British -- Palestine -- Fiction; Disguise -- Fiction; Short stories; Travel -- Fiction
good many,” I replied; “there always are at Easter.” “Can you tell me
anything of any of them?” he asked. “Not a word,” said I, for I knew no
one; “but our consul can.” And then we bowed to each other and he passed
on.
I got off my horse and scrambled down on foot after Smith. I found him
gathering berries and bushes as though his very soul were mad with
botany; but as I had seen nothing of this in him before, I asked what
strange freak had taken him.
“You were talking to that old man,” he said.
“Well, yes, I was.”
“That is the relation of whom I have spoken to you.”
“The d— he is!”
“And I would avoid him, if it be possible.”
I then learned that the old gentleman was his uncle. He had no living
father or mother, and he now supposed that his relative was going to
Jerusalem in quest of him. “If so,” said I, “you will undoubtedly give
him leg bail, unless the Austrian boat is more than ordinarily late. It
is as much as we shall do to catch it, and you may be half over Africa,
or far gone on your way to India, before he can be on your track again.”
“I will tell you all about it at Alexandria,” he replied; and then he
scrambled up again with his horse, and we went on. That night we slept
at the Armenian convent at Ramlath, or Ramath. This place is supposed to
stand on the site of Arimathea, and is marked as such in many of the
maps. The monks at this time of the year are very busy, as the pilgrims
all stay here for one night on their routes backwards and forwards, and
the place on such occasions is terribly crowded. On the night of our
visit it was nearly empty, as a caravan had left it that morning; and
thus we were indulged with separate cells, a point on which my companion
seemed to lay considerable stress.
On the following day, at about noon, we entered Jaffa, and put up at an
inn there which is kept by a Pole. The boat from Beyrout, which touches
at Jaffa on its way to Alexandria, was not yet in, nor even sighted; we
were therefore amply in time. “Shall we sail to-night?” I asked of the
agent. “Yes, in all probability,” he replied. “If the signal be seen
before three we shall do so. If not, then not;” and so I returned to the
hotel.
Smith had involuntarily shown signs of fatigue during the journey, but
yet he had borne up well against it. I had never felt called on to grant
any extra indulgence as to time because the work was too much for him.
But now he was a good deal knocked up, and I was a little frightened
fearing that I had over-driven him under the heat of the sun. I was
alarmed lest he should have fever, and proposed to send for the Jaffa
doctor. But this he utterly refused. He would shut himself for an hour
or two in his room, he said, and by that time he trusted the boat would
be in sight. It was clear to me that he was very anxious on the subject,
fearing that his uncle would be back upon his heels before he had
started.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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