I Hired My Horses And Mules (For I Had Some Of Both)
For The Whole Of The Journey From Beyrout To Jerusalem.
The owner
of the beasts (who had a couple of fellows under him) was the most
dignified member of
My party; he was, indeed, a magnificent old
man, and was called Shereef, or "holy" - a title of honour which,
with the privilege of wearing the green turban, he well deserved,
not only from the blood of the Prophet that flowed in his veins,
but from the well-known sanctity of his life and the length of his
blessed beard.
Mysseri, of course, still travelled with me, but the Arabic was not
one of the seven languages which he spoke so perfectly, and I was
therefore obliged to hire another interpreter. I had no difficulty
in finding a proper man for the purpose - one Demetrius, or, as he
was always called, Dthemetri, a native of Zante, who had been
tossed about by fortune in all directions. He spoke the Arabic
very well, and communicated with me in Italian. The man was a very
zealous member of the Greek Church. He had been a tailor. He was
as ugly as the devil, having a thoroughly Tatar countenance, which
expressed the agony of his body or mind, as the case might be, in
the most ludicrous manner imaginable. He embellished the natural
caricature of his person by suspending about his neck and shoulders
and waist quantities of little bundles and parcels, which he
thought too valuable to be entrusted to the jerking of pack-
saddles.
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