We halted near the
entrance in a forsaken garden, where the walls were broken down and the
unwatered orange-trees, although in faint blossom, were parched and
faded. Two very large apricot-trees promised a shade for the tent, but
the sakyeeah, or water-wheel, together with two powerful English
lifting-pumps that were connected with a large reservoir and aqueduct of
masonry, were in the last stage of rust and rottenness. I was not
prepossessed with the aspect of the spot, as it reminded me strongly of
an English property in charge of the Court of Chancery. The baggage
animals with the tents arrived while our people were employed in
clearing a space beneath the trees from the innumerable stones, which,
as usual throughout Cyprus, covered the surface. The servants were
busily engaged in erecting the tent, when a long, lanky individual, with
a repulsive countenance, marched through the little crowd and haughtily
inquired "who we were, and what business we had there?"
This was the first instance of incivility that I had met with in our
journey through the island. The man was a Turk, and was not the
proprietor, but only the agent for this wretchedly-neglected property.
The unfortunate owner was sleeping with his fathers, or he would, I feel
sure, have welcomed us with true Turkish politeness and hospitality but
having departed this life, some legal difficulties had occasioned
trouble, and the estate was in the hands of the uncivil agent, who, of
course, being nobody, assumed the airs of somebody, and endeavoured by
rudeness to exhibit his importance.
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