untarnished by the thousands of years it has been reposing in that tomb; there is actually no sign of decay. The antiquity of that statue astonishes me, and I dare say it will my readers. Brusch Bey told me that it was supposed to be 5,400 years old, and that probably it was older than that. The other statue, that of Chephren, the builder of the second Pyramid, with his name inscribed upon it, is in Diorite, one of the hardest kind of stones, carefully executed and beautifully polished. These Egyptians were evidently people of considerable forethought, and when they wanted their names and deeds to live long after them engraved on tablets of stone, they selected the most durable they could, and it is more than probable that had they contemplated building such houses of Parliament as we have built in London, they would have selected a hard, not a soft stone, that continually requires patching up. Well, the features of Chephren’s statue are uninjured, and Brusch Bey and I gazed on them just as they were seen by Chephren and his court 5,000 years ago. It was discovered by Mariette Bey, at the bottom of a well, which supplied the water used for sacred purposes in the sepulchral temple attached to Chephren’s Pyramid. It was no doubt originally erected in the temple, and was probably thrown into the well by the barbarous Hyksos or iconoclastic Persians.
During the late military operations, or “police measures,” grave apprehensions for the safety of the Baulac Museum arose, but fortunately it escaped the violence of the mob. The greater part of one day was occupied by a visit with my familiar Ibrahim to the mosques of note, the citadel, tombs of the Caliphs and Mamelukes. Another day I got a companion from the hotel to accompany me to the petrified forest, some miles out in the desert. It covers an area of about 15 miles. All this space is pretty thickly strewed over with what appears to be trunks and branches of trees. I took hold of what appeared exactly like the wooden branch of a tree, and so it had once been, but for ages it had lain here, a solid piece of very hard stone. The place is an absolutely desolate one in the desert, with not a sign of vegetation in sight. Whether these had been washed here during the flood or had once grown in the neighbourhood or not, or how they came there, I never could ascertain, although I have sought for information on the subject in all directions. No one seems to be able to tell me anything about the origin of this petrified forest, and I have not hitherto found a book containing any allusion to it. We returned to Cairo by the Mokhottam hills behind the citadel somewhat late in the afternoon, consequently had to urge on our donkeys so that we should see Cairo by sunset. We were here just in time to do so, as there is scarcely any twilight in the East; the transition from day to night does not occupy very many minutes. The picturesque panorama that opened out to our view well repaid us for our trouble. There before and beneath us lay Cairo with its innumerable mosques and minarets, the Nile with the peculiar Nile boats called dahabeahs floating peacefully on its surface. Here and there the stately camel strides silently on, veiled women and turbaned Arabs in loose flowing robes, groves of palm trees, while nearer to us we see the half-ruined tombs of the Caliphs and Mamelukes, the citadel and the beautiful mosque of Mehemet Ali full of carved columns of alabaster. To the late burning heat which we encountered in the desert succeeds a soft, balmy, dry air, and the beautiful and varied hues of the setting sun is reflected from the glittering mosques and minarets, rocks and sands, presenting a picture which will not soon fade from my memory, and which requires the poetry, eloquence, and pen of a Byron to adequately describe. In striking contrast to the beautiful scene we had just enjoyed was the wretched-looking houses of the Arabs, the squalor, dirt and miserable pathways on the hill-side which we encountered immediately afterwards as we pursued our homeward journey.
CHAPTER V.
A YOUNG AMERICAN AT SHEPHEARD’S HOTEL—DRIVE TO THE PYRAMIDS OF GIZEH—ASCENT AND EXPLORATION OF THE PYRAMID OF CHEOPS—THE SPHINX.
We arrived at our hotel rather tired, and felt it quite a relief to stretch our legs out straight after having them cramped up so long whilst on our donkeys. Having partaken of a good dinner, I adjourned to the balcony with a cigarette, sank into an easy lounge, and communed with my own thoughts. I had not been here long before I discovered sitting near me an individual, apparently about 23 years of age, whose nether extremities rested on the back of a chair, his feet being parallel with his chin. He was dressed in a somewhat outré manner, the lower limbs being encased in check prolongations; the body in a brown coat, something like a sack in shape; the throat was surrounded by a loose, turn-down collar, and loose neckerchief, whilst the summit of this curious specimen of humanity was crowned by a huge felt hat, with an enormous brim. The clouds of smoke which he emitted from his mouth rivalled a young volcano; he was smoking a cigar, and did not forget to expectorate in a most profuse and dangerous manner, so much so that, feeling in somewhat dangerous proximity to the fire of his artillery, I got up with the intention of escaping any little salivary accidents; but my silent companion had his eye on me, and thus suddenly addressed me in the decidedly nasal accent and twang peculiar to the inhabitants of America—
“Stranger, I guess this Cairo is a tarnation rummy place?”
Seeing no reason to dispute this by no means rash assertion, I readily conceded the point; and, by way of carrying on the conversation, ventured to remark that—
“It certainly is a very curious and interesting old place, and the inhabitants no less so.”
He: “That’s so, sirree; they are queer beggars, and so are their wimen.”
This also was an indisputable fact, and I acknowledged that they were a strange race, strongly wedded to old customs, and as strongly opposed to innovations.
He: “Stranger, yew don’t roost here, I guess?”
I: “No; I am just travelling for a few months, and shall leave Cairo in two or three days’ time.”
He: “In what line may you be travelling, stranger?”
Now, of course I knew what he meant, but thought his remarks were so original, not to say impertinent, that I must not omit this opportunity of extracting some amusement, and provide material for my diary. I therefore replied—
“Oh! I came by the P. and O. line to Alexandria, by rail here, and now my lines have fallen in pleasant places.”
“Guess yew don’t quite fathom me. What’s yer business, and where are you going tew?” said he.
I then gave him the names of a number of places in Egypt and the Soudan, enumerating them as rapidly as I could, so that I am quite sure my nasal friend was very little the wiser for the information.
He enshrouded himself in a huge cloud of smoke, vigorously expectorated once more, and regarding me fixedly for a moment, exclaimed—
“By Jupiter! stranger, that’s a large order. Opening up a trade or colonize, I guess.”
I suppose, because I told him I was travelling with six other gentlemen, he thought we were going to start a colony somewhere, and then annex all the adjacent country, which, by the way, would certainly be a very good thing for the Egyptians and the Soudanese, and very probably for ourselves also. However, I gave him to understand that we were simply travelling for pleasure, exploration, and sport. Notwithstanding this, my Yankee acquaintance was determined to turn me inside out if he could; he, therefore, was so complimentary as to say—
“Well, now, I guess you are a gentleman?”
To this I answered—
“Thanks; I trust your surmise is a correct one;” and I might have said, but I did not, “Sorry I cannot return the compliment.”
I
