In Pastures New

by George Ade

  CHAPTER XV

  DAY BY DAY ON THE DROWSY NILE. WITH SOMETHING ABOUT THE WONDERFULHASSIM

  While we were in London we dined one evening at a gorgeous hotel with aMr. Brewster, of Connecticut. After dinner, Mr. Peasley told thewaiter to bring some "good cigars." Mr. Peasley resides in Iowa, whereit is customary to stroll down to the drug store after supper and buy acouple of Lottie Lees, which are so good that the druggist cannotafford to give six for a quarter. Not being familiar with thefavourite brands of London, he called on Mr. Brewster to name the cigarof his choice, and Mr. Brewster said he was very fond of the Corona delMatadora, or something like that, because the entire crop in Cuba wastaken over by a London dealer, and they could not be obtained in NewYork for love or money. The waiter brought what appeared to be a verysuperior article of stogie, and after they had been passed around, Mr.Peasley put several into his pockets, as we were going to a music hall,and Mr. Peasley had learned that tobacco acted as a sedative and helpedone to remain calm while listening to British jokes.

  "How much?" he asked.

  "Three and six," replied the waiter.

  Mr. Peasley handed him three and six.

  "Each," said the waiter.

  _"Each," said the waiter_]

  Mr. Peasley swallowed something and his eyes leaned from their sockets,but he said nothing. He handed over two sovereigns, and the changethat came back to him was almost sufficient for the waiter's tip.There was a brief silence and then Mr. Peasley said:--"Three shillingsis seventy-five cents--seventy-five and twelve make eighty-seven."

  Another silence.

  "Eighty-seven cents," sighed Mr. Peasley. "Three bushels of oats for acigar!"

  When Mr. Brewster crossed our trail in Egypt and became our fellowpassenger on a Nile steamer Mr. Peasley remembered him and longed for achance to get even.

  Our friend from Connecticut was wearing a large canopy helmet--the kindthat makes a short man look like a walking piano-stool. We werewearing the same outlandish style of headgear and for some reason orother, no person being responsible for what he does when he is awayfrom home, Mr. Peasley had his name boldly marked in Arabic on thefront of his helmet. It didn't look like anything, but it was realArabic and said his name was Peasley and that he came from Iowa and hewas very proud of it. He urged Mr. Brewster to have his helmet markedin a similar way.

  "I hardly like the idea of wearing my name on my hat," said the manfrom Connecticut.

  "But when you get home and hang the thing up in your den with theNavajo blankets and swords and other curios, think what a fine souvenirit will be," urged Mr. Peasley.

  Mr. Brewster finally consented and Mr. Peasley took the helmet to thehead steward, who was a native, and in a few minutes he brought it backmagnificently lettered all over the front. It surely did look Orientaland decorative and Mr. Brewster was grateful when he saw howbeautifully his name and New England address showed up in Arabic.

  That afternoon we landed at Assiut, which is headquarters for a mostwolfish assortment of guides, street peddlers, and hold-up men who workin the bazaars. Most of them are Copts and claim to be goodChristians, but we did not feel impelled to throw up our hats on thataccount. When they bore down upon us and started to wrestle with us wecould hardly distinguish any difference between them and the ordinaryheathen.

  From the moment that we landed, Mr. Brewster of Connecticut attractedmore attention than any other person in the party. Four guides laidhold of him at the same moment and declined to let go. Later on, inthe bazaar, every dealer who sighted him gave a glad guttural cry andtried to drag him into one of the stuffy little shops. The arrival ofan ordinary tourist is calculated to agitate a bazaar, but when Mr.Brewster appeared the general effect was the same as when the raw meatis carried into the zoo. He was pulled and hauled and for the wholelength of the winding bazaar his way was blocked by frantic villains inwhite gowns and huge turbans, who dangled tawdry merchandise in frontof him and begged him to make an offer. Mr. Brewster was a good dealamazed, and we were more or less puzzled until we came back to the boatand Mr. Peasley confessed that the Arabic characters boldly displayedon Mr. Brewster's helmet did not stand for his name and address at all,but meant, as nearly as could be translated, "Rich American--Easy Mark."

  "_Rich American--Easy Mark._"]

  Poor Mr. Brewster! At the present writing he is still wearing thatbold label, wandering in and out of shops and around hotels, invitingthe attacks of guides, donkey boys, servants, and peddlers. It seemeda rather low-down trick, but Mr. Peasley said that probably it wouldflatter Mr. Brewster to learn that anyone from Connecticut couldattract so much attention in a foreign country.

  Arabic is surely a weird excuse for a language. In its written form itlooks like the bird-track illustrations in one of Thompson SetonThompson's books, and instead of reading it from left to right youbegin at the tail end of a sentence and back up all the way. Inreading an Arabic novel you turn to the end of the book and read thelast chapter first, and if it develops that the fellow marries thegirl, naturally that saves a lot of trouble. In its right to leftcharacter the Arabic is somewhat like the Hebrew or Lower Broadwaylanguage, which also begins at the leaving-off place. This factreminded a New York man of a story. He said that in one of the eastside Assembly districts of New York city a large body of Yiddishvoters, recently arrived in the land of the somewhat free and the homeof the more or less brave, had been rounded up very carefully by theTammany workers. The voters were not familiar with the workings of theAustralian ballot system, and had to be instructed by the Tammany wardheelers, who said:--"All you have to do is to put a cross mark in thecircle at the top of the first column, see?" That seemed simpleenough, so the voters went into the booths and marked the first--thatis, the right hand--column, and elected the Prohibition candidate.

  The Arabic language, when spoken, sounds very much like an agitatedperson trying to dislodge a fish bone. It is one of the most unmusicaltongues in the world and offers no tempting inducements to the student,yet Mr. Peasley actually bought one of those "Arabic at a Glance" booksand started to learn some of the more useful sentences. He said thatif he could get Arabic down pat he would pass as a native and beenabled to buy things at about half price. After two days of hardstudy he attempted a conversation with a military policeman standing onthe river bank at Dendera. Mr. Peasley strolled up to him, carelesslike, and said, "Ana awez arabiyet kwayesset min shan arookh el balad."That was supposed to mean, "I want a first-class carriage for drivingin the town." The stalwart soldier gazed at Mr. Peasley with a mostbewildered look in his jet black eyes and then began to edge away.

  "Hold on," said Mr. Peasley. "How about hal yel zamna ghafar yerafeguabill tareeg?"

  "_How about hal yel zamna ghafar yerafegua billtareeg?_"]

  Mr. Peasley thought he was asking, "Shall we require a guide or anescort in this town?"

  The soldier beckoned to us to come over and help him out.

  "Tell him, please, that I am educate at the Presbyterian Mission," saidhe. "I speak only English and Arabic."

  We questioned him later and learned that he took Mr. Peasley to be aRussian. This one little experience rather discouraged our travellingcompanion. He said it was foolish to waste important dialogue on a lotof benighted ignorami who did not know their own language.

  As a matter of fact, English carries the tourist everywhere in Egypt.The American Mission School, supported by the Presbyterians, is a proudlocal institution in each good-sized town. At every landing along theriver small boys from the mission schools would come down to the boatto ask for English books. These requests were such a welcome variationfrom the everlasting howl for "baksheesh" that the over-generouspassengers soon gave away all the reading matter on board and hadnothing left for themselves except Baedekers and time tables. I saw asilver-haired old lady from Philadelphia give to a coal-black andhalf-naked child of eight a volume of Browning's poems in paper cover.The dusky infant clasped the book to his bare bosom a
nd shouted histhanks as the boat headed up stream, and the old lady was so gratifiedand happy that she stood looking at him with tear-dimmed eyes and nevergave a thought as to what might happen to his intellect. At one town,just as we were casting off, I threw an American magazine to a handsomelittle tike who had been asking for English literature. It fell on thedock, and twenty small boys began fighting for it and tearing it topieces. I never saw such a thirst for advertising matter.

  Our voyage from Cairo to Luxor was punctuated with so many newexperiences that possibly it would be better to take them in order.Egypt is the land of leisurely travel. If you look at the map thedistance from Cairo to Luxor seems only a good hop, skip, and jump. Itis 458 miles by rail and the lightning express does it in fifteenhours, the same being considered a record performance. Our boat leftCairo one Friday afternoon and arrived at Luxor the following Thursdaymorning. We chugged slowly against the current all the way, tying upevery night and getting away before daybreak next morning. Severaltimes we changed pilots. The Nile pilot is usually a grizzled oldsheikh with the doubtful combination of a department store springovercoat and a red fez. He stands at the wheel bossing the crew whilethe ostensible captain or manager, who is a budding European in a neatuniform, has nothing much to do except circulate on the upper deck andpour tea for a little cluster of intellectual giantesses from England.Two sailors stand well forward on the lower deck, one on each side,jabbing at the river with poles in order to get the depth of thechannel. If the boat runs into water less than six inches deep theybecome alarmed and start to yelp. Occasionally the gallant craftstrikes a bar and comes to a tired pause, whereupon all the passengerssay "Mgh!" and lurch out of their camp stools. Then there is a littlewelcome excitement and the natives of the crew run around in circlesand call upon Allah for temporary assistance. With much grunting, bothby the boat and the men at the poles, the good Hatasoo backs out of themud and takes a fresh start, zigzagging through the shallows until deepwater is found--that is, a depth of anywhere from three to four feet.The Nile is just as finical and unreliable as a Missouri orMississippi, the tortuous channel constantly shifting, and the pilotneeds to be an expert with a memory like an encyclopaedia. Fortunatelythere are no snags. Wood is about the most precious commodity inEgypt, and all the snags were fished out and utilised some two thousandyears before we happened along. Although our voyage lasted five fulldays we went ashore only three times. As I have already explained, thetraveller need not leave the Nile steamer in order to see nearlyeverything that is happening in Egypt. Leaving Cairo late on Fridayafternoon, we made two stops on Saturday to discharge freight and takeon natives. Many of the women came aboard closely veiled and were atonce secreted in a canvas compartment on the lower deck. Theseprecautions seemed to be needless. Two adjectives will best describethe pride of the harem--shabby and flabby. Unless you wish to lose allenthusiasm for the Arabian Nights, keep away from Egypt.

  Sunday.--Arriving at Beni Hassan at ten o'clock we went ashore andclimbed on midget donkeys and rode away to explore the rock tombs.Beni Hassan has been for several centuries the home of an obstreperousbreed of cutthroats. Repeated attempts have been made to exterminateor scatter the tribe, but it is still in existence, although somewhatsubdued. The government keeps a guard of soldiers at the town, andwhen we landed we found ourselves surrounded by the military, while thenatives stood back of the dead-line and gazed at us hungrily. There webegan to get close glimpses of the domestic life of the plain people.

  A mud wall enclosure with a hut at one end. Within this squalid pen,women in bedraggled black gowns, children in semi-attire and closelyattended by swarms of flies, two or three emaciated goats, a fewchickens, and a somnolent burro. At present the live stock and theEgyptians live on terms of democratic equality, but since the Englishhave introduced the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals itis hoped that the situation will be remedied.

  On Monday, at two o'clock, we landed at Assiut, after passing throughthe locks of the first big barrage or dam built under British directionand intended to regulate the water level of the lower Nile and thedelta during the dry season. Assiut is a big town with some showybuildings, an attractive bazaar, and a guide who represents thethirty-third degree of scoundrelism. His name is Hassim. If youshould visit Assiut and wish to become acquainted with the very pinkand flower of villainy, hunt up Hassim. Perhaps it will be unnecessaryto hunt him up. He will be waiting for you, just as he was waiting forus. When we went ashore we were attacked by a flying wedge of donkeyboys and carriage drivers, all shrieking like demons and kicking upsuch clouds of dust as can be found only in a country where the showersare a century apart. By striking out right and left we held off ourassailants and succeeded in boarding a rickety victoria. When weescaped from the clamour and the clouds of dust and took our bearingsHassim was on the box alongside of the driver. He had attached himselfto us on his own invitation and we are glad that he did so, for heproved to be a rascal of such inventive fancy and such unusual methodsof attack that our natural resentment was fairly lost in admiration.He was tall and lean, with a stern and military countenance and one eyeset at an angle. His manner was imperious and from the moment when hefastened himself upon us he was in absolute charge of the expedition.

  "Fear not," he said, holding up his hand impressively, "I shall protectyou. You shall see the rock tombs and the grand view of the valley andthe great bazaar of Assiut and no one shall do you harm, for I amHassim, son of Abdalla."

  This had a most assuring sound, so we made no resistance. For severalhours he marched ahead of us, proclaiming our social importance andordering people out of the way, and every ten minutes he led us intosome carefully concealed trap and tried to separate us from ourpiasters. All the time he went through the motions of defending ourinterests and fighting back those who would defraud us. For instance,in the bazaar. In a thoughtless moment I had said that I wished topurchase an ebony walking-stick. He led us to a dealer inwalking-sticks, and here the following drama was played for ourbenefit:--

  Hassim (to dealer)--This distinguished gentleman wishes to buy an ebonywalking-stick. Show him your best goods and let the price be fair ornever more shall I bring customers to your vile shop. (To the crowdjostling in upon us)--Stand back! Do not crowd upon the honourablegentlemen from America.

  Dealer (showing an ebony stick with a badly carved handle of bone,supposed to be ivory)--Ah, see! Yes! Verra good stick! Is it not?Verra cheap.

  I (looking at it coldly and shaking my head as if in disapproval)--Howmuch?

  Dealer--Verra cheap--only twenty shilling.

  Hassim--Wha-a-t! (He rushes upon the dealer, smites him on the chestwith his open hand and then tries to choke him). Oh, dog! Oh, uncleananimal! Twenty shilling! (To us) Come! Let us go away. He is badman. Come!

  Dealer (entreatingly)--You make me offer. How much you give?

  Hassim--Oh, child of darkness! Oh, crawling crocodile! You are tryingto cheat the high-born visitors.

  Dealer (cringingly)--How much you give?

  Hassim (to me)--Come, I will speak with you alone. (He leads me awayfrom the crowd and talks to me in a husky whisper.) This man is badman. Do not pay him twenty bob. No one is looking. You slip themoney to me and I will buy it for fifteen.

  Now, fifteen shillings is $3.75 in real money, and the stick is worth adollar at the most extravagant valuation, so I say to Hassim, "Are youin on this?"

  He does not understand, but he looks at me as if hurt or disappointed,and then says, "I try to get it for ten. Wait here."

  Then I catch him by the slack of the blue gown and say that I will notgive ten. I authorise him to offer fifteen piasters--seventy-fivecents. He says it will be useless to offer such a small sum, as theivory comes from the elephant and hunters must search many days to findthe elephant and then carry the tusk forty-seven thousand miles acrossthe burning desert to sell it to the dealer in Assiut. So I tell himto stand back and I will negotiate in my own
behalf. So I breakthrough the crowd and offer three shillings. Derisive laughter by thedealer, the crowd assisting. I offer four shillings. The dealer says,"I am a ruined man, but no matter--take it along for eight." ThenHassim elbows his way back to the scene of trouble and helps tocomplicate matters. He curses the dealer in Arabic and says to me in aside whisper that he has succeeded in buying the stick for sevenshillings. I offer five. To make a long story short, after using up$8 worth of time and $52 worth of vocal energy, I buy the stick for sixshillings, and when I return to the boat the head steward exhibits onejust like it which he bought for two.

  This farcical "grand stand" play was repeated every time we stopped topurchase some trifling specimen of native junk. One of the bestperformances of the afternoon involved a mysterious trip up a narrowalley and into a tumbledown house, where Hassim exhibited to us foursqualling infants, attended by many flies and richly encrusted with thesoil of their native land. Although all four of the children seemed tobe of about the same age, he assured us that they belonged to him, andwe, being unfamiliar with the customs of Egypt, were not prepared tocontradict him. He said it was customary for visitors to give a smallpresent to each of the children, or, better still, we could give themoney to him and he would hand it to them later.

  We shall remember Hassim. He surrounded his cheap trickeries with sucha glamour of Oriental ceremony and played his part with such a terrificshow of earnestness that he made the afternoon wholly enjoyable. Whenwe arrived at the landing he and the driver had a verbal war, and thenhe took me aside for another heart to heart talk.

  "The driver is a child of evil," said he. "I tremble with rage! He isdemanding fifty piasters. Do not pay him fifty. Give the money to meand I will say to him, 'Take forty or nothing'!"

  The driver's legal fare was twenty piasters. Finally we paid himtwenty-five. Everybody was satisfied. Then we paid Hassim for hisservices and sent presents to his four simultaneous children, and thelast we saw of him he was making a bee-line for the bazaar to collecthis commissions.

  The decorative tail piece to this chapter is my name in Arabic.

  _My name in Arabic_]

  IN LUXOR