Except for this one accident, all the interest of this fresh cruise of mine lay on the side of the picturesque.  Greece with her mythological, poetic, and historical memories, and the great severe outlines of her landscapes, struck me with admiration.  But this was quickly overshadowed by the impression made upon me by my first glimpse of Asia—­the Mussulman East, which Lamartine’s Voyage and Decamps’ pictures had made me long so eagerly to know.  My joy, therefore, may be conceived, when I saw, as I landed at Smyrna, the living image of Decamps’ masterpiece, La Patrouille de Smyrne, now at Rotterdam, passing by me—­the very same police officer trotting along on his hunched-up Turcoman horse, surrounded by his policemen, regular bandits, running beside him, covered with brilliant rags and glistening weapons.  This worthy police agent, whose name was Hadgy-Bey (which we promptly turned into “Quat’Gibets"), very soon became our ally.  I did his likeness.  He was all smiles whenever we met, and he winked at all our young midshipmen’s pranks One they played was rather too strong, and roused the fury of the Turks.  Smyrna was at that time the most Eastern of Eastern towns, full of tortuous bazaars, and narrow alleys winding in and out, in which circulation, difficult enough at all times, sometimes became impossible for hours, when long strings of camels, fastened together with ropes, were going along them.  Nothing could have been more vexatious than these blocks, which man and beast alike seemed to take pleasure in prolonging, whenever the Giaours seemed annoyed by them.

What, think you, did our middies do?  A great many of them together (for we had a very strong naval squadron at Smyrna just then) hired donkeys, tied them together with long cords, mounted them, each rider with a long pipe in his mouth and affecting a quiet Eastern gravity of demeanour, and off they started.

This farandole, which was quite a kilometre long, went round and round the bazaars all day, up and down and in and out, stopping all the traffic, as if a real caravan was passing’ through.  At first the “true believers” were puzzled, but when they realized they were being laughed at they grew furious, and rushed off to get “Quat’Gibets,” who held his fat sides and roared with laughter when they told him what was amiss.  Our midshipmen gave him a regular ovation.  We were avenged on camels and camel men alike.  The neighbourhood of Smyrna was delightful, and brigandage quite unknown.  Civilization had not yet taught that refinement of the art, as practised nowadays, whereby people are carried off and called upon to get themselves ransomed, on pain of having their noses or ears, or finally their heads, cut off.  It was quite safe to go anywhere, to canter far along the road to Magnesia, or to stop and take coffee beside some cool spring in the shadow of the huge plane-trees, and watch the whole East pass by—­caravans from Diarbekir, half-wild Turcoman tribes, bashi-bazouks from the