decrepit, O only fit to carry wood to
market! ending with a rush out of the way
of the furious dames, when gibes wound
them up to a pitch of fury. At length, with the
help of Saad the Devil, who cheated everybody
and entered himself free in the ship's
books (if it had any) as an able-bodied
seaman, they embarked on board the
Silk-el-Rahab, or the Golden Wire, of about
fifty tons burden, with narrow wedge-like
bows, a clean water-line, a sharp keel,
undecked except upon a lofty poop, with two
masts imminently raking forward—the main
considerably larger than the mizen, the former
alone provided with a huge triangular latine,
very deep in the tack—with no means of
reefing, no compass, no log, no sounding line,
no chart. Probably the same kind of model
that carried Sesostris across the Red Sea to
Dire. Ninety-seven passengers had been
packed by the greedy owner in the hold,
within the space for sixty; and the poop
was occupied by pilgrims, who had unlawfully
taken possession of the space belonging
to Abdullah the British Dervish and his
select band of debtors.

The first thing the passengers did, after
gaining standing-room, was to fight for
more room; which of course meant greater
comfort. After a preliminary combat below,
in which five men were completely disabled,
the Magrabis summoned the crowded party
on the poop to relieve their difficulties by
taking half-a-dozen of the savage sons of
the desert amongst them. Thereupon, Saad
the Devil rose, with an oath, from the corner
where he had been lying ready for the
occasion, and threw amongst his friends a bundle
of nebbut, goodly ashen staves, six feet long,
thick as a man's wrist, well greased and
seasoned, shouting,"Defend yourselves, if
you don't wish to be the meat of the
Magrabis" and to the enemy, "Dogs, and sons
of dogs! now shall you see what the children
of the Arab are!" The dervish and his
debtors rising too, each grasping one of the
staves, shouted, "I am Abdullah, the son of
Joseph!" "I am Omar of Daghistan!" &c.
The enemy swarmed toward the poop like
angry hornets, with cries of Allah Akbar!
But the poop gave a vantage of about four
feet to the pilgrim's party, and the attempt
to scale and overpower by numbers, failed
miserably. Abdullah the son of Joseph,
under the influence of old English notions,
began at first with gentle blows; but it soon
became evident that the Magrabis' heads
could bear, and did require, the utmost
exertion of strength. A manœuvre worthy
of a great general ended the fray. When at
its hottest, the crafty dervish, by a sly,
smart push of his shoulder, sent a huge
earthen jar full of water rolling down on the
fierce swarm of Africans. A shrill shriek
arose above the din. Bruised, scratched,
wetted, and in awful fear that worse might
be behind, the Magrabis retreated. A few
minutes afterwards a deputation of the Brown
Burnouses, soliciting peace, was received in
grave silence by our pilgrim's party on
the poop, which was granted. Heads,
shoulders, and hands, were penitentially
kissed; and thus ended the fray, in which
the meek Omar was by far the fiercest of the
party.

The next adventure in favour of the British
Dervish was, when the Golden Wire
imprudently anchored on a sand-bank at high
water, and was left high and dry by the ebb.
The Magrabis, who had disembarked,
had been vainly pushing and shouting; and
pushing again; then praying and offering
up burnt coffee for want of incense; and
Shaykh Hammid had rashly begged the
assistance of his saintly ancestor the clarified
butter-seller, and all were in
despair, when Abdullah the son of Joseph,
whose morning had been passed
sitting quietly upon the sands—watching for
the rising of the tide, seeing the Golden
Wire show some signs of unsteadiness, rose
up, walked gravely up to her, authoritatively
ranged the pilgrims around her,
with their shoulders to the sides, and
told them to heave with might and main,
when they should hear him invoke the name
of a great Indian saint. As the water washed
and wattled round the stern, he raised his
hands and voice: "Yan Piran Pir! Ya
Abd-el-Kader Jilani!" And, every Magrabi
heaving together with a will, the Golden
Wire canted half over; and, sliding heavily
through the sand, floated once more in deep
water. For a day or two the Anglo-Indian
dervish and doctor was greatly respected
for his small miracle.

At length, not without peril from want of
the commonest tackle of a sailing vessel, the
Golden Wire reached Zambu, the port of
El-Medinah. After the usual stay for refreshment
and preparation, the Dervish Abdullah
and his friends started again under the
charge of Bedouins, from whom he had hired
camels. The little party consisted of twelve
camels. They travelled in Indian file, head tied
to tail, with the valiant Omar Effendi as
outrider, mounted on a dromedary with showy
trappings, in honour of his rank; Amru
Jemal, a native of El-Medinah on his way
home, rode first of the file; then our friend
Abdullah; and the rest of the party behind,
dozing upon rough platforms made by the
lids of two large boxes slung to the sides of
their camels. There were rumours at Zambu
that the Nazimi tribe were out, and that
travellers passing that way had to fight for
their lives and purses every day; so all
the party except Omar, in token of poverty,
dressed themselves in their coarsest and
dirtiest clothes—for the most part, no more
than a ragged shirt and a bit of rag round
the head, short chibouques without
mouthpieces, and tobacco-pouches of greasy leather.
They all became silent—even Saad the Devil—