"On the 10th of January, 1773, we arrived," says Bruce, "at the Convent of St. George at Cairo; all of us, as I thought, worse in health and spirits than the day we came out of the desert. Nobody knew us at the convent, either by our face or our language, and it was by a kind of force that we entered. Ismael and the Copht went straight to the bey; and I, with great difficulty, had interest enough to send to the patriarch and my merchants at Cairo, by employing the only two piastres I had in my pocket. It was half by violence that we got admittance into the convent. But this difficulty was to be but of short duration: the morning was to end it and give us a sight of our friends, and in the mean time we were to sleep soundly." Bruce had scarcely enjoyed an hour's repose, when he was awakened by a number of strange voices, which called upon him to come immediately before the bey; he insisted, however, on being allowed a few moments to arrange his toilet. "I had no shirt on," he says, "nor had I been master of one for fourteen months past. I had a waistcoat of coarse brown woollen blanket, trousers of the same, and an upper blanket of the same wrapped about me, and in these I was lying. I had cut off my long beard at Furshoot, but still wore prodigious mustaches. I had a thin white muslin cloth round a red Turkish cap, which served me for a night-cap, a girdle of coarse woollen cloth, that wrapped round my waist eight or ten times, and swaddled me up from the middle to the pit of my stomach, but without either shoes or stockings. In the left of my girdle I had two English pistols mounted with silver, and on the right hand a common crooked Abyssinian knife, with a handle of rhinoceros horn. Thus equipped, I was ushered by the banditti, in a dark and very windy night, to the door of the convent." The sarach or commander of the party rode on a mule, and, as a mark of extreme consideration, he had brought an ass for Bruce, the only animal that a Christian was suffered to ride on in Cairo. As the beast had no saddle nor stirrups, Bruce's feet would have touched the ground had he not held them up, which he did with the utmost pain and difficulty, as they were inflamed and dreadfully sore from the march in the desert. "Nobody," says Bruce, "can ever know, from a more particular description, the hundredth part of the pain I suffered that night. I was happy that it was all external. I had hardened my heart; it was strong, vigorous, and whole, from the near prospect I had of leaving this most accursed country, and being again restored to the conversation of men."