A few words of preface concerning a country so little known as that in which these pages were written may, perhaps, be useful to the reader. For the sake of those who may be interested in its past history or present condition, I shall indicate the sources which will supply further information.

Cyrenaica, or, as it was called under the Ptolemys, Pentapolis, is situated on the northern coast of Africa, between Carthage and Egypt. In its commercial importance it once almost rivalled the former, and in the fertility of its soil, the latter. Its early political vicissitudes are little known in detail, nearly all the works which were specially dedicated to its history having disappeared in the wreck of ages, among which the most to be regretted is the Book on the Republic of Cyrene, which Aristotle inserted in his Politics.

The Cyrenaica presents a succession of hills and table-lands, bounded on the east by the barren plains of Marmarica; to the south it is separated from the Great Desert of Libya by the hills of Hercules and the Velpa Mountains; on the north and west it is washed by the Mediterranean. Its insular position amidst water and sands afforded considerable security as well as great facilities for commerce. In contrast with the countries on either hand, it was well watered with frequent rains and perennial springs, so that it seemed an earthly Paradise, well fitted to be the site of the Garden of the Hesperides, or the abode of the Lotos-eaters.

Cyrene, the capital of the country, was founded by a colony of Theræans, who quitted their native island in the Ægean Sea in the latter half of the seventh century B.C., under the conduct of Battus the Dorian. He was said to derive his origin from the Minyæ, the descendants of the Argonauts, and was pointed out by the Pythian Oracle to be the founder, with his countrymen, of a colony in Libya. The inhabitants of Thera, says the story, did not even know where Libya was situated, and, returning home, neglected to comply with the orders of the god. At length, admonished by a severe calamity—the total cessation of rain for seven years, and the consequent destruction of all the trees in the island excepting one—they sent one of their number into Crete, whose inhabitants were of kin to them, to inquire if any one there had ever heard of Libya. One Corobius undertook to be their guide. With him they sailed to the island of Platæa, in the Gulf of Bomba and (after taking possession of it) returned home with the news. Thereupon, Battus, “alike distinguished by nobility of birth and genius,” was despatched, with two fifty-oar galleys, as king, to the new colony.

The situation thus chosen was an unfavourable one, for the island was small and barren. After suffering great privations, its inhabitants left it for the mainland, and at length, under conduct of the Galigammæ, one of the Libyan tribes, (who were tired of the new comers, and in return had proved themselves troublesome neighbours,) they settled around the fountain of Cyre, which issues from a cave in the side of a hill about twelve miles from the sea-shore; and returned thanks to the god under whose auspices they had found at length a new home in the midst of a fertile country, “under an open heaven.”

Cyre was a daughter of the king of the Lapithæ, and displayed her courage in combats with the wild beasts, which attacked her father’s herds. One day being seen by Apollo, when, in the fastnesses of Pelion, she wrestled with a lion, he became enamoured of her. Counselled by Chiron, he carried her off in a golden chariot into Libya. They were there kindly received by Venus, their nuptials were celebrated, and the god gave her the country as a kingdom. Of the other fables which connect the origin of Cyrene with the gods of Greece; of the Grecian Hercules, who wrestled and overthrew Antæus, the son of the Earth (the native Libyans); of the Garden of the Hesperides, which bloomed with golden apples, inaccessible on the western shore,—I need say nothing. The hidden meaning of the myths, with which a patriotic religion was not long in enrolling the obscure origin of a Grecian colony, perpetuates the story of its early struggles, throwing a poetic gauze over facts too humbling for its full-grown pride.

The new city was built on the table-land above the hill, from whose side the fountain issues. The lofty walls which inclosed it, and the temples and palaces which adorned it, arose a landmark for the mariner. Seven descendants of its founder reigned in it successively until about 450 B.C., probably invested with a sort of patriarchal authority, such as the early kings of Athens exercised. This was followed by a hundred and thirty years of liberty or licence, succeeded by a strict monarchical government under the Egyptian Ptolemys, the last of whose kings bequeathed his country to the Roman Senate.

The history, as it has come down to us, begins with a period of profound obscurity, which clouds the reigns of Battus and his son Arcesilaus. To the latter succeeded Battus II., Eudaimon, Felix the Happy. His reign was the golden age of Cyrenæan tradition. Fresh settlers from the mother country brought increased prosperity to the colony. Their territory became too narrow for its inhabitants, who, gradually spreading over the surrounding country, drove out the Libyan nomads; and thus the foundations of a power were securely laid, which soon gave (with the possession of a sea-port, Apollonia) a new impulse to enterprise. Teuchira and Hesperides were afterwards founded to the westward, and Barce—long the most flourishing of the daughter-cities, and at one time the rival of the metropolis—whose name is still perpetuated in the Turkish province of Barka. The native nomads did not, however, relinquish their pasture grounds without a struggle; they implored the assistance of the Egyptian king Apries, and the surname of Happy was, perhaps, earned at the fountain of Theste (Kubbeh?), where Battus defeated his troops. The Libyans were now subdued; the victors intermarried with the daughters of the soil; Greek genius was not long in adopting some, at least, of the mythology of their subjects; and thus a permanent dominion, supported by force, consanguinity, and religion, was established by the conqueror.

But it was not long before the monarchy was weakened by the defection of the brothers of Arcesilaus II., son of Battus Felix, who, retiring from their brother’s capital, founded Barce, and soon formed around it an independent territory, peopled, like the new city itself, for the most part by Libyans. Civil discord now divided the colony, and bloody feuds stained the royal house. The constitution, thus undermined by popular tumults and by regal encroachments, or weakness, threatened to involve in its ruin the material prosperity of the colony. In this conjuncture, the Cyrenæans again applied to the Pythian Oracle for advice, and Demonax, the Mantinean, was deputed by the god to restore order; he gained the good-will of all parties, and established new institutions, which greatly curtailed the royal power, but which were maintained during the reign of the third Battus. His son and successor, Arcesilaus III., not content to follow in his father’s steps, and impatient of restraint, was driven into exile by the insurrection which his arbitrary conduct had aroused; but soon returning, with Samian reinforcements, he repossessed himself of a power which he now used with uncurbed barbarity.

Such was the situation of affairs, when the Persian conquest of Egypt threatened to destroy the political independence of Cyrene. The king, not daring to trust his disaffected subjects (after promising tribute to his new neighbour), retired to Barce, where he continued the cruelties which had rendered him odious in his own dominions. He and his father-in-law, the king of Barce, were soon afterwards murdered. His mother fled to Egypt, and claimed the protection of the Persian Suzerain, with whose troops returning she laid siege to Barce, and savagely revenged the assassination of her son. Cyrene, by timely concessions, escaped uninjured from the Persian raid. Another Battus and a fourth Arcesilaus reigned in it with mingled feebleness and severity; in their hands the royal power lost all consideration, and on the death of the last, royalty was abolished. A free republic, aristocratic rather than democratic, now took its place, accompanied by all the party contests and all the civil seditions of which the history of the mother-country shows so many examples. To this unsettled condition of its government must be ascribed the fact, that, notwithstanding its situation—equally favourable to commerce as that of Carthage—and its infinitely more fertile soil, Cyrene never, either in the arts of war or in the arts of peace, rivalled the city of Dido. A love of turbulence and feuds seems to have formed an essential feature of the Greek character; all the efforts which, from time to time, were made by her wiser citizens to introduce better order into the republic, were vain. At last they applied to the divine Plato, requesting him to furnish them with a code of laws; and posterity regrets that he was too prudent to compromise his reputation, by legislating for so turbulent a community.

Alexander’s apparition in Egypt was followed by a treaty which seemed to guarantee the independence of Cyrene; but after his death intestine troubles and the solicitations of exiles (who, for whatever cause expelled their country, are ever its worst enemies) attracted armed bands into their fertile provinces. These marauders seized the ports, twice besieged the capital, and filled the country with rapine and ruin, which neither the aid of Carthage nor of the Libyan nomads could stay. At last, one stronger than either party, Ptolemy, who had succeeded to Alexander in Egypt, sent a fleet and troops and re-established tranquillity, B.C. 322—a service which he turned to his own profit, so that Cyrene became thereafter for many years a province of Egypt, under the name of Pentapolis.

Unaccustomed to a regular government, the turbulent Cyrenæans bore the yoke impatiently. Revolt followed revolt, and the Egyptian viceroy himself rebelled against his master. But these vain attempts at forming an independent government only sunk the Pentapolis in deeper misery. It was about the time that the first Jewish colonies were introduced, in conformity with the general policy of Ptolemy; and they soon became so numerous here, that, at length, no other country besides Palestine, contained so many individuals of their nation. Enjoying equal rights with the Greeks and the special favour of the king, they formed in the end a fourth order in the State, and were governed by municipal magistrates of their own. That they had a separate synagogue at Jerusalem, we learn from the Acts of the Apostles, vi. 9; and their frequent mention in the New Testament proves how important a part of the Jewish nation they constituted. They distinguished themselves under Trajan by a rebellion, in which they exhibited great ferocity; this rebellion was only suppressed after immense slaughter had taken place on both sides.

The reign of the third Ptolemy was a remarkable era for Cyrene. The original laws delivered by Demonax the Arcadian had been retained (with what corruption or modifications we know not) up to this time; but now, with the king’s consent, the people called in two distinguished natives of Megalopolis in the same province, Ecdemus and Demophanes—disciples of the philosopher Arcesilaus—to revise them. These two, as the historian informs us, “restored the public peace and the safety of the citizens.” The history of the following years is generally obscure; but enough remains to show, that this tranquillity was not of long duration, and tumults and rebellions continued to weaken the country till Ptolemy Apion, on his death, B.C. 96, bequeathed it to the Roman Senate. About twenty years later, after a vain attempt had been made to leave it in the enjoyment of self-government, it was merged into a Roman province in conjunction with Crete. It was, perhaps, in his administration of this quæstorship, that Vespasian first came in contact with the Jews. In the division of the empire, it fell to the share of Constantinople, and was exempt from none of the miseries which afflicted the distant provinces of the empire in its decay. The subsequent desolation of the country is described in the inflated eloquence of his time by the rhetorician Synesius, the Platonist bishop of Ptolemaïs, who, in espousing his church, refused to part with his wife. The nomad tribes gradually regained the ascendancy, driving out the more civilised inhabitants; and from the date of the Arab occupation, which immediately followed the conquest of Egypt, we hear no more of the Cyrenaica, excepting what is given of it in the short notice, which Abulfida has inserted in his Geography, under the head of Barka. It now forms the eastern part of the Turkish pachalik of Tripoli, divided into two prefectures, Benghazi and Derna, which are the only inhabited towns remaining in its whole extent.

The sources of wealth which the Cyrenaica presented were many and valuable. Its trade with the interior of Africa, by way of Augila, furnished for exportation ivory, gold, precious stones, ostrich feathers, and slaves—the same products which the triennial caravan from Waday, at the present day, brings to Benghazi. Judging, however, from the accounts of the ancients, from the remains of the splendid caravanserais which we meet with on this route, the trade must have been conducted on a far greater scale than at the present time. Pindar refers to the commercial navy of Cyrene, by means of which an active commerce was carried on with the main land, the islands of Greece, and the coasts of Asia Minor. Of the indigenous produce of this country, the first in rank, both for value and utility, was derived from the silphium, which yielded a gummy juice, the laserpitium, esteemed by the ancients as a remedy for almost every disease. So universal was its fame that it gave a common epithet to the country; and the “Silphium of Battus” is used by Aristophanes as a synonym for exceeding wealth. It was a government monopoly, and in Rome was sold for an equal weight of silver. It is mentioned, if I mistake not, among the treasures which Cæsar laid hold of at the commencement of the civil wars. Theophrastus and Pliny describe the method of its cultivation, though, from the expressions used by other authors, it seems to have grown wild in the desert places; but, however obtained, it undoubtedly yielded a large revenue to the country.

The olive flourished with remarkable fruitfulness in its soil; and the immense tracts which are at the present day still covered with it, proves how extensive its cultivation must once have been, and how congenial to it is the soil in which, after ages of neglect, it still flourishes. Its crops of grain were as abundant as those of Mauritius and Sicily, and furnished large exports. During four months of my stay in the country I ate ripe grapes, and in one place I left the half-formed fruit hanging in rich clusters from the vines; so true is the ancient description which, speaking of the various climates of the Cyrenaica, says, that the harvest lasted nine months, beginning in the low grounds, then ascending to the table-lands, and ending in the hills. The flowers of the Cyrenaica were also celebrated, and the ground is still enamelled with a rich flora; the crocus officinalis furnished a considerable article of export, and its roses yielded the finest attar distilled for its Egyptian Queen. The honey almost vied with that of Hymettus, and in some places it is still gathered by the Arabs, who send it in presents to their distant friends. The herds and flocks which Pindar celebrates are still the wealth of its nomad inhabitants. The breed of horses was remarkable for fleetness and endurance; and the war-chariots in which they were harnessed were as celebrated as the skill of the drivers who conducted them.

But the ancients do not confine their praises to the natural productions of the soil. Cyrene was fruitful, also, in men distinguished in the arts and sciences. Architecture and the engraving of precious stones were both carried to great perfection by the Cyrenæans. Of their skill in painting and sculpture few evidences have reached us. It was in the liberal arts that they especially shone; and a long list might be produced of men of letters and science who adorned their birthplace or spread its fame in other lands. The poems of Callimachus, a Cyrenæan of noble birth, prove that the noblest exercise of genius was not neglected. But the brightest lustre is shed upon the African Doria by its mathematicians, physicians, and philosophers. Eratosthenes, the poet, philosopher, and geometer, may also be called the Father of Geography. But all are eclipsed by the fame of Aristippus, his daughter Arete, and her son Aristippus (the mother-taught), who founded, and to the third generation sustained, the glory of the Cyrenæan School of Philosophy—a rare, perhaps a singular instance of such mental gifts descending, as it were, by inheritance. We know the doctrines of this school only by the writings of its adversaries; we are not, therefore, qualified to pronounce judgment upon them. In the original teaching it seems rather to have been a contradiction to the stoic and cynical doctrines, establishing enjoyment as the chief end of man, allied to moral freedom—a philosophical enjoyment, which consists in using all the good things which Providence has showered upon us. This was a doctrine not discordant with the habits and genius of the people with whom it originated. If later disciples of this school contended that the true philosophy of life consists in the pursuits of voluptuousness, or, exaggerating even this doctrine, taught that virtue for itself is despicable, that no Deity exists, and that, since pain cannot be entirely avoided, life itself is detestable—we may regard such aberrations as the declamatory sophistries of ill-regulated genius, not as the real opinions of a school whose first teacher sat at the feet of Socrates.

I shall conclude by mentioning the authors who in modern times have called attention to this country. Our guide in all that relates to its ancient condition is the learned Dane Thrige, who, in his work “Res Cyrenensium,” has exhausted all the information that the most ingenious acuteness could extract from the writers of antiquity. Of modern observers, the first in point of time is Leo Africanus, who, with naïve simplicity, describes the Desert of Barka as a hideous waste, peopled only by barbarians sunk in the most abject poverty. Early in the eighteenth century, Lemaire, quoted by Paul Lucas, was sent to explore the ruins which it was reported to contain, by Louis XIV. After him, Shaw and Bruce visited some parts of the province; but the first work which treated in detail of its antiquities was that of the French artist Pacho, whose untimely end prevented his reaping the laurels which his enterprising genius had planted. He may be regarded as the re-discoverer of the remains of Greek civilisation in this part of Africa. The work which he produced under incredible difficulties is remarkable among modern books of travel as a monument of industry and daring; and I here gratefully acknowledge the amount of enjoyment for which I was indebted to it during my tour. To his name it is only just to add that of Beechey, whose accounts and scientific labours have deprived future authors of the right to intrude upon their readers the results of geographical observations. The plans and map which accompany his work are of great value. Two Italian travellers, anterior in point of time to the last-mentioned, must not be forgotten, viz. Della Cella, a Genoese physician, who in the suite of the Bey of Benghazi, visited this country in 1819, and published an account of his travels, which, though not without merit, leave much to be desired in accuracy; and a merchant Crevelli, whose meagre journal was published by the French Society of Geography. The last of the few travellers who have penetrated into these almost unknown regions is Dr. Barth, on whose hazardous attempt to reach the central kingdoms of Africa the eyes of Europe are now turned with equal hope and admiration. May the desert which has devoured so many valuable lives, spare his to the advancement of science and civilisation!

J. H.

Cairo.
September 1, 1853.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

Malta to Benghazi. — Benghazi. — Aspect of the Town. — Population. — Diseases. — Government. — Antiquities. — Dress of the Inhabitants. — Trade. — Artisans. — Jews.

The journey which the following pages describe had been for many years the object of my wishes, although it was only in 1852 that I was able to put my design in execution. The experience of several tours in Syria had taught me the necessity of knowing the language of the country, for the sake of personal safety, as well as for gaining information; I therefore lost no opportunity of making myself acquainted with the colloquial, which differs so much from the classical, Arabic. The study of this language is, indeed, very difficult, but it has been to me a most charming employment, and I have never regretted the many long hours which I have devoted to the acquisition of it. Before leaving Europe I had carefully studied all that ancient or modern authors have written upon the old Pentapolis; and I came to this country provided with the necessary instruments for measuring heights and ascertaining the positions of the several points I should visit. I do not, however, pretend to write a book full of antiquarian lore or geographical details—on this head, my predecessors have left little to be gleaned. Thrige, in his “Res Cyrenensium,” offers an ample repertory for those who are desirous of knowing every fact that classical antiquity has handed down to us, concerning the ancient wealth and arts of the Cyreneans; and Beechey has given, with the utmost accuracy, the position of the principal points of interest. Pacho gives us many interesting details in his work, though, perhaps, he has too highly coloured his descriptions; his drawings of the remaining ruins are full of errors. Pacho has the merit of having alone traversed this country at a time when it required no little enterprise to risk a passage through it. I disclaim all merit on the score of enterprise or remarkable discoveries; and if the narrative of my visit to this lovely region should induce others of my countrymen to vary their Egyptian and Syrian tours by a visit to the Pentapolis, the object of my ambition will be gained. I shall have conferred upon them the benefit of calling their attention to this forgotten land, and on the inhabitants the still greater advantage of a more frequent contact with European civilisation. There is no country, excepting Morocco, where the Moslem has so little felt the influence of modern civilisation, or where his fanaticism is more offensive. Here, we are still in the sixteenth century; the pages of Shaw and other old travellers are recalled in our daily dealings with the Arabs, whose most offensive characteristics are only mitigated by the vicinity of Malta, and through a certain traditionary fear of British power.

Without further preamble, I shall state that my point of departure was Malta, from whence I sailed for Benghazi, now the principal town in the district, and the seat of Government. I took my passage on board a brigantine of 150 tons, the Pace, the largest vessel which trades between Malta and Benghazi. The depth of water in the small part of the ancient harbour, which is not yet sanded up, admits no vessel which draws more than ten feet of water; after September the passage is so insecure, that all direct intercourse ceases, and letters then can only be conveyed from Malta by Tripoli, whence there is a weekly courier who comes in thirteen days. I stowed myself on the deck of the brigantine, in a box ten feet by five, and about three and a half high, which, when washed and carpeted, formed no inconvenient cabin, and saved me in great part from the attacks of those creeping and jumping fellow-passengers from which no Mediterranean merchant-vessel is free. Being well supplied with new books, I managed to kill time pleasantly enough during the six days that the passage lasted. In the evening, after sunset, I used to take a seat upon the deck, to chat with the captain and the scrivano,—a sort of mate,—and thus learnt from them all they could tell me of the trade between Europe and the regency of Tripoli, and of the wonders of the unknown land I was going to visit. In their gossip I sometimes caught a faint echo of old Herodotus. I much enjoyed one of their stories, which they told with the greatest gravity, assuring me that they had heard it from the most respectable natives. In the interior of Africa, beyond the black hills, is a race of people whose men are dogs, their women being like those of other nations. The husbands spend their days in hunting, and at night bring home to their wives the game they have killed; these cook and eat the meat, and give the bones to their dog-husbands. They were both intelligent men, able to give a satisfactory account of their trade; but they made no difficulty in believing this story, and other tales not less marvellous. The profits of the trading vessels are principally made on the return voyage, when the cargo consists of cattle for the consumption of the island, and bales of coarse wool, which is principally destined for Leghorn. Paper and glass from this place, plain and printed cottons from England and Switzerland, with planks from Trieste, form nearly all the imports to Benghazi. The approach to the town is not promising; the long, flat line of sand, broken here and there by groups of palm-trees, becomes visible only at a very short distance from the shore. On nearing it, two insignificant white-washed marābuts, and the castle—a square building, flanked with round towers, standing on the sea-shore, and conspicuous only from its whiteness—are the first objects which strike the eye. The town itself is not seen until the traveller is close to it; it looks like a large collection of mud huts, unrelieved by a single minaret, or even by the dove-cots, which render many of the mud villages on the Nile so picturesque. Closer inspection confirms this first impression of the town. The houses are indeed built of stone, badly cemented with crumbling lime; but in the whole town not more than a dozen have the convenience of a room raised above the ground-floor (ghorfa). They are built round an oblong court, with no attempt at architectural ornament, the walls not exceeding fourteen feet in height, and almost in no case are the rooms more than ten feet in breadth, though frequently thirty or forty feet long. They are lighted from the door; and, in the better houses, one, or perhaps two, rooms have the additional convenience of small windows, which are closed by wooden shutters. The flooring is sometimes of flag-stones, generally of mud; and the flat roofs, formed with the undressed trunks of the juniper trees, laid side by side across the walls, covered with mats and plaster, are not impervious to the winter rains. This is no unfavourable account of the houses of Benghazi; and when I add, that the streets, filled with loose sea-sand, are kept tolerably clean—remarkably so for an Oriental town—I have done ample justice to its merits. The water for drinking is brought from wells at a distance, in barrels or skins; and every house has in its court-yard a well of brackish water, which in many places is found at a depth of six feet. There are near the shore two public wells—one due to a former English consul—which are used for watering the cattle, but the essential luxury of a fountain, or the convenience of a walk where the sand does not reach the ankles, has not been thought of. The sanitary inspection, under a talented German doctor, is very strict, and in some cases might, perhaps, be adopted with advantage at home. His word is law in all such matters as cleaning the streets, or removing nuisances; no meat can be exposed for sale in the market, which has not been offered for his inspection before going to the slaughter-house; no burial takes place without his certificate, though he only examines the body when death is suspected to result from plague or other infectious disease. He has not only the right to examine the bodies of females, but he can have them disinterred if buried without his certificate. Proceedings so contrary to Moslem prejudice, and even to Moslem law, afford perhaps the strongest proof that can be adduced of the utter disregard which the powers at Constantinople show to the religious laws of the Koran, as well as of the slavish submission of the people to the Government.

The census just completed gives 1200 for the number of houses in Benghazi, which, in this country, represents a population of 10,000 to 12,000 souls; the deaths in the last year were 333, and seem to favour the higher number, but they were above the annual average, in consequence of epidemic measles having carried off 57 children. In general, Benghazi may be considered the most healthy town in North Africa; neither fever nor dysentery are endemic here, nor is any other form of disease frequent, except ophthalmia, the prevalence of which may be ascribed to the general filthiness, and to the habit which the people have at night of sleeping exposed on the terraces, or in the damp court-yards. It is disgusting to see the little children, round whose inflamed eyes swarms of flies cluster, no one taking the trouble to drive them away. The markets are abundantly supplied with mutton; occasionally beef is offered for sale; but vegetables and fruit are very rare, and, till the last six years, nothing but onions were to be had. Though the sea abounds in excellent fish, the quantity taken is very small. Wine, potatoes, and fruit are sometimes to be had, brought from Malta or Canea, from whence the European and wealthier Turkish residents obtain their few luxuries. When I speak of wealth, it is in a comparative sense; probably no one, either native or foreigner, has a capital of 4000l.; but there is no absolute poverty among the people, for the cultivation of the land is open to all, on paying a tax of one-tenth of the produce; and, excepting the Morocco or Tunis Hajji, who pass through on their way to Mecca, I have never seen a beggar in Benghazi.

The government of the province is in the hands of a Bey, sometimes sent from Constantinople, sometimes nominated by the Pacha of Tripoli, to whom he is subordinate. Soliman Agha, the present Kaimakan, formerly in a domestic situation in his household, was long Kehin to the present Pacha of Tripoli (Izzet Pacha), and by him was appointed to Benghazi. His inability to read or write is considered no obstacle to his being an efficient Governor of an extensive district; and in the visits I paid him I must acknowledge that he seemed to be well-informed regarding the affairs of his government, and to have an excellent memory. The object of such an appointment is, of course, that the Pacha may have in Benghazi a dependant who will not interfere with his peculations. The Kaimakan, or Bey, is assisted by a Medjlis, or council, composed of the Cadi, Mufti, and some ten members chosen from among the principal persons of the place; and his consideration is sustained by part of a regiment which is stationed here—the rest of it doing duty at the castles newly erected for the purpose of keeping the Arabs of the interior in subjection. The Consular body consists of an English Vice-Consul, a French Consular Agent, and Vice-Consuls—or calling themselves such—for Tuscany and Sardinia. All of them, excepting the Englishman, are merchants, and it may be questioned if their action is consequently as independent as it should be, when we remember the monetary transactions which they have with the customs, which are here administered by the local Government. I can personally bear testimony to the cordial hospitality of the French Consular Agent, M. Brest, and of his family; and to the unceasing attentions of M. Xerri, a young Maltese merchant, whom I found acting as Vice-Consul in the interim between the departure of the last Consul and the arrival of his successor. Although the climate of Benghazi is perfectly wholesome, I should not recommend it to any one as a residence: there are few of the necessaries, and none of the luxuries, of life to be found there; above all, there is no kind of society. Its antiquities afford at most two days’ employment. They consist of large squared blocks of stone scattered along the sea-shore, foundations of ancient buildings in the sea, between the reef, which probably formed the old mole, and the shore, with a flight of steps at the extremity of the former. The shore has sunk considerably in this part of the coast, as the foundations of buildings now beneath the water testify; and often, after a winter storm, gems and medals are picked up on the beach. On the land side of the town, the sea has also made an irruption, forming a shallow lake in winter, which dries up in summer, and leaves the surface glittering with salt, if the winds are not high: hence Benghazi may be said to be built on a narrow tongue of sand. On the opposite side of this lake, the summits of the hills to the south-east of the town are covered with old tombs, many of which are rifled, but not a few still yield vases and stalactites of terra cotta. It was from here that M. de Bourville obtained the splendid Panathenaic vases which adorn the Museum of the Louvre; but such good fortune is hardly to be looked for again. The existence of the tombs is not indicated by monuments or other external marks,—a circumstance to which, perhaps, they owe their preservation. Some are grottoes cut in the rock, beneath its surface, and have long been sanded up; the more common are rectangular excavations, about five feet by two feet, cut in the rock, and covered by rough flattish stones. These also are always found completely choked with sand; they contain vases generally of a coarse quality, really fine vases being rare. The statuettes are, generally, much more beautiful; and nothing can exceed the grace of some which I saw in Paris, derived from M. de Bourville’s collection. Though this country is named by ancient writers as famed for its engravers, I have not seen a single fine intaglio or cameo found here.

The modern costume of the Benghazini is simple, but not ungraceful, and, like that of all countries which have not yet adopted the tight-fitting fashions of Europe, is admirably adapted to the climate. The red cap (tarboush or takyeh), with which a cotton skull-cap (ma’raka) is generally worn, without the turban. The under-garment consists of blue or white cotton drawers (serwàl), generally reaching to the ankles, and rather tight from the knee, exactly like those which one sees on the Roman statues of barbarian prisoners; a shirt, with wide sleeves (sourieh), and a waistcoat without sleeves (fermleh), or with sleeves (reboun), but this is not always worn. A long, narrow, woollen sash (hhezàm) is wound several times round the body, and the whole is covered by the barracan (jerd), the simplest and most graceful, as it probably was the earliest, article of dress ever invented. It is of white or gray, sometimes of red wool, heavy or light, according to the season; very like the Scotch plaid, though rather longer, but differently worn. One corner is looped to the edge, about a yard and a half from the end; the right arm and head are passed through the aperture thus formed, the loop resting on the left shoulder; the long end is next passed under the left elbow, and is then thrown across the right arm and shoulder. This is the usual way of wearing it in the town; but in the country, or where exposed to the sun, a part of the breadth is passed over the head, and the end is brought over the left shoulder in front. Thus worn, it is exactly the costume of the antique statue of the sacrificator, which one sees in many museums. The apparent cleanliness of this costume, entirely white in summer, and its graceful folds, render it one of the most elegant I have ever seen. These barracans are, for the most part, the manufacture of Jerbel, in the regency of Tunis, and the finer have stripes of silk interwoven in the breadth. Socks or stockings (to complete my fashions of Benghazi) are seldom seen; the yellow under-shoe (mest) more frequently. There are three kinds of slippers worn: the red Egyptian (markoub); a yellow slipper, with no heel, and a red shoe, which leaves the instep quite uncovered, both called sebàt.

The barracan forms, also, the principal dress of the women; but they wear it in a different way, making a petticoat of it, and a bag behind, in which they carry their children, or any other impedimenta they may have; and they bring it in such a way over the face as to form a very effectual veil. I have seen none on whom this dress sat gracefully, and all seem frightfully dirty. Some of the children whom one sees rolling naked in the sand of the street would, if washed, be pretty, but the filth in which they are reared soon destroys all vestige of good looks. Both women and children wear immense hoop ear-rings, three and four inches in diameter, and sometimes four or five in each ear, inserted one above the other in the cartilage. The silver bracelets and anklets which complete their adornment are sometimes of great weight. A Jewess in Benghazi wears a pair of anklets which weigh five pounds.

The flies form a remarkable feature, which must not be omitted in describing Benghazi. None of the plagues of Egypt could exceed them, and they often during the day render writing, or any occupation which does not leave one hand free for the fan, utterly impossible. They exist in myriads; hence, the Turks call Benghazi the fly kingdom; and the flies by their pertinacity and voracity evidently show that this is their own opinion. Nothing but continual fanning can keep them off; even the musquitoe-net being unavailing against plagues which creep as well as fly. When very thirsty they draw blood, even through one’s stockings, their bite resembling the sharp pricking of a leech; and wafers left upon a table entirely disappear under their attacks in a very short time. In the evening, if disturbed on the curtains, they rise in hundreds, making a rushing noise like pheasants when a well-stocked cover is beaten. In addition to the plague of flies, the shrill trumpet of musquitoes keeps one constantly on the qui vive, but their bite is not venomous like that of the musquitoes of Syria, Egypt, or even Italy; and it is rather the association of ideas which renders them harassing, than any actual injury they inflict. Other insects, though not unknown, are seldom seen, or with a little care may be entirely avoided. The first day I was in Benghazi my servant killed a tarantula, a hideous, rough-backed, flat-headed lizard, in the room I was put up in; but I have not seen a second. Nor have I met with any scorpions, though they are sometimes found; their bite is hardly to be called venomous. So insensible is the Arab epidermis to pain, that a native hardly takes the trouble to apply even a little butter or honey to the wound.

Scarcely any trades, beyond those of the most necessary description, are exercised at Benghazi. The French Consul, during my stay there, was unable to have a pane of glass put into a window; the Tunisian who formerly performed such feats having allowed himself to die. The glass was there, but no one could cut it to the size of the window. There are Jews here, into whose hands most of the less laborious trades have fallen, as is usual in all countries, especially in the East. They can sew a covering for your divan, or make up the cushions; they will repair, in a certain fashion, any article of silver or gold, or make you a saddle-cloth, or a sabre belt. They are ready to turn their hands to anything; but after showing themselves serviceable as may be, ask prices equal to about ten times what would be demanded in Bond Street. A few days before starting for the interior, I wished to have some balls cast, and I soon saw the same Jews at work who a few days before had come to repair a silver nargilih, which had passed through an Arab servant’s hands. They worked in the court of my house; the casting of balls being a highly prohibited operation. I was amused at the way in which they set to work. Two commenced, but before the end of the performance a third came to their aid, and then two more, apparently to lighten the labour by the charms of their conversation. My Jews sat down opposite to each other, and scraped a hole in the ground between them. In this they placed some lead, and covered it with charcoal, which they soon blew into a bright heat by means of a pair of bellows made of an entire goat’s skin, one end of which was fitted with a nozzle, while the edges of the other extremity were sewed to two flat sticks, so as to open or close by the pressure of the hand. The lead was now melted, and to extract it from its primitive crucible a little bit of tin, which was lying on the ground, the lining of an old packing-case, was slipped and fashioned into something like the bowl of a ladle, and this, held by a pair of pincers, was all the apparatus required. It was highly simple, but the quantity of wood and charcoal consumed was enormous, and it took nearly five hours to cast little more than a hundred balls. It must be confessed, in favour of the Jews, that if their filth and ignorance equal those of their brethren in all these countries, they are not behind them in industry. They are the only hard workers in the place: other tradesmen, whether Moslem or Maltese, seeming utterly indifferent to obtaining custom. I required a framework for a divan, and the Maltese carpenter whom I had sent for, after keeping me two days waiting, send word on the Monday that he would come next week. I therefore found a couple of Jews, who knocked together a very creditable divan in two hours. One of the community, who by a series of most ingenious manœuvres has contrived to obtain English protection, and is now broker to the Vice-Consulate, was hardly ever out of my house during my stay in Benghazi. His voice was generally the first I heard in full exercise about sunrise, and from time to time during the entire day, his tongue seemed never to tire of discharging bad Arabic and worse Italian. Such cleverness, such industry, never were employed for smaller ends, for his profits must be inconsiderable. He knows, I believe, every article in every house in the town, as well as if he had taken an inventory of their contents, and when he pronounces some longed-for object unattainable, it is certain that neither money, diplomacy, nor address have been able to discover its existence.

There is nothing to be said of the domestic habits of the Moslem inhabitants. Their life is less luxurious, their feasts are less frequent and less gay than those of richer places; they have few or no amusements, and there is no bath in the town, excepting in the castle, where there is one capable of containing a single person. I have nowhere seen Moslemin so dirty in person.

Preparations for Departure from Benghazi. — Leave Benghazi. — Arab Horses. — Ruins of Kasa Tawileh. — Labiar. — What an Arab is. — Mode of Travelling. — Retinue. — Silphium. — Tombs. — Cyrene.

I was detained in Benghazi much longer than I could have wished by the non-arrival of a vessel containing a part of my luggage, and by the beginning of Ramadhan, during which time it is next to impossible to travel.

Servants who are fasting all day cannot be expected to be much inclined for exertion, and as at night they sit up to gossip, or to sing, waiting till it is time to take the last meal before the dawn, it is hopeless in a tent to look for sleep. I made up my mind, therefore, to wait till this month was over, and gave orders for a start on the morrow of the Bairam. This, however, happened to be Wednesday, and my guide represented to me that Wednesday is the most unlucky of days to start on a journey, and the argument was too sound for me to think of opposing it. Thursday afternoon was, therefore, fixed on, but so little notion have the Arabs of punctuality, and so little are Arab servants of use in preparing for a journey, that everything had to be done by my European servant, and it was Saturday morning before I left the town. An Arab merchant, who was frequently in the habit of visiting me, gave me, however, some consolation for the delay, by explaining that the seventh is the luckiest day in the month, and as Saturday was the seventh, I had only gained by the change of day. This is, perhaps, the place to describe my equipment for the journey, and my companions. I bought two wretched horses for myself and servant, hired a quick stepping camel to carry a light tent, carpets, and other articles required during the day (which was ridden by a young Arab servant, who acts as coffee-maker and pipe-filler), and other camels for carrying the rest of the baggage, including a larger tent, crowbars and pickaxes for excavations, with water-skins and barley for six days for the horses. My guide, an immense man, one Mohammed El Adouly, provided his own horse, rather a showy white mare, and one of the best I had seen in the country; mounted upon this, and enveloped in his white barracan, new yellow and red shoes on his feet, which rested in the broad shovel-shaped brass stirrups; his long gun slung over his shoulders, with a blunderbuss at his saddle bow; a pair of pistols slung under the left arm, and a Koran and a white bundle of talismans under the right—he presented a very majestic figure, and evidently thought so himself. He was recommended to me as an indispensable guide for such a journey, as he is well known to all the Bedawin in the country, and his last wife was from the neighbourhood of Grennah; he had accompanied M. de Bourville and one or two English Vice-Consuls in their excursions through this country. I am, in general, averse to taking into my service such necessary personages, as they invariably endeavour to become the masters; but as the written information concerning the places I was to visit is very scanty, and no trust can be placed in the oral communication of the natives, I submitted to the infliction. I was determined, however, to have my own way, in which I succeeded very well, retrenching myself in my English coldness, while listening to his reasons why I should not do as I proposed, and then simply repeating the order; this being somewhat the Turkish fashion, he soon understood my method, and for some time obeyed my orders without opposition. In addition to Mohammed and the pipe-boy, I had with me a tall thin man, who fancied himself a cook, and an inexpressibly dirty fellow who was to groom the horses, and also make himself generally useful. The breed of horses in the Pentapolitan is sadly degenerated from its renown in former times; they are small and ill made, with no appearance of Arab blood; but there are a few in the interior which have great powers of endurance. My servant’s horse, of the Dongola breed, which had been reduced to a skeleton by a thirty-five days’ journey, during which his only food was what he could pick up on the road, promises to turn out a better horse than is usually met with in the country; he delights me by the very knowing look, which he owes to his ears being slit at the top—a sign that he was foaled at night.

After much screaming and scolding among the drivers, and the usual amount of growling on the part of the camels, everything was got into marching order, and, accompanied by some of my acquaintance, who escorted me for an hour out of the town, I quitted Benghazi. We stopped in about an hour and a half to fill the water-skins, at a deep well of cool and sweet water, as we were to find none till the next day, at Labiar. Our route was in a south-easterly direction, across the hills, which bound the plain of Benghazi, and while my luggage made directly for the spot where we were to spend the night, I made a long détour to visit a ruin called Kasa Tawileh, through an uninteresting country, and without finding anything to reward my exertion. At about six hours and a half from Benghazi we reached the foot of the hills, and entered a beautiful ravine clothed with bushes and underwood; here we saw some coveys of partridges, a few hares, and flights of wood-pigeons; but the Arabs galloping about frightened them, so that it was impossible to get a shot. They never think of firing except when the game is on the ground, having never dreamt of a flying shot; but their flint-locks generally missing fire, their poaching does not do much harm to the game. We slept in an open space towards the end of the ravine. The hills around it are called Bu Miriam, and from them we descended the next morning to the great plain called Ghat-es-Sultan, which stretches away to the right; we crossed it in a south-east direction to Labiar. The country to the edge of the hill, at the foot of which lies the valley of Labiar, is covered with low underwood, juniper trees occasionally rising amidst it.

From Benghazi to Labiar is fourteen hours of camel travelling.

Labiar presents a strange appearance; a marābut on a slight eminence looks down upon a long stony vale, in which are several wells, but not a trace of vegetation. These were surrounded by Bedawin busily employed in drawing water in goat-skins, while their flocks and herds covered the bare rocky sides of the surrounding hills, patiently waiting their turn to approach the watering-place. From constant agitation the water in these wells is always muddy, and even of this the cattle only have a drink once in two or three days, as many are driven from pasture grounds at a great distance. Here we were visited by hosts of Bedawin, who formed a circle round the small daytent in which I was resting until the camels should come up. Nothing was to be learned from their conversation, but they left behind them many lively reminiscences of their visit, and as this was the case every time a Bedawy visited me, I soon came to the resolution of forbidding their reception. The genuine Bedawy, of this country at least, is one of the dirtiest animals on the earth; their dress is often nothing but a brown barracan, which is a mass of rags, and a dirty, very dirty, skull-cap. There is one of them in this neighbourhood, who boasts of not having used water for forty years, and it is only rarely that any of them make external use of this precious commodity. The sheikh of Labiar brought me a small skin of milk, and I bought of him a sheep for the evening’s meal, which he made me pay dear for, though he refused money for his milk, as to take money for it would be, as he said, (’aib,) “a shame.”

Beyond Labiar, the country becomes less barren, being covered with short grass, which, even when quite dry, has a greenish yellow tone; it is thickly dotted with thorny plants, some of which were just bursting into fresh leaf, and were most gaily green.

In four and a half hours from Labiar, our route taking a direction east by north, we reached Sanct Bella Ghür, where we stopped near a well ill supplied with water. From this vast plain five hours’ travelling over a beautiful range of hills called Jebel Fawaid, through gorges clothed with the juniper—here almost a stately tree—brought us to the wells of Elbenish, which presented a very similar appearance to those of Labiar, though the country round the Wadi, in which they lie, is less bare. While my tent was being pitched for the mid-day repose, I rode to a distance of twenty minutes to the north to see the remains of a ruined castle, called by the Arabs Kasr Jbilla. It is a square building, with towers at the corners, built of oblong blocks of wrought stone, of which, in some parts, several courses still exist, devoid of ornament; it may belong to Roman, or still earlier times. Placed on the summit of a conical hill, it commands an extensive view, and may have been destined to serve as a place of refuge from the attacks of the nomad tribes. With every care I could discover no trace of the inscriptions of which Della Cella speaks, and am inclined to think he mistook for characters the effect of the weather on the worn surface of the stones. The Arabs of the neighbourhood (they are Anaghir) bury their dead round the walls, and I saw several recent graves.

From Elbenich we entered the Jebel el Abid, inhabited by Arabs of the same name, and in four hours reached Zardes, where we slept, keeping, however, a good watch, as the Abid have a villanous reputation for thieving, and during the night gave us more than one alerte. Zardes is a valley containing wells, and surrounded by hills, in the protruding summits of which are many crevices, wherein grow the juniper and wild thyme, whose perfume fills the air; the ground around glittering with white flowers. This country, towards evening, when a pink tinge covers it, reminded me frequently of a Scotch moor. The next day was a fatiguing one; there being no suitable place for resting in the middle of the journey, I rode six hours before I halted my party. I generally left the camels with my servant, to prevent loitering, and rode on ahead with a guide and some Arab attendants. At the leisurely pace of an Arab traveller I gained upon the luggage fifteen or twenty minutes in every hour. I have noted the distances, for convenience’ sake, by the times of the departure and arrival of the camels, (at which I was always present,) their pace being uniform. I rode on or loitered on the road. Mohammed, in all his magnificence, led the way; the servants, equally well armed, being generally with him, and any chance traveller who might have joined the caravan; I usually followed a little in the rear. My guide and the other Arabs from time to time solaced themselves with song. They have two unmusical and strange, which is remarkable, as the music of the countries on either side—Egypt and Tunis—is very pretty. The leader sings a couple of lines, which he constantly repeats with slight variations, while the rest join in a strange howling chorus. The verse is generally extempore, containing little rhyme and still less reason, and the best idea I can give of its import and style is by recalling the nursery ditty,—