ABSTRACT
We were lodged comfortably at the Vice-Consulate by M. Catoni, a Corsican by birth, and lately appointed British Yice-Consul, as he had previously been Swedish and Greek. English travellers are rare at Alexandretta, and we were most hospitably entertained by him, all trouble being taken off our hands in the matter of arrangements for our journey to Aleppo. Hadji Mahmoud, a respectable carrier
hour on the 6th of December, through the swampy streets of Scanderoon, across the marsh and by a rising road towards what are called the Syrian Gates, the mountain pass of Aleppo. It was a warm morning, and we could have almost been persuaded to leave our heavy cloaks behind us but for an appearance of wind far out at sea. The marsh was full of kingfishers, sitting on the telegraph wires, and now and then pouncing with a splash into the water. Our ponies, ragged little beasts, stepped out at a good pace, and the bells of the leading mule jingled merrily. There was a sense of expectation in the air with the thought that we were at last fairly on our road through Asia, and that mysterious promise of adventure which makes the first day of a journey only less delightful than the last. Our road now left the causeway, which had crossed the marsh, and wound among the ravines and watercourses of the hill side. "We had plenty of fellow travellers, riders on mules, horses, donkeys, and camels, and people on foot, (for this is perhaps the greatest high road in A sia). But they passed us without remark or salutation, and only one or two exchanged a nod with Mahmoud. As we turned the shoulder of the hill we were met by a violent wind which nearly blew us back over our ponies' tails, and sufficiently explained the "white horses" we had seen out at sea, and the enormous capotes into which Mahmoud and his assistant Kasim had built themselves. Two
So we readily consented when he seemed anxious not to lose time and begged us to go on and overtake the mules, which, having had some minutes start of us, were already beyond the crest of the pass. It was blowing a hurricane there, and was bitterly cold. The view overlooking the lake and marshes of the Orontes far away towards Antioch was very beautiful, and we could see where Antioch lay, its position being marked by a pointed hill and the white line of the river to our right.
