The harbour, with its well-known mole and adjuncts, is very picturesque. We climbed up narrow streets, full of houses once occupied by the knights, and from the fortification, had an extensive view of the island and the Mediterranean. The Church of St. John, blown up by gunpowder, and shattered to fragments, seized on my imagination for a good while, as I wandered, and sat down on a spot, so rich in romantic story. We then returned to the interior of the town, and at the harbour watched the boatmen, busy at the seaside. As we were doing so, one of my companions exclaimed, “Stoughton, you’ve got the jaundice!” and, sure enough, when we reached our steamer, the looking-glass proved this was true. When I rose next morning my limbs were of a saffron colour.
The weather changed. The sky was dark, and the views we caught of Asia were by no means inviting. At night there came a storm; and a storm in the Mediterranean is no trifling matter. Wind roared through the rigging; the vessel lurched and laboured, groaning as if the timbers would burst. Lying in my berth I could feel the dashing billows. Tables and stools were sliding about. The suspended lamps swayed to and fro, like the pendulum of a clock. Overhead confusion was terrible. Horses were kicking, and the sailors were swearing. We had a pasha with his harem on board, and, as might be expected, they were exceedingly terrified. Crowds of pilgrims returning from the Eastern celebration at Jerusalem, were lying on deck resembling herrings in a barrel, and the noise they made was terrific. Waves beat over our boat, till the poor creatures were almost drowned. Beside we had horses, bears and monkeys on board, and, of course, they added to the inharmonious concert. I rose from my hammock early, and with my companion, Mr. Welch, sought comfort from a cup of tea. Reaching the deck, I talked with one of the engineers, an Englishman, and asked what he thought of the storm. “Is there any danger?” I asked. He replied, “This has been a very queer night, and we have made no way. If it had lasted, that would have been serious.” We safely reached Smyrna harbour in the afternoon.
Of course, I thought as we approached land:—There, on one of the hills yonder, the martyr, Polycarp, by death sealed the truths which he had proclaimed in life. As we landed, I thought myself in an Italian port, so European at a glance everything looked—houses, shops, and people—but, entering the town, the scene changed, for there the streets, bazaars, and costumes told of Oriental manners and customs. The next day a party was organised to visit the ruins of Ephesus. It can be reached by railway, and when we entered the station, we might have fancied ourselves at home; for there we met with English guards, and railway porters, like our own. We had a special train to convey us to the far-famed ruins. We visited what is left of the forum, the theatre, and the stadium, but it is difficult to identify anything; and it seemed to me, a definite idea of what Ephesus was in its glory is impossible. The view from the loftiest eminence is magnificent, including the vast plain, the winding river Cayster, and what, in Paul’s day was the harbour of Miletus. At the time of our visit, Greek Christians were celebrating the Festival of St. John, on a lofty hill, the church there being a rude-looking structure. The cave of the seven sleepers was pointed out, on our way back to the railway station, and by the cave is a beautiful mosque of the fifteenth century.