Chapter II: Part 2

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.

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.

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.