age from Cairo to Mecca, being midway between the Gulfs of Suez and Akaba. Here once in the year is witnessed the most extraordinary spectacle in the world: a train of camels that seems almost endless comes up out of the western horizon, and moves slowly to the east. Vast encampments are pitched around the fort, which was built for this express purpose, to give protection to the pilgrims, and to furnish food and water to them and to their camels. Fifty Egyptian soldiers are quartered here — some of them old soldiers of Ibrahim Pasha — to furnish any protection which is needed, while their families live in a little cluster of mud-houses under the walls of the fort.
If the sight of such a structure (the only building we had seen since we left the Convent at Mount Sinai) was an object of interest to us, no less was the approach of a caravan coming across the desert an object of interest to them. Our arrival put the encampment into commotion. The whole garrison turned out to see us pass, officers and soldiers, and the women of the village, and children too — every mother's son of them was there to behold the advent of the Howadjis. We did not halt to receive their homage, but swept majestically round the fort, and encamped on the northern side.
Hardly had we pitched our tents before the officer in command appeared. He was not a very imposing representative of the military profession. To tell the truth, he was a battered hulk, perhaps the wreck of old wars, but answered well enough for such an out-of-the-way post. He made us many salaams, and invited us to his castle — an invitation with which we speedily complied. In ascending the stairs to his room, we nearly blundered into the harem, which of course caused a little flutter. However, we soon got into the right place, where we sipped our coffee with due satisfaction. The old soldier then took us over the
