O poor tanner in the distant suburb, kneeling on
the hardened rubbish-mound, nailing out the wet
skin of the slain buffalo, thou also beware! for
neither age nor poverty protect men from these
cursed revilers of the Prophet. O thou woman,
casting mud upon thy face at thy son's funeral, and
O thou woman, vibrating the shriek of joy at the
wedding procession, beware lest ye perish beneath
the hoofs of the wild asses, for the Franks come
like the lion in fury, and like the hyænas in hunger;
fly from them, therefore, and clear the road.
O sons of Mahommed, above all shun the Kafer!
O ye who bring from Batoum, on rafts, the large
and brittle water-jars of Upper Egypt, beware
lest these riders of swift asses dash into useless
pieces those vessels used for ablution; and ye,
lantern-sellers, take in your frail stores, lest those
whom ye might have lighted home be left to
depend on the moon alone, and on that star
which is the uncle of the moon! Such might be
the song of a street-poet in Cairo, for such is a
faint picture of the terror the presence of the
donkey-riding of Englishmen produces in the
"victorious city."

The donkey-boys of Cairo, like all the recognised
trades of that wonderful specimen of a city
in a state of decay, are governed by a sheikh,
or head of the guild, who witnesses their binding
(literally with a scarf), and who is obliged to
produce them when the cadi or the pasha requires.
This sheikh, whom the boys hold in no remarkable
reverence, is paid an annual salary by the
government. The cadi probably possesses a list
of the names of all the boys; but, for their
character, address, and whereabouts, if known, the
civil magistrate refers to the sheikh of the Beni
Homar (or sons of the ass). He too, I believe,
collects, or is answerable for, the annual tax,
amounting to ten shillings, that every boy pays
the pasha. The government, so ready to tax,
might, I think, be a little more ready to
ensure the boys a reasonable tariff, and their
customers the power of punishing them for
rudeness or overcharging.

I must admit that our griffins who strew
the road from England to India with a trail of
paternal sovereigns are enough to spoil any set
of servants. Now they are rough and arrogant:
now recklessly lavish. The retribution of these
faults falls on the unfortunate traveller who
follows them. I have known donkey-boys very
faithful, civil, and useful. I have known them
also lazy, insolent, and unbearable. My friend
Crosscut, the superannuated military chaplain
from Aden, took a donkey-boy last Ramadan to
ride to Joseph's Well, beyond the citadel. He
stopped often in the streets, as he rode through
them, now to cheapen a chibouk, now to ask
the price of aloe-wood and gum benzoin at a
perfumer's. The boy wanted him to go a
quicker way, and not to wander through
lonely by-streets where there was no crowd or
bustle. Being told to follow and not talk, he
swore "by the head of Hoosan," the Prophet's
grandson, who is buried at Cairo, that he would
never again go with a Frank Howaga (merchant)
who knew Arabic. Sullenly he followed towards
the Well, and there fell asleep in a tomb while he
was kept waiting by Crosscut. Crosscut, rather
a sour and grizzly man, finding him there on
his return, left him asleep in order to punish him.
The boy returned about four hours afterwards,
pale and frightened. He declared he had been
searching for Crosscut ever since, thinking he
had not returned. He had at last left his donkey
and gone in search of him, and had there been
fired at by the Nubian sentinel for venturing too
near a powder-magazine on the hill. Crosscut,
to tease the ill-conditioned lad, paid him only
half his due, upon which the boy threw down
the money, spat on it, and consigned Crosscut to
the lowest pit of Gehenna, in a long and
appropriate oath. Crosscut, after chewing the cud of
this revenge for the space of five-and-twenty
minutes, paid him the full sum, dismissed him
with Christian opprobrium, and lit his two-and-
twentieth narghilleh bowl.

In a country where every carriage, whether
hack or private, is preceded by a Nubian seis
with a tight red scarf round his waist, who runs
before to clear a road for you, with shouts and
warning, it is no wonder that the Cairo donkey-
boys clamorously appeal to the public as they run
before your swift and dreaded animal. They
shout with mechanical earnestness a long string
of exhortations and warnings to the foot
passengers, such as: "Hei, sheikh! — Hei, boy ! —
Ho, virgin! — Ho, old lady! — Take care of your
foot — take care of your face — look out for your
arm — look out for your back! — Hei, young
man! — Ho, O Pilgrim! — To the right, O
Howaga! — To the left, O Sidi! — Shumalak—
Rumenek — Doghrea!"

These boys have latterly grown so knowing
and so intelligent, and have picked up such a
fair amount of English, that they have become
serious rivals to the dragomans. The dragoman
charges you five shillings a day and wants a
donkey to ride. The donkey-boy wants no
donkey himself, runs all day, takes you anywhere
you like, and knows quite as much about every
place as the dragoman, and is more likely,
indeed, to take you out of the beaten track.
The result is, that a fierce feud wages between,
the two classes.

"Berry bad people Cairo donkey-boys—all
outside people—village people," says Abool
Hoosayn to me.

"What to do?" says Achmed, the donkey-boy,
"Gentleman ask donkey-boy name of mosque—
Dragoman say, Tell him don't know. What to do?"

The war has now reached such a pitch that it
is said the dragomans intend legally proceeding
against the donkey-boys at the cadi's court, where
he who gives the highest bribe is successful.

People may say what they like of the Caireen
donkey-boys, as impudent, greedy, lying, thievish,
and so on. I found no such faults in them.
They worked for me for days under burning
suns, living only on iron chunks of rye-bread
and soaked lupins. They took me where I liked
—they fed me with Arabic nouns — the Caireens
speak the best Arabic—and never once
complained of their extra work, or repined at fatigue.