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Transcriber’s note:

      Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).

      Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).

      These lectures each had a set of associated slides, a complete
      list of which can be found on pages 117-124 at the end of the
      book. These slide sets were sold separately and are not part of
      the book. Some of the slides (those highlighted in =bold= in the
      slide list) were inserted as illustrations in the original book,
      and the captions of these illustrations are reproduced in this
      etext.

      The numbers in the right margin of the etext are the numbers of
      the associated slides. Several of these margin slide numbers are
      in parentheses ( ) to indicate that this particular slide is
      being shown for a second time at this point in the lecture.

      There are no Footnotes in this book.

      Some minor changes to the text are noted at the end of the book.

  (_See page 115._

WORLD ROUTES TO THE EAST.]

  _Copyright._)      (_See page 14._

VALETTA.]

THE SEA ROAD TO THE EAST

Gibraltar to Wei-hai-wei

Six Lectures
Prepared for
The Visual Instruction Committee of the Colonial Office

by

A. J. SARGENT, M.A.

London
George Philip & Son, Ltd., 32, Fleet Street
Liverpool: Philip, Son & Nephew, Ltd., South Castle Street
1912

(All rights reserved)

THE VISUAL INSTRUCTION COMMITTEE

APPOINTED BY THE SECRETARY OF STATE FOR THE COLONIES.

  THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL OF MEATH, K.P., Chairman.

  THE RIGHT HONOURABLE SIR CECIL CLEMENTI SMITH, G.C.M.G.

  SIR JOHN STRUTHERS, K.C.B., LL.D., Secretary to the Scotch
  Education Department.

  SIR CHARLES HOLROYD, Director of the National Gallery.

  SIR PHILIP HUTCHINS, K.C.S.I., late Member of the Council of
  the Secretary of State for India.

  SIR EVERARD IM THURN, K.C.M.G., C.B., late Governor of Fiji and
  High Commissioner for the Western Pacific.

  SIR CHARLES LUCAS, K.C.B., K.C.M.G.

  DR. H. FRANK HEATH, C.B., of the Board of Education.

  A. BERRIEDALE KEITH, D.C.L., of the Colonial Office.

  H. J. MACKINDER, M.P., lately Director of the London School of
  Economics and Political Science.

  W. H. MERCER, C.M.G., Crown Agent for the Colonies.

  PROFESSOR MICHAEL E. SADLER, C.B., LL.D., Vice-Chancellor of
  the University of Leeds.

A set of Lantern Slides has been prepared in connection with this
book, and is sold on behalf of the Committee by Messrs. Newton
& Co., 37, King Street, Covent Garden, W.C. (late of 3, Fleet
Street, E.C.), from whom copies of this book can be obtained. The
complete set of 369 Slides may be had for £29 10_s._ The Slides
to accompany the several Lectures will be sold at the following
prices: First Lecture, £4 17_s._ 6_d._; Second Lecture, £5 5_s._;
Third Lecture, £4 10_s._; Fourth Lecture, £5 7_s._ 6_d._; Fifth
Lecture, £5 15_s._; Sixth Lecture, £4 15_s._ The Slides will also
be sold in sets in which the maps alone will be coloured. The
prices in this case will be--for the complete set of 370 Slides,
£20; First Lecture, £3 10_s._; Second Lecture, £3 8_s._; Third
Lecture, £3 6_s._; Fourth Lecture, £3 10_s._; Fifth Lecture, £3
12_s._ 6_d._; Sixth Lecture, £3 13_s._ 6_d._ The Slides sold
on behalf of the Committee may now be purchased separately in
batches of not less than two dozen.

The Slides of this Series are Copyright.

PREFACE.

The plan of these lectures is due to Mr. H. J. Mackinder, who
wrote the series of lectures on India. The author of the present
series is Mr. A. J. Sargent, and the lectures have been revised
on behalf of the Visual Instruction Committee by Sir Everard
im Thurn and Sir Charles Lucas. The slides are mainly derived
from pictures painted and photographs taken by Mr. A. Hugh
Fisher on behalf of the Committee, supplemented by photographs
supplied from various sources. The Committee have gratefully to
acknowledge the abundant help which they have received in this
respect.

The next series to be issued will be on Australasia, and the
lectures are already well advanced.

  MEATH.

  _March, 1912._

PUBLICATIONS OF THE VISUAL INSTRUCTION COMMITTEE.

A. Seven Lectures on the United Kingdom.

By Mr. H. J. MACKINDER.

In the following Editions issued on behalf of the Committee by
Messrs. Waterlow & Sons, Ltd.:--

  =1. Eastern Colonies Edition, Sept., 1905.=

  In use in Ceylon, the Straits Settlements, and Hong Kong.

  =2. Mauritius Edition, June, 1906.=

  In use in Mauritius.

  =3. West African Edition, Sept., 1906.=

  In use in Sierra Leone, the Gold Coast, and Southern Nigeria.

  =4. West India Edition, Sept., 1906.=

  In use in Trinidad, British Guiana, and Jamaica.

  =5. Indian Edition, March, 1907.=

  In use in the following Provinces:--Madras, Bombay, Bengal, the
  United Provinces, the Punjab, Burma, Eastern Bengal and Assam,
  the Central Provinces, the North West Frontier Province, and
  British Baluchistan.

  =6. Indian Edition, for use in the United Kingdom, Jan., 1909.
  Price One Shilling net.=

B. Eight Lectures on India, October, 1910.

By Mr. H. J. MACKINDER.

Published by Messrs. GEORGE PHILIP & SON, LTD., 32, Fleet Street,
London, E.C., price 8_d._ net in paper covers, or 1_s._ net in
cloth.

  [=A Lecturer’s Edition= has also been issued, price in cloth,
  1_s._ net, and may be had of MESSRS. NEWTON & CO., 3, Fleet
  Street, E.C.]

Six Lectures on the Sea Road to the East.

By Mr. A. J. SARGENT.

Published by Messrs. GEORGE PHILIP & SON, LTD., price 8_d._ net
in paper covers, 1_s._ net in cloth.

  [In this book the ordinary edition and the lecturer’s edition
  are combined.]

CONTENTS

                                         PAGE
      LECTURE I

  GIBRALTAR AND MALTA                       1

      LECTURE II

  MALTA TO ADEN                            20

      LECTURE III

  THE INDIAN OCEAN                         39

      LECTURE IV

  CEYLON                                   57

      LECTURE V

  THE MALAY REGION                         75

      LECTURE VI

  THE CHINESE STATIONS                     99

_NOTE.--The reader is asked to bear in mind the fact that these
lectures are illustrated with lantern slides. The numbers in the
margin of the text are the numbers of the slides, of which a
complete list will be found on pp. =117-124=._

  LECTURE I

  GIBRALTAR AND MALTA

  In the great land mass which is formed by Europe and Asia is
  included upwards of a third of the land surface of the Globe and
  about two-thirds of the total population. Grouped at the western
  end are the three hundred and fifty millions of Europe, while the
  majority of the seven hundred millions of Asia are crowded into
  the southeastern corner. Between the two, from the Red Sea coast
  of Arabia to the western boundary of China, lies a broad band
  of desert and steppe, mountain and plateau, thinly peopled and
  difficult to cross. On the north, the sea passage is barred by
  the ice of the Arctic; while the only land link between west and
  east is the thin line of the Siberian railway. But on the south,
  from the Baltic to the Sea of Japan, is a broad highway, free        1
  to all and within easy reach of the great trading nations of
  Europe and Asia. From end to end we see it running along the
  coasts and through inland seas; so that ships are rarely out of
  sight of land for many days together. At frequent intervals are
  straits to be passed and corners to be turned by every ship; and
  here, where the sea road must touch the land, are the key points
  for trade in time of peace or strategy in time of war.

  Britain is responsible for the government of over three hundred
  million Asiatics and carries on a great trade with the remainder;
  in fact, about two-thirds of the merchant shipping passing
  through the Suez Canal is under the British flag. We have
  important interests, too, on the eastern side of Africa, while
  a new Britain, British in race and political organization, is
  growing up in Australasia. We are the chief users of the main
  road to this region of the world, and are thus most interested in
  its condition and control.

  For ships sailing from the western coasts of Europe, otherwise
  than round the Cape of Good Hope, the only gateway to the long
  passage to the East is the Strait of Gibraltar, at its narrowest
  a little less than half as broad as the Strait of Dover. Let us
  look for a moment at the map. We have passed Capes St. Vincent       2
  and Trafalgar, and as we turn in from the Atlantic, far away on
  our right is Cape Spartel, the corner of Africa, and beside it
  the Moroccan port of Tangier. We had interests on this coast in
  times past, since Tangier was a British Possession more than two
  centuries ago. It came to the English Crown not by conquest but
  as part of the dowry of Catherine of Braganza, wife of Charles
  II; but after twenty years it was abandoned to the Moors as
  useless. Bombay also was included in the dowry: but how different
  is its later history!

  We are now inside the Strait; on our left, just at the point
  where the shores of Europe approach most nearly to Africa, stands
  the Spanish fortress of Tarifa. Here, where it is narrowest, we
  might expect to find the controlling point of the gateway; but
  we must look beyond. Further east the Strait begins to broaden
  out until it loses itself suddenly in the open waters of the
  Mediterranean, where the coasts of Spain and Africa trend away
  sharply to north and south. Here, on a narrow spur running
  southwards, with the open sea to the east and the bay and town
  of Algeciras to the west, lies the Rock of Gibraltar. Fourteen
  miles away to the south, on another jutting point, is the town
  of Ceuta, which belongs to Spain. Five towns keep guard over the
  gateway to the Mediterranean, but only one holds the key; we may
  understand this better when we have learnt something of Gibraltar
  and its history.

  We think and speak of the Rock rather than the town or bay;
  with good reason, since Gibraltar without the Rock would be of
  small value to us. As we steam in from the west we see it            3
  rising from the water like an island block broken off from the
  mountains of Spain. Now we are drawing nearer and the block          4
  begins to take shape. A long ridge, carved out into detached
  peaks, drops sharply to the north where the low flat isthmus,
  scarcely visible, links it with the mainland. On our right hand,
  towards the south, it descends in steps to the narrow point on
  which we can just see the lighthouse. With a little use of the
  imagination we may liken the ridge to a crouching beast keeping
  guard over the waters of the Strait below. Now the houses of the
  town begin to show against the dark background of hill, and          5
  soon we pass a cruiser at anchor and enter the new harbour, with
  its docks and coaling wharves enclosed in protecting moles.

  We have seen Gibraltar on the west from the level of the sea; let
  us turn to the map for a moment and take a bird’s-eye glance at      6
  the whole peninsula with its surroundings.

  [Illustration: GIBRALTAR.]

  The Rock is small: its length three miles from north to south,
  its greatest breadth not more than three-quarters of a mile. Its
  area is a little less than two square miles, so that it is quite
  the smallest in the list of our foreign possessions. A high and
  narrow ridge, rising over a thousand feet, falls steeply to the
  land on the north and to the sea on the east; towards the south,
  where the ridge is lower, it ends in cliffs against which the sea
  beats always and prevents all access. On part of the west side
  the lower slopes are more gentle, and on these lies the town with
  the harbour at the foot.

  Let us look now at the approach to Gibraltar from the mainland       7
  of Spain. Here we see a corner of the northwest face of the
  rock, where it overlooks the isthmus. Notice how sheer it
  rises from the plain, with the flooded moat at its foot. The
  narrow road, on which we are standing, between the Rock and
  the sea margin, is the sole entry to the fortress, and we may
  understand how, in a spot such as this, a small force could
  easily defy an army. Here is another view of the Causeway,           8
  from the hill above, which shows us how narrow is the link
  connecting the Rock with the mainland. Gibraltar is, in effect,
  an island; the only real approach is on the west, from the sea.

  We will now explore further. All round us are guns and
  fortifications old and new; soldiers are everywhere; we can see
  little without special permission, and the authorities are very
  inquisitive as to our business. The main gates are locked and
  guarded at night, and we take the time and set our watches by
  gunfire. We soon learn that we are in no ordinary town, but in
  a fortress prepared for war. Here we see one of the hot and          9
  narrow streets. In the foreground is one of the olive-skinned
  natives of the Mediterranean. We shall find them everywhere about
  the harbour; in fact they seem far too many for a small confined
  town. But in the evening we may meet them streaming away by the
  north gate, bound for the Spanish town of Linea, which is visible
  in the distance beyond the neutral ground of the isthmus. There
  is much work to be done in the harbour, but there is no room for
  the town to expand, so it is not possible to house the workmen
  on the spot. It is necessary to limit the number of civilians
  living in the town, for past experience has proved that they are
  a danger to health in time of peace, through overcrowding, and
  a source of weakness to the fighting garrison in time of war.
  Gibraltar must be governed purely as a fortress; its history is
  a history of war; in time of peace it has little interest.

  Thirteen sieges in five centuries are recorded by historians
  since its capture from the Moors by Ferdinand of Castile in
  1309; a relic of the Moorish occupation still survives in the       10
  old castle which we see here; of the sieges the last three
  alone concern us. In the autumn of 1704, only a few months after
  a British admiral had hoisted the flag and claimed the Rock in
  the name of Queen Anne, France and Spain with a great fleet and
  army attempted its recovery. In the spring of the next year the
  garrison, without food or powder, reduced by disease and fighting
  to less than 1,500 effective men, and facing the constant attack
  of a vastly superior force, could scarcely hope to hold out much
  longer. But relief at last came from the sea. A British squadron
  broke through the blockading fleets and brought supplies and
  reinforcements; and though it sailed away again the real siege
  was over. On the land side the Rock was impregnable; the guns of
  that day were useless against its defences; Gibraltar was ours to
  hold so long as we could command the sea.

  At the peace of Utrecht, which ended the war of the Spanish
  Succession, we retained Gibraltar, and the people of England,
  impressed by the siege and the splendid defence of the Rock,
  resolved to keep it. It was only natural that Spain should
  wish to recover a fortress which was geographically part of
  her territory and of little value to us at the time. For years
  her diplomatists tried to persuade us to restore it; and when
  diplomacy failed, force was attempted once more. In 1728, great
  preparations were made for another siege; even Cadiz was stripped
  of its guns to provide a siege train, and an army of 20,000 men
  fronted the little garrison of 1,500. The Government in England
  set small value on the place, so that the defences had been
  utterly neglected. The guns were worn out and the fortifications
  in decay, but the garrison worked day and night in parties of 500
  to repair the damage. A heavy bombardment undid much of their
  work, but it also ruined the large brass guns of the enemy, while
  month by month we poured in men and supplies from the sea, until
  the garrison was raised to over 5,000. The siege proved that
  Gibraltar, properly manned, had nothing to fear from an assault
  by land, and the people of England were more than ever convinced
  that it was quite impregnable. The real danger was to come fifty
  years later, when we lost for a time the command of the sea.

  The last and greatest siege began in 1779, when the fortunes of
  England were at a low ebb in the war of American Independence,
  and a French and Spanish fleet had sailed with impunity up
  the English Channel. In spite of despatches from Governors
  and discussions in Parliament, the defences of Gibraltar were
  again in a thoroughly neglected state. It is not to the English
  Ministers or Parliament that we owe our present possession of it,
  but to the energy and foresight of General Eliott, the Governor
  at the time. It is true that at the last moment we hurried out
  more troops and supplies; but when the attack began in June,
  1779, the garrison, with no hope of further relief from the sea,
  was ill fitted to withstand a long siege by the joint forces of
  France and Spain.

  Let us climb up to one of the great galleries begun during          11
  the siege and hewn out of the solid limestone rock, with their
  rows of gun-ports like windows in the face of the precipice. Let
  us look out through one of these windows and try to imagine         12
  the scene in the days of the siege. Here we have a fine view of
  the country below. The blank space, without houses, which           13
  we see is the neutral ground, and beyond it the besiegers’ lines
  were drawn right across the isthmus. Across this narrow space
  the guns fired round shot, the enemy attacked and the garrison
  made sorties. Further away is the town of Linea, and right under
  our feet is the goal of the attack, the narrow entrance to the
  fortress itself. But the scenes on the isthmus can never be
  repeated; long-range artillery has changed the conditions of
  warfare; the heavy guns on the landward side of the Rock now keep
  watch and ward over the distant hills.

  This was the view of the besieged on the land side; the sea
  also was closed to them. Our fleets were engaged elsewhere and
  supplies were cut off by a swarm of hostile cruisers in the
  Strait. The troops were on half rations from the first, while
  at the end of a twelvemonth the people were glad to search the
  Rock for wild roots and weeds. Gibraltar was never nearer to
  surrender. At the last moment, Rodney, on his way to the West
  Indies, defeated the Spanish fleet off Cape St. Vincent and
  brought in a convoy. But he could not stay, and the siege closed
  in for a second year. Morocco joined Spain, so that the small
  supplies which had reached the garrison in spite of the blockade
  were now cut off. To crown all, the food brought from England was
  mostly salted, and scurvy broke out. To add to the trials of the
  defence, the enemy now attacked from the sea with small gunboats
  rowed in close to the shore under cover of darkness. The town
  was a fair target which they could hardly miss, while they were
  small and offered no chance in the darkness to the gunners of the
  garrison. So for the rest of the siege this nightly bombardment
  went on unchecked, as to reply was mere waste of powder which
  could ill be spared.

  In the spring of 1781, a powerful English fleet again brought
  relief, and later in the year a brilliant sortie by the garrison
  ended in the destruction of the besiegers’ lines and delayed
  the final attack. But early in 1782 Minorca surrendered to the
  French, who were thus set free to prepare for a great joint
  effort. For a time there was a lull in the storm, while ships
  were collected in the bay and men and stores on the mainland.
  Rewards were offered for the best plan for capturing the
  fortress, and people came from all over Europe to watch the final
  act in the great drama. The preparations ended in a grand assault
  by land and sea in September, 1782. For four days without ceasing
  thirty thousand men with nearly three hundred guns attacked from
  the isthmus. In the Bay were fifty warships with the gunboats
  and the famous floating batteries. To oppose this huge armament
  with its five hundred guns or more, the defenders had some eight
  thousand men and less than a hundred guns. It was enough. How
  the attack failed is told in every history. It is worth remark
  that the losses of the garrison in the bombardment were very
  small, not more than might have been expected in a mere skirmish.
  The guns of those days were of little use against the natural
  defences of the Rock. Soon after, Lord Howe, in the teeth of the
  combined fleets, broke the blockade and brought the third relief;
  and although the fighting continued for a time, the real siege
  was over as soon as the English fleet had forced the passage of
  the Strait.

  When we think of these sieges, we can perhaps understand better
  why Gibraltar, rather than any of the other four towns, holds
  the key to the Strait. When our fleet was away the fortress was
  powerless and the enemy could close the passage. A fleet alone
  could keep it open, but a fleet, now as then, must have a harbour
  close at hand as a base. In the case of Gibraltar only of the
  five towns do we find both fortress and fleet together.

  The history of Gibraltar in the nineteenth century has been
  mainly concerned with the difficulties of governing its
  miscellaneous population and the problem of improving the
  defences and adapting them to the ever-changing conditions of
  modern warfare. Towards the end of the century the need of
  further dock accommodation for the fleet became pressing. The
  new harbour was begun in 1893, but while it was in course of
  construction the science of artillery was also making great
  progress, and it has been pointed out that the docks could be
  assailed by the fire from long-range guns hidden behind the hills
  on the mainland. So from the purely military point of view the
  fortress is perhaps less impregnable than in former times.

  In the matter of internal administration there has been much
  improvement. Gibraltar has gained a bad reputation in the past
  for climate and health. The bare rock adds to the burning heat of
  the summer sun; the town is shut off from fresh breezes by the
  hill, and when the Levanter blows from the east, and heavy clouds
  hang over the summit of the ridge, the clammy air makes the heat
  still more oppressive. There have been severe epidemics on the
  Rock, due largely to the bad drainage of the old town and the
  want of sufficient water. Most of the rain falls in the winter
  months, and a heavy downpour is soaked up at once by the porous
  rock. There are no springs, so the water is collected in tanks
  from the roofs of the houses, while the authorities have built
  reservoirs and artificial catches on the lower hill slopes and
  have set up condensing engines as a reserve in time of need.        14
  Here is one of these catches on the north peak above Catalan Bay;
  it is made of sheets of corrugated iron, coated with cement, and
  lies like a roof over the porous sand beneath. There are wells,
  too, on the low ground to the north; but the water is brackish
  and not good for drinking. Better drainage and more water have
  greatly changed the condition of the town; so that the water
  famines and epidemics of the past are not likely to recur; but
  food must always be imported, as there is no room to grow it on
  the Rock, with its small area and poor soil.

  Yet all is not bare and dry, as we shall see if we continue         15
  our tour of the peninsula. We drive through the old south gate to
  the Alameda gardens, the beauty spot of Gibraltar. Here are         16
  shaded walks and open spaces as in an English park, though many
  of the plants are strange to us. But we are even here reminded
  of the fortress, since on the level parade ground we see            17
  the troops of the garrison at drill in the cool of the early
  morning. Our road runs through a grove of trees; there is           18
  the southern suburb in front of us, and below as we turn round is
  spread out the harbour and dockyard, with the calm bay of           19
  Algeciras beyond. We pass more old fortifications spanning          20
  the road, and come out above Europa point, the southern             21
  outlook of the Rock. Here is the lighthouse, which we saw from
  the steamer, standing on the low cliffs. We have left the trees
  behind us and all is bare and windswept; but the fresh breeze
  brings relief after the stifling heat of the town, and so in
  this corner the Governor has his summer cottage. Here is a          22
  view taken from it. We continue our walk round the eastern side
  of the point, past the old batteries, only to find that the         23
  path ends suddenly, where the hill comes sheer down into the sea.
  As we have a special permit, let us climb the heights and see
  what is beyond the corner. The narrow ridge with its sharp          24
  peaks stretches away to the north; we are looking along its steep
  eastern slope. Down below, in a little hollow, hemmed in by the
  sea and the hill, is the village of Catalan Bay, with its           25
  colony of Genoese fishermen, descendants of those who settled on
  the Rock when the Spanish inhabitants left it two centuries ago.
  Here are the fishermen and their boats at close quarters.           26
  Beyond the bay is a long line of surf beating on the low eastern
  shore of the isthmus, and in the distance, hidden by the mists,
  the range of the Sierra Nevada. On the middle peak is the           27
  signal station, with the old wall of Charles V. running down the
  hillside; and behind it the aërial line joining the station to
  the town. Here ends our journey. The signal station is the eye
  of Gibraltar, ever watching the sea and the Strait, and ready to
  give instant warning of an enemy’s coming to the guns and ships
  below.

  We think of Gibraltar to-day as one of the most valuable and
  necessary links in the chain of communication with the East;
  yet in the eighteenth century, some of the most patriotic and
  far-seeing among English statesmen were ready and even eager
  to restore it to Spain. Over and over again it was offered in
  exchange for some other place, or as a bribe for the Spanish
  alliance. In 1728, the Cabinet was prepared to surrender it
  without any return; Lord Townshend, writing to our ambassador,
  explains why they hesitated. “I am afraid that the bare mention
  of a proposal which carried the most distant appearance of laying
  England under an obligation of ever parting with that place would
  be sufficient to put the whole nation in a flame.” Even in 1783,
  after the great siege, we proposed to exchange Gibraltar for
  Porto Rico. The policy of our ministers was not so unreasonable
  as it seems at first sight. Our trade with the Near East was not
  increasing, and we had no special interests in the Mediterranean,
  so that it seemed a waste of strength to maintain a costly
  fortress there, when all that we could spare was needed for the
  defence of our distant dominions. In fact, France seemed to be
  the Power marked out by her history and geographical position as
  the natural ruler of the inland sea; and it was the sentiment of
  the English people rather than any practical justification in the
  conditions of the time which made us cling obstinately to our
  conquest.

  We may realize more clearly the place of Gibraltar in British
  policy if we turn for a moment to another outpost in this region,
  which we held for most of the eighteenth century. Minorca
  was captured soon after Gibraltar, and the two were commonly
  associated since they both served a like purpose. Gibraltar
  divided Carthagena from Cadiz, and Toulon from Brest; it was        28
  a bar to the union of the Mediterranean and Atlantic fleets
  of France or Spain. But in the eighteenth century France was the
  more dangerous enemy, and from the point of view of our relations
  with France, Minorca was more valuable than Gibraltar. Minorca
  had no land attack to fear and was better placed than Gibraltar
  for keeping guard over Toulon, the great arsenal of the French
  navy in the Mediterranean. The value of both stations lay in
  their influence on our fights in the Atlantic and the English
  Channel, since our road to India was round the Cape and we had
  no thought of the Mediterranean as an alternative. At the end
  of the century the eyes of British ministers were opened, when
  Gibraltar became associated not with Minorca but with Malta. It
  was Napoleon Bonaparte who first directed our policy towards
  Egypt and drove us to the occupation of Malta.

  In 1797, Minorca was no longer ours; we had retired from Corsica
  and Elba after a short occupation, and not a single British
  warship was to be seen east of Gibraltar; the Mediterranean
  became for a time a French lake. Napoleon had been waiting and
  planning for this, and at once started on his great expedition
  to Egypt and the East. The expedition was part of a far-reaching
  design: Egypt was to be colonized by France, a canal cut through
  the Isthmus of Suez, and England to be attacked by way of India,
  while the Dutch and Spanish fleets kept us busy in the North Sea
  and the Atlantic. The defeat of the Dutch off Camperdown and of
  the Spanish off Cape St Vincent upset this elaborate plan, and in
  the spring of 1798 Nelson was in the Mediterranean. The French
  had a week’s start; their destination was uncertain. They were
  expected in Ireland, Sicily, Portugal; anywhere but in Egypt.
  Napoleon had been in Egypt for a month when Nelson’s long search
  ended in the battle of the Nile and the consequent cutting off of
  the French from their supports at home.

  Malta had been occupied by the French without trouble, as there
  was treachery within the walls; it needed two years of blockade
  by the Maltese people, aided by our fleet, to compel the garrison
  to surrender. Still we did not realize its value. At the peace of
  Amiens we agreed to give it back under guarantees to the Knights
  of St. John, in spite of the strong protests of the Maltese. We
  prepared to withdraw our troops, but changed our plans at the
  last moment, through suspicion of Napoleon’s design; and the
  island remained in our possession with the full concurrence and
  goodwill of its inhabitants. When the war broke out again, the
  French occupied Italy; but Sicily was guarded by the British
  fleet and was used by us as a base from which to harry the French
  on the mainland and cut off their supplies by sea. It was a fine
  object-lesson in the value of a secure island base in these
  waters as an aid to the command of the sea.

  A glance at the map will make clear the importance of the           29
  position of Malta. It lies midway between Gibraltar and Port
  Said, the entrance and exit of the Mediterranean, where Sicily
  stretching out towards the projecting corner of Africa divides
  the long narrow sea into two distinct basins. The entry to the
  eastern half is either by the broad passage between Cape Bon and
  Sicily, or by the narrow strait of Messina. Malta blocks the one
  passage and is within easy reach of the other.

  [Illustration: VALETTA HARBOUR.]

  Gibraltar has been made by the Rock; its harbour is modern and
  artificial; but the harbour of Valetta is as old as the island
  and was used long before the town existed. Here is a plan of        30
  the harbour: we see that it consists of two deep inlets with
  a spur between on which stands the main town. The entrance is
  narrow, and thus easily defended, while the inlets run far into
  the land and offer safe anchorage for the largest vessels. The
  southern inlet, partly closed by a long breakwater, forms the
  Grand Harbour, into which we are steaming. On our right, at         31
  the corner above the breakwater, is the castle of St. Elmo:         32
  on our left is fort Ricasoli, guarding the entrance. Higher         33
  up are fort St. Angelo, on a jutting peninsula, and other forts
  and bastions on every point of vantage; while the main town and
  suburbs are encircled on the land side with ramparts and deep
  trenches. Here is a view towards the harbour mouth which            34
  gives a good picture of the old town. The view is from the upper
  _Baracca_, where the old knights of Malta used to walk to take      35
  the air. Here is another view from the lower _Baracca_, but
  looking up the harbour. In the harbour a long line of warships
  lies at anchor, and from the water’s edge the town rises up in
  steep streets and terraces. Let us climb up one of the main         36
  streets leading from the water front. It is not an ordinary
  roadway, but a staircase with shallow steps of stone, owing to
  the steepness of the hill. The tall houses, with their weathered
  yellow stone, their carved fronts and overhanging balconies, and
  their heavily barred windows looking out on the street, might
  well belong to some old Italian city. The whole city has an air
  of dignity and age which we should hardly expect to find in a
  small and isolated island. Even the great forts suggest mediæval
  history and romance, armour and swords, rather than bayonets and
  quick-firing guns. They are very different from the batteries of
  Gibraltar. In fact, Valetta is far more than a mere fortress; it
  has a history, a people and a language all its own. The upper
  classes have been affected by contact with the Latin races of
  Southern Europe, while there is a strong Arab strain in the mass
  of the people; but all alike are Maltese, proud of their country
  and clinging tenaciously to their old customs and language. Here
  we see a portrait of a gentleman of pure Maltese descent, and       37
  here again a Maltese lady, wearing the _faldetta_, or hooded        38
  cloak, a remnant of national costume. The hood is still worn
  very generally by ladies in the street, and we may perhaps
  connect it with the Eastern custom of concealing the face, though
  it is not always used for this purpose by the Maltese, and their
  own tradition traces its origin to the insults of the French
  soldiers at the time of the occupation.

  Malta is the meeting-place of East and West, and its position in
  the Mediterranean has determined its destiny. From the beginning
  of history every dominant race in the Mediterranean has held
  it at one time or another. Romans and Carthaginians fought for
  it: the Arabs occupied it for two centuries and left their mark
  on the language and the people: then came the Normans in the
  eleventh century and brought it into close contact with Europe;
  and finally, in 1530, it was handed over by the Emperor Charles
  V. to the Knights of St. John of Jerusalem, better known as the
  Hospitallers, who had been driven from Rhodes, their earlier
  home, after a great siege by the Turks. Thus Malta became an
  outpost of Christendom, barring Mohammedan progress westward, and
  a safe base for the knights in the perpetual war which they waged
  against the infidel in the eastern Mediterranean. It is no matter
  for surprise that three times in the course of twenty years the
  Turks besieged the knights with powerful armies; though each time
  they were beaten back with great slaughter. At the date of the
  third attack, in 1565, La Valette was Grand Master of the Order.
  On the retreat of the Turks he founded the new town of Valetta,
  round the harbour and forts which he had so well defended. The
  Order was wealthy, with vast possessions in Europe; princes and
  prelates contributed money as a thank-offering for victory over
  the Turk, and crowds of skilled workmen were brought over from
  the mainland. So the new city grew, with its fortifications
  and palaces, a fit home for a knightly aristocracy which was
  distinguished alike for its prowess in war and for its luxury in
  time of peace.

  The city remains much as it was. The Grand Master’s palace is
  now the residence of the Governor; here in the armoury we           39
  can still see the armour and weapons of its former owners. At
  Citta Vecchia, the former capital, we find the old Court of         40
  Justice converted into a hospital. Here again is the house          41
  of one of the knights made useful as a government school, and
  here the Auberge, or club house, of the knights of Castile          42
  in the occupation of the Royal Artillery; while the beautiful
  cathedral of St. John, built by the knights, still stands to        43
  remind us of the combination of religion and fighting which was
  so characteristic of the mediæval world. We can still see,          44
  also, the great aqueduct, built to bring water to the city from
  the distant springs. Everywhere we have preserved and adapted the
  work of the knights, so that Malta is a picture of the past for
  the most part unspoiled.

    _Copyright._)      (_See page 3._

  GIBRALTAR FROM THE WEST.]

    _Copyright._)      (_See page 7._

  THE ISTHMUS AND LINEA FROM THE GALLERIES.]

    _Copyright._)      (_See page 14._

  FORT ST. ANGELO, VALETTA.]

    _Copyright._)      (_See page 18._

  LACE MAKERS, GOZO.]

  Outside the towns there is little to see in Malta. Here is          45
  a view across the country, and here a wider view from the           46
  ramparts of Citta Vecchia; it looks dreary enough, with high
  stone walls crossing it in every direction with a few cypresses
  showing above them, and here and there a grove of olives. The
  walls are necessary, as the island is exposed to every wind that
  blows, and above all to the _gregale_, the boisterous north-east
  storm wind. Even more unpleasant is the Sirocco, a warm damp wind
  which blows in late summer and early autumn from the Sahara. The
  summer is hot, and usually without a cloud; and though heavy
  rains fall in the winter, they quickly soak into the porous
  rock. Though it seems so bare and rocky and the soil is thin,
  yet Malta is well cultivated and produces splendid crops on its
  little farms. But there are too many people for its small area,
  since the whole Maltese group is only about half as large again
  as the Channel Islands; and as the Maltese are loath to emigrate,
  much food must be imported, and large quantities of grain           47
  are stored for emergency in the old underground granaries           48
  which we see here, hewn from the solid rock. Everything is of
  stone in Malta; the island is one great mass of limestone with
  the thinnest covering of soil. We may cross the open country by
  the narrow gauge railway and enter Citta Vecchia by the old         49
  gateway. The place seems sleepy and lifeless, since its people
  have migrated to Valetta. There are relics in it of very early
  days; a Norman house which we may recognize by the shape of         50
  its doors and windows, and even still older, the remains of         51
  a Roman villa. But even here, in this quaint old town, we           52
  find soldiers of the Maltese regiment at drill, to remind us that
  a fortress is not far away.

  We will now leave Valetta, with its harbour and forts, its
  close-packed houses and busy streets, to visit another island       53
  of the Maltese group, more thinly populated than Malta and more
  old-fashioned and rural. We sail northward along the coast,
  past the deep bay which tradition connects with the wreck of St.
  Paul, past the islet of Comino, with its solitary castle, lying
  in mid-channel, and reach the landing-place of Gozo. Here, on the
  side facing Malta, the coast is low; but the rest of the island
  is bordered by steep limestone cliffs, hollowed out into caves
  and grottos. One of these our guide will show us as the very cave
  of Calypso described by Homer. We land and drive towards the        54
  old capital, Rabato, re-named Victoria, which lies in the centre
  of the island, like the old capital of Malta; but there is no
  deep inlet on the coast to give rise to another Valetta. From the
  walls of the old castle, close to the cathedral, we can look        55
  across the same flat country, cut up into pieces by stone           56
  walls, which we saw in Malta. But the countryside is brighter; on
  our drive to Rabato we pass gardens where vegetables are grown
  for the Valetta market; thick hedges of scarlet geranium; fields
  of tall spiked red clover and banks of wild thyme and vetch. Gozo
  has been noted for its honey from very early times, and there
  is abundance of food here for the bees. Everywhere are herds of
  goats tended by half-clad children, and outside the houses we
  may see whole families of women and girls busy making lace.         57
  The Maltese lace which we buy comes mainly from Gozo, where the
  industry has existed for thousands of years. Here is one of the
  old houses; notice its curious eastern look; we shall find          58
  that even the language seems to differ somewhat from that of the
  Maltese and to be allied more to Arabic.

  We are in an old-fashioned world, with little to remind us of
  Europe except the churches and the decaying fortifications of
  Rabato. But before the Arabs, before the Romans, and perhaps even
  before the Phœnicians, there were people in these islands who
  have left strange traces of their occupation. In both islands
  are to be found fragments of very ancient enclosures or temples,
  built of huge stones piled together without mortar, such as we      59
  have in these two pictures. It may be that the race of these        60
  old builders still survives to some degree in the Maltese, and
  they may well be proud to believe that they have been tenants
  of the islands without a break from before the beginning of
  the history of the races of modern Europe. Whatever the exact
  origin of the Maltese may be, in speaking of Malta and Gibraltar
  together we are certainly linking the very old with the very
  new. Gibraltar has no real native people and no continuous
  history; even from the point of view of naval strategy it is
  essentially modern. Malta was a naval base in the days when trade
  and civilization were confined to the Mediterranean; the opening
  of the Suez Canal has merely added to its former importance.
  Gibraltar only comes into history when western civilization has
  spread to the outer seas and the broad Atlantic.

  LECTURE II

  MALTA TO ADEN

  On our voyage from the English Channel to Malta we are never
  out of touch with the countries of Western Europe. Even on the
  African coast European influence or control is becoming stronger
  every year. We have seen how our occupation of Gibraltar was
  incidental to our quarrels with France and Spain, and these
  same quarrels, in the end, brought Malta into our possession.
  But Malta is on the edge of the Near East, and in looking at
  its history in mediæval times we were always concerned with the
  rivalry of the West with the East, Europe with Asia. So even
  to-day, though Europe has proved itself the stronger, we shall
  find that beyond Malta we enter a new world where the relations
  of West and East are not yet finally settled. This uncertainty is
  shown alike in our own position and in that of the other great
  Powers of Europe. The problem of the Near East is still one of
  the chief worries of diplomats and governments.

  From Malta to Aden is perhaps the most important section of the
  great trade route which we are following; yet right through,
  from the entrance of the Eastern Mediterranean to the outlet
  of the Red Sea, in spite of our great commercial and political
  interests, we shall not find a single acre of British freehold
  territory. Even as far as Malta we can only claim that part of
  the road is British, since, in time of peace, the important
  mail traffic goes through France and Italy, from Calais to           1
  Brindisi. In fact, for our complete traffic, in passengers,
  mails, goods and ships, we might regard Aden as the first British
  station on the road to India.

  So, at the European end of the journey, owing to the modern
  development of rapid transit, we are more and more dependent on
  the kindly offices of foreign nations. Beyond Malta conditions
  are different. Though we have no freehold possessions, the
  waterway is free to all, and we have agreements and rights of
  various kinds affecting its use and control. We must learn
  something of these rights, since Malta and Aden lose half their
  meaning for us unless we understand the nature of our interests
  in the intervening links in the long chain of communication.

  As we steam eastward from Malta, on our way to Port Said, we         2
  may pass within sight of the island of Crete. Here we are
  entering on the new region, as Crete has relations both with
  Europe and with Asia, and the ultimate form of these relations
  is still in doubt. Crete is a debatable ground between Turkey
  and Greece, and Britain is concerned with three other European
  Powers in determining its destiny. Further east, in the same
  latitude as Crete, lies Cyprus, which we must now notice, since
  its administration is in our hands, although it seems a long way
  out of our direct course to the East.

  The island lies far away from the Greek Archipelago, in the
  angle formed by the coasts of Syria and Asia Minor, where the
  Gulf of Antioch runs in between the Taurus mountains of Cilicia
  and the northern continuation of the coast range of Lebanon. It
  is a region rich in history. On either side of the Gulf are the
  ancient sites of Tarsus and Antioch; inland is the commercial
  city of Aleppo, and beyond it the headwaters of the great
  river Euphrates. This small corner of the Mediterranean, now
  comparatively neglected, was of great importance in the ancient
  world; and some knowledge of its past may help us to appreciate
  its position at the present day.

  The origin of the first inhabitants of Cyprus is doubtful, but we
  know that in historical times Phœnicians and Greeks were settled
  here in large numbers. Kitium, near the modern Larnaca, was
  Phœnician, while Salamis, near Famagusta, was one of the chief
  centres of Greek influence. These and many other cities, little
  kingdoms in themselves, were well known to ancient historians;
  though the whole island is only about twice the size of
  Lancashire. Cyprus in early times became famous for the worship
  of the Phœnician goddess Astarte, the Aphrodite of the ancient
  Greeks. Here we can still see the Phœnician rock tombs, and          3
  here are fragments of the marble columns which once supported        4
  a great temple of Zeus. Perhaps, too, these vast heaps of            5
  slag, relics of the old workings for copper, which took its name
  from the island, may be due in part to the people who are thought
  to have reached even our own islands in their search for tin. But
  for the most part, bombardments, earthquakes, destructive natives
  and foreign searchers after antiquities have left few remnants
  of the ancient civilization except such as are buried beneath
  the earth. The real interest of Cyprus for us lies rather in its
  political history in mediæval and modern times.

  In the ancient world it came under control of one after another
  of the great Powers ruling the mainland: Egypt, Phœnicia,
  Assyria, Media; though the control was often nominal, being
  limited to the levying of tribute, and the little native kingdoms
  maintained a partial independence. Our own history has shown us
  the value of a few miles of water as a protection from the great
  military Powers of the neighbouring continent. As a trading
  centre and naval base, on a coast where good ports were few,
  Cyprus was of great value, and we are not surprised to find that
  sea fights are frequent in its history. The Romans annexed it
  from Egypt; at the division of the Empire it was attached to
  Byzantium, and though it was twice conquered by the Arabs it was
  twice recovered. Here we see it already a bone of contention
  between East and West. For a few months in the year 1191 Cyprus
  was even English territory. It was seized by Richard I. on his
  way to the third Crusade, and in the little town of Limassol         6
  which we see here, he was married to Berengaria of Navarre by no
  less a personage than the Archbishop of York. So we may claim
  that our connexion with Cyprus is at least seven centuries old.
  Richard sold his new possession to Guy de Lusignan, a French
  Crusader, and thus Cyprus like Malta came under the influence of
  Feudalism and the Latin Church. Its external history, also, like
  that of Malta, is made up for three centuries of fights and raids
  of Christian against Mohammedan. Unlike Malta, it was fated in
  the end to become part and parcel of the East. Towards the end of
  the fourteenth century the Genoese seized Famagusta, which they
  retained for many years; and a century later the abdication of
  its last ruler, a Venetian by birth, gave the whole island to the
  Republic of Venice. Venice and Genoa were both naval and trading
  Powers; the island was a good base both for trade in the eastern
  Mediterranean and for warlike operations against the Turk.

  We can still see the lion of Venice and the old inscription          7
  on the fortifications of the citadel of Famagusta, and here          8
  too is a fragment of the ancient palace of the Lusignan dynasty,
  which has escaped destruction by the Turk only to be converted
  into a prosaic police station. Unlike the knights of Malta, the
  Lusignans made little impression on the natives of the island.
  They attempted to replace the national Greek Church by the
  Latin; yet the old Latin cathedral of St. Sophia is now used as
  a mosque, while, in spite of occasional persecution, the Greek
  Church still survives as the Church of the majority of the           9
  people. Here is the outside of St. Sophia: it is partly ruined,
  but we can see that it was once a fine building. Inside, it         10
  still looks like a church, except for the presence of Mohammedans
  wearing turbans. Out in the country, near Nicosia, we come on a
  fine old monastery, still in the possession of the Greek            11
  Church. Notice the monks in their curious dress. Not far away
  is a once-famous abbey, now somewhat decayed, as we may             12
  judge from a near view of the cloisters; here again is an           13
  ugly modern village church, and here by way of contrast a           14
  famous _tekkye_, or Mohammedan shrine. Everywhere Turk and          15
  Cypriote, Mohammedan and Christian, are side by side; and behind
  all is British power enforcing law and order and compelling the
  different parties to live at peace with one another.

  Cyprus of to-day is what the Turks have made it, since they
  conquered it from Venice in 1570; we have succeeded to a heritage
  of mis-government, and the conditions of our tenure hamper us
  greatly in the task of bringing back prosperity to the people.
  In 1878, after the treaty of San Stefano had been forced on
  Turkey by Russia, we agreed to defend the Asiatic dominions of
  the Sultan against further aggression, on condition first that
  reforms were introduced for the protection of his Christian
  subjects, and secondly that Cyprus should be occupied and
  administered by Great Britain. We added to the agreement an
  undertaking to pay annually to the Porte the surplus revenue
  of the Island at the time of the occupation, and to evacuate
  Cyprus if ever Russia should restore Kars and her other
  Asiatic conquests to Turkey. This undertaking has retarded the
  progress of the island under our rule in the past, since this
  tribute, which now goes to pay the interest on a Turkish loan,
  represents a steady drain on the revenue, so that it has been
  found necessary to make an annual grant-in-aid from the British
  Treasury.

  [Illustration: CYPRUS.]

  Yet Cyprus is capable of great improvement. It was famous in
  the ancient world for its beauty and fertility, and at one time
  supported a much larger population than at present. Let us get a
  general view with the help of the map. A broad plain, the           16
  Messaoria, stretches for seventy miles from one end of the island
  to the other. In the midst of it is Nicosia, the capital, and
  at the eastern outlet is the port of Famagusta. On the north a
  narrow mountain ridge separates the lowland from the sea. Here
  is a view of Nicosia across the plain, with the mountain            17
  ridges sheltering it on the north; and here is Famagusta            18
  as it appears from the roof of St. Sophia. It hardly strikes us
  as a busy seaport. On the south of the plain a broader and more
  varied highland, rising to six thousand feet in Mount Troodos,
  fills the whole corner of the island. Here we see Troodos           19
  from the south. The slope on our left is terraced for               20
  vineyards. Here is a closer view of one of them. The southern
  slope of the mountain is the home of the vine, for which Cyprus
  was famous in antiquity, and all along its foot are the sites
  of ancient cities. The plain is fertilized by the silt brought
  down from the mountains by the heavy winter rains; but in the
  spring and summer the rivers dry up and disappear in the porous
  soil, and irrigation is necessary to retain the water for the
  growing crops. The inland plain is not only dry but intensely
  hot in summer, as the mountains cut off the cool breezes from
  the sea. Even the natives cannot work in the noonday heat, and
  we may often in our walks come on the harvesters taking their       21
  noonday rest in the shade, as in the picture before us. At
  one time the climate must have been more equable, when the plain
  was heavily forested; even to-day it could be much improved by
  replanting the trees. The Government is undertaking the work,
  but the people and the goats are most destructive, so forest
  guards have to be employed, such as the two picturesque             22
  figures who are posing here to our artist for their portraits.
  Time and money, especially money, are needed to repair centuries
  of neglect, and the natives will do nothing without European
  control. Here the climate intervenes; in spring and autumn it
  is not unpleasant for Europeans, but in the summer months, as
  in India, they take refuge in the hills, unless, as commonly
  happens, their duties tie them to the plains.

  The future of Cyprus depends on its agriculture. The locusts,
  which at one time threatened to eat up everything, have been
  almost exterminated by special methods of trapping introduced by
  the Government; the real trouble arises from the recurrence of
  drought and from the backward condition of the native peasantry.
  Only a small part of the land is under cultivation, and the
  methods of the native are such as might be expected after
  centuries of misgovernment and excessive taxation. He scratches
  the surface of the soil with a primitive plough, sows the seed
  broadcast, regardless of weeds, and reaps the grain with sickles.
  The threshing is equally primitive. Oxen drag about on the          23
  threshing floor a board studded with flints, and the grain is
  then winnowed by throwing it into the air with shovels when the
  wind happens to be blowing. We can quite understand that the
  wheat will not be of the finest quality after these operations.
  The methods of the peasant are those followed by his ancestors
  thousands of years ago, and he is slow to learn, though the
  efforts of the Government to teach him are now showing some good
  results.

  To see the life of the real Cypriotes in its most primitive
  form we must go to the villages and farms; here we see              24
  one of these villages, with its orange orchards; and here           25
  is a Turkish villager at the well. In the coast towns we find
  another type, the Levantine Greek, who meets us everywhere on
  the shores of the eastern Mediterranean. He is a trader and
  shopkeeper--not a cultivator of the soil. The true Cypriotes
  are not modern Greeks, though they speak the Greek tongue and
  belong to the Orthodox or Greek Church. There are also many Turks
  settled in the island, but as the native Cypriotes are rather
  more industrious as well as more numerous, they are gradually
  regaining possession of the land, and the Turkish influence
  is growing weaker. But Turks and Cypriotes are alike in their
  backward methods and reckless waste of the resources of the
  country. They will cut down a whole tree for the sake of a single
  plank, and destroy an ancient building to make a stable. In
  the towns they have completed the work begun by the great           26
  stone balls from the old Turkish cannon. Here is one of these
  old huge weapons which was fished up in Famagusta bay. It has an
  interesting history, since it is said to have been given by Henry
  VIII. to the Knights of St. John, to aid them in the recovery of
  Rhodes from the Turk. Primitive though it looks, such a gun could
  do a great deal of damage; and the builders completed what          27
  the guns began. The ruins of ancient Salamis supplied stones for
  old Famagusta; of Salamis nothing but a waste remains. Old          28
  Famagusta in its turn was dismantled, as we see it here, for the
  building of the new modern town, while much of the material was
  even sent by the Turks to Alexandria. It was easier to collect
  the stones ready made than to dig them from the quarries. We
  find fragments of ancient temples and monuments built into walls
  and farmhouses; and it is necessary to set a guard over some
  of the most interesting of the old ruins, as over the forests,
  to preserve them from further destruction, though the natives
  strongly resent this interference with their usual habits. The
  Cypriotes have little regard for their own past history and its     29
  monuments. Here are some of the famous ruins of St. Hilarion,       30
  with their guard: we can see how convenient the native would        31
  find these ready-hewn stones for his building.

  The importance of Cyprus in ancient and mediæval times was due to
  its position, with its harbours and shipping, between the great
  Powers to the north, east and south. It commanded the sea-routes
  which they used in their expeditions one against another. The
  old harbours are small and silted up, or mere open roadsteads
  quite unfitted for modern steamships, like the famous Bay           32
  of Salamis which we see here. At Famagusta we find a modern         33
  harbour, constructed by the Government, and here too the one
  little railway of the island starts for the interior and the
  capital. At one of the stations a Levantine Greek brings us         34
  refreshments, while close by we see two Turkish women, closely
  veiled in _yashmaks_. Except at Famagusta we shall probably
  anchor off shore, and if the sea is rough we may find some
  difficulty in landing. Yet with the aid of really good harbours
  Cyprus might once again become a collecting centre for the trade
  of the neighbouring coasts, and so regain some of its lost
  prosperity. Political conditions have changed; the strong British
  garrison which formerly occupied the island has been withdrawn;
  but in the near future some of its past strategic importance
  may return. The great railway, already in progress, from the        35
  Bosporus to the Persian Gulf, must approach the sea at one
  point only in its course, where it comes down over the Taurus
  range beyond the head of the Gulf of Antioch. The railway, when
  completed, will provide a route towards India roughly parallel
  to that through the Suez Canal, and may lead to a revival of
  agriculture in the rich valleys of the Euphrates and Tigris. The
  natural approach to this route from the Mediterranean is not by
  way of the Sea of Marmora but by the Gulf of Antioch, and there
  will be a branch from the main line to Alexandretta or some other
  port near. Cyprus will then once again be on the line of a great
  trade route and must have a share in its prosperity; at present
  it is side-tracked, and has suffered like an English town avoided
  by some great line of railway; its importance has declined as
  that of Egypt has increased. We may realize how far Cyprus is off
  the main line of traffic by the difficulty of getting back to
  our route; as it may take us a week to reach Egypt, travelling
  by slow steamer and touching at ports on the Syrian coast on our
  way.

  We are bound for the Suez Canal and are approaching Port Said
  at last. The coast ahead looks flat and desolate: on our right
  a long line of sand and mud banks separates the shallow lake
  Menzaleh from the open sea; on our left are more mud banks,
  and beyond them waste marsh and desert. In front, for over a
  mile, two long piers jut out through the brown water on the
  shallows; very different it looks from the deep blue of the
  open Mediterranean. The piers are needed to protect the channel
  from the silt which is swept along the coast by the currents;
  within them, on one of the mud banks, stands the town of Port
  Said, modern, squalid and not specially interesting. We are in
  the extreme corner of the delta of the Nile, on the edge of
  the Arabian desert and far away from Egypt proper, with its
  picturesque life and people. Only commercial necessity could have
  planted a town on such a site; it is the gateway to the Canal and
  nothing more.

  Our chief recollection of Port Said is likely to be coal and        36
  coal dust. No sooner is the anchor down than barges are drawn
  by tugs up to the side of our vessel. The barges are sunk to the
  water’s edge with their load of coal, and on them stand crowds of
  men in dark robes, natives of Africa of every race. Even here,
  however, we are reminded of home, for the coal has probably been
  brought all the way from Cardiff and stored here for the supply
  of our mail boat and others like it which do not carry enough
  coal for long voyages at high speed. The barges are made fast
  to the side; gangways are hoisted into place; and then with
  much bustle and shouting the coal is shovelled into baskets and
  carried into the steamer’s bunkers by continuous streams of men.
  The black grit flies over everything, and we may perhaps avoid
  it by landing for a short glimpse of the town. We can stroll
  along the front drive or up the main street and look at the         37
  bazaar or stalls, where we may bargain for valueless curios;
  but there is little to attract us here, and we shall be glad to
  leave the grimy port and, passing the fine buildings of the         38
  Canal offices, enter on our ninety-mile journey through the great
  waterway.

  We move slowly, about five miles an hour, with our electric
  searchlight throwing its beam ahead if it is night. Sometimes       39
  we meet a steamer coming north, and must moor in one of the
  passing stations, as the Canal is too narrow, except at these
  points, for large vessels to pass one another. All round
  us is the desert, though here and there we may see a small
  Arab village or perhaps a string of slow-moving camels, where
  the caravan route of the desert touches the line of the Canal.
  Towards the southern end of the waterway we pass through the        40
  Bitter Lakes. At some very remote age there must have been
  a natural channel between the Mediterranean and the Red Sea; of
  this the lakes are fragments, partly dried up, and the builders
  of the Canal have only repaired the original work of Nature. On
  Lake Timsah, halfway across, stands the town of Ismailiya. Here
  is the real connexion with Egypt, by the railway from Cairo and
  the sweet water canal from the Nile.

  The sweet water canal represents in part the work of various        41
  rulers of Egypt from the earliest recorded times. The plan of
  connecting the two seas directly is modern; it was natural that
  the earlier route should be by way of the great river of Egypt
  and the inhabited part of the country. The restoration and
  extension of this ancient waterway was essential to the scheme
  for constructing the Suez Canal. A good supply of water was
  vitally necessary for the vast army of native labourers engaged
  in the work; the Canal could also be used for small traffic, and
  for reclaiming the neighbouring desert by irrigation. So here we
  have a link with the real Egypt, the waters of the Nile, and the
  great dam at Assuan, far away up the river, which holds up          42
  the water and controls the whole system. At both ends of this
  long chain of water are vast engineering works of the most modern
  type, designed by Europeans; between are the Pyramids, the          43
  greatest triumphs of the engineers and builders of the past, and
  the representatives of Egypt with all its ancient civilization.
  It is a strange contrast of the very old with the very new which
  meets us in this corner of Africa: the present conditions might
  have been very different if the great route to India and the East
  had passed elsewhere.

  The Suez Canal, though of vital importance to the whole world
  and especially to the commercial Powers of Europe, is not a
  national undertaking but private property, constructed under
  a lease granted by the Egyptian Government. Our own interests
  in it are curious. The Canal was built through the energy and
  initiative of the French; it is largely owned in France and
  controlled from Paris. But the British people are shareholders,
  since our Government, in 1875, bought up the private shares of
  the Khedive, and now draws ordinary commercial dividends which
  appear in our national accounts. The shares originally cost us
  four millions sterling. They are now returning us as profit over
  a million every year. British ships, which are the largest users
  of the Canal, contribute the greater part of these dividends.
  But the waterway was too important to be left as a mere private
  undertaking; so, in 1888, all the great Powers of Europe agreed
  on a Convention to render it free to the ships of all nations
  in time of peace or war. By the terms of this agreement the
  Government of the Khedive is entrusted with the task of enforcing
  neutrality and protecting and maintaining the free use of the
  Canal, with the assistance if necessary of the Government of the
  Sultan of Turkey. In the last resort there is an appeal to the
  Powers signing the Convention. The Powers also agree to maintain
  the principle of equality in the use of the Canal, and not to
  attempt to obtain any special political or commercial privileges
  in regard to it. Thus, so far as documents and safeguards can
  avail, the Canal is to be maintained, in the interests of the
  whole of Europe, as an open sea-road to the East.

  We steam through the Bitter Lakes and finally reach the southern    44
  end of the Canal. The town of Suez lies away to the right, and
  beyond it the high coast of Egypt. In the distance we can see
  the steamers at anchor and the Egyptian bumboats plying busily      45
  to and fro. But there is nothing to detain us here, so we steam
  on again through the warm waters of the Red Sea. On either side,
  for hundreds of miles, stretch the desert coasts of Egypt and
  Arabia. On our right the sun seems to sink behind a chain of
  mountains; these are not real mountains, but only the edge of a
  plateau, for the land ends in a steep brink overlooking the Red
  Sea, but slopes gently westward to the valley of the Nile. Thus
  Egypt proper belongs only to the river and turns its back on the
  sea.

    _Copyright._)      (_See page 25._

  FAMAGUSTA.]

    _Copyright._)      (_See page 27._

  A TURKISH VILLAGER.]

    _Copyright._)      (_See page 34._

  ARAB BOATS, ADEN.]

    _Copyright._)      (_See page 37._

  CAMEL MARKET, ADEN.]

  We have no ports of call on these desert coasts, so make            46
  straight for the exit into the Gulf of Aden and the wide Indian
  Ocean. As we near the southern end of the Sea, the water grows
  shallower, its shores approach again, and we can see bare brown
  rock on either hand, which makes the blazing sun seem even hotter
  than before. On our left, off a jutting corner of the Arabian
  coast, lies a low bare island, Perim. It is without vegetation or
  water, its sole virtue consisting in a deep harbour, commanding
  the narrowest part of the outlet, where the channel is only about
  twelve miles across. We occupied it as a precaution, fifty years
  ago, and it is now a coaling and cable station, with a small
  military guard. But it is without fortifications, and in spite of
  its position it is not the real key to the Red Sea; we must look
  for this in Aden, a hundred miles further east, just as we found
  in Gibraltar the control of the strait to the westward.

  [Illustration: ADEN.]

  Aden proper is a small peninsula, five miles by three, lying        47
  across a narrow isthmus which links it with the mainland.
  Thus it is not unlike Gibraltar; but one end of the peninsula,
  instead of jutting into the open sea, stretches westward towards
  another peninsula, that of Little Aden, which helps to enclose
  a large bay. Little Aden, the coastline and the mainland for a
  short distance inland were all obtained by purchase during the
  latter part of the nineteenth century; and the whole of the
  country behind, south of a line drawn northeastward from the
  coast opposite Perim, is a British Sphere of Influence. North of
  the line is the territory of Turkey. Aden is thus made secure
  from hostile approach on the land side. If we imagine the area
  of Gibraltar to be extended all round the bay of Algeciras and
  inland to the hill country of Spain, the position of the two
  fortresses would closely correspond.

  As we steam towards it, Aden appears as a rugged mass of dark       48
  rock, ending in sharp edges and peaks. Along its base runs a
  narrow strip of level ground, and a row of mean-looking houses
  faces the bay and shows white against a dark and bare background.
  There are no trees or vegetation to relieve the gloomy monotony.
  Here we are at anchor, well out, off Steamer Point, as much         49
  of the inner bay is shallow. At once we are surrounded by           50
  small boats manned by dark-skinned Somalis from Africa, and
  bringing a mixed crowd of all races eager to sell us tourists’
  souvenirs, skins, horns and feathers, also the product of
  Africa. Here too are more coaling barges as at Port Said. We
  land and find that the near view is hardly more attractive than
  the distant; but this is only an outlying suburb of the real
  Aden. Let us hire a carriage, as it is far too hot and dusty to
  walk. Our driver is a Somali, and the animal in the shafts a
  decayed-looking pony; while the vehicle itself threatens every
  moment to collapse and leave us in the sandy road. We make          51
  our way along the Akaba and through the narrow and rocky            52
  Main Pass to the old city. We have passed in our drive through
  the wall of an old crater and the town lies at the bottom,
  surrounded on all sides by the broken rim whose jagged edges we
  noticed from the sea. Here is a general view of Aden from           53
  the heights above. The whole peninsula is merely the fragment of
  an extinct volcano. In the white town, with its straight streets,
  we meet Arabs, Somalis, Indians, Negroes, Greeks, Jews and
  British soldiers; their presence here, on a barren rock between
  the desert and the sea, can be understood only in the light of
  the past history of Aden.

  Here, from the remotest antiquity, was without doubt a great
  port of exchange for the products of India, Arabia, Africa and
  the Mediterranean, by way of Egypt and the Nile. In the Middle
  Ages, when first we hear of it from travellers, Aden was still a
  strong and important city. The Portuguese, after their discovery
  of the Cape route to India, saw that the possession of Aden would
  complete their control of the Indian Ocean; but they failed in
  their efforts to capture it by open attack. The Turks held it for
  a time as part of the Yemen, the neighbouring southwest corner of
  Arabia; then it fell under the rule of various local chiefs or
  Sultans. So we found it in 1838, when we proposed to buy it from
  the reigning Sultan. The negotiations failed through treachery
  and outrages on the part of the natives; so in the following year
  an expedition from India took forcible possession. As a result
  of this, Aden is still technically a part of the Presidency of
  Bombay.

  Aden has been occupied continuously for thousands of years, in
  spite of the fact that it has nothing whatever to recommend it
  except a harbour and a fine commercial and strategic position.
  The heat is intense; there is no food produced on the spot for
  man or beast, and very little water. In some years there is no
  rain at all; in others a few showers come from the Indian Ocean,
  with the Southwest Monsoon. The rain falls on the bare rock
  and runs swiftly away; the lower courses of the streams become
  rushing torrents for a few hours and then all is parched and
  dry again. More than a thousand years ago the Persians, who then
  ruled the city, built a series of huge tanks or reservoirs,
  often hewn out of the solid rock, to catch the flood-water. We
  can judge from their size and number that these tanks must have
  been built to supply a large population. In course of time          54
  the tanks were allowed to fall into decay, but some, as             55
  we see here, have been restored under British rule; and since
  the occupation of the district further inland, water has also
  been brought by aqueduct from the wells at the village of Sheik
  Othman. Sheik Othman is on the edge of the hills and far more
  healthy and pleasant than Aden. Here is one of the wells            56
  with a camel drawing water, and here we have a typical              57
  scene in the village. The trees suggest at once that the climate
  is different from that of Aden, and this part of the country
  is likely to be used more and more as a health resort for the
  troops of the garrison. In building the aqueduct we merely
  followed the example of earlier rulers, as the ruins of a similar
  aqueduct, centuries old, are still to be seen. The aqueduct is
  not enough; water is also brought in skins laden on the backs
  of camels, and is manufactured in condensers. In fact, water
  is perhaps the most rare and valuable commodity to be found in
  Aden. All food, too, must be imported; and here we must look not
  only to the back country of the Yemen, but across the sea to the
  neighbouring coast of Africa. Though some supplies are brought
  in by caravan from the country round, yet Aden could not exist
  without the regular shipments from Berbera and Zeila on the coast
  of Somaliland. There is also considerable traffic in coffee,
  ivory, feathers and skins from this coast, while native Somalis
  swarm in Aden. So that Aden, by the necessities of its existence,
  is closely linked with the neighbouring Horn of Africa. With no
  products of its own, it is a collecting centre for the trade of
  the coasts of Arabia and the Persian Gulf; while caravans can
  come in comparative safety from the Yemen country now that the
  British Sphere of Influence has been extended inland to the
  line drawn from Perim northeastward. The camel caravan is one
  of the ordinary sights of the town, and here in the native          58
  quarter we see the market for camels, just as our English towns
  have their markets for horses and cattle. Many of the camels are
  shipped across to Somaliland, where we shall follow them            59
  later; and it is interesting to see them hauled up in slings from
  barges to the steamer’s deck. The camels, however, do not seem to
  enjoy the experience.

  Aden has had three stages in its history: first, a period of
  prosperity, in the earliest days of trade between the peoples
  of the Mediterranean and the East; then a period of partial
  decay, when the centres of trade were shifted to Western Europe
  and ships sailed round Africa to India and the East; finally,
  a revival of its former position as a commercial port of call
  on the restored Egyptian route, and in addition an ever-growing
  importance as a coaling point and centre of strategic control
  for the Indian Ocean. The population is increasing, like that
  of Gibraltar, beyond the capacity of the little peninsula; this
  has rendered necessary the expansion of territory inland. Even
  some of the troops of the garrison are now quartered beyond the
  isthmus. But expansion of area does not bring a corresponding
  growth in the supply of food for the cosmopolitan population.
  A prosperous Aden must in the future depend more and more on
  imported supplies, and this must involve still closer relations
  with the nearest source of supplies, the neighbouring coast of
  Africa.

  The resources of Somaliland are not unlimited; while not Aden
  alone, but the whole Red Sea coast of Arabia is likely in the
  future to become more dependent on imported food. Let us look     (46)
  back for a moment at these shores, before we leave the Red
  Sea for the open ocean. We remember that our mail steamer in
  its voyage found no port of call between Suez and Aden. So we
  drive along one of our own high roads to-day, with nothing to
  stop us, through open fields and uninhabited country; yet a few
  years hence we may find it lined with houses and shops, and with
  branch roads pouring their traffic into the main stream. It is
  possible that our sea-road may grow in the same way. Along the
  eastern shore the Turks are building a railway from Damascus to
  the sacred cities of Medina and Mecca; it has already reached
  Medina, and at sometime doubtless it will be continued southward
  to Hodeida and the towns of the Yemen. For pilgrims, the railway
  will make easier the journey to Mecca which every good Mohammedan
  strives to take once in his life. For the Government of Turkey
  it has another use: it will strengthen their control over the
  southern corner of Arabia, a control which is never too secure.
  The result must be more people and more trade on the coast
  strip of Arabia, and need for supplies of food greater than the
  neighbouring country can produce. We may see here in the future
  the problem of Aden on a large scale, and again we must look
  across the sea.

  Jeddah is the port of Mecca; almost opposite Jeddah, on the
  African coast, is Port Sudan, the gate of the Anglo-Egyptian
  Sudan, and the terminus of the Sudan Government railway system,
  which crosses the desert to the Nile and opens up the country
  from Wadi Haifa in the north to Sennar in the southeast and
  El Obeid in the west. This great region, with its centre at
  Khartum, is entirely dependent for the bulk of its trade on
  the railway and the seaport. As this country develops, it may
  find a market for part of its products on the coast of Arabia,
  while the rest will join the main movement through the Canal to
  Europe. That portion of our high road which runs through the
  Mediterranean owes much of its importance to the active life of
  the neighbouring coasts; the Red Sea, by contrast, is a mere
  passage through the desert which separates Europe from Asia. But
  the railway is conquering the desert, and in the future this
  portion also of the chain between West and East will take some
  share in the busy traffic of the whole.

  LECTURE III

  THE INDIAN OCEAN

  We leave Aden, with a mixed cargo of camels and Somalis, and
  steam southward for a hundred and fifty miles across the Gulf
  to visit the Horn of Africa, a region less known to Europeans,
  before the present century, than much of the distant interior of
  the vast Continent. We land at Berbera on the flat coast:            1
  behind the little pier are the white houses of the European town,
  and in the background a long mountain range. Lying off shore at
  anchor is a vessel which attracts our attention at once, as          2
  it reminds us of England; it is a sailing ship of the old type,
  far more graceful than our steamer, resembling the hulks which
  may be seen moored in some of our ports, with their sailing days
  long past. But here it is still in full use; it has lost its
  English name and become the Shah Jehan, and trades under the
  Persian flag, bringing dates once a year from Muscat on the Gulf
  of Oman. The seasonal visit of this ancient ship may serve to
  remind us that we are merely newcomers in this quarter of the
  world, and that it had its own busy life long before our arrival
  or the age of steamships.

  In Berbera we find the Somali in his natural state. The native       3
  town is a mere collection of primitive huts, made of mats, rags,
  mud and sticks; it looks like an encampment rather than a town;
  but we must not be too ready to judge the native by his house,
  as we shall see later that he has a good reason for not building
  a more permanent home.

  Somaliland is rather larger than England and Wales together, yet
  a short excursion inland to the mountains will tell us nearly
  all that we want to know about the country and its inhabitants.
  Our way lies southward, across a desolate, stony plain, studded
  with dry thorn bushes; it does not seem an inviting country.
  The plain is narrow here, but further west towards Zeila it
  broadens out to over fifty miles. A few miles out, where we
  touch the foothills, we may be surprised to find springs of
  warm water, issuing from the limestone rock. On these Berbera
  depends for its existence, as there is no rainfall on the plain     4,5
  worth considering. Here we see one of these springs and here
  is the reservoir. Leaving the plain we mount a steep slope and
  come out on a plateau; it is even more bare and stony than the       6
  plain below. In front our track leads towards a long ridge, five
  thousand feet high, the Gorlis Mountains; on our left is the
  still higher range of Wagga. We cross the plateau and climb
  up the pass to Sheikh; here we see our path by a rocky torrent       7
  bed. We must carry with us our own camp, as we shall find
  little shelter in this wild country and few inhabitants; though
  when we have pitched our tent for the night, we have a visit         8
  from a native, armed with spear and shield, and curious to make
  the acquaintance of the white intruder. We notice that he seems
  very suspicious of the camera. At Sheikh we are in the heart of
  the mountains. From the bungalow of the political officer we         9
  have a fine view down the long, steep pass, and can form some
  idea of the nature of the rugged country through which we           10
  are travelling. Here is another view across the mountain ridges.

  To reach the highest view-point we must ride eastward to
  Wagga, across another part of the plateau, dry and desolate as
  before. Dotted here and there are gigantic red pillars; these
  strange-looking shapes are not rocks but ant hills; they are        11
  sometimes large enough to give us a little shade from the burning
  sun of the desert. We can judge the size of the hill before us
  by comparison with our camel escort; and here is a closer           12
  view of another to help us. Far away in the background we can
  distinguish the Wagga Mountains. The stony slopes of Wagga          13
  are less bare than the plateau, though the vegetation again is
  mostly thorns and aloes, with here and there a few cedars. After
  a long scramble we reach the summit, up among the clouds, six
  thousand feet above the level of the sea. Here are two views        14
  from the summit, one towards the east, the other towards            15
  the west; and here is our native guide, Giringh by name,            16
  pointing northwards to where, over forty miles away, we can just
  catch a glimpse of the Gulf of Aden.

  Let us try to realize where we are standing. If we travel           17
  southward from Wagga or from Sheikh, we go downhill, but we find
  that the dried-up beds of the streams are sloping away from the
  sea. We have crossed the main water-parting of the country. The
  mountain ridges which we have scaled are merely the steep broken
  edges of a great highland block which falls gently southwards to
  a broad plateau, without hills or streams, a monotony of stones,
  red earth, dust and dense thorn scrub. In the dry season we may
  travel for a week or ten days together and find not a drop of
  water. On the caravan routes are a few wells, such as we            18
  see here, but many of these dry up, and we have to dig for a few
  mouthfuls of warm, dirty water in the liquid mud at the bottom.
  This is the _Haud_; it belongs partly to Britain, partly to Italy
  and partly to Abyssinia, though in such a country boundaries have
  little or no meaning; they are merely imaginary lines drawn from
  a few known points through the unexplored area.

  On the mountain slopes and on the plains at the foot are the
  courses of many rivers and streams. These are marked on the map,
  but few are permanent. In the rains they are rushing torrents,
  overflowing the channels which are too narrow to contain them and
  spreading out into wide unhealthy marshes; in the dry season
  they are mere channels or _tugs_, with a few stagnant pools in
  the deepest parts. The rains are of the tropical kind, beginning
  in April and going on, with one break, through the summer. The
  winter months are almost rainless, and the smallest annual fall
  is on the coast.

  The peculiarities of the plateau and the seasonal rainfall have
  been largely responsible for the shaping of the Somali. He is
  essentially a nomad; all his property is moveable and consists of
  flocks and herds and camels. It is true that there are remains of
  stone buildings, and deep wells in the rock, especially further
  inland; but these are not the work of the present-day Somali; his
  house is as easily moved as his cattle. In the dry weather we       19
  see the herds collected round the permanent wells and on the
  banks of the few streams where some water and pasture are still
  to be found. Notice the primitive native method of getting          20
  at the water. A man is handing it up in a jar or skin, while
  another pours it into a trough for the cattle. The summer rains
  bring vegetation to the dry steppe, and forthwith the people with
  their animals migrate to the cooler air and fresh pasture of the
  plateau. Berbera and the coast towns empty themselves in this way
  in the hot weather, so that there is a great change in the size
  of the population at different seasons of the year. There is no
  real agriculture until we reach the borders of Abyssinia and the
  river valleys in the far south and west.

  We can now appreciate the importance of the camel in the life of
  the Somali. Further inland, towards Harrar, where there is more
  pasture, the mule is to be found; but for the dry region of the
  _Haud_ the camel is the only efficient beast of burden. Here we
  have him carrying all the goods of his owner, fastened not to a     21
  saddle but to mats strapped round him. He appears to enjoy
  feeding on thorns and will travel for days together without
  water. He is also looked on as a great delicacy to be eaten by
  those who can afford it.

  The natives of Somaliland are very different in race from the
  African people who live further south. Here is a group of           22
  men, posed for the camera, with their little round shields
  and long, broad-bladed spears; and here are some mounted            23
  warriors. The Somali is a born fighter, and his weapons are never
  very far away from him. The Somalis are an old Hamitic people,
  akin to the early inhabitants of Egypt and the races of the
  Mediterranean coasts of Africa. There is also a later admixture
  of Arab blood, due to the nearness of Arabia and the spread of
  Arab power in the Middle Ages all along the eastern coast of
  Africa. They themselves claim Arab descent and show much of the
  love of independence which is found among the Arabs. In religion,
  too, they are fanatical Mohammedans, and they have never really
  been conquered by an invader from without. For a few years the
  Government of Egypt occupied the coast towns and some posts in
  the interior in the neighbourhood of Harrar. When the Egyptians
  retired, in 1884, we at once occupied part of the coast as a
  dependency of Aden. About the same time the French took the
  corner opposite Perim, while a long strip of coast on either side
  fell to Italy. Behind all these is the independent native kingdom
  of Abyssinia. For a time British Somaliland was governed as a
  part of Aden; there was good reason for this since the country
  is of small value except in relation to the control of the Red
  Sea route, and is also entirely cut off on the land side from
  the rest of our African territory. It is now under the Colonial
  Office and is administered by a Commissioner, like so many of our
  smaller Crown Colonies and Protectorates.

  To keep order in the coast towns there is a force of native
  Civil Police, under a European officer: here are some of            24
  the havildars, and here the whole body in review order;             25
  but we see that, unlike our own police, they are armed with
  rifles. Somaliland is not a peaceful country, and police
  alone are not enough; so a military force is necessary. This
  consisted formerly of a battalion of the King’s African Rifles,
  recruited partly from the natives and partly from India. Here
  are the drummers and buglers, all natives, with a native            26
  officer; and here is a whole company of Rifles on parade.           27
  They are mounted on mules, and the European officer alone is on
  horseback. This native force has been disbanded and replaced by
  a contingent of Indian troops. We have also, in the past, been
  compelled to employ British and Indian troops for expeditions up
  country, to deal with the followers of a Mohammedan Mullah who
  proclaimed a _jihad_, or holy war, a few years ago, and raided
  first the Christians of Abyssinia and then the natives in our
  own territory. The Mullah was only copying on a larger scale the
  usual methods of the tribes of the interior; since the chief
  amusement of the Somali consists in annexing the property of his
  neighbours, whenever and wherever he can find the opportunity.
  The geography of the country is all in favour of the native
  raider and against the civilized troops which attempt to catch
  him. In the dry season, when the Somali is for a time a fixture
  in the neighbourhood of the wells, it is almost impossible to
  move a considerable force up country, owing to the want of food
  and water for men and animals on the march. When the rains come,
  the whole country is open for the game of hide-and-seek, and in
  this the white man is no match for the quick-moving native, who
  is troubled by no problem of transport and is a nomad born and
  bred. The land itself fights for the Somali; so that effective
  European control is limited to the coast, except where the
  French have pushed inland with the railway from Jibouti to the
  neighbourhood of Harrar. None the less, the occupation of the
  coast towns, Berbera, Bulhar and Zeila, is not entirely useless,
  since these are the ends of the caravan routes from Abyssinia
  and the interior. Here the animals, skins, gums and other wild
  products of the country are exchanged for the rice of India, the
  dates of Arabia, and the cottons of Europe and America which form
  the sole dress of the native. For the rest, the Somali is likely
  to be left in the undisturbed enjoyment of his native customs;
  his chief visitor will be the sportsman and the naturalist, as
  the land abounds in wild game and is the home of many strange
  plants and animals which are not to be met with elsewhere in
  Africa.

  We have made a brief survey of British Somaliland, and though
  much is not yet explored, yet it is not likely to differ greatly
  from the part which we have seen. There will be the same red
  dust and monotonous stony plain with its thorn bushes and dry
  stream-beds. In some parts, by way of variety, the thorn will
  grow so dense as to be impenetrable; in others it will disappear,
  and we shall find pure desert. Only a Somali or a camel could
  live and thrive in such a country. So we return to the coast
  and continue our voyage. Again we must turn aside from the          28
  direct road across the ocean to India and follow for a time the
  long coast of Africa. We round Cape Guardafui, now the extreme
  tip of the Horn; but the sea here is shallow, and the islands
  which continue the line of the headland must at some remote time
  have been joined to the continent. Of these islands, Socotra,
  long and narrow, about a hundred miles from end to end, alone
  need be noticed. It is a British Protectorate, controlled from
  Aden, though nominally dependent on the little Arabian state of
  Kishin. It is without harbours or trade, and our only interest
  there is to prevent its occupation by any other Power which
  might dispute with us the control of the Red Sea entrance. Aden,
  Somaliland, Perim and Socotra have all the same place in our
  policy; they have no meaning except in relation to the control of
  the sea.

  We steam onwards, and across the Equator, passing by the
  coastline of Italian Somaliland and British East Africa, to
  where, nearly two thousand miles from Aden, and close in to
  the mainland, are two other islands coloured red on the map,
  Pemba and Zanzibar. We are a long way off our course to India,
  yet Zanzibar and the narrow strip of coast behind it belong by
  history and development to India and Arabia rather than to the
  neighbouring continent.

  The Portuguese, on the way to India, creeping along the coast in
  their old-fashioned vessels, found here Arab traders and Arab
  cities with an active intercourse across the Indian Ocean. The
  periodic Monsoon winds brought the fleets of dhows, with the
  produce of India and the Persian Gulf, and carried them back with
  their cargoes of ivory and slaves. The Portuguese occupied the
  African coast region as part of their Indian Empire; the English
  and Dutch, at a later time, made straight across the ocean from
  the Cape or Mauritius and left the Portuguese undisturbed. So,
  when the rule of Portugal collapsed through its own weakness, the
  old conditions were restored.

  For a long time Zanzibar and the neighbouring coasts were ruled
  by local chiefs, nominally dependent on the Iman of Muscat in
  southeastern Arabia; until, early in the nineteenth century,
  Seyyid Said transferred his court from Muscat to Zanzibar and
  extended his power over all the neighbouring coast. On his
  death, in the middle of the century, Zanzibar, largely through
  the influence of the Viceroy of India, was separated politically
  from Muscat. It remains to-day in name an independent kingdom,
  though stripped of its dominions on the mainland and under the
  Protection of Britain. We became concerned with this region, in
  the nineteenth century, mainly owing to our efforts to suppress
  the slave trade of which it was the chief centre. We found
  it impossible to carry out our policy without some effective
  control over the native states, and our paramount interests in
  Zanzibar and the mainland to the north have been recognized in
  our agreements with France and Germany. To-day the palace of        29
  the Sultan still remains, but on the site of the old slave-market
  stands the Cathedral as a sign of the success of our efforts.       30

  The island of Zanzibar is long and narrow; it measures about
  fifty miles from north to south, and only twenty-five at its
  widest in the middle. It is nearly three times the size of the
  Isle of Man. A long ridge of hills divides it into two distinct
  parts. The east is largely made up of old coral rock, with a very
  thin layer of soil; it is not very fertile and is, moreover,
  exposed to the full force of the Trade winds. Most of the
  population is on the more sheltered western side, and here are
  the town and harbour of Zanzibar. The ruling class and original
  landowners are Arabs; but the mass of the people are Swahili, of
  mixed African and Asiatic descent, and freed slaves, largely        31
  natives of Africa. Here is a typical group of natives. The chief
  wealth of the island lies in the cultivation of cloves, as a
  large portion of the world’s crop is grown here; but there are
  also the coconut palm, the rubber vine and many other tropical
  plants. A great and interesting change is taking place in the
  ownership of the plantations: the natives of India, shopkeepers,
  traders and moneylenders, are steadily ousting the Arabs. The
  Arab has lost much of his wealth, through the emancipation of his
  slaves, and is slow to adapt himself to the new conditions; so
  that the thrifty Indian bids fair to annex the whole island in
  the near future, and Zanzibar will renew its connexion with the
  mainland on the other side of the Indian Ocean.

  Apart from its agriculture, the chief value of the island is in
  the sheltered roadstead of the capital, as good harbours are        32
  rare in this part of the world. Here we see it from the sea,        33
  and here is one of the main streets of the town. In Zanzibar
  we find all the races of the Indian Ocean represented, and here
  are collected all the products of the islands and of the coast
  of Africa, which is only twenty-five miles away. The trade with
  India still remains, while the steamship has brought also direct
  intercourse with Europe. In the early days of trade, the security
  of a position on an island was an important factor in the growth
  of a seaport; now that Europe is policing both the sea and the
  mainland, the advantage of the island is less, and Zanzibar has
  a growing rival a hundred and fifty miles away on the coast
  of Africa. Mombasa is on a small island, connected with the         34
  mainland by a causeway. On the north side is Mombasa harbour,       35
  rather shallow and not very convenient for shipping; on the south
  is the deep Kilindini channel, running for a long distance inland
  and providing one of the finest harbours on the east coast of
  Africa. Mombasa is the terminus of the railway which crosses the
  low coast strip and surmounts the plateau of East Africa. The
  trade of the port is very old; but only slaves and ivory could
  be carried in former times over the long and difficult caravan
  route which ended here. Now, the railway can bring down to the
  sea all the products of a vast area inland. Here we have a          36
  scene on the old road, and here by way of contrast the modern       37
  railway. Mombasa, like Port Sudan, will create a new traffic in
  the future, to join the great stream which moves through the
  Indian Ocean and the Suez Canal; but the subject of British East
  Africa and its resources must be left for future treatment; here
  we are concerned only with its relation to our sea route.

    _Copyright._)      (_See page 40._

  ANT HILLS, ON THE ROAD TO WAGGA.]

    _Copyright._)      (_See page 41._

  A SOMALI GUIDE.]

    _Copyright._)        (_See page 56._

  RECEPTION BY THE SULTAN OF THE MALDIVES.]

  Before we turn towards India we have yet another island to visit,
  an island connected not with the new, but with the old route
  to the East. This is Mauritius, lying east of Madagascar and
  well out in the Indian Ocean, about two thousand four hundred
  miles from Aden and rather less from Ceylon. We shall find it
  very different from Zanzibar. A French patois is the language
  commonly spoken; most of the names on the map are French, and
  the statue of a great Frenchman is one of the first things          38
  which we notice on landing at Port Louis. Mauritius was in effect
  a purely French colony, when it became ours by conquest just a
  century ago; but the immigration from India is now modifying
  rapidly the French character of the island.

  Before the French were the Dutch: they settled first in the
  southeast corner, as Grand Port was the last convenient point of
  call on the way from the Cape to Ceylon, before the long voyage
  across the open ocean. After a century of partial occupation, the
  Dutch retired in 1712, leaving behind them the name Mauritius,
  taken from that of Count Maurice of Nassau, the Stadtholder of
  Holland. The French, who were already in Madagascar and the
  neighbouring island of Bourbon, promptly occupied Mauritius,
  re-naming it Île de France. It was controlled by the French
  East-India Company and became in a few years very prosperous
  under the administration of Mahé de Labourdonnais. His name
  still survives in Mahébourg, and we have already seen his statue
  in Port Louis. During our war with France at the end of the
  century, Mauritius, owing to its position on the only route to
  India, was used as a base for attacking our commerce by the
  French privateers who swarmed in these seas; so that its capture
  became necessary for the security of our Indian possessions. Both
  Bourbon and Mauritius were taken, but the former was restored to
  France by the peace of 1814.

  The island as we found it was a true French plantation-colony.
  The ruling classes were the Creole landowners, French by descent;
  while the actual work of the plantations was carried on by
  slaves imported from Africa. It is still thoroughly French, and
  the plantation system survives in a modified form as the sole
  support of the people; but the former importance of the island
  as a commercial and strategic centre has greatly declined with
  the opening of the Suez Canal. Mauritius is no longer on a great
  trade route, but it is well worth a visit in itself and is still
  closely connected with our final destination, India.

  [Illustration: MAURITIUS.]

  We must first make a brief survey with the map. The island          39
  is in the form of a rough oval, a little over thirty miles
  long, less than half the size of the county of Kent. Its coasts
  are fringed with coral reefs, broken here and there by gaps,
  especially where the streams of fresh water enter the sea.
  Behind these gaps are the seaports, of which only two are of any
  size, Grand Port or Mahébourg at the southeast corner, and Port
  Louis, the capital, in the northwest. Grand Port was occupied
  first, but it is open to the Southeast Trades; so that Port         40
  Louis, like Zanzibar, on the sheltered side, and with a good
  harbour, has become the chief port for the whole island. In the
  north and part of the east and the southeast corner the land lies
  fairly low; here we find the chief towns, the plantations and
  most of the population. A great deal of the centre and south is
  filled up with hills and plateaux; some of the peaks rising to
  over two thousand feet. Here are the Moka Mountains, behind         41
  Port Louis, steep and rugged, crowned by a strange peak,            42
  Pieterboth Head, which is a useful landmark for sailors. Notice
  the Dutch name. In the southwest the hills are very near to the
  sea; the coast plain is narrow, the slopes are steep and the
  rivers come down in rapids and falls amidst wild and beautiful
  scenery. Here is the Chamarel fall and here again are the falls     43
  on the Savanne River. The railways are a fair guide to the          44
  structure of the country, as they keep for the most part to
  the lowland or the river valleys, except where the main line
  from Port Louis to Mahébourg is forced to surmount the middle
  of the plateau; while the Moka branch crosses a steep ridge on
  its way to the lower country to the east. Here we see one of the
  curious trains crossing one of the mountain streams at the foot     45
  of the bare hill slopes; the picture gives a good idea of the
  scenery on the railway.

  The rainfall in Mauritius is heavy in the summer months,
  December to March, especially on the east side of the hills,
  where the wind comes straight in from the warm ocean; and the
  temperature is high, at sea level, as Mauritius lies on the edge
  of the Tropics. Heat and rain, together with a rich volcanic
  soil, have made Mauritius what it is to-day. Agriculture is the
  only occupation of the people, and the only important crop
  is the sugar-cane. This was first introduced from the East
  India Islands by the Dutch, though little progress was made
  with its cultivation until the time of the French settlement.
  The forest which then covered the island was cleared away, and
  the cultivation of the cane, by means of slave labour on large
  plantations, became the staple industry of the new colonists.
  Large fortunes were made in the early part of the nineteenth
  century, but Mauritius, like the West Indies, has suffered
  greatly from the competition of beet-sugar, and its trade has
  declined greatly, though it has still a good market in India. Too
  much dependence on a single product has brought ruin on many of
  the planters. Here is a picture of one of these large sugar         46
  estates. In front of us we see the cane growing and the planter
  looking over his crops; the ugly building, with the chimney,
  which spoils the middle of the picture, is the mill where the
  cane is crushed to extract the juice.

  The cultivation of sugar in Mauritius, like that of tea in
  Ceylon, has produced remarkable changes in the character of the
  people. When slavery was abolished, in 1835, new sources of
  labour for the plantations had to be found, and Indian coolies
  were imported on a large scale. These usually remained when the
  term of their contract was over; with the result that at the
  present time about three-quarters of the total population of the
  island is of Indian descent, the majority having been born in
  the island. We find them everywhere in the island, living           47
  contentedly in primitive huts and cultivating their small patches
  of land. They are steadily acquiring the land in small plots and
  manage to exist comfortably even under present conditions. In
  short, Mauritius is becoming more and more an offshoot of India,
  since not only the labour but much of the food supply must come
  from the rice fields of India, so long as nearly all the land
  under cultivation is given up to a single crop like sugar.
  The climate, too, is more suitable to the brown than to the
  white people; malarial fever is always present, and the general
  conditions have not been improved by the cutting down of the
  greater part of the forest. Sometimes the weather brings disaster
  in a swift and sudden form, as Mauritius lies in the track of
  the cyclones which whirl in from the northeast, especially in
  March and April, and travel southwards towards Madagascar. In a
  few hours one of these terrible storms can destroy houses and
  plantations and undo the work of years. One of the worst of
  these, in recent years, struck the island in 1892; and here we
  see some of the damage done at Port Louis. The planter in           48
  this beautiful island has truly many difficulties to contend
  with. It is possible that the growth of trade in Madagascar and
  on the neighbouring coasts of Africa may bring back a little of
  its past prosperity to Port Louis; but Mauritius can never regain
  the position which it enjoyed before the piercing of the Suez
  Canal.

  If we look at the map showing the depths of the Indian Ocean,     (28)
  we notice that Mauritius, with the sister French island of
  Réunion, rests on a relatively shallow bank, raised above the
  ocean floor. Following this bank northwards for nearly a thousand
  miles, we come to a whole group of little islands which are
  connected by a similar bank with Madagascar. The most northerly
  of this group are the Seychelles. Another great bank runs
  southward from India with scores of islets on it. In the north
  are the Laccadives, close to the coast of India; in the middle
  are the Maldives; and in the far south, beyond the Equator, right
  out in the ocean, is the little Chagos Archipelago, including the
  coral island of Diego Garcia, where at one time there was a small
  coaling station used by vessels bound to Australia. All these
  islands are but the fragments of a sunken land-mass which at a
  very early period of the worlds history joined South Africa to
  India. They are widely separated if we look only at the surface
  of the sea, but really joined together if we look below.

  Mahé, the largest of the Seychelles, has an area of rather over
  fifty square miles, a little more than that of the island of
  Jersey; we could walk from end to end of it in a few hours. A
  map, showing Zanzibar, Pemba, Mauritius and the Seychelles          49
  on the same scale, may perhaps help us to realize their relative
  size and shape. There is one good harbour in Mahé, on which
  stands Victoria, the capital, where steamers sometimes call
  on the voyage from Aden to Mauritius or from India to Mombasa.      50
  Here is a general view of the harbour and here is a street          51
  in the little town. The whole group was dependent on
  Mauritius and was given up to us at the same time as that
  island. The language of the people is still modified French.
  The Seychelles are fertile and beautiful and not unhealthy, in
  spite of their nearness to the Equator. They naturally abound
  in tropical plants, among which the coconut palm is the most
  valuable to the natives. Here are some of these palms with          52
  the mill where the oil is extracted from the nut. Here also         53
  we see a species of fan palm, which has a strange history.
  Centuries ago, the Portuguese found washed up in the Maldives
  and on the southwest coasts of India a curious double nut, the
  _coco-de-mer_. The tree which produced the nut was unknown          54
  and could not be discovered in the neighbouring islands, so the
  fable was invented that it grew in the depths of the sea. The nut
  was much valued in India as a medicine, but in spite of careful
  search not until the end of the eighteenth century was the parent
  tree found in the Seychelles, where alone it grows. The Southwest
  Monsoon, blowing for months at a time, carried the nut all the
  way to India, just as it brought the fleets of Arab dhows from
  the coast of Africa. So we have in this tale of the nut a useful
  reminder of the climate of the Indian Ocean. We will now leave
  the Seychelles after a glance at another strange product of a
  neighbouring island, Aldabra. This is the giant tortoise. It        55
  was at one time very common in this part of the Indian Ocean, as
  we learn from the accounts of early voyagers, but it is now rare.

  Mauritius and the Seychelles, with many of the smaller groups
  and islands in the Indian Ocean, came into our hands in
  connexion with the development of the old route to India by way
  of the Cape. There is one group, among the nearest to India,
  which through all the changes of Portuguese, Dutch and British
  occupation has succeeded in maintaining a partial independence.
  The northernmost of the Maldive islands are only about four
  hundred miles from the coast of Ceylon, within easy reach not
  only of the road from Africa and the Seychelles to India, but
  also of the more important road from Arabia, the Red Sea and
  the Persian Gulf to the Malay Archipelago and the Far East.
  The language of the people, as we might expect from the near
  neighbourhood of Ceylon, is closely akin to old-fashioned
  Sinhalese. We may perhaps regard the people as colonists from
  Ceylon, with a large mixed element due to the Arab traders
  who must have visited the islands often in their voyages. The
  Maldives have always followed the fortunes of Ceylon; they have
  recognized in turn Portuguese, Dutch and British authority, but
  have succeeded in avoiding complete annexation. This may be
  due partly to the fact that there is little in them to attract
  invaders. The islands which make up the group are mere coral
  atolls, with no good harbours, a very small supply of good water,
  and few products for trade. The Maldive trading fleet, which        56
  we see here, does not suggest a very heavy traffic. What there
  is, mostly dried fish, finds its only market in Ceylon, which
  sends, among other things, fresh drinking water in return.          57
  The Sultan is on good terms with our officials: here we see him,
  with his suite, visiting a British warship, and here he is          58
  receiving the return call of the representative of the Governor
  of Ceylon. The connexion with Ceylon is formally recognized once
  a year, when a solemn embassy comes from Malé, the chief island
  of the group, to Colombo, to greet the representative of the
  Suzerain Power. So we conclude with this embassy, which has         59
  finally landed us in Ceylon.

  In our voyage from the Gulf of Aden to Colombo we have made a
  great circuit of the Indian Ocean, yet from beginning to end we
  have never lost touch with Indian trade and Indian people. The
  islands and ports which we have visited are only to be understood
  as parts of a larger whole, united not divided by the sea. We
  speak rightly of the Indian Ocean, since India is and always
  has been the central fact in the life of this region, both
  politically and economically. This was as true in the earliest
  days of the Arab traders as it is to-day. We have replaced
  sails by steam, cut the Suez Canal, and changed the direction
  of the main ocean route; but as soon as we pass the Strait of
  Bab-el-Mandeb, we find that our route is only one of many. We are
  in a network of traffic and intercourse which was in existence
  centuries ago, long before the first European keel broke into the
  eastern seas.

  LECTURE IV

  CEYLON

  Ceylon, which takes the first place among our Crown Colonies,
  is the halfway house on our long journey. As we steam towards
  Colombo there is little to suggest that we are nearing one of
  the chief harbours in the eastern world. We see a long unbroken
  line of coast, fringed with green coconut palms, with no trace
  of bay or inlet. In the background rises an irregular hill mass,
  topped with long ridges and sharp peaks. Presently we can            1
  distinguish two great breakwaters, with a wide opening between.
  The southwest wind is blowing and huge waves are dashing over
  them, throwing up masses of foam as high as the masts of the
  vessels which lie inside in a great basin, calm as a lake, a
  mile and a half long and over half a mile wide. Here is a safe
  anchorage for a fleet, with coaling jetties and a dry dock           2
  which can take the largest vessel afloat.

  [Illustration: COLOMBO HARBOUR.]

  Like so many modern seaports Colombo owes everything to
  engineering. Forty years ago the roadstead was open to the swell
  from the southwest, except for the shelter of the little headland
  from which the main breakwater now juts out. In those days our
  vessel would have called at Galle, a hundred miles away at the
  southern corner of the island. We can journey to Galle now by
  railway along the coast, through interminable groves of coconut      3
  palms, with glimpses of the sea breaking on the coral reefs
  on our right and Adam’s peak rising into the clouds on our
  left. Galle was in early times the chief port of the island,
  the meeting point of Arab traders from the west and Chinese
  from the east; it is a picturesque, old-world town, with many
  relics of the Dutch occupation; but Colombo has now taken its
  place as the commercial centre. Here is a view of the Galle          4
  lighthouse, taken from the walls of the old Dutch fortifications;
  the building behind the palms is a new Mohammedan mosque. In a
  quiet corner we see native fishing boats, with more palms in         5
  the background. Here again is a Hindu temple, dating from the        6
  time of the Dutch occupation; the lions over the gate may perhaps
  have been copied from some European coat-of-arms, as they look
  rather different from the usual native devices.

  Far away in the northeast is Trincomali, a vast landlocked           7
  bay, with unlimited deep and safe anchorage, the only good
  natural harbour in the island, in fact one of the best natural
  harbours in the whole world. Here was for many years the
  headquarters of the Navy in Indian waters; but it is out of the
  track of steamers and away from the capital, so that it has
  now been dismantled by the Admiralty. The Navy has followed to
  Colombo the commerce which depends on it for protection, and
  Trincomali, in spite of its great natural advantages, has sunk
  back to the position of a third-rate local port.

  [Illustration: CEYLON.]

  Before we start on our tour let us study the map and form some       8
  idea of the shape and nature of the land which we are about
  to visit. Ceylon hangs like a pearl, as the eastern poets say,
  from the end of India, to which it is nearly joined by the chain
  of small islands and reefs which lie between the Gulf of Manaar
  and Palk Strait. So shallow is the passage that large steamers
  do not venture through, and proposals have already been made for
  carrying a railway across. Ceylon is almost as large as Ireland;
  the whole of the north is flat, and a belt of lowland forty to
  fifty miles wide runs all round the east and south coasts. In the
  southwest the belt narrows, between the sea and the foothills
  of the block of highland which fills up much of the interior.
  This block is an irregular plateau-like country, crossed by
  ridges from northwest to southeast, cut into by deep gorges and
  crowned by sharp peaks, many of which rise over six thousand
  feet. The rivers are short and swift, except where they traverse
  the broader lowlands of the north and northeast. The southwest
  corner, with its highlands and coast strip and its entrance at
  Colombo, is the real Ceylon of to-day; though in former times the
  coast and the interior had each a distinct and separate life and
  history.

  The whole island is represented in the crowd, bewildering in its
  variety of face and dress, which greets us on our landing            9
  in Colombo. Here is a typical Sinhalese, wearing the _comboy_,
  a wide length of cloth, of white or striped cotton, which is
  wrapped round the lower half of the body; his long hair is done
  up in a knot behind and ornamented with a tortoiseshell comb,
  which gives a strange appearance to his head. We see this comb,
  in its most elaborate form, in the portrait of a high-caste         10
  Sinhalese; and we notice that, except for the comb, he wears        11
  ordinary European dress. Here again is a native in the street
  wearing a shawl round his shoulders, and yet another with a neat
  drill jacket; the latter is probably in the service of Europeans.
  The building behind them is a native theatre, roofed over with
  green palm leaves. Finally, we have a picture of a typical          12
  Sinhalese girl of the lower class.

  Then we come on a group of dark-brown men wearing loincloths
  and turbans and repairing the roadway with pick and shovel;         13
  these are Tamil coolies from Southern India, doing the heavy
  work of the town. Another trots in the shafts of a ricksha,         14
  the carriage of the East, which we shall meet again. As we go
  further into the town, we meet natives from the country districts
  on their way to market in two-wheeled carts, thatched with          15
  leaves of the coconut palm and drawn by little humped
  bullocks. They wear the _comboy_ and little else, as they are
  less influenced by foreign ideas than the people of the town.
  Let us follow them into the _Pettah_, or native quarter,            16
  with its trams and rickshas and busy shops. Here we see the carts
  collected in the open market place, and in the streets we           17
  notice a new type of men; these are Moormen or Mohammedans, who
  carry on much of the business of the town. Some of them wear the
  fez, which we see at times even in our own country; others, more
  old-fashioned, wear strange-looking hats shaped like a beehive.
  On our way back we pass a Hindu temple, which reminds us            18
  again that India, its people and its creeds are close at hand.

  The Europeans are almost as varied as the natives. Some are
  English, officials or planters; others are Dutch by race; while
  there are also a great number of half-caste descendants of the
  original Portuguese settlers. Many of the half-castes bear
  Portuguese names and imitate European dress and manners.

  We can easily see something of the habits of the poorer classes
  since they live largely in the public view. Their houses are
  wattled huts of mud and bamboo, thatched with leaves or roofed
  with red tiles, and open to the street except at night when they
  are boarded up carefully, as the Sinhalese are not fond of the
  night air. We may perhaps see a family occupied with the morning
  toilet, in front of the house; and here in a corner of the lake
  are the _dhobies_ or native washermen at work. The lake is          19
  one of the most beautiful sights of the town; it is really one of
  the lagoons which we find all round the coast, where the mouth of
  a stream has silted up. The Dutch, following their home customs,
  utilized these lagoons and developed a system of canals along the
  low coastline. Part of the system is still in use, and we can
  travel by small steamer from Colombo northward to Negombo.          20
  Here is a scene on the canal. The Dutch have also left traces of
  their rule in scattered fortifications and in the Roman-Dutch
  law which is still the basis of the legal administration in the
  island. Many of the lawyers in the local courts are of Dutch
  descent.

  The Dutch had ample time to leave their mark on Ceylon, as they
  held it from the middle of the seventeenth century, when they
  wrested it from the Portuguese, until the end of the eighteenth,
  when it was handed over to Great Britain at the time when
  Holland was subject to France. The Dutch traders were attracted
  to Colombo and the southwest coast by the cinnamon which grew
  there; the bark of the cinnamon was the most valuable product
  of Ceylon and almost the only export, apart from elephants,
  until well into the nineteenth century. The cinnamon trade was
  a strict government monopoly, enforced by harsh penal laws, and
  the monopoly remained, even under English rule, until 1832. One
  other interesting trace of Dutch rule survives in the many miles
  of palm groves, planted by forced native labour, which we have
  already noticed along the coast from Colombo to Galle.

  For a century and a half before the Dutch occupation the island
  was under the power of Portugal. The wars of the Dutch were
  undertaken to advance their trade; but the Portuguese fought
  for the idea of Empire, and one of their chief aims was the
  conversion of the conquered races to Christianity. The effect
  of Portuguese rule still survives in the coast districts where
  Portuguese names are common, in the mixed race and the local
  corrupt Portuguese dialect, and above all in the thousands of
  natives professing the Roman Catholic religion. The word Don,
  formerly a Portuguese title, is still in use among the natives as
  a personal name, and many even of the pure Sinhalese have adopted
  high-sounding Portuguese names.

  Neither the Dutch nor the Portuguese succeeded in subduing the
  highlands of the interior; their occupation and interests were
  limited to the coast strip. It was left to England, in the
  nineteenth century, to penetrate inland and build roads and
  bring the whole of the island under a single control. We now
  leave Colombo, and travel by train to visit the highlands and
  the old capital at Kandy, where we shall learn something of the
  up-country Sinhalese, who differ considerably from those of the
  sea-coast. The line is built on a broad gauge and the train has
  a comfortable restaurant car attached as in England. At the
  start, we run through mile after mile of padi fields. The native
  agriculture is simple: first the muddy earth is scratched with
  a primitive plough, drawn by water buffaloes, which are used        21
  in the fields as the wet mud does them no harm; the crop is
  sown with many strange ceremonies, and a little later the water
  impounded from the streams is allowed to flow over the young
  plants; later still the land is again drained dry and the ripened
  grain is reaped by hand. The Sinhalese are agriculturalists and
  nothing else; working on their own land is among them the most
  honourable pursuit, though they are not as ready to work for
  others. They brought with them from their original home in Bengal
  their national taste for rice, and kept to their former habits,
  although much of Ceylon is not well fitted for its cultivation,
  and great irrigation works were necessary to provide the water.
  Even on the hillsides we still see the padi grown by means of
  terraces. On the ridges between the padi fields are groves of
  coconut palms; and here and there we come on a native village       22
  or house, like the one in front of us, always with its little
  group of palms and other trees, growing without attention
  and providing for most of the simple wants of the villager.
  The leaves provide thatch for his hut, unless he is wealthy
  enough to use red tiles, and are woven into mats or baskets; the
  stalks make fences, while the trunks give beams and troughs and
  furniture. From the sap he makes sugar and spirits: the husk of
  the nut gives fibre for rope: the shell makes drinking bowls and
  spoons; while the kernel can be eaten, or dried as copra and
  then pressed for the oil, which is exported to Europe. We have
  already seen this in the Seychelles. It is hardly surprising that
  where Nature supplies so much without effort on his part, the