the Canary Isles."
"She will be glad to be rid of the birds," said Mrs. Peterkin, calming
herself.
These anxieties, however, were swallowed up in new trials. Mrs. Peterkin
found that she must share her cabin (she found it was called "cabin,"
and not "stateroom," which bothered her and made her feel like Robinson
Crusoe),--her cabin she must share with some strange ladies, while Mr.
Peterkin and the little boys were carried to another part of the ship.
Mrs. Peterkin remonstrated, delighted to find that her English was
understood, though it was not listened to. It was explained to her
that every family was divided in this way, and that she would meet Mr.
Peterkin and the little boys at meal-times in the large _salon_--on
which all the cabins opened--and on deck; and she was obliged to content
herself with this. Whenever they met their time was spent in concocting
a form of telegram to send from Malta. It would be difficult to bring it
into the required number of words, as it would be necessary to suggest
three different plans to Elizabeth Eliza and Solomon John. Besides
the two they had already discussed, there was to be considered the
possibility of their having joined the English party. But Mrs. Peterkin
was sure they must have gone back first to the Hôtel de Noailles, to
which they could address their telegram.
She found, meanwhile, the ladies in her cabin very kind and agreeable.
They were mothers returning to India, who had been home to England to
leave their children, as they were afraid to expose them longer to the
climate of India. Mrs. Peterkin could have sympathetic talks with them
over their family photographs. Mrs. Peterkin's family-book was, alas!
in Elizabeth Eliza's hand-bag. It contained the family photographs,
from early childhood upward, and was a large volume, representing the
children at every age.
At Malta, as he supposed, Mr. Peterkin and the little boys landed, in
order to send their telegram. Indeed, all of the gentlemen among the
passengers, and some of the ladies, gladly went on shore to visit the
points of interest that could be seen in the time allotted. The steamer
was to take in coal, and would not leave till early the next morning.
Mrs. Peterkin did not accompany them. She still had her fears about
leaving the ship and returning to it, although it had been so quietly
accomplished at Marseilles.
The party returned late at night, after Mrs. Peterkin had gone to her
cabin. The next morning, she found the ship was in motion, but she did
not find Mr. Peterkin and the little boys at the breakfast-table as
usual. She was told that the party who went on shore had all been to
the opera, and had returned at a late hour to the steamer, and would
naturally be late at breakfast. Mrs. Peterkin went on deck to await
them, and look for Malta as it seemed to retreat in the distance. But
the day passed on, and neither Mr. Peterkin nor either of the little
boys appeared! She tried to calm herself with the thought that they must
need sleep; but all the rest of the passengers appeared, relating their
different adventures. At last she sent the steward to inquire for them.
He came back with one of the officers of the boat, much disturbed, to
say that they could not be found; they must have been left behind. There
was great excitement, and deep interest expressed for Mrs. Peterkin. One
of the officers was very surly, and declared he could not be responsible
for the inanity of passengers. Another was more courteous. Mrs. Peterkin
asked if they could not go back,--if, at least, she could not be put
back. He explained how this would be impossible, but that the company
would telegraph when they reached Alexandria.
Mrs. Peterkin calmed herself as well as she could, though indeed she was
bewildered by her position. She was to land in Alexandria alone, and the
landing she was told would be especially difficult. The steamer would
not be able to approach the shore; the passengers would go down the
sides of the ship, and be lifted off the steps, by Arabs, into a felucca
(whatever that was) below. She shuddered at the prospect. It was darker
than her gloomiest fancies had pictured. Would it not be better to
remain in the ship, go back to Southampton, perhaps meet Elizabeth Eliza
there, picking up Mr. Peterkin at Malta on the way? But at this moment
she discovered that she was not on a "P. & O." steamer,--it was a French
steamer of the "Messagerie" line; they had stopped at Messina, and not
at Malta. She could not go back to Southampton, so she was told by an
English colonel on his way to India. He indeed was very courteous, and
advised her to "go to an hotel" at Alexandria with some of the ladies,
and send her telegrams from there. To whom, however, would she wish to
send a telegram?
"Who is Mr. Peterkin's banker?" asked the Colonel. Alas! Mrs. Peterkin
did not know. He had at first selected a banker in London, but had
afterward changed his mind and talked of a banker in Paris; and she was
not sure what was his final decision. She had known the name of the
London banker, but had forgotten it, because she had written it down,
and she never did remember the things she wrote down in her book. That
was her old memorandum-book, and she had left it at home because she had
brought a new one for her travels. She was sorry now she had not kept
the old book. This, however, was not of so much importance, as it did
not contain the name of the Paris banker; and this she had never heard.
"Elizabeth Eliza would know;" but how could she reach Elizabeth Eliza?
Some one asked if there were not some friend in America to whom she
could appeal, if she did not object to using the ocean telegraph.
"There is a friend in America," said Mrs. Peterkin, "to whom we all of
us do go for advice, and who always does help us. She lives in
Philadelphia."
"Why not telegraph to her for advice?" asked her friends.
Mrs. Peterkin gladly agreed that it would be the best plan. The expense
of the cablegram would be nothing in comparison with the assistance the
answer would bring.
Her new friends then invited her to accompany them to their hotel
in Alexandria, from which she could send her despatch. The thought
of thus being able to reach her hand across the sea to the lady from
Philadelphia gave Mrs. Peterkin fresh courage,--courage even to make the
landing. As she descended the side of the ship and was guided down the
steps, she closed her eyes that she might not see herself lifted into
the many-oared boat by the wild-looking Arabs, of whom she had caught
a glimpse from above. But she could not close her ears; and as they
approached the shore, strange sounds almost deafened her. She closed her
eyes again, as she was lifted from the boat and heard the wild yells and
shrieks around her. There was a clashing of brass, a jingling of bells,
and the screams grew more and more terrific. If she did open her eyes,
she saw wild figures gesticulating, dark faces, gay costumes, crowds of
men and boys, donkeys, horses, even camels, in the distance. She closed
her eyes once more as she was again lifted. Should she now find herself
on the back of one of those high camels? Perhaps for this she came to
Egypt. But when she looked round again, she found she was leaning back
in a comfortable open carriage, with a bottle of salts at her nose. She
was in the midst of a strange whirl of excitement; but all the party
were bewildered, and she had scarcely recovered her composure when they
reached the hotel.
Here a comfortable meal and rest somewhat restored them. By the next day
a messenger from the boat brought her the return telegram from Messina.
Mr. Peterkin and family, left behind by the "Messagerie" steamer, had
embarked the next day by steamer, probably for Naples.
More anxious than ever was Mrs. Peterkin to send her despatch. It was
too late the day of their arrival; but at an early hour next day it was
sent, and after a day had elapsed, the answer came:--
"All meet at the Sphinx."
Everything now seemed plain. The words were few but clear. Her English
friends were going directly to Cairo, and she accompanied them.
After reaching Cairo, the whole party were obliged to rest awhile. They
would indeed go with Mrs. Peterkin on her first visit to the Sphinx, as
to see the Sphinx and ascend the pyramid formed part of their programme.
But many delays occurred to detain them, and Mrs. Peterkin had resolved
to carry out completely the advice of the telegram. She would sit every
day before the Sphinx. She found that as yet there was no hotel exactly
in front of the Sphinx, nor indeed on that side of the river, and she
would be obliged to make the excursion of nine miles there and nine
miles back, each day. But there would always be a party of travellers
whom she could accompany. Each day she grew more and more accustomed to
the bewildering sights and sounds about her, and more and more willing
to intrust herself to the dark-colored guides. At last, chafing at so
many delays, she decided to make the expedition without her new friends.
She had made some experiments in riding upon a donkey, and found she was
seldom thrown, and could not be hurt by the slight fall.
And so, one day, Mrs. Peterkin sat alone in front of the Sphinx,--alone,
as far as her own family and friends were concerned, and yet not alone
indeed. A large crowd of guides sat around this strange lady who
proposed to spend the day in front of the Sphinx. Clad in long white
robes, with white turbans crowning their dark faces, they gazed into her
eyes with something of the questioning expression with which she herself
was looking into the eyes of the Sphinx.
There were other travellers wandering about. Just now her own party had
collected to eat their lunch together; but they were scattered again,
and she sat with a circle of Arabs about her, the watchful dragoman
lingering near.
Somehow the Eastern languor must have stolen upon her, or she could not
have sat so calmly, not knowing where a single member of her family was
at that moment. And she had dreaded Egypt so; had feared separation; had
even been a little afraid of the Sphinx, upon which she was now looking
as at a protecting angel. But they all were to meet at the Sphinx!
If only she could have seen where the different members of the family
were at that moment, she could not have sat so quietly. She little knew
that a tall form, not far away (following some guides down into the
lower halls of a lately excavated temple), with a blue veil wrapped
about a face shielded with smoke-colored spectacles, was that of
Elizabeth Eliza herself, from whom she had been separated two weeks
before.
She little knew that at this moment Solomon John was standing looking
over the edge of the Matterhorn, wishing he had not come up so high. But
such a gay young party had set off that morning from the hotel that he
had supposed it an easy thing to join them; and now he would fain go
back, but was tied to the rest of his party with their guide preceding
them, and he must keep on and crawl up behind them, still farther, on
hands and knees.
Agamemnon was at Mycenæ, looking down into an open pit.
Two of the little boys were roasting eggs in the crater of Mount
Vesuvius.
And she would have seen Mr. Peterkin comfortably reclining in a gondola,
with one of the little boys, in front of the palaces of Venice.
But none of this she saw; she only looked into the eyes of the Sphinx.
VII.
MRS. PETERKIN FAINTS ON THE GREAT PYRAMID.
"Meet at the Sphinx!" Yes; these were the words that the lady from
Philadelphia had sent in answer to the several telegrams that had
reached her from each member of the Peterkin family. She had received
these messages while staying in a remote country town, but she could
communicate with the cable line by means of the telegraph office at a
railway station. The intelligent operator, seeing the same date affixed
at the close of each message, "took in," as she afterward expressed it,
that it was the date of the day on which the message was sent; and as
this was always prefixed to every despatch, she did not add it to the
several messages. She afterward expressed herself as sorry for the
mistake, and declared it should not occur another time.
Elizabeth Eliza was the first at the appointed spot, as her route had
been somewhat shorter than the one her mother had taken. A wild joy had
seized her when she landed in Egypt, and saw the frequent and happy use
of the donkey as a beast of travel. She had never ventured to ride at
home, and had always shuddered at the daring of the women who rode at
the circuses, and closed her eyes at their performances. But as soon as
she saw the little Egyptian donkeys, a mania for riding possessed her.
She was so tall that she could scarcely, under any circumstances, fall
from them, while she could mount them with as much ease as she could the
arm of the sofa at home, and most of the animals seemed as harmless. It
is true, the donkey-boys gave her the wrong word to use when she might
wish to check the pace of her donkey, and mischievously taught her to
avoid the soothing phrase of _beschwesch_, giving her instead one
that should goad the beast she rode to its highest speed; but Elizabeth
Eliza was so delighted with the quick pace that she was continually
urging her donkey onward, to the surprise and delight of each fresh
attendant donkey-boy. He would run at a swift pace after her, stopping
sometimes to pick up a loose slipper, if it were shuffled off from his
foot in his quick run, but always bringing up even in the end.
Elizabeth Eliza's party had made a quick journey by the route from
Brindisi, and proceeding directly to Cairo, had stopped at a small
French hotel not very far from Mrs. Peterkin and her party. Every
morning at an early hour Elizabeth Eliza made her visit to the Sphinx,
arriving there always the first one of her own party, and spending the
rest of the day in explorations about the neighborhood.
[Illustration: Every morning at an early hour Elizabeth Eliza made her
visit to the Sphinx.]
Mrs. Peterkin, meanwhile, set out each day at a later hour, arriving
in time to take her noon lunch in front of the Sphinx, after which she
indulged in a comfortable nap and returned to the hotel before sunset.
A week--indeed, ten days--passed in this way. One morning, Mrs. Peterkin
and her party had taken the ferry-boat to cross the Nile. As they were
leaving the boat on the other side, in the usual crowd, Mrs. Peterkin's
attention was arrested by a familiar voice. She turned, to see a tall
young man who, though he wore a red fez upon his head and a scarlet wrap
around his neck, certainly resembled Agamemnon. But this Agamemnon was
talking Greek, with gesticulations. She was so excited that she turned
to follow him through the crowd, thus separating herself from the rest
of her party. At once she found herself surrounded by a mob of Arabs, in
every kind of costume, all screaming and yelling in the manner to which
she was becoming accustomed. Poor Mrs. Peterkin plaintively protested in
English, exclaiming, "I should prefer a donkey!" but the Arabs could not
understand her strange words. They had, however, struck the ear of the
young man in the red fez whom she had been following. He turned, and she
gazed at him. It was Agamemnon!
He, meanwhile, was separated from his party, and hardly knew how to
grapple with the urgent Arabs. His recently acquired Greek did not
assist him, and he was advising his mother to yield and mount one of the
steeds, while he followed on another, when, happily, the dragoman of her
party appeared. He administered a volley of rebukes to the persistent
Arabs, and bore Mrs. Peterkin to her donkey. She was thus carried away
from Agamemnon, who was also mounted upon a donkey by his companions.
But their destination was the same; and though they could hold no
conversation on the way, Agamemnon could join his mother as they
approached the Sphinx.
But he and his party were to ascend the pyramid before going on to the
Sphinx, and he advised his mother to do the same. He explained that it
was a perfectly easy thing to do. You had only to lift one of your feet
up quite high, as though you were going to step on the mantelpiece, and
an Arab on each side would lift you to the next step. Mrs. Peterkin was
sure she could not step up on their mantelpieces at home. She never had
done it,--she never had even tried to. But Agamemnon reminded her that
those in their own house were very high,--"old colonial;" and meanwhile
she found herself carried along with the rest of the party.
At first the ascent was delightful to her. It seemed as if she were
flying. The powerful Nubian guides, one on each side, lifted her
jauntily up, without her being conscious of motion. Having seen them
daily for some time past, she was now not much afraid of these handsome
athletes, with their polished black skins, set off by dazzling white
garments. She called out to Agamemnon, who had preceded her, that it was
charming; she was not at all afraid. Every now and then she stopped to
rest on the broad cornice made by each retreating step. Suddenly, when
she was about half-way up, as she leaned back against the step above,
she found herself panting and exhausted. A strange faintness came over
her. She was looking off over a beautiful scene: through the wide Libyan
desert the blue Nile wound between borders of green edging, while the
picturesque minarets of Cairo, on the opposite side of the river, and
the sand in the distance beyond, gleamed with a red and yellow light
beneath the rays of the noonday sun.
But the picture danced and wavered before her dizzy sight. She sat
there alone; for Agamemnon and the rest had passed on, thinking she was
stopping to rest. She seemed deserted, save by the speechless black
statues, one on either side, who, as she seemed to be fainting before
their eyes, were looking at her in some anxiety. She saw dimly these
wild men gazing at her. She thought of Mungo Park, dying with the
African women singing about him. How little she had ever dreamed, when
she read that account in her youth, and gazed at the savage African
faces in the picture, that she might be left to die in the same way
alone, in a strange land--and on the side of a pyramid! Her guides were
kindly. One of them took her shawl to wrap about her, as she seemed to
be shivering; and as a party coming down from the top had a jar of
water, one of her Nubians moistened a handkerchief with water and laid
it upon her head. Mrs. Peterkin had closed her eyes, but she opened them
again, to see the black figures in their white draperies still standing
by her. The travellers coming down paused a few minutes to wonder and
give counsel, then passed on, to make way for another party following
them. Again Mrs. Peterkin closed her eyes, but once more opened them at
hearing a well-known shout,--such a shout as only one of the Peterkin
family could give,--one of the little boys!
Yes, he stood before her, and Agamemnon was behind; they had met on top
of the pyramid.
The sight was indeed a welcome one to Mrs. Peterkin, and revived her so
that she even began to ask questions: "Where had he come from? Where
were the other little boys? Where was Mr. Peterkin?" No one could tell
where the other little boys were. And the sloping side of the pyramid,
with a fresh party waiting to pass up and the guides eager to go down,
was not just the place to explain the long, confused story. All that
Mrs. Peterkin could understand was that Mr. Peterkin was now, probably,
inside the pyramid, beneath her very feet! Agamemnon had found this
solitary "little boy" on top of the pyramid, accompanied by a guide and
one of the party that he and his father had joined on leaving Venice. At
the foot of the pyramid there had been some dispute in the party as to
whether they should first go up the pyramid, or down inside, and in the
altercation the party was divided; the little boy had been sure that his
father meant to go up first, and so he had joined the guide who went up.
But where was Mr. Peterkin? Probably in the innermost depths of the
pyramid below. As soon as Mrs. Peterkin understood this, she was eager
to go down, in spite of her late faintness; even to tumble down would
help her to meet Mr. Peterkin the sooner. She was lifted from stone to
stone by the careful Nubians. Agamemnon had already emptied his pocket
of coins, in supplying backsheesh to his guide, and all were anxious to
reach the foot of the pyramid and find the dragoman, who could answer
the demands of the others.
Breathless as she was, as soon as she had descended, Mrs. Peterkin was
anxious to make for the entrance to the inside. Before, she had declared
that nothing would induce her to go into the pyramid. She was afraid of
being lost in its stairways and shut up forever as a mummy. But now she
forgot all her terrors; she must find Mr. Peterkin at once!
She was the first to plunge down the narrow stairway after the guide,
and was grateful to find the steps so easy to descend. But they
presently came out into a large, open room, where no stairway was to be
seen. On the contrary, she was invited to mount the shoulders of a burly
Nubian, to reach a large hole half-way up the side-wall (higher than any
mantelpiece), and to crawl through this hole along the passage till she
should reach another stairway. Mrs. Peterkin paused. Could she trust
these men? Was not this a snare to entice her into one of these narrow
passages? Agamemnon was far behind. Could Mr. Peterkin have ventured
into this treacherous place?
At this moment a head appeared through the opening above, followed by a
body. It was that of one of the native guides. Voices were heard coming
through the passage: one voice had a twang to it that surely Mrs.
Peterkin had heard before. Another head appeared now, bound with a blue
veil, while the eyes were hidden by green goggles. Yet Mrs. Peterkin
could not be mistaken,--it was--yes, it was the head of Elizabeth Eliza!
It seemed as though that were all, it was so difficult to bring forward
any more of her. Mrs. Peterkin was screaming from below, asking if it
were indeed Elizabeth Eliza, while excitement at recognizing her mother
made it more difficult for Elizabeth Eliza to extricate herself. But
travellers below and behind urged her on, and with the assistance of the
guides, she pushed forward and almost fell into the arms of her mother.
Mrs. Peterkin was wild with joy as Agamemnon and his brother joined
them.
"But Mr. Peterkin!" at last exclaimed their mother. "Did you see
anything of your father?"
"He is behind," said Elizabeth Eliza. "I was looking for the body of
Chufu, the founder of the pyramid,--for I have longed to be the
discoverer of his mummy,--and I found instead--my father!"
Mrs. Peterkin looked up, and at that moment saw Mr. Peterkin emerging
from the passage above. He was carefully planting one foot on the
shoulder of a stalwart Nubian guide. He was very red in the face, from
recent exertion, but he was indeed Mr. Peterkin. On hearing the cry of
Mrs. Peterkin, he tottered, and would have fallen but for the support of
the faithful guide.