ughtful, his whole attention
apparently fixed on his employment.

Do you see that old gray-bearded man with his hand on the rudder? That
is Abdullah, always there, even when we are at anchor. Then a heap of
blue and a gray burnoose in the same place tell us Abdullah is asleep.
We need never fear while that old man is at the helm, for he will guide
us safely by sand-banks and bowlders to the destined port.

Of the remainder of the crew I can not give so good a report. They are a
curious assemblage of one-eyed, forefingerless, toothless men,
bare-legged, in robes of dark blue, and gay turbans, it being a common
custom to render themselves thus maimed in order to escape military
conscription. There is Mohammed, a good-natured fellow, ready to do just
as his companions do, whether it be good or bad. There is Said, a
cunning, deceitful-looking man, but a good sailor. Just to the right is
Hassan, black as coal, with glittering eyes, a tall form, and tremendous
muscle; he is a faithful fellow, willing to obey to the letter, but
without any judgment. There are Sulieman and Ali, the laziest ones on
board, strong as any, but the first to cry out, "Halt," and the
sleepiest couple on the Nile. There is Yusuf, always at his prayers, and
more willing to pray than work. There is Achmet, watching his chance to
run away. Then comes Mustapha, whose duty it is to clean the decks,
scour the knives, and wait on the travellers generally. And last but not
least is little Benessie, called "el wallad" (the boy), who does more
work and takes more steps than all the rest of the crew together. Ah,
these boys!--they're worth a dozen men sometimes. He makes the fires,
waits on the crew, and is at everybody's beck and call, from the howadji
to the sailor. He is a dark-eyed, shy little fellow, not particularly
neat in his appearance, and always sucking sugar-cane, which probably is
one of the attractions to the flies that gather continually on his face
and eyes.

So there they are--a lazy set of fellows, take them all together; lazy
in general when there is no present labor on hand. I think they work
well, though, when a necessity arises. It is not an Arab's nature to
look ahead; he sees only the present.

And now our sail is shaken out--we are off, the American flag floating
aloft at the point of our tapering yard, and we seated in our
easy-chairs or reclining on the divan of our decks, watching the scenery
as we glide along. There before us are