The Argosy — page 243: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Remembrances of Constantinople. 229 which, after being well filled, three or four bay leaves, steeped in salt and water, are placed. This assists the crystallising process. With some reluctance I tasted one of these figs, presented to me by a kindly but, alas, not too clean hand. Its flavour was insipid and sickly. In- deed, figs packed in September are not considered fit for the table earlier than Christmas. On returning to our steamer for the aight we found all on board bustle and noise. They were taking in cargo—carpets, opium, and figs. Ignorant of what was impending we retired to our cabins, our thoughts full of Turks and Greeks, mingled with pleasant anticipations of the enjoyment of a quiet Sunday on the morrow. What pen can describe the horrors of that night. Shall I ever forget the feeling with which I heard the rushing, tearing, running, tumbling, jumping over our heads; the calling, bawling, swearing of Englishmen, Greeks, Turks, and Jews; 3 the pulling of ropes, the grating and squeaking of cranes; the bumping, thumping, cracking of huge cases and boxes, as they, were hauled on board, and then pushed, grazed, and thrown along the deck. But all this was as nothing com- pared with the heaped-up agony of listening to the loud tones of a’ voice which, with inexorable regularity, shouted “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, tally !” What could tally mean? At that moment philology was a dead letter with me, and I dreamt not that the German word “zahl” was the parent of this sound, and that every time tally or “count” was uttered it gave notice to one of the clerks of the ship that ¢en packages had been pitched into the hold. The noise and confusion of all these combined sounds were scarcely earthly ; indeed, a fellow-sufferer was almost justified in calling it “infernal.” It was equally useless to attempt to sleep or to try to read, so I was fain to resign myself, as if under a malignant spell, to repeating slowly, after the invisible voice, “One, two, three,” &c., always beginning again as soon as I came to the terrible “tally.” This “double, double, toil and trouble,” lasted until three in the morning, when I fell asleep and dreamt of “ tally.” Very glad indeed were we in the morning to go ashore, and, during the quiet service and impressive sermon of the benevolent English chap- lain, to forget the distractions of the night. All the Christian “beau monde” of Smyrna congregate every Sunday afternoon at a picturesque spot a short distance from the town, called the Caravanserai Bridge. Thither we too bent our steps. Along the margin of a clear limpid stream, beneath the shade of spreading plane trees, merry groups of Greeks and Armenians were sipping coffee and orgeat, smoking tchibouks and narghillas, or feeding the ducks that clamoured for attention. A more charming scene could hardly have been selected for an afternoon stroll. The stream was spanned by a small stone bridge. Over its single arch strings of fig-laden camels were passing, to'be dis- comichooks.com