African and European Addresses | Page 5

in and
out of the patches of light we ourselves cast, waiting for permission to
swarm at the gang-plank for our patronage.
We went ashore, passed through a wicket gate, and across the dark
buildings to the heart of the town, whence came the dull glow and the
sounds of people.
Here were two streets running across one another, both brilliantly
lighted, both thronged, both lined with little shops. In the latter one
could buy anything, in any language, with any money. In them we saw
cheap straw hats made in Germany hung side by side with gorgeous
and beautiful stuffs from the Orient; shoddy European garments and
Eastern jewels; cheap celluloid combs and curious embroideries. The
crowd of passers-by in the streets were compounded in the same
curiously mixed fashion; a few Europeans, generally in white, and then
a variety of Arabs, Egyptians, Somalis, Berbers, East Indians and the
like, each in his own gaudy or graceful costume. It speaks well for the
accuracy of feeling, anyway, of our various "Midways," "Pikes," and
the like of our world's expositions that the streets of Port Said looked
like Midways raised to the nth power. Along them we sauntered with a
pleasing feeling of self-importance. On all sides we were gently and
humbly besought--by the shopkeepers, by the sidewalk vendors, by
would-be guides, by fortune-tellers, by jugglers, by magicians; all
soft-voiced and respectful; all yielding as water to rebuff, but as quick
as water to glide back again. The vendors were of the colours of the
rainbow, and were heavily hung with long necklaces of coral or amber,
with scarves, with strings of silver coins, with sequinned veils and silks,
girt with many dirks and knives, furnished out in concealed pockets
with scarabs, bracelets, sandalwood boxes or anything else under the
broad canopy of heaven one might or might not desire. Their voices
were soft and pleasing, their eyes had the beseeching quality of a good
dog's, their anxious and deprecating faces were ready at the slightest
encouragement to break out into the friendliest and most intimate of
smiles. Wherever we went we were accompanied by a retinue straight
out of the Arabian Nights, patiently awaiting the moment when we
should tire; should seek out the table of a sidewalk café; and should, in

our relaxed mood, be ready to unbend to our royal purchases.
At that moment we were too much interested in the town itself. The
tiny shops, with their smiling and insinuating Oriental keepers, were
fascinating in their displays of carved woods, jewellery, perfumes, silks,
tapestries, silversmiths' work, ostrich feathers, and the like. To either
side the main street lay long narrow dark alleys, in which flared single
lights, across which flitted mysterious long-robed figures, from which
floated stray snatches of music either palpitatingly barbaric or
ridiculously modern. There the authority of the straight,
soldierly-looking Soudanese policemen ceased, and it was not safe to
wander unarmed or alone.
Besides these motley variegations of the East and West, the main
feature of the town was the street car. It was an open-air structure of
spacious dimensions, as though benches and a canopy had been erected
rather haphazard on a small dancing platform. The track is absurdly
narrow in gauge; and as a consequence the edifice swayed and swung
from side to side. A single mule was attached to it loosely by about ten
feet of rope. It was driven by a gaudy ragamuffin in a turban. Various
other gaudy ragamuffins lounged largely and picturesquely on the
widely spaced benches. Whence it came or whither it went I do not
know. Its orbit swung into the main street, turned a corner, and
disappeared. Apparently Europeans did not patronize this picturesque
wreck, but drove elegantly but mysteriously in small open cabs
conducted by totally incongruous turbaned drivers.
We ended finally at an imposing corner hotel, where we dined by an
open window just above the level of the street. A dozen upturned faces
besought us silently during the meal. At a glance of even the mildest
interest a dozen long brown arms thrust the spoils of the East upon our
consideration. With us sat a large benign Swedish professor whose
erudition was encyclopaedic, but whose kindly humanity was greater.
Uttering deep, cavernous chuckles, the professor bargained. A red coral
necklace for the moment was the matter of interest. The professor
inspected it carefully, and handed it back.
"I doubt if id iss coral," said he simply.

The present owner of the beads went frantic with rapid-fire proof and
vociferation. With the swiftness and precision of much repetition he
fished out a match, struck it, applied the flame to the alleged coral, and
blew out the match; cast the necklace on the pavement, produced
mysteriously a small hammer, and with it proceeded frantically to