While we were at Jeddah the Governor and all those
who knew the story of his pilgrimage to Mecca called on us, and were
very civil.
Our days at Jeddah were very pleasant ones. In the evening we used to
sit outside the Consulate, and have some sherry and a cigarette, and play
with the dogs. One evening Richard came in and discovered me anxiously
nursing what I thought was a dying negro. He was very angry, for he
found him to be only drunk, and there was a great shout of merriment
among all our colony in the Consulate--"my boys," as I used to call
them--when the truth came out. These terrible boys teased the negro
by putting snuff up his nose. They were awful boys, but such fun. They
were always up to all sorts of tricks. When the food was bad, they used
to call the cook in, and make him eat it. "What's this?" they would
say. "No! no! Massa; me lose caste." "Hold your tongue, you damned
scoundrel! Eat it directly." One day it was seven big _smoked_ onions
which the cook had to consume. I am bound to say that it had a good
effect upon him, for the table was certainly excellent after this. I
wish we could follow some such plan in England with our cooks. Even
more did I wish we could do so at Trieste. I thought the dogs were
worse than the boys. There were about ten bull-dogs in the house.
They used to worry everything they saw, and sent every pariah flying
out of the bazars. Since I left Jeddah I heard that the natives had
poisoned all these dogs, which I really think served the boys right,
but not the dogs.
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