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I lately travelled about six hundred miles with several hundred Arab pilgrims on their way to Meccah, some account of the journey may prove interesting. I had no intention to become a Hadjee, nor did I ever dream of pretending to be a Mussulman, even for the satisfaction of going through the excitement necessary to surmount the dangers which I had always understood to be inseparable from such a pilgrimage. My impressions of fanatical Arabs on the march were clearly defined; the weather should be terribly hot, the journey should be over a sandy desert, the people should be half-starved, and all must be armed to the teeth, and the route should be marked by successive skeletons. Years ago I had crossed the desert from the Nile to the Red Sea, and therefore I had a feeling of respect for Arabs in general, especially when they were well armed; but now any poetical notions I might have entertained on these subjects were doomed to be rudely thrust aside, for every man was at once disarmed, searched, and numbered—no one being permitted to carry even a pilgrim’s staff. Instead of the Christians putting on disguises, and hiding themselves from fear of Mussulman fanaticism, they were the conductors of the enterprise, and pushed and cuffed the pilgrims into their places. Steam has much to answer for, if by its influence many more devout Hadjees can pay their devotions to the shrine of the prophet, and return absolved of all their sins, and be fit aspirants for the seventh heaven; and the fact is, the pilgrims were making a pilgrimage by steam!

After passing some time very pleasantly at Algiers (a most delightful winter climate, with good hotels, church, pleasant society, opera, carriages innumerable, and nothing at all expensive—only four days from London!), I had determined to go to Tunis; but the difficulty was how to get there, for in spring there were no steamers excepting French government mail-boats carrying no passengers. A land journey was not considered safe without an escort: in fact, it was a very dog-in-the-manger sort of business, for by the only route which was safe—that is in company with the officers and crew of the mail steamers—no one was allowed to take you, and if you wished to go by land no one was allowed to go with you. By the kind interest of a friend in high authority, our party was at last promised a passage by sea as guests of the officers. But circumstances prevented us making this agreeable journey; for one fine day I saw a large English steamer approach the harbour; she did not at once enter; there was something suspicious about her, as she had the quarantine flag flying to prevent people boarding her. At last down came the yellow flag, and she entered port. I boarded her, and found she was going to Tunis. Just the very thing I wanted—fine roomy cabins, a pleasant captain, and start next day; the only objectionable point was this—she was engaged to carry a whole deck load of pilgrims who were going to Meccah viâ Tunis, Malta, and Alexandria. We were strongly recommended by some friends to avoid such fellow-passengers; but others, who seemed to know the Arabs best, told us there was no danger. The sprightly little captain promised that not a single Arab should be permitted to enter our cabin, and we were to have the whole quarters to ourselves and a clear deck kept on the poop. So we took passage to Tunis on these conditions. I soon found out that there was quite a rivalry among some of the steam-ship owners to get these pilgrims, and our captain did not get, at Algiers, as many as he expected. A French steamer had engaged a great many, and intended not to take them to Alexandria, as it would be out of her usual voyage. She was to give them the benefit of a trip to Marseilles, transferring them there to another vessel, which plied between that city and Alexandria. As the Arabs provided themselves with their own food and water, this little extra journey was no additional expense to the steamers, and merely served to show how completely the Mussulmen are at the mercy of the Christians, and how the Christians vie with each other in enabling the devout followers of the prophet to carry out one of the principal forms of the Mahomedan religion.

I had noticed the Arabs gathering on the quays, and submitting meekly to the rough examination of their baggage by the customs’ officers. Their quietness surprised me almost as much as their apparent poverty. They were all ill-clad, and most of them had the hard, half-starved look which is almost a type of the child of the desert. How they could afford to go by steam to Meccah I could not at first make out; but afterwards I found that the expense was very small, and the steam journey had one advantage: it could be accomplished, going and returning, in a few months, with no very great loss of life, whereas the land journey was full of dangers and hardships, took more than a year to carry out (from Algiers), and the mortality used to be frightful. There was some honour in being a Hadjee in the old days, but now taking a pilgrimage by steam reminds one of the story of the pilgrim who boiled the peas he had to put in his shoes.

But, after all, this pilgrimage was not such an easy affair for the Arabs; for even setting aside all feelings of insulted dignity at being ordered and cuffed about by the rough giaours of sailors, they had to suffer many great inconveniences, especially as it was at the period of Ramadan, when they must not taste anything till after sunset, no matter how ill they were. One man almost died from exhaustion; and, eventually, when we had a violent storm to contend with, it was quite a wonder we were not all drowned—indeed I believe some of the Arabs were lost; the sea made clean sweeps over the forecastle, and dashed in floods about the deck, carrying all before it. With the Arabs, however, this was all kismut; they were tossed to and fro, and appeared to be perfectly helpless. Our crew worked all night lashing spars about the deck to make, as it were, folds or sheep-pens to prevent the whole mass of pilgrims being sent violently from one end to the other. Their baggage was all destroyed, and as they sat here and there, perched on the top of it, they looked like misery crowned with resignation. The good steamer could scarcely make a knot an hour headway; the sea came in short, heavy rolls,