They put my Syrian girl and me into a clean bedroom with
embroidered muslin curtains and chintz tops. At night the monastery was
full, and we were served by the monks. When I saw the company assembled
in the refectory at supper, I did not wonder at the porter receiving me
with such caution. They snorted and grunted and spat and used their
forks for strange purposes. If I had not been so hungry, I could not
have eaten a bit, though I am pretty well seasoned through living with
all kinds of people.
We started early next morning in delightful weather, and I was highly
excited by our near approach to Jerusalem. There were several other
travellers along the road, all bound for the Holy City. We occupied
seven and a half hours on the journey. We passed two _cafes_ on the
road, impromptu donkey sheds, where we found good Turkish coffee and
narghilehs; and there were shady groves, and fields of marigolds,
poppies, and such-like. At last I reached the crest of the hill, and
beheld Jerusalem beneath me. I reined in my horse, and with my face
towards the Sepulchre gazed down upon the city of my longing eyes
with silent emotion and prayer. Every Christian bared his head;
every Moslem and Jew saluted. We rode towards the Jaffa Gate, outside
of which were stalls of horses and donkeys, and a motley crowd,
including lines of hideous-looking lepers. I went to the Damascus
Hotel, a comfortable and very quiet hostel, with no tourists or trippers,
of which I was glad, for I had come on a devotional pilgrimage.
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