Chapter V: on Greeley is prime, but it is hardly true to say (6)

As the two women talked and listened there day after day, one the typical woman of the past, with all her ancient duties and burdens, the other the most admired and brilliant product of the new day, it was the woman of the past whose eyes were clear and unclouded, whose step as she spun was buoyant, whose smile was assured and calm. In the other, with all her achievements and culture and beauty, a spring seemed to be broken, a profound sadness at unguarded moments seemed to brood. Only when little Emily brought knitting or sewing and sat at her kinswoman’s feet, or when the two started off for a walk together, did an expression of refreshment come into the beautiful, tired eyes.

* * * * *

It was not until the last afternoon of her stay that Emily Scarborough broached the subject nearest her heart. The day was a perfect one in early November, after a night of frost. The children were all in the fields helping their father, Dosia had moved her wheel to the porch, and the guest was with her there. After sitting silent for some time, Miss Scarborough said abruptly:

“I have a boon, a great boon, to ask of you, Dosia: I want Emily.”

Dosia’s yarn snapped, and the loose end whirled about the spindle.

“You mean to visit?” she asked.

“No, I mean to keep, all the time, for my own.” Miss Scarborough’s voice vibrated strangely. Then she said more calmly: “I will give her all she ought to have; the best possible education, travel, culture, opportunity to develop her artistic instincts. She shall take my full name and inherit my possessions. The old Virginia plantation after long years has become a valuable property, and there is more beside.”

Dosia listened silently, a line of painful thought in her forehead.

“And not these alone; better things shall be hers,” continued Miss Scarborough. “I have long been weary of teaching; I shall stop now and make a home for Emily. And as my adopted daughter, the best social life of two continents will be open to her. My very first act shall be to take her to Scarborough Castle; I have the greatest desire to show her to our kinsman the earl before she is in any way changed. All this, Dosia, I can do for her, and you never can.”

Dosia listened, troubled and pale.

“I desire that my children shall get l’arning and see the world,” she said slowly. “I feel as Scarboroughs they ought to. But has payrents ever a right to lay down their responsibilities? I allow not. I allow that me and Edwin is the ones accountable for Emily, and her proper guardeens. I would gladly send her to visit with you a spell; but to stay, that is different.”

“No,” interrupted Emily Scarborough in her imperious way; “it must be for all time. I must have her for my own.”

Dosia deliberated for a long while, then she answered quietly, but firmly:

“Well, then, Cousin, if all the time it must be, I can only say that is more than I can consent to--that, as her mother, I don’t feel called to part with my child.”

Miss Scarborough’s face flushed with sudden anger and resentment.

“But with all you have!” she exclaimed. “Nine children--nine!” Her voice trembled.

“Twelve I have,” corrected Dosia, quietly, “nine living and three dead,”--she lifted eyes and hand to a near-by hill-shoulder, where three small grave-houses were plainly visible,--“but not one to spare. I love the children God has give me, and I don’t aim ever to part with them till I have to. If things was different with us, I might feel it my duty to give up one; but my man is the workingest in this country, and being not far behind him myself, we prosper and have plenty, as you see. And now the women’s school has come, our young ones can get l’arning and still be under our admonition. No, Cousin Emily; I am greatly beholden to you for your kindness, I thank you from the deeps of my heart; but, as her mother, I cannot give up my child.”

Miss Scarborough had been leaning forward, body tense, face flushed, eyes feverishly bright. At Dosia’s final words she sank back in her chair, her face suddenly paled and aged, and her eyes sought the mountain-sides yesterday so glowing, but to-day dimmed as by a prophecy of death.

“It is ever the way,” she said at last slowly and bitterly. “‘From him that hath not shall be taken even that which he thinketh he hath.’ You women who have everything never consider those of us who have nothing.”

Dosia lifted startled eyes upon her kinswoman.

“Have nothing,” she repeated. “You!”

“Yes, I,” exclaimed Emily Scarborough. Her voice rang sharply.

“You, that the school women said was the knowingest and most-looked-up-to woman in all the land!”

“I that have knowledge, temporary fame, and what the world calls success, still lack the one thing necessary: I have no life for my heart,” cried Emily Scarborough.

Dosia gazed at her kinswoman, fascinated, dumb.

“Do you think a woman can be just a mind?” demanded the essayist, passionately, “that such husks as honors, flattery, success, can feed one’s real life? Do you not see that I am hideously alone, without a tie to link me to the race, and that the loneliness and isolation are killing me?”

After this outburst, Emily Scarborough sat a long while fronting the dimmed mountains, struggling for calmness. When she spoke again, it was with controlled utterance:

“You know, Dosia, that I was an only child, born at the close of the Civil War, and brought up by my father, a general of the Confederate army. Broken in health and spirit by the war, he found his chief solace afterward in handing down to me a portion of his ripe scholarship. On the next plantation lived a boy, a year or two older than I, of whom my father was fond, and whom he taught along with me. As we grew up, the comradeship between Godfrey and me became love. My father planned for me a college education. To this Godfrey could not look forward. Not only were all the old families land-poor in those days, but, as eldest son, he must stay and run the plantation and provide for a widowed mother and his sisters and brothers. When I left home, it was with the hope of marrying him on the completion of my course.

“I arrived at college just at the time when there came to the women of America, especially to the little band then receiving the higher education, the first thrilling realization of their own possibilities. To stand alone, to achieve, to prove to the world what woman’s unaided strength could do, seemed to many not only a worthy ambition, but a sacred duty. One of my professors, a brilliant woman and a leader in the new movement, hailed my gifts with joy. ‘Assuredly, Emily, if your development is not interfered with, you will one day be a torch-bearer of the new womanhood,’ she declared. ‘Marriage,’ she would say at other times, ‘is for the ungifted, the uninspired. Let the drudgery of home-making and child-bearing be performed by women incapable of higher things.’ When I ventured to tell her of my engagement to Godfrey, she was horrified. ‘Bury your talents, your gifts for speaking and writing, in the mud of a Virginia plantation!’ she exclaimed; ‘never shall you be guilty of such weakness!’”

“‘YAN SIDE OF THEM IS WHERE YOU LIVED AT WHEN YOU WAS LITTLE, MAW SAYS’”]

“Under influences of this kind my ideals and purposes gradually changed. I came to believe sincerely that my duty, as she said, was to develop and perfect my gifts, and that the pangs I should feel in renouncing Godfrey would be small in comparison with the lifelong regret consequent upon the burial of my talents.

“On my father’s death in my last college year, two courses lay open to me, one, marriage to Godfrey, the other, freedom to pursue my studies in foreign universities and fit myself for a career. And although I cared for Godfrey, and knew the gallant, unselfish struggle he was making and the need of me in his daily life, I chose self instead of him, freedom instead of love, a career instead of a life. He was too wise to reproach me; he only said, ‘Some day, Emily, the woman’s heart in you will awake, and you will know your need of me.’

“I hurried abroad, and threw myself absorbingly into study. Six years passed almost with the swiftness of as many months; I had the coveted degrees, the sense of power marked success brings, and at twenty-eight I was called home to fill an important professorship. During this time I kept up a correspondence with Godfrey. I said to myself I had a right to his friendship, though I stifled as weakness any regrets or longings for him and the eagerness I felt to see him again.”

“DOSIA LISTENED SILENTLY, A LINE OF PAINFUL THOUGHT IN HER FOREHEAD”]

“The first news I received on the landing of the ship was that of his sudden death. It came as a shock--a shock the nature of which I did not comprehend, however, so quickly was it overlaid by the noise and excitement of my life, the glow of instant success, the thrill of power, the adulation of thousands of women. In such a swift and glittering current did my life sweep on during the ensuing years that I was thirty-five before I realized the shallowness of it, knew that I had not a real tie in the world, saw that I was poor, empty, selfish, and, above all, horribly alone, and that not my life alone, but my art, was starved and barren; for how could I, who had never known the elemental emotions of my kind, hope to touch with my pen the quick of feeling? Here, too, in saving my life, I had lost it.

“I awoke to suffering, to hunger, to knowledge that I had sold my birthright. In other words, I knew at last that I was a woman, with a woman’s deep and eternal needs. Love, home, children,--ties that grapple one to life, experiences that, whether in the white flame of joy or the seven-times heated furnace of suffering, weld one with the race,--these inalienable rights of woman I awoke to desire and crave. Too late, too late! For although even then I might have ended the mere solitude,--other men beside Godfrey have wanted me,--I knew that he alone was my mate, and, knowing it, nothing but loyalty was possible. You remember the Scarborough motto, ‘Keep Troth.’ I had broken it with him living; I would keep it with him dead.

“But, oh, the loneliness, the detachment, the need of something vital in my days, of some creature to live for and call my own! If I had had the man of my love for even a short while, and, dying, he had left me a child, how different all would have been! Let them say what they will, the deepest, most fundamental craving of every woman’s heart is for children of her own; nothing else fulfils or satisfies. Missing this, we only half live in our youth and not at all in our age. Knowing my great need, I have many times considered the adoption of a child; but in every case a selfish fastidiousness has held me back.

“When I heard of Emily, a child of my own blood, and already bearing my name, my thoughts turned at once to her; when I saw her, small embodiment that she is of the dignity and simplicity of our race, I knew she was the one thing necessary. Everything in her appealed. She drew me out of myself, warmed my cold heart; her admiration was like wine to me; my very flesh rejoiced at her touch. With her to love and be loved by, I could now set up the long-desired home. In my busy plans, my happy absorption, my belief that blessing was at last to crown my days, I did not even think of your refusal!”

Again Emily Scarborough sat silent, with stricken eyes fixed upon the waning colors of the season.

“I was wrong, presumptuous, wicked,” she broke forth bitterly, “as usual, absorbed in self, careless of the suffering of others. The door of hope is closed; I shall never see another child I want. Nothing remains but a return to the desolation of a life thrown back upon and hating itself.

“But you, Dosia, so rich in love and duties and burdens, so necessary to many, your children about you, your husband beside you, pity a lonely woman with starved heart and barren body!”

Flinging out her arms in a wild gesture, she dropped them on the porch railing, and bowed her head heavily upon them.

Scarcely breathing, and with wide, wet eyes, Dosia drew slowly nearer, and stood a moment with hands outspread above the beautiful, bowed head. Then laying them upon it, she said tenderly:

“Emily is yours, dear cousin. You have the better right, the greater need; I give her to you gladly.”

THE TRADE OF NORTHERN AFRICA

(“THE TRADE OF THE WORLD” PAPERS)

BY JAMES DAVENPORT WHELPLEY

Author of “The Commercial Strength of Great Britain,” “Germany’s Foreign Trade,” etc.

As the Atlantic liner enters the Mediterranean through the western straits, the port rail is generally crowded with passengers on the lookout for Gibraltar, that symbol of British power in the control of the high seas. Before the great rock is reached, however, there is to be seen plainly the little Spanish coast town of Tarifa, from which in olden days the boats of its feudal lord sallied forth to demand toll of every passing ship. This action was only the forerunner of what happens now in every harbor the world over; for the word _tariff_, derived from the name of this Spanish town, has come to mean the toll demanded of foreign goods before they may enter domestic markets.

Among all the people who pass through the Strait of Gibraltar, few take the trouble to sweep with their glasses the horizon to the south of the strait. It presents a long, low coast-line, appearing and disappearing from view as its promontories or indentations are passed; but it is well worth looking at, for the land of which this coast is the northern boundary, Morocco, has played a big part in the game of European politics in the last few years. In the near future it will hold the eyes of the world by reason of its own interest, wealth, and commerce, and it will not be long before no vessel of importance carrying freight or passengers to or from the Mediterranean will fail to make a port of call somewhere along its coast.

There is little of novelty for the blasé traveler between Gibraltar and Naples on the north side of the Mediterranean, but between Tangier and Suez, on the south, everything can be found to excite the most jaded interest, be it of ancient or modern civilization or a remoteness which up to the present time defies the white man to enter except at peril of his life. Northern Africa is one of the new-old spots of the earth now in the making of its regenerated political and economic life, and while from one end to the other it is within easy view or even reach of the casual passer-by, the repellent hand of nature and the native are raised most effectively against the foreigner, except in places where the powers of Europe have made travel possible, in many cases at a cost of lives and money beyond the scope of easy estimate.

To-day this continent of Africa is the most striking example of non-resident landlordism in the history of the world. It is a stretch of territory approximately 5000 miles north and south, and the same east and west, presenting all possible variations of climate, unlimited in the extent and range of its natural resources, inhabited by 150 million people, a tenth of the earth’s humanity, of all colors known to the human race, and speaking with polyglot tongue. Its civilization is ancient and modern; its barbarism the same. The ruins of Memphis speak eloquently of glories existing in the days when Europe and America were the haunts of wild men; the modern cities reflect the present-day life of the rest of the world; and yet from the jungle, distant only a few days’ journey, naked savages still peep for their first look upon a white man.

In all this land and among all these millions of people not one community has yet been found equal to the task of intelligent self-government on modern lines. Hence it is that this great domain has passed, peacefully in most cases, under the sway of the overlords of the world, and the flags of far-away nations float above the homes of the people from Cape Good Hope to Cairo, south and north, and from Sokotra to St. Louis, east and west. The apportioning of Africa has been accomplished in the foreign offices of Europe by men who know naught of wind-swept plains or jungle heat, but who are experts in this great paper game, the finals of which have not been played even yet. The state of the game is the billion dollars’ worth of foreign commerce which to-day flows through the African ports, and the billions more which will materialize as fast as soldiers and pioneers can conjure into actualities with sweat and human life the treaty agreements and understandings arrived at by the master minds in the great game.

On the west coast, under the flag of Liberia, flickers a feeble flame in the torch of liberty, but the country it illumines presents only the scene of a pathetic failure at self-government and the mockery of a republic. The flame itself is kept alive only through the jealous ministrations of the absent overlords of the adjacent lands. On the east coast, close to the heart of the desert, lies Abyssinia, with an independence purely nominal. Hemmed in on all sides by watchful foreign legionaries, her king can keep his crown so long as his own people are willing and no harm comes to foreigners or foreign interests. A false step--and the path is narrow--and the crown itself will become as a vassal to those in the North who rule intelligently, but with a purpose and a power that brooks no resistance. We can eliminate these independencies, therefore, as they exist only on sufferance, and the fact remains that the government of Africa is accomplished at long range by those who have a purpose of their own to serve. That purpose is to increase the trade of the world, with the hope that their share may be the larger.

A MARKET-PLACE IN TANGIER]

In the past, trade has followed the flag in Africa, but now as elsewhere, in these days of open doors, favored nation treaties, and equal trading, the exclusive right to buy and sell lies less within the hands of the landlord than it did of old. In the first flush of occupation, the landlord even now takes the large percentage; but to the degree in which he administers his estate successfully, so do opportunities for others present themselves, and are quickly taken advantage of. In southern Africa, and to a great extent up and down the east and west coast, it is now a free-for-all game. The same may be said of Egypt in the north.

THE ENTRANCE TO THE SUEZ CANAL AT PORT SAÏD]

At present France is still gathering her harvest of trade in Algeria and Tunis by virtue of military control. The same will be her lot in Morocco for a few years to come; but in this latter case the period of undisputed gain will be shorter, for the German eagle is hovering along the Moroccan coast with eye alert for opportunity to alight upon the land. Once at rest, his free participation in the commercial spoil is now assured through the foresight of those who play the game in Berlin. The French traders will then need to look well to their profits, for in this war for trade Germany has no superior in resourcefulness or tenacity of purpose. As soon as France completes her self-imposed task of policing the African coast from Tunis to Agadir, the only practical advantage which will remain to the landlords of Africa because of their holdings will lie in the fact that a great number of foreign purchases are due to foreign enterprises, and in the conduct of these the purchasing power is naturally more subservient to purveyors of like nationality.

The conquest of Africa, as shown by the political map of to-day, was achieved in the first instance without an appeal to arms except in the case of the Boer republic and the Italian occupation of a portion of Tripoli. Annexations, protectorates, and spheres of influence generally follow conquests at arms. In Africa this method has been largely reversed. Under the plea of establishing stable and peaceful conditions, wars, generally of the bushwhacking variety, have followed the political map-making; but by the time the real fighting began, each one of the overlords was accredited by the world with fighting for his own already established rights and for the ultimate good of the native defenders of the soil. The latter have generally been converted into rebels or outlaws by a decree written in London, Berlin, or Paris before they fired their first arrow or gun at the foreign invader. Italy is almost the only country which has done open violence to this peculiarly African method of territorial aggrandizement, and by way of contrast her action appears brutal, inexcusable, and bungling, and, as many diplomats aver, she is demonstrating its amateurishness by the questionable success achieved. This is specially true in view of the known inherent and acquired leanness of the prize, a plucked bird despoiled of its scanty trade feathers by Egypt on the east, Algeria on the west, and the Kongo development on the south, long before Italy moved to acquire the prize presumably for her own exclusive profit.

A PANORAMA OF ALGIERS]

Of the total foreign trade of Africa, fully one half is conducted through the ports of Egypt, Tripoli, Algeria, Tunis, Morocco, and the Kongo, and in these countries will take place the greater part of the development of the future. In south Africa development of industry will proceed, but the pace has been set, and for one reason or another it may be added that, contrary to the expectations of the world thirteen years ago, it is not rapid. On the other hand, in northern and specially northwestern Africa, the gates are not yet fully open, the trail of the trader does not yet reach far into the hinterland, and from what is already known of the possibilities, the next twenty-five years will witness an exploitation of northwest Africa which will produce astonishing results. International effort is more concentrated than in years gone by. The unknown spots on the earth’s surface have shrunk to within comparatively small and well-defined boundaries. The eager trader, looking for new markets, is now early on the ground when the way is clear. Trade development in the twentieth century is far more rapid than ever before; the attack upon a new field is sharper, fiercer, more international, and more overwhelming. The new field soon becomes an old one, and quickly makes the pace natural to its geographical, social, and economic limitations.

The part the United States has played in northern Africa is not considerable. The first official appearance was about one hundred years ago, when American naval vessels chastised the pirates on the Mediterranean coast. Our last was about ten years ago, when for some reason yet to be discovered the United States Government sent a mission to King Menelik of Abyssinia. The less said about that mission the better. The chief commissioner met a tragic death before Africa was sighted, and from that moment the mission trailed off into nothingness, its disappearance marked by a succession of inexcusable and appalling diplomatic blunders, to say nothing of an attempted duplication of the mission by one bureau of the same government department acting independently of the others. The foreign offices of the overlords of Europe were considerate, and hid their amusement at this amateur performance under the cover of a sympathetic demonstration.

LEOPOLDVILLE ON STANLEY POOL (KONGO RIVER). THIS IS THE MOST IMPORTANT TRADE CENTER OF THE KONGO FREE STATE]

As a nation holding a neutral position in the affairs of all continents except the Americas, the United States has been looked to on several occasions to furnish experts to help out young or old, but weaker, nations struggling in the coils of inter-European jealousies. Almost invariably Washington has made the mistake of taking the request at its face-value. Experts have been sent, the best in their line in the world, men full of enthusiasm for the task set before them, but, after all, it was found that a knowledge of the big game was even more essential than knowledge of finances or tariff, and the experts, through no fault of their own, have shortly trailed back home again, their only accomplishment having been, unwittingly perhaps, to eliminate another “exceptional American opportunity”; and again the foreign offices of Europe have condoled and regretted the necessity, etc., and the old hands at the game have smiled among themselves at the ease with which the “open door” had been closed without a sound of protest from its hinges.

Of the billion dollars in foreign commerce which ebbs and flows through African ports, about half is to be found in northern Africa, distributed as follows:

IMPORTS EXPORTS TOTALS
Egypt $119,818,000 $103,559,000 $223,377,000
Algeria 95,184,000 76,104,000 171,288,000
Tunis 23,744,000 18,172,000 41,916,000
Tripoli 2,667,000 1,080,000 3,747,000
Morocco 11,875,000 10,011,000 21,886,000
----------- ------------ ------------
$253,288,000 $208,926,000 $462,214,000

The trade of Abyssinia, the Kongo, Liberia, and other political divisions which might be included in what is known as northern Africa, does not amount in its total to a sufficient sum to make any important change in the significance of the above figures. With an area of, say, two and a half million square miles and a population of fifty millions, the density of population is about twenty to the mile; but this calculation is valueless, owing to the vast areas virtually uninhabited. The real density ranges from the 931 to the square mile in the lower valley of the Nile to that found in the great stretches of desert, where in the course of a week’s travel one may meet perhaps a single caravan of Bedouins with their scanty outfits.

Up to the present time the foreign commercial intercourse of these north Africans has been largely confined to Europe, and this state of affairs will continue for some time to come. There are two reasons for this: first, because of the flags of the European powers, which float over this country and which are emblematic of the administration control within the far-flung shadows they cast on the earth about. Second, the Europeans are better traders than others, who would be their competitors if they knew how to go about it. Of the quarter of a billion dollars and more worth of merchandise the people of north Africa buy from foreigners, the United States furnishes about one per cent. Of the two hundred millions or more in goods sold abroad by these same people, the United States buys considerably less than two per cent. In this last statement is found another reason as well why the trade of the United States is so small in northern Africa. Freight both ways is a requisite of international trade. Commerce is not so much a matter of gold as it is of barter. He who buys can sell, and so long as the buyer and the seller are one and the same person, he will dominate the situation. This is one of the stumbling-blocks in the path of American commerce abroad. American traders go with their hands full of goods to sell, but with ears closed to the offers of other wares in exchange. Our home markets do not want them, hence we will not buy them. The European will take them even if he has later to find a second market to dispose of what he cannot use at home. It is admittedly easier for him to do this, however, because of the geographical location of his own base of operations.

Africa sells food-stuffs and raw materials. She wants staple manufactured goods and novelties in exchange. The figures of her trade show that she can buy little more than the equal of what she has to sell; hence the advantage to the seller who can distribute with one hand and collect with the other. It is a transaction with two profits, so that both margins can be made smaller, and competition with the single-handed salesman is made easier.

The more primitive these African peoples are, the more they are dependent upon and controlled by the administrative power. The more developed the country and easy of access, the more enlightened and advanced the people, the wider and less restrained is their market. To Egyptians and Algerians the people of the United States sell goods of the kind imported to amounts reaching into seven figures, while virtually nothing is sold in Tripoli, and only a few thousand dollars’ worth in Morocco, countries credited with at least two thirds the population of the first named.

The entire civilized world is vitally interested in the progress made by the European powers in their development of trade in northern Africa, for the time is coming when the benefits to the outside trader will not be apportioned according to nationality, control, or interest, but will be measured by competitive power alone. To bear this in mind is manifestly the greatest feature of modern statesmanship in the making of commercial treaties, for it is necessary to safeguard the future so that when the door opens by reason of pressure from within, there shall be equal chance for all. It was an insistence upon this principle which nearly brought war to Europe through the making of the Moroccan agreement between France and Germany. The latter won her point; she won it not only for herself, but for all others, including the United States, and the importance thereof justified the seriousness of the pourparlers which preceded the actual agreement.

It might be said with apparent justice that those who have borne the burdens of the pioneer should have preference as their reward, but such is not the lot of pioneers in these days of the new internationalism. The commerce and finance of the world is assuming a solidarity that admits of no nationality or preference, no matter what apparent claim one or another people may have upon it by reason of pioneer work in the earlier stages of development and organization.

Not long ago an English acquaintance of mine stopped me in the street in London and asked me what I thought of things in Morocco. He was a man of average intelligence and information, and in business for himself in a small way. The German war-ship _Panther_ was then at Agadir, and there was much talk concerning this bold move on the part of the Kaiser.

“If I was not old,” he said, “I would go to Morocco. I was there fifteen years ago and saw something of the country. There is nothing between the valley of the Nile and Cape Verd that will compare with the wealth and productiveness of Morocco, and with opportunities for trading when Europeans are free to come and go in safety. This Agadir business is the beginning of new days for the land of the Moors. It is a very different country from what we know as northern Africa.”

That is the opinion of “the man in the street” in Europe, and it is the knowledge of the few venturesome traders who have prospected the country as widely as the Moors have permitted. They are a most exclusive people. Four years ago the American consul at Tangier wrote to his Government:

Despite the many centuries of life, Morocco has not been developed;
it is almost virgin territory. Its forests and mines are intact. No
railroads, no electric transportation, no telephones, no telegraph,
the interior a wilderness, where even the sultan dare not go, and
eight to ten millions of people are living in primitive style.
Morocco has a choice climate, fine scenery, great wealth of earth
and sky, vast supplies of precious metals, and the soil has never
been more than scratched by the crude wooden plows of the people--a
soil that will give them three crops a year. There are warm winds and
sunshine for 300 of the 365 days of the year; 300,000 square miles of
fertile farm and grazing land broken by majestic mountains, crossed
by rivers, and bounded by the sea on two sides. There are vast
forests and valuable shrubs, and the sea is generously supplied with
fish.

* * * * *

Foreign adventure has obtained a slight and precarious foothold along the northern and western coasts, where there are excellent harbors. Tangier is the best known to the north, while on the west lie El Araish, Rabat, Casablanca, Mogador, Mazagan, and Safi; but the influence of these places extends barely forty or fifty miles inland. The great inland Northern trade capital Fez, and Marrakesh to the South, are as remote from foreign influence as the customs of the people differ from those of Europeans. Notwithstanding all this, the foreign trade of Morocco last year was over $20,000,000, or seven times that of Tripoli, for the possession of which two European powers calling themselves great are now at war.

The isolation of Morocco to the day, this year, that the French established themselves in Fez, is due absolutely to the self-sufficiency and hostile pride of the Moors, for their country lies in sight of Spain and is only three days from London. In the midst of the stirring affairs of the modern world Morocco has remained in truth a _terra incognita_. The pressure has been too great, however. Such isolation could not last; the advance-guards of the trade army of the world have penetrated the barriers, and with eyes glistening with eager lust of gain have told of what lies beyond. The future is no longer a matter of doubt. The French soldiers now bivouac in Fez, and changes are coming to Morocco even beyond the wildest fears of the warlike and gloomy-eyed Moors. As a rule, a strong foe makes a strong friend. In the degree with which they have so long successfully fought modernization, it is probable they will in time accept the inevitable with equal strength of character, and, aided by the natural wealth of their land, become the strongest and wealthiest of all the countries that bound the continent of Africa on the north, not excepting even that most limited but most fertile of all places on the earth, the valley of the Nile.

It is in Egypt that an effective demonstration has been made of what can be accomplished by an intelligent landlord on a great estate. Here was a country the people of which were living on its ancient monuments and the erratic rise and fall of a great and uncontrolled river. These people have only just learned to laugh, and how could they have done so before, living as they were in the shadows of countless centuries of slave-driving by rulers who took everything from them and did nothing in return?

“What do you think of the British rule?” I asked an Egyptian farmer.

“We pay our taxes only once now,” was the reply he made.

But in that he summed up the evils of past administrations and one of the greatest benefits of the present. The Turkish flag flies over Egypt, but the Khedive is an intelligent man, so he does not take his position very seriously. “England can have Egypt any time she wants it,” say the European diplomats at home. Those on the ground say: “England has Egypt now. Why should she take it twice?” That is the truth. England has Egypt. The Egyptian nationalists would like to have it for themselves, but they will not get it as things are going now. The noisy and talkative politicians who crowd the cafés of Cairo can plot and scheme to their hearts’ content, but there is a force at work apparently beyond their power of comprehension. Mistakes are sometimes made through the stupidity of subordinates, but a quiet and commanding impulse is behind the finances of the country, is applied to the industrial regeneration of the people, and the army is its complaisant ally. Millions of money have been spent to regulate the Nile, and millions more are constantly being added to this fund to bring the land up to the highest point of its marvelous productive power. Here it must be watered and there drained. Thousands of tourists annually visit the monuments and bewail the gradual disappearance of the temples of Philæ as the crest of the Assuan dam rises higher and higher; but for every foot it submerges the temples, it adds thousands of acres to the green fields of Egypt, from which the granaries are filled to running over. It is a symbol of the decline of the old and the coming of the new régime.

Those who come from the centers of civilization elsewhere find it hard to reconcile themselves to this new order of things, for the treasures bequeathed by ancient to modern Egypt are like unto no others in the world, a wonderful and enviable heritage; but they were built at the expense of the people of long ago, and now, when Rameses II lies in the Cairo museum, the descendants of the starved and whip-driven slaves who built his monuments are coming into their own under the paternal eye and assisted by the guiding hand of a new civilization. It was not without a sign, however, that this Egyptian king yielded to the spirit of the present, for, as the story goes, when his mummy was taken from its tomb, the wrappings undone, and the remains placed in temporary position in the museum, one of the horrified attendants saw him slowly raise his arm, as if in protest, from the position it had occupied for centuries. The curator attempted to quiet the fears of the attendant by a scientific explanation as to change of temperature and humidity causing a relaxation of the time-bound muscles, but to this day the more superstitious move with cautious tread in the neighborhood of the glass case in which rest the bones of this builder of wonderful monuments to himself, his wives, and his patron gods. In all of Egypt there is nothing left to tell of anything done for the people. From one end of the land to the other monuments good, bad, or indifferent were built to the glorification of the living when they should come to die. “Tombs of sorts,” as a weary tourist expressed it, but tombs they are, and as the history of Egypt unfolded itself they proved to be in reality more the graves of the hopes and aspirations of a nation and of the hundreds of thousands who died in the building than of the rulers they were meant to glorify. It was not until the Romans came fresh from the oratory of the Forum that a temple was built to the gods of all the people; but even these are few and far between.

Far out in the desert on a still and glorious night I talked with my Arab guide as to the stars and his knowledge of the trail through their guidance. He was struck dumb when I told him I had traveled countless miles in other lands by the same guiding lamps that then looked down upon us.

“I knew you had a moon,” he said, “but I did not know it was the same moon,” and as I looked far out into the silvery desert with its fleeting cloud shadows, and the remoteness of all things elsewhere was borne in upon me, I almost believed with him that it was a moon that shone for Egypt alone, and that he was wise and I was ignorant; for this land, its history, its people, and their problems are like unto no others.

To stand on the edge of the ocean of sand that reaches to the westward hundreds upon hundreds of miles and view the brilliant green meadows of the Nile Valley at one’s feet, watered as it is by the floods generated in the tropic torrents which fall somewhere in the heart of darkest Africa almost beyond the ken of man, is to realize what water means to the twelve million people of Egypt in their struggle for existence. Without it, land is to be had for the asking; with it, the most fertile farm in the corn belt of the Mississippi Valley is to be bought acre by acre, for half the price.

The foreign commerce of Egypt has grown apace as the country has come under the sane and regulating influence of the Anglo-Saxon. The landlord has reaped, and will long continue to reap as his reward, a golden harvest of profitable trade and investment; but he takes none but a natural advantage to himself. The German, the American, the French, and all the other traders of the world are free to come and go and to compete in supplying the wants of Egypt. The growth of the Egyptian trade of other nations has been coincident with that of the British, and the United States trade is no exception to this rule.

In 1911 the United States imported from Egypt $21,700,000 worth of merchandise, or about one sixth of what Egypt has to sell. In the same year the United States sold to Egypt $2,114,000 worth of goods, or about one and a half per cent. of what was purchased. These figures of import and export show a gain in gross amount of nearly one hundred per cent. over the commerce of two years preceding. The producing and absorptive power of the Egyptian people is steadily increasing. They have yet far to go before they reach modern standards, but since their release from the weight of ungoverned Turkish misrule they have shown a recuperative power almost equal to that of the wonderful soil upon which they live. Their trade will increase from year to year, and as it grows larger, the share of the overlord the sultan and his sub-tenant the Englishman will decrease in proportion, and thus it is that in these days of internationalism the welfare of one community is the concern of all even in a most narrow and practical sense--that of markets for the handiwork of man.

On the northwest corner of Egypt is the Gulf of Solum, an indentation of the Mediterranean. A reinforced garrison of Egyptian troops officered by Englishmen is quietly camping there to see that in the excitement of the Italian-Turkish war the eastern boundary of Tripoli shows no sign of advance beyond a certain point. West of that boundary-line two non-resident African landlords are at war for the possession of Tripoli without consulting the wishes of the one million inhabitants of the land, or the millions of their fellow-Mohammedans to the south, west, and east. Turkey was the landlord in possession, Italy the aggressor. The bird in hand this time was loosely held, and will probably be lost to its erstwhile captor; but the bill of damages, only a small instalment of which has yet been paid, to be assessed against the invader will be heavy and the subsequent retention expensive, unsatisfactory, and unremunerative.

To the onlooker the prize does not seem to be worth the price. Setting aside all high-flown expressions such as “control of the Mediterranean” and the like with which the Italian politicians keep up the spirits of the people at home and justify the conduct of the war, expressions which mean nothing, owing to their lack of foundation in truth, the test as to the wisdom of the conquest of Tripoli narrows down to the value of the land itself as a colonial possession.

Tripoli contains over 400,000 square miles of territory on which live about one million people, a population of two and a half to the mile. Most of these people, however, live on a narrow strip along the 1100 miles of coast-line, and the rest find abiding-places in scattered groups among the oases of the desert. As a matter of fact, the entire population of the country lives upon 19,000 square miles, or about one twentieth of the territory of Tripoli. Along the coast, on which there are no very good harbors, with the possible exception of Tobruk, is the low plain of Jefara, about forty miles wide. To the south of this rises the Jebel range of hills, and still farther south extends a plateau over 40,000 square miles in extent, absolutely barren, rocky, and uninhabited. This reaches to Hammada-el-Homra. To the south of Hammada lies the land of Fezzan, a collection of oases in a vast region of sand-dunes and desert. To the eastward lies Tobruk, whose people trade with Egypt. Still on toward the Sahara is Murzuk, formerly the great caravan station between the Mediterranean and Lake Chad, but now, since the trade of this part of the world has been diverted from the north to the mouth of the Kongo, the northern terminal of the great caravan route. Only three European travelers have visited Murzuk in the last twenty years. The green banner of the prophet flies throughout this country, and the brotherhood of the Senussiya is bound together in anti-foreign tenets. Its headquarters are at Kufrah, in the Libyan Desert, and it sends a mission of its own to the sultan at Constantinople, so independent of the government of Tripoli does it regard itself.

There are legends as to the richness and prosperity of Tripoli in the time of the Roman occupation, but that this prosperity has been grossly exaggerated is now well known. The sand-dunes have been creeping over the coastal plain of Jefara until they have reared their dreaded crests within sight of the city of Tripoli. The sultan’s nominal authority has extended even to the Tuaregs, near Ghat, but with the advent of Europeans in the Niger Valley and Hausa Land, the southern portion of Tripolitania, might as well be across the Sahara Desert, so far as the northern coast is concerned. And Tripoli is no longer the gateway to the Sudan or to black Africa. The trade that formerly flowed north and south now goes to Egypt on the east or to Algeria on the west, or, in some instances, to the west coast of Africa.

For the last ten years this quiet but effectual disintegration of commercial Tripoli has been going on until there is little left for the new landlord even should he succeed in establishing his rule and secure acknowledgment thereof. There are no mineral resources, no possibilities in agriculture, and the desolation of the vast, unfertile, rainless area daunts the most intrepid adventure. The problems of centralized government are many and apparently impossible of solution, certainly by the Italians, who know naught of colonial science. To the north the city of Tripoli, with its 50,000 population, is an inharmonious community of Jews, Berbers, Arabs, Maltese, and Levantines, with probably fewer than two hundred genuine Italians among them. Hundreds of miles to the south, separated by rock and desert now seldom traveled, are the Tuaregs, where the women own all property and take plural husbands much for the same economic and social reasons that the Turk has several wives.

Naturally the exports of a country like Tripoli are of the most primitive character, exporting grass, hides, fruit, and a few other things that are found wild or are grown in limited quantities. Her imports are food-stuffs, cotton, and woolen goods, fuel, iron, and steel. Of the exports, half a million dollars’ worth find their way to the United States, and in return a few thousand dollars’ worth of cloths and other manufactures are sold. Of the total foreign commerce, amounting to less than five million dollars, the United States participates to only a fractional per cent., and there is little hope of improvement in the future. English merchants do the largest part of the trading, with France second, Italy third, and Turkey fourth, and both exports and imports hold in about the same proportion as to destination and origin.

It is a relief to cross the Tripolitan border into Tunis and Algeria, the French possessions. Here everything has been done by an intelligent landlord to develop the country and encourage the industry of the people. With an area only half again as large as Tripoli, and even so the larger part desert, a population seven times as great finds a living and occupation. A foreign commerce of 225 million dollars nearly equally divided between export and import slightly exceeds even that of Egypt, and the exchanges of the United States, although a comparatively small trader, amount to nearly two million dollars’ worth of goods. The administration of Algeria and Tunis has cost France many millions of francs, but the task has been well done. In return, however, the people of France have benefited largely, for they supply over eighty per cent. of the imports of these African possessions, and take about seventy per cent. of the exports. The United States sends machinery, oils, and tobacco, and takes the raw products of the country in exchange. Trade is on a stable and safe basis, and the consuming power of the country is increasing rapidly in the direction of manufactured goods and the conveniences of civilized life.

It requires a certain form of genius and a certain temperament to be a successful landlord, and this is even more requisite when governing a far-distant community of foreign people. These qualities have been demonstrated by the French in their control of northern Africa, and, it may be added, to the surprise of the rest of the civilized world, for in their government at home the French people have not shown equal genius or been as successful as they have in Africa. To allow the exercise of autocratic power is perhaps the best way to utilize the virtues of the French temperament.

In general the African continent is in good hands, English, French, and German alike. The natives, as a rule, get justice; their religions and their customs are respected, and they are benefited materially, socially, and even politically as dependencies. In the days of a recent British agent in Egypt who believed in a larger degree of local government than had been allowed by his predecessor, some confusion resulted and things got rather out of hand. Proof was promptly given in the trouble that quickly arose that this was a mistake. When Lord Kitchener arrived on the scene he had many loose ends to pick up and weak spots to reinforce, but he was not long in the mending. His administration has been notably successful so far, and with all the firmness with which he is credited he has also developed a tact not expected even by some of his greatest admirers. He came to Egypt at a difficult time, and to keep his Mohammedan friends neutral, which he has done, while their coreligionists are waging what they term a “holy war” against the Italians to the west of Solum Bay, is not easy. It is told of him that shortly after the beginning of the Italian-Turkish war some of the Arab chiefs of Egypt and the Sudan were keen to go to the assistance of the Tripolitans, and signified their wish to the British agent. Lord Kitchener replied that of course they could go if they wanted to, but whereas they were now free from compulsory military service in the Egyptian army, it would be impossible for him to overlook the value as soldiers of Arabs who had served in actual modern warfare, and that on their return he would have to draw upon them for military service. As this freedom from service in the Egyptian army is one of the much-prized Arab privileges and exemptions, the sheiks, recognizing the possibilities involved, promptly gave up their idea of participating in the war, and have remained neutral, at least so far as not to render assistance to Tripoli openly.