The Owner Of The Shore-Boat Would Not Allow Us To Climb The
Sides Of Our Vessel Before Paying Him His Fare, And When We Did So, He
Asked For Bakhshish.
If Easterns would only imitate the example of
Europeans,-I never yet saw an Englishman give Bakhshish to a soul,-the
nuisance would soon be done away with.
But on this occasion all my
companions complied with the request, and at times it is unpleasant to
be singular. The first look at the interior of our vessel showed a
hopeless sight; Ali Murad, the greedy owner, had promised to take sixty
passengers in the hold, but had stretched the number to ninety-seven.
Piles of boxes and luggage in every shape and form filled the ship from
stem to stern, and a torrent of Hajis were pouring over the sides like
ants into the East-Indian sugar-basin. The poop, too, where we had
taken our places, was covered with goods, and a number of pilgrims had
established themselves there by might, not by right.
Presently, to our satisfaction, appeared Sa'ad the Demon, equipped as
an able seaman, and looking most unlike the proprietor of two large
boxes full of valuable merchandise. This energetic individual instantly
prepared for action. With our little party to back him, he speedily
cleared the poop of intruders and their stuff by the simple process of
pushing or rather throwing them off it into the pit below. We then
settled down as comfortably as we could; three Syrians, a married Turk
with his wife and family, the Rais or captain of the vessel,
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