he way the
Turks tell time.

[Illustration: JAFFA FROM THE HARBOR.]

On the morning of the second day after our arrival at this struggling
little port, our anchor touched bottom in the beautiful bay of
Alexandretta. Here they show you the quiet nook where the whale
"shook" Jonah. That was a sad and lasting lesson for the whale, for
not one of his kind has been seen in the Mediterranean since. All day
we watched them hoist crying sheep and mild-eyed cattle, with a
derrick, from row-boats, up over the deck, by the feet, and drop them
down into the ship just as carelessly as a boy would drop a string of
squirrels from his hand to the ground. The next morning we rode into
the only harbor on the Syrian coast, and anchored in front of the
beautiful city of Beyrout.

It would take too long to describe this place, even if I had the
power. To tell of the road to Damascus, the drives to the hills of
Lebanon, through the silk farms; the genial and obliging American
consul, and the American college. Here, after nine days and nights, we
said "good-by" to the obliging crew of the poor old "Daphne."

[Illustration: A CREW OF JAFFA BOATMEN.]

For nearly a week the steamers had been passing Jaffa without landing,
and the result was that Beyrout and Port Said were filled with
passengers and pilgrims for the Holy Land. All day the Russian
steamer, which we were to take, had been loading with deck or steerage
passengers, poorer and sicker and hungrier, if possible, than those on
the "Daphne." It was dark when they had finished, and when we steamed
out of the harbor we had seven hundred patches of poverty piled up on
the deck.

It began to rain shortly, that cold, damp rain that seems to go with a
rough sea just as naturally as red liquor goes with crime. For a week
or more these miserable, misguided beggars had been carried by Jaffa,
from Beyrout to Port Said, then from Port Said to Beyrout, unable to
land. The good captain caused a canvas to be stretched over the
shivering, suffering mob that covered the deck, but the pitiless rain
beat in, and the wind moaned the rigging, and the ship rolled and
pitched and ploughed through the black sea, and the poor pilgrims
regretted the trip, in each other's laps. All night, and till nearly
noon the next day, they lay there, more dead than alive, and the
hardest part of their pilgrimage was yet before them.

If you have ever seen a flock of hungry gulls around a floating
biscuit, you can fo