We were now twenty-three miles from Lapithus, and I felt sure that
our baggage animals would not arrive till nightfall.
As we sat beneath one of these grand old olive-trees alone, Iiani having
taken his mules to his home, and probably at the same time having
advertised our arrival, throngs of women and children approached to
salaam and to stare. I always travelled with binocular glasses slung
across my back, and these were admirable stare-repellers; it was only
necessary to direct them upon the curious crowd, and the most prominent
individuals acknowledged their power by first looking shy and conscious,
and then confusedly laughing and retreating to the rear.
We had arrived at 2.20 P.M., and we waited beneath the olive-trees until
8 P.M., when the advance camels at length came in after dark. It was
9.30 before the tents were pitched and the camp arranged. The great
delay had been occasioned by Iiani's old camel, which had, as I had
expected, rolled down the steep bill with its load, and having nearly
killed itself, had mortally wounded the sacred copper kettle, which
every traveller knows is one of his Penates, or household gods, to
which he clings with reverence and affection. This beautiful object had
lost its plump and well-rounded figure, and had been crushed into a
museum-shaped antiquity that would have puzzled the most experienced
archaeologist.
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