“Whoa, there! Whoa!”
“Hey, mate, this critter won’t steer right.”
“Mine’s got a list to starboard.”
“Mine’s lost his rudder and is all adrift!”
The Jackies from the fleet, mounted on donkeys on which they were seeing the sights, had the bazaar in Cairo in an uproar. Natives in long robes and red fez caps were darting about trying to bring order out of chaos. Donkeys were braying, Jackies shouting with laughter, and American tourists cheering, as they saw Uncle Sam’s fighting men coming into town from the ornate railroad station which looked more like a mosque than a depot.
 
The Jackies from the fleet ... had the bazaar in Cairo in an uproar.—Page 250.
In and out among the joyous tars darted beggars of all hues, black, yellow and white. Nubians,[251] Arabs, Hindoos, even Chinamen were in the throng, and they all rattled and banged on brass dishes yelling for alms. Through the street occasionally an auto would come whirring along, carrying perhaps a veiled woman or a swarthy Egyptian, or now and then a British officer in full rig.
At such times the flying squadron of donkeys scattered in every direction amidst the whoops and yells of their excited riders.
From the gutters mongrel curs snapped at the boys’ heels, and the uproar, din and sun were enough to upset the strongest nerves.
“These people must all be crazy,” exclaimed Herc to Ned as they maneuvered their donkeys in and out among the throng with more skill than most of the sailors showed. The boys had been brought up on a farm and knew something of riding.
“No, sir; that is, they’re only crazy for one thing, and that is money.”
[252]
“Hookey! You’re right there. Beggars and sand are about all I’ve seen in Egypt so far. I wonder the beggars haven’t bankrupted the rest of the populace.”
“Backsheesh! Backsheesh!” wailed a filthy negro, getting in front of them.
“Yes, yes, that’s what you are,” Herc assured him, “a black sheep, all right enough.”
“Tell you what, boys,” cried somebody, “let’s have a parade!”
The suggestion was greeted with cheers. The Jackies began to urge their donkeys into line.
“Columns of four, Fighting Bob’s formation!” shouted somebody.
“Who’ll lead it?”
“Strong! Strong! We want Strong!” chanted the crowd from the Manhattan.
Men from other ships cried for their favorites, but in the end Ned was forced to the front of the parade. One of the sailors began pounding on a big brass bowl that he had bought in the[253] bazaar. The cavalcade began to move off with a perfect army of beggars and donkey drivers following behind.
“Sing us ‘The Kearsage and the Alabama,’ Harness Cask!” hailed somebody, addressing the old sailor from the Manhattan whom we have encountered before.
“If you’ll all join in the chorus.”
“Sure we will!” roared all the tars.
“It was early Sunday morning in the year of sixty-four!”
piped up the old man, while the sailor with the brass bowl beat time;
“The Alabama she cruised out along the Frenchman’s shore!
Long time she cruised about, long time she held her sway,
But now beneath the Frenchman’s shore she lies in Sheer-bug Bay.”
“Chorus!” shouted Herc, and they swung into[............