Part 17 (1/2)

He was burned on a hill just outside the city on the Ephesus road, and his tomb, guarded by two n.o.ble cypresses, overlooks the sea.

But it is busy, bustling Smyrna that, after Ephesus, most attracted us.

It is more truly the Orient than anything we have seen. Fully as picturesque as Constantinople in costume, it is brighter, fresher, healthier-looking, and, more than all, its crowded streets are perpetually full of mighty camel trains swinging in from the deeper East, loaded with all the wares and fabrics of our dreams. Those camels are monstrously large--twice the size of any circus camels that come to America, and with their great panniers they fill an Oriental street from side to side.

They move, too, and other things had better keep out of the way when a camel train heaves in sight if they want to remain undamaged. I was examining some things outside of a bazaar when suddenly I thought I had been hit by a planet. I thought so because of the positive manner of my disaster and the number of constellations I saw. But it was only one side of a loaded camel that had annihilated me, and the camel was moving straight ahead without the slightest notion that anything had interfered with its progress.

It hadn't, as a matter of fact. Nothing short of a stone wall interrupts a camel--a Smyrna camel--when he's out for business and under a full head of steam. Vehicles and other things turn down another street when there is a camel train coming. You may squat down, as these Orientals do, and get below the danger line, for a camel is not likely to step on you, but his load is another matter--you must look out for that yourself.

I was fascinated by the camel trains; they are a part of the East I hardly expected to find. I thought their day was about over. Nothing of the sort. The camel trains, in fact, own Smyrna, and give it its commercial importance. They bring the great bulk of merchandise--rugs, mattings, nuts, dried fruits, spices, and all the rare native handiwork from far dim interiors that railroads will not reach in a hundred years.

They come swinging out of Kurdistan--from Ispahan and from Khiva; they cross the burning desert of Kara Koom.

A camel train can run cheaper than the railway kind. A railway requires coal and wood for fuel. A camel would like those things also. But he is not particular--he will accept whatever comes along. He will eat anything a goat can, and he would eat the goat, too, if permitted--horns and all. Consequently, he arrives at Smyrna fit and well fed, ready for the thousand miles or so of return trip at a moment's notice.

They run these camel trains in sections--about six camels in each. An Arab mounted on a donkey that wears a string of blue beads for luck leads each section, and the forward camel wears against his shoulder a bell. It is a musical compound affair--one bell inside the other with a blue bead in the last one to keep off the evil eye. I had already acquired some of the blue strings of donkey beads, and I made up my mind now to have a camel bell.

By-and-by, at the entrance of a bazaar, I saw one. It was an old one--worn with years of chafing against the shoulder muscle of many a camel that had followed the long track from the heart of Asia over swamp and steep and across burning sands. At the base of the outer bell was a band of Arabic characters--prayers, no doubt, from the Koran, for the safety of the caravan. I would never leave Smyrna without that bell.

However, one must be cautious. I gave it an indifferent jingle as I pa.s.sed in and began to examine other things. A murmuring, insinuating Moslem was at my elbow pus.h.i.+ng forward the gaudy bits of embroidery and cheaply chased weapons in which I pretended an interest. I dallied and priced, and he grew weary and discouraged. Finally, hesitating at the doorway, I touched the bell again, scarcely noticing it.

”How much?”

”Sixtin franc--very chip.”

My impulse was to fling the money at him and grab the treasure before he changed his mind. But we do not do these things--not any more--we have acquired education. Besides, we have grown professionally proud of our bargains.

”Ho! Sixteen francs! You mean six francs-- I give you five.”

”No--no--sixtin franc--sixtin! What you think? Here--fine!” He had the precious thing down and was jingling it. Its music fairly enthralled me.

But I refused to take it in my hands--if I did I should surrender.

”See,” he continued, pointing to the inscription. ”Oh, be-eautiful.

Here, fiftin franc--three dollar!”

He pushed it toward me. I pretended to be interested in a wretchedly new and cheaply woven rug. I had to, to keep steadfast. I waved him off.

”No--no; five francs--no more!”

He hung up the bell and I started to go. He seized it and ran after me.

”Here, mister--fourtin franc--give me!”

”Five francs!--no more.”

”No, no, mister--twelve franc--las' price--ver' las' price. Here, see!”

He jingled the bell a little. If he did that once more I was gone at any price.

”_Five francs_,” I said, with heavy decision. ”I'll give you five francs for it--no more.”