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Mitton. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .tocnum {position: absolute; top: auto; right: 15%;} + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Round the Wonderful World, by G. E. Mitton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Round the Wonderful World + +Author: G. E. Mitton + +Illustrator: A. S. Forrest + +Release Date: May 13, 2009 [EBook #28783] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROUND THE WONDERFUL WORLD *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Josephine Paolucci and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<h1>ROUND THE WONDERFUL WORLD</h1> + + +<h3><i>UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME</i><br /></h3> + +<p class="center"> +A BOOK OF DISCOVERY<br /> +<span class="smcap">By M. B. Synge</span><br /> +<br /> +THE WORLD'S STORY<br /> +<span class="smcap">By E. O'Neill</span><br /> +</p> + +<p><a name="front" id="front"></a></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 420px;"> +<img src="images/illus004.jpg" width="420" height="600" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h1>ROUND THE WONDERFUL WORLD</h1> + +<h2>BY G. E. MITTON</h2> + +<h4>AUTHOR OF</h4> + +<h4>"THE BOOK OF LONDON" "IN THE GRIP OF THE WILD WA" ETC.</h4> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus005.jpg" width="500" height="227" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="center">WITH 12 DRAWINGS IN COLOUR AND 120 IN CRAYON BY<br /> + +A. S. FORREST<br /><br /> + + +LONDON: T. C. & E. C. JACK, Ltd.<br /> +35 PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.<br /> +AND EDINBURGH<br /> +</p> + + +<h4>TO</h4> + +<h3>JIM</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span></p> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + +<p> +CHAP <span class="tocnum">PAGE</span><br /> +<br /> +I. <span class="smcap">Which Way</span>? <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_1'>1</a></span><br /> +<br /> +II. <span class="smcap">Really Off!</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_20'>20</a></span><br /> +<br /> +III. <span class="smcap">Fiery Mountains</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_36'>36</a></span><br /> +<br /> +IV. <span class="smcap">The Strangest Country in the World</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_51'>51</a></span><br /> +<br /> +V. <span class="smcap">The Highway of Egypt</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_65'>65</a></span><br /> +<br /> +VI. <span class="smcap">A Mighty Man</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_75'>75</a></span><br /> +<br /> +VII. <span class="smcap">The City of Kings</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_85'>85</a></span><br /> +<br /> +VIII. <span class="smcap">On the Nile</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_95'>95</a></span><br /> +<br /> +IX. <span class="smcap">A Million Sunrises</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_109'>109</a></span><br /> +<br /> +X. <span class="smcap">A Walk about Jerusalem</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_120'>120</a></span><br /> +<br /> +XI. <span class="smcap">The Country of Christ's Childhood</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_139'>139</a></span><br /> +<br /> +XII. <span class="smcap">An Adventure</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_147'>147</a></span><br /> +<br /> +XIII. <span class="smcap">The Gateway of the East</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_153'>153</a></span><br /> +<br /> +XIV. <span class="smcap">The Depths of the Ocean</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_168'>168</a></span><br /> +<br /> +XV. <span class="smcap">A Tropical Thunderstorm</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_179'>179</a></span><br /> +<br /> +XVI. <span class="smcap">A Sacred Tree</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_192'>192</a></span><br /> +<br /> +XVII. <span class="smcap">Unwelcome Intruders</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_203'>203</a></span><br /> +<br /> +XVIII. <span class="smcap">The Capital of India</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_218'>218</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</a></span>XIX. <span class="smcap">To the Death!</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_235'>235</a></span><br /> +<br /> +XX. <span class="smcap">A City of Priests</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_242'>242</a></span><br /> +<br /> +XXI. <span class="smcap">The Golden Pagoda</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_250'>250</a></span><br /> +<br /> +XXII. <span class="smcap">The King's Representative</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_264'>264</a></span><br /> +<br /> +XXIII. <span class="smcap">The Centre of the Universe</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_271'>271</a></span><br /> +<br /> +XXIV. <span class="smcap">On a Cargo Boat</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_278'>278</a></span><br /> +<br /> +XXV. <span class="smcap">Jim's Story</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_291'>291</a></span><br /> +<br /> +XXVI. <span class="smcap">Through Eastern Straits and Islands</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_304'>304</a></span><br /> +<br /> +XXVII. <span class="smcap">The Land of the Little People</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_320'>320</a></span><br /> +<br /> +XXVIII. <span class="smcap">In a Japanese Inn</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_332'>332</a></span><br /> +<br /> +XXIX. <span class="smcap">Thousands of Salmon</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_345'>345</a></span><br /> +<br /> +XXX. <span class="smcap">The Great Divide</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_358'>358</a></span><br /> +<br /> +XXXI. <span class="smcap">On a Cattle Ranch</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_371'>371</a></span><br /> +<br /> +XXXII. <span class="smcap">The Great Lakes</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_382'>382</a></span><br /> +<br /> +XXXIII. <span class="smcap">Old Friends Again</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_388'>388</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Index</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_395'>395</a></span><br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></p> +<h2>PLATES IN COLOUR</h2> + + +<p> +<span class="smcap">The Mighty Seated Figures at Abu Simbel</span> <span class="tocnum"><i><a href="#front">Frontispiece</a></i></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="tocnum">FACING PAGE</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">She is on the point of leaving her Country, perhaps for ever</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_24'>24</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">English Soldiers climbing the Pyramids</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_56'>56</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Jews' Wailing Place, Jerusalem</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_128'>128</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Swaying its lean unlovely Body to and fro in Time with the Tune</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_200'>200</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">A Carpet Shop, Delhi</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_224'>224</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Golden Pagoda</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_256'>256</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">A Burmese Play</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_288'>288</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">A Village built on Piles, Sumatra. Little Brown Boys play about and fish</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_312'>312</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Our Dinner in a Japanese Inn</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_336'>336</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Indians as they are now</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_376'>376</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Falls of Niagara</span> <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_388'>388</a></span><br /> +</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus011.jpg" width="500" height="204" alt="STRANGE BRIDGE AT MARSEILLES." title="" /> +<span class="caption">STRANGE BRIDGE AT MARSEILLES.</span> +</div> + +<h2>ROUND THE WONDERFUL WORLD</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>WHICH WAY?</h3> + + +<p>When you have noticed a fly crawling on a ball or an orange has it ever +occurred to you how a man would look crawling about on the earth if seen +from a great height? Our world is, as everyone knows, like an orange in +shape, only it is very much larger in comparison with us than an orange +is in regard to a fly. In fact, to make a reasonable comparison, we +should have to picture the fly crawling about on a ball or globe fifty +miles in height; to get all round it he would have to make a journey of +something like one hundred and fifty miles. It would take a determined +fly to accomplish that! Yet we little human beings often start off on a +journey round the world quite cheerfully, and it is more difficult for +us than for the imaginary fly, because the globe is not a smooth surface +of dry land, but is made up of jungles and deserts and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> forests and +oceans. There are some places where people can do nothing in the heat of +the day, and others where their flesh freezes like cold white marble in +a moment if they don't take precautions.</p> + +<p>To set out on foot around such a world would be folly, and man has +invented all sorts of ingenious machines to carry him,—trains and +steamers, for instance,—and with their help he can do the journey in a +reasonable time. It costs money, of course, but it is a glorious +enterprise.</p> + +<p>Here, in our own homes, we see pretty much the same things every +day—green fields and trees, cows and sheep and horses, if we live in +the country; and houses and streets and vehicles, if we live in the +town. Everyone we meet speaks the same language; even if we were to go +up to a stranger to ask a question we are tolerably sure that he would +understand us and answer politely. We have cold days and warm ones, but +the sun is never too hot for us to go out in the middle of the day, and +the cold never so intense as to freeze our noses and make them fall off. +The houses are all built in much the same way; people dress alike and +look alike. Someone catches me up there, "Indeed they don't; some are +pretty and some are ugly and everyone is different!"</p> + +<p>Yes, you think that now, but wait until you have travelled a bit, and +seen some of the races which really <i>are</i> different from ours, then +you'll think that not only are British people alike, but that even all +Europeans are more or less so.</p> + +<p>You are not likely to travel? Well, I'm not so sure of that, for I'm +going to offer to take you, and, what is more, you need not bother your +head about expenses, and we will have all the time we want. I am going +to carry you away with me in this book to see the marvels of other +lands; lands where the burning sun strikes down on our own countrymen +wearing white helmets on their heads<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> and suits of snowy white as they +walk about amid brown-skinned natives whose bare bodies gleam like +satin, lands where lines of palm trees wave their long fronds over the +pearly surf washing at their roots. We will visit also other lands where +you look out over a glowing pink and mauve desert to seeming infinity, +and see reflected in bitter shallow water at your feet the flames of +such a sunset glory as you never yet have imagined. Or you can ride out +across the same desert lying white as snow beneath a moon far larger and +more glistening than any you ever see here. You shall watch volcanoes +shooting out columns of fire which roll down toward the villages +nestling in their vineyards below, and you shall gaze at mountains which +raise their stately heads far up into the silent region of eternal snow. +You shall see the steel-blue waves rising in great heaps with the swell +of an unquiet sea. You shall talk to the mischievous little Burmese +women and watch them kneeling before their pagodas of pure gold, and +shall visit the little Japs making merry in their paper houses; you +shall find the last representatives of the grand races of North American +Indians in their wigwams. And these are only a very few of the wonders +of the world.</p> + +<p>Where shall we begin? That requires some consideration. As the world is +not a solid block of level ground we shall have to choose our track as +best we can along the routes that are most convenient, and we can't +certainly go right round in one straight line as if we followed a piece +of string tied round the middle of the earth. Of course we shall have to +start from England, and we shall be wisest to turn eastward first, +coming back again from the west. The eastern part is the Old World, and +the western the New World, of which the existence was not known until +centuries later. It is natural, therefore, to begin with the older part +first. If we do this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> we must start in the autumn so as to arrive at +some of the hottest countries in what is their winter, for the summer is +unbearable to Europeans. So much is easily settled.</p> + +<p>Have you ever realised that Great Britain is an island? I hear someone +say "Silly!" under their breath; it does seem an absurd question, for +surely every baby knows that! Well, of course even the smallest children +have been told so, directly they begin to learn anything, but to +<i>realise</i> it is a different matter. An island is surrounded by water, +and none of us have ever sailed round our own country and made the +experiment of seeing for ourselves that it is so. You have been to the +sea certainly, and seen the edge of our island home, but have you ever +thought of that long line which runs away and away from your seaside +place? Have you followed the smooth sandy bays and the outlines of the +towering cliffs; have you passed the mouths of mighty rivers and so gone +steadily on northward to the bleak coasts of Scotland where the waves +beat on granite cliffs; have you rounded stormy Cape Wrath, and sailed +in and out by all the deep-cut inlets on the west of Scotland, and thus +come back to the very place from whence you started? If you can even +imagine this it gives you some idea of what being an island means. We +are on every side surrounded by water, and nowhere can we get away to +any other country without crossing the sea.</p> + +<p>The very nearest country to us is France, and at the narrowest point of +the Channel there are only twenty-one miles of sea to get over. One way +of starting on our great enterprise is to cross this little strip of +water and take the train across France, right to the other side, there +to meet a ship which will carry us onward. Or we can start in the same +way across the Channel but go much farther on by train, all along Italy +as well as France, and then we can<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> catch the same ship a considerable +way farther on in the Mediterranean.</p> + +<p>Or there is another way, the quickest of all, and the newest; by this +means—after crossing the Channel—we can go the whole distance across +Europe, and Asia too, by train, and come out on the other side of the +world, near China, in about ten days! To do this we should have to get +to Russia first by any European line we pleased, and on arriving at the +town of Moscow change into the train which does this mighty journey. It +starts once a week, and is called The International. It is quite a small +train, though the engine is large. There are only half a dozen coaches, +and one of these is for luggage and another is a restaurant. First-class +people are put two together into a compartment. It certainly sounds as +if that would allow plenty of room, but then if anyone has to live and +sleep and move for ten days in a train, he can hardly be expected to sit +cramped up all the time, he must have some space to stir about in. At +night one of the seats forms one bed and another is let down crossways +above it. There is, alas, no bath, but there is a small lavatory for +every two compartments where we can wash after a fashion. There are even +books provided in the restaurant car, some in Russian, some in French, +some in German, and some in English.</p> + +<p>The journey itself is not very interesting, and we should be glad enough +to get to the end of it I fancy. No, I am not going to allow you to take +me that way, not even if you begged hard! It is very useful for business +men, whose one idea is to save time, but for us who want to see all we +can of this glorious world it would be folly.</p> + +<p>On the contrary, the route I should like to take is the very longest of +all, and that is by sea the whole way, on one of the great liners +running east. The real choice lies between this and the railway journey +across France to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> seaport of Marseilles, or Toulon, according to +which of the great British lines of steamships we choose—the Peninsula +and Oriental, known as the P. & O., or the Orient. I am willing you +should decide between these routes. Think well. In order that you may +understand better what the choice means I will tell you what you will +see if we take the railway journey.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus016.jpg" width="450" height="400" alt="AT CHARING CROSS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">AT CHARING CROSS.</span> +</div> + +<p>We shall have to start one morning from Charing Cross Station in London. +All around us people are carrying bundles of rugs and magazines. Some, +like ourselves, are going far east and they are parting from those who +love them and will not see them again for a long time.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> That fair young +man standing by the carriage door looks little more than a big +schoolboy, but he is going out to India to help to govern there. He is a +clever fellow and has passed a very stiff examination to gain this +position, and he eagerly looks forward to all the new scenes in the life +awaiting him. His charming mother and sister are seeing him off; they +are so much alike they might be mistaken for sisters; they are trying to +talk and joke lightly, but you can see how hungrily the mother's eyes +are fastened on her son, as if she could never see him enough. Rightly +too, for when she meets him again, he will not be the boy he is now. His +face will be browned by the tropical sun, and he will have become a man; +he will have an air of command which comes naturally to a man who lives, +often by himself, in charge of a district, and has to rule and judge and +decide for the dark-skinned people.</p> + +<p>Close beside us there are several men smoking big cigars, and one of +them says loudly, "All right, old chap, I'll bring one back for you next +week; I shall cross again on Monday." He runs over to Paris on business +every week and thinks no more of it than of going to his office in the +morning. A trip to France is very easy when you have the means to do it +comfortably.</p> + +<p>Then we take our seats, and the train steams out of the station, leaving +the crowd on the platform to scatter. After a long run, with no stops, +we reach Dover and go on board a steamer which seems quite large enough +to anyone who is not used to steamers. Our heavy luggage has been sent +on board the big ship which will meet us at Marseilles, so we have only +our handbags to carry. The crossing is quite short, and it is best to +stay on deck if you don't want to be ill. The very first thing to +notice, as we gradually draw away from the land, is the whiteness of the +towering chalk cliffs which stand out prominently near Dover. Often you +must have read of the "white cliffs of Old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> Albion," and if you live in +the north or away from the sea, you must have wondered what they were; +now this explains it all. When the Romans came over from the Continent +they crossed the sea the shortest way, and in approaching this unknown +island were struck with astonishment at the high gleaming white cliffs, +unlike anything they had seen before; they were so much amazed that ever +after the "white cliffs" were the chief feature of Britain in their +eyes.</p> + +<p>There is a break in the cliffs, where Dover now stands, and here the +Romans later on made a port, and a port it has remained to this day.</p> + +<p>If we are lucky in getting a fine day for the crossing we can sit on +deck-chairs, looking at the dazzling milky-blue sea and sky until +someone cries out, "There's France!"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus018.jpg" width="450" height="568" alt="NUMBERS OF EAGER LITTLE PORTERS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">NUMBERS OF EAGER LITTLE PORTERS.</span> +</div> + +<p>You will not be able to make out anything at all at first, because land +does not look in the least what you expect when you see it first from +the sea. You would naturally search for a long dark line low down on the +horizon, but it isn't like that at all. There is a hazy bluish cloud, +very indistinct, and seemingly transparent, but as we draw nearer it +grows clearer, and then houses and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> ships can be discerned, and after a +good deal of manœuvring and shouting and throwing of ropes and +churning up the water with the screw, two bridges are pushed across to +the dock, and numbers of eager little porters, dressed in bright blue +linen suits with very baggy trousers, surround us and implore us to +allow them to carry our baggage.</p> + +<p>"Me Engleesh speaking, sir."</p> + +<p>"Good me, good man me."</p> + +<p>"Baggage carrying me."</p> + +<p>They are here, there, and everywhere, so good-natured, so lively, so +different from the stolid English porters. Their eyes are very bright +and they will take money of any kind, French or English, it matters not +to them.</p> + +<p>We have had to get our money changed on the boat, and that is the first +thing that makes us feel we are really out of England. In exchange for +an English gold pound we get twenty-five—not twenty—French shillings; +these shillings are called francs and are not unlike our shillings at a +first glance, but they are thinner and lighter. Some have the head of +Napoleon, the last French Emperor, on them—these are old; the latest +new ones are rather interesting, for they have a little olive branch on +one side and a graceful figure of a woman sowing seed on the other, so +one can interpret the meaning as peace and plenty. If you change a franc +into copper you get ten—not twelve—pennies for it, and French pennies +look very much like those of England. There are also half-franc pieces +like little sixpences, and two-franc pieces like smaller florins, and +gold pounds called Louis or Napoleons, and half-sovereigns too, but all +the money seems light and rather unreal when one is accustomed to our +more solid coins.</p> + +<p>We walk up the gangway into a large barn-like place, where we meet some +smart-looking men in uniform with pointed moustaches turned up to their +eyes and a fierce expression. They stand behind a shelf, on which all +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> baggage from the boat is put, and we approach this with our bags in +our hands.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus020.jpg" width="500" height="340" alt="PASSING THE CUSTOMS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">PASSING THE CUSTOMS.</span> +</div> + +<p>The official demands in French if we have anything to declare, meaning, +are we bringing across anything which it is forbidden to sell in France, +such as brandy, matches, or cigarettes, for if so we must declare it and +pay something to the Government for allowing us to bring it. We answer +that we have nothing. "Rien, Monsieur," very politely, hoping to soften +his heart, and as we both have honest faces he believes us and scrawls a +chalk-mark on our bags and lets us pass. We are lucky, for now we can go +straight on to the train and get good places before the crowd follows. +Some unfortunate people, however, are caught. One woman who is wearing a +hat with enormous feathers and very high-heeled shoes, has two huge +trunks.</p> + +<p>She tries to slip a five-franc piece into the hand of one of the +custom-house officers. It is a silly thing to do,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> for it at once makes +him think she is concealing something; very loudly and virtuously he +refuses the money, hoping that everyone notices how upright he is, and +then he insists on the contents of her trunks being turned out on to the +counter. Piles of beautiful underclothing are spread out before all +those men; silk and satin frocks come next; numberless dressing-table +ornaments in silver and gold, and little bottles by the dozen; boots and +shoes and books follow, while Madame begins to weep and then changes to +screaming and raving. She is a Frenchwoman who has been staying in +England, but she did not escape any more than an English-woman. How she +will ever manage to get all her finery stuffed back into those boxes +without ruining it I don't know, and we haven't time to wait to see.</p> + +<p>The platform is very low and the train looks in consequence much larger +than an English one, as we have to climb up into it almost from the +ground. It is a corridor train, and the first classes are lined with a +kind of drab cloth, which does not seem so suitable for railway work as +our dark blue colour. The guard sets us off with a little "birr-r-r" +like a toy cock crowing. When we move out of the station at last we find +ourselves going at a snail's pace along a street, and at once we catch +our breath with interest—it is all so strange! Never will you forget +that first glimpse of a foreign land! The very air is different, with a +sharp pleasant smell of wood-smoke in it. Some people say that every +foreign country has its own smell and that they would know where they +were with their eyes shut! This must be an exaggeration, still there is +something in it!</p> + +<p>As the train goes slowly forward a clanging bell rings on the engine to +warn the people to get off the lines, which are not fenced in in any +way. On every side you see neat little women wearing no hats, with their +hair done up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> in top-knots; they are out marketing, and most of them +carry immense baskets or string-bags stuffed with cabbages and carrots +and other vegetables. The children are nearly all dark, with brown skins +and bright black eyes, and they look thin but full of life. The boys +wear a long pinafore or overall of cheap black stuff, and even the +biggest go about in short socks, showing their bare legs, which looks +rather babyish to us. The sun is shining brilliantly, and on most of the +pavements there are chairs set out around small tables where men in +perfectly amazingly baggy corduroy trousers and blue blouses sit and +drink variously coloured drinks. A little boy who was too near the line +is caught away by his agitated mother, who pours out over him a babble +of words, and the child, laughing roguishly, answers her as volubly. Not +one sentence, not one word, can we understand, though we are quite near +and can hear it all. When you remember the painfully slow way you have +learnt <i>avoir</i> and <i>être</i> at school it is maddening to think that this +child, much younger than you, can rattle away in French without any +trouble, and it is still more annoying that when you <i>did</i> think you +knew a little French you cannot make out one single word! French spoken +is so very different from French learnt out of a book! However, for your +comfort you must remember that that little bright-eyed boy, whose name +is probably Pierre or Jacques, would think you very clever indeed to be +able to talk in English.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 133px;"> +<img src="images/illus022.jpg" width="133" height="400" alt="A LITTLE FRENCH BOY." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A LITTLE FRENCH BOY.</span> +</div> + +<p>The houses have a strange look; it is chiefly because every single one +of them, even the poorest, has sun-shutters<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> outside the windows, set +back against the wall; they are of wood, mostly painted green and +pierced with slits. In countries where the sun is hot and strong at +midday the rooms must be kept cool by such shutters.</p> + +<p>When we are once clear of the town the train soon gets up great speed, +and we race through green fields with hedgerows and trees as in our own +land, and yet even here there is something different. It may be because +of the long lines of poplars, like "Noah's Ark" trees, which appear very +frequently, or it may be the country houses we see here and there, which +are more "Noah's Ark" still, being built very stiffly and painted in +bright reds and yellows and greens that look like streaks. At the level +crossings you see women standing holding a red flag furled, for women +seem to do as much of the work on the railways as men; and waiting at +the gates there is often a team of three or four horses, each decorated +with an immense sheep-skin collar, that looks as if it must be most hot +and uncomfortable. Occasionally we catch sight of what looks like a +rookery in the trees seen against the sky; however, the dark bunches are +not nests at all, but lumps of mistletoe growing freely. Rather a +fairytale sort of country where mistletoe can be got so easily!</p> + +<p>We can stay all night in Paris if we like, and travel the next day to +Marseilles, and stay a night there too. That is doing the journey +easily. Many people go right through, running round Paris in a special +train and being carried speeding through France all night. There are +sleeping cars made up like little cabins with beds in them and every +luxury. But it is tiring to travel on continuously in a French train, as +the carriages are made very hot by steam, and French people object to +having the windows open at all, so the atmosphere gets almost +unbearable, according to our ideas.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> + +<p>We shan't have time to see much of Paris if we just stay the night +there, but as we drive through in a taxi-cab we can see how full of life +it is, though at this time of the year people do not sit out at the +little tables on the pavements late in the evening as they do in the +summer. There are taxi-cabs everywhere, and they all pass each other on +the right side, you notice, the opposite side from that which we use; +you will find this in all other foreign countries but Sweden, and in +some Provinces of Austria. Though Great Britain stands almost alone, in +this case she is certainly in the right, for the driver ought to be on +the side near the vehicle he is passing, and also the whip coming in the +middle of the street is less liable to flick anyone than if it was on +the pavement side.</p> + +<p>The hotels in Paris are many and magnificent; when we arrive at one all +gilt and glitter, we ask for small rooms, as it is only for one night, +and are taken up to two tiny apartments simply crammed with furniture. +It is enough to make anyone laugh, for there is hardly room to turn +round. Both are alike. In each the bed is covered with a magnificent +yellow satin brocade coverlet; there is a large arm-chair, which quite +prevents the door of the huge wardrobe from opening. The washing-stand, +which has taps of hot and cold water, is crammed into a corner so that +one can hardly get at it. There is a writing-table with ink and +blotting-pad and everything else for writing, but no dressing-table and +nowhere at all to put one's brushes. Above the mantelpiece is a big +mirror, too high for you to look into, though I can peer round that +immense gilt clock to do my shaving. The rest of the mantelpiece is +taken up with heavy marble ornaments—utterly useless—and gilt +candlesticks. There is a telephone on the wall, and down this we can +give our orders into the hall. Luckily I know enough French to ask for +what we want, though if you stand giggling at me every word will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> go out +of my head when the man below inquires my wishes.</p> + +<p>It is by means of this telephone I order breakfast for us both to be +sent up next morning. All we can get is coffee, or tea, with rolls and +butter and two poached or boiled eggs. You'll have to make this do. It +is the custom here. In France people start with only coffee and rolls +and then go off and do a good morning's work, and come back again to eat +a large meal which is a sort of breakfast and lunch rolled into one, at +about twelve o'clock. It all depends on what one is accustomed to, and +certainly we look very hungrily at the small dish of eggs that appears!</p> + +<p>Meantime I am getting a little anxious about my boots. I put them out +last night to be cleaned, but this is such a large place, with so many +people coming and going, that I began to wonder if they have been taken +to the wrong room; timidly I ask the waiter, who brings the breakfast, +if he can find them. With a knowing smile he stoops down and opens a +tiny cupboard in the wall near the door, and there, slipped in from +outside, are the boots! "Voilà!" he says triumphantly, as if he had just +brought off a successful conjuring trick. Certainly what with the taps +and telephone and trap-doors for boots this hotel is very much up to +date.</p> + +<p>North of Paris we have seen orchards of apple and cherry trees, but +farther south, as we rush along, we get into a land of vineyards, where +rows of little vines are being cultivated on every foot of ground on the +hillsides. By nightfall we reach Marseilles, and if we were going on to +Toulon it would have taken two hours more.</p> + +<p>Marseilles is the largest seaport in France, and is second only to Paris +in size and importance.</p> + +<p>Do you know those preserved fruits which generally appear about +Christmas-time in oval cardboard or long<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> wooden boxes? Have you ever +wondered if they are real fruit, and where they come from? They <i>are</i> +real fruit, boiled and dipped in syrup, though they taste very different +from the same fruit freshly gathered. A great deal of the preserving is +done in France, especially along the south coast, and when we get to +Marseilles we are in the very heart of the business.</p> + +<p>After passing the night in an hotel we have time to wander about a bit +before going down to the docks to find our ship.</p> + +<p>The sun is shining brightly as we turn out after another breakfast, +which only seems to have given an edge to our keen British appetites. +There is a nasty cold wind blowing round corners and buffeting people. +The pavements are very lively; we see women and girls hurrying about +doing household shopping, and boys in heavy cloth capes and military +caps, so that they look like cadets, this is the uniform worn by +better-class schoolboys in France. The French policemen, called +gendarmes, are also in uniform of so military a kind that unless we knew +we should certainly mistake them for soldiers.</p> + +<p>There are stalls set out on the pavements, heaped up with embroidery and +odds and ends, including soap, which is manufactured here very largely. +Bright-eyed girls try to entice us to buy as we pass. One street is just +like a flower garden, lined with stalls piled up with violets and roses +and anemones and other blossoms. Trams follow one another along the +rails in an endless procession. We walk on briskly and turn down a side +street; here at last is what I have been looking for, and well worth +finding it is too! It is a shop with great plate-glass windows; on one +side is every kind of preserved fruit, and on the other a variety of +chocolates, tarts, and expensive sweets. Look at that dainty box filled +with dark green figs, artistically set off by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> sugared violets pressed +into all the niches! These are rather different from the flat, dry brown +figs which is all that English children recognise under that name. +Another box glows with tiny oranges, mandarins they call them here, and +piled up over them are richly coloured cherries shining with sugar +crystals. In the centre is an enormous fruit like a dark orange-coloured +melon, surrounded by heaps of others, while the plain brown chestnuts, +that don't attract much notice, are really the best of all, for they are +the <i>marrons glacés</i> for which Marseilles is famed, and once you have +tasted these, freshly made, all other sweets will seem insipid to you.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 168px;"> +<img src="images/illus027.jpg" width="168" height="400" alt="THE FRENCH POLICEMAN." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE FRENCH POLICEMAN.</span> +</div> + +<p>Inside the shop there are many carefully dressed ladies, daintily +holding little plates, and going about from one counter to another, +picking up little cakes filled with cream and soaked in syrup. They eat +scores of them, and they do it every day and any hour of the day, in the +morning or afternoon or whenever they happen to pass. No wonder they +look pasty-faced! We are only here for once, so we need have no +compunction about our digestions, especially as there is an empty place +left after that tantalising bacon-less breakfast. We are soon provided +with a plate each and a little implement which looks as if it had +started life as a butter-knife and suddenly changed its mind to become a +fork.</p> + +<p>The shop-girls take no notice of what we eat; we can pick and choose +freely, and at the end they trust us to say how many cakes we have had. +We can get here also cups<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> of thick rich chocolate, and, if we wanted +it, some tea, though it is only of late years that French people have +taken to drinking tea at all freely, for coffee is their national +beverage.</p> + +<p>Well, come along, tear yourself away, we must get a cab and go down to +our ship which is at the docks.</p> + +<p>In the cab we pass what is called the Old Port with picturesque rows of +weather-beaten sailing boats; only the sailing boats are allowed to come +in here. Rising up against the sky at the far end of the port is a +curious bridge quite unlike any other you have seen, for the bridge part +is at a great height and there is nothing below by which people or +vehicles can cross over. How is anyone going to take the trouble to +climb up there? How, above all, are carts or carriages going to manage +it?</p> + +<p>You can easily make a rough model to see the principle of this bridge +for yourself. Get a couple of the tallest candlesticks in the house, and +put a stick across them, run a curtain ring on to the stick, and to the +ring attach numerous threads fastened at the lower end to a flat bit of +card or board like a raft. Then, by pushing the ring along the stick, +you can make the raft follow across below. The stick represents the high +bridge, and the raft in reality rests on the surface of the water, and +when the machinery above, represented by the ring, is set in motion, it +rumbles across and draws with it the floating raft, which is large +enough to take a great number of men and vehicles. Every ten minutes or +so this floating bridge passes over from one side to another, and people +pay a sou, which is the French halfpenny, to travel with it. Thus, you +see, when a tall ship comes in she has only to avoid the raft, and she +can sail in beneath the high bridge without any trouble. We could, if we +wished, go up in a lift to the high bridge; but the railings up there +are far apart, and there is a high wind blowing, you are not very big, +and if you slipped<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> between I should have to give up my voyage round the +world; so I think we won't, if you don't mind!</p> + +<p>Besides, we have to catch our ship waiting at the docks, and she will be +off very soon.</p> + +<p>Now that you have heard what we should probably do and see if we went +across France, will you take this journey or will you start from England +and go right round in the ship?</p> + +<p>You answer that though you would like to see the little blue-bloused +porters, and that it would amuse you to think that the little French +boys and girls could speak no English, and though you would certainly +<i>love</i> the <i>marrons glacés</i>, you think, after all, having heard about +it, we might just as well go the other way round, though, of course—the +<i>marrons glacés</i>——</p> + +<p>Sensible boy! Forget about them! We'll go round. In the very next +chapter we'll be up and off in earnest.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus030.jpg" width="450" height="174" alt="OUR OWN POWERFUL AND UGLY IRONCLADS, LIKE BULLDOGS +GUARDING THE FORT." title="" /> +<span class="caption">OUR OWN POWERFUL AND UGLY IRONCLADS, LIKE BULLDOGS +GUARDING THE FORT.</span> +</div> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>REALLY OFF!</h3> + + +<p>It is exciting to start on any journey, even if it is only one we have +done before, but to go off round the world that is a real adventure!</p> + +<p>There are many lines of steamers we could choose to go by, but we will +select for this first part of the journey the Orient Line. The choice +really lies between that and the P. & O., as we have already decided, +and for many reasons it is best to begin with the Orient and join the +other later. The main reason being that I want you to see a little of as +many European countries as possible, and the Orient ships stop at +Naples, in Italy, while those of the other line do not.</p> + +<p>The ships in the Orient fleet all begin with an O; there are the +<i>Otranto</i>, <i>Otway</i>, and many more, but the boat which suits us and +happens to sail on the date we want to start—in the beginning of +November—is the <i>Orontes</i>. She is not the largest ship in the fleet, +having about half a dozen before her on the list, but she is a good ship +and very steady.</p> + +<p>Our jumping-off place is London, whence a special<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> train runs from the +station of St. Pancras down to the docks at Tilbury, where the <i>Orontes</i> +is waiting for us. The long platform beside the train is covered with +people when we arrive there, so that we have some difficulty in finding +seats. If all these people were coming with us we should have a full +ship indeed, but the one half of them is only seeing the other half off!</p> + +<p>The line passes through dreary flat country, and at last we catch sight +of open water and funnels and feel as if we must be right down at the +Thames' mouth, but we are very far from that yet.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus031.jpg" width="450" height="239" alt="THE ORONTES." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE ORONTES.</span> +</div> + +<p>The heavy luggage has all been sent on ahead, and passengers are told +only to bring with them what can be carried in the hand; judging from +the piles of boxes that are tumbled out of the train many of them must +have tolerably large hands!</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 247px;"> +<img src="images/illus032.jpg" width="247" height="400" alt="A STEWARD." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A STEWARD.</span> +</div> + +<p>We pass through a great shed, and coming out on the other side find our +ship there, right up against the dock side. It towers above us, blocking +out the sky as a street of six-storey houses would do. In fact, it is +rather like looking up at a street side, and when we see the sloping +ladder<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> leading to the deck, like those used for hen-roosts but on a +giant scale, we feel our adventure is well begun. Hang on to the +hand-rail, for the wind is blowing hard, and if you went down into the +black dirty water between the ship and the dock there would be very +little chance of getting you out again; even as we climb up something +flicks past us and is carried away, and we see it floating far below; it +is an enormous white handkerchief which the man up there on deck has +been waving to his wife in farewell. It is gone, and it is to be hoped +he has another handy, he'll need it to-day. At the top of the ladder a +man in uniform looks at our ticket and calls out the number of our +cabin. He is so smart and has such a dignified manner we might well +mistake him for the captain, but he is an officer, called the purser, +who looks after the passengers. A bright-faced steward, unmistakably +English, takes possession of us and pilots us down some well-carpeted +stairs, through a large room where small tables are laid for lunch, and +into a very long narrow passage shining with white enamel paint. There +are little doors with numbers on them on one side, and about half-way +along the steward stops and ushers us into our cabin. It is a tiny room. +If you lay down from side to side you could touch each wall with head +and heels, and if I lay down from end to end I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> could do the same, and I +am rather bigger than you! There are two shelves, one above the other, +made up as beds, a piece of furniture with drawers and a looking-glass +in it, a fixed basin such as those you see in bathrooms, and a few pegs +to hang things on, and that is all. Our cabin trunks, which we sent on +ahead, are here before us, and through the open round port-hole we catch +a glimpse of grey water. We are lucky indeed to get a cabin to +ourselves, for in many, not a bit larger than this, there would be a +third bunk or bed, and a stranger would be forced in on us. When we have +settled our things you will be surprised to find how comfortable it all +is, for everything is so conveniently arranged. It is just as well to +put out what we shall want at once while the ship is steady, for once +she begins to roll——</p> + +<p>When we have done this we go back to the saloon, encountering many +people rushing wildly to and fro with bags and bundles, still unable to +find their cabins, having come on at the last minute. In the great +saloon, those who are going ashore are hastily swallowing cups of hot +tea, and just as we arrive a bell rings to warn them to get off the ship +if they don't want to be carried away with her.</p> + +<p>They flock down the gangway while we stand high above, and many +good-byes are shouted, and some are tearful and some are quite casual +and cheerful. Then the gangway is moved, but just before it goes down +with a run there is a shout, and two policemen hurry along the quay +hauling two shamefaced-looking men who are hustled up into the ship +again. They are stokers who fire the furnaces for the engines far down +below in the bowels of the ship. They had signed on for this voyage and +at the last minute tried to slink away, but have been caught and forced +back to their work.</p> + +<p>Now the strip of water widens and very slowly we move from the quay, +being dragged ignominiously backward<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> across the great basin in which we +lie by a diminutive steamer called a tug. We are not out in the river +yet and our own engines have not begun to work. You can understand that +it would be very difficult to load a ship if she stood always in the +river, where there are rising and falling tides, so, to make this +easier, great docks have been built along the river, and in them the +flow of the tides is regulated, so that the water remains always at +pretty much the same level.</p> + +<p>The tug that pulls us across the dock on our way out looks absurdly +small, like a little Spitz dog pulling a great deerhound; but it does +its work well, and presently we glide into a narrow cut between high +walls; this is the lock, the entrance to the dock, and the water is held +up by great gates at each end as required, just as it is on river locks +for boats. Once we are inside the great gates behind us are shut, and +presently those at the farther end open and we see two other little tugs +waiting there to take us in charge. We are going out at the top of the +tide, and if we missed it should have to wait for another twelve hours, +or there would not be sufficient water in the river to float the ship +comfortably. We are still stern first, so if we want to see the fun we +must climb up to the top deck at that end. The wind is blowing a perfect +gale and almost drives us off our feet; it catches the side of the ship +and makes it far harder work for the gallant grimy tugs, which are +pulling and straining at the taut ropes till they look like bars of iron +lying between us and them. They churn the water to a fury, and pour +forth volumes of black smoke; inch by inch we feel the ship moving out; +her stern is dragged up-stream, so that when she is finally swung clear, +her bows are pointing seaward and she is ready to go. It is an exciting +moment when the ropes are cast off, and there is a great deal of running +about and shouting, and then our own engines begin gently but powerfully +to do their work. The screws beneath the stern revolve and we have +started on our long, long voyage!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 424px;"> +<img src="images/illus035.jpg" width="424" height="600" alt="SHE IS ON THE POINT OF LEAVING HER COUNTRY. PERHAPS FOR +EVER." title="" /> +<span class="caption">SHE IS ON THE POINT OF LEAVING HER COUNTRY. PERHAPS FOR +EVER.</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> + +<p>There are no waves in the river; only those who are very nervous will +think about being ill yet awhile, and this is a good chance to examine +the great ship which is to be our home for some time.</p> + +<p>There is plenty of room to walk about on the decks or to play games when +we reach a more summer-like climate. There are many rooms where we can +shelter in the wet and cold weather, a great lounge with writing-tables, +and a smoking-room—and there is no house on earth kept so spotlessly +clean as a ship!</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 257px;"> +<img src="images/illus037.jpg" width="257" height="400" alt="THE CAPTAIN." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE CAPTAIN.</span> +</div> + +<p>When we go down to dinner we sit on chairs that swing round like office +chairs, only they are fixed into the floor, and as they only swing one +way, there are some funny scenes till people get used to them. We have +hardly taken our seats when a very magnificent man with a white +waistcoat and gold shoulder straps and much gold lace on his uniform +comes and sits down too, and smiles and bows to everyone. This is the +captain, and we must be more distinguished than we guessed, for we have +been put at his table, where the honoured passengers usually find seats. +Though this captain has such a kindly smile, a captain can be very +terrifying indeed; he is king in his ship, and has absolute authority; +his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> word is law, as, of course, it must be, for the safety of the whole +ship's company depends on him, and there is the fine tradition, which +British captains always live up to, that in case of any accident +happening to the ship the captain must be the last man to quit her. +Innumerable captains indeed have preferred to go down into the +unfathomable depths with their ships sooner than leave them when they +have been wrecked.</p> + +<p>For several days there are very few people to be seen about, and the +rows of empty chairs at the table and on deck are rather depressing, but +as the weather brightens a little people creep out of their cabins; +white-faced ladies come to lie, rolled in rugs, on the sheltered side of +the deck, and the chairs are filled. Yet it is still a little dismal, +though we tramp sturdily up and down and would not admit it for the +world. The strong wind blows endlessly and the great grey waves are +always rolling on monotonously one after another, one after another, in +huge hillocks. So we plough down the English Channel and across the Bay +of Biscay, which is no rougher than anywhere else, though people ask +with bated breath, "When shall we be in the Bay?" "Are we through the +Bay yet?" as if there was no other bay in all the world.</p> + +<p>Then comes a day when all at once everyone on board seems to wake up and +become alive again. The sun shines in patches along the decks and the +sea is blue and sparkling. We are passing close beside a steep and rocky +coast, and so near do we go that we can see the white waves dashing +against it and even spouting up in sheets of spray through blow-holes in +the cliffs. What we see is the coast of Spain, so we have set eyes for +the first time on another country than our own. There are many other +steamers in this stretch of water, some small and some as large as ours, +some coming and some going. It is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> all much more lively than it was. +Soon we have pointed out to us the place where the battle of Trafalgar +was fought, when Britain won a victory that assured her the dominion of +the seas up to the present time—a battle in which our greatest sailor, +Lord Nelson, was killed in the moment of victory!</p> + +<p>It is the next morning after this that, when we wake up, we find that +the tossing and rocking motion has ceased; it is curiously quiet, the +iron plates that bind the ship together no longer creak and groan as if +they were in agony. We are bewildered. Then in a moment the meaning of +all this flashes upon us. We have reached Gibraltar!</p> + +<p>Coming up on deck we find the scene glorious. The sun is shining out of +a cloudless sky on to a sea so blue that it gives one a sort of pleasant +pain to look at its loveliness. The air is brilliant, as if we were +living at the heart of a crystal. The ship is stealing along so silently +and gently she hardly seems to move, and then she comes to anchor in a +bay that seems to be surrounded on all sides with hills. Some of these +hills, lying rather far away, gleam white in the sunshine; they are part +of the great continent of Africa, and so, though it is only in the +distance, we have set eyes on our first new continent. Towering up +before us, with mighty bulk, is an immense rock, rising bald and rather +awful into the pure sky. Near the summit its sides are completely bare, +seamed by great gashes, and broken by masses of rock that look as if +they might crash down at any moment. Apes live up there, wild +mischievous creatures, who descend to steal from the orchards below, but +are so shy that they are hardly ever seen of men. They are of a kind +called Barbary apes, only found elsewhere in Africa; and it is thought +that perhaps, many ages ago, Europe was joined to Africa at this point, +and that when a great convulsion occurred which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> broke the two asunder +and let the water flow through the Straits of Gibraltar some of the apes +may have been left on this side, where their descendants still are, +sundered for ever from their kinsfolk by the strip of sea.</p> + +<p>About the base of the rock is a little town running up the hill and +brightened by many trees—this is Gibraltar itself, one of the most +famous places in the world. For this alone it is well worth while to +come round by sea.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus040.jpg" width="400" height="296" alt="A BARBARY APE." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A BARBARY APE.</span> +</div> + +<p>Anyone can see at a glance why it is so important. That little strait, +about a dozen miles across, is the only natural entrance by water into +the Mediterranean Sea, which lies all along the south of Europe. At the +other end men have had to cut a way out by means of a canal. If ever +European nations were at war, the nation which held Gibraltar would be +able to prevent the ships of other countries from getting into or coming +out of the Mediterranean. It could smash them with big guns if they +tried, or blow them up. So that even if the country on each side were +flat this would still be an important place; but nature has made here a +precipitous rock, which is a natural fortress, and by great good luck +this belongs, not to the country of Spain, of which it is the southern +part, but to Great Britain. To find out how this is so you must go to +history. Gibraltar has been held by Britain for many<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> years now, and +though the King of Spain is very friendly with Britain, and has married +an English princess, I think he must sometimes feel a little sore over +Gibraltar.</p> + +<p>Lying in a basin on one side of us are some of our own powerful and ugly +ironclads, like bulldogs guarding the fort, and on the other side are +ships of all nations, come on peaceful trading errands or for pleasure +cruises, including a dainty little white French yacht that looks like a +butterfly which has just alighted.</p> + +<p>We go ashore in a launch and are met on the quay by a medley of strange +folk and a great clamour of voices! The men and women are nearly all +dark skinned and black eyed, and yet they are all speaking English after +a fashion. A woman offers us a curiously twisted openwork basket of +oranges, with the deep-coloured fruit gleaming through the meshes, a man +implores us to take some of the absurdly neat little nosegays he has +made up, picture postcards are thrust under our noses, and cabmen wildly +beseech us to patronise their open vehicles. It is a brilliant scene, +full of life and colour and warmth, and the people all seem +good-humoured and jolly.</p> + +<p>Sitting huddled up against a wall, with some odd-looking bundles beside +them, are a group of very poor people; they are emigrants about to leave +their own country for South America. Out there in the bay is the +emigrant ship, and dipping toward her over the open water are several +boats loaded down to the gunwale going out; others have reached her side +and the people swarm up like flies. This group on the quay are awaiting +their turn. A small boy and girl are rolling about in the sun like +little lizards and laughing gaily. The little girl is called Maria and +is about ten years old; she has a tiny scarlet shawl pinned across her +chest, and her bright black hair shines in the sunlight; in her wee +brown ears<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> are little gilt ear-rings, and she is hugging tightly to her +bosom a large and very gaudy doll. It is not exactly the kind of doll an +English child would care about, because its face is the face of an idiot +and it is made of some sort of poor composition stuff; its clothes are +tawdry material of tinsel and stiff muslin, and are pinned on by pins +with coloured glass heads glittering in the sun. Maria thinks it lovely +and shrieks if her young brother Sebastian lays a finger on it. She is +on the point of leaving her own country, perhaps for ever, to travel for +thousands of miles to a land where everything is different from what she +is used to; but she is as unconscious of this as if she were a little +kitten, and as long as she can roll in the sunshine and hug her doll, +the first she has ever possessed, the thought of the morrow does not +trouble her soul.</p> + +<p>Her home lies far away in the interior of Spain, and her parents have +travelled to Gibraltar in carts and then in a marvellous thing called a +train which made the children shriek with delight when it moved off +without horses. Maria and Sebastian were brought up in a hovel with a +mud floor, and only one room, shared with the donkey and the goat. They +were never taught to obey, or to have their meals at regular hours, or +to go to bed at night at a particular time; they ran in when they +pleased, clamoured for something to eat or drink, or else fell down on a +bundle of rags in the corner and were sound asleep in a moment. They +often slept in the heat of the day and were up almost all night +listening to a neighbour playing the guitar, or singing and rollicking +with other children. Their usual drink was sour red wine made from +grapes grown on the neighbouring hillsides after all the best juice had +been already pressed out of them. This the peasants bought in immense +bottles, swollen out below like little tubs, and cased in wicker-work +with handles which made them easy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> to carry. In every hovel there was a +bottle like this. To match it there was an enormous loaf of +dark-coloured bread, made flat and round as a cart-wheel or a small +table; bits of this were chopped off as required, and when Sebastian and +Maria cried out they were hungry they had a lump of bread and sip of +wine given to them, and then they became quite happy again. Sometimes +they had olives with their bread, or chestnuts, or a salad made from +herbs growing by the roadsides, and they had oranges very often and +goat's milk cheese. On high days and festival days they had sometimes +very thin hot cabbage soup out of a great black pot that boiled over a +few sticks; they dipped their bread into it or supped it up out of large +flat wooden spoons, wrinkling their little noses meantime because it was +so hot. A grand treat was a purple or crimson pomegranate given by a +kindly neighbour.</p> + +<p>When Maria was about seven the whole family moved into a town where the +narrow streets were always dark between the tall thin houses. It was +much more exciting here than in the country; there was always something +to see, and in the evenings the whole place was like a bazaar with +people coming and going, and shows and entertainments open half the +night. On festival days the streets were gay with lanterns, and festoons +of coloured paper and flags were waved until the children thought it +like heaven.</p> + +<p>Then came a talk of crossing the sea. Some members of the family and +very many friends had already made a journey to a far-away country +called Argentina, and others were thinking of going. It seemed that in +that land, which was as sunny and warm as their own, there was more +money to be made than in Spain, and as party by party made up their +minds and set off in one of the great emigrant ships Maria's father grew +more gloomy and unsettled, until at last, by one means or another, he +had scraped together enough money to pay for their passages,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> and then +they all started on the great adventure, even a greater one than our +going round the world.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 406px;"> +<img src="images/illus044.jpg" width="406" height="450" alt="A FLOWER SELLER AT TOULON." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A FLOWER SELLER AT TOULON.</span> +</div> + +<p>It is only a couple of days after leaving Gibraltar that we reach Toulon +in good time in the morning. We anchor well outside the splendid bay, as +Toulon is one of the most important French ports, and no prying eyes are +wanted there. In the little steam-launch we run past the huge +battleships <i>La Verité</i>, <i>La Republique</i>, and others lying solidly in a +row manned by French sailors with little red top-knots on their flat +caps. Then we see the beautiful range of high hills surrounding the bay, +and are landed on the quay. The market is one of the most interesting +things here, and we are lucky to be in time for it. Up a long narrow +street are lines of open-air stalls covered with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> masses of fruit and +vegetables. The natty little Frenchwomen who sell them almost all wear +blue aprons and black dresses, and have little three-cornered shawls +over their shoulders.</p> + +<p>Look at that bunch of celery there, it is monstrous—the size of a +child! Everything seems on a huge scale; there are artichokes on great +stalks, melons gleaming deep orange-red and too large for any but a man +to lift; scattered all about are bunches of little scarlet tomatoes not +much bigger than grapes. But the oddest thing to us are the bunches of +fungi, tawny-coloured, piled up in heaps, and evidently very popular! +There are squares of matting covered with chestnuts, and whelks, like +great snails, sticking out their horns and crawling over each other in a +lively way. A strange medley! The flowers are lovely; you can buy a big +bunch of violets for a son, and sou is the peasant word for a halfpenny. +Gladiolus, anemones, roses, and mignonette fill the air with fragrance. +It is a beautiful place this market.</p> + +<p>After lunch we stroll down to the quay again and wander idly about +looking at the people until the launch comes to take us back to the +steamer. There is a huge fat man seated on a low stool cleaning the +boots of another man equally stout. Wedged into the corner beside them, +so that they cannot stir, are two small white boys with thin pathetic +little faces. As we watch we see the boot-cleaning man, who has a cruel, +mean expression, pull hold of the little tunic of the nearer one, and +point to a smear upon it, then deliberately he raises his large hand and +smacks the child hard across the cheek. The little chap makes no effort +to escape,—he evidently knows it is hopeless,—he only crooks a thin +little arm over his cheek as he shrinks back. Deliberately the great man +holds down the thin little arm and strikes him again with savage force. +It is sickening! If we interfere the child will probably<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> only get it +worse afterwards. There are a few brutes like this who make their own +children's lives a misery, though mostly French people are very kind. +The children look so ill and pale, too, they probably don't get half +enough to eat.</p> + +<p>"May I get them some sweets?"</p> + +<p>Happy thought! We passed a shop a minute ago. Here, wait a second, say +to the father in your best French this sentence—</p> + +<p>"Ils sont à vous, ces garçons, Monsieur? Très beaux garçons!"</p> + +<p>You see you have put him in a good humour, he is pleased, though the +poor little chaps are very far from being "beaux." They seem almost too +stupefied to understand the sweets, but they know the way to put them in +their mouths.</p> + +<p>While we are waiting on the tender before it starts we see a different +set of little boys; one, a delicate, pretty-looking little fellow, about +your age, but not nearly so tall or strong, raises his cap and begins in +English, "Good-day, Monsieur." His little companions sit around in awe +at his knowledge and audacity. His name is Pierre, he tells us, and that +badly dressed sturdy little boy with a sullen face is Louis. Pierre +tries to make conversation in our own language to entertain us. "Are you +to Australie going?" he asks. We tell him we are going first to Egypt. +"Monter au chameau!" he cries excitedly, going off into a gabble of +French and beseeching us to take him with us as "boy." We tell him that +he is too small and that it costs much money. "Have you money—English?" +he asks. He is very much interested when we show him half a crown and +explain that it is equal to three francs of his own money. Then he +catches sight of some English stamps. "Timbres!" he cries, and then, +with a great effort, "I college," meaning "I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> collect." We give him a +halfpenny stamp, which he carefully puts away in a battered purse +already containing two French pennies. Louis, who has been giving +convulsive hitches to his little trousers, which threaten to part +company altogether with the upper garment, bursts in eagerly, asking us +to give him a penny, adding solemnly: "Ma mère est morte," as if the +fact of his mother being dead entitled him to demand it. We explain that +it is not polite to ask for money. "Cigarette," he then says promptly. +We tell him that in England the law forbids boys under sixteen to smoke, +whereat they all shriek with laughter. So we add that Englishmen want to +grow up tall strong men, and if they smoke as boys they won't, whereupon +they grow grave again and nod their little heads wisely.</p> + +<p>The waves are quite wild out in the bay and we have considerable +difficulty in jumping on to the slippery step at the foot of the long +gangway up the ship's side. Hanging on with a firm grip we struggle +upward, and when we reach the top we see the little French boys waving +their good-byes to us from the tender, Pierre bowing gracefully, cap in +hand, Louis with his disreputable air of being a little ragamuffin and +rejoicing in it.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus048.jpg" width="450" height="225" alt="A STREET IN POMPEII." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A STREET IN POMPEII.</span> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>FIERY MOUNTAINS</h3> + + +<p>Do you learn Physical Geography? I did when I was in the schoolroom, but +it is quite likely to have been given up now, or perhaps it is called by +some other name. It sounds dull, but is not really, at least there was +one part of it that interested me immensely, so much so that that +particular page was thumbed and dirty with being turned over so many +times. This was the page on which volcanoes were described. I never +thought I should see a volcano, but the idea of these tempestuous +mountains, seething with red-hot fire inside, and ready to vomit forth +flames and lava at any time appealed to the imagination. This lava, it +seemed, was a kind of thick treacly stuff, resembling pitch, which ran +down the mountain-sides boiling hot and carried red ruin in its track. +It seems nothing less than idiotic for people to live on the slopes of a +volcano where such an awful fate might overtake them at any time, yet +they not only <i>did</i> so but still <i>do</i>.</p> + +<p>One of the reasons why we came by the Orient line is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> to see Naples, +which stands almost under the shadow of one of the best-known volcanoes +in the world—Vesuvius.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus049.jpg" width="450" height="213" alt="VESUVIUS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">VESUVIUS.</span> +</div> + +<p>We arrive at Naples early in the morning and are the very first to be up +and out on deck. The bay has been called one of the most lovely to be +seen anywhere, but to-day at least it is disappointing, for there is no +sun and only a dull grey drizzle, which carries our thoughts back to +England at once.</p> + +<p>The houses of the town rise in tiers up the hillside, very tall and +straight, and seem to be filled with innumerable windows.</p> + +<p>However, it is not the view of Naples itself which is called so +beautiful but rather that of the bay <i>from</i> Naples, especially on a blue +and golden day, and that we have no chance of seeing. On one side of the +bay rises the mighty mountain whose furious deeds have made him known +and respected all over the world. There is a heavy cloud hanging around +his crest so that we cannot see the crater; the cloud looks as if it +were composed of smoke as much as anything else, for even yet Vesuvius +is terribly alive.</p> + +<p>We get a hasty breakfast, for though we are going to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> here till late +afternoon, there is much to see, and we have no time to spare. Then we +get into a little launch and steam past all the great ships lying at +anchor. On the quay we find ourselves in a great crowd of grey uniformed +soldiers, many of them mere lads, carrying their kit, and drawn up in +lines waiting their turn to march on board the towering troopship +anchored alongside, while some of them wind up the gangway like a great +grey snake. Those already in the ship are letting down ropes to draw up +bottles of wine or baskets of fruit from the women who sell such things. +Within a short time Italy has become mistress of Tripoli, a country in +Africa, and now she is finding she will have to garrison it in order to +hold it; and though it costs her a great deal of money she is sending +out many of her young soldiers to guard the new possession.</p> + +<p>We get some money changed on the quay, receiving in exchange a number of +lire; the lira is very like a franc and corresponds with it and the +English shilling, though a little less in value.</p> + +<p>This done we walk along the front to the station. Many of the streets +are high and broad with splendid houses lining them. In them are men +busily at work washing away the mud with long hose pipes mounted on +little wheels, so that they look like giant lizards or funny snakes on +legs running across the streets by themselves, and as much alive as the +well-known advertisement of the carpet-sweeper and Mary Ann!</p> + +<p>Other streets are very narrow and filled with people buying and selling. +There are swarms of children rolling about in the filth of the roadway; +they are dressed in rags and their bodies show through the large holes. +They are often playing with old bones or pebbles. Their faces are +sometimes quite beautiful, rich golden-brown in colour, and their great +velvety brown eyes look so sweetly innocent you would be easily taken in +by them; but they are terrible<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> little rogues and would beg from you or +steal if they got the chance. Here and there are shops where macaroni is +sold; it is ready boiling in great pans; this and cakes made of a kind +of flour called polenta are the chief food of the Italians. The macaroni +is made out of flour mixed with water to a stiff paste and squeezed +through holes in a box till it comes out in long strings. It used to be +made in all the dust and dirt of the villages, and is still often to be +seen hanging over posts there to dry, but there are now large +manufactories where it is made quite cleanly by machinery; we shall see +some as we pass on our way to Pompeii, where we are going. There is one +pleasant thing to notice, namely, wherever you look you see flowers +growing; the larger and better-class houses have balconies filled with +broad-leaved plants and creepers, and the very poorest people living +high up towards the sky have window-boxes filled with flowers.</p> + +<p>At the station we find a little train, like a tram, with red velvet +cushions, and while we sit and wait for it to take us to Pompeii, the +city buried by Vesuvius, the rain falls softly and steadily. Presently +the stationmaster and his assistant step out gingerly along the +uncovered platform, holding umbrellas over their uniforms, and give the +word of command, and very slowly we start, and jolt along, stopping +frequently. We pass through market gardens first and then through +endless vineyards, in many of which the clinging vines are not propped +up on sticks, but merely looped from one poplar tree to another, for the +trees are growing in straight rows and form a natural support. This +ground is particularly good for vines, for the lava which has been dug +into the soil is peculiarly fruitful.</p> + +<p>There are little white box-like houses amid the vines, and they are hung +all over with bunches of brilliant scarlet fruit, which, when we get +near enough to see, we find to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> tiny tomatoes. Other houses have +pumpkins also and melons and chillies, all hanging out to get dried, so +that they look quite decorative with their strange adornments. Suddenly +our attention is called to a broad strip of black earth, in shape like a +river, flowing down the hillside, but made up of huge blocks as if it +had been turned up by a giant ploughshare. This is a lava bed made by +the last great explosion of Vesuvius in 1906, when the lava ran down in +molten streams, tearing its way through the vineyards and sweeping +across the railway lines; at that time two hundred people were killed. +An enterprising firm has run a little railway to the very top of +Vesuvius, and anyone who cares to do so can go by it and peep into the +awful crater at the summit, and a cinematograph operator has recently +been down one thousand feet into the crater to take films for +exhibition. When Vesuvius is in a bad humour and has growled and +grumbled for some days, people are not allowed to go up to the top lest +he vomit forth his fury even while they are there and overwhelm them.</p> + +<p>While we are on the way to Pompeii I will tell you something of the +fascinating story.</p> + +<p>Many years ago, long before the people on our islands were civilised, +when Britons ran about dressed in skins and floated in wicker-boats +covered by skins, there were intelligent and refined people living all +round the base of Vesuvius; they knew, of course, that the mountain was +a volcano, but there had never been any very terrible explosion that +they could remember, and, anyway, the slopes of the mountain where the +towns stood extended so far from the crater that no one thought it +possible for any great disaster to happen. The two principal towns were +called Herculaneum and Pompeii. The people there dressed in lovely silks +and satins; they had beautifully built houses filled with statues and +pictures:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> the women wore costly jewellery; they had plenty of +amusements, for they danced and sang and visited each other, and had +stalls at the amphitheatre, and supported candidates at political +elections, and gossiped and drove in chariots, and lived and loved. They +thought, as we all do in our turn, that they knew everything and that no +one could reach so high a pinnacle of civilisation as they had reached. +This was only about fifty years after Christ's death on the cross, and +the Christians were still a comparatively small and despised band.</p> + +<p>Well, one day there was a certain amount of uneasiness felt, for a +curious black cloud had formed over Vesuvius, and it was not quite like +anything that had ever been seen before; people also spoke of strange +rumblings in the bowels of the earth, and there was an oppressiveness in +the air which alarmed the timid. Then came terrifying noises, cracklings +and explosions, and a fine dust filled the air and began settling down +everywhere; no sooner was it brushed off than there it was again; it +penetrated even close shut houses, and filled the hinges so that the +doors would not open easily. The rich people began to make arrangements +to get away, but before they could carry them out awful confusion fell +upon them; day was turned to night, the clouds of dust fell thickly and +chokingly, stifling men as they ran; volumes of lava poured forth, +sweeping like fiery serpents down the mountain-side; they rushed over +Herculaneum, which was not far from Pompeii, so that while the one city +was boiled the other was smothered. Curses and prayers alike were no +avail. Men were caught and choked, houses were silted up, and the whole +district was buried.</p> + +<p>Years passed and the tradition of the destroyed cities remained; it was +known that they were thereabouts, but so completely had the mountain +done its work that no one knew exactly where, and it was only +comparatively<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> recently that money was subscribed and the work of +unearthing them began. By the railway we have passed through +Herculaneum, and here we are at Pompeii. Now you shall see what this +city of two thousand years ago was like.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus054.jpg" width="450" height="258" alt="A HOUSE IN POMPEII." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A HOUSE IN POMPEII.</span> +</div> + +<p>The station is close to it, and as we step out of the train we go almost +immediately into the gates of the once buried but now uncovered city, +which is one of the wonders of the world, attracting people across +leagues of sea and land.</p> + +<p>We find ourselves in a long narrow street lined by roofless houses. The +stones which form the pavement are uneven and much worn, the foot-walks +on each side are raised very high, because in wet weather these streets +were mere torrents and the water rushed down them. Here and there are +stepping-stones, to enable people to cross from one side to the other. +It would have been impossible in most places for two chariots or carts +to pass one another, and we wonder how they managed. As a fact, the +Pompeians did not use wheeled vehicles much,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> but chairs or palanquins, +and the men went on horseback. There are many open counters beside the +street, showing that these buildings were used as shops, and in one or +two are large marble basins hollowed out where the wine which was sold +was kept cool. Along the side of one house is a gaudily painted serpent, +signifying that an apothecary, or, as we should say, a chemist, lived +here.</p> + +<p>We can go into one of the better-class dwelling-houses and we find that +it was built around a courtyard or central hall, and we can peep into +the sleeping-rooms, which, in spite of all the luxury of the +inhabitants, were mere little dark cupboards with no light or air. Well, +so they were in our castles until quite recently! There was a garden +behind the hall in all the better-class houses, and this had almost +always a tank for gold-fish; we can see it still; but all the little +personal things that have been unearthed—the jewellery and household +utensils and even the statues—have been taken to the museum at Naples +for safe keeping, which is a pity, as the streets and living-rooms seem +bare and cold and we need a good deal of imagination to picture them as +they must have been.</p> + +<p>Here at last is something that makes us start and brings back the awful +scene of death and dismay. In a deep recess by a doorway are six +skeletons, lying in various attitudes, left exactly as they were found. +These people had been caught; they were hurrying, evidently to get out +of the outer door, and finding it had been silted up by dust and that +they could not open it, had turned back, too late, and been smothered! +There they lie now, nearly two thousand years after, just as then.</p> + +<p>There were about two thousand skeletons thus found and taken away—only +these few were left to give visitors some idea of the tragedy that +happened. The sticky dust and ashes which poured down upon the doomed +city reached a depth of twenty-six feet, and they encased<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> everything in +a kind of crust. Dogs and cats were caught in this way, and even little +lizards, such as those that live in the cracks of the walls in Italy to +this day; and though their bodies had decayed away long before they +could be dug out, yet the exact impression remained, and in many cases, +by pouring soft plaster into the holes, men have reproduced to the life +the poor little wriggling body that was caught in such a terrible +prison! You can imagine what great value it has been to historians to +find the things used by people so long ago. In most cases customs change +gradually; the implements and utensils which one generation use are +broken and lost and replaced by new fashions, but here, in one lump, +stamped down hard for ever, are the things caught in a second of time +and held in an iron grip while the years rolled by.</p> + +<p>Passing on we find a small temple to the Egyptian god Isis, and this was +the very first object to be discovered. Some men quarrying for stone +struck upon it and thus the long-lost site of the town was found. Then +we see the public baths with all the arrangements for heating the water; +the Pompeians, like the Romans, were very fond of bathing. But it is the +little things of everyday life that impress us most, and we are brought +up suddenly by seeing on a wall a poster of the day advocating the +return of one particular candidate to what was the Pompeian Parliament. +This carries us right back into the midst of them! So does also that +drinking-fountain by the street side, where the marble has been worn +hollow by the hands of those who leaned on it as they stretched forward +to drink at the spout!</p> + +<p>We can walk through the market-place where the people bought and sold, +and look down into the great amphitheatre where the shows which they all +loved were held; but as our ship leaves at four o'clock we shall have to +tear ourselves away and hurry back along the little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> line again, running +round the base of the sullen brooding mountain which may at any time +hurl down his thunder-bolts on the vineyards which still creep up his +sides. Past Herculaneum, now partly unburied, and so to gay Naples, +where the sun is breaking out.</p> + +<p>On the quay we see barrows covered with a curious flesh-coloured fruit +about the size and shape of a large pear, and this is quite new to us. +We discover these are called Indian figs; but why Indian? They are grown +here and are a popular native fruit. They are covered by a thick skin, +easily peeled off, and are full of juice and very large pips; they have +a sweetish rather sickly taste, but one can imagine they must be a great +boon to the poor Italians who can get a good refreshing drink for almost +nothing.</p> + +<p>Once aboard we discover that something has gone wrong—a propeller has +dropped a blade and the ship will not start for some hours. We might +have stayed longer in Pompeii after all!</p> + +<p>There are compensations for everything and soon we find that this delay +is going to be a good one for us, for it will enable us to see two other +volcanoes which otherwise we should have missed in the darkness.</p> + +<p>We ask the night-steward to wake us in time for the first, and it seems +as if our heads had hardly touched the pillows when we hear his voice at +the door, "Stromboli in sight, sir!" It is cold and we are very sleepy; +grumbling, we make our way to the front of the deck below the bridge, +and suddenly, in the blackness ahead, there shoots up a short straight +column of fire like that from the chimney of a blast furnace. It +disappears as quickly and quietly as it came, and odd bits of flame, +like red-hot cinders, roll this way and that, then all is black again. +As the sky quickly lightens we see outlined against it a cone or +pyramid, and from the summit there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> shoots out another column of flame, +to disappear almost instantly.</p> + +<p>"Stromboli sky-rocketing," says the voice of one of the officers on the +bridge above.</p> + +<p>All the time we are gliding nearer and nearer to the wonderful mountain, +when, with an amazing swiftness, up flashes the sun, sweeping rays of +colour over the sky, changing it from pale primrose to fiery orange, and +there, black against it, is a little island so neatly made that it +appears an exact triangle with a bite out of one side near the top. +Stromboli is one of a group of little islands. What had appeared as +flame in the darkness shows at the next eruption to be a puff of smoke +from which burning lumps fall on the rocky sides and down the +precipices. This happens about every quarter of an hour. The sea +meantime changes to vivid blue. We are quite close now and can see tiny +white houses nestling on the edge of the island amid clusters of green. +What happens to the people if the boiling lava rolls down through their +vineyards and into their houses? There is no one to answer that +question. Perhaps it never gets so far, perhaps Stromboli has not yet +shown himself to be a fierce volcano, but limits his eruptions to angry +splutterings which beat on the scarred precipices of the steep sides +above the dwellings of the people,—anyway, I don't think I should care +to live there, just in case——</p> + +<p>We awake suddenly from our intent gazing to find ourselves the +laughing-stock of a crowd of decently dressed men and women who have +come up in the daylight, properly clad, and there are we in +dressing-gowns, not over-long, and slippered feet! But no one minds +these little mishaps on board ship, and with dignity we pass through to +our cabin, smiling and feeling very superior to have seen so much more +than the lie-abeds!</p> + +<p>As it happens, it is Sunday morning and a very different<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> day from +yesterday, with bright sun and a clear sky. As a rule there is service +on board ship on Sundays, but to-day we are just going to pass through +the Straits of Messina, and the captain must be on the bridge the whole +time, and there is no clergyman to take the duty for him, so we can't +have it. But we could hardly pass a Sunday better than in admiring the +marvellous beauty which God has given to us in this world for our +delight.</p> + +<p>It is about four hours after passing Stromboli that we enter the straits +which separate Sicily, the three-cornered island, from Italy, which +seems to be kicking it away with the toe of its foot. Land begins to +close in on us, and in the dazzling sunshine it appears radiant, while +the sea is a mirror of blue. On both sides we see houses and villages +built on the sloping shores, but the interest heightens when we come +close abreast the great town of Messina which, on the 20th of December +1908, suddenly became world-famous owing to the awful misfortune which +befell it. All educated people knew Messina by name previously, but it +was not until the Italian wires flashed the story of the earthquake +which had wrought destruction so swiftly and dramatically that it will +always be ranked as among the most appalling that ever happened, that +everyone with one consent turned their attention to Messina, and the +eyes of the whole world were focused on it. The suddenness of the +calamity was the most terrible feature of it. It was early in the +morning when the earth shook and heaved and raised itself, and in about +four minutes, what had been a happy prosperous town was reduced to a +smoking ruin, a shambles of dead bodies, and a hell on earth for the +miserable beings who lived in it! Almost all the houses fell together; +whole streets of them collapsed like a pack of cards, and the shock was +so tremendous that in many cases even the bricks and stone of which they +were made were ground to powder. Tens<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> of thousands of people were +buried before they could get into the streets, and their own houses, +where they had been happy and miserable, had been born or married or +suffered, were turned into their tombs. Those who were killed outright +were not the most unfortunate, for others were caught by a limb beneath +falling stones, or crushed and held yet living, and their direful +shrieks of agony added to the horrors, for there was none to help them, +all were in the grip of the same misfortune. To add to the disaster +flames broke out from the ruined houses, and the city was lit by the +lurid light of fire rising to heaven. No one will ever know how many +hapless creatures were burnt to death! There was no possibility of +working the telegraph wires, and the people left alive simply had to +wait for help till help came. And meantime volumes of water, disturbed +by the change of sea-level, rolled in upon the land!</p> + +<p>Directly the news startled the whole civilised world, ships of all +nations, which happened to be anywhere near, hastened to the rescue. +Camps were hastily run up and the survivors taken to them, food was +supplied to all who needed it, the wounded and maimed were attended to, +and wherever possible those who were still living in the ruins were dug +out and set free. But, as you may imagine, this was a work of great +danger, because dragging out a beam or stone often sent a shattering +avalanche down on the top of the rescuers.</p> + +<p>The number of those destroyed can never be known certainly, but it is +estimated at somewhere about 200,000, for Messina is a large town. +Charitable people sent subscriptions from all quarters; money flowed in; +those children who had lost their parents, and even in some cases their +names and identity, being too small to give any account of themselves, +were placed in kind homes and provided for, and those who were +completely crippled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> assured of support; others were given the means to +start life once more. It is difficult to imagine that all this happened +only a few short years ago now; even though we are quite close to +Messina, and have the use of a very fine pair of field-glasses, it is +difficult to make out any of the mischief. It appears as if the houses +had been rebuilt, warehouses and chimneys stand as usual, and the great +viaduct spans the valley; but those who know say that this is only a +good face seen from the sea, and that ruins still lie in quantities +behind. In the memories of those who passed through the earthquake there +must be a shuddering horror never to be forgotten, a black mark passing +athwart their lives and cutting them into two parts—that before and +that after the catastrophe.</p> + +<p>Farther on more little villages appear, some looking just like a spilt +box of child's bricks tumbled any way down a mountain spur. Then we +catch sight of the great majesty of Etna, the third volcano we have seen +in two days, and we stand lost in admiration of his pure beauty.</p> + +<p>The smoothness of the eternal snow glows like a silver shield on the +breast of the giant peak. Far below are vineyards, olive groves, +orchards, and orange and lemon groves, for Sicily is celebrated for +these fruits. Above them are beech-woods, so deep and dark that they are +seldom penetrated even by the peasants; beautiful as the beech is, it is +a poisonous tree and nothing can live beneath its shade.</p> + +<p>It is all so smiling and peaceful on this serene Sunday morning that we +can hardly believe that in Etna too there lies the raging demon of +mighty force. Even as we watch a faint puff of pure white smoke, so thin +that it might be mistaken for a wisp of cloud, floats away from the peak +into the infinite blue, and we know by his breath that the demon is not +dead but only sleeping.</p> + +<p>"Lucky indeed to get Etna clear of clouds," says one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> of the passengers +near us. "I've been through the Straits a score of times and I've hardly +ever seen it as you are seeing it for the first time to-day."</p> + +<p>Volcanoes and earthquakes are closely connected. There lies within this +world of ours an imprisoned power of vital heat, which now and again +bursts through at weak places in the crust. Geologists tell us that +these weak places may be traced in long lines on the earth's surface, +and along one of them lie the volcanoes we have seen. But the laws which +govern the earthquake and the volcano are hardly yet understood, even +to-day.</p> + +<p>After calling at another little Italian port for the mails, we do not +stop anywhere for the next few days, but steam along steadily, making up +for lost time. We have seen something of the southern part of our own +continent of Europe. We have landed in Spain at Gibraltar, we set foot +on French soil in Toulon, where the steamer called to take on passengers +from across France, we have visited Italy at Naples, and these are the +principal countries which line the huge land-locked sea. In old times +the whole civilised world centred around the Mediterranean, and Rome, +which is now the capital of Italy, dominated it all, making one mighty +empire. The dominion of Rome reached far northward to our own islands, +and she was so secure and supreme in her power that it never entered the +heads of the Romans then living that some day the whole empire would be +split up and distributed. Their dominion reached even to Egypt, where we +are now going, and to the Holy Land, which we shall visit afterwards; +their fleets covered the sea, their armies strode hot-footed across the +land, making broad ways that passed over hill and valley without pause +or rest, yet now the empire of Rome is but a name.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus063.jpg" width="450" height="318" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>THE STRANGEST COUNTRY IN THE WORLD</h3> + + +<p>Looking down from the deck of the <i>Orontes</i> it seems as if we were +peering into the folds of a black gauze curtain, between which demons +from the pit rush yelling to and fro. These men are black from head to +foot, with the exception of the gleaming white teeth which show between +their open lips. They are black to begin with by nature, and are further +covered, scanty clothing and all, with a thick coating of coal-dust, +which sticks to their oily skins and dirty rags. They are digging +frantically into the heaped-up coal of a great barge lying alongside, +gathering it into baskets and rushing up planks to deposit it in the +coal bunkers of the steamer, and all the while they shout in a strange +chant at the tops of their voices. When white men are doing severe work +they are silent, as they need all their strength for the task in hand, +but when their dark-skinned brothers work they find it necessary to +shout as loudly as they can, and the harder the work the more noise they +make. At a little distance their confused yelling is like the cheering +of a great crowd at a popular football match.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus064.jpg" width="450" height="321" alt="PORT SAID—STATUE OF DE LESSEPS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">PORT SAID—STATUE OF DE LESSEPS.</span> +</div> + +<p>All the port-holes have been closed to keep out the dust, the ship's +carpets are rolled away, the place looks as if prepared for a spring +cleaning. It is time for us to go, for we have arrived at Port Said, the +principal landing-place for Egypt, and we have to say good-bye to the +<i>Orontes</i> here, though we shall not forget her as the first of the many +ships which carry us on our great adventure.</p> + +<p>It is easy enough to get a boat, competition is keen, and the laughing +bright-eyed boys who row us across seem in the best of humour; they make +a brilliant picture, for they are dressed in scarlet and blue for +choice, with bits of orange wherever they can stick them on.</p> + +<p>Port Said, where we have landed, is a large town with a big business, +yet it is built on a site which a comparatively short time ago was +nothing but a marshy salt lake. Men of all nations walk in its streets, +and ships of all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> nations pass through its port. It is a strange +mingling of East and West. Here the two meet, and those who come from +the West for the first time cry with delight, "This is the East!" while +those who have been exiled for many years from their western homes and +are at last returning, exclaim, drawing a long breath, "Now I feel I +really am in sight of home."</p> + +<p>We are actually in Africa, that mysterious land which still contains the +greater part of the unexplored territory of the world, and which for +long was described as "The Unknown Continent," though it can hardly be +called that now. Of all the countries which make up Africa, Egypt is the +strangest, indeed, she is the strangest country in all the world—a +weird and mysterious land whose ways are not as the ways of any other +country on earth.</p> + +<p>Imagine a land much longer than it is broad, in the shape of an ordinary +hearth-rug, and then lay down lengthwise along this a mighty river which +divides it into two parts. Have you seen the Eiffel Tower? If not, you +have at all events seen pictures of it, well, imagine an Eiffel Tower +lying prostrate along the hearth-rug and you will have a pretty fair +idea of Egypt and its river. The legs of the Eiffel Tower are very near +the bottom and stick out sharply; from the point where they meet the +long body stretches upwards straight as an arrow.</p> + +<p>The Nile is like that. Not so far above where it runs into the +Mediterranean Sea it is split up into many channels like the legs of the +tower. It is at the foot of one of these legs we have just landed, and +presently we are going to pass on up to the junction of the many +channels at Cairo, which is the capital town of Egypt. Of course the +Nile is not perfectly straight and rigid like the man-made tower; it +winds and turns, as all rivers do, but, taking it as a whole, the +comparison is a good one.</p> + +<p>We have to wait for our baggage to be brought across<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> from the ship so +that we can see it through the custom-house, and here it comes at last; +it is carried by a boy about your age who is simply lost to sight +beneath it. They begin young! He stands grinning, well pleased with +himself. He certainly deserves a good tip, for he is no shirker. We have +just got some Egyptian money from Cook's, so can give it him in his own +coinage, though he would not in the least mind taking English money.</p> + +<p>Egyptian money is not very difficult to understand: the principal coin +is a piastre, which is equal to twopence-halfpenny; and half a piastre, +which looks like a silver sixpence, but isn't silver at all, serves the +purposes of a penny, though it is really equal to a penny-farthing. +There are no coppers here. The most useful coin—corresponding to our +shilling, the French franc, and the Italian lira—is rather like an +overgrown shilling to look at and equal to five piastres or a halfpenny +more than a shilling.</p> + +<p>Now we have only to buy some cigarettes for me and some Turkish Delight +for—well, for us both! Then we can go on to our train. Cigarettes and +Turkish Delight are the two things no one ever fails to buy at Port +Said, for here you get them good and cheap.</p> + +<p>It will take us four hours to reach Cairo by rail, and we shan't see +anything of the country, as it is dark. And what a country it is!</p> + +<p>You will never get used to it, for it is run on lines of its own. The +part of it lying between the legs of the imaginary Eiffel Tower, in +other words, between the mouths of the Nile, is called the Delta, from +the Greek letter Δ, which shape it is. Except in this delta +rain never falls, that is to say, not to speak of. Up in Assouan, one of +the larger towns, which we shall visit, they say, for instance, "Rain? +Let me see—oh yes, we did have a shower, two years ago it was, on such +and such a day at four in the afternoon. Pretty smart shower too; the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> +roofs of the mud houses got squashy and slipped down on the inhabitants. +Quite funny, wasn't it?"</p> + +<p>It seems funny to us that anyone could remember the hour of one +particular shower two years ago! With us if there is no rain for a few +weeks the farmers begin to cry out that their crops are ruined. What a +glorious land Egypt must be to live in when there is no chance of any +excursion being spoiled by the weather!</p> + +<p>"But how in the world does anything manage to grow?"</p> + +<p>I thought you would ask that. Egypt has a system of its own. Once every +year this gigantic river, which cleaves the land into two parts, rises +and overflows all its banks; it submerges the low-lying flat land near +it and carries all over it a rich fertilising mud. The land is +thoroughly soaked, and when the Nile slowly retires, sinking back into +its channel, the crops are planted in the spongy earth.</p> + +<p>For many ages no one knew why this happened, and indeed no one troubled +to ask; the ancient Egyptians thought the Nile was a god, and that this +wonderful overflow was a miracle of beneficence performed for their +benefit. Then Europeans began to penetrate into the heart of Africa and +the mystery was solved. The Nile rises far up in the vast continent +where there are mighty lakes lying in among the hills. The three largest +of these lakes are called Victoria, Albert, and Edward, after our +sovereigns, for the men who discovered them were British and naturally +carried the names of their rulers to plant as banners wherever they +penetrated. These lakes are not in Egypt, but far beyond, in a region +where at one season of the year there is a terrific downfall of rain; +this swells them up and makes them burst forth from every outlet in a +tremendous flood. The Nile carries off most of this water, and some +other rivers, which flow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> into it up there, bring down masses of water +too, and all this rushes onward, spreading far over the thirsty land of +Egypt and turns the desert into a garden, making it "blossom as the +rose." Wherever the water reaches the land bears fruit, but beyond it is +sandy and sterile desert.</p> + +<p>The length of this amazing river from Lake Victoria to the sea is now +reckoned to be between three thousand and four thousand miles, or almost +half the length of the earth's diameter, and for over a thousand miles +it receives no tributaries at all. In almost all rivers we are +accustomed to we see streams and other tributaries running in and +swelling the volume of water as the main river passes down to the sea, +but for all these miles the Nile flows unsupported and unreplenished +beneath the blazing sun. No wonder the Egyptians worshipped anything so +splendid!</p> + +<p>The total length of England and Scotland together, from John o' Groats +to Land's End, is eight hundred miles, which gives us a measuring rod to +estimate the length of this splendid highway, which is frequently half a +mile broad.</p> + +<p>Though the yearly inundation made cultivation possible, men soon learned +that it was not enough; besides this they must water the crops between +times, and so means were devised for storing up the water; but these +were mostly very simple and primitive until Great Britain went to Egypt +to help the Khedive out of his difficulties and to teach him how to +govern for the good of his people. Then immense works were started for +holding up the water which would otherwise have run away to the sea at +flood-time and been wasted.</p> + +<p>We arrive at Cairo very late at night, and when we get to our bedroom we +find both beds looking rather like large meat-safes, for they are +enclosed in white net curtains. These fall from a top or ceiling +resembling that on old four-posters.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 436px;"> +<img src="images/illus069.jpg" width="436" height="600" alt="ENGLISH SOLDIERS CLIMBING THE PYRAMIDS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">ENGLISH SOLDIERS CLIMBING THE PYRAMIDS.</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus071.jpg" width="450" height="348" alt="THE MOSQUE AT CAIRO." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE MOSQUE AT CAIRO.</span> +</div> + +<p>You stare at them in a puzzled way a minute or so, and then declare, +"What a stuffy arrangement! I'm not going to sleep shut in like that!"</p> + +<p>"Please yourself, but you run the risk of having red lumps on your nose +in the morning if a mosquito takes a fancy to you!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, they're mosquito-curtains! I've heard of them. What are you going +to do?"</p> + +<p>"Run no risks!"</p> + +<p>At last, protesting, you agree to do likewise, and climb inside your +meat-safe. You'll soon get used to it, and though it is too cold here +for any mosquito to be very lively, it is safer. In some countries the +curtains<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> are useful for keeping off worse things than +mosquitoes—tarantulas, for instance!</p> + +<p>We are only staying one day in Cairo so are out early the next morning, +and find that the town looks on the whole very like a French town. +Indeed, were it not for the red fez or tarboush which so many men wear, +even when they dress otherwise in European costume, and for the turbans +and flowing robes of the native dress, we might be in Paris or +Marseilles.</p> + +<p>We go to the top of a very wide main street to await the tram which is +to take us to the Pyramids.</p> + +<p>"Poste-carte, sir-r-r-r," says insinuatingly a ragged ruffian, thrusting +vividly coloured picture postcards into our faces as we stand. We turn +away, shaking our heads. He quickly runs round to face us again, +"Poste-carte, sir-r-r," in a tone as if the conversation had only just +begun and he had great hopes of a sale.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 353px;"> +<img src="images/illus072.jpg" width="353" height="450" alt=""POSTE-CARTE AND BEADES," CAIRO." title="" /> +<span class="caption">"POSTE-CARTE AND BEADES," CAIRO.</span> +</div> + +<p>"No, thank you; go away," I say as sternly and emphatically as I can, +for he is not too clean.</p> + +<p>"Poste-carte, Cismus cards, nice," he continues with unabated zeal as if +we had not spoken at all. Resolutely we turn our backs on him and are +confronted by a very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> gorgeous individual in a long loose gown and +turban, with innumerable strings of beads of the cheapest and commonest +"Made-in-Germany" kind, hung in festoons round his neck. "Beades, +sir-r-r," he begins persuasively, and the other chimes in a duet, +"Poste-carte." "Beades," continues the new tormentor, swinging his wares +in our faces. Evidently "no" is a word not understood by these gentry. +They go on at it hard for about five minutes, our stony silence in no +way diminishing their enthusiasm, and then from the corner of my eye I +see a tall man, with an exceptionally handsome face, clothed in a +beautiful long coat of blue cloth cut away to show a great orange sash +underneath.</p> + +<p>"You want guide?" he says, hastening to the fray and sending the other +men flying with "Imshi, imshi!" "Me good guide, beest guide in Cairo, +show you Pyramids, all-a sights, verry cheap, sirr, me show you, only +ten shillings, citadel and——"</p> + +<p>"I don't want a guide, thank you."</p> + +<p>The gentleman's knowledge of English is limited apparently, for he +doesn't understand that. In exactly the same tone in which he has just +spoken he begins again, "Me good guide, showing you all sights, cheap, +verry cheap, Pyramids, telling you all things, bazaar, only eight +shilling——"</p> + +<p>By the time he has worked himself through all the grades down to two +shillings, his eye falls on two other newly arrived tourists, evidently +Americans, and he rushes upon the fresh prey. Luckily our car comes in +sight just then, for a second dragoman, as these guides are called, has +just caught sight of us and is racing across the street as fast as his +legs will carry him.</p> + +<p>As the tram starts we hear his desperate "Me verry good guide, +best—bazaar——" He is quite willing to risk his life in jumping on to +the moving tram at the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> smallest sign from us, so we simply hold our +breath and resolve not to wink an eyelid until the danger is past.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus074.jpg" width="450" height="293" alt="THE PYRAMIDS AND SPHINX." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE PYRAMIDS AND SPHINX.</span> +</div> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>So those are the Pyramids!</p> + +<p>We have arrived after a very cold and rather monotonous run of about an +hour.</p> + +<p>Was there ever a time when one had not heard of the Pyramids and +pictured their vast triangles rising out of the desert? But for my part, +I had always imagined them set far off in solitude so that one came upon +them gradually, seeing them first as mere hillocks in the immensity of +the sand. Instead of that they spring upon us suddenly, rearing up on a +height as the tram speeds toward them along a tree-shaded road across a +vast artificial lake.</p> + +<p>The lake is picturesque, studded with little islands and promontories +covered with houses and palm trees, so also are the groups of donkeys +and camels with their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> attendant men waiting at the terminus for +tourists, but these things disperse the mystery to which we had looked +forward. The large and comfortable hotel at the foot of the white +winding road which leads up to the Pyramids is doubtless useful, but——</p> + +<p>As we approach on foot we experience surprise to see that the blocks of +which the largest Pyramid is composed are so small they look almost like +bricks. Pictures show them as gigantic blocks up which stout ladies are +being "boosted"—sorry, but there is no other word—by heated dragomans. +As we draw near we see that the blocks <i>are</i> fairly big. Nearer +still—what is that crawling about on the edge of the great cone? Hullo, +it's a man, and there is another and another. They do look small. Why, +there is one who has reached the top; he is not to be compared with a +fly so much as a midge—who would have thought it? We are close under +now and I find that the block by which I am standing is the height of my +shoulder, and I am fairly tall. This must be an exceptional one, but—it +isn't! They are all the same! Watching the men clambering up above,—men +who we now see are English soldiers dressed in khaki,—we can understand +why they seem to find the ascent so difficult—each block is shoulder +high and requires much strenuous exertion to surmount. They cannot +stride from one to the other as on a flight of stairs. One man is +exhausted and gives up half-way, and a cheerful Cockney voice comes down +from above telling him to "put his beck into it!" He'll need it. +Standing thus and looking up we get some idea of the enormous size of +the Pyramid, which makes its blocks look small by contrast. It is +bigger, far bigger than one expected. This is the largest of all, built +anything between 5000 and 6000 years ago, as the tomb of King Cheops. He +built it for himself by cruel forced labour crushed out of starving men; +he intended that his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> body should lie like the kernel of a nut in this +mighty shell.</p> + +<p>As we pass beyond it we see another, farther off in the desert sand, and +yet another. We are accustomed to speak of the Pyramids as if these few +at Gizeh were all, but there are others scattered about Egypt, though +they are less known and visited.</p> + +<p>Then, quite unexpectedly, we come upon the Sphinx. It is in a hollow in +the sand like the nest children scoop out for shelter on the seashore, +only vastly greater. As we struggle round the yielding rim, with the +powdery sand silting over our boot-tops, we feel something of the wonder +of it thrilling through us. Let us sit down here facing it by these +broken stones, where we can be a little sheltered from the chilly wind +and gritty sand. We are looking at the oldest thing in Egypt. You will +see farther south many splendid examples of amazing age but nothing to +equal the Sphinx. When Abraham came down into Egypt the Sphinx was old +beyond the memory of man! When King Cheops built his Pyramid the Sphinx +sat with his back turned to it wearing the same inscrutable smile that +it has to-day. It has watched kings succeed and die, it has watched +empires spread and collapse, it has watched civilisations ripen and +wither away. All the known history of mankind has unrolled before it, +not the short history of a few trifling centuries which we call ours, +but the history of the world.</p> + +<p>The crouching figure is lion-like in attitude, but how human of face in +spite of its broken nose. It was carven of the solid rock and fashioned +with its face to the sunrise and its back to the desert. No one knows +the thought in the mind of the puny artist who brought it into being and +then shrivelled beside it like a blade of grass. Was it intended to be a +god? It has been silted up by sand and unburied again; it has been +worshipped and hated. It<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> has been reverenced and shot at, so that its +face is chipped and its nose broken away, and still it smiles with +fierce serenity.</p> + +<p>Sit silently.</p> + +<p>"Poste-carte——"</p> + +<p>"Imshi, imshi."</p> + +<p>That Arabic word, picked up at hazard from the dragoman, has acted like +a talisman—the pest has actually gone!</p> + +<p>There creeps up beside you, very slowly and determinedly, an old, old +man. "Fortune told," he says almost in a whisper, groping for your hard +boyish hand. So be it! He at least does not send the spirit of the place +flying away. Nonsense it may be, but these fellows do know something——</p> + +<p>Give him that five piastre piece that looks like a large shilling and +listen to his quaint expressive English.</p> + +<p>"Clever head, head very much good, gooder than many men, but an enemy +inside there. You see a long, long road, and you go that road, then +coming hills and that road grow tiresome and you stop and say, 'Not +worth it, I don't care,' an enemy here—slay him!</p> + +<p>"Much work lies to your hands to do when they grow large. In many lands +I see them plucking down cities and raising ships from the depths of the +sea. Strange things be waiting for those hands in all the world. Many +tongues you speaking, and many things you gain. But the hand not opening +easily. What it gains it grips, hard and tight; it is a close hand, and +that which comes thereout drops slowly between the fingers to friends +also as to foes. Riches and work and honour hold the hands, and only +death will tear them away. With them all is a bitterness and a glory +greater than the shine of what men count joy. But in that day when you +eat with kings the desire of life shall pass from you!"</p> + +<p>Hullo, old boy! He gave you a good shilling's worth,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> anyhow! Though it +was rather a nasty hit that at your Scottish national character! You +don't believe it surely? Look at the Sphinx and laugh. What does it +matter if we two midges, among all the midges that have crawled about +his paws, don't exactly enjoy ourselves the whole of our brief day?</p> + +<p>What is that? How you start! No, it's not a lion roaring, though it's a +pretty good imitation; it's only a camel cursing and snarling with all +his might while his owner piles a few bushels' weight on his back. He +doesn't really mind it, but it is the immemorial custom of camels to +protest with hideousness and confused noise, and if he didn't do it his +trade union would be down upon him.</p> + +<p>"Poste-carte——"</p> + +<p>Come, let us go!</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus079.jpg" width="450" height="122" alt="STRANGE LOOKING BEASTS MINCING ALONG LIKE GIGANTIC +PEACOCKS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">STRANGE LOOKING BEASTS MINCING ALONG LIKE GIGANTIC +PEACOCKS.</span> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>THE HIGHWAY OF EGYPT</h3> + + +<p>Of course you have been in a cinematograph theatre, and there, seated +comfortably, have watched the various scenes pass before you. The great +charm of these scenes is that the people really did do the things which +we here see them doing, even down to the smallest gestures. But often +the pleasure is spoilt by knowing that the actors were only making these +gestures for the purpose of being photographed; also the scenes are +sometimes disconnected and scrappy, and seldom indeed is it that they +are represented in colour, and then, though the colour is clever enough, +it is not like that of nature.</p> + +<p>To-day we are watching a cinematograph which has none of these +drawbacks. We are seated in a leather-lined railway carriage running +from Cairo southward up the country to a place called Luxor, and passing +before us every minute are vivid pictures of the life of Egypt. The +railway runs along the middle of Egypt, just as the Nile does, but we do +not often see the river from the line, for at this time of the year it +flows low down between its banks. It is on the other side of the railway +that the main interest lies. Here there is a canal as straight as the +line and close beside it, and on the far side of it is a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> sort of raised +tow-path—the great highway of Egypt. We see it against a fringe of +bushy palm trees at one minute, and the next against a field of tall, +green-growing stuff, which looks exactly like those rushes found on the +banks of our own rivers. This, however, is maize, or, as you probably +know it better, Indian corn, which forms the staple food of the people. +The brown feathery heads wave in the wind, but the corn itself is tucked +away in the thickness of the stalk. You must have seen a "cob" of Indian +corn some time, with all the flat yellow grains nestling in a honeycomb +of little cells. To-day in Egypt you will see everyone eating them; even +the solemn baby seated astride its mother's shoulder picks out the +grains and nibbles them like a little monkey. The straw part of the +plant is used for many things: it feeds the numerous domestic animals of +the Egyptians to begin with—the donkeys, camels, buffaloes, bullocks, +goats—and it forms thatch for the huts and makes bedding.</p> + +<p>Notice that man over there in the field; his cotton gown is of the +purest blue, which shows up richly against the vivid green of the maize +stalks. There is another seated far back on the rump of a small donkey +who is tripping along on its stiff little legs. It wears no harness of +any kind beyond a cord round its neck, which enables anyone to catch +hold of it. The man has no saddle and he holds his long legs straight +forward to prevent his feet from touching the ground, and from time to +time he guides or goads the donkey with a little sharp-pointed stick. +Close behind him, walking fast to keep up, is a tall woman in black with +a black shawl covering her mouth, her dress is a mass of grey dust as +far as the waist, and drags up the dust in clouds as she moves. On her +head is a large bundle and on her hip a large baby. She is the wife of +the lordly individual riding so comfortably ahead, and she takes this +state of affairs as a matter of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> course. The scene arouses anger in the +breast of a nice American with a grey moustache and keen grey eyes, who +shares our compartment.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus081.jpg" width="450" height="252" alt=""MAN AND WIFE."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"MAN AND WIFE."</span> +</div> + +<p>"So long as they treat their womenfolk like that they'll never rise to +anything better," he says emphatically. "The higher the civilisation of +a nation is the higher the position of its women. A nation of men who +ride and let the women carry the burdens is bound to be rotten and +flabby."</p> + +<p>Next there passes across our window-frame a flock of goats, but they are +not much like those we know—they are dark brown and black, with thick +rough coats and cheeky tufted tails; numbers of kids dance up and down +the steep sides of the tow-path after the manner of kids all the world +over. A small boy, dressed in what appears to be a striped flannel +night-shirt, with a tiny skull-cap on his head, is driving them. He +pulls his single garment up to his waist as he dances and pirouettes as +if the joy of living were almost too much for him. He is enveloped in a +cloud of dust raised by the goats, but he snatches<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> handfuls of the dust +from the ground and flings it in the air around as if he could never get +enough of it!</p> + +<p>"The Lady of Shalott," in Tennyson's poem, who watched in her mirror all +who went down to Camelot, cannot ever have seen anything half so +interesting as this.</p> + +<p>Presently we meet a long string of fine-looking camels, one of them pure +white; they are fastened by a connecting rope and so covered with loads +of bristling twigs that each looks like a walking bush, out of which the +great padded feet are planted with deliberate steps and the haughty +heads swaying at the ends of the long necks stick out. It is the scrub +of the cotton bush that they are carrying; you will see fields of it +presently, some of it bursting into fluffy pods, for cotton growing is +one of the most extensive and profitable of Egyptian industries. The +twigs and branches are used as fuel by the people, who have a happy +knack of letting nothing be wasted.</p> + +<p>"I never!" exclaims the American. "If that isn't like them!" We are +overtaking a second string of camels, precisely similar to the first, +and similarly laden, stepping gingerly and protestingly in the opposite +direction from the first, having just passed them. "Why couldn't they +arrange things better?" demands the American. "If one lot is going this +way and the other that, an exchange would have saved time and labour."</p> + +<p>In America labour is costly and all sorts of inventions for saving time +have been invented; in this eastern land time is of no value at all, and +a man working all day in the fields is content to earn a shilling. +Perhaps the contrast with their own country is the reason of the +fascination Egypt has for Americans!</p> + +<p>What are those strange-looking beasts mincing along like gigantic +peacocks? As we draw nearer we see that they are camels too, each +bearing a load of sword-bladed leaves, which hang down over their +hindquarters exactly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> like the folded fan-tail of a peacock. Upon my +word I never noticed it before, but a camel walks just like a peacock, +with the same hesitating "Don't-care-a-hang-for-you" stride. The bundles +so arranged hide the animals' hind legs and bring out the resemblance.</p> + +<p>But what is it they are carrying? Not maize stalks this time, nor bushy +cotton twigs, for these stalks are a dull crimson at the upper end. It +is sugar-cane, which grows in quantities here, and forms a more +profitable crop than maize. You will see it sold at the stations; the +people buy it, and, breaking off a joint, eat it with pleasure.</p> + +<p>We cannot tear ourselves away from this fascinating window even for a +moment; far in the distance across the green fields and waving palm +trees we see glimpses of the desert, looking pinkish-yellow, and rising +up in it, changing with every mile we travel, are many pyramids, not +only those famous ones at Gizeh we visited yesterday, but others +stretching farther and farther away. You will notice that the favourite +colour for the dress of the peasants, or fellaheen, as they are called, +is a glorious blue, but that all the women are in black—most unsuitable +of hues, as they live and move and have their being amid drab-coloured +dust; khaki would be much better.</p> + +<p>As our breakfast, though better than that in France, was nothing so very +wonderful, we begin to feel hungry, and are ready to go along early to +the luncheon-car; we had a good dinner in that one on the train coming +up from Port Said to Cairo, and anticipate something of the same kind. +As we get up the American remarks casually, "Best pull in your belts and +have a smoke—there isn't any."</p> + +<p>No luncheon-car! No means of getting any kind of refreshment on the +train! And we, having started at eight, are in for a journey of fourteen +hours! Lively this! It is one of the little incidental discomforts of +travel! The American is in the same plight himself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> But he found out +soon after we started that there was no restaurant-car; it only runs +three times a week, for the season hasn't begun yet!</p> + +<p>We call the Egyptian attendant to find out if there is any prospect of +buying anything on the way. He stands grinning very affably but doesn't +understand a word of English. Presently, however, he seems to +understand, and dashes off, to return triumphantly with a feather-brush +in his hand with which he violently flops the seats of the carriages and +all our personal belongings until we are choked and smothered with the +dust.</p> + +<p>In English fashion we have kept the windows open, not realising that in +this country it is impossible, and that slowly we have been silted up +with a layer of fine soft dust; but we didn't feel the inconvenience of +it much until this idiot stirred it up and made it unendurable.</p> + +<p>Having accomplished this great feat he stands still, grinning and +holding out a broad palm. Officials on the trains are probably forbidden +to utter the wicked word "Bakshish," meaning tips, but they can ask +quite as well without it.</p> + +<p>Having got rid of him, we turn in despair to the station at which we +have just pulled up. There is a fine mingled crowd on the platform. +Lying in the sun, awaiting their master's pleasure, are two beautifully +kept white donkeys, with their hides clipped in neat patterns, very +superior creatures indeed to what we know as donkeys, more like mules in +size. A group of children, fascinated by our strange faces, draw nearer +and gaze their fill unwinkingly; one poor little mite of about four has +a mass of flies crawling all over its face, especially about the eyes. +It never attempts to brush them off, for long habit has made it callous. +Formerly very many children were so afflicted, and the crawling flies, +carrying disease, made them blind; but since the British took the matter +in hand the evil is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> much less. Yet so indifferent are the mothers, that +in many cases even when lotion is supplied free for the children's faces +they will not trouble to use it!</p> + +<p>There is nothing eatable being sold in the station except fruit, but +there seems plenty of that, and by the time the train starts again we +find ourselves with a fine assortment in rich colours of purple and +orange and scarlet. First there is a packet of dates which looks all +right on the top, but turning them out we find the purple side of one +had been placed carefully uppermost, and the rest are all hard, green, +and unripe, not in the least like the sweet juicy dates we are +accustomed to. The attendant, who is watching, scoops them up and +devours them as if he hadn't been fed for a month. Then comes a bit of +sugar-cane, stringy and sickly, which makes us feel as if we had bitten +into a piece of sweet wood when we try it. That great purple pomegranate +is, like all pomegranates, unsatisfactory and full of seeds, and though +the little green limes are refreshing for the moment while we suck the +juice, after a while our lips begin to smart as if they were raw, and we +both keep on furtively wiping them. It is a tantalising feast, and the +American smiles serenely as he smokes in his corner and refuses to have +anything to do with it. The only thing we do get out of it are some +really good green figs, which cannot, however, be eaten without +shameless messiness, as they are so difficult to peel.</p> + +<p>When the afternoon sun grows scorchingly hot the grinning attendant +proves himself for once useful, by showing us that we can pull up +sun-shutters with wooden slats outside the glass ones. He has indeed +been anxious to pull them up all round the compartment ever since we +started, and nothing but physical force has restrained him, for he +cannot conceive how anyone could want to look out. Even now we keep down +those on the sunless side, which grieves him deeply.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> + +<p>So all the afternoon we watch the glorious scenes changing in sunlight; +we see the sailing boats, with their tapering white wings, laden with +cargoes of straw, drifting up the canal, driven by the strong north +wind; we pass innumerable villages, and some larger towns, where +market-day has attracted vast crowds.</p> + +<p>The small villages are indeed wonderful, and the first one excited us +all three so much that we had to hurry to the window. Imagine a colony +of last year's swallows' nests under the eaves, or a collection of +ruined pigsties and sheds, only they are not ruins at all, but living, +thriving villages with healthy people in them. The houses are all made +of mud; a few are fashioned out of mud bricks, but many are merely of +mud stuck and moulded together as a child would form a mud house with +his hands. The doors and the holes for windows are crooked and lop-sided +as they would be in a childish attempt. The roof is covered over with an +untidy thatch of straw, thrown on anyhow, with piles of cotton scrub on +the top of it. This scrub is for firing, and it is kept up there in the +Egyptian's only storehouse; it is backed up by cakes of dried buffalo +dung used for the same purpose. As it never rains the fuel is quite safe +from damp.</p> + +<p>Every man builds his own house as it pleases him, without regard to the +style or position of his neighbour's, consequently the streets are +narrow crooked passages of uneven levels; there is not a green thing in +them, and the people live in dust and eat it and wallow in it. Here and +there you can see a tray of flat cakes pushed out into the midst of the +dust to bake in the sun and form a playground for the flies and the +microbes, for the Egyptian has no respect for microbes, he is +germ-proof; for generations he and his forefathers have drunk the Nile +water, unfiltered and carried in goat-skins not too well cured. Yet the +people are happy and the children apparently<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> a gay set of youngsters. +Little Gassim or Achmed, in the single unchanged and unwashed garment +that covers their little brown bodies, dance and roll and sing and drive +the loathly black buffaloes to the water and eat scraps of sugar-cane, +and are as happy as the day is long. They work hard, it is true, from +the time they can toddle, but so does everyone else, and all the animals +do their share of toil, day in and day out. "I can't understand why they +don't find a way of harnessing the turkeys," says the American +sarcastically as we pass a lordly camel, stepping, with protest in every +movement, alongside a sturdy bullock who helps to drag a primitive +plough. The plough merely scratches the surface of the ground, but that +is enough, for the Egyptian will never go deeper than he need.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus087.jpg" width="450" height="547" alt="A WATER-CARRIER." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A WATER-CARRIER.</span> +</div> + +<p>We are getting very hungry indeed! Six hours more! How are we going to +stand it?</p> + +<p>Hurrah! A bit of luck! The American has been along the corridor and come +across some friends who are getting out at the next station. They have +presented him with the remains of a lunch-basket supplied by their +hotel, and he is generously willing to share it with us. Never was +prize-packet opened with greater<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> eagerness; suppose it should only +contain enough for one?</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus088.jpg" width="450" height="230" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Amid the white wrappings of the open pannier we find slices of tongue, +rolls of bread, chicken legs, hard-boiled eggs, and a bottle of +soda-water!</p> + +<p>Never did food taste better! We sit gnawing the chicken bones and +blessing the American!</p> + +<p>Meantime the sun falls and a splendour you never yet have imagined fills +the air. Streaks of flaming colour shoot athwart the sky, bursting up +behind the tufted palms; the eastern sky catches the reflection and +shows softest blues and pinkest pinks in contrast. A veil of amber light +hangs like a curtain overhead and changes to orange and again to apricot +as the afterglow sweeps the sky before darkness falls like the curtain +on a scene at the theatre.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus089.jpg" width="450" height="415" alt="COLUMNS IN THE TEMPLE AT LUXOR." title="" /> +<span class="caption">COLUMNS IN THE TEMPLE AT LUXOR.</span> +</div> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>A MIGHTY MAN</h3> + + +<p>Our beds face the windows, which open like high glass doors, French +fashion; before retiring we set them wide, and close outside the long +shutters made of slats of wood. In the morning we are awakened suddenly, +almost at the same instant, by a red flame glowing between the slats as +fire glows between the bars of a grate. Springing from our curtains we +fling open the shutters, expecting to see a great conflagration, and +behold, it is the sunrise!</p> + +<p>The sun does not greet us in such boisterous fashion in England! Here it +fills the sky with a blood-red radiance<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> and lights up the palm groves +in the garden below, where a mighty congregation of small birds are +shrieking out their joy to greet the god of morning. There is an +intensity in it all, in the flaming sky, and in the thrill of the birds' +clarion that sends exhilaration into our veins and makes us feel it is +good to be alive!</p> + +<p>It is not long before we are out and around the garden—and what a +garden! Strange coffee-coloured men in blue garments like smock frocks, +with baggy blue trousers caught tightly round their ankles, appear and +disappear noiselessly, their bare brown feet making no sound on the +sanded paths. There is something unreal about it all, something that +makes one think of the <i>Arabian Nights</i> and an enchanted garden. The +hotel is called "The Winter Palace," and in England we should associate +such a name with a vast artificially warmed glasshouse filled with +broad-leaved plants of dark green; here, right overhead, is a tall bush +covered with masses of sulphur-coloured flowers, shaped like tiny +trumpets, hanging in festoons against a sky of glorious blue. Through +plumed palms we catch glimpses of the spreading fingers of a deep red +poinsettia; there is a pink frilled flower shooting toward the sky, so +decorative that it looks exactly like those made of crinkled paper for +decorations; this is the well-known oleander. The grass is so vividly +green that it seems as if the greenness sprang away from the blades; as +we draw near to it we see that it is not all matted together and +interwoven, as is our grass, but is composed of separate blades, each +one apart and upright, all together standing like a regiment of +soldiers. It has to be sown every year freshly, for no roots can survive +the long drought. Close by is a lawn of bare earth, and a boy of about +your age, with a thin pathetic brown face, runs round and round it, +shouting and waving a flapper to keep off the birds from the newly sown +seed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> + +<p>We are just going to plunge into a grove of trees—some acacias with +leaves like delicate ferns, and others eucalyptus with long narrow +leaves looking like frosted silver—when we find they are growing in a +swamp, with the earth banked up all round to keep the water in!</p> + +<p>Other flowers, familiar to us in England, such as roses, look rather +pale and washed-out here in contrast with the flaming beauty of richest +mauve and brightest orange worn by those which are at home in a hot +country. As the sun gets strong we hear the drone of a swarm of great +creatures like prodigious wasps with legs like stilts, which fly around +the sweet-scented blooms. In ancient inscriptions this wasp, or hornet, +was used as the sign of Northern or Lower Egypt. Across the flower-beds +run miniature canals of stone, by means of which the water from the +life-giving river is carried all over the ground, so that it can be +easily watered; a very large part of the time of the blue-bloused +gardeners is spent in watering. A garden which was watered from the sky +would be a miracle to them.</p> + +<p>We come back again to the hotel and pass through to the other or front +entrance, where we catch sight of the majestic Nile, which we could not +see in the darkness of our arrival last night. Standing on a high +terrace, bounded by a parapet covered with riotous masses of magenta +bougainvillea, we see the turquoise-blue river, flecked with boats +carrying high, white, three-cornered sails; on the other side rise calm +hills of orange-yellow. We shall visit those hills, for in them are +buried some of the mightiest kings of Egypt, and the wild fastnesses +form a truly royal burial-place, grander than any ordinary mausoleum or +cemetery could ever be. On both sides of the river at one time stood the +royal city of Thebes, one of the best known of all the capitals of Egypt +which sprang up from time to time in its agelong history.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> + +<p>If ever you "do" the ix. book of the <i>Iliad</i> in your schoolwork, you +will find that Homer speaks of Thebes as having one hundred gates and +possessing twenty thousand war-chariots! It extended for about nine +miles along the river-bank.</p> + +<p>After breakfast our first plunge into sight-seeing is a visit to the +temple of Luxor, which faces the river just five minutes' walk along the +street from the hotel. This is the very first Egyptian temple we have +examined and it is astonishing how much we can learn from it. That +mighty row of columns, larger and higher than any cathedral pillars you +have ever seen, makes us feel like midgets. Standing close together the +columns spring right into the clear sky, as there is no roof left. Not +so very long ago they were covered up to the capitals in sand and +débris. The poorer Egyptians had built their mud huts in and around them +for generations, and when one hut crumbled away another was put up on +the top of it, and thus the level of the accumulated earth grew higher +and higher. Then some learned Frenchmen saw the wonder of the buried +temple and bought the people out, persuading them to go elsewhere, and +they gradually cleared away the rubbish until the original beauty of the +temple was visible again. Even now, high up on all sides, you can see +the depth of the earth surrounding it like cliffs, and on the top are +squalid huts with dirty children and fluffy impudent goats and +shrill-voiced, black-clad women, living their daily lives and looking +down into the temple.</p> + +<p>The ancient Egyptian writing was by signs—a bird meant one thing, a +flower another, and a serpent another, and so on, but for a long time +the meaning of it had been forgotten, and it was impossible for anyone +to read these wonderful signs. But at the very end of the eighteenth +century a great stone was found which had upon it an inscription written +in Greek and in hieroglyphics, as the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> sign-writing was called, and also +in another writing which used to be employed by the priests, and from +this, before many years had passed, clever men were able to understand +the language of signs and read the inscriptions on the temples, which +told who had built them and much else. This stone was called the Rosetta +Stone, after the place where it was found. It is now in the British +Museum.</p> + +<p>This was long before Luxor was unearthed, and the inscriptions were +deciphered as they came to light; by their help it was found that the +temple had been built chiefly by two kings, Amenhetep <span class="smcap">iii.</span> and Rameses +<span class="smcap">ii.</span> who came after him, though not immediately. Rameses added to the +existing work and carried it on. So far as we know all this was between +three and four thousand years ago. In a village in England people are +proud if they can point to any part of their parish church and say, +"This is Norman work," and yet the Normans only came over to England +less than nine hundred years ago! Go back more than three times that, +and try to realise the age of this temple. And even this, as we know, is +not old compared with the Pyramids! Doesn't it make us feel that, as a +nation, we are rather young after all?</p> + +<p>Long before we were a nation these mighty kings flourished in Egypt and +lived in pomp and splendour. They each had a different name, of course, +and more than one, but yet they were all Pharaohs, just as at one time +in the Roman Empire each emperor was a Cæsar.</p> + +<p>The Pharaohs had unlimited power in their own dominions, and forced +their subjects to work for them as they pleased without giving them any +payment. By some means we can't understand these mighty blocks of +sandstone composing this temple and many others were brought from a +place farther up the river. It is supposed that they were put on great +rafts and floated down at flood-time, but the handling of them is still +a mystery.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> The men who dealt with them had no steel tools, no driving +force of steam or electricity at their backs, yet they reared buildings +which we to-day, with all our appliances, think masterpieces.</p> + +<p>Rameses <span class="smcap">ii.</span> was called the Great; he reigned for over sixty years, and +he has a peculiar interest for us because he is believed to have been +the Pharaoh who oppressed the Israelites, while his son and successor, +Menepthah, was the Pharaoh of the Exodus.</p> + +<p>Walk up the great aisle of giant columns into the courtyard at the end, +there, between the pillars, stand massive images of granite, most of +them headless, but one perfect except for the ends of the fingers and +toes.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 259px;"> +<img src="images/illus094.jpg" width="259" height="400" alt="STATUE OF RAMESES II. AT LUXOR." title="" /> +<span class="caption">STATUE OF RAMESES II. AT LUXOR.</span> +</div> + +<p>Sit down on this fallen block and look at that marvellous image; it is +the mighty Rameses himself! There is a repressed energy and indomitable +purpose about him that tells in every line of a man who never let go and +never allowed himself to be thwarted. His almond-shaped eyes and full +lips, the proud tilt of his head, are not merely conventional, they are +an actual likeness of the man taken from life. He is every inch a king. +His successor, who was his thirteenth son, was probably of the same +type, and one can well imagine his scornful indignation<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> at being asked +to yield up that nation of slaves, the Israelites, whom he treated as we +would not treat animals nowadays. The miracle is that Moses was not +instantly slain for his boldness in proposing it; he was, of course, +screened by his relationship to Pharaoh's daughter, but that would have +counted little had he not been protected by a power far above that of +the king of Egypt.</p> + +<p>Close down under the knee of the standing Rameses is the figure of a +plump woman, his favourite wife, Nefertari. The Egyptians had the rather +childish idea that size meant importance, and to them now, as well as +then, women seemed of much less importance than men, so the wife was +represented as being about as high as her husband's knee. In spite of +this, however, women of royal blood were treated with great deference, +and royal ladies enjoyed a freedom like that of western women to-day. +They gave their opinions and transacted business and were seen in +public. Many a king only sat securely on his throne because his wife had +a better title to it than he had. This did not, however, prevent them +from making women very often quite diminutive in size in their statues, +though in some cases the king and queen are the same size and are shown +seated side by side.</p> + +<p>It is very quiet and beautiful here in the temple this Sunday morning; +the natives themselves are not allowed to come in, and visitors only on +production of a ticket costing twenty-four shillings, which admits to +all the temples of Egypt; and, as it happens, there is no one but +ourselves. The sparrows twitter overhead in the holes and crannies of +the pillars, and the great grey and black crows wheel silently against +the blue sky, throwing moving shadows on the honey-coloured columns.</p> + +<p>If we walk round the back of these solemn statues we shall see that +there is a quantity of deeply cut hieroglyphic writing on a great plaque +at the back of each. The name<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> of the king himself is always written +enclosed in an oblong space called a cartouche; sometimes this cartouche +is supported by two cobras, who are supposed to defend it. The rest of +the writing tells of the deeds of the king and all the mighty feats that +he performed.</p> + +<p>Turning to the walls we find them covered with pictures, not coloured +but done in outline by means of deep-cut clean lines. We see the king +offering fruit to weird-looking beings with men's bodies and animals' +heads—these were the Egyptian gods; there were numbers of them, far too +many to remember, but here are a few: Anubis, the jackal-headed; Thoth, +the stork-headed; Sekhet, a goddess with a lion's head (some say a +cat's). Besides these there were others of great importance: Osiris, the +god of the dead, and Isis, his wife—these were the father and mother of +Horus, the hawk-headed god. But it was to the glory of Amen-ra, the king +or chief of all the gods, who can be recognised in the pictures by two +tall feathers like quills standing straight up on his head, that that +particular temple was built.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 148px;"> +<img src="images/illus096.jpg" width="148" height="400" alt="AN EGYPTIAN KING." title="" /> +<span class="caption">AN EGYPTIAN KING.</span> +</div> + +<p>On one of the walls we see a long row of men, all exactly similar, one +behind the other—these are some of the numerous sons of Rameses making +offerings. You soon notice that in spite of the vigorous and excellent +outlines of these pictures there is something funny and stiff about +them. That is because the Egyptians had an odd custom of drawing a +person sideways, with his two feet in a straight line, one behind the +other. No one stands like that in real life, and if you try it you will +find how difficult it is not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> to fall over! Also, though the people they +drew were invariably shown from the side, yet the artists used to make +them look as if they were squared round in the upper part to show the +chest and both shoulders, so that Egyptians in pictures always look +oddly wedge-shaped, being very broad at the top and narrow below. The +eye was also put into the profile face as if it were seen from the +front! Look at any typical Egyptian picture and you will soon pick out +these peculiarities. It seems rather a pity they kept so rigidly to +these silly notions, as they really drew extremely well; but no artist +was original enough to dare to break away from the established custom!</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 142px;"> +<img src="images/illus097.jpg" width="142" height="400" alt="AN EGYPTIAN QUEEN." title="" /> +<span class="caption">AN EGYPTIAN QUEEN.</span> +</div> + +<p>Inside the temple walls all these scenes have something to do with the +gods and the offerings made to them by the king, but come outside and on +one of the finest bits of wall still standing you will see a most +spirited battle-scene. Look at the king in his chariot with the plunging +horses! He is drawing his bow and pursuing his enemies, who are dead and +dying under his wheels, and fleeing before him. To show how much more +important he was than the enemies he had himself made very large and the +enemies shown very small. That is not quite our idea of honour and glory +nowadays; we should think it more glorious to overcome enemies larger +and stronger than ourselves! This afternoon we are going to visit a +still larger and more wonderful temple, a mile or two away, called +Karnak, and there you will see pictures of the king of that time holding +the hair of his enemies' heads in the powerful<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> grasp of his left hand +while he prepares to strike off all their heads at one sweep with his +sword.</p> + +<p>The original entrance of Luxor temple does not face the river on the +side we came in; to find it we have to scramble over heaps of rubbish to +one end and there we see a great obelisk, a companion to the one which +is now in the principal square of Paris, the Place de la Concorde, and +we see also two huge buildings reared up on each side of the ancient +entrance—these were called pylons and were always built in Egyptian +temples. On festival days they were decorated with flags on tall staves +and made very gay.</p> + +<p>Then we go out again into the main street amid all the life of the +place, and see men cantering past on gaily caparisoned donkeys; we note +dancing, capering, gleeful children, guides in gorgeous gowns, shopmen +of some mixed nationality from the Mediterranean, who run out of their +shops and entreat you to come in. "Only look round, no paying, not +wanting you buy," they lie. "Look and be pleased; there is no charge +just only to look."</p> + +<p>We stop at last and buy two fly-whisks with short bamboo handles and +long silvery horsehair tails; of course they do look very smart, but we +do not buy them just for that, but because they are useful.</p> + +<p>As we have found already, nothing less than physical force suffices to +remove an Egyptian fly, who sticketh closer than his English brother. No +shake or puff will induce him to stir an eyelid, and yet he is quick on +the wing and you rarely get him, sleepy as he appears! He doesn't buzz, +and there generally appears to be only one of him, but if, by the aid of +a fly-whisk, you get rid of him, another takes his place immediately!</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus099.jpg" width="450" height="385" alt="THE TOMBS OF THE KINGS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE TOMBS OF THE KINGS.</span> +</div> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>THE CITY OF KINGS</h3> + + +<p>I think this is the gayest scene I have ever looked upon in my life. See +those mahogany-coloured boatmen in their brilliant scarlet and white +striped jerseys and blue petticoats, grinning so as to show all their +milk-white teeth. The boats are apple-green and scarlet, and they are +reflected in the clear still water, and the dragoman, who marshals all +the party into them, is a very splendid person indeed, in a long +overcoat of turquoise blue cloth as soft and fine as a glove, with a +striped gown of yellow Egyptian silk underneath.</p> + +<p>We are off with a party of Cook's tourists to explore the Tombs of the +Kings on the other side of the river It is a pretty stiff day's work, so +we are up early, and it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> is only half-past eight now. As we near the +other side of the river we see an excited group of donkey-boys who have +brought their animals over earlier, and now stand expectant, looking +like a fringe of blue beads.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus100.jpg" width="450" height="291" alt="THE FAT LADY ON HER DONKEY." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE FAT LADY ON HER DONKEY.</span> +</div> + +<p>"Lily best donkey—Lily name for Americans, Merry Widow for +Engleesh——"</p> + +<p>"Come, lady, with me, Sammy best donkey in Egypt, verry good, Sammy my +donkey, best donkey——"</p> + +<p>"Kitchener, lady, best donkey in Egypt, me speak verry good Engleesh, +alla way gallop."</p> + +<p>And so on in a continuous yell. The dragoman shouts out the numbers of +the donkeys, and helps the ladies of the party to mount. Some ride on +side-saddles, others, unused to any form of riding, prefer to get up +astride, which they find difficult in the tight modern skirts. One +German girl, after a frantic attempt, has to give it up, and sits +wobbling on her saddle with her arms round the donkey-boy's neck, +agonisingly appealing to him not to move! A very stout lady in black is +lifted on to her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> mount by the united efforts of the dragoman and two +donkey-boys, and, held in position by the boys, moves off, threatening a +convulsive landslide to one side or the other at every step.</p> + +<p>We are lucky in securing two fine greyish-white animals, almost as large +as mules and very well fed and kept; yours is named "Sirdar" and has a +single blue bead slung on a string round his neck as a charm, while +mine, "Tommy Raffles," has a rattling chain of yellow and blue beads and +much scarlet wool in his harness. You won't have much difficulty, I +know, as you have been used to a pony since you could walk.</p> + +<p>At first the soft powdery sand makes the going stiff, and we have much +difficulty in restraining our boys, who run behind, from smacking or +prodding the donkeys as they plough through. These boys are very proud +and fond of their donkeys and treat them well, but it is the ambition of +every donkey-boy to see his donkey head the cavalcade, and he is ready +to die of envy and mortification if any other boy's donkey gets in front +of him. We pass through clouds of dusty earth and then turn on to uneven +narrow ways between tall green stalks of growing dhurra, stuff which +looks like maize, except that it has a heavy head of grain which is +ground up for making rough bread for the poorest people.</p> + +<p>Along by a canal, over a bridge and a railway line we gallop, our +animals going well. Their trot is impossible, as we soon find, but the +easy loping canter delightful. We pass many black-clad women working in +the fields, with crowds of bright-eyed friendly children who murmur +"'Shish" in the vain hope that we may throw them some money. Then we see +herds of black goats in among the cut stalks, and a tethered baby camel, +who looks at us with innocent wondering eyes.</p> + +<p>Far off rise up from the plain two mighty seated statues,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> the Colossi, +set up by Amenhetep <span class="smcap">iii.</span> as part of a temple now vanished. Presently we +all stop to see another temple, interesting enough, but not so +interesting as those already visited at Luxor and Karnak.</p> + +<p>The dragoman, whose work is not easy, brings up the rear of the +cavalcade, having managed to keep even behind the fat lady, who has +stuck to the slippery surface of her saddle with many a desperate plunge +firmly resisted by her escort.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 253px;"> +<img src="images/illus102.jpg" width="253" height="400" alt="BOATMAN." title="" /> +<span class="caption">BOATMAN.</span> +</div> + +<p>The dragoman describes the temple fluently and intelligently, first in +English, then in French, and adds a little explanation in German for the +benefit of two men of that race who have talked loudly in their own +guttural tongue all the time he has endeavoured to make the rest of the +party hear. The dragoman does not reel his words off as if he were +repeating a lesson, as, alas, so many of the guides at our own +cathedrals do. He is a clever man, well educated and capable. It has +taken him years to learn all he knows, and it is only the clever boys +who can become good dragomans. One of our donkey-boys, a bright little +fellow who speaks far better English than most of his companions, tells +us, "I am going to be a dragoman." He says it deliberately, with a pause +between each word to get them correctly. "Thus I speak always with the +English and the Americans. To the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> English I speak English, which is +what I have learned, but when I am with Americans I can talk to them in +their own tongue too."</p> + +<p>Laughing, we mount and are off again.</p> + +<p>We are now penetrating into the great hills of sandstone we saw afar off +from the hotel. The road winds into a gorge, and at each turn displays +more vivid beauty. We feel a strange joy rising within us, so that we +would like to sing or shout at the tops of our voices. The brilliance of +the air shows up every line in the great precipices of orange-yellow, +streaked with red and purple, which rise against a sky of thrilling +blue. There is not a blade of grass or a leaf to be seen in these vast +solitudes, only the massive stones, broken and split and scattered, lie +in the fierce sun or black shadow. We can imagine these defiles looking +much the same when three or four thousand years ago the funeral +procession of one of the mighty Pharaohs wound its way into the heart of +the mountains, carrying the man who had never known opposition or denied +himself his slightest wish. They were very magnificent these +processions, composed of hundreds of people who carried all sorts of +things—furniture, chariots, boats, animals, fruit and flowers—with +tremendous ceremony.</p> + +<p>It is a longish ride before we alight again, and leaving the donkeys +under a slight straw shelter penetrate into the fastnesses of the hills.</p> + +<p>How many of these rock-tombs were made here will probably never be +known, but year by year more are uncovered. The first we step into is +like a large well-lighted cave cut out of a cliff-side, from it opens +another cave-like room, and from that another, each sloping downward and +the whole series giving the impression of a series of puzzle-boxes +fitting into one another and then drawn out. The walls are covered with +pictures, paintings<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> on plaster, not outline pictures like those we saw +in the temples, but filled in with blue and green, orange and +terra-cotta, laid on thickly, and as fresh as the day they were done. +Ever descending we pass on until we reach the last chamber, where the +great sarcophagus or coffin of the king was placed right up against the +face of the rock. The sarcophagus might be a mighty block of granite, +enclosing a wooden case, and that again another case, probably carved +and gilt, and finally, as a kernel, there was the body of the king, +preserved and dried by spices, lying awaiting the final resurrection. +The Egyptians believed in a future world, but they could not imagine a +future world without there being human bodies in it such as we have now, +so they took infinite trouble in preserving the dead body that it might +be ready for its time of call. Most of the sarcophagi from these tombs +have been removed and taken to the museum at Cairo, but in one to which +we penetrate, hewn out at a slope so steep that we have difficulty in +keeping our feet as we slither down, the mummy has been replaced and is +left uncovered.</p> + +<p>Lit up by electric light we see King Amenhetep <span class="smcap">ii.</span>, with his skin +blackened to a parchment, drawn tightly over his chiselled aristocratic +features. In the dome-shaped forehead, the Roman nose, and the tightly +compressed lips there is an expression of infinite disdain, as if he, in +his time the mightiest ruler in the world and the leader of +civilisation, knew that now he was exposed to the gaze of a party of +outer barbarians whose national histories were but of mushroom growth. +This king struck terror into the hearts of his enemies; he raided the +land of Syria, slew seven chiefs with his own hand and brought them back +to Thebes, hanging head downward from the bows of his boat!</p> + +<p>The very day after a king ascended the throne he used to begin hewing +out the sepulchre where he should lie.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> The scenes drawn on the walls +show what he expected to find in the other world. We see a pair of +scales with the heart of the dead man in one balance and a feather in +the other; a monkey sits on the top and adjusts the weight. The heart +must weigh the feather exactly, for to be over-righteous was as bad as +being wicked! The dead man also had to pass before forty-two judges, who +each examined him searchingly as to whether he had committed one +particular sin. As one of the party remarked in an awe-struck voice, +"And if he did pass them all safely and another started up and asked him +if he ever told a lie he'd be done, for no man could deny that he had +committed any of the forty-two principal sins and remain truthful!"</p> + +<p>To accompany the soul to the other world many things used to be buried +in the tombs, clothes and food and utensils and weapons, and, thanks to +this custom, numberless things have been saved to show us how the +ancient Egyptians lived. These, however, have mostly been taken to Cairo +for safe keeping. But here in Amenhetep's tomb one thing has been left. +In a small side chamber, with the light falling full upon them, are +three mummies, each with a hole in the skull and a gash on the breast, +showing that they were the king's slaves, killed in order that their +souls might accompany him and serve him beyond the tomb!</p> + +<p>They lie there with their hair still on their heads, and even the false +hair, they used to increase it, showing; on their faces is a ghastly +grin. We wonder if they submitted quietly, proud of having been chosen, +or if each fought fiercely for the life which belonged to him and was +not any man's to take away.</p> + +<p>It is very hot and close down in the rock-hewn chamber, and we are glad +enough to stumble up and out again, though we are blinded by the +sunshine as we emerge.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p> + +<p>The next part of the day is the hardest of all, for we scramble up a +mountain-side to gain a splendid view of gorges and valleys on one side +and the flat plain spreading to the Nile on the other. The view is +indescribable; from lemon-yellow to orange and saffron are the hills, +with blue-grey shadows in their folds. Right opposite is one absolutely +perpendicular, with immense rounded columns looking like giant organ +pipes rising on its face. A fresh wind is blowing, and when we mount our +donkeys, which have come round to meet us another way, and ride along a +path a few feet wide, with no fence of any kind and a drop of some +hundreds of feet on one side, we are devoutly thankful that the German +girl and the stout lady went round the other and longer way by the +valley!</p> + +<p>Over the summit the donkeys are set free to get down the steep descent +as best they may, and they are as sure-footed as goats, but we who +follow find considerable difficulty as the loose stone and sand fall +away in miniature avalanches from beneath our slipping feet and we get +very hot. We are sheltered here from that fresh wind which is such a joy +in Egypt, the sun is at its height, and we have done a good morning's +work already after an early start. There, far below, looking like a +doll's house, is the rest-house where we lunch, and beside it two of the +men of the Mounted Police Camel Corps in khaki on their long-legged +beasts.</p> + +<p>Whew! That last bit was tough! I am glad to get a long drink and equally +glad to go on after it to an excellent cold lunch which has been brought +to meet us. Hard-boiled eggs, salad, cold meat and fruit! We try them +all and then rest on the verandah looking at the towering orange cliffs +which hem us in. They seem to hang right over that little temple near, +to which we shall presently pay a visit. That is the temple of Der El +Bahari and was built by Hatshepset, the greatest of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> Egyptian queens. +Hatshepset was the daughter of one king and the wife of another, and +after her husband's death she ruled for about sixteen years. She made +expeditions to the Red Sea and acted in every way like a man. In the +drawings of her on the temple wall she is represented as a man and is +dressed in man's clothes. When her son-in-law, Thothmes <span class="smcap">iii.</span>, who had +married her daughter, succeeded her, he scratched out her name wherever +he found it and chiselled out the pictures of her. He had evidently had +a bad time while she lived, but he must have been a small-minded and +spiteful man to take that petty revenge after her death!</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 274px;"> +<img src="images/illus107.jpg" width="274" height="400" alt="A SOLEMN GIRL-CHILD." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A SOLEMN GIRL-CHILD.</span> +</div> + +<p>On the way home across the dhurra fields I see you stop riding suddenly +and stare intently down at something on the ground. I think at first it +is a scorpion you have found on the patch of light-coloured sand, but it +is only an immense black beetle, with a strong horny skin and a horn or +trumpet-shaped excrescence on the front part of its head. He belongs to +the scarabæus, or dung-beetles, and big fellows they are; this one would +just about cover the palm of your hand. The Egyptians called one of +their gods Khepera, or the beetle, and believed him to be the creator of +all things, so they used to make images of these beetles and put them in +their temples; you saw a huge<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> one, you remember, on a pedestal at +Karnak, and any time you are in London you can see them at the British +Museum. There were also tiny images of them made in stone and amethyst +and porcelain, and almost anything else, and these were frequently +buried in the tombs with the mummies. Sometimes they had the name of the +person with whom they were buried inscribed on the back in hieroglyphic +writing, or the name of a god. These scarabs, as they are called, are +bought and worn in rings and ornaments by visitors. The natives quickly +found out that there was a demand for them, and as they could not always +find old genuine ones they set to work to make them! Hundreds of new +ones are palmed off as old in this way on unsuspecting tourists.</p> + +<p>"Scarab!"</p> + +<p>A solemn girl-child clad in a rust-coloured garment has come up on +seeing our donkeys halt and holds out a brilliant blue scarab for sale +in a hot little hand. She nods violently, repeating, "Scarab! Verry +old." "Found in tombs," says our donkey-boy gravely, willing to help her +to take us in. He picks it up and pretends to examine it carefully, +"Genuine anteekar," he pronounces. Laughing, we hand the "genuine +antique" back to its owner, knowing that it is probably "genuine +Birmingham," and then we canter after the rest of the party.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus109.jpg" width="450" height="226" alt="A NILE STEAMER." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A NILE STEAMER.</span> +</div> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>ON THE NILE</h3> + + +<p>In my ears is the sound as of the tuning up of a thousand fiddles! I +hear the agonising scrape of strings, the squeal of the bows! I have +heard it all before at many a concert, but this time it is intensified a +thousandfold and penetrates even into my dreams. I imagine I am in a +concert hall and spring up wildly with the intention of getting outside +until the music begins, but the movement wakes me, and behold I am not +at a concert in London on a dim Sunday afternoon, but in a brilliantly +white two-berth cabin with the sun flooding in through the square +window! Peering out I see we are running smoothly along up-stream close +in to a high mud bank, and that is where the noise comes from. It is +caused by the squeaking of one wooden rod against another as hundreds of +Egyptian fellaheen raise the water from the Nile to moisten their crops.</p> + +<p>It is not long before we are both dressed and out to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> examine the +curious sight. The banks are about the height of a high room, and at the +distance of, it may be, fifty yards, all the way along them there are +deep cuts like miniature denes, or chines, running down to the water. At +the foot of each of these a brown-skinned man stands with his bare feet +at the edge of the water, gripping with his toes to save himself from +slipping in the mud. At this time in the morning he is clothed in a +quantity of garments, mostly mud-colour, but as the sun grows strong he +throws them aside and stands forth a fine bronze statue with his skin +gleaming in the clear light. Just above his head there is a pole +bridging the cut, or chine, and fastened to the middle of it at right +angles is another, which swings up and down upon it like a see-saw.</p> + +<p>A huge lump of mud like a swollen football is plastered on to the far +end of this, and at the other end a basket or basin made of skin is +attached to a string. The mud ball is heavy, and when it is allowed to +go free it hangs down to the ground; but the brown man constantly +reaches up and raises it by pulling down the basin, which he dips in the +Nile water, then lets the heavy end swing it up as high as his head, +when he tips it up, and the water from it flows into a pool at that +height. Another man stands on the edge of this pool and he has a similar +arrangement, by means of which he raises the water out of the pool with +a basin like the first, and there may be another above him, and another +again. This primitive arrangement is called a <i>shaduf</i>, and by its means +the water from the Nile is lifted up to the surface of the fields, where +it runs away in miniature channels to water the roots of the maize. This +is one of the most extraordinary sights in the world. Think of all the +mills in which machinery does delicate work like that of the human hand; +think of the patterns made by the machines, of the newspapers printed +and folded with very little human guidance, and then leap<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> back to this +clumsy device used now by the Egyptian as it was used by his ancestors +thousands of years ago! A few pints of muddy water raised by a weight, +half of it falling out of the badly constructed basin as it goes, and +the same drop of water handled again and again by four men till the tiny +trickle reaches the fields! We watch with amazement. The shrieking and +squeaking of the <i>shadufs</i> goes on, the brown figures stoop down, rise +again, and swing with regularity, minute after minute. We steam on round +the next corner and see more of them and yet more again; how many have +we not seen already in the short time we have been on deck? Multiply +that times without number for all the miles we came up by train and +double it to include both banks! Imagination gives way!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus111.jpg" width="450" height="427" alt="A "SHADUF."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">A "SHADUF."</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I can't bear it," says the nice American who was in the train with us +and has now joined us in the trip up to Assouan in one of Cook's +steamers. "It's maddening! Why can't a whole village form a company and +get some sort of machine to work? It would water all their crops in a +tenth of the time."</p> + +<p>As he speaks there comes into view something just a little better. At +the top of one of the deep cuts on the bank two bullocks plod slowly +round and round in a circle as if they were threshing corn; they work a +wheel, which revolves horizontally and is fitted into another which +turns vertically, deep down into the hole it reaches, low enough to +touch the water at the bottom. Earthenware jars are strung all round it +like beads on a necklet, and as each pot dips into the water it brings +up its share, and when it reaches the highest point it tips it into a +little channel, where it runs away. This is called a <i>saddiyeh</i>. The +wheels groan and creak, the patient beasts turn in their dizzy circle, +and the youngster seated on the wheel prods them with a sharp-pointed +stick when they slacken. At least the water runs away in a continuous +stream at the top, however tiny.</p> + +<p>Then the steamer takes a sharp turn, leaves the bank, and careers across +into midstream! We go up on to the top deck and see three dark-skinned +men, warmly wrapped up in brown coats, sitting in a little glasshouse in +the bows and watching earnestly the channel ahead.</p> + +<p>This is the <i>reis</i>, or captain, with his two assistants. They know every +turn and dip in the river; but the river changes ever, no two days is it +alike as it falls and washes away a bank or deposits sand so as to make +an island where none was before. So the three men watch intently and +steer the boat to this side and that wherever they can find the deepest +channel. The Nile is low for this time of year and caution is necessary; +when there is any doubt as to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> there being enough water, one of the crew +below handles a long pole, dipping it in to find the bottom and calling +out the depth as he goes.</p> + +<p>There are twenty passengers or so on the boat and they sit about the +sunny decks watching the panorama of the banks and the wonderful +changing scenes ahead, hour by hour. Hardly anywhere would you find a +greater variety of nationalities than on one of these Nile boats, for +Egypt draws people from all parts of the world with her mystery and +beauty. The odd people one meets add to the interest, and the strange +manners, which are not ours, are like flavouring in the dish of travel, +which, if it were composed only of scenes of perpetual beauty, might be +a little insipid.</p> + +<p>To begin with, I am English and you are Scottish, we have our friend the +American and four of his compatriots, not by any means so delightful as +he is. He takes care to steer clear of them, we notice! One of them is a +little man who might be any age from twenty to fifty; if we examine him +with field-glasses we shouldn't be able to discover how old he is. His +yellow skin, drawn tightly over a bony face, gives no sign of age or +youth. He eats sweets all day out of a box as large as a child's coffin, +and he is attended by three stout ladies, doubtless "his mother and his +aunts." They are veiled and swathed in wraps, and seem to spend their +time gossiping or asleep in the innermost recesses of the cabin. We +never once catch them admiring the scenery or taking any interest in the +wonders we pass. Then there is a Swiss, a gentle-mannered bronzed man +with a brown beard; he speaks only French, and in an unobtrusive way +seems to have seen a great deal of the world; we discover, for one +thing, that he has lived out in the desert near Tunis for many years. +There are three Russians, mother, father, and daughter, who speak +practically nothing but Russian, with a few words of French; they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> are +brave to have started out on such a journey so ill-equipped. Coming +across a Russian dragoman in Cairo they trusted him joyfully; he bought +three temple tickets for them at their expense and promised to meet them +somewhere up the Nile. They seem to expect to find him sitting on every +sandbank, and their faith is pathetic; they'll never see those tickets +again, for the man will sell them to the next party of victims. Then +there is a Belgian, also a couple of lively pleasant French people, and +two Germans, a sister and brother, who dress in clothes intended to be +very sporting.</p> + +<p>It is an interesting crowd, and it is well kept in hand by the manager, +who looks like a fair-haired, brown-faced boy of two-and-twenty, but has +been everywhere and speaks half a dozen languages fluently. In addition +to this he sketches in water colours, plays the fiddle, and breaks in +horses! You have to travel to come across people like that! Here he is +nothing so out of the way—every dragoman is able to talk in three +languages at least. Doesn't it spur you on to feel how much we have to +learn and how ignorant we are in our stay-at-home villages?</p> + +<p>All the morning we sit about and watch the graceful white-sailed boats +coming down with cargoes of every kind. Sometimes we see them stranded +on a hidden sandbank with the crew making frantic efforts to get them +off again. We see the reaches lying ahead glittering like jewels in the +sun, and then we land and ride a short way to a temple, under the care +of the dragoman of the boat. The most moving thing in all that temple is +a set of scenes of a hippopotamus hunt shown with great spirit; the poor +little hippo looks more like a pig when he is at the bottom of the water +with a spear or harpoon sticking in him, but when they haul him up by +means of a noose round one leg the ancient artist represents him +becoming bigger and bigger as he comes to the surface!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> + +<p>The walls are, besides, covered with all the usual scenes of the king +making offerings to the gods, and overriding his enemies, and doing all +those noble things which kings wanted their posterity to know about +them.</p> + +<p>A high-pitched voice, speaking in a hyper-refined affected tone, breaks +in on our enjoyment; it belongs to one of the English people from the +boat, a lady who evidently considers it her mission in life to instruct +people; information flows from her ten finger-tips, she cannot help it, +she was born to be a schoolmistress certainly.</p> + +<p>"That is the crown of Upper and Lower Egypt," she says, "that the king +is wearing; sometimes you see him with one and sometimes with the other, +here he has both together."</p> + +<p>As this is about the first thing a dragoman tells anyone in the first +temple he sees, and as it is repeated at least once at every temple +afterwards, only an idiot could fail to know it. We murmur something +politely and turn away. Round a corner we stop to admire the rich colour +still left in the ceiling, where a heavenly blue, covered with golden +stars, represents the sky.</p> + +<p>"When we were here three years ago," says the lady at our elbows, "they +had not uncovered those pillars, but we are told—that——"</p> + +<p>The peace and beauty are spoilt! Again we murmur something and make a +dive to get away, but are confronted by a clean-shaven man in glasses. +"When we were here three years ago," he begins, "perhaps my wife has +told you——"</p> + +<p>It is rude, but there is nothing for it but to bolt; people like that +would take the effervescence off newly opened champagne! We leave them +confronting each other, and wonder what they do when they are alone +together! Do they force their mixture of guidebook and water on each +other?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus116.jpg" width="450" height="235" alt="THE DAM AT ASSOUAN." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE DAM AT ASSOUAN.</span> +</div> + +<p>When we look back upon Egypt these river days will stand out most +clearly, for the glory of them and the interest of them are unfailing. +We have to leave this boat at Assouan, but we shall come back and go +right down the Nile to Cairo on our return journey, so that is something +to look forward to.</p> + +<p>At Assouan we are not going to stop but to change on to another steamer, +one belonging to the Government this time, and we shall penetrate +farther into the heart of the land to see something, which, after the +Sphinx, is the most wonderful thing in Egypt.</p> + +<p>But we can't step off one steamer on to another, for at Assouan is the +first of the many cataracts that for ages has hindered the navigation of +the Nile. The river, hemmed in between two rocky sides, tears down, +dashing over stones and whirling round corners in a dangerous way. So +the steamer for the upper part of the river waits above the cataract and +we have to make a short train journey of half an hour or so to join it.</p> + +<p>Picture the scene at an English railway station of any size, with its +solidly-built platform and its gloomy roof<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> and its row of uniformed +porters drawn up waiting the arrival of the incoming train. I don't +suppose anywhere you could find anything less like this than the station +at Assouan where we await our train this afternoon. There are great palm +trees springing out of the platform itself, not fenced in in any way. +There are masses of scarlet poinsettias growing. And the porters! yes, +they <i>are</i> porters, not criminals waiting to be hanged! There they +stand, a ragged regiment indeed, dressed in any sort of garment that +takes their fancy. Most of them look as if they had collected all the +dish-clouts and dusters which had seen service and piled them on anyhow. +To add to their adornment each man has a double coil of shabby-looking +rope hung round his neck, this is to fasten together the luggage he +hopes to carry. The men are of all sizes and all colours. That +good-looking fellow at the end is not darker than a sun-browned +Englishman, while that stout, round-faced, thick-lipped one next to him +is as black as the polished boot seen in an advertisement. He is a +Nubian, for here we are on the borders of Nubia, now counted part of +Egypt. The porters are making a tremendous hullabaloo, chattering and +quarrelling at the tops of their voices, so a native policeman in khaki +comes along and smacks one of them hard on the side of his face, and +then catches him a crack on the other side to make him keep his balance; +the man does not resent it at all—he rubs his cheek and takes the hint. +Fancy a policeman in our country smacking a porter on the face; what a +row there would be!</p> + +<p>Here is the train! The engine-driver and his mate are dressed in shabby +European clothes crowned by turbans which have gaudy orange and red +handkerchiefs twisted round them. They get down on the platform, and +suddenly the fireman sees a rather unpleasant-looking man, with a beard, +standing away from the others; he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> rushes at him, bows low before him, +and finally kisses both his hands. The man is probably a sheikh of the +Mohammedan church.</p> + +<p>The train is a corridor one, and we mount the platform at the end of a +carriage and find ourselves in a compartment thick with dust, where the +seats vary from straight leather-covered benches to comfortable-looking +basket-chairs. The place is crammed with "kit"; dispatch-boxes, +helmet-cases, sword-cases and leather bags fill every corner.</p> + +<p>"Allow me," says a pleasant-voiced sunburnt man as he stoops to remove +some of his things to make room for us. "We've come right up from Cairo +and things get a bit scattered," he adds apologetically.</p> + +<p>When we get clear of the town we find that in addition to glass windows +and wooden shutters there are also windows of blue glass to keep off the +glare, a splendid idea, as they do not hinder the view. One of these is +up, and peeping through it we get our first real glimpse of the desert, +transformed as if it lay beneath bright moonlight. From the other side +we can see it as it is in its yellow colouring. How fascinating! Its +runs away in sweeping low waves to a line of hills and is crossed by +caravan tracks; even as we watch we see a man riding a small donkey +ahead of a string of camels laden with huge bales. The railway is still +but a small thing in Egypt; it runs right ahead, with few side-lines, +and from it the desert tracks lead off in many directions. The camel, +who has been the bearer of Egyptian traffic for generations, still does +a large share of the transport. A good camel is expensive, but a man who +owns one is sure of a livelihood, for he works backwards and forwards +across the great solitudes, eating his handful of dates or grain, and +drinking the water he carries with him, if he is not lucky enough to +camp near a well. Oddly enough camels are not represented<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> on the +wall-drawings of the ancient Egyptians, and though it is true they were +probably not to be found in the country in the very earliest times, yet +they were certainly introduced as early as the horse, who is often shown +in battle-scenes.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus119.jpg" width="450" height="352" alt="MEN OF THE BISHARIN TRIBE." title="" /> +<span class="caption">MEN OF THE BISHARIN TRIBE.</span> +</div> + +<p>What rivets our attention directly it comes into sight is an encampment +of low mat huts like beehives right out in the midst of the sand.</p> + +<p>"Those belong to the Bisharin," says the same fair-haired, keen-faced +man who had first spoken; "tribe of fuzzy-wuzzies! They extend right +away from here to the Red Sea. Live on raw grain mostly. Quaint lot!"</p> + +<p>Some of the men from the camp are standing near the railway line, so we +can see them well; they are very tall and extremely handsome, with +well-cut features and well-proportioned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> figures. Their hair is cut +exactly after the fashion of the palm trees, with a tuft standing up in +the middle and two tufts dropping away from it on each side. These men +are quiet enough now that they have learnt the British power, but not so +long ago they were inflamed with fanatical hatred.</p> + +<p>You have heard of the dervishes who were killed in thousands at +Omdurman, outside Khartoum, in the great battle at which Lord Kitchener +won his title when he freed the Soudan from the power of the Mahdi? Now, +having seen the Bisharin, you can imagine what dervishes looked like. +For they dressed their hair in the same way, they wore the same +dirty-white garments, and as they came yelling onward at a run, +brandishing their weapons, it must have taken some courage for the +Egyptian soldiers to meet them steadily.</p> + +<p>All the men in the carriage with us are going on up to Khartoum and +beyond. They are soldiers, administrators, and Government officials, men +whose lives are passed on the outposts of civilisation, and who carry +the British ideals of cleanliness, honesty, and straight-dealing far +into the desert; but they do not talk about it, as Kipling says they +speak:—"After the use of the English in straight-flung words and few—"</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Go to your work and be strong, halting not in your ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Baulking the end half won for an instant dole of praise.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stand to your work and be wise—certain of sword and pen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who are neither children nor gods, but men in a world of men."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Khartoum is the capital of the Soudan, but we have not arrived in the +Soudan yet. This great province was won from barbarism and brutality by +the English, who had trained and commanded the Egyptian army for the +purpose through years of heart-breaking work, and it is held jointly by +England and Egypt.</p> + +<p>Then we arrive at Shellal, the station where the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> steamer waits, and in +a moment we are plunged into a turmoil of confusion and shouting.</p> + +<p>The red sun is setting in a flame of glory over the great lake-like +expanse studded with black rocks; this is the huge dam or reserve of +water held up for the use of the crops when the Nile goes down. The +scene beggars description; bags, bundles, bales, boxes are pitched out +pell-mell. Gleaming black faces are lit up by the flames of leaping +fires lit on the sand. Petticoated porters thrust metal numbers at us so +that we may be able to recognise them again and reclaim our luggage +safely. We make our way to the steamer and mount to the first-class deck +and look down on the whirl of turbans and red fezes (also called +tarbooshes) below. The perpetual chatter, the long low cries, the +beating shout of men staggering under heavy loads make up a resounding +din. Clamped boxes, camp-chairs, enamel basins, dispatch-boxes, +helmet-cases are carried swinging up the gangway. Here is a man wildly +waving a gun-case which a non-commissioned officer wrenches from him; +another is struggling under a folded tent, the end of which catches on a +post and nearly precipitates him into the water. Black Nubian sailors in +white and blue jumpers are wrestling with an endless series of +mail-bags; third-class passengers, lost under piles of bedding, straggle +into a great barge alongside. In the midst of it all one sailor detaches +himself a little from the rest and drops down on his knees on the quay, +prostrating himself and bowing with his forehead to the ground; he rises +again, stands straight, with head erect, then down he goes again. He is +praying at sunset, as a good Mohammedan is told to do. No one notices +him or ridicules him. What would happen to an English sailor who knelt +to say his prayers on an English dock? We feel that we have something to +learn from this people, who are at all events not ashamed of their +religion.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> + +<p>A man is selling oranges on the quay, another has large round flat +loaves of bread tucked well under his arms and hugged against his body. +A black hand, extended from the lowest deck beneath us, grasps one of +these loaves and begins to finger it with a view to purchase; we cannot +see the owner of the hand, but we can see his fingers feeling cautiously +all around that loaf; he nips it between finger and thumb, he prods it, +kneads it, rubs it, and finally, when no inch of it has been untouched, +he hands over reluctantly a small coin and withdraws with the bread.</p> + +<p>"Hope that isn't for us," says the cheerful voice of a young officer +leaning over the rail beside us in the dark. "Think I'll cut off my +crust at dinner to-night on the off-chance, anyway!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus123.jpg" width="450" height="407" alt="AN EGYPTIAN SOLDIER." title="" /> +<span class="caption">AN EGYPTIAN SOLDIER.</span> +</div> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>A MILLION SUNRISES</h3> + + +<p>It is very cold and quite dark when I wake. The steamer is anchored +close up to the bank and not a sound comes from the still water. My +blankets are very comfortable; it can't be time to turn out yet. It is +an effort even to stretch out a hand and strike a light to see my +watch—5.15! Yes, we ought to go!</p> + +<p>You take some waking, and only my threat of, "You'll never get another +chance in your life," brings you out of your bunk at last.</p> + +<p>If you've ever done anything nastier than trying to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> dress against time, +two together in a small cabin on a cold morning in the pitch dark, I'd +like to know it. The electric light is off, because the engines are not +running, and there are no candles. By the time we've got into some sort +of clothing we're both at snarling-point. Twice I've violently tried to +put on your boots, thinking they were mine, and I know you've got my +shirt on, because I couldn't find it and had to drag out a clean one!</p> + +<p>A walk along the cold dark deck and across a slippery plank to the mud +bank does not improve matters. Apparently we have this exhilarating +entertainment all to ourselves, for the rest of the fifteen passengers +have not appeared.</p> + +<p>The sand is like the softest silk, and it seems sometimes as if we must +be walking backwards so little headway do we make. If it wasn't for this +icy wind I should think I was still dreaming. All the time that red bar +in the east glows steadily brighter, and warns us that if we want to see +one of the grandest sights in the world—Abu Simbel by sunrise—we must +hurry up.</p> + +<p>When at last we get clear of the sand we find ourselves on a piece of +ground cut up by cracks wide enough to put a foot in. There is just +sufficient light to keep us from twisting our ankles if we walk along +with our eyes glued to the ground, and so we get along somehow, till +suddenly we stop—sunrise is here!</p> + +<p>A considerable distance in front of us and above our level we see three +mighty seated figures and the remains of a fourth in a flat recess +chiselled out of the side of a great rounded cliff. That first touch of +dawn has tinged them with rosy pink, and they sit with their faces to +the sunrise, which they must have seen somewhere about one million times +already. Night succeeding day, day succeeding night, light following +darkness, darkness following light, thus has time flickered before them +throughout<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> their stupendous age. As we creep nearer and climb higher +they seem to rise and rise in size. Silently we seat ourselves on a +stone, forgetting the shivering wind, and we stare and gaze spellbound +at the triumphant eager expression on those mighty features, which, as +the dawn spreads, softens to a deep complacence. Then the pink changes +to a splendour of living gold, which sweeps over like a curtain, and the +full majesty of them strikes us almost like a blow.</p> + +<p>Their expression has in it something akin to that of all mighty +time-resisting images set up by man; it is found in the face of the +Sphinx and on that of the Buddhas of the East. It is an expression of +soul-crushing superiority, so without doubt of its own unassailable +dignity that it can afford to be benign. We must make up a word and call +it "supremity"—it is the only one that fits it.</p> + +<p>Under the knee of each mighty figure is the plump outline of a little +wife, small it looks from here, but draw nearer still, stand right under +that colossus on the right and you will find that she is twice the +height of a man.</p> + +<p>As they tower above us, seeming to grow greater every instant as the +light filters into the crevices, we get some idea of the monster size of +these noble statues, and discover that each foot is nearly as long as a +man! From the broken face of the sloping cliff they have been hewn, not +built and pieced together and brought here from elsewhere, but born full +size, springing to life from out the living rock. They all represent the +king with whom we are already familiar, Rameses <span class="smcap">ii.</span>, who caused this +great temple to be made to celebrate his victory over the Kheta, a tribe +of Syrians, living far away by the river Orontes in the north of the +Holy Land.</p> + +<p>Two on each side of the temple doorway the statues sit, and between +them, in low relief, is the small figure of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> the god Harmakhis. Running +above, across them all, is an inscription, part of which signifies—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I give to thee all life and strength."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Look up at it beyond those towering immovable heads, and from it again +to the rough cliff untouched by tool, and from that to the sky, now of +the purest, softest blue, hanging like a canopy above.</p> + +<p>The high black doorway of the temple lies like a gash on the face of the +cliff, and on one day of the year the ray of light from the rising sun +falls through it clean as a shot arrow. The black-robed guardian has +been expecting us, he stands waiting, holding his staff of office, and +admits us to the interior. It is very dark, and even with the light of +the flickering candle he holds up it is difficult to make out those +great columns, each seventeen feet high, carved with an image of the god +Osiris. As for the deep-cut pictures everywhere on the walls we can only +get the merest glimpses of them. We pass on through several halls, +noting how the angles and lines are absolutely plumb and true, and come +to the innermost sanctuary, where we find the king again as one of four +seated statues, not very large, the other three being gods! That was the +idea Rameses had of his own importance!</p> + +<p>Then it grows on us with increasing wonder that all this temple—the +walls, the columns, the statues—are cut out of the actual rock, and +that all the stone dislodged in the cutting must have been carried out +through that doorway. How was it achieved? The depth of the temple to +its farthest wall is one hundred and eighty-five feet, or almost three +times a cricket-pitch! Imagine this depth driven in to the rock and +cleared out to a great height without any machine power or modern tools! +And this was accomplished in the reign of one king. Rameses reigned some +sixty years, and his great victory over the Kheta was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> five years after +his coronation, so perhaps sixty years is the longest we can give for +the construction of the temple, and it was probably much less. The story +goes that in this great battle the king, cut off from his men and alone +in the midst of a hostile army, performed prodigies of valour; he slew +and hewed right and left until he sent the greater part of the Syrian +army flying before him; all this is recorded on the walls. Of course in +the case of kings these doings are apt to be magnified, still, there is +no doubt that this was one of the most memorable occasions of his life, +and he has certainly caused it to be remembered by building this +enduring monument.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/illus127.jpg" width="300" height="400" alt="A CHILD HOLDS OUT A STRANGE LITTLE BEAST." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A CHILD HOLDS OUT A STRANGE LITTLE BEAST.</span> +</div> + +<p>We hear voices, and are joined by half a dozen of our fellow-travellers +from the steamer. As we all walk back together a child sidles up and +holds out a strange little beast with a head like a skull and a long +tail like a rat. It<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> is about as big as your hand. One of the army men +takes it and puts it in the sleeve of his green tweed coat, and as he +walks along carrying it the quaint little beast turns a greenish colour. +It is a chameleon and has the faculty of changing to the colour of its +background whatever that may be; this forms a protection against its +enemies, who cannot easily see it.</p> + +<p>"I'll keep it," says the soldier, laughing and giving the child a coin. +"He is a useful little beggar. You should see that tongue of his flick +out and catch an unwary fly half a foot away."</p> + +<p>The steamer hoots a warning note and we all scramble on board hastily. +Yes, I <i>told</i> you it was my shirt!</p> + +<p>An hour or so later we pass the boundary into the Soudan.</p> + +<p>"Now we are out of Egypt," says another of our friends, a Government +official with years of experience behind him. "The Soudan is a greatly +superior place; no one is allowed to bother you here—we don't let them. +The children don't even know the meaning of the word <i>bakshish</i>; they +are not allowed to learn it."</p> + +<p>This sounds comforting and gives a good prospect for the day we shall +have to spend at our stopping-place, Wady Haifa, before going back on +the steamer to Assouan.</p> + +<p>There is no railway between Assouan and Wady Haifa, and so Government +steamers run all the year round to bridge the gap between the two ends +of the railway. In the season Cook runs steamers too, and they give much +more time for passengers to see Abu Simbel and other temples on the way; +unfortunately, as we are too early in the year, we could not take +advantage of them and had to go on a Government boat.</p> + +<p>The men we have been with are all passing on by rail<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> from Wady Haifa, +and when we land there we go in the afternoon to see them off at the +station. They are a keen, hard-bitten crew, and make us feel proud of +our countrymen; they are reticent mostly, bearing the unmistakable stamp +of responsibility. Men who "build the Empire" are little apt to "slop +over" or demand sympathy. The boyish vigour remains with them later than +with most men, but it is tempered by a certain hardness outside. The +train is particularly comfortable and well managed, with sleeping-cars +that bear comparison with the best in Europe, and a good dining-car; and +it is necessary, for these men have a journey of a day and a night +before reaching Khartoum, the capital of the Soudan, and the way lies +right across barren desert, where the sand insidiously creeps in at +every chink in spite of the closely shut windows. To some of them indeed +Khartoum is only a jumping-off place. There is one army man who received +orders to leave Cairo at ten days' notice and plunge into Central +Africa, there to hold an outpost as the only white man for hundreds of +miles around. He knows little of what is expected of him beyond the fact +that he is to purchase a year's stores in Khartoum, and that when he has +gone as far as boat and waterway can take him, he will have to march at +least a hundred miles through country where his equipment must be +carried by natives, as it is the haunt of the dreaded tsetse fly whose +bite is fatal to animals. He has a map made up mostly of rivers +"unexplored" and country "unknown." It looks quite full of information +and names when you merely glance at it, but when you begin to handle it +you find a great deal of the print tells you only what is not there. The +owner of it hardly knows what language he will have to speak, but he is +as pleased about it all as a girl going to her first ball. In his own +words, he "has got his chance." When we ask him what he is going to +take<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> with him, he answers with a merry twinkle, "I started with two +dozen tooth-brushes; I should think in their line they would be enough." +So long as England produces men of this metal she need not fear the +decadence of the race.</p> + +<p>When we have parted from them all we stroll down the bazaar at Wady +Haifa and are immediately followed by a horde of children of all ages, +sizes, and descriptions, who, whenever we stop and look around at them, +say with growing confidence, "Bakshish, bakshish!" even the tiny fat +babe who can scarcely toddle murmurs "'Shish!"</p> + +<p>Still pursued by the horde we make our way to a tea-house, where +numerous natives of Haifa sit out in a little compound surrounded by a +wooden fence and refresh themselves. We order tea, and get it after some +difficulty; but it is more because the attendant guesses what we would +be likely to ask for than because he understands us that we eventually +are provided with a small pot of quite decent tea.</p> + +<p>While we drink the children gather from afar; every one in Haifa under +the age of fourteen is there I should say. They glue themselves to the +fence and force their little faces between the posts, or spike their +chins on the top and then watch in solemn deadly earnest the ways of +these strange beings whom fate has so kindly sent to amuse them. The +rest-house attendant does not approve of these manners, so he slips out +of a side-door with a basin of water in his hand and pitches it straight +over the little crew as if they were a flock of intrusive chickens; they +fly, shrieking with delight, and return in thicker swarms than ever +inside of two minutes.</p> + +<p>An affable gentleman in a gown seats himself beside us.</p> + +<p>"I wish you good-day," he says in English, and we return his greeting.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I am dragoman here," he continues.</p> + +<p>We point to one small girl with a face quite different from that of the +other children, and her hair done in innumerable little tight pigtails, +and ask him who she is. "Nubian," he says. "Eat castor oil, plenty oil, +like it much." We tell him to bring the child to us, but directly he +translates, she flies screaming, is captured by the other children, and +a noise begins like that inside the parrot-house at the Zoo. I explain +that we don't want her to be frightened, but that if she will come and +speak to us she shall have bakshish. The magic word produces instant +calm, the child comes forward at once with coquettish assurance and +when, through the interpreter, we inquire her name, and she tells us it +is "Nafeesa," we give her half a piastre and let her go.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 235px;"> +<img src="images/illus131.jpg" width="235" height="400" alt="A LITTLE NUBIAN GIRL." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A LITTLE NUBIAN GIRL.</span> +</div> + +<p>When we start off again for the steamer the whole crowd follows hard on +our heels, for it is we who provide the free circus to-day. One mite +trotting forward with his eyes glued on us goes smack into a tree and so +hurts his little face that he covers it with a crooked arm and sets off +homewards wailing softly.</p> + +<p>This is really a deserving case, even in England it is allowable to +soothe the feelings of a hurt child, so we mutter "Bakshish," and all +the eager crew rush after the little suffering child, yelling, +"Bakshish," and they bring<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> him back triumphantly with the tears already +dried on his hurt face.</p> + +<p>So much for the Government official!</p> + +<p>Now we are off really! Back down the Nile and good-bye to this glorious +land. Rapidly we fly down-stream, past Abu Simbel, past the sweeps of +deep rich yellow sand seen nowhere south of Assouan in such glorious +colouring; sand that is swept smooth by the wind into great banks and +drifts with sharp edges like snow-drifts; past masses of plum-coloured +rock sticking up out of it; past defiles of stony mountains falling +sheer to the water; hiding here and there in their folds tiny villages +indistinguishable from the rocks without glasses. There is hardly a +<i>shaduf</i> to be seen and very little cultivation, it is either desert or +stony hills on each side. Grand beyond thought is it when seen in the +flaming light of the afterglow!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 318px;"> +<img src="images/illus132.jpg" width="318" height="450" alt="THE PEOPLE GOING HOME IN THE EVENINGS—WATER-CARRIERS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE PEOPLE GOING HOME IN THE EVENINGS—WATER-CARRIERS.</span> +</div> + +<p>At Assouan we have time for a glimpse at the great dam, extending for +over a mile in length and built of masonry eighty-two feet thick at the +bottom. This banks up the water, we have already seen, among the hills +into a prodigious lake when the great swirl of the river comes down at +flood-time, and thus much of it, which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> would have rushed away and been +lost, is stored and let out gradually through the sluice-gates as +required.</p> + +<p>Then we change on to one of Cook's steamers, and for days we fly +down-stream to Cairo. We see the green fields of maize, and we watch the +people going home in the evenings with the tired oxen and the little +donkeys carrying their provender on their backs. And one day we arrive +at Cairo and take the train for Port Said.</p> + +<p>Good-bye to Egypt! Mysterious, beautiful land! Never in all our +wanderings round the globe shall we come upon a country more +interesting.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus134.jpg" width="450" height="178" alt="JERUSALEM." title="" /> +<span class="caption">JERUSALEM.</span> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3>A WALK ABOUT JERUSALEM</h3> + + +<p>We have passed along the south coast of Europe and have been into a +corner of Africa, and now we are going to set foot on a new +continent—Asia. From Port Said, before we go on eastward, I want you to +see just a little of the Holy Land—the scene of the Bible. The Holy +Land stands by itself, apart, and though it is in Asia it doesn't seem +to belong to it. Someone once said that it is to the world what a church +is to a town—the centre of religion. Anyway, it is curious and +interesting to notice that it forms the middle point where three +continents meet, so that they all share it. I expect you know the +position quite well. At the east end the Mediterranean does not run into +a point as it does at Gibraltar, but comes up against a straight wall of +land which cuts it off squarely, and this straight line is the coast of +Palestine, better known as the Holy Land. If the schoolboys of Palestine +were set to draw a map of their own country, they would find it much +easier than a British boy would if told to make a map of his country. +For all that the Jewish boy would have to do would be to make a fairly +straight line, sloping<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> a little out at the bottom end. There would be +hardly any indentations on it and only one small bay.</p> + +<p>Palestine, of course, is the country of the Jews, though people of many +other races and nations live there, and thousands of the Jews are +scattered in all parts of the world. Some people dream of restoring all +the Jews to their own land, but it is difficult to see what good it +would do them. Palestine is held at present by the Turks, but everyone +can visit it when they please. It is not a very large country, only +about the size of Wales, and yet there isn't a country in the world to +equal it in importance. Thousands of people visit it every year in spite +of the fact that it is very difficult to get there. There are no good +harbours, and the landing at Jaffa, which is the principal port for +Jerusalem, has to be done in small boats. As we have to make our visit +in the winter we may find the sea rough and dangerous, and may even be +carried on north of Jaffa and have to come back on another boat as some +friends of mine did. The Holy Land is not great or powerful or even +beautiful nowadays, though in the spring the wild flowers are lovely. +Seen in the winter it is just a rather barren, stony land, with many +hills, and it is inhabited by very poor people. Yet this little country +has been more fought over than any other. For centuries there were +crusaders, or soldiers of the cross, who went out to try to conquer it, +to hold it in Christian keeping, but they did not succeed.</p> + +<p>We must leave our heavy luggage at Port Said, to be picked up again on +our return, and only take what we can carry in handbags. The rather +small steamer which is to take us starts in the evening, and it is best +to go straight to bed on board, as we shall have much to go through when +we arrive to-morrow morning. After a rather disturbed night we are glad +to get up and dress and come on deck. The ship is at anchor off Jaffa, +tossing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> up and down on the grey water, so that we have to clutch at +handrails and hold on to keep our footing on the slippery deck, which is +cumbered up with bags and bundles and people and crates in a most +confusing way.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus136.jpg" width="450" height="195" alt="JAFFA." title="" /> +<span class="caption">JAFFA.</span> +</div> + +<p>All around the ship are big clumsy-looking boats filled with swarthy +shouting men wearing turbans and immense baggy blue trousers with enough +stuff in them to clothe a whole family! Except that they are not armed +we might imagine we were held up by pirates! In front of us, a little +distance off, are cruel jagged rocks over which the waves pour and dash, +spouting up in cascades as they come slap on the hard surfaces.</p> + +<p>One of the boats is close to the ship and the men in her are hanging on +by a rope which they gather up or let out as they rise and fall at the +bottom of the long slippery gangway, much worse than that we climbed at +Toulon. The men in our ship are pitching in bags and bundles very +cleverly as the boat comes up, and among the things we see our own brown +bags. Very soon we shall be pitched in too! How will you like that?</p> + +<p>Near us is a very fat Turkish lady, who is so rolled up in clothes, head +and all, that it is quite possible she might be mistaken for a +feather-bed. Two sailors get hold of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> her and carry her down the +gangway, depositing her neatly in the boat as it swings near.</p> + +<p>Before you have quite realised what has happened a muscular man has +caught you up like a sack of potatoes. You are run down the gangway with +his hand on your arm like a vice, the boat comes up, and just at exactly +the right second, when it balances on the crest of the wave, your captor +lets you go and you land on the seat gently and sink away again with the +boat. I follow, but am not so lucky, for the next wave catches the boat +awry and sluices me from neck to heel! However, I have a stout coat on +and do not mind. Then, in the heavily laden boat, with the Turkish lady +and the bags and the bundles, we start for the distant shore.</p> + +<p>This is the principal landing-place for Palestine! Babies and bishops, +pilgrims and pigs, pianos and potatoes have all to be pitched into +boats!</p> + +<p>Our excitement is not over yet, for as we near the rocks it looks as if +we must be smashed by the heavy waves. The roar of the surf is so great +that we cannot hear each other speak, and the rain and foam bespatter +our faces. We blink and hang on to each other, see-sawing up and down, +and wondering every second if we shall be feeling colder yet when we are +actually in the water, and then the boat swings up on a wave and runs +through into calmer water beyond.</p> + +<p>We thread our way in and out of narrow channels, still between rocks, +and see ahead of us a desolate land with a queer flat-roofed town.</p> + +<p>When at last we are on firm ground our guide leads us quickly through +some narrow dirty streets, and before we have time to notice anything we +are in a noisy, fussy little train, bound for Jerusalem.</p> + +<p>We are actually in the land of Israel, the land where all the Bible +stories happened, not only those of the New<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> Testament but also of the +Old! Here Noah lived when the Flood came, here Abraham and Isaac and +Jacob pitched their tents and pastured their flocks. From here the sons +of Jacob, who was also called Israel, went down to the land of Egypt to +buy corn when there was a terrible famine lasting many years. We know +that they settled there, having found their brother Joseph in great +power; and long, long after they had all been dead their descendants +multiplied into a great people and were treated as slaves by the +Egyptians, so God brought them back again to the land of their +ancestors.</p> + +<p>When they arrived here, after wandering many years in the wilderness, +they found the country occupied by stranger races whom they fought and +conquered; among them were the Hivites and Jebusites and Amorites and +Hittites. Then the Israelites became a great nation and had kings of +their own. The second king, David, was of the tribe of Judah, one of the +best of old Israel's sons, and he drove out the people who occupied +Jerusalem and made it his capital. His son, Solomon, built here the most +wonderful temple ever known. But later on trouble came upon the +Israelites, and mightier nations from the east swept down upon them, and +carried them away as slaves. After long years of captivity some came +back to Jerusalem, and they were the descendants of Judah and Benjamin, +but the other tribes returned no more, and no one knows what became of +them; they are spoken of to this day as the Lost Ten Tribes, but the +descendants of Judah were called Jews. These Jews, who returned and +lived again in Jerusalem and other parts of the country, were again +conquered by the Romans, and when the Saviour Jesus Christ was born the +Romans held the supreme power in the Holy Land.</p> + +<p>As the train goes on we see a bare and bleak country, which looks as if +giants had had a desperate fight and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> hurled stones at each other, after +which the stones had lain there ever since. This was the part of the +land inhabited by the Philistines, against whom the Israelites had so +many and such bitter fights. It is quite likely that Goliath of Gath, +whom David fought, once strode among the fields; and we know that the +great Israelitish hero, Samson, the strong man, lived about here and +wandered in among the valleys. Most people are disappointed with the +country unless they come in the spring, but when you get used to it you +find it has a wonderful charm.</p> + +<p>It takes nearly four hours in the train to reach Jerusalem station. It +seems quite odd to think of Jerusalem having a station. We have heard +the Bible stories so long that we forget that they are real, and that +they actually happened just as truly as the stories in our own history. +Jerusalem is a real town, just as real as York, though it is not like +it, except for the fact that it has city walls. The station is a good +way from the town, and a mob of eager men are waiting there to catch any +tourists and drive them up. They are quite ready to fight each other or +to clutch us to gain this privilege, and if it were not for our guide we +might be torn in pieces.</p> + +<p>Our dragoman is a clever man; he chooses his driver at once and helps us +into the ramshackle old conveyance and off we go over the hillside. Soon +we see ahead of us the encircling wall of the city on a height above, +and we wind up to it by gradually inclined roads till we come to the +great gate. We cannot have the satisfaction of saying to ourselves, +"Jesus actually looked at these walls with His human eyes," because the +walls were built long after His death. The town was utterly destroyed +about sixty years after the crucifixion, and nothing was left but piles +of stones, and when the rebuilding began no one remembered where the +streets had run or where the holy places<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> had been. All we can say with +certainty is that the present city must be very much the same kind of +city as that Jesus knew.</p> + +<p>The hotel is just inside the gateway, and here we can rest and get +something to eat, and then we can go out; but we must have the guide +with us, for any well-dressed European walking alone in the city would +be pestered to death by beggars and touts trying to get money out of +him.</p> + +<p>It is not long before we sally forth and are led into a curious long +dark alley or passage where the houses almost meet overhead; it slopes +down steeply and there are shallow steps at intervals. The sun has come +out, luckily, and looking up we can see a very narrow strip of blue sky, +but down below it is very dark. You slip and nearly come full length on +the pavement because of the old cabbage leaves, bits of orange peel, and +other messy remnants of food left about, and then I, in my turn, go +almost headlong over a bundle of rags lying on a door-step. Immediately +a shrivelled hand shoots out and a long melancholy cry which curdles our +blood comes from the heap. It is a woman, so wrapped up in rags that she +looks like nothing human. A small coin dropped in her hand brings down +what we must suppose are blessings on us in her own tongue.</p> + +<p>The wee strip of blue sky is cut across here and there by iron bars, +high over our heads; these are "camel-bars" put to prevent camels +passing through this way, though the donkeys and people can get along +underneath. Then we turn a corner and pass into a slightly wider +thoroughfare, though it is still merely a passage in comparison with any +streets in our western towns. Swaying high above us is the head of a +camel whose squashy feet come down almost upon us as we hastily tumble +back into our entry, while the great bales on his back brush the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> walls +as he goes on his lordly way. Women selling vegetables crowd the more +open spaces at the crossing of the narrow streets. Men in red fezes and +flowing garments like dressing-gowns stride along; brown-faced boys run +in and out, and the din, the confusion, and the smell are very trying. +We begin to wonder when we shall get out into the real streets and we +ask the dragoman. He tells us at once that we <i>are</i> in a street, one of +the principal ones, that, in fact, they are all like this, and no +wheeled vehicle can pass in any part of Jerusalem! This is so +bewildering that we feel as if we were in a labyrinth, and huddle close +up to the guide anxious not to lose sight of him for a moment.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus141.jpg" width="450" height="338" alt="A BEGGAR, JERUSALEM." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A BEGGAR, JERUSALEM.</span> +</div> + +<p>Overhead there are arches sometimes spanning the narrow space, and at +others we cross over curious little open bridges joining one house to +another, then we plunge into a cellar and walk right through it and out +on the other side. Everyone seems to be doing the same; it is a regular +passage-way, and yet people live in that cellar, for we see them +crouching over a red fire in the cavernous<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> dark, and we wonder how they +like strangers to make a highway of their home.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 266px;"> +<img src="images/illus142.jpg" width="266" height="450" alt="A JEW." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A JEW.</span> +</div> + +<p>All the way we see people of so many kinds we have never seen before +that it is difficult not to stand still and gape. There are men in +cloaks and wrappings, weather-beaten and worn, and men in European +clothes and brown or yellow boots, there are thick-lipped negroes with +rolling yellow eyeballs, and warlike Turkish soldiers, who clank down +the street thrusting everyone aside. The Jews themselves are the least +attractive of all, with very greasy head-gear, from each side of which +hangs down a corkscrew curl, as often red as black; they wear usually a +kind of soiled dressing-gown garment and seem afraid of being struck. Of +the many types of men the Arabs are the manliest, and come nearest to +our idea of the old patriarchs, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. They wear a +kind of cloth on their heads falling down behind, you could easily make +something like it with a towel any day. This is bound round the forehead +by a fillet sometimes made of camel's hair, which holds it in its place +tightly, like a cap. They have across their shoulders a striped narrow +blanket of brilliant orange or scarlet, and they walk with a free stride +and their heads held up; they are men of the desert, accustomed to +freedom and to taking care of themselves against all comers.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 429px;"> +<img src="images/illus143.jpg" width="429" height="600" alt="JEWS' WAILING PLACE, JERUSALEM." title="" /> +<span class="caption">JEWS' WAILING PLACE, JERUSALEM.</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> + +<p>At one corner a man who has been angrily expostulating with another +bangs him with a bag he carries, the bag bursts and the air is filled +with a cloud of flour which envelops the two until they cannot be seen. +Furious voices come out of the cloud, and as everyone hastens to the +sight we take the chance to go the other way.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 371px;"> +<img src="images/illus145.jpg" width="371" height="450" alt="AN ARAB IN JERUSALEM." title="" /> +<span class="caption">AN ARAB IN JERUSALEM.</span> +</div> + +<p>In every Eastern city there is a "bazaar" corresponding with what in +England we should call the market-place. The guide leads us to the +"bazaar," and at the first glance we can hardly believe he is right, for +we plunge into a long narrow passage arched overhead so that it is +simply neither more nor less than a tunnel. There are three of these, +and the light only comes in from the ends or from some holes far +overhead. In this dimness we see caverns or recesses on each side, quite +open, with no glass, and these are the shops. There is a curious glare +from some of them where the owners have a fire for cooking food or for +heating their forges. Butchers and shoemakers abound, and the smell of +raw leather is revolting. In the next passage many things are sold, and +there are quite a number of chemists' shops. In most of these the owner +sits serenely smoking as if he had nothing on earth to do. In one we see +a chair tilted up against the merchandise, this is to signify that the +owner is away and that no one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> must touch anything till he returns. In +the third tunnel, which is the noisiest and darkest of all, there are +many silversmiths showing some wonderful work. It is no use our buying +any of it, for we cannot carry it round the world with us. Even if we +could, we should be rash to get it here, for every man asks about four +times as much as he expects to get. That is one of the things which is +so different in the East and West. Fancy going into one of the big +west-end shops in London where an article was marked at a fixed price +and trying to beat the shop assistant down. He would only smile, hardly +answer, and turn away. Such a thing is absurd, but in the East any +article is worth just as much as it will fetch, and the merchant says at +first an enormous price in the hope that his customer is ignorant and +will give it him, but if the customer bargains he will slowly come down. +It takes much time to shop in this way, and is not altogether +satisfactory, for you really have to know what the things are worth +first.</p> + +<p>After this we must go back to the hotel, for we have wandered about all +the afternoon and are weary and bewildered, and we have many sights to +see to-morrow.</p> + +<p>Thoroughly rested after a good night we start out next morning to see +something of the sacred places. Of course we know very well that when +the long lane is pointed out down which Jesus bore His cross, the very +spots where He stumbled and where Simon was made to carry it for Him, +that these things cannot be true. Speaking of Jerusalem Jesus said once, +"There shall not be left one stone upon another that shall not be thrown +down," and it came literally true, so the present streets are not those +He trod. Yet even so the scene is wonderfully interesting, for the old +Jerusalem must have been like the present town, and the sights Christ +saw must have resembled those we see, as for the first time we walk down +these narrow steep<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> alleys. We are going to the Church of the Holy +Sepulchre built over the place where the sepulchre of Christ is supposed +to have been. As we go toward it we come across more beggars than we yet +have encountered. A perfect army of halt and maimed and lame and blind +crouch by the sides of the lane and live on the charity of the +passers-by. This sort of thing would never be allowed in any Western +country, and, as we are not accustomed to it, it strikes us as very +distressing. Then we come out into an open space where there is a great +building so irregular and piled up that it is difficult to recognise it +as a church. Here are seated on the pavement numerous gaily clothed men +with crucifixes and mementoes of the Holy Land for sale. They spread +their wares out on the paving-stones.</p> + +<p>Passing them all we go inside the church and find a darkened atmosphere +where red lamps burn always.</p> + +<p>We are led up steps and down steps and this way and that, and have many +things pointed out to us. We are shown, for instance, the slab on which +Christ's body lay and the sepulchre hewn in the rock where He was +buried, and though we know that neither of these things can be true, +still we feel we are in a more sacred place than any we have ever yet +visited. For centuries men of all races and all nations have come here +to worship and pray, as the shepherds and Wise Men came to worship and +pray at the manger in Bethlehem. The slab of the marble is worn away by +the soft lips of adoring pilgrims, who fall prostrate before it and kiss +it while tears roll down their cheeks. Of all that come from far the +Russian pilgrims are the most devout. These poor people, worse off than +any English labourers, save their pence from year to year, and then +tramp hundreds of miles from their country homes to the seaport of +Odessa in Russia in order to come across to see the Holy Land. They live +on the charity of other poor villagers as they go, or they carry sacks +of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> bread-crusts, getting more and more mouldy every week. Thousands +arrive at the Holy Land every year just before Easter, old and frail men +and women who have undergone incredible hardships. They say, "What does +it matter what happens to our bodies?" and many of them die +uncomplainingly. They are so good and simple that they believe +everything that is told them, and almost faint with joy to think they +have at last arrived at the holy places. The air seems to glow with +their wonderful faith and love and kindliness to one another. If, +indeed, this is not the real sepulchre, at least it is a very holy +place.</p> + +<p>After this the guide leads us through so many churches of all sorts that +we are quite bewildered, until at last we come out on a high open place +where all is quiet, and in the midst there stands a huge church quite +different from anything we have yet seen—it has a round dome rising +from walls of exquisite blue and green slabs of polished stone. This is +the church of the Mohammedans, called a mosque, and why it is so +especially interesting to us is because it stands on the very spot where +stood the Ark of the Jews, and where, from the days of King Solomon, +they worshipped God in the Temple. When Solomon built the Temple it was +the most wonderful and beautiful church in the world. It was put +together of massive stones, made ready and hewn and carved before they +came to this place, so that there was no sound of axe or hammer in the +sacred precincts. And the fittings were made of carved cedar wood, +brought down by sea from Lebanon, while the furnishings were of pure +gold. Never was any building before so carefully finished or so +artistically designed. Solomon's Temple was utterly destroyed, but there +were temples built and rebuilt on the same site, and that site is +considered to be peculiarly sacred, because it is a peak of a mountain +called Mount Moriah. You remember that it was to Mount Moriah Abraham<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> +was told to take his son Isaac and sacrifice him? The Jews hold that the +very peak on which the mosque now stands is that place. It is, indeed, +quite certain that there is an outcrop of rock belonging to part of the +summit of Mount Moriah in the mosque which stands just where the Temple +stood. You shall see it. Meantime we must put on huge loose slippers, +made of sacking and straw, over our boots before we go in, for the +Mohammedans always take off their own shoes on entering holy places, and +as our modern boots are not constructed to be easily slipped off like +Eastern shoes, we must cover them up. The man at the entrance ties on +these enormous things and we shuffle along in them as best we can. +Inside, the mosque is light and high and very rich in polished stone and +gilding; it is very different from the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. We +are led through it, wondering and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> gazing, until we come suddenly to a +bare rock cropping up out of the pavement to just about your height, and +this, for all the ages past, has been a sacred rock. Indeed, no one can +say that it was not on this mountain-top, then in the midst of wild +natural country, that Abraham laid his only son bound. From this cause +the mosque is often known as the "Dome of the Rock."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus149.jpg" width="450" height="320" alt="THE MOSQUE OF OMAR ON MOUNT MORIAH, JERUSALEM." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE MOSQUE OF OMAR ON MOUNT MORIAH, JERUSALEM.</span> +</div> + +<p>One more sight we must see before going out on to the quiet hillside +called the Mount of Olives. This is that most curious place called the +Jews' Wailing-Place.</p> + +<p>To reach this we pass down long staircase-like streets in a poor +quarter. We see many tall and fierce-looking men, with hooked noses and +keen eyes, who wear a white cloak thrown round their heads and hanging +down on their shoulders; but there are also many other Jews from all +parts,—the Polish Jews are most conspicuous in their brilliant crimson +or purple plush gowns, with round velvet hats of the same colour edged +with fur; and then we come out into an open space with a huge wall as +high as a very high house made of enormous blocks of stone. This is said +to be part of the actual wall surrounding the Temple built by Solomon. +It is Friday afternoon and there is a great concourse of men and women +in flowing garments, bending and bowing and kneeling before the wall and +wailing out their prayers. Some crouch low, others cling to the giant +blocks and kiss the rough surface, others beat their breasts as if in +agony. Standing not far from us is a tall man who calls out some words +in a long wailing cry, immediately the crowd respond as in a Litany. +What they are crying out is something like this—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"For the sake of the Temple that is destroyed<br /></span> +<span class="i4">We sit solitary and weep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the walls that are thrown down<br /></span> +<span class="i4">We sit solitary and weep."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p><hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>We are alone at last. All the morning it has been raining heavily, and +in our wanderings about the city we got drenched by water-spouts from +roofs that stuck out across the street, and deluged by drippings from +window-sills. In many of the narrow streets we simply had to wade, for +the water rushed down them like mountain-torrents, and then we went back +to the hotel to get warm and dry before sallying out again. Now we are +sitting on a great grey stone on the Mount of Olives, and the sun is +coming out and drying up all the dampness. We look down upon Jerusalem +as Christ looked down on it that day when He entered in a triumphal +procession and paused to weep over it. We can see the domes and the flat +roofs with the sun glinting on them and making them shine out white, and +the great wall with its turreted top running round all. It is not the +same city He saw, but it must be very like it. These buildings, +churches, and mosques were not there, of course, and there were a good +many more trees than there are now. An olive tree never looks young; +from the earliest time it always has a twisted cross appearance like an +old man who knows what rheumatism is. The blue-green leaves are small +and narrow, and they turn edgewise to the sun as if they were reluctant +to give anyone beneath them any more shade than they could help. There +is one line of a hymn that always comes into my mind when I look at an +olive tree, it runs—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Beneath the olive's moon-pierced shade."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>That is very good, because the brilliant clear white light of an Eastern +moon would certainly pierce through any "shade" an olive tree could +make.</p> + +<p>Many, many times must Jesus have crossed this hill, and the most +memorable time was when the people came running beside Him, singing +Hosannas and cutting down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> palm branches, and even spreading their +clothes for Him to pass over, on that first Palm Sunday so long ago. The +association, which is the most sacred and heart-stirring, is of that +night before the crucifixion, when He came out here with His disciples +and, kneeling, prayed earnestly while they slept. That was in what is +called the Garden of Gethsemane. There is more than one place on the +Mount which claims to be that garden. The monks have fenced one in and +planted it with gay flowers, and there is a good deal of reason to +believe this may be actually right. In the country, places cannot be +utterly swept away as they are in towns under an avalanche of brick and +stone. We can look down from the hill into this garden, even though it +is surrounded by high walls. In the middle is a very ancient olive tree, +said to have been growing in Christ's time. Rosaries are made from the +stones of the olives which it bears. There are little round flower-beds +carefully tended in the garden, and between them you can see a monk +walking in his long coarse gown.</p> + +<p>The hill is not very high, and the country is barren and stony and would +be rather dull were it not for the thought of all the wonderful scenes +that have happened here. Let us climb on to the very top. From there, +away to the east, we see a long line of high blue hills, the mountains +of Moab, and nearer, in a deep hole in the ground, we catch just a +glimpse of the water of the Dead Sea. It is a strange name and a strange +place! It lies deep, deep down, far below the level of the ocean, and +though many rivers and streams run into it none run out. You would think +it must always be getting larger, but no. The water evaporates very +quickly. You know if there is a drop of water or a wet mark on your hand +and you wave it about in the air, presently the water disappears, that +is because of evaporation. The dampness has not really<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> gone but turned +into another form and made the surrounding air a little more damp. If +that drop had been salt, the salt would not have entered into the air, +but stayed on your hand, so when the air drinks up the water from the +surface of the Dead Sea, the salt remains behind and the sea gets more +and more salty; it is many times more salt than the water of an ordinary +sea.</p> + +<p>The sandy shores all round are full of this salt and nothing can grow +there, so all is desolate and dreary, and thus it is that the name Dead +Sea is so appropriate. If you tried to swim in that sea you would find +it impossible to sink, for just as sea-water holds you up more than +fresh, so the Dead Sea water holds you up more than that of the ordinary +sea. All the same, though you could not sink to the bottom you might +drown, because the head and chest being heavier than the legs go down +naturally, and a man might not be able to recover himself but be drowned +legs upward, as many have been through not knowing how to manage a +lifebelt.</p> + +<p>The sacred river Jordan runs into the Dead Sea. We have met one of the +sacred rivers of history already—the Nile,—and the Jordan, though very +small, is another. It is almost absurdly small in contrast with the +Nile, being only one hundred miles long! From all over the world people +send to get water from the Jordan with which to baptize their babies; +they have a feeling that it is different from ordinary water because +Christ Himself was baptized in it. As you have heard, the Russian +pilgrims go down in crowds to bathe in the Jordan in their shrouds, for +they too look on the river as sacred.</p> + +<p>About six miles to the south of where we are sitting is Bethlehem, where +Jesus was born, and where the shepherds and Wise Men found Him. Much +nearer is Bethany, where He often stayed.</p> + +<p>To-day something of the wonder of the Holy Land<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> has come upon us. We +have got out of the narrow crowded lanes and away from the jostling +people into the country; so the Bible story has become more real than it +ever was before. Here is the hillside over which He passed. There are +the olive trees, exactly like those He saw.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus154.jpg" width="450" height="200" alt="ABOUT SIX MILES TO THE SOUTH IS BETHLEHEM." title="" /> +<span class="caption">ABOUT SIX MILES TO THE SOUTH IS BETHLEHEM.</span> +</div> + +<p>We have visited Him in His daily life. It is now only left for us to go +to Nazareth, where He spent all His life up to the time when He +announced Himself as the Christ, the Messiah, and began His Mission. But +Nazareth is a long way off. It will take us about three days to get +there. We can ride or drive, whichever you like. You prefer to ride? All +right, but don't expect a sleek, home-fed pony, or a fine horse champing +the bit, or even a well-grown, well-fed Egyptian donkey; wait and you +will see what riding means here!</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus155.jpg" width="450" height="271" alt="WOMEN AT A WELL IN NAZARETH." title="" /> +<span class="caption">WOMEN AT A WELL IN NAZARETH.</span> +</div> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3>THE COUNTRY OF CHRIST'S CHILDHOOD</h3> + + +<p>If you only knew how funny you look! Perched up on a dirty, thin, white +horse which scrambles along somehow, while the great iron stirrups, +shaped like shovels, dangle far below your feet. Aha! I thought so, one +has fallen off. I try to pull up quickly to dismount and help you, and +my bridle, which is made of worsted, like the toy reins children play +with, breaks suddenly and my noble steed comes a cropper!</p> + +<p>By the time I recover and get to you I find our guide, who looks more +like a bundle of rags than anything else, tying up your stirrups with a +crazy bit of string full of knots and quite rotten. This is the way we +journey in the Holy Land in the present year! This is the third day of +it, and these little accidents don't affect us; the harness must have +been broken in at least two dozen different<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> places since we started, +and, as an Irishman might say, most of it is made of gaps.</p> + +<p>To-day we ought to reach Nazareth while it is still light, though, as it +is dull and grey, the evening will close in sooner than if the sky were +clear. What a pity we could not manage to come here in the spring when +the fields of blue lupins look like a strip of summer sky fallen to +earth and fill the air with their scent for miles around. There are +anemones too, purple and red and white, and lilies, but I think nothing +would strike us so much as the homely little daisies which grow here +just as they do at home. There is something strange and yet familiar in +this country, where so many different sorts of trees and plants grow, +that a man coming from almost anywhere in the world will find something +that carries his heart back home. Besides the daisies we have the +sparrows, just as pert and neat as our own sparrows, yet other things +are odd. Yesterday we saw a man carrying a sheep on his shoulders; he +wore a striped garment hanging down on each side of his neck, and even +the sheep did not seem quite the same as ours. It was some time before +we discovered why, and then we found out that the long flapping ears +hung down, while the ears of our sheep are small and upright. It is a +most difficult thing to remember how an animal's ears grow. Nine people +out of ten, on being told to draw a pig, will give him small, pointed, +upright ears, instead of making the flaps fall over!</p> + +<p>The rest of the flock of sheep quietly followed the shepherd who carried +the hurt one, for in the East sheep are used to being led, instead of +being driven by a dog, as in Britain, and that is why so often we hear +in the Bible of the sheep being led. Jesus took almost all His parables +from natural things around Him—the cornfields, the lilies growing, the +sparrows, and the vineyards.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus157.jpg" width="450" height="468" alt="A MAN CARRYING A SHEEP ON HIS SHOULDERS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A MAN CARRYING A SHEEP ON HIS SHOULDERS.</span> +</div> + +<p>We have been steadily rising for long past, now we mount a steeper bit +of rising ground and suddenly there comes into view a tiny valley from +which the hills rise again, and on the opposite slope, spread out before +us, is Nazareth. We pull up and look at it in silence. The little, +flat-roofed, white houses are dotted about among gardens and trees, and +resemble the square white dice one throws out of a box. Very much as it +appears to us now must this little hill-village have looked to Jesus +when He lived here, except that the slopes of the hills were more +cultivated, and there were more houses. Jesus came here as a small child +and lived here until He was thirty. <i>You</i> know, of course, every tree +and hole and stream and almost every stone and bird's nest about your +own home in the country; you will never get to know any other place<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> so +well again in your life, for when one is grown up one can't climb trees +and dabble in streams and build huts and root about in the earth. Jesus +was just a natural boy; He grew to know all the byways between the +little gardens, all the trees which bore figs or pomegranates or olives +or oranges, and He climbed the hills around with other lads when He had +a holiday—no other place would ever be to Him what Nazareth was.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus158.jpg" width="450" height="432" alt="NAZARETH." title="" /> +<span class="caption">NAZARETH.</span> +</div> + +<p>One or two tall buildings stand out prominently, these are the churches, +and they, of course, were not there in His time. None of the houses can +be the same after nineteen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> hundred years, but many of them are probably +exactly like those that existed then.</p> + +<p>As we go down toward the village at a foot's pace we see grave, +brown-faced, bright-eyed boys, who stand and stare but do not bother us +for coppers, as the Jerusalem children did. We pass in among the houses +and come to the well where both men and women are standing, for it is +just the time that they come to draw water in the evening. This well is +one of the most interesting things in Nazareth, for it is the only one, +and has been known for generations. It is almost certain that it must +have been here when Jesus lived in the village. Now it has a stone arch +over it, and as the water gushes out the women fill hand-made +earthenware jars with narrow necks and curving sides, and having filled +them they put them on their heads and walk gracefully away. Just so must +Mary, the mother of Jesus, have filled her jar in the ages long ago, and +the child Jesus may have clung to her skirts as that tiny brown boy is +doing, shyly hiding at the sight of us. The women are very good looking, +and dress in a great variety of colours, many wearing striped clothes. +One or two have chains or bands of silver coins across their foreheads, +very many have bright red head coverings falling down over blue dresses. +There are some swarthy-looking men too, in sheepskins, and one is +waiting to water his camel. On one side is a very handsome lad of +sixteen with a flock of black goats. They all look at us with interest, +but they are quite accustomed to strangers and are not at all +embarrassed.</p> + +<p>We go on between the houses by the widest road, which is now slippery +with mud, and after our guide has asked permission of a man standing in +a doorway, we dismount and get a chance of seeing inside one of these +little dark houses. The only light comes from the doorway, for there is +no window; it shines into one room with a mud<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> floor, beaten hard by +many feet. There are a few mats laid about, a few stools, and on one +side a kind of shelf with more mats and some cushions—this is where the +family sleep at night. In a corner are some of the earthenware jars and +some pots and pans. That is all. There is no reason to think that the +house Jesus lived in was at all more luxurious than this.</p> + +<p>As we turn to go out we hear a flutter of wings, and a flock of white +doves rise from the ground and alight on the roof, cooing softly.</p> + +<p>In this village are a good many shops, but they are not the sort we are +accustomed to. Picture the village shop at home with its small glass +panes and the post-office on one side. The window crammed with marbles +and liquorice and peppermint, and slates and balls and copybooks and +hoops and everything that the owner thinks anyone would be in the least +likely to buy. In Nazareth the shops sell only one sort of thing, and +those that sell the same sort of thing have a general inclination to +come together. In one little street, for instance, are the saddlers' +shops.</p> + +<p>The front of the house is open, but there is no glass to fill it in, and +we can see the men working at their trade inside. The harness is +extremely gay, painted in all colours, red and blue and yellow, and made +up with bits of tinsel and glitter. The more decorated he can afford to +have his harness the prouder is the rider. As we stand watching, a +number of women steal gently up behind us and offer some embroidery they +have made; they do not push or scramble, and when we shake our heads +they melt away again.</p> + +<p>As we turn a corner, there, right in front of us, is a carpenter's shop +with the front quite open to the street, as in the harness-makers' +shops. The bearded man who leans over a cart-wheel and handles it with +long brown<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> hands might have been Joseph himself. In just such a +workshop as this Jesus learnt His trade.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus161.jpg" width="450" height="360" alt="IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN JOSEPH HIMSELF." title="" /> +<span class="caption">IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN JOSEPH HIMSELF.</span> +</div> + +<p>The life of a little Jewish boy of those days was carefully ordered, and +in his life there was much more saying of prayers and going to +church—that is, the synagogue—than you have in yours. At school there +was a great deal to be learnt by heart, and what with that and the +churchgoing and the workshop there cannot have been much spare time.</p> + +<p>We go slowly on to the inn, where we are to pass the night. To-morrow we +will go down to the Sea of Galilee and watch the fishermen drawing in +their nets as they did in Christ's time when He called them to be +fishers of men.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p> + +<p>After that we will come back, pass Nazareth once more, and make our way +to a port called Haifa, where we can get a steamer to take us down to +Jaffa instead of returning to Jerusalem again by three days' journey on +horseback.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus163.jpg" width="450" height="178" alt="THERE IT WILL STAY TILL IT ROTS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THERE IT WILL STAY TILL IT ROTS.</span> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3>AN ADVENTURE</h3> + + +<p>We are late, very late, the moon is rising and I must confess I am just +a wee bit uneasy. When we reached Haifa safely last night, coming from +Nazareth, and found we couldn't get a steamer till to-morrow it seemed +the best thing to drive across the bay and get a look at Acre, that +celebrated town which has spent its existence in the turmoil of sieges +and assaults. It is a great fort built out into the sea, and nearly +everyone who wanted to get possession of the Holy Land has tried first +to take Acre as the key to it. One of the most memorable sieges was that +of two years in the reign of our own King Richard <span class="smcap">i.</span>, who ended it by +arriving with fresh troops and helping his allies the French; but it is +reckoned the two countries, between them, lost 100,000 men, one way and +another, before they took the stubborn town. After that it remained in +English hands for a century.</p> + +<p>The Turks held it in much later times against Buonaparte; they were +helped by an Englishman, Sir Sydney Smith, and if Acre is celebrated for +nothing else it should be celebrated for the fact that it held out for +sixty-one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> days against Buonaparte, who was in the end obliged to give +up and go away!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus164.jpg" width="450" height="385" alt="WOMEN WITH BUNDLES, WHICH THEY ALWAYS THINK NECESSARY TO +DRAG ABOUT WITH THEM." title="" /> +<span class="caption">WOMEN WITH BUNDLES, WHICH THEY ALWAYS THINK NECESSARY TO +DRAG ABOUT WITH THEM.</span> +</div> + +<p>We drove this morning, with three horses abreast, across the twelve +miles of sandy bay between Haifa and Acre, in one of the ramshackle +waggonettes that take the place of omnibuses and carry any passengers +who want to go. We came with numbers of natives, chiefly women, and +innumerable bundles and bags, which they always think it necessary to +drag about with them. We did not get here till midday, and after +spending a few hours we had seen all we cared to of the place, and were +ready to go back. But in the East things are not done like that. So we +waited and waited long after the hour the omnibus was said to return, +and when at last the driver did saunter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> up, the scarecrow horses had to +be sought for, and then the harness, of course, had to be mended with +string, and that wasn't nearly the end, because, after waiting again a +long time for nothing at all that anyone could see, a Turkish woman who +was evidently of some consequence, attended by a maid and quantities of +baggage, came up, and everyone had to turn out until all her things were +stowed away. So it was nearly nightfall before we got off.</p> + +<p>The sands are in most places firm and make good going, but a couple of +rivers run down across them to the sea; one of these is that "ancient +river, the river Kishon," mentioned in Deborah's song of triumph when +the Israelites had overcome their enemies. These rivers have to be +crossed with care, and, not so long ago, some people got bogged and were +set upon by robbers and stripped, and one was drowned by the incoming +tide; but I ought not to tell you these things. We are half across now, +and the moon is getting high, so we shall have more light presently.</p> + +<p>Bump! The horse on the off-side runs out of his traces suddenly and +stands facing the other one in a sort of mild amazement. The harness has +given way once more. Grumbling and growling the driver climbs down and +pulls him back and goes on muttering to himself. Far off the lapping of +the water is heard out at sea; it wouldn't do to be caught by the tide +in this situation, but they tell us the tide has not turned yet. The +moon sheds a curious unearthly light that fills the air with mystery. +The long low sandhills on the shore show up plainly, and nearer there +are countless wrecks which have been piled up on this desolate coast. +That large one, nearest of all, looks just like the huge up-curving ribs +of some mammoth that has had the flesh picked clean from his bones. +Look! There is something moving close to it, in the shadow; what is it? +It comes out a little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> way into the light, it is a furtive-looking +little four-footed creature whose fur shines with a reddish tinge; there +is another, peeping out from the sandhills, and another and another! +They are all over, but so silent and light-footed are they that it is +difficult to believe them to be anything but shadows. A wave of the hand +and they have disappeared! They are jackals, inquisitively watching us +with their bright eyes. Nothing to be afraid of. They dare not attack a +man if he is alive, though they would gleefully devour him dead. They +are much more frightened of you than you are of them. Weird, shy, +furtive little beasts. One can imagine them on a night like this playing +games and chasing one another in and out of the ribs of the drowned ship +in a sort of witches' dance.</p> + +<p>Heigho! Well, we're on again at last.</p> + +<p>We journey at a foot's pace for another mile or so and the lights of +Haifa begin to shine out clearly ahead, when all of a sudden the +carriage seems to be going down on one side. The two Turkish women, who +are on the high side, roll violently down on to us, screaming and +sobbing hysterically. I don't know what you feel like, but I am nearly +smothered by the flowing shawls and the strong smell of scent; when I +manage to get free I find that you have disappeared altogether till I +get hold of a leg and jerk you forth.</p> + +<p>The carriage has gone further and further over; the horses are splashing +and struggling; and as we stand up the middle one goes down and +disappears altogether. The water must be deep and we are evidently in +the river.</p> + +<p>There is nothing for it but to go to the driver's help, so I leave you +to reassure the ladies and get up to my waist almost at once as we pull +the horse's head above water, while the sand slips away beneath our +feet. The poor beast, after desperate kickings, gets on to his legs +again, but no effort of ours can move the carriage, which seems to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> be +sinking deeper and deeper. With the struggles of the horses the harness +has all come to bits again, and the poor, mild, dismayed creatures turn +round, quite free from their trappings, and look at the vehicle as much +as to say, "What a shabby trick you have served us!"</p> + +<p>The driver brings the horses alongside, and the bundle of scented +wrappings, which is the more important lady, is lifted on the back of +one. The man himself gets up behind her to hold her on, and when she +feels his wet embrace she raises a perfect storm of shrieks as if she +were being carried away by a robber. He takes not the slightest notice, +but solemnly sets his horse's head to the shore, and they splash away. +By yourself you have managed to land on to the back of the next horse, +and before you have time to turn round or do anything to help with the +other lady, the horse kicks up its heels, sending you shooting on to its +neck, and whinnying wildly scrambles off after its comrade. The Turkish +lady's companion makes no fuss at all about coming with me. She slips on +to the remaining horse as if she were used to riding all her life, and, +sitting astride like a man, holds him in until I mount behind. It is +lucky indeed this animal has no spirit left, or she and I would have +been stranded!</p> + +<p>At this rate we shall soon reach Haifa.</p> + +<p>When we do get there what a chattering and what excitement! +Unfortunately, as we can't speak the native tongue, we miss most of it, +but the excited gestures and loud voices show that we are heroes indeed.</p> + +<p>Next morning I find myself none the worse for my wetting, and before we +leave we have the satisfaction of seeing all the bundles and packages +belonging to the ladies safely recovered. But we gather that the +waggonette remains immovable. We can see it, far off, partly surrounded +by the swirling water like a little black island.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> The united strength +of a dozen men and six horses have been unable to pull it on to firm +ground. There it will stay till it rots, in the midst of the stranded +ships, and the little soft-footed shadowy jackals will dance around it +and tell one another strange tales of that wonderful night when the air +was shaken by piercing screams, and strange heavy animals galloped +across the sands, making them shake and quiver, and yet, after it all, +there was nothing left for them to eat!</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus169.jpg" width="450" height="234" alt="THE SHIPS SEEM TO BE GLIDING ALONG THE TOP OF A +SANDBANK." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE SHIPS SEEM TO BE GLIDING ALONG THE TOP OF A +SANDBANK.</span> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h3>THE GATEWAY OF THE EAST</h3> + + +<p>The anchor is up and we are in a stately ship moving on slowly into the +Suez Canal. When we arrived at Port Said—how many weeks ago was it? It +seems to me like a year—we were on the <i>Orontes</i>, of the Orient Line, +and we steamed into the harbour past a long breakwater like a thin arm; +standing upon it is a statue of Ferdinand de Lesseps, the man who made +the Suez Canal. That meant nothing to you then, for the canal was merely +a name and not of any special interest, but now that we are actually +passing into it it is different.</p> + +<p>Just here, you remember, we are at the place where three continents +meet, Europe being represented by the Mediterranean Sea. The other two, +Asia and Africa, are joined by a strip of land called the Isthmus of +Suez, about a hundred miles across. For ages men had it in their minds +to cut through this strip so that their ships could sail straight from +the Mediterranean into the Red Sea<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> on the other side of the Isthmus. +But it wasn't quite so easy to do as it sounds, for the land was mostly +desert sand, and if you have ever tried to dig out a trench on the +seashore and then let water into it, you will know very well what +happens. The sides slip down, and in a few minutes your trench is level +up to the top and is a trench no more!</p> + +<p>The ancient Egyptians frequently marched across the Isthmus with their +armies and advanced into Palestine and made war on the wild tribes +there. They built also a strong wall across the Isthmus to prevent the +inhabitants of Palestine from retaliating, just as the Romans built a +wall across Northumbria to hold back the Picts and Scots.</p> + +<p>It was not until comparatively recent days, that is to say, in the time +of your grandfather, that the attempt to cut a canal across the Isthmus +was successful, and the man who did it was Ferdinand de Lesseps, whose +statue stands on the breakwater. He was a Frenchman, but he wished to +get other nations to help in the great work, as France could not raise +all the money alone; unfortunately Great Britain would have nothing to +do with the idea, though luckily afterwards, when the canal had been +built, the Government managed to buy a large number of the shares in it +from the Egyptian Government. It took ten years to make the canal, but +it was done at last after the expenditure of quantities of money and the +loss of many lives, and even up to the opening day there were many who +scoffed and said it could never be made useful; yet now that bronze +statue stands solemnly watching, day by day, the great ships of many +nations crawling slowly into the narrow opening at the northern end.</p> + +<p>Not only had the canal to be made but it has to be kept in working +order, for the sand silts back into the channel, and so numbers of +dredgers are constantly at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> work scraping out the bottom so as to keep +it deep enough for ships of large size.</p> + +<p>At first the depth of the main channel was twenty-six feet, but now it +has been deepened to twenty-nine feet; but even that seems less than we +should expect.</p> + +<p>At one time the storms of January and February used to drive quantities +of sand from the Mediterranean into the mouth of the canal, and even +now, though the breakwater has been lengthened to prevent it, there is +always difficulty. Steamers are only allowed to go through slowly, +otherwise the suction or pull of the water they disturb would tear down +the banks and soon make the canal useless. You have no idea what a wave +a big ship can raise in going through that narrow trough; even at a +moderate pace it would be sufficient to tear another ship from her +moorings by the bank, and then there might be a collision and disastrous +results. Ships have to pay a heavy toll for the privilege of using the +short cut, but the toll is needed to meet the working expenses and to +pay the interest on the money spent in the construction.</p> + +<p>The ship we are in is considerably larger than the <i>Orontes</i>; she is the +<i>Medina</i>, belonging to the P. & O. Company, and was chosen to take the +King and Queen to India in 1911. She is not very cheerful looking +outside, being painted buff, with black funnels, but she is a +comfortable boat, and we are lucky in having a large cabin on the upper +deck, so that we can have our port-hole open whatever the weather may +be.</p> + +<p>The sun is setting in a flame of salmon and scarlet as we pass the canal +offices and turn into the narrow channel. There are sidings dug out +about every five or six miles, for as only one big ship can go through +at a time, if she meets another, one of them must stop and tie up. There +are telegraph stations at every siding, and every ship entering the +canal is controlled all the way by an elaborate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> system of signals which +tells the pilot exactly what he is to do, whether he must "shunt into a +siding," to use railway language, or if he may go right ahead.</p> + +<p>Directly we are in the canal we see over the banks on both sides; on the +west is a wide sheet of water lit up to smoky-red by the reflection of +the sinking sun. Flocks of storks and pelicans and other birds cover it +at certain times of the year to fish in the shallow salt waters, for +this is a salt lake, a sort of overflow from the sea. One day it will be +drained and then crops can grow upon it. The canal is cut through it and +hemmed in by an embankment; farther on it runs through the desert and +then goes through another lake. For the greater part of the way a +railway line runs beside it, passing through Ismailia, the junction for +Cairo, and going on to Suez, and from some parts of this line you can +see a strange spectacle, for, as no water is visible, the ships appear +to be gliding along the top of a sandbank; there is apparently just a +huge modern steamer lost among the sandhills and making the best of her +way back to the sea!</p> + +<p>The pilot who is on board now takes us to Ismailia, half-way down, and +then another replaces him as far as Suez, where the canal ends. Every +ship over one hundred tons is compelled to carry a pilot, who is +responsible for her while she is in the difficult channel. And, indeed, +a pilot is necessary, for the canal is not by any means a straight, deep +trench; there are curves where it is a delicate job to manœuvre a +ship of any length, and in places in the deeper lakes the course is only +marked by buoys. It needs a man who spends his whole time at the work +and gives all his attention to it. The danger at the curves is lest the +propeller at the stern should come in contact with the banks, so the +ship has to be manœuvred most slowly and carefully round them. Only +at one place in the whole length of the canal was no digging out<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> +necessary. This is in the great Bitter Lake, where for eight miles the +water is deep enough for the ships to pass safely.</p> + +<p>There is not much to see at first; the banks are lined by scrubby +bushes, and on them, in a sandy open patch, we see a man falling and +bowing at his evening devotions; a few camels pass along the raised +bank, looking like gigantic spiders against the illuminated sky, and +there comes faintly to us the distant bark of a jackal.</p> + +<p>When we come on deck again after dinner we find the air quite mild; we +are only going at the rate of six miles an hour, which is the +speed-limit.</p> + +<p>Somewhere across the desert where we are passing to-night have passed +also the feet of many mighty ones of history. Abraham crossed it with +Sarah, his beautiful wife, Joseph was carried down a captive over the +caravan track of that day. Later on his brothers twice journeyed, driven +by famine, and lastly came old Jacob also. Many times, as we know, did +the armies of the Pharaohs start out in all the panoply of war and +return victorious bringing captives in chains. Across the wilderness +somewhere Moses led forth the children of Israel, and, most wonderful +remembrance of all, Joseph, the carpenter of Nazareth, brought down to +Egypt his wife and her infant son to escape the wrath and jealousy of +Herod. Hardly any strip of land we could name has so many associations +interesting to all the world.</p> + +<p>Why do you start and catch hold of my arm to draw my attention? That is +only a Lascar, one of the sailors, a picturesque fellow, isn't he? +Didn't you notice them when we came on board? The P. & O. ships carry a +crew of Lascars to work under the white quartermasters; they are dark +brown men with shining eyes and gleaming teeth, who dress in bright blue +with red belts and caps; they love a bit of finery and stick it on +wherever they can.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> They come from the coasts of India and usually sign +on for three years under one of their own headmen called a <i>serang</i>; you +can always pick him out by the silver chain of office which he wears +round his neck, Lord-Mayor fashion. I saw him just now, a little man +rather like a monkey. He is a very important personage, for all the +orders are given through him, and he receives the pay for his men and is +responsible for their good behaviour. Woe be to the man who is +insubordinate! Not only will he be punished now, but his whole village +will hear about it, and he will be disgraced and find it difficult to +get work thereafter.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 217px;"> +<img src="images/illus174.jpg" width="217" height="400" alt="A LASCAR." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A LASCAR.</span> +</div> + +<p>The moon is covered with clouds to-night, which is a pity, but the +brilliant reflectors the ship carries in her bows throw the light well +ahead on to both banks.</p> + +<p>Hullo! We're coming to something; there is another ship tied up waiting +for us to pass. No, it is true I can't make her out, but I can see her +searchlights, so I guess she is behind them. Very slowly we crawl on, +making hardly a ripple; we are going dead slow now, scarcely moving, in +fact. That light from the other ship is blinding; just where it strikes +the water there are any number of little fish wriggling and squirming in +an ecstasy of painful delight. The water is alive with them, churning +and threshing over one another like a pot full of eels. Bright lights +attract fish and it is a very old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> dodge, known all over the world, to +hold a flare over the water and then spear or net the fish who are +attracted by it. Fish must have something akin to moths in their nature, +as many of them simply cannot resist a light.</p> + +<p>Now we are alongside; the other ship's light is out of our eyes and our +own falls full upon her. What a spectacle! She looks like a phantom ship +carrying a cargo of ghosts! She is transformed by our lights into blue +fire! Every plank and rope stands out brilliantly in the ghastly light. +Her decks are crowded by a mass of turbaned and fez-covered men, mostly +in light garments, and they, their faces and their clothing, are all +blue-white. They stand silently, packed side by side like sardines; it +doesn't look as if they would have room to lie, or even to sit down. As +we glide slowly past a strange odour floats over from them enveloping +us—an odour made up of spices and camels and tired unwashed humanity; +there is a hint of coffee in it and a touch of wood-smoke—it suggests +Eastern bazaars and the desert.</p> + +<p>Then our light slips off them and we see the ship as she really is under +the faintly diffused light of the clouded moon. She is a dirty +commonplace hulk, packed with men in soiled clothes, no longer the +radiant white ship of our vision.</p> + +<p>"Taking pilgrims back from Mecca," says one of the passengers who is +leaning over the rail near us smoking. "They pack them like cattle +usually. On some of these vessels their fare doesn't include any +accommodation or food; they have to bargain with the captain for a bit +of deck to lie down on, and the highest bidder secures the best place!"</p> + +<p>Mecca, which lies many miles inland from the port of Jiddah, half-way +down the Red Sea, is the birthplace of Mohammed, and the sacred city of +the Mohammedans; when they kneel at their devotions it is with their +faces<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> turned towards Mecca. Those who have managed to pilgrimage there +even once in their lives are looked upon as superior beings.</p> + +<p>The siding we have just passed is one of the largest in the canal, and +three ships can lie up there together if necessary. It is here that the +Syrian caravans cross over into Africa.</p> + +<p>Next morning we are up on deck in good time, as we want to see all we +can of the canal. We are by this time out in the wide water of the +Bitter Lake, where we can go at a good speed, then the canal itself +begins again and we pass one of the little station-houses where the +signalmen live; it looks as if it was built out of a child's bricks, and +stands on the arid banks with only a few scanty palms near. It must be a +dreary sort of life for ever signalling to ships which are going onward +to all countries of the world, while you yourself remain pinned down in +the same few square yards of land.</p> + +<p>This narrow waterway that passes down between Asia on the one side and +Africa on the other is stimulating to the imagination.</p> + +<p>We catch a glimpse of Suez afar off and run by a tree-shadowed road that +leads to a peninsula, where are the P. & O. offices and a row of houses +inhabited by the men whose work in life it is to look after the canal. +Notice that buoy on the port side of the ship, it is about as far from +the bank as a man could throw a cricket-ball, yet through that strip of +water, which marks the deepest channel, every ship has to pass either on +entering or leaving the canal. Think of it! Between five thousand and +six thousand ships steam through in a year, they are of all sizes, of +many nations, carrying many kinds of cargo. There are the mail ships and +passenger ships of the European countries, there are pilgrim ships from +Russia and Turkey, there are transports carrying our own khaki-clad<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> +soldiers; you can always recognise one of these transports, for she is +painted white and carries a large white number on a black square at the +stem and stern. Then there are merchant ships innumerable; it is true +that the heavily laden Australian ships go home round the Cape, as the +distance (from Sydney) is much the same, but those stored with teak wood +from Burma, with tea, cotton, spices, and silk from China, Ceylon, and +India come through here. If a boy were to sit on the verandah of one of +those houses and hear the names, destinations, and freight of all the +vessels he saw, he could learn the geography and commerce of half the +world with hardly an effort!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus177.jpg" width="450" height="208" alt="IN THE SUEZ CANAL, THE NARROW WATERWAY BETWEEN ASIA AND +AFRICA." title="" /> +<span class="caption">IN THE SUEZ CANAL, THE NARROW WATERWAY BETWEEN ASIA AND +AFRICA.</span> +</div> + +<p>That range of mountains across there, which look strangely like ruined +forts and castles, forms part of the great peninsula of Sinai where the +Law was given to Moses, and though it is in Asia it now belongs to +Egypt. It looks as if you could hit it with a stone, so wonderfully do +distant objects stand out in this clear atmosphere, but it is seven or +eight miles away. That dark clump midway between it and the sea marks +the place called Moses' Well.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p> + +<p>We are in the Gulf of Suez now, and it must have been somewhere about +here that the Israelites crossed over with the host of Pharaoh pursuing +them.</p> + +<p>We are getting up better speed, and it is not long before we have +reached the end of the gulf and pass out into the wide waters of the Red +Sea.</p> + +<p>There were two delusions I cherished for many a year about this sea. I +always imagined it a long, narrow strip, like a river, in which you +could see from bank to bank as you sailed along; and secondly, I thought +there must be some red colouring on the banks or in the water to account +for the strange name. As a matter of fact, the sea is over one thousand +miles long and varies from twenty to one hundred and eighty miles in +breadth. Being on it in a ship is like being out in the open ocean, for +one can see no shore. The name "Red" Sea has never been satisfactorily +explained, but some people suggest that it may have arisen from the +spawn or eggs of fish which float on the surface in quantities at +certain times of the year and are of a reddish tinge, others say it is +from the coral which grows so well here, and others think it may have +something to do with the rocks of red porphyry on the Egyptian side of +the Arabian Gulf.</p> + +<p>For the first time since we left England we begin now, as we go +southward, to feel uncomfortably hot. It was never too hot in Egypt, for +there was always a fresh wind. Here at first we have a following wind +which makes it seem dead calm; there is a kind of clammy dampness in the +air which makes it impossible to do anything requiring energy. The deck +games of "bull" and quoits and even cricket, which have been carried on +in such a lively way lately, fall off; no one cares to do anything.</p> + +<p>Even the children cease from troubling. There are quite a number of them +on board, for this is an Australian ship; if she were going to India +there would be no small<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> children. Here I counted fifteen at the table +downstairs where they have their meals. You, of course, are treated as a +grown-up person, and quite right too, as you are on the eve of a public +school. I wonder how you will settle down at Harrow next winter after +all this change! There is only one other boy of about the same age. I +saw you talking to him this morning; what do you make of him?</p> + +<p>A "rotter"? Yes, I thought so too. He seems to consider that the +greatest fun on board is to rumple up the stewards' hair or to knock off +their caps, and as they can't retaliate it is poor sport. He never plays +games either, which is odd considering he is an Australian.</p> + +<p>Oh, I hoped that child had sunk into a sweet slumber! He is a nuisance; +he can't be more than four, but he never seems to rest day or night, and +he spends the laziest hour of the afternoon dragging a squeaking cart up +and down the wooden deck, to the annoyance of everyone except the fond +mother, who encourages it as a sign of genius! Odd one never can travel +without at least one child of that sort on board. There's a nice alcove +aft behind the smoking-room where we may find refuge.</p> + +<p>Yes, I grant the little girls are just as bad as the boys; there is that +pert spoilt little miss who rushes after the steward when he carries +round the <i>hors d'œuvre</i> before dinner and clamours for them.</p> + +<p>"They're not for children," he told her.</p> + +<p>"But mother doesn't forbid me to have them," she retorted, standing on +one leg with her finger in her mouth.</p> + +<p>If she refrained from doing only what her mother <i>did</i> forbid her she +would have a fairly easy time I think.</p> + +<p>It is too stifling to sleep in the cabin, so we will try the deck +to-night. It is rather pleasant stepping out on to the warm dry boards +when the lights are out. The awning<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> shuts us in overhead, but at the +side we can see the smooth water lying white in the moonlight. Here is +our place, with our mattresses laid out neatly side by side and the +number of our cabin scrawled in white chalk on the wooden boards beside +them. There is a story of a certain ape who got loose on board ship and +paid a visit to the deck when all the men were asleep! A funny sight it +must have been as he landed on the top of one after the other!</p> + +<p>In spite of the calmness of the night it is always more or less noisy on +a ship: there is the flap of an awning, the crack of a rope, the +creaking of the plates, and the frilling away of the water past the +ship's side. I lie awake a long time, turning uneasily and feeling the +taste of the salt on my lips. At last, low down between the rails, away +on the horizon, I see the well-known constellation, the Southern Cross. +You have often heard of it I expect. It is one of the most famous groups +of stars in the southern hemisphere and as much beloved by southerners +as the Great Bear is by us. As the Great Bear sinks night by night lower +in the north so the Southern Cross rises into sight. It is not a very +brilliant or even cross, but rather straggly, and the stars are not very +large, but it means much—hot skies, blue-black and brilliantly +star-spangled, lines of white surf breaking on silvery sand beneath palm +trees, fire-flies and scented air—I am growing drowsy at last—sleep is +coming.... I must show you the cross another night.</p> + +<p>Hullo! it's morning! A Lascar is standing by grinning, with a bucket of +water and a deck-swab; they want to begin holystoning down the decks. +How sleepy I am! And as for you, the night steward, who is still on +duty, lifts you in his arms and carries you into your bunk, where you'll +find yourself when you do wake. It's only five—time for some more hours +yet. Sleeping on deck is rather an overrated amusement I think!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p> + +<p>Before getting out of the Red Sea into the Indian Ocean we have to pass +through the Straits of Babel-Mandeb, which means the Gate of Affliction +or Tears, because of the numerous wrecks there have been here. Then we +stop at Aden, where the passengers going on to India change to another +P. & O. steamer, the <i>Salsette</i>, which is waiting for them. The <i>Medina</i> +goes across to Ceylon and then south to Australia, but the ship +following her next week goes straight to India.</p> + +<p>It is lucky for Britain that she owns Aden, for it is the doorway at the +south end of the Red Sea, as the canal is the doorway at the north end. +Of course it is more important to us that the route to the East should +be kept clear than it is to any nation, because in case of difficulties +in India we should have to send troops there at once. It is more by good +luck than good management that just these little corners of the world, +that mean so much, should happen to fall into our possession—Gibraltar, +for instance, the gateway of the Mediterranean. And though the British +Government refused to have any hand in the making of the Suez Canal, yet +afterwards, because the Khedive of Egypt was hard up and willing to sell +his shares, we bought at a reasonable rate and have much influence in +the management of the canal.</p> + +<p>Standing beside us, watching the passengers for India climb down the +gangway, is a fresh-looking, pink-faced young man of about +one-and-twenty. He has a simple look, and you would think he was too +young and innocent to go round the world by himself.</p> + +<p>"I'm right down glad I'm not going to 'do' India," he remarks. "I'm sick +of travelling; I'm just longing to get back."</p> + +<p>"To Australia?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I'm a sheep-farmer there. I've worked four years without a break, +so I took a holiday in Europe."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p> + +<p>Anything less like one's idea of a sheep-farmer it would be hard to +find! I always pictured them stern bearded men, with brick-red faces and +sinewy limbs. This lad doesn't look as if he had ever been in a strong +sun, and his slender loose-jointed legs and arms do not give the +impression of an open-air life spent mostly in the saddle.</p> + +<p>"You have a sheep-farm? Hard life, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Best life in the world," he answers with enthusiasm. "Always on +horseback, miles of open country, not shut in by beastly houses."</p> + +<p>"But there's a lack of water, isn't there?"</p> + +<p>"You can always sink a well, that's what they do now. It costs a good +deal, but you can get water almost anywhere within reason."</p> + +<p>"Are you far out?"</p> + +<p>"No, only about three hundred and forty miles from the town where my +mother lives. I go down to see her at week-ends; we're lucky in being +close to a station, only a fifteen-mile ride."</p> + +<p>Three hundred and forty miles! About the distance from London to +Berwick! Good place for week-ends, especially with a fifteen-mile ride +at one end! I suppose our ideas get small from living in a little +country. Pity we can't visit Australia, but we can't manage it this +time. That great island-continent and its sister, New Zealand, are well +worth seeing. Except for the Canadians there are no people nearer akin +to us than the Australasians. The world-famous harbour of Sydney, the +great hills clothed in eucalyptus, hiding in their depths vast caverns +of stalactites, the wide open ranges stretching for leagues inland, all +these things are attractive. In New Zealand, too, we should find +tree-ferns of gigantic size, lovely scenery, and spouting geysers; it is +an England set in a very different climate from ours! Then we might pass +on to those strange South Seas, gemmed by coral islands,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> and to the +latitudes where the mighty albatross swings overhead like an aeroplane, +only, unlike an aeroplane, he glides in a never-ending plane without +apparent effort or even one flap of his huge twelve-foot wings.</p> + +<p>Alas, we can't see everything this trip!</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus184.jpg" width="400" height="182" alt="A FLYING FISH." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A FLYING FISH.</span> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<h3>THE DEPTHS OF THE OCEAN</h3> + + +<p>Now we are right out in the Indian Ocean, and it is a bright day with a +certain freshness in the air, instead of that horrible muggy heat that +made us feel so languid when we were in the Red Sea. Look over the +ship's side and watch the rainbow in the spray; that is one of the +prettiest things to see on board. As the vessel cuts through the water +she raises a frill of foam on either side—what the sailors call "a bone +in her mouth." The frill, rising to a continuous wave along the side, +catches the sunlight and a perpetual rainbow dances in it, changing +always but remaining ever. Whew! What a rush! Flying fish. Look at them! +These are the first we have seen so near; when they spring out of the +water like that and skim along in the air they are not doing it for fun, +but to escape a bitter enemy in the water, the bonito, a ferocious large +fish who preys upon them; he is their chief foe, but there are many +others also. They curve up all together like a glittering bow and +slither down again. In dropping back into the sea they make a kind of +pattering noise, though, of course, we are too far to hear it, and the +fishermen in the small islands near India make use of this in trying to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> +catch the bonito. They go out in boats specially built for the purpose, +with a kind of platform overhanging the stern; here they sit and make a +splashing with their paddles, at the same time using some little fish, +which they catch and breed in tanks, for bait. The noise attracts the +large fish, who think there is a shoal of the small fry about, and they +jump at the bait and are caught. The catch is often very good, and the +boats come back to the huts laden with the ogre fish, destined to be +eaten in their turn!</p> + +<p>Have you ever thought what it must be like right down there in the deeps +below the green water? We can't see because of the light striking the +surface, but if we had a water-glass we could. This is a wooden funnel +like that made of paper by village shopkeepers to roll up soft sugar in. +At the broad end is a piece of strong glass, which is thrust under the +water, and by peering through the small end it is possible to make out +what is happening below if it is not too deep; anyway, we are too high +up out of the water to use one here even if we had it, but in a boat +near the coral reefs and islands there are wonderful things to be seen +by the help of one of these glasses.</p> + +<p>If you dropped a stone overboard here it would sink and sink gradually +for about two miles, until it found a resting-place on a slimy bottom of +ooze in a strange dark place. You have a pretty good idea of what a mile +is from running in the school races; in imagination set it up on end, +and add another to it, and then think of that stone sinking that +distance into the grey water! Down there it must be quite dark, for the +mass of water above cuts off the sunlight like a black curtain. There +are many beasts living there, nevertheless; lobsters and other +shell-fish as well as fish, and in a great many cases those that have +been examined are found to have no eyes; it is probable that they have +lost their eyesight in the course of many generations,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> because it would +be no help to them in getting a living in those black depths. The +subject is not fully understood yet, because <i>some</i> deep-sea fishes have +exceptionally good sight, but these may possibly live higher up in the +water, where there is a certain amount of glare, and then their eyes +would become sharpened by necessity.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus186.jpg" width="400" height="374" alt="DEEP-SEA FISH." title="" /> +<span class="caption">DEEP-SEA FISH.</span> +</div> + +<p>The bed of the ocean is not a level plain; if you could see it emptied +of all water, you would discover that the land slopes down, sometimes +gradually and sometimes with terrific precipices from the shores, and +that at the mouths of great rivers there are great banks of mud brought +down by the current and piled up, making a fat living for innumerable +sea-creatures. But at the very bottom, in this carpet of slime, there +are no weeds, or as we might call them sea-vegetables, for they cannot +live altogether without light, so the creatures which have their home in +what to us would seem this cheerless, miserable retreat, must live on +one another. They are differently built from surface fish, because they +have always resting upon them the weight of an enormous pile of water. +Picture a pyramid of water two miles high resting on anybody. It would +crush him to atoms; but the fish and crustacea down there are used to +it, and fitted by nature to support it, and so, if they are brought up +to the surface by any means, they burst! In deep-sea trawling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> it is +quite a common occurrence to see fishes literally burst open, with their +eyes protruding from the sockets, and this annoys the fishermen, because +they are of no use for the market in that condition. It is difficult to +imagine creatures unable to live without a great weight resting on them, +but as a matter of fact it is the same thing with us in a less degree. +There is a column of air some miles high resting on every one of us, and +if we could imagine ourselves lifted out of it into space, our heads +would throb, and our eyes would burst out, and we should be as helpless +as a deep-sea fish brought up to the surface.</p> + +<p>As for light, they have strange methods down there in the black depths. +A great many of the deep-sea inhabitants carry their own lights, for +they are more or less luminous, shining by internal light as glow-worms +and fire-flies do. One extraordinary fish has a row of shiny spots +stretching from his head to his tail, and when he is swimming about he +must look like a liner with a lighted row of ship's ports stretching +along his side. Even lobsters and crabs shine luminously, and what use +it is to them when they are frequently blind it is hard to conjecture; +it must have something to do with catching prey, who are perhaps not +blind and may be attracted by the lights. There is at least one fish who +hangs out what is like a red lantern, only it is the tip of his fin, and +by this means he draws to himself small creatures who swim right into +his capacious mouth; thus his dinner comes to him without his having to +search for it!</p> + +<p>I want to go to the bows, for it never seems to me I am in a ship until +I can get to a place where there is nothing to shut one in. These modern +liners are horribly shut in, one might as well be in a drawing-room most +of the time. Here we are at last, and it is good to draw a deep breath, +feeling the huge dome of the sky above and the wide rim of the horizon +around with nothing to cut them off. Look<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> down where the ship cleaves +the sea with her bows cleanly and beautifully like a living thing. +Hullo! there is a dolphin! We are in luck! Can you see him dancing round +us and plunging in under water and coming up again, much as a dog does +on land when he goes out for a walk with his master? There is another, +and another! What they call a shoal. They go fast enough; I expect we +are making about fifteen or sixteen knots, or miles, an hour, which is +good going, and yet these little chaps swim round and round, cutting +across ahead of us, diving under us and coming up again all the time; to +them it is mere child's play, and they really are playing; they are full +of fun, and there is no earthly reason why they should behave like that +except for amusement!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus188.jpg" width="400" height="137" alt="A DOLPHIN." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A DOLPHIN.</span> +</div> + +<p>There goes the bugle for lunch.</p> + +<p>Seems early, you say? As if we had only just finished breakfast? Yes. +Look at your watch. It is hopelessly wrong, of course; so is mine and +everyone else's. We are going just about due east now, so we are meeting +the sun half-way, so to speak. That is what makes the time different. +You know that when the sun is at the highest point overhead at any place +then it is midday, and as the earth spins round from west to east a +constant succession of places come beneath him in turn, each getting +their midday a little later than the one before. In the British Isles +there is really very little difference between the hours when the +eastern and western coasts meet the sun. Take Yarmouth,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> say, and Land's +End; there is perhaps something like half an hour between them, but as +it would be awkward for railway work and business if every place had a +little different time, so, for convenience' sake, one "standard" time is +adopted in England, Scotland, and now even in some of the nearest +continental countries; this is the hour when the sun is highest above +Greenwich, where is our greatest observatory. And this is called midday, +even though as a matter of fact the real midday at different places may +be earlier or later.</p> + +<p>As we journey east across the world, however, we are constantly going +forward to meet the sun. We are not only on the earth, which is turning +round all the time, but we are going ahead ourselves as well, and +out-running the earth, and so we arrive at noon sooner and sooner each +day. Our watches of course take no heed of <i>real</i> time as judged by the +sun, they are just mechanical and tick away their sixty minutes to each +hour whether the sun is overhead or not. At this moment we are about +four hours ahead of our friends in England. It is one o'clock here, but +they will only be having breakfast! When we live always in one place it +is easy to forget that we are on a ball spinning round in space, but +this brings it home to us and makes us realise our absurd position in +the universe. Well, let us get our lunch. There is one thing on board, +everybody is always ready to eat an amazing amount after they have got +over sea-sickness, and the number of meals we manage to consume here +would surprise us at home!</p> + +<p>As the evening closes in, the day undergoes a change; there is a thick +bank of black-looking cloud in the west, and just as the sun goes down +this breaks up into wild streamers and shows deep ragged gulfs of livid +light between; there are glimpses of green and tawny-red and angry +orange flashing through, and then the veil of cloud blots out the light. +Yet it is still, there doesn't seem to be a ripple of wind, and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> sea +has a curious oily calm upon it. Would you like to come along to the +bows after dinner? Don't, if you don't want to. It is more difficult to +get there than we expected, for though it looks so calm there is a big +swell, and we are rising and falling considerably on the smooth-backed +hillocks of water. Creep under these ropes and over this barricade. Then +we are free from all the entanglements. There are no dolphins now, but +there is a strange light dancing away like fire from the cutting bow; it +comes in streaks and flashes, one moment it seems as if it must be only +a reflection in the cut water, and the next one could swear there was a +real flash.</p> + +<p>That is phosphorescence, which is very common in tropical seas, +sometimes the whole sea is alight with it. Look at that! It is a vivid +light like a wave of green fire, most beautiful! It is only, however, +where the ship strikes the water that we see it to-night. But sometimes, +though not often at this season of the year, the whole ocean seems to be +alight with it; it is the effect of innumerable millions of tiny +sea-creatures floating on the surface, though exactly why they do it at +one time more than another is yet unknown. The curious thing is that +there are so many different kinds of phosphorescence; there is the +bright fiery kind like this we are seeing now in flashes, and there is a +dull luminous kind which sailors call a "white sea." Then the whole sea +appears as white as milk, or, as someone who has seen it describes it, +as if it were changed to ice covered with a coating of snow. This was on +a dark night before the moon had risen, but when she did get up it all +disappeared and the sea looked much as usual, glittering only where the +beams struck it, except for odd patches of shiny light here and there, +and oddly enough exactly the same thing happened the following night. +I'm afraid we shan't be lucky enough to see that.</p> + +<p>Is the motion making you uncomfortable? No? I'm<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> glad of that; you're a +first-rate sailor. Let us go back to that jolly alcove at the end of the +smoking-room looking aft, where we can see the great green-black waves +rising suddenly behind us.</p> + +<p>Yes, this is distinctly comfortable and quite interesting. It seems as +if every wave rose in a great hill suddenly just after we had passed the +spot! We must have come over it, but sitting like this we didn't feel +it, we are riding so smoothly.</p> + +<p>If we look out ahead we shall see the same sort of thing happening; we +approach a black hillock of water, and just as we get to it it rolls +down and disappears under us. The ship is so large that though she +climbs those hills, we get the impression that the hills straighten +underneath her. You must have noticed something of the same kind in +riding a bicycle; if you are running down one hill and see another +rising in front, the other one looks terrifically steep, but as you get +on to it, it flattens out in an inexplicable way; it is the change in +our own position that accounts for the phenomenon.</p> + +<p>It is very close to-night and there is an uneasy feeling in the air; the +captain did not appear at dinner. It is a good thing that they put off +that fancy-dress ball which was to have been held this evening, for +there could not have been much dancing. Your costume will come in useful +another time. I want to see you sometime as a little Egyptian with a +skull-cap and a garment like a flannel night-shirt! But we shall have +another chance.</p> + +<p>"Hope we're not in for a cyclone," says one of the men, appearing out of +the smoking-room with a pipe in his mouth.</p> + +<p>"Very unusual at this time of year in the North-East monsoon," replies +another as they disappear.</p> + +<p>At that moment forked lightning plays across the sky in a great ragged +streak, and immediately there is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> another display as if answering it, +but we can hear no thunder.</p> + +<p>What is the North-East monsoon? It sounds rather like some kind of +animal, but it is only the name given to a certain wind that blows +always at one season of the year.</p> + +<p>Across broad spaces of the ocean there are always steady winds to be +counted on, such as the trade-winds, which are caused by the air at the +Equator getting hot and rising, and being replaced by the cold air from +the Poles which rushes in; besides this there are other winds which blow +half the year, called monsoons, these are due to very much the same +causes. The North-East monsoon comes in the northern winter; the air +from the North Pole coming down slowly is met by the earth as she turns, +and as she rushes into it she makes it a north-eastern wind; this, +coming over the land from the north, is a dry wind, while the other one, +the South-Western monsoon, coming from the south over the ocean in the +other half of the year, is a wet wind and brings the rain which is such +a boon to India.</p> + +<p>The lightning is continually playing, and I shouldn't be surprised if we +are on the edge of a cyclone, but with a big ship like this, and a +captain who knows his business, there is nothing to be afraid of. These +cyclones, which are called typhoons in the China seas, are curious +storms which twist round and round in a circle, all the time progressing +onward too, and the danger is in getting into the middle of one, for +there, as you may imagine, the wind comes from all quarters at once, and +the waves are piled up on all sides like huge overhanging pyramids. I've +never been in the middle of one, I'm thankful to say, but those who +have, and have escaped with their lives, say that the ship is buffeted +as if by mighty billows which smack down upon her from all directions. +Sometimes there is seen a space of blue sky, and there is a great calm, +but this to the commander is the most ominous sign of all, for he knows +he must be in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> centre funnel of the storm, so to speak, and that it +will be worse for him directly!</p> + +<p>We had better go to bed, there's nothing else to do.</p> + +<p>Are you awake? Yes, I thought even you could hardly sleep through that! +What a smack! It sounds as if the heavens had opened and a water-spout +had descended on deck! What a roar! Can you hear me? All right, come in +here beside me if you like, but there is precious little room. It seems +as if every noise on the ocean had been let loose. The rain must be +simply one great volume of water, and the thunder——Even through our +port-hole the cabin is as light as day with the lightning; it is just +two o'clock in the morning. The thunder seems to come absolutely +instantaneously with the lightning; we must be right in it! I never +heard such crashes. One minute our heads are down below our feet and the +next we are almost standing on end. Hang on! We shall probably get +through all right, this noise doesn't mean anything very bad. But I +thank my stars I'm not an officer on the bridge. How they ever manage to +keep on their feet I don't know, much less how they give directions. One +man told me that he was once in such a sea that when he was pitched off +his feet into one end of the bridge he hadn't time to recover himself +before the same pitch came again and sent him down just as he was trying +to get up! At any time the life at sea is hard, but doubly so in a storm +like this! Hour after hour it goes on. I don't suppose anyone has slept +through this, and many must be feeling very ill. We are lucky to be +spared that!</p> + +<p>Next morning, though the lightning had ceased, the wind is terrific, it +goes screeching past, and the rain comes down in buckets; with great +difficulty we get into our clothes and scramble up to the smoking-room. +It is a miserable day and very few of the passengers appear, but by the +afternoon the worst is over, and we can get out into our alcove. We<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> are +still labouring heavily in a blue-black sea, and can see a very little +way as we are surrounded by mountains of water. Hurrah! There is a cleft +over in the east, which means the storm is breaking. Our captain knows +the law of cyclones and has judged rightly which way to turn to get out +of the track of the storm. We have passed through a corner of it, and +though we have got out of our course, that won't mean much delay. +Anyway, you've had an experience very few people have had, for there are +few indeed of all the thousands who go to India who have ever been in +the tail of a cyclone! It is most unusual, but in these seas one never +knows what will happen.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus195.jpg" width="450" height="230" alt="A NATIVE VILLAGE." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A NATIVE VILLAGE.</span> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<h3>A TROPICAL THUNDERSTORM</h3> + + +<p>We have really arrived in the East! We are in Colombo, the capital town +of Ceylon, the great island which lies swung like a pendant from the +southernmost point of India. We are sitting in the shady verandah of one +of the largest hotels, the Grand Oriental, called G.O.H. for short, and +as we sip lemon-squash we look out over a scene so full of interest that +it is difficult to take it all in. This is quite different from Port +Said. There it was bright and clear, but there was not the wonderful +smell and sense of being the East that we have here. The air is full of +scent, a kind of spicy smell mingled with a touch of wood-smoke, and +there is a balminess in it that we have never felt till now. The water +in the harbour is a glorious emerald green, and small boys, almost +naked, play about on roughly shaped log canoes called catamarans. They +used to dive for pennies, but the sharks lopped off a leg here and an +arm there and swallowed one up whole now<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> and again, and so the +Government forbade it. The dark wooden wharf forms a frame for gay +figures in pure pinks and greens and yellows, and on the roads there run +past continually the funniest sturdy little men with their loin-cloths +tucked up, pulling light-looking chairs on high wheels with people in +them. These chairs are called rickshaws and are the chief way of getting +about. Very comfortable they are too, and quite cheap; we will go in +them presently. The men who pull them have funny chignons of frizzy +black hair sticking out under their little red caps, and it would be +easy to mistake them for women. That attendant from the hotel at your +elbow is asking you if you'll take another lemon-squash; he is quite a +different sort of man from the runners, isn't he? Much taller and with a +mild expression; his straight hair is adorned by a curved tortoise-shell +comb of considerable size; he wears it round the back of his head, and +how he makes it stay on among his very scanty locks is a miracle. His +flowing white garments are immaculately clean, and he doesn't look as if +he could kill a mosquito! He is a Cingalee, and the little men who run +in the rickshaws are Tamils; these races live side by side in Ceylon, +though there are many more Cingalese than Tamils. They are quite +distinct, though they both originally came over from India, and in the +old days when the Cingalese gave a line of kings to the island they were +always fighting the Tamils; to-day both live together peacefully under +British rule.</p> + +<p>This place is a positive bazaar! There is a deep, crafty old merchant +sitting like a spider over his pile of sheeny silks in the corner—he +hopes to get good prices from the unwary tourist; there is another with +a stall of beautiful brass and copper hand-worked things, and others +with jewellery and carved ivory. But more interesting than any is the +snake-charmer, who has just squatted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> down in front of us, prepared to +give us an entertainment.</p> + +<p>That is a cobra he takes out; you know it by its large, flat head. It +seems sleepy and stupid, but its bite is deadly. It is possible, of +course, that he has abstracted the poison-fangs which make its bite +fatal, but even without them I shouldn't care to handle it. It is a huge +beast, seven or eight feet long I should guess. See how he teases it; he +is making it rise up on its coils and swing this way and that, darting +its forked tongue out at him, and yet all the time it fears him. He has +a marvellous power over it; its narrow, wicked light eyes are fixed on +his face; it never looks away. Now he begins to play to it on a little +flute; it is dancing, swaying its lean unlovely body to and fro and up +and down in time with the tune. He puts down his pipe and makes a motion +to it as if he were mesmerising it, passing his hands this way and that, +until it comes to him and puts its flat head on his shoulder, nozzling +into his neck. It makes one shudder to see it! It coils round his body +again and again; he is enveloped in the coils. I should not care for +that profession! It is not every man that can do it, only some of the +natives have a gift for it, and they really have a power over snakes, +even those in a wild state, for they make them come forth out of holes +when called and remain passive at their feet. This man deserves a good +tip. Bakshish they call it here too; that word accompanies you round the +world!</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 146px;"> +<img src="images/illus197.jpg" width="146" height="400" alt="A CINGALEE WAITER." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A CINGALEE WAITER.</span> +</div> + +<p>I think we'll go for a jaunt, if you're ready, as the light<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> falls +quickly here. There is no difficulty in getting two rickshaws, and how +they spin along. They say the men who drag them don't live many years, +as the constant running wears them out, but they look healthy enough and +show no more exhaustion after running than a horse does after trotting. +Each one has twisted up his dhoti, as the white skirts they wear are +called, showing his bare brown legs; the upper garment is simply a +European cotton vest. We spin along the bright red road by the sea, +seeing the long lines of foam breaking gently on the beach, and then +turn into shady roads where trees with brilliant yellow leaves light the +wayside. Then we pass through a native village with huts of thatch, +while plantains, which at home we call bananas, grow on broad-leaved +plants by each door. There is dust enough here, and mangy-looking pariah +dogs, and cocks and hens, and multitudes of bright beady-eyed children +with hardly any clothing on. There is plenty of foliage and greenery and +a freshness and richness of colouring that is much better than the grey +leafless harshness of an Egyptian village, for this land gets plenty of +rain. Everyone seems good-humoured and happy, and the children look fat +enough; some of them are very black, with woolly heads, of a different +type from the others. These are the children of a race called Moormen.</p> + +<p>When we get down near the hotel I want you to come into this jeweller's +shop in the arcade; you'll see a strange sight. A crowd of tourists are +sitting round a table which is covered with little heaps of shining +stones, unset and piled on squares of white paper; some are brilliant +blue, others flashing crimson, others sombre in hue, but showing a +glitter of living light whichever way you turn them. The odd thing is +that the visitors are handling them and turning them over, and examining +them quite freely, while the owner, a wizened old man in horn +spectacles, hardly watches!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p> + +<p>"They're not real?"</p> + +<p>Indeed they are! Rubies, star-sapphires, opals, and many another +precious stone. That native owner has a queer faith in the honesty of +his customers! Long may it last!</p> + +<p>We are only in Colombo for one night, and to-morrow we are going +up-country to stay with a friend of mine, a tea-planter.</p> + +<p>As we are undressing you give a sudden start, "What's that?" Only a +lizard scuttling over the dark-washed bedroom wall, first cousin to the +chameleon you saw at Abu Simbel. He is quite harmless and lives on +flies. He runs like a little shadow across the wall and sometimes he +loses his balance and comes down thump on the floor, or breaks his fall +on the mosquito curtains. He is one of the signs that we really are in +the East; here is another. Listen for a moment at the window. There is a +distant barking of dogs, a far-away crow from a defiant cock, a strange +murmurous chant of men, weird cries intermingled, and now and then the +deep beat of a parchment drum. The people of the land are all awake and +stirring though it is late—the East never really sleeps as profoundly +as does the West; there is a restlessness in the blood that stirs too +much, and a pulsating warmth in the air that does not allow of deep +slumber; it is the restlessness of the jungle translated into town life.</p> + +<p>Next day at the station we find that the porters, though dressed in neat +blue suits, have pronounced chignons of the same type as their brothers +who draw the rickshaws, and in spite of their European-cut coats and +trousers they run about with bare feet! We might make a museum of the +strange porters we see on our wanderings, collecting a specimen from +each country!</p> + +<p>The train is comfortable enough and there is a luncheon-car, so we +shan't starve this time; besides, the journey to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> Kandy is only a few +hours. There I hope we shall be met, as I haven't the least idea +whereabouts my friend, Mr. Hunter's, tea-plantation is; however, I sent +him a wire yesterday directly we arrived to say we would come by this +train, so he is sure to be there.</p> + +<p>The line for the greater part of the way is laid on a terrace or shelf +cut out of a hillside, and it winds along climbing ever up with a +towering wall on one side and a precipice on the other. The little +stations have hardly room to wedge in, but they are very gay with +flowers—indeed the whole line is, for great yellow daisies and the +terra-cotta blossoms of a pretty creeper called lantana climb +everywhere. As we get higher and higher we can look down and see the +country spread out before us like a map; it is cut up into neat little +fields and would be like a draught-board except that the fields are +often on different levels one above the other, made on land cut out from +the hillsides. These people grow rice, which is to them what maize is to +the Egyptian. In the fields, before it has been threshed, it is known as +paddy. They live on rice and very little else, and seem to thrive on it. +Rice pudding if repeated every day for a month at both breakfast and +dinner would grow monotonous, but the man of the East does not find it +so. His rice is not cooked with milk but with water, and is eaten with a +little curry made of fish or vegetables to give it flavour.</p> + +<p>Higher yet, and soon we see the hills laid out with rows of a tiny +dark-green bush, planted as neatly as rows of turnips; this is the tea +for which Ceylon is famous, and we shall get a nearer look at it +presently. That and rubber are the staple crops that Englishmen come out +here to raise, but they also grow coffee and other things too.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus201.jpg" width="450" height="409" alt="DOWN IN THE PADDYFIELDS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">DOWN IN THE PADDYFIELDS.</span> +</div> + +<p>When we arrive at Kandy there is no sign of anything to meet us and no +white man on the platform, so I make inquiries of the stationmaster, who +is a Eurasian, which means that he has some white blood in his veins. He +knows Mr. and Mrs. Hunter perfectly well, he says, though he has not +seen them for a day or two. If, as I say, I wired, they are certain to +send in a trap to meet us; but it may have been delayed or still be in +the town. If we care to go up and look round, and come back again, he +will meantime make inquiries. With many thanks we take his advice. The +town is quite near and we find the main part of it built around a pretty +little lake near which is the famous Temple of the Tooth. This is a +massive building visited by thousands of pilgrims, because it enshrines +a relic of great sanctity, nothing less than the tooth of Buddha! What +Mohammed is to the Mohammedans<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> so Buddha is to the Buddhists, among +whom the greater part of the people of Ceylon may be counted. But Buddha +is more than a prophet; his followers say that he has appeared on earth +many times, and that the last time he came in the form of an Indian +prince who, instead of living in careless luxury, left his home and +wandered forth among the people to discover the meaning of life. When he +found it, after deep meditation, he left certain precepts and rules to +his followers. Some of them are very good, resembling our own +Commandments: "Thou shalt not kill," "Thou shalt not lie," "Thou shalt +not steal," "Thou shalt not drink intoxicating liquor." But, unlike the +Mohammedans, the Buddhists do not believe in God. Their idea of blissful +happiness at the last is to melt away into a kind of nothingness of +perfect peace, with no desires, no worries, and no cares.</p> + +<p>All over the East you find temples which are supposed to contain some +part of Buddha's person, hairs, teeth, even a collar-bone! Of course it +is impossible that these things should be genuine, and in any case, if +they were, there is nothing sacred about them. The worshippers always +say they do not look upon Buddha as a god, but only a great spiritual +teacher, yet the poor and ignorant come and worship and bow down in +these temples, and there is no doubt that to them the image itself +stands for a god. The tooth which is here is kept in many caskets, one +within the other, and it is never shown except on very great occasions. +Mr. Hunter saw it once, and says it is not a human tooth at all, but a +great thing like a boar's tusk or possibly an elephant's tooth. He +couldn't get a good look at it, anyway he saw enough to be quite sure +that it is not human at all, and the same may be said without doubt of +all similar relics.</p> + +<p>What a lovely scene! The graceful dark-skinned crowd in their softly +flowing garments of the purest<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> pinks you ever saw, with sulphur yellow +and rich red draperies thrown over them, are idling by the hoary grey +steps of the temple and dropping bits of bread into the ponds in front. +They are feeding the tortoises, fat lazy beasts who will hardly move to +snap at the fragments unless they fall before their very noses. These +beasts are supposed to be sacred too, and so they have an uncommonly +good time of it. This massive building, temple and palace in one, was +inhabited by the old line of native kings who made Kandy their capital.</p> + +<p>We must get back to the station or we may miss Mr. Hunter. When we +arrive there we find there is no sign of him, whereat the attentive +stationmaster is greatly distressed. He advises us to hire a trap and +drive to some place with an unpronounceable name, where Mr. Hunter is +sure to meet us; visitors often do that, he says. I try to discover why +we can't drive all the way, but his answers are not enlightening; "big +hill," he replies, and I don't see why the trap can't go up a hill! +However, we shall see. He engages a trap for us, anyway; with a +scarecrow horse and a friendly looking driver whose hairy legs protrude +from wrappings of cinnamon-coloured cloth—once white, I suppose—and we +are off. The roads at first are very good; and there is none of the dust +we suffered from so much in Egypt, for Ceylon is a moist land. In fact, +it looks rather like rain now, with heavy clouds gathering up.</p> + +<p>After going at a slow trot for a considerable distance the driver pulls +up, and pointing with his whip to a tree-covered mountain says something +unintelligible, which turns out to be "'Unter Tuan," after he has +repeated it about six times. This means Mr. Hunter, "Tuan" being the +same term of respect here that "Sahib" is in India.</p> + +<p>There is no sign of a house or any living being; the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> place is +absolutely deserted. In vain I sign to the man to go ahead; he shakes +his head and remains seated on his box like an image of despair. I get +out and see that the road runs away to nothing in the bushes and scrub +in front, it just ends suddenly for no apparent reason, and while I am +looking I hear a slight crackling in the bushes, and a tall, thin, very +dirty-looking youth appears and salaams respectfully. The driver +immediately begins to converse with him, whereupon the youth takes our +bag unceremoniously out of the carriage and putting it on his head +beckons to us to follow him. There is nothing else for it, so, after +paying the driver, we do so, feeling like two infants in charge of this +fellow.</p> + +<p>I try the lean lad in English, asking him if he knows Hunter Tuan's +place, but he swings round, looks at me gravely, and continues his +graceful, elastic walk.</p> + +<p>It is pretty warm, and the path is narrow and lined by thorn bushes, so +the going is not easy; but the youth seems to float on ahead with +mysterious ease, and we pant after him feeling as if our lives depended +on not losing sight of him. At last the bushes get so thick that we have +to push our way through, and we suddenly see him a good distance ahead, +half-way across a broad and shallow river which bubbles round his knees.</p> + +<p>"Hi!" we shout after him. "Stop!" And he turns, but only to beckon +imperturbably and continue evenly on his way. It is evidently the custom +of this country to walk through rivers when you meet them! Easy enough +for the inhabitants, who are not encumbered with shoes and stockings, +but for us....</p> + +<p>Down we go and are soon hard after him with our boots slung round our +necks and our stockings stuffed into them; the cool water splashing +round our legs is rather pleasant. Lucky it is not deep. We have to stop +and re-clothe on the other side. Here our coolie has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> condescended to +wait for us, and just as you are about to sit down on a convenient +hillock of bare brown earth he waves you away, and you see that big red +ants with a most fierce and warlike appearance are running about it; it +is their home and fortress! Once more booted we struggle on, uphill now, +on a stony path, and very stiff work it is. When we tell our guide to +stop for a moment he looks at us condescendingly and stands with his +burden poised on his head, not even caring to put it down as he waits +until these poor creatures, who are not carrying anything at all, regain +their breath, and that makes us feel so inferior we don't like to stop +often! The clouds gather and blacken, the perspiration is running down +my back, and I am as wet as if I had waded through the river up to my +neck. I should be glad to see the house, for we have been scrambling +upwards for quite an hour now. What a place to live in! Fancy having to +come down here every time you wanted to do a little shopping!</p> + +<p>Another hour at least! A few drops, muttering thunder, and then, quicker +than one can say it, a blinding, crashing downpour. Never in my life +have I seen rain like this until that night at sea when we passed +through the edge of the cyclone, and now twice have I met it in a week! +It is simply a water-spout. A brilliant flash of lightning shows us the +youth crouching under a bank some yards ahead, and we dive into the +nearest place, following his example. Luckily the bank is high here and +there is a kind of cave beneath a mass of broad-leaved plants; there is +just room for the two of us huddled close together, and the wall of +water sweeps past the entrance like a curtain. The rain makes a +deafening noise, it literally crashes down; the path is a mountain +torrent; if we had stayed there we should have been swept off our feet; +it seems as if the whole mountain-side must go. We hang on to each +other, avoiding the trickles as best we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> can. Hullo! this plant is a +cardamom, carrying little seeds rather like spicy pepper; nibble one, it +may keep off the effects of the wetting we have been unable to avoid +altogether. How cold it seems to have grown all of a sudden! Is it the +rain, or because we are so much higher up? I suppose really it is the +latter, because I remember now that the planters always live on the tops +of hills to get the fresh air, which is more healthy there than in the +stifling valleys.</p> + +<p>It is a long time before the storm passes, and when at last it dies down +to a few drops and we emerge and shake ourselves, all trace of the +coolie boy has vanished! Yes, it is true! He has gone, and the bag too! +Well, he must have gone upward or we should have seen him pass, so let +us hope he is honest and has taken the bag to the house. There is only +one path, so we can do nothing but follow.</p> + +<p>On we climb again, and presently the scene changes; we have got into the +tea-scrub, and wander among rows of bushes about the size of gooseberry +bushes, receiving deluges of cold water against our legs. The path +zigzags this way and that, rising each time so that we can look back and +see it lying below us in fold after fold. At last! There is an opening! +I see a glimpse of green lawn and some poinsettias! This must be the +place! Yes, I can see the bungalow, and here is a mackintosh-clad figure +hastening down the path to greet us.</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow! However did you get here? Why on earth didn't you let +us know? We'd have sent to meet you!"</p> + +<p>As we grasp hands I explain about the telegram. "Oh, then I shall get it +with the letters to-morrow morning!" he says lightly. "No matter, so +long as you are here and safe. I was afraid you had got lost upon the +mountain-top, and was setting forth to seek you."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But how did you know?"</p> + +<p>"Your coolie arrived with the bag a quarter of an hour ago, and your +name is written on the label very large and clear. Delighted to see you! +The missus is romping round getting your beds aired and pinning up +curtains in your honour!"</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus208.jpg" width="450" height="313" alt="RUANVELI DAGOBA AT THE "BURIED CITY."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">RUANVELI DAGOBA AT THE "BURIED CITY."</span> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<h3>A SACRED TREE</h3> + + +<p>Do you remember that just about this time last week we were crouching in +a hole in a muddy bank waiting for the thunderstorm to pass on? How +different now, though we are still in Ceylon and, as crow flies, not so +many miles from the Hunters' mountain-side. It is a gorgeous tropical +afternoon, the bits of sky we can see through the feathery-leaved trees +are of the deepest blue, and we are resting, because it seems too hot to +move a limb. In front of us there stretches a sheet of limpid water +which might be a lake except that it is surrounded by a raised bund, or +bank, artificially made, with hewn granite slabs as steps going down at +one end. We are glad of the shade of the trees falling across the short +turfy grass, and we are seated on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> some broken blocks of granite, +keeping a sharp look out for snakes. They will hardly be likely to +trouble us here, but in that jungly bit behind it wouldn't be at all +safe to rest like this. Even to sit on the short grass might be +unpleasant, as there are all sorts of unknown insects here which bite +and sting and stab, but we are safely raised on stones and are wearing +thick boots. Examine that slab of granite there beside you; do you see +that it has a most wonderfully carved snake upon it—a cobra with seven +heads? It is so clear-cut it might have been done yesterday, yet it is +part of the ruins of a mighty city, a city as large as London, which +once stretched its busy streets over this quiet glade. The cobra was a +sacred beast to the Hindus, and a seven-headed one was peculiarly so, +seven being a mystic number.</p> + +<p>What a glorious butterfly! Its body is as big as a small bird, and its +great velvety wings are the sharpest black and white. No, I don't for a +moment suppose you'll catch it, so it is no use getting hot! I'm glad +you can't, for we have no proper apparatus here, and it would only be a +crushed mass to take home. Don't go headlong into the tank, though, in +your frantic efforts; it might be awkward. No, I don't think there are +any crocodiles, only a few sacred tortoises perhaps. Look! there is a +tiny one—that small yellow thing that is walking away with the +melancholy dignity of a retired general. Pick it up if you like +certainly, see it wag its head and legs helplessly. I wish we could take +it home. As you replace it, it continues its grave walk in the same +direction as if it had never been rudely interrupted. At that instant a +hare darts across an open glade and disappears in the thick undergrowth. +What a country! Æsop's Fables in real life, where hares and tortoises +live together!</p> + +<p>"Was this city here at the same time as Rameses <span class="smcap">ii.</span> was living?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span></p> + +<p>No. Egypt was past its best days before this city, which was called +Anuradhapura (Anarajapura), was built, and you must remember Rameses <span class="smcap">ii.</span> +was by no means one of the earliest kings of Egypt, he came quite late +on in his country's history. His date was about thirteen hundred years +before Christ, and it must have been about eight hundred years after +that, though still you notice, 500 <span class="smcap">b.c.</span>, that this city was founded by +some Cingalese who are supposed to have come over from India. That makes +it between two thousand and three thousand years old, which we should +think ancient enough if we hadn't visited Egypt first. Anuradhapura +flourished for centuries as the capital of the Cingalese kings, who +often carried on savage battles with the Tamils when they came over from +India also.</p> + +<p>Turn round now and examine that hill you wanted to climb a little while +ago and tell me if you can see anything peculiar about it. No, I don't +mean that large grey monkey who has just peeped at us in an impudent way +and then swung himself into hiding, though I admit he is very +interesting. I mean something odd about the hill itself. It is covered +with trees and jungle scrub certainly, as any ordinary hill might be, +but it is oddly steep and the sides rise very sharply from the ground. +It is an even shape too, more like an inverted bowl than a hill; or, +better still, just try to imagine some giant cutting off the dome of St. +Paul's and setting it down here in the jungle, wouldn't it look +something like that?</p> + +<p>You don't quite agree, for you say that this has trees and bushes +growing on it and St. Paul's dome would be bare. That is so, but if St. +Paul's dome had been left for many hundreds of years in a country where +vegetation grows as fast as it does here, wouldn't it probably be grown +over too?</p> + +<p>Yes, I <i>do</i> mean it. That isn't a hill at all, but a huge<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> brick +building called a dagoba, made by the same race of men who dug out this +tank, and whose descendants to-day, with tortoise-shell combs in their +hair, wait on us in the Colombo hotels.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus211.jpg" width="450" height="481" alt="LARGE GREY MONKEY." title="" /> +<span class="caption">LARGE GREY MONKEY.</span> +</div> + +<p>We will go back now to the place where we left that native cart and +driver and we'll find a dagoba which has been stripped of its trees, so +that we can see what it really looks like.</p> + +<p>Hush! Do you hear that curious singing like a chant? Wait; there is a +procession of pilgrims. They come swinging round the corner of the road +in their picturesque flowing garments, and just at the turn they stop +and kneel with their hands held palms together before their faces,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> and +they bow repeatedly before marching on again. Let us go and find out +what it was that stopped them. We soon come to it and find that it is +the seated figure of a man with one hand falling over his knee and the +other on his lap, while his legs are crossed tailor-wise. It is painted +white and it is not very much larger than life. This is Buddha, of whom +you heard in Kandy, and all over here, and in Burma, and in a less +degree in India, you will find images of him set up to remind his +followers of the precepts he left for them to follow.</p> + +<p>Our driver is dead asleep under a tree, but we manage to wake him and +soon we are rattling along a tree-shaded road in the queer little cart +to Ruanveli, the best known of all the dagobas. When we arrive in full +view of it we dismiss the driver and climb on to a slab of stone that is +raised from the ground and tilted slightly like a table with two legs +higher than the others. Here we can gaze upon this extraordinary +monument which rises about one hundred and fifty feet into the air, and +is about two and a half times as much across, just the shape of a +pudding basin, you see. It is not a temple, not even a tomb, as the +Pyramids are, but a solid block built of millions and millions of bricks +with a tiny chamber inside containing an infinitely precious relic, +nothing less than a few of Buddha's hairs. So they say! Only the priests +were allowed to go into this sacred chamber, with the exception of one +king, who had this priceless privilege granted to him. It is not very +many years since mighty monuments were rediscovered, because the jungle +had grown up all around them and no one knew even where Anuradhapura had +stood; but now there are men who spend their whole time uncovering and +preserving them, just as many men are working at the excavations in +Egypt; and the trees and overgrowth have been stripped from Ruanveli, +which stands forth sharp and clear-cut against this beautiful sky.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p> + +<p>Men are very much alike all the world over! This great dagoba was put up +by one of the Cingalese kings, Dutugemunu, to celebrate his great +victory over the Tamils, just as Rameses <span class="smcap">ii.</span> put up the inimitable +temple of Abu Simbel to celebrate his victory over the Syrians. Before +Dutugemunu came to the throne the Tamils had usurped all power and made +one of their own men, called Elala, king, and the young prince, exiled +from his capital city, met them in battle outside the walls. He fought +with great bravery, and in the end the issue of the day was decided by a +single combat between him and Elala, both mounted on huge elephants. +That must have been a fight indeed! Dutugemunu killed Elala and regained +the throne of his fathers, but he must have been a singularly +enlightened prince for his age, for he not only buried his fallen foe +with great honour but he gave orders that henceforth all music should +cease when bands were marching past his tomb, and that royalties were to +alight from their horses or palanquins and walk past on foot to do +honour to the mighty dead. Even in the nineteenth century one of the +princes from Kandy, who was flying from capture, obeyed the order and +would not allow himself to be carried past the spot! So the memory of +Elala and the great fight he made were kept alive as Dutugemunu had +intended they should be.</p> + +<p>On this very slab where we are now sitting it is said that Dutugemunu +died. If not the actual stone, it is probably the spot. It was about 140 +<span class="smcap">b.c.</span>, and when he knew he was dying he gave orders that he should be +carried out here, that his fast failing eyes might look their last on +the greatest monument of his reign. In the midst of his great city, with +its fine buildings and the great tanks he had caused to be made to give +the people water, he thought most of all of Ruanveli, partly because of +the sacred relic enclosed, but partly also because he had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> done a +wonderful thing in paying for all the labour that was used in its +building, instead of forcing his subjects to work for nothing, as was +the custom in his time.</p> + +<p>There is much to examine in Ruanveli; we can see the casing of granite +running up the sides, we can examine a statue of the king himself and +many wonderful carvings; around the dagoba runs a magnificent granite +platform wide enough for six elephants to walk abreast, as no doubt they +did many times in the gay processions on festival days.</p> + +<p>Behind the dagoba, not far off, is an immense lake, or tank, much larger +than that we saw this morning. It was considered a peculiar work of +merit for kings to make these tanks so that water could be stored up for +the use of the people, and they are found all over Ceylon; there is one +twenty miles in length!</p> + +<p>The sun has fallen low by the time we pass on to the Brazen Palace. At +first, when we near it, we see merely a forest of columns with nothing +brazen about them; they are not very high, about twice the height of a +man perhaps, and they are set in rows very near together. Altogether +there are one thousand six hundred of them! There is no roof now, but in +the days of its glory this great house, which was built for the priest, +had nine, and was finished by a sheet of burnished copper which caught +the sun's rays and flashed far and wide beneath the clear blue sky. The +walls were decorated with glittering stones and the fittings were of the +most costly and beautiful kind. The wonder is how the priests found room +to walk about between those multitudinous columns which so filled the +space in their halls.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus215.jpg" width="450" height="378" alt="THE BRAZEN PALACE, CEYLON." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE BRAZEN PALACE, CEYLON.</span> +</div> + +<p>One more sight in this city of ancient glory. Do you see across that +park-like space of short grass some fires glimmering weirdly in the dusk +which has now fallen round the most sacred object in Anuradhapura; I +won't say what it is. Come nearer. A heavy scent, like that of +tuberoses, greets us as we approach; it comes from the white waxy +blossoms of the frangipani lying in that cardboard saucer with all the +heads put outwards like the spokes of a wheel. In the centre is a pink +blossom. Those flowers are sold as offerings in this sacred place. Don't +stumble over that dark bundle, it is a sleeping child. Step cautiously +between the bright-eyed people who watch, furtively alert, like shy +woodland creatures, as they crouch low over their fires, for the evening +has suddenly become chilly with the loss of the sun. These are pilgrims +come from afar, and they will lie down to sleep just as they are in the +open. There are very few at this time of the year;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> but in June and +July, which are the principal months, thousands and thousands arrive +here, having crossed weary leagues to come. It is strange how the world +is linked up by its pilgrimages. We saw the pilgrims in the Holy Land +coming from afar to the Christian shrines, humble and devout, believing +all that was told them and carrying out in their poor lives much of +Christ's teaching; we saw them in crowded and uncomfortable ships +journeying from Mecca, the shrine of Mohammedanism; and now we see them +here reverently drawn to the only sacred place they know, there to pray +to something unseen and unknown, that they may be helped by a power +stronger than themselves. In all ages and all races man yearns for a +god, and if he knows not God he still worships dimly any strange god he +hears of.</p> + +<p>We cross some brick pavement, and climb up a few worn steps on to a +platform surrounded by a railing. Out of the middle of it there grows a +gnarled and ancient tree with crooked boughs splitting asunder with +hardly any leaves on them.</p> + +<p><i>Now</i> do you see?</p> + +<p>You only see monkeys looking like little black demons against the +afterglow still lingering in the sky as they leap from the tall palm +trees near, but this tree is not a palm.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a leaf, shaped like that of a poplar, but much larger, floats +down, and in an instant a slight dark figure, tied up in a bundle of +loose clothes, falls upon it, and holding it between the palms of the +hands bows again and again. That leaf is a precious relic, for this is +the sacred Bo tree, said to be at least two thousand years old!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 418px;"> +<img src="images/illus217.jpg" width="418" height="600" alt="SWAYING ITS LEAN UNLOVELY BODY TO AND FRO IN TIME WITH +THE TUNE." title="" /> +<span class="caption">SWAYING ITS LEAN UNLOVELY BODY TO AND FRO IN TIME WITH +THE TUNE.</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p> + +<p>After the Cingalese had come over from India and settled here, a monk +came and converted them to Buddhism; he was followed by his sister, a +princess, as he was a prince, and she brought with her, so it is said, a +branch of the actual tree under which Buddha sat when he considered all +the problems of life and found an answer to them, which he left to his +people. This branch, being planted, became a tree itself. So the story +goes; and that there has been a tree here worshipped for untold ages is +true, and if that is so, whatever its origin, this also to us is a +sacred spot, hallowed by the thousands of poor souls who, knowing not +the light, yet have come here with yearnings towards the light and to +the "unknown god."</p> + +<p>After dinner we wander out again into the tree-shaded road near, and a +sight of extraordinary splendour startles us. Every tree is brilliantly +illuminated as if by a million points of electric light. You have seen +an arc-light which seems to scintillate rays? These lights might be very +tiny arc-lights, for each one vibrates in the intensity of its +luminousness. We can see the outlines of the trees clearly. It is a +wonderful evening for fire-flies. No one knows why on some nights they +appear like this in countless thousands, and on other nights, apparently +the same, there is not one to be seen. It looks almost as if they had +parties and agreed to do their best on certain occasions. They have +evidently done their best for us to-night, for the other people +following us out of the hotel, who have been here longer than us, are +entranced.</p> + +<p>"Never saw anything like it, not even in the West Indies," says one man.</p> + +<p>"Puts a Christmas tree in the shade," remarks another.</p> + +<p>Catch one, he doesn't burn; don't grab him so as to hurt him, just take +him gently; that is right; bring him into the light and open your hand a +little. You see he is a flat, greenish beetle, with head set on a funny +hinge so that he could nod it violently if he liked. Half shut your hand +and turn away from the light; now you see two round green eyes glowing +like emeralds. He doesn't seem embarrassed by all this attention, but +you might let him go back to his party!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p> + +<p>When we have let him go we will walk down the avenue of living light, +where is one thing more to see to-night. It is only ten minutes' walk +and as we near it it gleams in the dim light of the brilliant stars, a +ghostly white object. As our eyes grow accustomed to the light we see a +building like a snow-white bell. It is small compared with the gigantic +dagobas we have examined already to-day, for the very tip of the +pinnacle, rising above the bell-shaped part, is only sixty-three feet, +but it is very graceful and is considered the most sacred of all the +dagobas, for it was built to enshrine Buddha's collar-bone!</p> + +<p>We haven't seen the half of Anuradhapura yet, and there are numbers of +other ancient cities in Ceylon to explore, to say nothing of +rock-temples with strange paintings and carvings; but we mustn't be here +too long or we shan't get through India and Burma before the hot weather +comes, which no European can endure.</p> + +<p>The white coating of this dagoba is a stuff called chunam, a kind of +lime. It is startlingly white and looks beautiful at night, but +otherwise it is just a sort of whitewash, clean enough but not +particularly attractive. There are numbers of the same square-cut +granite columns that we saw at the Brazen Temple falling about near the +dagoba, some this way and some that. A good place for snakes, that is +why we came round by the road and walked so carefully.</p> + +<p>Hullo! There is one! Keep still! Did you see him wriggle across among +the interlacing shadows of the trees? A large one too! Thank goodness he +has gone harmlessly! I wonder what sort he was? We ought not to have +come out, let us get back as quickly as we can.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus221.jpg" width="450" height="332" alt="A BULLOCK CART." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A BULLOCK CART.</span> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<h3>UNWELCOME INTRUDERS</h3> + + +<p>India at last!</p> + +<p>We have come up the west coast from Ceylon and are now approaching +Bombay. It is night-time, and far ahead we see a great yellow light +which appears and disappears, and is visible for twenty miles out at +sea. It seems to blink at us in greeting, peeping every few seconds to +see if we are still there. Then at last we ride into the harbour, and +such a harbour! We cannot see it now at all, and even if it were +daylight we couldn't see more than a very small part of it, for it is +fifteen miles one way by four or five the other, and a harbour that size +cannot be taken in at one glance.</p> + +<p>We have to sleep on board, for there are some formalities<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> to be +observed before we go ashore. There is our heavy baggage to get out of +the hold, for instance, and to pass through the Customs. That can wait +until to-morrow.</p> + +<p>Our first impression of Bombay is therefore a city of lights. There are +lights sprinkled about anyhow and anywhere; some in chains, some +separate, some low, and some apparently slung high up in mid-air. These +are on the hill above the town, which itself stands on an island.</p> + +<p>The very first incident we notice is a ludicrous one, and I am sure we +shan't forget it. A rather stout Englishman who is landing to-night +steps on to the launch, and in an instant is garlanded with marigolds +hung in wreaths round his neck. A crowd of native friends surrounds him. +Some are in European dress, and talk a queer sort of English very fast +and fluently, as if it were being pumped out of their mouths by the +yard; others wear the flowing drapery of the East. Many of them carry +bunches of flowers, which look more like balls, because the native habit +is to strip off every atom of leaf and then pack the blossoms with all +their heads together as tight as they will go. Many such balls are being +pressed upon the embarrassed Englishman, and the scent of crushed +marigolds fills the air. This is all by way of welcome, and it is +evident that the newcomer is a prime favourite with the people. He looks +sheepish, but his round rosy face rises good-humouredly above the absurd +garlands.</p> + +<p>Next morning we are up in good time, and as soon as ever we get our +baggage clear of the Customs we go sight-seeing. In our nostrils is the +subtle scent of India; it has something of dust in it, but is not +chiefly dust, as in Egypt; there is a waft of wood-smoke, and a strong +flavour of mixed spices, and some hint of sweet flowers, and many other +things not so agreeable. It is a blend that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> any Anglo-Indian knows, and +if he smelt it suddenly when he was thousands of miles away, with the +daisied grass beneath his feet, and the swallows wheeling overhead, it +would carry him back with a jump to a land of dark faces and burning sun +and red dust, and all the vivid sights of the East.</p> + +<p>We are not starting on our great journey across India until the evening, +so we can wander at will through the broad clean streets, looking into +the magnificent shops that might be in any European town, and then we +can plunge into the native part, where we find narrow, busy bazaars that +might belong to the <i>Arabian Nights</i>.</p> + +<p>Bombay was one of the first bits of India to belong to the English. The +Portuguese held it before then, and gave it to our nation as part of the +dower of Catherine of Braganza, the Portuguese princess who married +Charles II. You know the old saying, "trade follows the flag," and it +certainly did in Bombay, for the East India Company rented the city from +the king at £10 a year. The Company pushed forward all over the rest of +India year by year, and it was through their steady and persistent +advance in the country that the British finally occupied India—so later +on the saying was reversed, and "the flag followed trade," as it more +often does. But you know that story, every British boy does, the story +of Clive and Hastings, and later on of the Mutiny; it is a part of +English history and one of the most thrilling parts too.</p> + +<p>Bombay is a city of trade; her immense docks receive ships of all sizes, +her wharves are laden with the produce of the world, her wide streets +are open to traffic of all descriptions, her public buildings are +splendid, her clubs and hotels palatial. Her merchants prosper and grow +rich, and build for themselves houses on Malabar Hill, the long ridge +above the town, which catches the sea-breezes. At one time that ridge +was looked upon as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> sacred to Europeans, but now the wealthy natives +settle there, and there is not room for all the poorer Europeans, who +have to be content with lower levels.</p> + +<p>Stand still for a moment in this street, and look around. Here comes a +motor-car, and in it lolls a hugely fat man with a yellow skin, and that +crafty insolent look which marks the successful native trader; his thick +neck rolls in creases above his purple brocade coat. But they are not +all like this; some are thoughtful men who have given lakhs of rupees +for the public good.</p> + +<p>What a contrast! Here is one of the poorest of the poor. A bullock-cart +comes along, drawn by two lean animals with their ribs sticking out. A +heavy yoke passes across their necks, but otherwise they have not a +scrap of harness on them. That lean man huddled up on the pole between +them, clad in a few yards of rag, prods them with a pointed stick when +he wants them to go this way and that. He dares not now twist their +tails till he breaks them, or keep open running sores so that he may +prick them in a sensitive part, as he would have done at one time, for +if he did the police would be down on him.</p> + +<p>On the side-walk there is a lady, yes, it <i>is</i> a lady—in very baggy +green and gold trousers, with gold anklets tinkling as she walks. Her +head and face are swathed in a "sari" or shawl of shot gold and purple, +which only allows her heavy black eyes to appear above its folds. The +street is alive with men in white; some wear long white coats buttoned +down over the kind of white petticoat called a <i>dhoti</i>, others have the +curious habit of wearing their shirts outside their trousers like a +kilt, but you soon get used to this, and cease to notice it. That fellow +in a tall extinguisher cap made of lamb's wool is a Persian.</p> + +<p>In the midst of all this queer crowd, which looks like a fancy-dress +ball let loose in broad daylight, run the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> curving steel tram-lines. +There are shades of every complexion to be seen. That very fresh, +pink-faced lady, who has just gone dashing by in her smart "tum-tum" or +pony-cart, is at one end of the scale—she is probably newly out from +home,—and that ebony-black native woman of so low a caste that she goes +uncovered in the public street is at the other, but even she, poor +thing, cares enough about her personal appearance to wear a gold ring +through one of her nostrils!</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 204px;"> +<img src="images/illus225.jpg" width="204" height="400" alt="A PERSIAN." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A PERSIAN.</span> +</div> + +<p>Now we can see the long outline of Malabar Hill quite clearly, and below +all its trees and gardens and the great houses rising among them, but at +one part, the highest, the hill is kept for other uses. Look up into the +clear blue sky overhead, do you see a black speck? Not got it yet? Wait +a moment and try again. There! That is right, and there is another and +another; you can't help seeing them now. Their flight is the slow heavy +flight of clumsy birds. What do you suppose they are? Vultures. They +live, as you know, on carrion, which is dead flesh, and the vultures of +Bombay are peculiarly favoured, for they banquet on human bodies.</p> + +<p>In this district there are a large number of Parsees or +fire-worshippers, and these people have their peculiar ceremonies. Under +the British Crown every man is free to carry out his own religion in his +own way; persecution is unknown. The Parsees have their cemetery on the +top<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> of that high hill; it is a beautiful place, laid out in gardens, +and reached by flights of steps. Only at one end are five grim towers +shut in by a wall and called the Towers of Silence. Their parapets are +high, and none may climb to the top except certain men set apart and +dedicated for this terrible work. When a Parsee dies, his body is borne +reverently and with care to the gardens on the hill, but instead of +burying it in the earth, these men take it up the winding stairs of one +of the towers and lay it on the roof, and then retire. The vultures do +the rest! No human being has ever seen that dread spectacle, for when +the men come back again about a fortnight later there are only the clean +bleached bones of the skeleton to take away and lay in quicklime to be +absorbed.</p> + +<p>So the vultures hover over Bombay and sit like great images around the +parapets on the Towers of Silence, knowing that they will never lack a +meal!</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>We have seen many and bewildering things in this great city, and when at +last we arrive at the station between five and six in the evening, for +our first journey across this vast land, we are glad to rest. We engaged +our places directly we arrived, for here, where a journey takes often +nights and days, it is no use wandering in casually a few minutes before +the train starts. We also engaged the whole of a compartment to +ourselves, as we want a good night's sleep. It has been cleaned and +prepared, and looks very comfortable when we come to claim it. There are +two seats running lengthwise, the opposite way to that which they do in +an English train. Above them are two more which can be let down as bunks +if required, so that the carriage can accommodate four, but as we have +paid extra to get it to ourselves we ought not to be disturbed.</p> + +<p>By the way, you haven't seen any Indian money yet. This is a rupee, a +large and substantial coin you see, about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> as big as a two-shilling +piece, but it is only worth one and fourpence; fifteen of them go to the +pound. An anna is a penny, and that little coin like a threepenny bit is +a two-anna bit.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus227.jpg" width="450" height="480" alt="SIT LIKE IMAGES ROUND THE PARAPET." title="" /> +<span class="caption">SIT LIKE IMAGES ROUND THE PARAPET.</span> +</div> + +<p>We have had to hire a native boy to travel with us and look after the +luggage, as it is difficult to do without one in India. All servants are +called "boys" here, even if they are grey-headed; our man is probably +about five-and-twenty. He is called Ramaswamy, and has a +chocolate-coloured moon-face with big round eyes; I think he is +intelligent though he looks stupid. He is dressed in spotless white, his +garments consisting of a short jacket and a dhoti, and he wears a large +round turban on his head, and a pair of neat little gold ear-rings in +his ears. It is a very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> difficult thing to get a really trustworthy boy, +but the Madrassees are the best, and Ramaswamy comes from the Madras +country far south; he has been in service with a man I know for two +years, and as he is only lent to us for this trip he will probably +behave himself. He is piling up our bedding in a corner of the carriage, +and later on when the train stops at a station for a few minutes he will +come to spread it out. It seems funny to have to carry bedding with us +on a journey, but it is very necessary here. We have pillows and rugs +and a couple of <i>rezai</i> each. These are rather like eider-down quilts, +but are stuffed with cotton instead of down, so they are heavier, and +very comfortable they are to lie upon when doubled up.</p> + +<p>You remarked on the amount of luggage we seem to be taking in the +carriage, it is a simple nothing to what is the custom here; look at all +that being piled into the next compartment! Besides masses of bedding +there is a deck-chair, a typewriter, a case for a topee, or helmet, a +gun-case, two portmanteaus, and a box of books, as well as a +lunch-basket. The owner, a pleasant-looking, sun-browned Englishman, +stands by giving orders to his native servants in Hindustanee, which is +a language spoken by the English people to the natives and understood +pretty nearly everywhere. That man is almost certainly what is here +known as a "civilian," that is to say, one of the men in the Indian +Civil Service who govern India. They have to pass stiff examinations at +home, and then come out here for a number of years to do all the work of +government, being magistrates, judges, rulers, and general protectors of +the native, giving up their lives to the country, and dealing out +justice to all men. Some men have not the habit of command, but if it is +in them at all it comes out here, where one white man alone in a +district running to hundreds of miles often has everything in his own +hands; he has to make decisions in an instant of emergency, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> stand +by them, compel evildoers to behave, save the miserable low-caste +natives, ground down by those above them, and often to hold his life in +his hand for fear of the knife or bullet of a fanatic.</p> + +<p>A little farther up the platform there is a gorgeous group, of which the +central figure is a fine tall man, slenderly built, with a clear proud +face. He is dressed in marvellous silks which shimmer and flash in the +late afternoon sunlight. His upper garment is deep rich rose, and the +lower one a medley of greens and gold. Watch the flashing of that great +jewel which fastens the aigrette in his turban; it is probably worth +anywhere about three thousand pounds. That man is a native prince, and +those very splendid gentlemen in purple and yellow silk are seeing him +off. There are many of these native rulers or maharajahs in India, and +they keep up the state of royalty and are treated with respect. So long +as they rule their people wisely the British Government does not +interfere with them.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 184px;"> +<img src="images/illus229.jpg" width="184" height="400" alt="A RAJAH." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A RAJAH.</span> +</div> + +<p>Sometimes one thinks of India as one whole country, as England is or +France, but that is not true. It is not, and never was. The state held +by a native prince may be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> only the size of a gentleman's country +estate, but it may be as large as the United Kingdom. In the old days +the rulers of these kingdoms were for ever fighting against each other, +and though one of them sometimes got the better of his neighbours for a +while, India was never ruled from end to end by one sovereign until it +passed into the possession of Great Britain. The nations and races who +make up this vast land are as different from each other as the races of +Europe; to think of them as being one people would be as foolish as to +imagine that you, say, and an Italian, were one people.</p> + +<p>The size of India is a thing almost impossible to conceive. In +old-fashioned atlases the whole of this mighty land was often given one +page to itself, and little England was put on another just the same +size, that is to say, they were drawn on quite different scales, a mile +in England being given about as much space as forty miles in India! The +best way to judge is this—picture India set down on the map of Europe, +and you will find it would cover about half of it!</p> + +<p>At the other end of the train, the third-class end, what a contrast to +His Highness! Here a crowd of natives of all kinds have been crammed +into what look like covered-in trucks, and they are squatting on the +floor. There is no hardship in that, they prefer it; to sit on chairs is +an art only acquired by the Europeanised. There are women here as well +as men; look at that handsome creature whose crimson scarf has slipped +off her sheeny black hair, showing the gold ring in her nose and the +huge decorative ear-rings! She is hugging a tiny boy with one blue bead +slung round his neck as a charm, just as it was round the donkey's neck +in Egypt,—people are very much alike all the world over! This little +chap has silver bangles on his podgy ankles but not a rag of any sort of +clothing.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus231.jpg" width="450" height="413" alt="NATIVES AT THE RAILWAY STATION." title="" /> +<span class="caption">NATIVES AT THE RAILWAY STATION.</span> +</div> + +<p>These people are packed so tightly you could hardly get a foot in +between them, but they are very happy, because they love travelling. +Natives have no idea of time, and when they are going to start on a +journey as likely as not they arrive at the station the evening before, +sleep rolled round in their garments where they may happen to be, and +next day eat a handful of something or other they carry with them, +waiting patiently till that marvellous object, the train, condescends to +start. Most of these here are munching sweetmeats; they love them as +children do, and the sweetmeat-seller never lacks trade. There he is, +with a tray on his shoulder! A man with a water-pot stops by the third +classes and pours some of the precious fluid into the cups held out<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> to +him, and even into one man's hands. You notice that he is careful not to +touch either hand or cup. In India there is an extraordinary custom +called caste, deep-rooted in the natives. They are all divided into +higher and lower castes, according to their birth, and those of a higher +caste will not allow those of a lower caste to touch them or prepare +their food and drink, for they fancy they would be defiled! Only the +lowest castes of all will do dirty work, such as scavenging and carrying +away refuse, and you can imagine what difficulties all this leads to. +The Brahman, who is the highest caste, will not touch food which has +been defiled even by having the shadow of another fall on it, he would +throw it away and remain hungry sooner.</p> + +<p>As we stroll back to our places we pass various men with marks on their +foreheads; these are caste-marks and to those who understand they tell a +great deal. Standing beside the second classes we see a short-sighted +gentleman in glasses, wearing an alpaca suit; he has with him a lady, +who, like himself, is coffee-coloured. She is wearing a full petticoat +of brocaded silk, and has a very lovely shawl edged with sequins thrown +round her head in place of a hat, but, alas, all this magnificence is +spoilt by the pair of tight and obviously most uncomfortable yellow +leather European shoes, which she has put on to show how fashionable she +is. When she climbs into the carriage she immediately takes them off, +putting them on the seat beside her, and shows a pair of bare brown feet +without shame. The shoes were only meant for show, and she has endured +them to the utmost!</p> + +<p>Well, we are off! And as it is dark we can't, unfortunately, see much of +the country, which at first is quite pretty. Presently we cross the sea +by a long bridge and notice the lights reflected sparkling in the water, +and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> then we begin to climb up into the hills and it quickly grows +colder.</p> + +<p>While we go along to the restaurant-car for dinner Ramaswamy takes +advantage of the stoppage of the train to hasten along, settling his +turban as he comes. He must never appear before us without it; we are +supposed to think it a fixture on his round cropped head, and also he +must not come into a room where we are with his shoes on! Odd how +fashion differs! With us men remove the head-covering on entering a +room, but would not dream of being so rude as to take off their shoes!</p> + +<p>When we come back after dinner we find our bedding neatly spread out and +looking very inviting. As there is nothing else to do it is not long +before we turn in and fall asleep, lulled by the rumbling of the train.</p> + +<p>I am deep in dreamland when I am woke unpleasantly by a draught of icy +air as the door at the end of the compartment is pushed open, and I +realise the train has stopped at a station. The native guard stands in +the doorway apologetically fumbling with the key which he has just used +in undoing the door. "Mem-sahib coming in," says he hopelessly, and a +very disagreeable high-pitched voice makes itself heard behind him. +Pushing rudely past come a man and woman so much alike they must be +brother and sister; they have both coarse features and clumsy squat +figures; they speak English but with a strong Colonial accent of some +kind.</p> + +<p>"They can't have it <i>all</i> their own way," says Madam viciously. "I'm +coming in here, and that's flat."</p> + +<p>An overloaded coolie follows, and dumps down masses of rolled-up bedding +and trunks into the small space between our bunks and departs.</p> + +<p>"This compartment is engaged," I say as politely as I can, conscious +that I don't look dignified in shirt-sleeves, but thankful I have only +taken off my coat and boots.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Can't help that," snaps the lady.</p> + +<p>"Isn't there any other——" I begin patiently.</p> + +<p>"I telling the Mem-sahib," begins the guard plaintively, "that there is +one with only——"</p> + +<p>"Don't care if there is! Horace, undo that bundle. I'm going to bed at +once," and the newcomer proceeds to remove her coat and hat.</p> + +<p>The guard hastily lets down the two upper bunks and disappears as the +train gets under way again.</p> + +<p>Appalled at the idea of how much she may think it necessary to remove, +and thankful that you are sleeping peacefully through all the turmoil, I +get up and grope for my shoes.</p> + +<p>"If you prefer the lower bunk it is at your service," I say, making the +best of a bad job and gathering up my coverlets. She deigns to snap out +"Thanks!"</p> + +<p>"I will go outside until you're ready," I say, retreating to the small +platform between the carriages; there is nothing else for it, as there +isn't room to turn inside. Just as I leave I add to the man, "Don't wake +the boy if you can help it, he has had a hard day."</p> + +<p>It is intensely cold outside, and after having smoked two cigarettes I +think I may venture in again as I hear no sounds, so I knock, and +getting no answer enter. By the dim light I make out the form of the +lady in my bunk; but that is surely not the brother in the one opposite? +It <i>is</i>! The impudence of it! They have turned you out and made you go +into the upper one. As I climb to my own perch, internally wrathful and +debating whether I shall not poke the man up and make him restore you to +your place, I hear your sleepy voice in a stage whisper—</p> + +<p>"He made me come up here." Then deliberately, leaning over and with +mischief in your voice, you add: "I suppose when you are fat like that +it would be very difficult to climb."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p> + +<p>I think you got your own back! I saw the fellow squirm!</p> + +<p>Bad as they were at night our fellow-travellers are worse in the +daytime. They won't get up until ten o'clock, and we have to stay +outside until they do, as there is nowhere to sit down. Ramaswamy brings +us <i>chota hazri</i>, consisting of tea and toast and plantains, and we eat +it outside. The Englishman in the next compartment looks out presently +and invites us in. He laughs when he hears of our adventure. "Brutes!" +he says tersely; "people like that should be hanged at sight. The worst +is you meet them travelling more often than elsewhere; they have come +into some money probably, and are so proud of it they think themselves +little gods."</p> + +<p>I think he was right, for when we pull up at the station, where we are +at last to get rid of our tormentors, I happen to remark to you that I +thought some restaurant we had been to in Bombay was rather expensive.</p> + +<p>"Did you indeed!" says the lady, taking the remark as if addressed to +herself. "'Grace and I dined there and paid double that, and we did not +think anything of it."</p> + +<p>She then immediately turns, and seeing Ramaswamy standing outside +mistakes him for a station-attendant, and orders him to tie up their +bedding. He looks to me for orders. I nod to him to do it, and, hat in +hand, make a sweeping bow—</p> + +<p>"Only too glad if my boy can be of any service to you, Madam."</p> + +<p>I think I also got my own back!</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus236.jpg" width="450" height="290" alt="A BRASS WORKER, DELHI." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A BRASS WORKER, DELHI.</span> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<h3>THE CAPITAL OF INDIA</h3> + + +<p>Delhi!</p> + +<p>If you draw a line across the map of India from the north to the south +at the greatest length, and another from east to west at the greatest +breadth, the two will form a cross of the usual shape, with the +cross-bar high up. Just at the point where they intersect stands Delhi, +the chief city in India since the King-Emperor's proclamation in 1911. +Before that Calcutta was the capital, but Calcutta, like Bombay, is a +city of trade, and has practically no historic memories. Delhi is full +of the romance of history. In the Mutiny the question as to who should +hold it was of the greatest importance, and if the British then had let +it slip from their grip, without an effort to retake it, their power in +India would have been gone for ever.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p> + +<p>Now, on the first morning that we are here, let us drive round and see +what we can of this splendid city. First we will go down the Chandni +Chauk, the main street which cuts Delhi into two parts. It is immensely +wide and lined with trees of a good size. These stand on each side of a +broad walk for foot-passengers, which runs down the middle of the +street, foreign fashion, and makes a popular promenade. The gay colours +of the natives' clothes flash in and out of the shadows of the trees as +the people pass along, each on his own errand. On one side are the +tram-lines and on the other you can see a fast bullock-cart with pretty +little white trotting bullocks as dainty in their own way as antelopes, +and as different from the slow yellow ones as carriage-horses are from +cart-horses. There are on both sides shops for jewels, for sweetmeats, +for the richest and most beautiful silks and ivory, and mingled with +them grocers' shops filled with tinned stuffs from England, and others +with every kind of modern utensil for a house. Such a mixture! They are +all heavily protected against the sun by awnings, for even at this early +hour of the morning it is strong. At the end of the street is a tall red +sandstone tower with a clock in it. In the distance we see the spire of +an English church, and down that opening we catch sight of a Mohammedan +mosque. The shop here beside us is a blaze of colour with Eastern +carpets hung out like banners; the native owner squats on a thing like a +wooden bedstead by his door and chews betel-nut, which makes his tongue +and lips a deep red. Next door is a vigorous agency for the sale of +sewing-machines! A Hindu religious fanatic, smeared with ashes and with +hardly any clothes to cover his lean body, walks ahead with eyes +unseeing, and at the same moment a smart motor-car stops beside us and +the voice of a high-bred English-woman says, "I will meet you at the +Effinghams in an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> hour," as she waves a greeting to her companions and +steps out.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus238.jpg" width="450" height="419" alt="A SHOP IN DELHI." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A SHOP IN DELHI.</span> +</div> + +<p>Hullo! There is a band. Round the corner swings a company of Ghurkas, +the sturdy little men who helped England to overcome the mutineers. They +look very soldier-like in their neat holly-green uniforms, with small +round caps set at a jaunty angle on their cropped heads. They are hill +tribes from the north, and in appearance not unlike the Japanese. They +are all so much of one size you could run a ruler along their heads. +Their swinging stride would delight a soldier's heart, for it is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> like +clockwork in its precision. They are born soldiers, brave and easily +disciplined, devoted to their officers and without the knowledge of +fear. They have faults, of course. The Ghurka is apt to be rather a gay +dog; he gets drunk, and the girls he loves are many, but he is of the +right stuff, and his officers are proud of him.</p> + +<p>I was talking to one of them as we came up the coast on the ship.</p> + +<p>"Nothing like them anywhere else in the world," he said. "They take to +drill like their mother's milk, they thrive on it and discipline—the +slightest fault that might be overlooked elsewhere we punish severely. +They like it and live up to it. You could lead a Ghurka regiment +anywhere; fighting is their pastime. They have nothing in common with +the slothful races of Lower India; they are alert and vigorous and +active as cats. The funniest thing is their love for the Highlanders; if +a Highland regiment comes up the two meet and mingle as if they were +brothers. You'll see a great Highlander in his kilt and feather bonnet +arm in arm with one of these little chaps, hobnobbing as if they had +known each other all their lives. And the Ghurkas won't have anything to +say to the other Indian regiments; they despise them all except the +Sikhs—they get on with them all right."</p> + +<p>We are lucky, for the Ghurkas are followed by a company of Sikhs, and +anything less like the Ghurkas you could hardly imagine. The Sikhs are +big men with stern bearded faces, they look like veterans and are a +pleasant sight in their scarlet tunics with neat gaitered feet. There +were many Sikh regiments belonging to our army in the black days of the +Mutiny, and some wavered, but some held firm. Had it not been for the +Sikhs things would have gone badly with us.</p> + +<p>Now we are nearing the Lahore Gate and you can see that Delhi is a +walled city. The walls run all round for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> six miles, and are backed up +by a twenty-five feet ditch, so that it is a tough city for any army to +take. The gate itself is a fine building. When the British troops, who +varied at times from 5000 to 10,000 men, set to work to attack this +strong city, held by 40,000 to 100,000 natives, many of them trained and +disciplined soldiers, taught by the very men against whom they were +fighting, it seemed an impossible task. The audacity of it! This gate +was one of the hardest of all to break through. Four attacking parties +had been sent against the walls, the other three got in, but the one +that came here failed. Then the others tried to work their way through, +inside the city, to capture this gate. They crept along the narrow lane +running inside the wall, but it was commanded everywhere from the +heights of the houses by the enemy, who poured down a murderous fire +into it. Again and again the reckless men, who determined to take the +gate, started off on the deadly errand, again and again they were wiped +off, and alas! one of those mortally wounded was General John Nicholson, +whose utter disregard of danger and marvellous understanding of the +native character had made many of the natives look on him as a god!</p> + +<p>Now we are outside and driving up to the ridge. Every British boy and +girl has heard of the ridge. It played a great part in the Mutiny. It is +a long backbone of hill which runs close up to the city at one end. We +will leave our carriage to go slowly along to the far end, where the +road winds up, and we ourselves will scramble up at this side till we +gain the Mutiny Memorial, a Gothic tower rising in many stages like a +church spire. We can mount the steps inside to see the view. It is worth +it, for miles and miles of country lie spread before us from this +height.</p> + +<p>I don't want to go into details of history, but if ever there is a place +where history was made it is here. On this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> ridge for months was camped +the British army, including some loyal native regiments, and all the +time they never wavered in their determination to retake Delhi, then in +the hands of the natives. Our men could not be said to besiege the city, +because to besiege means to sit down all round a place and prevent the +inhabitants from getting supplies from outside until they are compelled +to give in or are too weak to resist the entrance of the besiegers; we +never invested Delhi in this way. There were not enough men even to +attempt it; the natives could always get supplies into the city, if they +wanted, from the river Jumna, which runs past the other side. But the +British sat steadily on their heights in grim determination, and never +lost the chance of a move. They died in hundreds; remember it was during +an Indian summer, and even under the best conditions, with ice and +punkahs and shade, the European finds it hard to get through the hot +weather. Here there were no conveniences and very few even of what might +be considered necessaries. The men suffered from dysentery, fever, +wounds, and sunstroke, and yet they carried through their forlorn hope +triumphantly, and it was hardly a year later that the Queen of England +was proclaimed Sovereign of India.</p> + +<p>In that great plain, which stretches far as eye can see on the other +side of the ridge, some twenty years later another proclamation was +made, and the Queen was further proclaimed under the title of Empress of +India; while in 1911 her grandson, King George, himself proclaimed Delhi +as the capital of India in place of Calcutta.</p> + +<p>Over the screen of trees you can see beautiful Delhi lying within its +hoary walls. You can see the towers and steeples and minarets and domes +of the city. Now look the other way, along the ridge. That great pillar +close to us is very old; it was made by one of the Hindu kings, but it +was only put up here ten years after the Mutiny,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> and is not +interesting. That white house farther on is now a hospital; it was once +a private house, and in it General Nicholson died. Look on again, much +farther, past trees and other houses, and you will see a rounded +building with turrets—that is the Flagstaff Tower so fiercely held.</p> + +<p>Come down now to rejoin the carriage and we will go back to the city by +the Kashmir Gate. Of all the gates this is the one with the most daring +story of adventure attached to it.</p> + +<p>When the British had resolved to make an assault on the city they +detailed four parties, as I said, to attack in four places. One of them +was this gate. The other three places had been partially broken in by +the guns, and there was a chance for those heroic madmen to get through, +but this was entire. The assaulting party had first to break a way in +and then get through.</p> + +<p>And they did it!</p> + +<p>The five told off to make the breach were Lieutenants Home and Salkeld, +and Sergeants Carmichael, Burgess, and Smith. Some carried bags of +gunpowder, and others, the fire to set them off. It was daylight when +they ran towards the gate across a single plank spanning the ditch, so +that they had to go one by one in full range of the enemy's fire from +the walls. The marvel is that any lived to reach the gate alive. When +one fell another leaped forward to carry on his task. The bags were +flung down, and those who placed them tumbled back into the ditch, while +their comrades set the powder alight and rolled down too. Out of the +whole party only Home and Smith survived. The wicket of the gate was +burst open by the explosion, and the storming party, also crossing that +single plank, made for it, got inside, and beat back the foe, meeting +their comrades, who had burst in at other points, inside.</p> + +<p>The tale of "how Horatius kept the bridge" pales before this amazing +pluck.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 427px;"> +<img src="images/illus243.jpg" width="427" height="600" alt="A CARPET SHOP, DELHI." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A CARPET SHOP, DELHI.</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p> + +<p>We must get out and look at the gate where this actually happened not +sixty years ago.</p> + +<p>There are two wide arches in the shattered wall, and the coping above is +half gone; it remains unrestored just as it was that day. On a slab is +an inscription telling of this noble deed when men died for their +country without hesitation.</p> + +<p>Close by is the cemetery where General Nicholson is buried. You can see +his statue in the city raised high on a pedestal. He stands with bared +head and drawn sword. But Nicholson's is not the only name immortalised +by the Mutiny—there are the two brothers, John and Henry Lawrence, +Outram and Havelock, Hodson, Sir Colin Campbell, and many another name +which is a household word in England. These men, in those days of fierce +fighting and desperate stress, made history and wrote themselves in its +pages by deeds that still cause every British boy's heart to ring within +him. We have passed through the Kashmir Gate, and here, on one side of +the street, is a battered bit of arcade, another Mutiny memorial. In the +early days, just at the first outbreak, when no one realised what was +going to happen, the mutineers marched on Delhi. This bit of wall was +part of the powder magazine, then in charge of nine men. They defended +it against a swarming army of Sepoys, as the native soldiers were +called, and when they found that they could not hold it in spite of +their desperate defence, they calmly blew up the powder magazine, and +themselves with it, to prevent its falling into the hands of the +mutineers and being used against their kinsmen. The most incredible part +of the whole story is that three of those who blew up the magazine +actually escaped with their lives!</p> + +<p>We are now approaching the fort and palace, the kernel of the city, +which it is best to see after the ridge.</p> + +<p>It is a fine building that faces us, with an ornamental<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> arcade running +along the upper part. We pass in on foot under the gateway and see +another, a Hall of Public Audience, with red sandstone pillars. Inside +is a great throne of white marble, inlaid with mosaic work, where the +old kings of Delhi used to sit and listen to their ministers. The last +of this line was still living in the palace when the Mutiny broke out. +He was a poor specimen, given up to indulgence and sloth; but the +British had left him the state of royalty and all his wealth until the +rising made it impossible any more. His sons and grandson, who, when the +Mutiny broke out, themselves actually murdered and tortured helpless +English women and children, and watched their agonies as "sport," were +rightly shot out of hand, and the old king became a prisoner.</p> + +<p>Coming out of this hall our eyes are caught by a gleam of something +lustrously white against a sky which is now burning blue. This is +another Hall of Audience, the Diwan-i-Khas, more beautiful than the +first. It is of white marble, which, in this clear atmosphere, remains +white, and it is richly ornamented with gilt. It is in the form of a +square cloister or arcade, with a little dome at each corner, and if we +stand inside and look out between the white pillars to see the lawns and +the trees in the old palace gardens, we shall find it difficult to +realise that this place of beauty and peace was ever a scene of fierce +revolt. The rest of the palace is now used partly as a barracks.</p> + +<p>When the British, having beaten their way through the narrow streets, +and swept them clear of the foe, arrived here on that fateful day, the +14th September 1857, they found the palace deserted, except for a stray +sentry, holding his position with sublime courage. The rest had +fled,—thousands flying from hundreds,—and well they might, for the +British troops were wrought up by the cruelties of the Sepoys to a +sublime and just fury that made them seem like avenging angels. It is +said in one place that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> the sternness of the expression of the Sikhs' +faces made the wretched Sepoys fly without a shot being fired. The +palace area is full of beautiful buildings, and we shall see many more +specimens of this kind of Oriental architecture when we visit the +mosques in the town this afternoon.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus247.jpg" width="450" height="467" alt="THE KUTAB MINAR." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE KUTAB MINAR.</span> +</div> + +<p>So much is there to see, indeed, that it is not until the next day we +can ride out for a sight beyond the walls.</p> + +<p>Pull up your horse and look ahead. Do you see that huge column rising +skyward from the plain? It is called the Kutab Minar and is two hundred +and forty feet high. As we get under it and gaze up at it it seems to +tower into the very sky. It is forty-seven feet across the base and +narrows to the top, it is fluted all the way down, and has frills in +stone around it here and there—truly a curious<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> sight! There are three +hundred and seventy-nine steps to climb to the top; do you want to try +them? If so, I will wait here and hold your horse. You shake your head. +Wise boy!</p> + +<p>There are other buildings around, parts of a mosque, and inside is an +iron pillar said to be one of the oldest things in India. The Kutab +Minar is supposed to have been built about the reign of our King John, +though there are some who put it further back; the pillar is +considerably older than that, but it cannot compare in antiquity with +many things we have seen in Egypt. After the Hindu kings came a line of +Moghul or Mohammedan kings who swept the others away; of these the old +king of Delhi, living at the time of the Mutiny, was the last, and it is +supposed that it was at the beginning of the rule of the Moghul kings +that the Kutab Minar was erected.</p> + +<p>Notice that brown-faced, scantily clad boy, who keeps beckoning and +shouting "Sahib." We follow him as he leads us to a well, and almost +before we realise what he is doing he goes down head first, a drop of at +least eighty feet, into the black water below. There is a tradition that +the water of this well cannot drown anyone. At anyrate it hasn't rid the +world of this rascal, for here he comes shaking the water off his oily +body and grinning. He has earned his bakshish!</p> + +<p>As we are in Delhi for several days more we can go at our leisure +through the bazaars, which really are well worth seeing. We choose a +late afternoon, when there is no hurry and we can watch the people in +their daily life and get a glimpse into the real India.</p> + +<p>The streets are narrow, mere passages mostly, and lined by the open-air +stalls or wooden sheds which are what the native understands by shops. A +marvellous array of slippers greets us first, for all of one trade tend +to congregate together, a curious custom and one which you would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> think +was not very good for trade, though convenient to the customer. There +are slippers of all colours from scarlet to brown; you would never have +thought they could be so decorative. They hang in bunches, festoons, and +chains. Every man here wears slippers when he puts anything at all on +his feet. Boots would be of no use to him, for he has so often to +shuffle off his foot-gear in a hurry. Modern streets, with their stones +and liability to nails and broken glass and other sharp things, has led +to the native taking to strong soled slippers when he walks about his +business.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus249.jpg" width="450" height="554" alt="HE GOES HEAD FOREMOST INTO THE BLACK WATER." title="" /> +<span class="caption">HE GOES HEAD FOREMOST INTO THE BLACK WATER.</span> +</div> + +<p>There is a sizzling and a delicious smell from the next shop, and +peeping in we see a huddled form crouched over a pot placed on a few red +embers; it might be a witch stirring potions and muttering incantations. +But it is only a native looking after a pan full of Indian corn popping +out in the most fluffy and tempting way. I have often popped it on a +shovel over the school fire. A native soldier, who is passing, stops and +bargains for a handful, and carries it off, eating it as he goes; when +he has had enough he will stow the rest in his turban, which serves as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> +his pocket, his private trunk, and play-box all in one. This is the food +he best thrives on, so his wants are easily supplied. A tailor sitting +cross-legged on his board attracts us next; he is a good-looking old man +with a grey beard and kindly eyes blinking behind horn spectacles. His +garments are of the dark red colour seen sometimes in certain parts of +the country when the earth is ploughed. His turban is a mighty erection +of green arranged with much dignity. You would think it hot and heavy to +carry all those yards of stuff on your head, but the habit has probably +arisen to protect the head from sunstroke.</p> + +<p>"He is a <i>dhurzi</i>, Sahib," says Ramaswamy, who has followed us to +interpret if we want. "He making all clothes for mem-sahibs. Very clever +man and not asking too much money."</p> + +<p>Yes, a <i>dhurzi</i> will come and sit outside on a verandah and work by the +day and copy any garment you give him; sewing is a man's job here, and +not a woman's.</p> + +<p>Then we see a sweetmeat shop with a crowd outside and a cloud of flies +bearing them company. While we look, many of the flies crawl slowly over +the sticky, syrupy stuff which has just come from the pan, and get their +legs entangled in it, but it doesn't seem to hinder the sale, which goes +on cheerfully. There are sweets in rings and coils and fantastic shapes. +A child gets a large pink slab for two pice, and ten pice go to the +penny, that is to say, the anna, so it is not dear. The buyer tucks the +sticky stuff up in the corner of her garment and ties it carefully into +a knot before starting homeward.</p> + +<p>Standing a little aloof from the crowd and looking at them disdainfully +is a small boy with a twisted cord slung across his left shoulder. "He +be Brahman, Sahib," says Ramaswamy timidly. "Very proud and not eating<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> +anything dirty peoples touch, just having had cord." Standing where he +is, so as not to approach nearer to the lad, he asks a few questions, +which are answered curtly and proudly, with a glance thrown across at us +as much as if to say they wouldn't have been answered at all except for +our presence.</p> + +<p>"Just two, three days he been made Brahman," explains Ramaswamy.</p> + +<p>But he was born a Brahman, of course, and what Ramaswamy means is that +up till then he was counted a child and could play and run about with +other children without responsibilities; now that he has been invested +with the cord he has taken up his birthright and is of the highest +caste, the caste from which the priests come; he may not eat anything +prepared by a lower caste, or even let others touch him, for he is set +apart, and very proud of his new dignity in spite of the many +difficulties it carries with it.</p> + +<p>The child who stands staring at us with her shawl over her head is a +little girl about the same age as the boy. She has been grinding corn +between two stones and is a very thin and miserable little wretch. Her +clothes are rags and there are no bangles on her little brown ankles. +Ramaswamy tells us she is a widow! That child? She has probably never +even seen the boy-husband who was so unlucky as to die; but because he +did she is scorned by everyone. The worst life in all India is that of a +widow. She has no ornaments, no amusements, and is treated worse than a +slavey in a boarding-house, and for her there is no escape.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus252.jpg" width="450" height="458" alt="A POTTER." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A POTTER.</span> +</div> + +<p>Right out in the street sits a man weaving a web of wonderful colours; +he throws the shuttles, carrying different coloured threads, across and +across, without seeming to look at them, and all the time the web is +growing into an intricate pattern under his fingers. So his father wove, +and his grandfather and great-grandfather. All these crafts run in +families. A little farther on is a potter spinning a wheel with his +feet, while the soft lump of dull-coloured clay takes shape beneath his +clever thumb as it races round. It seems to grow and swell and curve +exquisitely as if it were a living thing. There are few sights more +fascinating than a potter at work. You have often heard of the "potter's +thumb," I expect? The thumb grows broad and flat and capable, because it +is the chief instrument with which the potter works. On the floor beside +him lie many of the clay jars of different sizes and shapes ready for +the baking, others are being baked. There is always a good sale for +them, and a potter in India flourishes exceedingly. Even now there is a +woman passing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> us with a pot balanced on her head and a child on her +hip. She swings along in the dust with a graceful gliding step, for she +has been used to carrying things on her head almost from babyhood. These +pots are brittle enough and frequently get broken, and even the poorest +households must have a supply of them. But what helps the potter to make +a living more than anything else is the custom that when a death occurs +in a family, or a new life arrives in it, all the pots must be broken +and new ones bought! It is a symbol of the life that has gone out and +the new life beginning.</p> + +<p>In church you must have heard those grandly poetic lines—</p> + +<p>"Or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken, or the +pitcher be broken at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern.</p> + +<p>"Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was: and the spirit shall +return unto God who gave it."</p> + +<p>Pass on to the silversmiths' quarter. Any of these men can do fine and +beautiful work with very few tools. If you want anything made you pay +them in a queer way. For the finished article is put in the scales and +weighed against rupees thrown into the other balance, and when the +rupees equal it then you give them to the workman, together with so many +annas in each rupee for his work.</p> + +<p>How can we ever take in all this varied life, so different from the life +we are used to? The women sitting on the balconies above, the pariah +dogs prowling for scraps below, the druggists and spice-sellers, the +fruit and vegetable stalls? Over it all is that peculiar, scented, musty +bazaar smell, made up of saffron and wood and dirt, with which we are +already so familiar.</p> + +<p>Wonderful Delhi! A city teeming with myriads of men of many races and +customs, living side by side.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> Successor of seven cities which have +stood here or hereabout in successive ages. From the earliest days a +place of consequence, a place to be reckoned with, and now, by the +proclamation of the King-Emperor, the first city in the land, as it is +already the centre!</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus255.jpg" width="450" height="240" alt="CLUMSY BOATS WITH THATCHED ROOFS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">CLUMSY BOATS WITH THATCHED ROOFS.</span> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<h3>TO THE DEATH!</h3> + + +<p>A curious building, isn't it? I mean that one right in front of us. It +is something like a very large and many-sided crown, built of stone and +set upon the ground. The sides are pierced with windows of the same sort +as those seen in churches, and on each of the angles there is a little +pinnacle. It rises up serenely against the soft blue sky of this early +morning. We are far from Delhi now, having arrived at Cawnpore late last +night, and we have come out here first thing this morning. It is only +seven now.</p> + +<p>Cawnpore! The Mutiny! Those two things rush simultaneously into the +mind, for Cawnpore is associated with the most awful scenes of the +Mutiny, and no Briton can ever think of it without those scenes flashing +before him.</p> + +<p>Come nearer and pass inside the crown and you will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> see in the centre a +great angel of the usual sort, with high sweeping wings, holding palm +branches folded across its breast. It marks the Well of Cawnpore.</p> + +<p>You know that story, of course, and yet, as we sit here, on the very +spot where it all happened, with the Indian sky above us, we cannot help +recalling it once more. In telling it I shall not dwell on the agonies +and bloodshed which have hallowed this place for ever; they are done +with, and those who suffered have been at rest for nearly sixty years. +The deep peace around us overlies their torments and forbids us to think +too much of the darker side of the picture. But the heroism, the +courage, the indomitable spirit that animated these men and women, these +things live for ever, rising up from the earth in a flood of inspiration +for all who pass over the place.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 243px;"> +<img src="images/illus256.jpg" width="243" height="400" alt="THE WELL OF CAWNPORE." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE WELL OF CAWNPORE.</span> +</div> + +<p>There are certain little animals called Tasmanian devils, who do not +know what it is to give in; they die fighting and attack their +persecutors as long as one limb hangs on to another; of such stuff were +the people besieged at Cawnpore. They were encamped here on a wretched +piece of flat ground, quite open except for a low mud wall, which anyone +could have jumped over easily. There were about nine hundred and fifty +of them altogether, some soldiers, some civilians, some women and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> +children and a few native soldiers who remained loyal. Outside were +unending hordes of natives well armed and well trained, because the +greater part were the men of the native regiments who had mutinied, +known by the name of Sepoys. A few huts built of thin brick were all the +shelter the beleaguered people had; they were constantly under a +shrieking storm of bullets and shells, and were ringed around by steel. +You would have said two days at the outside would see the end of it, and +that then the black hordes would sweep clean over that field, having +wiped out the garrison completely; but so amazing is the power of pluck +that those within held the hordes at bay for twenty-three days! They not +only prevented any single Sepoy from getting inside alive, but they +constantly sallied out and acted on the defensive, burning their +enemies' defences and killing scores of them, while thousands fled in +confusion before them! The sublime impudence of it! And all the time +they were short of food; women and children were laid in holes in the +earth covered with planks to protect them from the bullets. And +water—ah, that was the worst—water had to be fetched from a well which +was quite exposed in the midst of the encampment, and the Sepoys kept up +an incessant fire on it. We are now beside it, this well where water was +drawn at the price of blood, and yet volunteers were never lacking. The +very ground our feet now rest upon was ringed around with the bodies of +those who laid down their lives for the women and children. There was +another well, a little distance off, now marked by an Iona cross, and to +this, under cover of night, the British conveyed their dead for burial.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/illus257.jpg" width="150" height="400" alt="AN INDIAN OFFICER OF THE CAMEL CORPS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">AN INDIAN OFFICER OF THE CAMEL CORPS.</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></p> + +<p>Read the inscription that circles round the wall of the well now in +front of us:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Sacred to the perpetual memory of a great company of Christian +people, chiefly women and children, who near this spot were +cruelly murdered by the followers of the rebel, Nana Dhundu +Pant of Bithur, and cast, the dying with the dead, into the +well below, on the fifteenth day of July 1857."</p></div> + +<p>Yes, we have not come to the end yet!</p> + +<p>When the bloodthirsty tyrant, better known as Nana Sahib, found he could +not crack this nut, when he realised that his whole army was held at bay +by a few hundreds of determined spirits—there were only three hundred +fighting men to begin with, and they were daily killed—he made terms +with them, promising to send the survivors safely in boats down the +river if they would give in. Desperate as they were, without food or +water, without shade from the killing glare of the Indian summer sun, +the brave men held their heads high and only accepted on condition they +marched out under arms with so many rounds of ammunition to each man.</p> + +<p>This was granted.</p> + +<p>Now leave the well and follow that heroic band who went down to the +river on that blazing day some sixty years ago. It is about a mile away. +The little garrison now numbered some four hundred and fifty all told, +the half of what they had been three weeks before. Blackened with the +sun and smoke and gunpowder, so as to rival the Sepoys in complexion, +tattered and worn and wounded, but yet with courage undaunted, they went +down to the river.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 219px;"> +<img src="images/illus259.jpg" width="219" height="400" alt="NANA SAHIB." title="" /> +<span class="caption">NANA SAHIB.</span> +</div> + +<p>There is another building here, an arcade on the banks facing the placid +stream; it has a tower behind and a broad flight of stairs, a ghaut, as +it is called, flanked by walls running down to the margin. But on that +day long ago there was nothing of this, nothing but a number of clumsy +boats with thatched roofs to keep the sun off, native fashion. As the +English took their places in them, suddenly a bugle rang out, and at +that signal the native boatmen sprang from their places and splashed +ashore; up rose an army of Sepoys from the scrub on the banks, and death +was rained on the victims of the blackest deed of treachery ever written +in the annals of the world. Standing here on these smooth steps which +mark the place it is difficult even to picture that scene of horror. +Many were killed outright, many mortally wounded and torn, one hundred +and twenty-five were dragged ashore and brutally killed afterwards; it +was they who were thrown into the well; but three boats got away down +the stream. Two went ashore and all the occupants were killed by the +merciless brutes who lined the banks. The other had men in it, men who +were filled with a madness of wrath that knew no bounds. In spite of +their own condition, in spite of the odds against them, they leaped like +tigers on the foe whenever they got the chance. They were followed by +the natives, who fired on them repeatedly from a safe distance, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> +again and again the dead had to be east into the stream. Yet when a +Sepoy boat ran against a sandbank, twenty or so of the powder-blackened +Englishmen sprang out into the water and raced with fury to kill them, +though the boat contained three times their own number. It is good to +read how they wiped out all but those who escaped in terror by swimming! +At last only fourteen of the English were left alive and they got +hopelessly penned in a backwater. These men charged the army of Sepoys +on the banks and made them keep their distance. They secured themselves +in a tiny temple on the margin of the river and killed all who +approached. At length, seeing preparations made for blowing them up with +gunpowder, they charged out; seven who could swim made for the river, +the other six (one was dead) rushed straight at the mass of Sepoys and +dealt death on every side before they fell.</p> + +<p>Four of the seven eventually outdistanced their persecutors and reached +safety, and then, alas! one died.</p> + +<p>It is good to hear that an avenging army descended on Cawnpore, though +too late to save the remnant of the captives. The Sepoys were smitten +hip and thigh, and thousands paid with their lives for those other lives +they had spared not. Nana Sahib fled and was never heard of again. +Stripped of all his wealth and luxury he must have skulked from place to +place like a plague-tainted rat, till death took him and he went to meet +the souls of the hundreds he had treacherously and brutally massacred.</p> + +<p>It is finished! The price has been paid; the native has learnt that it +is not well to meddle with white men. And we must not forget that +hundreds of natives remained faithful, and gave their lives to save +those of our fellow-countrymen.</p> + +<p>As we wander back through the park in the sunshine, now growing fierce +and strong, toward the Memorial Church showing above the trees, the +chief feeling is not of bitterness<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> but of pride. That little band, +whose courage was unquenchable and untamable, were not picked men and +women, but just an ordinary crowd made up of soldiers and civilians and +their wives and children, yet not one act of selfishness or cowardice +remains to stain their record. When the last extremity came, sloth and +indifference and selfishness dropped off like sloughs and only devotion +and bravery shone out. It is grand to belong to a race which holds these +qualities as the highest good.</p> + +<p>One incident more. When the tyrant had brought his handful of captives +up from the river he found there were a few men among them. So before he +started to massacre the women and babies he sent for the men to come +forth to instant death; he dared not leave even half a dozen men of the +untamable breed, who are "little used to lie down at the bidding of any +man," among them, even unarmed.</p> + +<p>The men came forth, and among them was a lad of fourteen; he was only a +year older than you, but he preferred to be reckoned among the men +rather than to hide behind the women's petticoats. He chose a soldier's +death and he had it, for he fell pierced by bullets with the rest.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus262.jpg" width="450" height="248" alt="BATHING IN THE GANGES." title="" /> +<span class="caption">BATHING IN THE GANGES.</span> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<h3>A CITY OF PRIESTS</h3> + + +<p>Surely you have never before seen anything like this, there is nothing +to be seen like it anywhere else!</p> + +<p>We are at Benares, the sacred city of the Hindus, which stands on their +sacred river, the Ganges. We have taken a boat and have floated out into +the current, and are looking up with amazement at the spectacle before +us. The city rises high on the banks, and towers and minarets and domes +of a curious long-drawn-out shape, glittering in the sun like gold, +arise out of the flat roofs. Down to the river at every opening between +the houses stretch stairways, as you know called <i>ghauts</i>, some broad +and some narrow. We judge that they are there, though we cannot see the +steps, for every inch is covered by a moving mass of people, clothed in +the colours of the rainbow. You have often turned a kaleidoscope over +and over, and watched the bits of coloured glass falling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> into strange +patterns. Half shut your eyes and make a tube of your hands and see if +this doesn't remind you of a kaleidoscope.</p> + +<p>Thousands and thousands of people are passing and repassing up and down, +or sitting on every scrap of available building. They flow out over the +steps and down into the water itself. They are standing there knee-deep, +waist-deep, shoulder-deep, with hardly any clothes on their glistening +brown and yellow bodies, diligently throwing the water over themselves, +washing their long, straight, black hair in it, or even drinking it!</p> + +<p>Ah, what is that gruesome object? Take care, don't touch it as it floats +by; it looks like a bit of charred stick, but indeed it is half-burnt +human bones!</p> + +<p>We have already seen a few sacred rivers in our wanderings—the gigantic +Nile, the tiny Jordan, and now we see the Ganges, which in size comes +between the two, being one thousand four hundred and fifty-five miles in +length. Quite a respectable-sized river that! The Hindus regard it with +such reverence that they count bathing in it a religious act, and when +they die their one desire is to be burned beside it so that their bones +may be cast into its waters. If we row a little way up we shall see this +ceremony at the Burning Ghauts. There are funeral pyres of wood where +the relatives are carrying out the last offices for the dead. Some +prowling pariah dogs, of the lean yellow breed, and a few impertinent +crows are hovering about, hoping that some scraps may fall to their +share. The dead bodies are rolled up in white and red cloth and lie with +their feet in the blessed water awaiting their burning.</p> + +<p>Men are bringing logs of wood to pile upon the pyres, others are poking +about in the ashes of the last burned to see if maybe an anklet or +ear-ring has fallen off and may be scavenged.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span></p> + +<p>The red flames rise and lick up the sides, while the enveloping smoke +wreathes around the corpse. Remember that at one time the miserable +widow of the dead man would have mounted that gruesome throne and be +sitting there to be burnt alive. This is forbidden by law now, as indeed +it was forbidden by some of the wisest of the Indian kings too, only +until the British came there never was any power strong enough to +enforce it.</p> + +<p>Benares is the religious capital of India; it takes the place that +Canterbury does with us, and it has been the place of pilgrimage for +generations.</p> + +<p>We have met with Buddhists in Ceylon and Mohammedans in Egypt. There are +Buddhists among the natives of India too, though not many, considering +the population; there are many more Mohammedans, but by far the largest +number of the people, outnumbering the Mohammedans by three to one, are +the Hindus, and it is as a Hindu capital that Benares mainly exists. +British rule throws protection alike over all races and all religions; +never was there a broader based dominion; be a man a Hindu, Sikh, +Mohammedan, Parsee, Buddhist, or Christian, the law protects him in the +exercise of his faith so long as it does not lead to cruelty such as in +the burning of widows, or so long as it does not encroach upon the +rights of others.</p> + +<p>The Hindu religion is an extraordinary one. At first sight, seeing the +jumble up of strange gods,—the cow-goddess, the monkey-god, +elephant-god, and others,—it seems rather to resemble the religion of +the ancient Egyptians, but it is not a real resemblance. The highest +idea of the Hindu, as of the Buddhist, is to pass out into a sort of +painless existence of nothingness. And to overcome the flesh and to +arrive at a placid state, where nothing matters, is attempted here on +earth by some. Some of the old men, fakirs as they are called, like the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> +one we met in Delhi, do astonishing things merely by force of an iron +determination. They will sit so long holding an arm in one position that +it shrivels. Others will lie for years on a bed of spikes. They eat very +little, live on charity, and are often lost in a state of trance.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 396px;"> +<img src="images/illus265.jpg" width="396" height="450" alt="A FAKIR." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A FAKIR.</span> +</div> + +<p>As we row slowly back along the river we see countless flat umbrellas, +like those known as Japanese umbrellas, studding the gay crowd; under +each one of these there is a "holy man," and there are thousands of them +altogether in this city, living on the offerings of the pilgrims.</p> + +<p>Look at that fellow seated cross-legged on a plank running out into the +river. He pours water over his feet every now and again out of a little +copper bowl, and mutters something. He is so much absorbed in what he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> +is doing that he never looks up or turns his head. Another, close by, +has hung his gaily-coloured turban on a post and proceeds to unwind his +garment and cast it from him before he steps into the water with hardly +a rag upon him. This lady in an orange scarf, dripping wet, seats +herself on the end of the board, and winds a dry scarf round herself so +adroitly that it is like a conjuring trick; she stands up and the wet +one falls from her. She would get well paid as a quick-change artiste at +a music hall, and such a gift would be invaluable for bathing on the +Cornish coast!</p> + +<p>The men along the edge are very jolly, they chatter all the time and +splash and wash and enjoy themselves. No English seaside place on a +trip-day can beat this crowd. The fact that dead bones and skulls are +constantly thrown into the water, and that the ashes of dead people, and +much else that is indescribably filthy, mingles with it, doesn't seem to +disturb them at all.</p> + +<p>When you have wearied of watching them we will go and visit one of the +innumerable temples in the city, but we shall need a guide for that, as +it is not safe to wander in these streets alone.</p> + +<p>No sooner have we landed and fought our way into one of the narrow +alleys, than the road is blocked by an enormous bull who stands placidly +before a greengrocer's stall sampling his wares. The man makes no +attempt to drive him away, but tries to tempt him by holding a choice +bunch of his best stuff. The beast has slavered over much that will be +sold for human food afterwards. What? A good smack on the flank! For +goodness' sake take care! The animal is supposed to be sacred; to touch +him would be to bring out all the inhabitants of these houses on to us +like a swarm of hornets. Luckily the beast is so well fed that he soon +moves on and we can get past.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p> + +<p>Now we have reached the most important temple of all, known as the +Golden Temple, and as we pass into the cloisters we see a couple more +animals standing inside, as much at home as if they were in a byre, +which, indeed, the place smells like, with a strange scent of sweet +flowers on the top of it. It is a wonderful place, but oh, so dirty! It +is dedicated, of all things, to the poison-god, Shiva! It stands in a +quadrangle, roofed in, and above rise some of those curious elongated +domes we saw from the boat. If we climb up through that flower-stall +where blossoms are being sold for offerings, we can see these domes, +which really have cost a lot of money, as two of them are gilt all over; +the gilding keeps its glitter here and rises dazzlingly against the hot +sky.</p> + +<p>There are other temples by the dozen and mosques too for the +Mohammedans. If we wander round we shall see many strange sights; in one +shrine is the image of the god Saturn, a silver disc, in another that of +Ganesh, the elephant-god, surely the most hideous of all! Look at him! A +squatting dwarf with an elephant's trunk! At another place is the image +of Shiva himself; it has a silver face, though made of stone, and +possesses four hands; it is guarded by a dog, and you can buy little +imitation dogs made of sugar anywhere near. There is even an image of +the goddess of smallpox, and if you ask why the Hindu chooses such +repulsive and revolting things to worship, the answer is, because he is +afraid. He says, "If the gods are good they will not injure me, but if +they are evil I must propitiate them!"</p> + +<p>Everywhere we go we have copper bowls or even the half of coco-nut +shells thrust at us for offerings; the priests tolerate the strangers +entering their temples only because they hope to get something out of +them.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>We are now far from Benares; we have left behind the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> narrow crowded +alleys, the violent smells, and the gay colours, and are in the train +speeding toward Calcutta, whence we will take a steamer to Burma. The +train has just stopped at a wayside station and there is a chance to +stretch our legs. Ramaswamy appears and tells us they are going to stop +here for a time. He doesn't seem to know why,—something about a sahib +is all we can gather,—so we get out and wander along the village +street. We have only gone a short way when we see a kind of litter +coming along slung on bearers' shoulders. It is screened by curtains, +and beside it rides a white man in a helmet, followed by natives. Why, +that is the very man who came up in the train from Delhi with us! I +wonder what he is doing here. That must be a sick woman in the litter. +This is evidently what the train was waiting for, so we might as well go +back.</p> + +<p>We get to the station just in time to see the curtains pushed aside by +the sahib, who very tenderly and skilfully raises in his arms the sick +person inside, and supports him into the station. It is a gaunt +scarecrow of a man, a skeleton of a creature, whose big pathetic eyes +look dark in his hollow face. He is evidently very ill. He is +half-carried across to a carriage next to ours that has been prepared +for him, and is laid down on a couch on the seat, and it is not long +before we get under way again. Going out a little later on to the +platform between the two compartments we find our friend, the tall +Englishman, standing there smoking. He recognises us at once and asks us +about our experiences; it is not difficult to find out about the +invalid.</p> + +<p>"One of the best chaps going," he says shortly. "Simply broken up by the +work he's been doing in the plague-camp up there. He is a doctor, so am +I, and I've just got back from leave. I went up-country to relieve +Jordan, but the work is nearly over, and I found him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> played out. He has +hardly had his clothes off for weeks. The difficulty is to persuade +these people to get out of their infected houses into a camp until the +place is made sanitary and the plague stayed. He was single-handed at +first, now there are two other men up there, so I can be spared to take +him down to the coast. He'll get over it; oh yes, he's got the turn now, +though he was nearly gone once or twice, but he'll never be the same man +again. He is invalided home for a bit, and the voyage will pull him up, +but even as he is he's sore at leaving it. He wants to finish his job."</p> + +<p>"Then when you've left him at Calcutta you'll go back to the infected +district?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course, why not? It's all in the day's work, and you know we've +actually had only thirty deaths in a month since the beggars were got +out into camp, and they were dying at the rate of hundreds a week +before. Grand, isn't it?" His face lights up with enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>India is full of such men; they don't play for safety, they take their +lives in their hands at a moment's notice, and go blithely to grapple +with death.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus270.jpg" width="450" height="461" alt="BURMESE VILLAGE." title="" /> +<span class="caption">BURMESE VILLAGE.</span> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<h3>THE GOLDEN PAGODA</h3> + + +<p>It is hot and still, we have passed across a place of broken tangled +undergrowth and come out into a rather untidy courtyard, where some +sneaking yellow pariah dogs barked at us until I cut at them with my +stick, when they ran away and barked again from a safe distance. There +seems to be no one else here but ourselves. A great tree covered with +glorious magenta flowers stands on one side. It is our old friend the +bougainvillea, but here it grows into a great tree instead of a creeper. +It is backed up by the dark foliage of many mango trees. In front of us +is a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> large house which seems to rise in many storeys, and the roof of +each storey is carved and decorated, so that it shows up like lacework +against the sky. The house stands on legs, so that the under part is +quite open, and a broad flight of wooden steps leads up to a verandah on +the first floor. Stop to examine the carving on the balustrade. It is +wonderful! Figures of tigers, dragons, peacocks, monkeys, and elephants +are all set among foliage and cut out very deeply.</p> + +<p>When we arrived in Burma yesterday we came up the river Irrawaddy, which +at its mouth is called the Rangoon River. What seemed like low green +banks are really swamps filled with rushes growing high and strong; as +we passed between them suddenly we saw afar off a gleam of gold, and by +staring hard we made out a great tower against the sky. We are going to +visit it presently, but just now I want you to see something else quite +funny. Step softly on the broad wooden verandah and peep round that +corner.</p> + +<p>There squats an old man with a perfectly bald head, smooth as a billiard +ball; he wears a loose garment of dull yellow stuff which forms a sort +of skirt and is draped across one shoulder as well, falling over his +honey-coloured chest. He is all yellow, except for his round, shining +black eyes, very like glistening balls of jet. On the ground in front of +him, lying full length on their little stomachs, are about a dozen small +boys. You thought they were girls? I don't wonder! Each one has a +feathery tuft of hair in the middle of his head standing up like carrot +tops, except for this the little skull is closely shaven all round. They +all have skimpy white jackets and skirts from which their skinny little +yellow legs stick out kicking in the effort to master their tasks. In a +loud sing-song jabber they are repeating something which they read off +the slates they hold in front of them. It would be funny to learn +lessons<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> lying flat on the floor, wouldn't it? But these boys have never +sat on chairs in their lives; they will have to learn that as an +accomplishment if they go into business offices when they are older.</p> + +<p>The old <i>poongyi</i>, or monk, is the teacher. This beautiful carved wooden +building is the house where the monks live, and it is called a <i>choung</i>. +In the morning, very early, the monks wander forth, dressed in yellow +robes and carrying begging-bowls and fans. They do not beg, however, +they are much too proud; they merely stop and stand about where there +are houses, and the people rush to pour food into their bowls. It is a +privilege for them to be allowed to do this, as they are supposed to +"gain merit" by so doing. Nearly all the Burmese are Buddhists, and +these men are Buddhist monks.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 211px;"> +<img src="images/illus272.jpg" width="211" height="400" alt="A POONGYI, OR MONK." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A POONGYI, OR MONK.</span> +</div> + +<p>You would never guess what the fans are for; they are to put up as +screens to shield the faces of the monks when they pass a woman, for +they are not supposed ever to look at a woman, it is too frivolous! When +the begging-bowls are full they generally contain a strange mixture, for +everyone pours in anything he or she happens to have; there will +certainly be rice, both cooked and raw, peas, perhaps fish, and this may +be wrapped up in a leaf to keep it separate, which is necessary when it +is curried; then there will be some cakes or cucumbers; possibly, in the +season, mangoes and plantains. One of the greatest delicacies of the +Burmese<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> is a horribly smelly stuff called <i>ngapé</i>, made of rotten fish +laid in salt; no feast is complete without it.</p> + +<p>The monks are supposed to live on what they get in their begging-bowls, +but, as a matter of fact, in wealthy monasteries they don't; they empty +it out for the pariah dogs, which explains why so many dogs always hang +around the monasteries.</p> + +<p>The Burmese have some funny notions; one is that they do not like anyone +else's feet to be above their heads, so they build their houses on posts +and do not use the ground floor. It looks as if there were many more +storeys rising above the first floor where they live, but that is a +sham; the roof is only built to look like that, and is hollow inside. In +most of the monasteries there are schools, and the little boys are +taught in them, as you see here. Besides this, every boy, when he gets +to a certain age, must spend a time, longer or shorter, in the +monastery. It may be only a few days or weeks and it may be years, +according to the ideas of his parents, but while he is there he has to +wear the yellow robe and carry the begging-bowl, and what to a growing +boy must be most trying of all, he is not allowed to eat anything after +midday!</p> + +<p>That old fellow has caught sight of us; he is getting up and seems quite +pleased to welcome us. It is a good thing we brought Ramaswamy with us, +for he can speak Burmese and interpret for us; the monk knows no +English. The little boys spring to their feet and stand gazing at us +with wide eyes, delighted, as any boys would be, at getting an +interruption to their lessons. They gradually come round us and begin to +laugh and even to touch our clothes, but the old monk sends them all +away and leads us into the wooden rooms of the monastery that open off +the verandah. Several monks here are lying lazily about on mats +half-asleep, but in a moment they all surround us, and for the first few +minutes we experience rather an eerie sensation.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> Coming in from the +bright sunshine outside everything seems very dim, and these curious men +with their shaven heads and beetle eyes come close up to us and press +upon us, pawing us and pointing to a great image of Buddha shining out +in a ghostly way from a shrine at the end of the hall.</p> + +<p>There are many little candles burning before it, most of them sticking +to the ground by their own grease. One of the monks takes one up and +holds it so that we can see the image, about twice life-size, seated in +that calm attitude of the sitting Buddha, with crossed legs and one hand +on the lap, while the other hangs loosely down. There is a serene +self-satisfied smirk on the marble face, which looks more like that of a +woman than a man. Ramaswamy explains to us that this is a very specially +holy Buddha, and that the little dabs of gold splashed here and there +about him are the offerings of the faithful; they are simply bits of +gold-leaf stuck on. Gold-leaf is expensive, for it is real gold beaten +very thin, and these little bits represent much self-denial on the part +of many poor people. A Burman's great object in life is to "gain merit" +for a future existence, for he thinks that he will live again and again +many times in different forms, and that as he behaves in this life so he +will be born again into a better or worse state in the next; if he is +very bad he runs the risk of becoming a snake or some other repulsive +reptile. He is not afraid of overdoing the merit, as the ancient +Egyptian was; the more he can pile up for himself the better, and the +way in which he does this is to feed the poongyis, build choungs and +pagodas, and set up or adorn figures of Buddha.</p> + +<p>The priests at this choung own a priceless relic; it is no less than a +hair of Buddha! After some persuasion they are induced to show it to us. +They bring a great casket, which is solemnly unlocked, showing another +inside, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> again another, and at last we get down to a little glass +box with an artificial white flower in it, round which is wound a long +and very wiry white hair. I should say many of the same sort could be +got from any long-tailed white horse!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus275.jpg" width="450" height="508" alt="BUDDHA." title="" /> +<span class="caption">BUDDHA.</span> +</div> + +<p>On a table near are various offerings, and among them we see a rather +greasy pack of ordinary playing-cards and a soda-water bottle, besides +several saucers of waxy white blossoms of the frangipani flower, such as +we saw in Ceylon, emitting a very strong scent. The soda-water bottle +and playing-cards look rather dissipated, but they are quite serious +offerings, given by somebody who thinks them rare and interesting. Our +ears for some time past have told us that an extraordinary amount of +ticking is going on, and now that our eyes have become accustomed to +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> light, we can see numerous clocks on brackets and tables; these are +of all sorts and sizes, including a 2s. 11d. "Bee" clock, cuckoo clocks, +and even one large "grandfather." In between and about them, on the +floor and on the shelves, are lamps large and lamps small, some brass, +some china, and some glass!</p> + +<p>The clocks are all going hard, ticking away as if they were running a +race to see which could get ahead of the other. It is a funny medley! +The monks are lazy enough and pass half their days asleep, but if they +keep all these clocks wound up someone must have something to do. These +are all offerings, and the more the better; no monk can ever get enough +lamps or clocks to satisfy him!</p> + +<p>We pass down and out into the courtyard, and all the monks follow us in +a body and gently edge us toward some ponds or tanks where fat tortoises +lie on the banks or float lazily in the stagnant water.</p> + +<p>There is a man sitting on the side selling balls of rice and bits of +bread. Just as we come up a graceful Burmese woman buys a ball and +throws it into the water. In an instant what looks like a voracious army +of huge spiders floats up from below and attacks it, and as the ball of +rice dissolves and falls apart every grain disappears. Looking more +closely we see that they are not spiders at all, but a curious kind of +fish with long feelers growing out all round his mouth and nose. As he +thrusts up his mouth to the surface, with all the feelers wriggling, the +rest of his body is unseen, and the appearance is exactly that of a +round spider with wriggling legs. Buy a bit of crust and see the fish +dart at it and simply tear it to pieces; they scramble at it from all +sides, pushing and nibbling, and in less time than you could imagine +every crumb is gone!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 418px;"> +<img src="images/illus277.jpg" width="418" height="600" alt="THE GOLDEN PAGODA." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE GOLDEN PAGODA.</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span></p> + +<p>The woman is laughing, and we laugh back at her. She is short and very +neat, with her shining black hair coiled round her head and secured by +two big pins, while a dainty spray of flower falls down on one side. Her +face looks quite light coloured, for it is thickly covered with a kind +of soft yellow powder, and she has a brilliant gauzy scarf across her +little white jacket and falling down over her tight rose-pink silk +skirt. As she walks away with a curious shuffle we see that she has on +the quaintest shoes, with red velvet caps and no heels; but the caps are +so much too small for her feet that she has had to leave the little toe +outside! This is a fine dodge, and Mah Shwe can say she takes twos or +threes in shoes with truth, even if her feet are much larger!</p> + +<p>The monks are standing in a solemn group near their staircase when we go +back, and when I suggest to Ramaswamy we should give them something he +disagrees vigorously. "Not touching money, Master, only food and rice, +no money." All right, we won't tempt them, and I put back the rupee I +had taken out. You must have noticed already that the money here is the +same as in India. Then we climb into the miserable little box on wheels +which is waiting for us; it is the only cab we can get here, and calls +itself a ticca-gharry. The little rat of a pony seems a very long way +off; it is a tight squeeze for us inside, and there is certainly no room +on the box beside the hairy-legged native for Ramaswamy, but he hops up +on a board there is behind for the purpose, and hangs on as we jolt away +to the Golden Pagoda.</p> + +<p>The first thing we see when we arrive at it are two enormous monsters, +not like any animal in existence, made of white plaster with glaring red +eyes. They have dragons' heads and tigers' bodies and are most terribly +ferocious. These guard the entrance to the pagoda and are called +leogryphs. Between them there is a long ascent rising to the pagoda +platform. The place is like a bazaar with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> people in their gay clothes +coming and going, and the sun glinting through between the pillars at +the open spaces. It is difficult to tell the difference between men and +women, for all alike wear skirts and jackets, and you never see a man +with a beard, hardly ever with a moustache. But the true distinction is +that the men have a gay handkerchief called a <i>goungbaung</i> wound round +their heads, and the women wear no head covering, and, as you have seen, +they never think of veiling their faces, like the Mohammedan women. The +men's head-gear is very different from that we saw in India; it is not a +huge and heavy erection, but just a silk or cotton scarf twisted up and +tucked in, and very often there is a "bird's nest" of dark hair sticking +out in the middle of it, for the men's hair is long as well as the +women's, but they roll it up so that it is not seen.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 210px;"> +<img src="images/illus280.jpg" width="210" height="400" alt="THE LEOGRYPH." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE LEOGRYPH.</span> +</div> + +<p>Everyone is very bright and friendly, and the girls who are selling all +sorts of little tawdry things on the stalls by the stairs call out to us +persuasively to buy from them. On the whole the place is clean, and +there is no bazaar smell, only a certain sharp wood-smoke flavour and +the scent of many flowers. But at the foot of every white column are +horrible deep-red stains that look as if some little animal had been +slaughtered there. It is not so bad as that. You remember we saw a man +whose mouth was stained red with chewing betel-nut, which he did in the +same way that some of the roughest men in England chew tobacco? These +are the stains<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> of that betel-nut, for nearly everyone here has the +nasty habit.</p> + +<p>Up the steps we pass, higher and higher, and come out on to a great +platform which looks like a street, for it is lined with buildings on +all four sides and in the middle too; but rising above those in the +middle is the great pagoda, the Shwe Dagon,—<i>shwe</i> means golden,—and +this is the most wonderful thing in Burma.</p> + +<p>It is so wide at the base that it takes quite a long time to walk round +it, and then it goes up in a bell-like curve, tapering to a steeple +little less than the height of St. Paul's Cathedral. At the very top of +all, so high that we can only see it by cricking our necks, is an iron +cage called a <i>htee</i>, meaning "umbrella," decorated with swinging bells. +Listen for a moment and perhaps you can hear them as the wind sways them +about. No, the air is too still to-day. Deep in the innermost chamber of +the pagoda are no less than eight hairs of Buddha, besides other relics +of other Buddhas who lived before the last.</p> + +<p>The marvel of it is that this great monument is pure gold from top to +bottom. Much of it is covered with thin plates of real gold, and the +rest, yards and yards of it, is plastered with gold-leaf.</p> + +<p>Did you see that red glint from the top as the sun caught the htee at an +angle? That was probably a real ruby, for it flashed out like a sword +blade. There are many real stones set up there, and the htee alone cost +£50,000!</p> + +<p>Coming back to earth, look at the glitter on all these shrines that line +the platform on both sides. Though it looks like a street it isn't +really, for there are no houses, only shrines and temples. That one +close to us is dazzling to look at. No, those blue and red flashes are +not from real jewels; examine them and see. The shrine is encased with +little pieces of looking-glass, some red and some blue and some plain, +all fitted in together like mosaic.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span></p> + +<p>The next is made of the wonderful carved woodwork the Burmans do so +well, and it is gilded all over; for my own part I prefer the dark teak +ungilded, but still this looks very handsome among the rest. That tall +post like a flagstaff, with streamers flying from it, is a praying-post; +can you make out the figure like a weather-cock at the top? It is a +goose instead of a cock, and doesn't tell the direction of the wind. It +is the sacred goose. The brilliance of all this detail takes one's +breath away. On every side we see the people worshipping, and yet it is +not a festival day, for then we should hardly be able to move for the +crowds on the platform—where there are tens now there would then be +thousands. The worshippers drop down quite simply on the pavement before +a favourite shrine and hold up their hands toward it, sometimes with an +offering of flowers in them, or even a big taper. There is a woman +passing smoking a monstrous "green" cigar. It is a huge thick roll of +light-coloured stuff like shavings, about as long as your arm from elbow +to wrist, and as thick as a man's finger. She has to open her little +round mouth wide to get the end in. It is not filled with pure tobacco, +but a chopped mixture of all sorts; even you could smoke it without any +harm. Why yes, women smoke here almost all day, and children too. They +do say the mothers give the babies-in-arms a whiff, but I haven't seen +that myself!</p> + +<p>Set up everywhere are coloured umbrellas with fringes of coloured beads, +as large as those used for tents on lawns sometimes. We peer into +numberless shrines as we pass and see Buddhas of every sort peeping at +us out of the dim interiors; there are Buddhas of brass, Buddhas of +marble, Buddhas of alabaster, Buddhas coated with white paint, and +Buddhas covered with gold. Most of them are seated, always exactly in +the same position as the one we saw far away in Ceylon. This is +supposed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> to signify Buddha as he sat under the Bo tree meditating. +Others show him standing with one hand upraised, and this is to show +Buddha as he was when teaching, and others are lying down, but these are +the least common. They are supposed to show Buddha when he passed into +eternal calm.</p> + +<p>Pink is by far the favourite colour for the people's clothes, and it is +very vivid, like the colour seen in striped coco-nut cream, but white is +also much worn, and there is some yellow in orange shades. Many of the +Burmese wear a shirt of maroon check, just like a check duster; these +are their workaday clothes, on festivals they generally manage to come +out in silks.</p> + +<p>Come round now to the back of the shrines that line the platform on the +outer side, here there is another open space, and on it are bells as +large as church bells; they hang between two posts. Take up one of those +deer's horns lying beside that one and stroke it hard. It gives out a +clear musical note. Try now the piece of wood, that sounds different. +Everyone who passes stops to strike one or the other of the bells, they +want to call the attention of the "good nats," or spirits, to the fact +that they are at the pagoda! In this shed is an enormous bell large +enough to hold half a dozen men. I don't think you'll be able to make +much effect with a deer's horn on that. It is the third largest in the +world, and once was in the bottom of the Rangoon River, for the English +were carrying it away when it toppled over and sank. Engineers tried to +raise it, but failed, because of its enormous weight; but the Burmans, +after some time, were allowed to try, and somehow managed to succeed, +and not only so, but they hauled it right up here! It does look as +though there were something weird about its positive refusal to be +carried away!</p> + +<p>Along the edge of this part of the pagoda are a number<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> of wooden +platforms raised a foot or two from the ground, for the use of those who +come from long distances, and on them many families are lying or +sitting. On one sits a tiny boy with a quizzical intelligent little +face. His top-knot sticks up like an out-of-curl feather. Beside him is +a still smaller mite who cannot be more than two; he has little silver +bangles on his fat wrists and ankles, and a strip of cotton rolled round +his dumpy body, while papa and mamma and numerous aunts are seated on +the platform behind gravely smoking.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus284.jpg" width="450" height="441" alt="ON THE PLATFORM OF A PAGODA." title="" /> +<span class="caption">ON THE PLATFORM OF A PAGODA.</span> +</div> + +<p>I stop to light a cigarette close to this family, and in an instant the +elder lad holds out his hand timidly. Just to see what he will do I give +him a cigarette; he takes it with a self-possessed courtesy and looks at +me, politely waiting for a light. I hand him the box and he strikes a +match and bows a little as he returns it; even the children<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> have +excellent manners. Drawing in a great whiff of smoke he sends it out +through his little round nose in keen enjoyment. But the fat baby has +suddenly become alive to what is going on, and crawling on the top of +his brother clamorously demands a smoke more loudly than if he were +asking for sweets. The bigger boy hands him the cigarette. He knows +quite enough not to put the lighted end in his mouth, and in a second is +puffing so vigorously that the cigarette burns away like a furnace; when +his brother sees this he makes a desperate effort to recover it, but the +fat baby pushes him off with one hand, while he clings to the cigarette +with the other, and, turning away his head, smokes harder than ever.</p> + +<p>We are both reduced to fits of laughter by this time, and the family on +the platform are enjoying the joke too. Seeing that there are likely to +be difficulties, I solve them by producing another cigarette for the +elder boy, and the fat baby is left in full possession of the first one. +The last sight we have of him is as he violently resists a grown-up +sister who is trying to take away the stub!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<h3>THE KING'S REPRESENTATIVE</h3> + +<p>We are lucky! No sooner have we returned to the hotel than a gorgeous +man, over six feet high, dressed in white, with a red sash, in which is +stuck a tasselled dagger, greets us. He is a <i>chuprassie</i>, or messenger, +and has come from Government House with a note inviting us to a +garden-party there this afternoon. What a day of it! This is the result +of my having been up there yesterday to write our names in the book kept +for the purpose, while I left you to rest. That is the way people do +here instead of leaving cards, so that His Excellency the +Lieutenant-Governor may know who has come to the country. I thought +perhaps he would take some notice of us, because his younger brother was +my great friend at the 'Varsity, but this is very prompt. I am glad you +will have a chance of seeing something of Government House, as most +people in England have not an idea how things are run here. Burma is +counted as one of the provinces<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> of India, and is under the Viceroy of +all India, but within his own borders the Lieutenant-Governor is the +ruler and representative of the King.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 207px;"> +<img src="images/illus286.jpg" width="207" height="400" alt="THE GOVERNMENT SERVANT." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE GOVERNMENT SERVANT.</span> +</div> + +<p>It is about four o'clock, when, having had a rest and made ourselves as +smart as we can, we crawl up the long drive leading to Government House +in one of the ridiculous small ticca-gharries which are the only +conveyances one can get.</p> + +<p>We are one of a long procession of vehicles going at a foot's pace, +stopping and starting again. Some are private carriages, there are a few +motors, a few dog-carts, and ours is not the only little box on wheels. +Lean out a little and you will see a flash of jewels and satiny silk in +that one in front of us; evidently some wealthy natives are among the +guests. The long line of vehicles comes up to the door, and when the +occupants have alighted the drivers curve on round the lawn and go away. +At last our turn comes. A pleasant-looking man, all in white, with a red +sash and sword, and a wonderful bunch of tassels and plaits in gold, +called an aiguillette, on his breast, greets us as cordially as if we +were old friends. Notice the plume of rose-pink feathers on his helmet! +He seems to know all about us without our saying a word, and as he leads +the way across the short grass lawn to where our host and hostess stand +ready to greet their guests, he tells me that His Excellency's brother, +my old friend, is actually staying here now.</p> + +<p>His Excellency is in English costume, with a star on his breast; he +shakes hands kindly and calls out to summon his brother, who is not far +off, and we pass on to make way for the stream of newcomers.</p> + +<p>We could not be in better hands. Claude and I have not met for years, +but that makes no difference; we greet each other as if we had parted +only yesterday. He takes us over to the tables for tea and fruit. And +when he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> hears this is your first visit he insists on your eating a +mango, which is the most famous fruit in the country and just ripe. +These are a specially good sort, not very large, with pink "cheeks"; +when you have stripped off the tough skin you find you get down to the +big stone very soon, and there isn't much room for the fruity part +between, still, what there is of it is excellent, and I see you +furtively using your handkerchief to get rid of the stickiness +afterwards!</p> + +<p>Then we sit in basket-chairs, not too near the band, and Claude tells us +"all about it." It is a much more brilliant scene than an ordinary +garden-party at home, because in addition to the Europeans there are a +number of high-class Burmese. Those little ladies near us standing in a +group are most gorgeously attired in much-embroidered fussy little +jackets with short wings, or lappets, sticking out behind, and their +skirts, or tameins, are woven of the richest silk. As that one turns you +see that beside the flowers in her hair she has two big pins with heads +the size of small walnuts; those are real diamonds, not perhaps of the +first water, but still of great value. The ladies' faces are smooth with +yellow powder, and there is something very neat about their movements. A +little way off is a Burman with a pink goungbaum and very rich silk +skirt. The grass, kept green by plentiful early morning watering, is +quite vivid in colour, and the clear cloudless sky is of a thrilling +blue. Government House itself is a great palace, not beautiful, as it is +built of yellow brick and pink terra-cotta, but imposing and dignified. +Burman attendants wearing turbans and skirts, called <i>lyungis</i>, of +purest mauve, and dainty white jackets, glide about with the +refreshments. Burmans will seldom take service with anyone, generally +they leave that to the natives of India, but they make a distinction in +the case of anyone so important as the Lieutenant-Governor.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's all rather overwhelming to me," says my friend. "You know I am a +quiet man; a well-seasoned pipe and a den full of books are about my +mark. I had no idea till I came out here that my brother was such a +boss; it makes me want to run away."</p> + +<p>"Tell us about some of the guests," I suggest. "Why does that man in the +saffron-coloured robe have yards too much of it?"</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 244px;"> +<img src="images/illus289.jpg" width="244" height="400" alt="A LITTLE BURMESE LADY." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A LITTLE BURMESE LADY.</span> +</div> + +<p>"That's his best garment, called a <i>putso</i>, I understand. The more stuff +the better, all bunched up; to show he can afford it, I suppose. Doesn't +leave much room for the tailor to display his cut. He's a prominent +Government man. I don't know him personally. Those two ladies in the +fussy little jackets are royalties; they wear that sort of thing because +they're of the old royal blood, though otherwise you only see it in the +<i>pwés</i>, or plays. They are of the house of Theebaw, the king we +dethroned in 1885 when we took over Upper Burma. He's living still in +India, where he was sent into exile. I don't know what relation these +two are to him, but when every king had at least thirty sons, there was +no scarcity of relations! It was the custom for the son who mounted the +throne in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> the old days to kill off all his brothers if he could lay +hands on them, as a precaution in case of accidents. I take it some of +the ladies were spared, which would make for the inequality of the +sexes."</p> + +<p>"I suppose your brother is like a king out here?"</p> + +<p>"He is the representative of the King. You should see him driving in +state with outriders in scarlet liveries. People in England don't +realise it. I always say how he will suffer when he retires and goes to +England, where no one will shiko to him!"</p> + +<p>At that moment he springs to his feet to shake hands with a dignified +short Burman in beautiful native dress, to whom he introduces us. This +is the Sawbwa, or chief, of Hsipaw, one of the native states. The Sawbwa +has been educated in England and speaks perfectly correct English. He +has a passion for travel and wants to go round the world, he says, but +he has to get permission from the Viceroy before leaving the country, as +the English Government doesn't like the native princes leaving their +territory. So long as he stays at home and governs his people well he is +not interfered with, but when he wants to go away he feels the hand of +Britain over him!</p> + +<p>After talking a little while he asks us if we have seen the football—he +calls it football, but, as he explains, it is a native game called +<i>chin-lon</i>, which is not quite the same.</p> + +<p>We saunter across the lawn and find that a sort of exhibition game for +the amusement of the guests is going on. The ball is made of wicker-work +and is kept in the air by the knees or feet of the players very +cleverly, in fact, so cleverly that it looks quite easy to do. The young +men who are playing turn and twist and always catch it just right, +sending it spinning upwards very neatly. This is a game played by every +village lad, but if you tried it you'd find it uncommonly difficult.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus291.jpg" width="450" height="396" alt=""BOXING."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"BOXING."</span> +</div> + +<p>A little farther on two men are boxing with their feet, raising their +legs in the high kick and sometimes smacking each other's faces with the +soles; the way they balance is extraordinary, there are roars of +laughter when one nearly goes over but just recovers himself. He is a +bit of a clown, that fellow, and does it on purpose now and again, +though really he is perfectly balanced. Then we walk on with Claude +toward the house, where the marble steps are lined by chuprassies, like +the one who brought us our invitation this morning; we pass into the +hall, with its high white columns and airy spaciousness, and then we see +masses of wood-carving like that at the choung, deeply undercut, and a +huge pair of elephant tusks. Everywhere are tall vases with great<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> +orange and red flags, something of the same kind as those that grow by +riversides, only much larger.</p> + +<p>The passages are in the form of great arcades, and the ballroom behind +is vast. It is indeed a palace fit for a king!</p> + +<p>His Excellency is very gracious, and when he is free for a few minutes +he talks to us and asks us to stay with him and his wife on our way back +from up-country, an invitation we gladly accept. He also promises to +make everything easy for us on our tour. As we go away, after having +taken our leave, I hear you say thoughtfully—</p> + +<p>"I think I'd like to be a Lieutenant-Governor when I grow up!"</p> + +<p>It is a good ambition, but you will have to be clever and very hard +working to achieve it, and even then you will want a bit of luck. You +must go into the Indian Civil Service first, and after all, of course, +you may never get there, but with a bit of luck——</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus293.jpg" width="450" height="299" alt="THE PALACE." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE PALACE.</span> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + +<h3>THE CENTRE OF THE UNIVERSE</h3> + + +<p>"This butter is uneatable, Ramaswamy."</p> + +<p>"I wash him, Master."</p> + +<p>He takes away the dish of nasty, yellow, tinned butter and presently +returns with it fresh and white, with much of the disagreeable taste and +smell gone. Good! Now we know.</p> + +<p>We are sitting on a broad verandah of dark wood with a roof overhead. It +is so wide that it is just like a room, only the outer sides are open. +We look out over a moat filled with water and covered with leaves and +pink flowers. These are the celebrated lotus flowers, or lilies. Behind +rise red walls, with here and there quaint little maroon-coloured +towers, all pinnacles and angles, showing up like fretwork against the +sky. The moat is crossed by bridges of dazzling white. It is nearly +midday, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> hottest and stillest time of all the day, and we are +lunching in the Circuit House at Mandalay, the old capital of the kings +of Burma.</p> + +<p>Everyone knows Mandalay by name from Kipling's poem, even if they know +nothing of the rest of Burma. We came up here from Rangoon by train,—it +took a night,—and by special permission of His Excellency were allowed +to stay in this house, which is usually reserved for Government +officials, instead of going to the rest-house intended for visitors, and +not nearly so nice.</p> + +<p>From where we sit we can look through into the wooden unpapered bedrooms +behind, with the little string beds on which our own bedding lies in +heaps. Ramaswamy has not had time to put it out yet, for he has been +busy cooking our tiffin. In these houses the keeper, or <i>derwan</i>, will +do everything for you if you like, and you pay him so much for his +trouble, but if you prefer your own servant to do it you can make that +arrangement and borrow the pots and pans. Ramaswamy has given us already +buttered eggs, some cutlets which tasted goaty, with some excellent +little vegetables called bringals, as well as a dish of mixed curry, and +he has now put some fruit on the table, and is bringing in coffee. He +cooks out there behind in the compound. I saw him just now bending over +a handful of sticks. However he manages to get the things hot I don't +know. These natives have marvellous ways.</p> + +<p>We must rest a while this afternoon and have an early tea before +starting out to see the palace which lies inside that brick wall.</p> + +<p>The tea is decent, the toast smoky, and the milk very poor. Ramaswamy +says that it is almost impossible to get milk; the Burmans don't drink +it themselves, and he thinks we shall have to fall back upon that +condensed stuff. However, there is excellent jam, and that is a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> good +thing. Look round this bare wooden room and notice how little furniture +one needs for perfect comfort. A couple of deck-chairs, a couple of +small chairs, a table, a lamp, and a waste-paper basket! What a lot of +superfluous furniture one does accumulate in England!</p> + +<p>What are you smiling at? The recollection of the bath? It's a very good +way of bathing, I think. A wooden tub in the middle of a tiny room +without anything else in it. You can splash as much as ever you like, +and even if you spilt the whole bath it wouldn't matter much, because +the water would simply run down through the cracks in the plank floor, +and any one who knows anything here knows enough not to stand underneath +a bathroom which is built out on wooden legs.</p> + +<p>We'll start now if you're ready! Hullo! Did you ever see anything so +impudent? A great crow on the tea-table! Frighten him away, he's after +those chocolates wrapped in silver paper that you brought up from +Rangoon. The cheek of it!</p> + +<p>When we have passed over the white bridge and got inside the wall of the +palace we see a wide space of green with a few houses scattered here and +there, and in the middle a group of buildings, one of which has a very +tall spire. Inside this wall at one time, the Burman time, was crammed +the whole of Mandalay—six thousand houses, more or less. It <i>was</i> the +town. The British cleared out all the houses, and the town is now +outside in wide streets,—we saw it this morning as we drove up from the +station,—and the palace is left here alone in its glory.</p> + +<p>That tall, many-roofed spire is the King's house. Only the King was +allowed to rival the poongyis in the number of his roofs, no other +Burman might do such a thing. It is an empty distinction in two senses, +for, as you know, the roofs don't mean floors, they are hollow.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> There +is only one floor, for, of course, the King could never risk the +frightful indignity of having anyone's feet above his head. At the top +is a htee, or umbrella, as there is on the pagodas.</p> + +<p>The palace is not all one big building, but a number of buildings, or +halls, each only one storey, grouped about with courtyards between. We +wander in and out of them, treading on polished floors and seeing +brilliant bits of colour framed in dark doorways. Some of the pillars +glow a dull red, others are a wonderful gold; some of the doorways are +set in frames of carved wood gilded all over. We see columns encrusted +with little bits of many-coloured looking-glass, like those we saw in +Rangoon. The halls are very dim in contrast with the brilliant light +outside, and there is a kind of tawdriness in the decoration which makes +one feel how different in nature these people must be from the ancient +Egyptians who built so solidly. Here all is gay, but you feel it is +gimcrack—it won't last. Look at that balustrade, gleaming deep green; +examine it—do you see what it is? Nothing in the world but a row of +green glass bottles turned upside down and embedded in cement! This +place isn't old at all. It has not been built sixty years; before that +the capital was elsewhere.</p> + +<p>All at once Ramaswamy, who has been following noiselessly, pushes you +aside with a cry of "Scorpion, Master." There, on the ground, difficult +to see in this dim light, is a round black thing about as big as the +palm of your hand, with a tail sticking out from it. It is the shape of +a tadpole. In another minute you would have trodden on him, and if he +had got in above your shoe, well—it would have been unpleasant in any +case, and might have meant death!</p> + +<p>He lies quite still, not attempting to run away until Ramaswamy's shout +brings one of the guardians, a tall<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> man in a dark blue uniform and red +sash. He rushes to find a big stone. We won't stop to see it. Poor +beggar! Doubtless they'll "larn him to be a scorpion!"</p> + +<p>When King Theebaw reigned here he thought himself invincible; the +many-roofed spire was "the centre of the universe." He imagined he could +treat as he liked not only his own subjects but that white-faced race +who had had the audacity to settle down in southern Burma. He soon +learnt his mistake.</p> + +<p>Leaving the palace we go on to see a very curious thing not far off +outside the walls, this is the Kutho-daw, the Royal Merit-House. We +enter by an elaborate white gateway and find ourselves in a perfect +forest of pagodas. They are planted in rows and are all exactly alike +and not very large. They are glittering white, and each one has a slate +slab inside. The Kutho-daw was built by Theebaw's uncle, who acquired +much merit thereby, and he deserved it, for there are no less than seven +hundred and twenty-nine pagodas. On the slate inside each is inscribed +some part of the Buddhist Scriptures. It was a grand idea thus to +preserve indelibly on stone the whole Burmese Bible. Here it is for all +time. Peep inside one and you will see the funny-looking Burmese +writing, which all runs on without being divided up into words, and +looks consequently so incomprehensible to us.</p> + +<p>What? How you jump! What is it? Another beast? Yes, I see him, that is a +tarantula crouching in the darkest corner and looking at us out of +wicked little eyes that shine like diamond points. He is a monster +spider, isn't he? All hairy too, and his body striped with yellow bands +like a wasp's. He sits still, but he is very much alive and ready to +jump at a minute's notice. They are venomous brutes. Not quite so bad as +a scorpion, but still the bite from one of these fellows<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> is a very +unpleasant thing. We will leave him, he can't do much harm here.</p> + +<p>Now we will drive round the town and see how the people live.</p> + +<p>Here is a happy family seated on a wooden platform stretching out in +front of their house. The dust around and over them and in the roadway +is almost as bad as Egypt, but here there is nearly always a tree or +shrub of some sort to bring in a flash of green. The huts too are built +of wood and mats and are raised several feet from the ground; they do +not look so hopelessly crooked as the Egyptian mud houses. In the space +underneath huge black pigs, like great boars, wander, and there are +black goats too, and skinny hens and pariah dogs. Do you see that +mother-dog lying in the roadway, too lazy to move, with six yellow +puppies sprawling over her? Poor brute, she is a mass of mange and so +skinny that her ribs stick out! The people here are taught by their +religion not to take life of any kind; some of the priests strain their +water through a sieve lest they should inadvertently swallow an insect! +So no one kills, even in mercy. All these miserable puppies are allowed +to grow up to a starved wretched existence, a misery to themselves and +everyone else.</p> + +<p>Look at those two elephants stalking down the road; they move +majestically, and when they reach the pariah dog the driver, or <i>oozie</i>, +seated on the first one's neck, pricks him with a point to make him look +where he is going, so that he avoids the dog. You will see plenty of +elephants here, for elephants are to Burma what camels are to Egypt, the +regular beasts of burden. They carry the kit and camp paraphernalia for +the men who go into the jungle sometimes for months. They move the logs +and trunks of the timber which is cut in the forests in large +quantities. You remember the dark wood of the Circuit House and the +poongyi choung? That is all teak,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> the best known wood in the country, +corresponding to our oak. There are forests of it, and large companies +exist simply for getting it out. There are still herds of wild elephants +in the little disturbed parts of Burma, and every now and again +Government catches them in <i>keddahs</i> in great quantities. I wish we had +the luck to go with a hunting-party.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus299.jpg" width="450" height="289" alt="ELEPHANTS, BURMA." title="" /> +<span class="caption">ELEPHANTS, BURMA.</span> +</div> + +<p>The family which owns that hut is seated on the edge of the platform and +are watching us with as much interest as we watch them. Two bright-eyed +little girls in jackets play beside a smiling woman. You will notice +here the girls and women have quite as good a time as the boys and men; +no veiling of faces or hiding away for them. The Burman knows better, +and he would get on badly without the active help and advice of his +comrade and wife.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + +<h3>ON A CARGO BOAT</h3> + + +<div class="figright" style="width: 198px;"> +<img src="images/illus300.jpg" width="198" height="400" alt="DANCING GIRL, BURMA." title="" /> +<span class="caption">DANCING GIRL, BURMA.</span> +</div> + +<p>Did you ever see anything like it in your life? I never did.</p> + +<p>We are on a steamer coming down the Irrawaddy River from Mandalay, and +it is our first evening on board. We are not the only passengers, there +are also a widow lady and her daughter, a girl a few years older than +you, but still in pigtails, whose name is Joyce. We were all four +sitting very comfortably after dinner on the deck, which is roofed in, +making a fine open room like a verandah, when a few large, +light-coloured moths appeared; then, as if by magic, the whole deck was +suddenly alive with them. They banged against the glass of the lights, +thumped into our faces, and whirled around exactly like a thick +snowstorm with very large flakes.</p> + +<p>"It's one of the plagues of Egypt," you yell.</p> + +<p>Joyce screams, pulls her long plaits round her face to prevent the moths +catching in them, and dives for her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> cabin. Everyone follows suit, and +soon anxious voices can be heard asking, "How many got in with you?"</p> + +<p>It is impossible to shut the port-hole, and in less time than I can tear +off my clothes my tiny room is as bad as the deck.</p> + +<p>Luckily there are mosquito-curtains, and glad of them we are, as we can +hear the loathsome soft-bodied creatures blundering about outside them.</p> + +<p>Lo! in the morning they are all gone, and when I get on deck, and ask +the captain, a stern soul from Aberdeen, where they have disappeared to, +he points to the river. "Where would they be? Overboard, of course. +Dead, every one of them. They live but a day."</p> + +<p>Leaning over the vessel's side I see some of the gummy bodies, mere +hollow shells now, transparent and fragile, sticking on to the black +paint about the bows. The creatures are white ants who come out of holes +in the ground at this time of year. Our lights attracted a new-born +swarm. At least that must have been it, because we weren't plagued with +them again in the same way, though the captain says that in the wet +season it is impossible to sit on the deck at all in the evenings +because of the multitude of winged things.</p> + +<p>"But then you haven't got any hair," I hear Joyce's cheerful voice +saying on the deck. You evidently reply something, for she rejoins at +once, "Oh yes, it's in plaits, but they might stick in them! I've always +had a creepy horror of crawly things sticking in my hair."</p> + +<p>"Cut it off," you suggest brutally.</p> + +<p>This is a cargo boat. We had much to see at Mandalay; we visited the +Aracan Pagoda and Golden Temple, we went up to the hill-station, Maymyo, +and on to the Gokteik Gorge, spanned by one of the highest trestle +bridges in the world, and when we arrived back at Mandalay we found that +the passenger boat had just left, so we came on by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> this one, the +<i>China</i>, which is really just as comfortable and not so crowded. She is +fitted with bathrooms and comfortable cabins with little beds in them, +and on the spacious upper deck are two immense mirrors so placed that +all the sights on the shore are reflected in them. You can sit in a +lounge-chair and watch them flash past like a continuous cinematograph.</p> + +<p>The Irrawaddy flows right through Burma, cutting it in half, as the Nile +does Egypt; and it is rather like the Nile, but, of course, not nearly +so long, not so long even as the Ganges, though steamers can go up it +for nine hundred miles, equal to the length of England and Scotland put +together! The river is wide and shallow in places, sometimes as much as +two miles across, and at these places great care has to be taken not to +run on sandbanks; there is much poling and shouting out of soundings, +and when we do stick, a boat rows out with an anchor and drops it, and +after a while we ride up to the anchor and there we are!</p> + +<p>There is far more vegetation to be seen on the banks than in Egypt, and +the life in the villages is much more attractive. The houses are +perfectly beautiful—at a distance. They are built of dark wood, and +stand on posts, with wide verandahs and thatched roofs, are nearly +always embowered in great trees, and have a luxuriant growth of +plantains and trees around. The spires of the pagodas and the pinnacles +and roofs of the choungs generally rise up somewhere in the picture, and +in the evening, when the whole village comes down to the water, the +scene is charming. The cattle stand knee-deep and the people bathe and +wash their clothes and drink heartily of the muddy stream, and then slip +on dry garments, after which the women and girls stream up the steep +banks, carrying red chatties of water on their heads. All are lively, +full of play and chaff. Their life is a happy one,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> because perfectly +simple and natural; no one need starve and no one wants to be rich.</p> + +<p>All day the steamer floats along, generally winding slowly across and +across the river wherever a little red flag stuck up on the banks tells +that there are a few cases or barrels or packets to be taken down to the +market. At one place it is <i>let-pet</i>, or pickled tea, though the plant +from which the stuff is made is not really a tea-plant. Burmans love it, +and no feast is complete without it, indeed a packet of let-pet is an +invitation to something festive.</p> + +<p>It is early afternoon and quite hot and still as we circle toward the +shore where the red flag hangs drooping; people in gay clothes are +dabbed about like little splashes of colour on the whity-yellow sand. +Suddenly there is a splash, and from our bows, which are high up in the +air, one of the Lascars, dressed in blue dungaree trousers, drops feet +first into the water like a stone; while he is in the air another +follows and another, until there are half a dozen of them in the water, +and they go across to the shore, paddling with each hand alternately as +a dog does with his paws. They are carrying a line ashore. They always +jump off like this at every landing-place. They shake themselves like +dogs as they land, and the sun soon dries their one and only garment. +But it takes a good while before the line is fixed up to the captain's +liking!</p> + +<p>Then the people swarm across the plank into the great barge, or flat, +tied alongside of us, and a shouting sing-song begins as men and girls +alike hurry up and down carrying on board sacks of monkey-nuts. They +work hard and untiringly and always good-humouredly; the popular notion +that the Burman is a lazy fellow is based on the fact that he won't work +if he can help it, but when he has to he does it with goodwill. A funny +little incident occurs. The captain, walking down his own gangway, is +run into by a coolie who is heading up the plank with a sack on his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> +shoulders; wrathfully the captain sends him and his sack flying, and +they both land in deep water. That is nothing, however, for every Burman +can swim, and no one bears any ill-feeling about it.</p> + +<p>Crowds of little boys and girls are dancing and splashing about on the +edge of the water with infinite glee. A mother comes down with her baby +and goes into deep water with the tiny thing clinging to her; suddenly +she lets it go, and swimming with one hand holds it up with the other +while it kicks spasmodically like a little frog. The babies learn to +swim before they can walk.</p> + +<p>Joyce is seized with a brilliant idea. "Mother," she cries, "those toys +we bought in the bazaar! Mayn't I give them to the children?"</p> + +<p>Taking leave for granted she flies into her cabin and returns with two +gaily painted wooden animals whose legs move on strings; there is a +yellow tiger with a red mouth, and a purple monkey. Joyce stands as high +as she can on the rail and makes the tiger jump its legs up and down. A +yell of delight from the children on the shore shows that she is +understood. They plunge into the water like porpoises, and after a +minute Joyce drops the tiger straight down. It is a good distance to +swim, some fifty yards, perhaps, and the little black heads bob up and +down frantically as the youngsters make desperate attempts to get +through the water.</p> + +<p>Good! Go it! Two little boys about equal size are well ahead of the +others and rapidly nearing the prize. It is just a toss-up which gets +it; they grab simultaneously, but their fingers close on empty water. +The tiger has disappeared, sucked down by something into the depths! Has +it been eaten by a fish?</p> + +<p>No, there it is, having risen to the surface again some yards distant, +grasped by a thin little arm. The owner of the arm emerges the next +instant, shaking back her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> long black hair. It is a small girl, who +actually dived under the boys and snatched the prize away! She deserves +it, and holding it on high lies on her back and kicks her way back to +land with her legs. She is a magnificent swimmer. They all follow her +and crowd around her on the shore while she dangles the treasure in the +sun, but no one attempts to take it from her.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 264px;"> +<img src="images/illus305.jpg" width="264" height="400" alt="BURMESE BOYS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">BURMESE BOYS.</span> +</div> + +<p>At the moment everyone has forgotten that there may be more forthcoming, +and when Joyce holds up the purple monkey only one tiny podgy fellow +sees it, and slipping silently into the water exerts himself +tremendously to get well out before the others discover him. He swims +slowly, for he is very small, and when he is half-way across the others +are after him like a pack of hounds; but he gets the monkey, and turns +his bright eager face up to us radiant with delight. One of the elder +boys carries his treasure back for him, and by the way the little fellow +yields it up readily it is quite evident that he is not in the least +afraid of its being taken from him. His faith is justified, for he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> gets +it back directly he lands, and then the children dance round the two +lucky ones, singing and making such a noise that a troop of anxious +parents hurry down to find out what is the matter. Those toys will be +treasures for many a long day.</p> + +<p>The steamer screeches and we are off once more. Soon we see a great +sugar-loaf hill in the distance, also a perfect forest of pagodas of all +shapes and sizes along the river bank. This is Pagahn, a celebrated +place, now deserted and melancholy. Imagine a strip of ground eight +miles long and two broad, covered by hundreds of pagodas; it is said +there are nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine, but no one could +count them, for half of them are mere heaps of stones, so possibly there +may be one more to make a round number! Pagahn was once a capital city, +and the then Burman king pulled down some of the pagodas to build up the +defences of his walls when he heard that a Chinese king was coming to +attack him; but of course he got the worst of it after such an impious +act, as anyone would guess, and since then the place has been deserted. +Some of the largest pagodas have been restored, which is rather a wonder +in Burma as restoration does not make for "merit." You can see the +snow-white outlines rising gracefully in the middle of the rough line of +uneven buildings. Unluckily, instead of stopping here we go across the +river and anchor at Yenangyaung, where there is a very strong smell of +something. "I know," Joyce declares, wrinkling up her smooth little +nose. "It's lamp oil."</p> + +<p>She is right, it is petroleum; there are here wells of it, from which it +bursts up with great force sometimes, like a geyser.</p> + +<p>If we had been on a tourist steamer we should have visited Pagahn, but +then we should have missed seeing much human life.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span></p> + +<p>An evening later the captain comes up to say that there is a pwé, or +play, going on in the village near which we have anchored for the night, +and wouldn't we like to go to see it? This is a grand chance, because +Burmese pwés are very funny things indeed. The people have them at every +chance,—births, weddings, deaths, and festivals, none are ever complete +without a play!</p> + +<p>We dine early, and, accompanied by the captain, set out afterwards, all +four of us, for the village. The moon is getting up but is not bright +yet, and we can see the trees standing up against a deep blue night sky, +with the big bright stars winking at us through the palm fronds. The +village street is deserted, and long before we reach the end of it where +the pwé is going on we hear an exciting clash of cymbals and bang of +drums which sets you and Joyce dancing.</p> + +<p>At last, right in the roadway, between the thatched houses, we see a big +crowd, and coming up to it find every man, woman, child, and baby +belonging to the village seated on the ground or lying in front of a +small platform. The platform is simply a few loose boards standing on +some boxes, and when anyone walks across it the boards jump up and down. +In front are the footlights, a row of earthenware bowls filled with oil, +with a lighted wick floating in each one.</p> + +<p>The Burman who is giving the pwé and has sent us the message about it +comes forward and leads us to the front courteously. He is a portly man +with a dress of rich silk so stiff it would stand by itself, and a large +fur cape, like those worn by coachmen in England, over his shoulders, +for the evenings are sharp. In following him through the crowd we find +great difficulty in avoiding stepping on arms and legs which seem to be +strewn haphazard on the bare earth, the owners being partly covered up +with mats or rugs. Most of the men are squatting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> gravely with +bath-towels over their shoulders—they make convenient wraps. Men and +women alike are smoking either huge green cheroots or small brown ones. +Our seats are right in front of the stage and consist of a row of +soap-boxes. Joyce's mother clutches me in horror. "I can't sit down +there," she says with a gasp; "I shall fall over." The captain +misunderstands her and gallantly tries one himself, saying, "It holds +me, Madam." As he is at least sixteen stone in weight this sends Joyce +off into fits of irrepressible giggles, luckily drowned by the band, +which is making an ear-splitting noise—"La-la-la, la-la-la!" One man +bangs an instrument like those called harmonicons, with slats of metal +set across it all the way up. Another is seated inside a tub, the rim of +which is entirely composed of small drums; another cracks bamboo +clappers together in an agonising way, while clarionets do their best, +and a pipe fills in all the intervals it can find.</p> + +<p>A girl with a very coquettish gold-embroidered jacket, which stands out +behind like two pert wings in the same way as those worn by the +princesses at the garden-party, is rouging her face close to us; she +gets it to her liking by leaning over the footlights and gazing in a +little hand-mirror, then she takes up an enormous cigar which lies +smoking beside her and puffs away contentedly till her turn comes.</p> + +<p>Two clowns are taking their part; we can't understand a word they say, +but their humorous faces and comic gestures are irresistibly funny. +Suddenly Golden-Jacket puts down her cigar, springs to her feet, and +gets across the shaking boards with marvellous serpentine movements in a +skirt tighter even than a modern one, literally a tube wound around her +legs. Then, waving her long thin hands and arms so that ripples seem to +run up and down them, she sings in a thin shrill voice a long song, +while one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> of the clowns breaks in with "Yes, yes" and "Come on," meant +for us and greatly appreciated by the audience. As the song wends toward +its end, Golden-Jacket looks behind her more than once, and at last +stops and says something out loud.</p> + +<p>"She's telling the villain to hurry up or she won't wait for him," +explains the captain, who understands Burmese. "She is in a forest. You +see the branch of a tree stuck between the boards there? That's the +forest. She went to meet her lover, the prince, for she is a princess, +of course, but the villain has done his job, and now he's going to catch +her."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus309.jpg" width="450" height="570" alt="IN THE PLAYHOUSE." title="" /> +<span class="caption">IN THE PLAYHOUSE.</span> +</div> + +<p>The princess trills out some more lines, and the villain, who has +apparently been having great difficulties with his costume at the back +of the stage, in full view of the audience, steps heavily forward, +making the boards bounce right up. When she sees him she shrieks and +faints in his arms. He makes a long speech holding her. The clowns +appear again. The heroine shakes herself free, and with great +self-possession squats down once more on the edge of the stage and +resumes her cigar until her turn comes again. The branch of the tree is +pulled up,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> and in its place is put a box with a piece of pink muslin +over it, while three men in long robes come in and sit down, one on the +box and the other two on the boards beside him, and they all talk +interminably. The band, which has only stopped impatiently while the +actual speaking was going on, clashes in wildly at every possible +interval and now drowns the voices altogether for a few minutes, just to +remind us it is there. The men on the stage continue repeating their +parts, whether it plays or not, and apparently they are so long winded +that the plot does not suffer at all from the sentences which are lost +in the noise.</p> + +<p>"That's her father, the king," explains the captain. "He is taking +counsel from his ministers how to recover his daughter and punish the +villain. She's a boy, of course—they all are."</p> + +<p>We can hardly believe it! The slender form, the graceful movements, the +long thin fingers, the wonderful management of that terrible skirt, the +coquettish movements! You can hardly imagine any British boy doing it, +can you?</p> + +<p>We are beginning to have about enough of it after a couple of hours, +though the Burmans themselves comfortably settle down all night, and +there are pwés that go on for days. What with the clashing music, the +thick smoke in the air, the strange language, and a kind of dreaminess +over everything, it is too much for Joyce, and she suddenly flops her +head down on my shoulder in a profound slumber, hugely to your delight.</p> + +<p>Her mother's cry of "Joyce!" brings her to herself with a crimson face, +and I see you get a surreptitious kick for giggling, which you richly +deserve!</p> + +<p>We make a move, thank the Burmese entertainer, explain we have to be off +early in the morning, and try to get out without setting our feet on +anyone's head!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 407px;"> +<img src="images/illus311.jpg" width="407" height="573" alt="A BURMESE PLAY." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A BURMESE PLAY.</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why, it has been snowing!" you cry in amazement as we get clear. It +does look like it. The moon is full and white, high in the heavens, and +shows up the dust which lies thickly over the village in a mantle of +white.</p> + +<p>I think Joyce is asleep most of the way back. "I feel as if I were +drugged," she says as we haul her up the gangway.</p> + +<p>Next day at sunrise we are off.</p> + +<p>After golden hours of placid slipping down the shining waterway we pull +up at about five for the night, and having finished tea we four sally +forth for a walk, little dreaming what is going to happen.</p> + +<p>Joyce's mother is a most attractive woman. She is well read, very keenly +alive, and has travelled a great deal. She and I have much in common, +and, I must say, as I help her across the paddy fields I forget all +about you two.</p> + +<p>It is not until we turn to go home that I miss you.</p> + +<p>"They can't be far," I say reassuringly, and give a loud cooee, but +there is no response.</p> + +<p>"They can't possibly come to harm here," I say. "There is nothing to +hurt them," and I shout again.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps they have circled round and gone back to the ship another way," +Joyce's mother suggests, and we turn. Darkness falls very quickly here, +and it is dark before we get on board, but in answer to our anxious +questions we find no one has seen anything of you.</p> + +<p>Joyce's mother is very brave and sensible, but I can see that her heart +is torn with anxiety. I try to comfort her by telling her that you are +as good as a man, and have been brought up to look after yourself, but +it makes little difference. She agrees, however, to remain on the +steamer while the captain and I and a couple of Lascars with lanterns go +forth again.</p> + +<p>What a night we have of it! We wander far and wide,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> calling and waving +the lights with no result, and when we come back in the grey dawn, with +troubled hearts, there is still no news.</p> + +<p>"Someone has taken them in," says the captain. "They're queer fellows, +these Burmans; they daren't go out at nights for fear of spooks. You'll +see they'll bring them safely back in the morning."</p> + +<p>And he is right, for, as the sky flashes rosy red, we see you afar off +coming across the fields. A sight you are, indeed, as you come nearer, +with your torn clothes and scratched faces! But Joyce's mother gives a +cry of joy and precipitates herself across the flat and along the +gangway, hatless, and clasps her daughter in her arms as if she would +never let her go again. You and I are not so emotional, but I'm jolly +glad to see you again!</p> + +<p>You shall tell your story in your own words. I wrote it down exactly as +you told it to me, so that your people might have it.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus315.jpg" width="450" height="352" alt="THE FIRST THING WE SAW WERE TWO HUGE ELEPHANTS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE FIRST THING WE SAW WERE TWO HUGE ELEPHANTS.</span> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXV</h2> + +<h3>JIM'S STORY</h3> + + +<p>Joyce's a brick. She can do most things boys can, and we soon began +racing each other along those little raised bits of earth between the +beds in the paddy fields. I splashed right in once or twice and we +shrieked with laughter. By and by we found ourselves through that and +out on a flat place covered with thorns. They weren't very high mostly, +and we didn't feel them through our shoes, but now and again one caught +us on the ankles and then didn't we hop! By the time we had reached the +road I suppose we had lost sight of you altogether. I didn't think about +it. I just had a feeling we must scramble on in that fizzing red sunset +light, and then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> when we got tired turn plump round and go straight back +to the ship the same way. I didn't really think about it, though.</p> + +<p>The road? Yes, it was a sort of a road, at least it was a clear space +marked all over with deep ruts and lined by little trees, and it ran +ever so far both ways, as Euclid says a line does. The first thing we +saw were two huge elephants, striding along with a wooden thing on the +neck of one, banging and rattling as his head went up and down. A man +was sitting on his neck and he took no notice of us at all, but +they—the elephants, I mean—just loped along in that swinging way they +do; I think it must make anyone sea-sick to be on their backs. We stared +at them till they got far away. Then I discovered that the little trees +were mimosa, which shrivel up when you touch them. They had dropped +seeds on the ground, I suppose, for under them were tiny little mimosas, +not trees but scrub stuff. Joyce had never seen any, and when I rubbed +my hand across them and she saw them wither up, she cried out, "What a +shame! Dear little things, don't be afraid of me!" and plumped herself +down beside them to cuddle them, but they withered more than ever. How +we laughed! The ones I had withered first were just beginning to come +right again, and I was going to make them shut up once more, and she had +caught my hand to stop me, when we heard a noise and looked up, and +there was a great buffalo coming right at us with his nose stuck up +straight in the air as if he smelt something nasty. You never saw +anything so comic! Joyce cried out, "Oh, what a darling!" But into my +head, quick as lightning, came what you told me about buffaloes, who +hate Europeans savagely, though a Burmese child of four can drive them +with a twig. I grabbed Joyce's hand and pulled her up, and then I saw he +was coming for us and no mistake, with his nose up in that absurd<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> +fashion, and his great horns sticking out. We made a bolt for the +nearest tree just as the buffalo plunged across the place we had been, +like a runaway motor-car. Then he stopped and looked funny. All at once +he caught sight of my topee, which had fallen off and rolled away a bit, +and up went his nose again, and when he reached it down went his head +and into it like a battering-ram; and didn't he make the clods fly as he +spiked his horns into it. The trees were not very high, and had smooth +stems so far up, and then a lot of branches. If we could get up there +we'd be all right.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus317.jpg" width="450" height="348" alt="ALL AT ONCE HE CAUGHT SIGHT OF MY TOPEE." title="" /> +<span class="caption">ALL AT ONCE HE CAUGHT SIGHT OF MY TOPEE.</span> +</div> + +<p>"Get up the tree, Joyce," I whispered. "I'll boost you."</p> + +<p>So I did, shoving her up for all I was worth, and she hung on as high as +she could reach, and there she stuck; even the best girls aren't quite +like boys.</p> + +<p>"Swarm up it," I urged.</p> + +<p>"I can't," she said in an agonised voice, and I saw it was true, her +petticoats were to blame, of course;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> any boy would have been up before +you could say "knife."</p> + +<p>Down she came again with a thud, and old Mr. Buffalo heard it and made +for us like a fiend. We ran for the next tree and dodged him round it; +it was a bit too exciting! He made rushes at us dead straight, and we +tried always to keep the trunk of the tree between us and him as if it +were the leader in Fox and Geese. When he came past like a bolt we ran +the other side, but once or twice he nearly spiked us, and if he had +knocked one of us down, or we had stumbled, it would have been all up +with us. It was exhausting too. I was fearfully out of breath myself; +being on a steamer a fellow can't keep in training, and as for Joyce, +she was panting so that she couldn't speak.</p> + +<p>Then I noticed that across the road was a jungly thicket; it was not +open ground, as it was on the side we had come from, and I thought if we +could reach that we might perhaps lose the gentleman, or he would lose +us.</p> + +<p>So I explained to Joyce in gasps that the next time he charged we must +run behind his back and bolt across the road; she nodded and clutched my +hand tighter than ever.</p> + +<p>So we did it and were half-way over the road—it was very wide—before +he found it out.</p> + +<p>All the time, I must tell you, he had been making a funny little noise, +a bit between a grunt and squeak, quite ridiculous for a huge black +hairy beast like him; if I had had any breath to waste it would have +made me laugh.</p> + +<p>Now we heard that funny little noise—Uweekuweekuweek—just like that, +coming over the road; we hadn't time to look. Never did any road I ever +crossed seem so long; it was like a bad dream. We slipped and stumbled +and didn't seem to make any headway, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> every moment I expected to +feel that great head in the flat of my back sending me sprawling ready +to be spiked. At last we reached the line of bushes, and I gave Joyce a +great pull with all my strength to pitch her to one side, for he was +close on us then, and she went headlong and fell full length into the +bushes, and I dropped on the top of her just as his majesty thundered +past.</p> + +<p>We lay there quiet as mice, though it was awfully uncomfortable; I was +squashing Joyce to bits, and great thorns seemed running into me all +over. Then a dreadful thought occurred to me—there were probably snakes +there! Which was worst, snakes or the buffalo? And I asked cautiously—</p> + +<p>"Have you been stung, Joyce?" and she answered so gravely, "Not yet," +that I exploded, and, would you believe it, that old animal that had +been rootling about in the bushes to find us, heard it and came at us +again. We scrambled up and ran, tripping and tearing and crashing on +into that wood, and I think he found some difficulty in following us, +for after a while we couldn't hear him any more.</p> + +<p>We stopped and listened with all our ears, but it seemed as if we were +safe, for he wasn't a crafty animal and didn't know enough to come along +quietly and surprise us. It was very dark there in that jungle, and for +the first time I thought of you and how anxious you and Joyce's mother +would be. So I said, "Come along home now," and pulled hold of Joyce. +But she resisted and said, "It's not that way, silly; it's just the +opposite."</p> + +<p>I was positive and so was she.</p> + +<p>I tried to think of all the things one tells by: the stars, but there +weren't any, and I couldn't have done much with them if there had been; +the moss on the north side of the trees, but there didn't seem to be +any. I guess it's different in Burma. However, there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> was just a +yellowish glow still, and I knew that must be in the west, and as the +river runs north and south, and we were on the left bank, I guessed the +way I wanted to go was about right. When I had proved it to Joyce she +gave in and said she had said it all the time, just as women always do!</p> + +<p>So we walked and walked, but we never came to that old road again. Once +I thought I'd found it, but it was only some open, flat, thorny ground. +It was very dark then, the dark comes on so fast here. Suddenly we both +began to run as hard as we could, hand in hand; I don't know why, +something set us off and I felt just as if I must, and I suppose Joyce +did too, and then—crash!—before we knew where we were—smash!—we were +flying, slipping, tobogganing down through some bushes, with our feet +shooting out under us, and at last we reached the bottom. It was a steep +gully, a kind of nullah. When we did get down we arrived separately, for +we had had to let go to save ourselves. I was awfully sore, I know, and +I wondered what had happened to her, being a girl and so much softer. +But she didn't seem to mind much, for when I sang out, she answered +quite cheerfully, "I'm sitting in the middle of a bramble bush like a +bumble-bee. Do they sit in bushes, though? I think I'm getting a little +mixed!"</p> + +<p>A girl like that is a jolly good pal, I can tell you!</p> + +<p>It was a snaky place and that is what I was afraid of. We trod carefully +along the bottom and made noises to scare them off. Then I had a happy +thought; I had a box of matches with me, and I kept on striking them +till we found a handful of dry twigs which burnt up finely. It was so +still there that they blazed straight and steady, and I used them as a +torch and flourished them about low down as we walked.</p> + +<p>I don't know if we really did see any snakes. Joyce<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> is quite positive +she counted fourteen, sliding away in front of the light at different +times; but then she sees things much quicker than I do.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 451px;"> +<img src="images/illus321.jpg" width="451" height="352" alt="WE HAD TO PLUNGE THROUGH MARSHY GROUND." title="" /> +<span class="caption">WE HAD TO PLUNGE THROUGH MARSHY GROUND.</span> +</div> + +<p>It took us a long time to get out of that nullah, and we tried all sorts +of different ways, but the sides were too steep. Often we had to stop to +get more twigs, and once, just as I had got a handful, Joyce said, "Why, +there are little plums growing on them." We ate quite a lot, and they +were refreshing and bitter, but it didn't mean much, for they were all +skin and stone.</p> + +<p>The nullah sloped up at the end, and after a good deal of hard work I +hauled her up. It was jolly cold, I can tell you, and when we saw a +light moving about ahead<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> we made a bee-line for it. Joyce thought it +was a will-o'-the-wisp; she had never seen one, but she had read of +them, and she said they moved up and down just like that. We had to +plunge through a lot of very marshy ground before we got to it, and +sometimes we lost sight of it altogether; but it came again, and then it +went out for good. We arrived at a high thorny hedge and I shouted, and +then there was such a noise you would have thought the world was coming +to an end,—dogs barking, cocks crowing, people chattering, and at last +a man with a lantern crept out from the hedge—it must have been his +light we had seen—and he was followed by heaps of others, all Burmans, +and they waved the light about; and when they saw who we were, and that +we were alone, they were very kind and took us in through an opening in +the hedge, and kicked the dogs away. We couldn't see much inside, for +the moon wasn't up then, but they led us to a house, and made us go up a +ladder on to a verandah and into a nice wooden room, where there was a +civilised oil lamp on a bracket, and several women and children sitting +and lying about on mats on the floor.</p> + +<p>Joyce looked at me and I at her and we both knew what sights we were, +all scratched and torn and muddy. Her dress had been white when we +started, but you could hardly tell that now. I don't know how she felt, +but I was glad to drop down on to a mat they gave us. We tried to +explain who we were, but no one understood any English. Then they +brought us some water from a great jar in the corner; they handed it to +us in half a coco-nut, but it smelt so that we couldn't touch it, though +we were awfully thirsty. So one of the men who had followed us in took +up a round green thing with a smooth shell outside (I never knew +coco-nuts looked like that before), and with his great knife made four +cuts across the top in a neat square, and took out the piece as if it +were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> a lid, and offered us the nut, making signs we were to drink it. +Joyce tried first and nodded with pleasure. "It's good," she said, and +it was! A sort of sickly sweet stuff came out like sugary water, and +when you drank a lot of it it made you feel very full inside suddenly. +When I read about coco-nut milk in <i>Swiss Family Robinson</i> I always +thought it was really like milk.</p> + +<p>Then they opened a great tubful of cooked rice and put some on two +plates and gave it to us, and they put beside us two little bowls filled +with smashed-up sardines, at least I thought it was that, but oh——You +would have known it was there a mile off! I would have stood it, because +I didn't want to hurt their feelings, as they meant to be polite, but +Joyce stuffed her skirt into her mouth and held her nose, and they all +laughed and took it away quite easily. There were no forks or spoons, +but we were very hungry, so we just fell to with our fingers on the rice +and it wasn't at all bad, I can tell you. When we had done they gave us +some very good bananas—I could have done with more of them—and then +they tried us with a lump of stuff that was simply a bit of wood; it +came from the Jack-fruit tree. I saw one growing right out of the trunk +on a little stalk by itself next day, but how anyone ever eats it I +can't imagine.</p> + +<p>When we had finished they poured water over our fingers to clean them, a +very unsatisfactory sort of wash it was, and the water ran away between +the boards, quite convenient that!</p> + +<p>When we were satisfied we began to take more notice of what the house +was like. The walls were made of very coarse mats, and there were no +tables or chairs. There were a number of people; the father of the +house, who had brought us in, had a kind shrewd face, so that you +couldn't help liking him, and the mother was a very thin, plain, little +old woman, with twinkling eyes. Joyce thought<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> first she was the cook, +for she had no jewellery on at all and no fine clothes, while the two +girls, the daughters, were quite smart. They were all ready to laugh and +smile, but the two girls were the most friendly; they sat down by Joyce +and fingered her skirt and examined her very dilapidated shoes. "I wish +they wouldn't, Jim," she said, trying to pull them up under her very +short skirt, which was no use at all. At last she took them off because +they were so wet, and one of the girls put her little brown toes into +them, and then they all shrieked with laughter again. You couldn't help +laughing too, they were so jolly nice.</p> + +<p>I put my finger on Joyce and said "Joyce," then on me and said "Jim," +and then pointed at the two girls; they understood at once and said Mah +Kway Yoh (Miss Dog's Bone) and Mee Meht (Miss Affection). Then they +pointed to a young man at the back and said Moung Poh Sin (Mr. +Grandfather Elephant).</p> + +<p>I tried to make them understand we wanted to get back to the ship, but +nothing would do it. "Draw it," suggested Joyce. She had a wee gold +pencil on her gold bangle, but we had no paper and there was none +there—there wasn't anything, in fact, except a box. "On your cuff," +Joyce suggested, but I hadn't any cuffs, only a soft shirt.</p> + +<p>"On the floor," she said then.</p> + +<p>I tried, but of course the lead broke. They all gathered round, much +interested, pushing their shiny black heads close together. It's funny +that they all have just the same sort of hair, isn't it? They followed +everything I did with the deepest interest, and then went into fits of +laughter, and so did we.</p> + +<p>Just then a boy came in, not much older than me. He had on very few +clothes, and his legs looked as if they were stained dark blue. When he +came near to me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> and saw me looking at them with very much interest he +showed them to us. They were tattooed all over like a pair of breeches, +and the pictures on them were very well done; there were tigers and a +kind of dragon, like those we saw at the pagoda steps, and many other +animals, and each one was in a kind of scrollwork which made a little +frame. He spoke a few words of English and pointed at the two men and +said, "Them too," then, "All Burmans." It is odd they should go through +all that pain; what's the use of it?</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 231px;"> +<img src="images/illus325.jpg" width="231" height="400" alt="THEY WERE TATTOOED ALL OVER LIKE A PAIR OF BREECHES." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THEY WERE TATTOOED ALL OVER LIKE A PAIR OF BREECHES.</span> +</div> + +<p>I tried to explain to him about the ship. I called it "ship," "steamer," +"vessel," "craft," and everything else I could think of, but he shook +his head. At last Joyce suggested "big boat," and then he understood, +and got quite excited and told the others. Partly by gestures he made us +understand that we were a very long way off, and that no one could take +us back that night, but that we could go early in the morning. I wanted +to know why not now, but he waved his arms and said, "Nats, beloos," and +looked quickly over his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Nats are spirits," said Joyce. "I know all about it. The Burmese are +frightened of them, and put little bits of rag at the top of the posts +in the houses for them to live in, so that they won't come inside. +Mother read that to me out of a book."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span></p> + +<p>We looked for the little rags, but couldn't see them, though I expect +they were there. Joyce knows a lot for a girl.</p> + +<p>Well, we couldn't go home by ourselves, so presently we lay down on our +mats and went fast asleep, and I suppose everyone else did too. Anyway, +it was morning when I woke. Perfectly glorious it was! I shall never +forget that morning. Joyce was out on the verandah already, and I went +and stood beside her. The moon was there still, but every moment growing +paler and paler. The air was full of that burnt-wood smell which is +clean and rather nice. The sun seemed simply to rush up, and in five +minutes from a world of black shadows and no colours it turned to a +world of green and blue and yellow. The houses were all like ours, built +on legs with thatched roofs, and there were great shady mango trees and +plantains growing beside them. The dogs were everywhere, and the people +were squatting in the sun to warm their backs. We ate more rice and +drank more coco-nut milk, and then we shook hands all round and thanked +the people, and went away with the boy to guide us. His name was Moung +Ohn (Mr. Coco-Nut) he told us. We made him write down his own and his +sisters' names on a piece of paper in Burmese on the ship afterwards, so +that we could always keep them.</p> + +<p>It was quite a long way, as he had said, but it was so beautiful we +wanted to dance and jump all the time. Moung Ohn scolded off the beastly +pariah dogs and led us out of the hole in the great stockade and through +a grove of palms. He pointed to two different sorts, one was the usual +kind, feathery, and coco-nuts grew on that. He pointed to himself and +grinned, but we didn't understand till afterwards that his name was +"Coco-Nut." The other sort of palm had leaves like the great fans people +sometimes have in drawing-rooms, at least Joyce said they were. A man +was walking down the long,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> straight stem of one, and I could see, as +Moung Ohn had said, that his legs were tattooed too. He just walked +down. He had a band round his waist and round the tree, so he leaned +against it and pressed the soles of his feet against the tree. I longed +to try, but Joyce was wanting to get back to her mother. When the man +came down he had a little iron pot filled with juice, and he offered it +to me to drink, but when I looked in and saw dead flies and insects by +the dozen I declined politely. He had hung up other little pots on the +tree near the stalks of the great leaves in which he had cut gashes, so +the juice dripped out into them. I found out this makes a strong drink +called toddy.</p> + +<p>We passed over rice fields, where many of the people were at work +already, and then, after going a good distance, we got on to the road, +but it was not the same part where we were the day before. I'm beginning +now not to be quite so sure that my direction was right after all, but +don't say so before Joyce.</p> + +<p>Just then we heard a most awful noise like a hundred demons groaning and +shrieking together.</p> + +<p>"Nats!" exclaimed Joyce, standing stockstill. Moung Ohn laughed and +shook his head. Then there came into sight a slow lumbering bullock-cart +with the wheels screaming enough to give you toothache. Why on earth +don't they grease them?</p> + +<p>"Perhaps they prefer them like that," said Joyce, and I expect she is +right.</p> + +<p>It wasn't long before we reached the steamer, and then what a scene! +When I saw how Joyce was smothered I was glad men don't kiss. You just +shook hands with me and told me I was an object to scare crows with!</p> + +<p>When we offered Moung Ohn some money for his trouble he refused to take +it, and went away saying good-bye so gracefully, bowing and touching his +forehead with his hand.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus328.jpg" width="450" height="329" alt="SAMPANS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">SAMPANS.</span> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> + +<h3>THROUGH EASTERN STRAITS AND ISLANDS</h3> + + +<p>In every long journey there comes a time when one feels a little dreary. +So many new things have been seen that the mind and eye are tired. Then +maybe there is just a touch of home-sickness mingled with it, and when +one gets to a part less beautiful than what has gone before all at once +there is a longing to turn and fly back to all that we are accustomed +to. It seems to me that you and I are suffering from that now. We have +left Burma behind, and for two days have ploughed down the Gulf of +Martaban toward Penang in the Straits Settlements. We did not want to +make friends with anyone on board, and were just a trifle grumpy even +toward each other. We felt the parting from Joyce and her mother, who +had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> made Burma so enjoyable, and we weren't ready to begin making new +friends all at once.</p> + +<p>Burma forms the western part of a great peninsula, and stretching out +southward from it is a long arm, the shape of an Indian club, narrower +in the neck and broadening out, to run up finally to a point. Alongside +of the broadest part is the great island of Sumatra, belonging to the +Dutch, who are our principal rivals in this region of the world.</p> + +<p>"The captain's compliments, and we're going to set off some rockets to +scare the sea-birds," says one of the officers, suddenly appearing +beside us. "We're passing close by that little island there—Pulo Pera."</p> + +<p>Now there is something to see we wake up at once. Sure enough there it +is ahead, a little island rising like a cliff out of the water. It is +evidently deep close in, for we go quite near to it. Just as we are +abreast off goes rocket after rocket, and in a moment the scene is +transformed as if by magic. A dense mass of shrieking, screaming birds +springs to life. The moment before the sun was shining in a clear sky, +now in an instant it is obscured as by a thick cloud. You never saw +anything like it! The birds on the Bass Rock are fairly thick, but +here—day is turned to night and the commotion and uproar are wildly +exciting, like the clash of legions in the sky.</p> + +<p>Long after we are past we can see them thinning down gradually as some +keep dropping back on to their island home, while the more restless, +nervous spirits still circle and swoop in loops and curves.</p> + +<p>A marvellous sight!</p> + +<p>Penang itself is an island, and as we swing round to the capital town, +Georgetown, on the inner or land side, we see an astonishing mass of +green, with a great hill clothed almost to the summit rising behind the +town. We can go up there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> to-morrow if you like, as we have a day to +spend here owing to a change of steamers.</p> + +<p>As we come to anchor in the bay a perfect swarm of small boats, called +sampans, dance round the ship, and the owners offer their wares with +astonishing noise. Looking down you can see the yellow faces of the men +who have narrow eyes and pigtails coiled round their heads under +enormous hats. It looks as if we had tumbled into China by mistake, for +these are nearly all Chinamen, and yet the inhabitants of this country +are Malays. The Malay, however, is like the Burman in that he does not +care to exert himself if he can help it, so he lets the Chink, as the +Chinamen are familiarly called, do all the business. The rich earth +yields a hundredfold, and the Malay has only to scratch a very little of +it very gently, and plant or sow a small quantity of something, and he +is provided for for a year! The Chinaman is an industrious soul and an +uncommonly good market-gardener, so he grows vegetables for sale and +makes a good thing out of it; half these boats are full of vegetables +grown by the very men who are selling them.</p> + +<p>Soon we are in a sampan, being rapidly rowed shore-wards. The man works +the boat standing up and faces the way he is going; he does it very +easily, with the ends of his long oars crossed over and worked almost +entirely by wrist play. We are right under a high, old-fashioned-looking +trading ship now; do you see that great eye painted on the bows? There +is another on the other side. That shows it is a Chinese ship; the men +have a superstition that the ship cannot see without these eyes. They +say, "No got eye, no can see; no can see, no can savee."</p> + +<p>Great rocks stick out from the foliage on the hillside, and nearer is +the town, with its pretty thatched houses and palatial mansions and +avenues of greenery. It is all slightly different from the countries we +have seen already,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> and yet it is difficult to say quite where the +difference lies. Here is our old friend the rickshaw man, only he is a +Chinaman, of course, and some of these rickshaws are two-seated, so we +can both get into one; the man who pulls starts off gently as if it were +no trouble. He wears nothing above the waist, and we can see the +well-developed muscles moving under his sun-browned skin. On the road we +meet many Chinese women dressed in trousers; you must have seen some in +Hyde Park, I think, for people often bring them over to England as +nurses for their children, they are so clean and reliable. They all wear +trousers like that, just plain, straight down, shapeless trousers, with +a tunic falling over them; it is a neat and effective dress.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 233px;"> +<img src="images/illus331.jpg" width="233" height="400" alt="CHINESE LADY IN TROUSERS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">CHINESE LADY IN TROUSERS.</span> +</div> + +<p>Whew! It's hot! I don't feel inclined to move a limb; this steamy heat +is so much more trying than the heat we had in the dry zone of Burma, +where you and Joyce got lost; there the nights were always cool, almost +sharp sometimes. That building you are pointing at, with the dragons +over the doorway, is a Chinese temple, and I don't suppose they would +mind our going in at all. It looks nice and cool, anyway. We stop the +rickshaw man and pass through several courtyards enclosed by high walls. +In one is an open upper storey like a first-floor room with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> a wall +knocked out; this is a stage. You may well ask how anyone in the +courtyard can see the play—they can't! Only the favoured few who sit in +the galleries get a good view!</p> + +<p>In all the courts a few Chinamen lounge about on the steps; they are +probably half-stupid with opium, for they are not naturally lazy. +Passing on to the inner shrine we see a much-decorated screen, behind +which an image is hidden, but we are not allowed to pull it aside. The +room in which it stands is crowded with hideous figures, squat devils, +grinning dragons, and other disagreeable forms. Before them are empty +tin biscuit-boxes full of sand, in which are stuck messy little tapers. +There is a funny smell of incense mixed with tallow in the air. It is a +creepy, uncomfortable place, and the Chinese religion is not one that +would attract a stranger; I expect you would have to be brought up in it +to understand it!</p> + +<p>Unfortunately next day our expedition to the mountain is spoilt by +torrents of rain which stream down unceasingly, and time hangs heavy on +our hands.</p> + +<p>"It always rains here, all the year round, more or less," says a +friendly Englishman in the hotel. "If you like I'll take you to see a +well-to-do Chinaman who is a friend of mine. The Chinamen are all rich +here, lots of them keep motors." We gladly accept and go off under +borrowed umbrellas to the outskirts of the town. The house stands by +itself in a clump of trees and is very imposing with its great white +marble pillars; as we get near we see huge gold letters in weird +characters all across the front. Then before we have time to notice any +more we are in the hall looking at a great bowl of gold-fish, and in +another minute our host is bowing before us. He is wearing a very +magnificent embroidered coat of red silk with great wing-like sleeves; +the embroidery is a marvel, dragons in blue and gold, and fishes of +rainbow hues disport themselves<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> all over it. Under it is a short black +satin petticoat, rather like a kilt, and black boots with thick white +felt soles. The gentleman is tall and well made, a fine figure of a man, +and on his head is a little round black cap, from which escapes his +pigtail. He stands bowing before us and shaking hands with himself, +which, as a method of greeting, is perhaps better than our own way. He +takes us into a dark gloomy room full of cabinets of black lacquer +richly decorated with gold and mother-of-pearl. There are sombre carved +wood chairs set back against the wall. It is all very costly, but to us +it seems uncomfortable and funereal. The chief things that attract us +are rows of little red pieces of paper of odd lengths hanging over +strings from the ceiling, as if they were drying after a washing-day. +The Englishman explains that the Chinaman is very proud of these, for +they are all New Year's greetings from his friends, and the number of +them shows what a popular man he must be. As the Chinese New Year's Day +is on April the first, and that was only a week ago, these are all new; +but if we had arrived at any time of the year we should have seen them +just the same, for they are left hanging all the year round till the +next lot arrives.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 223px;"> +<img src="images/illus333.jpg" width="223" height="400" alt="A CHINESE GENTLEMAN." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A CHINESE GENTLEMAN.</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus334.jpg" width="450" height="511" alt="INTERIOR OF CHINESE HOUSE AT SINGAPORE." title="" /> +<span class="caption">INTERIOR OF CHINESE HOUSE AT SINGAPORE.</span> +</div> + +<p>On the whole we are not sorry to leave Penang; we have felt limp all the +time, worse even than we did in the Red Sea. The steamer we board this +time is the <i>Khyber</i> of the P. & O. Company. She belongs to the +Intermediate Line, which comes right out to Japan from England, taking +about six weeks on the way. For anyone who wants change and rest and no +worry that's a fine voyage, as the boats stop at many places. We shall +go on with her to Japan. As we are starting on the steamer we hear +various cracks and snaps from the boats near, where crackers are being +exploded. The captain happens to pass on the way to the bridge and +smiles as he hears them. "They're not firing salvos in our honour," he +says; "they think the ship is full of devils, and in case a few have +escaped and might land in their blameless boats, they're frightening +them back again before it is too late."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> It makes a great difference to +have a captain who takes an interest in his passengers and bothers to +tell them incidents as they happen, though to him they may be dull as +ditch water, as he has been through them all dozens of times already. +The next time we meet the captain it is growing dusk, and he points +ahead to what looks like a black rock looming up sheer from the sea. +"Curious thing that," he says meditatively; "it's an island, Pulo +Jarrak,—islands are all Pulo here,—and owing to the quantity of rain +which falls here the vegetation grows so thickly it makes the island +stand right out; even on a dark night you can see it ten to twenty miles +off. It looks quite black."</p> + +<p>We have only one stop on the way to Singapore, exactly midway between it +and Penang, at Port Swettenham.</p> + +<p>As we pass southward the Straits narrow and we can see the hills of +Sumatra on one side, and sometimes funny little villages built on piles +out over the water on the other. Pretty good sport to be able to drop a +fishing-line out of one's front door, isn't it?</p> + +<p>When the land gets very close on both sides we swing round suddenly, and +behold! we are at Singapore, which, like Penang, is an island, and +stands at the extreme south point of the long peninsula. It guards this +useful passage where all the traffic between China and Japan on the one +side comes to India on the other, just as Aden guards the Red Sea and +Gibraltar the Mediterranean. Great Britain manages somehow to pick up +all the lucky bits, and it is not by design either, it just happens that +way. I can tell how this one happened; it was because there chanced to +be a Man out here—a Man with a capital letter!</p> + +<p>We go ashore and get into rickshaws and start for the town, which is a +long three miles off. We shan't have time to do more than look round. +The road runs by the docks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> at Singapore, which are enormous and extend +all along the coast up to the town. On the way we pass men of all +nations. There are natives of India, companies of Sikhs, Madrassees like +Ramaswamy,—who is well on his way back to his master now,—Cingalese, +Tamils with frizzy heads, little Japanese ladies in rickshaws, plenty of +Chinese, and many Malays. The Malays are yellow rather than brown; they +have just that slight narrowing of the eyes which tells they are akin to +the Chinese, and they are, as a rule, well-made neat men, wearing loose +blue skirts, with orange or red sashes, and large hats; some of them +have short white jackets which are the universal top garments out here, +when there are any at all.</p> + +<p>The town itself is astonishingly well built; electric trams run +everywhere, and there are splendid public buildings. As we trot along in +our rickshaws we enter a large square. Do you see the name up there? +Raffles Square. Sir Stamford Raffles was the man who made Singapore. In +his time, the first part of the nineteenth century, Great Britain was +very anxious to give away everything she had in the East to the first +person who asked for it, as she did not want to fight about it, and +could not see what use it could be, for the idea of Imperialism and +Empire had not been developed. The Dutch asked largely and always got +what they asked for, whether they had a right to it or not; this enraged +Raffles, who happened to be out here, and so he looked around and +noticed that the island of Singapore was placed in a wonderful position +for trade, that it commanded the Straits, and that no one as yet had +made any claim on it. He settled down here and put up the British flag. +It was years before his country finally decided to acknowledge him and +not give his territory up to the Dutch, who immediately asked for it; +but in the end they did, and now here stands Singapore, a mighty city +with miles of docks, a colossal trade, and a teeming population. There +is a statue to Sir Stamford Raffles, as it is right there should be. The +Botanical Gardens are worth seeing, and we can get tiffin in one of the +palatial hotels, and then we must go back to the ship.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 426px;"> +<img src="images/illus337.jpg" width="426" height="600" alt="A VILLAGE BUILT ON PILES, SUMATRA. + +LITTLE BROWN BOYS PLAY ABOUT AND FISH." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A VILLAGE BUILT ON PILES, SUMATRA. + +LITTLE BROWN BOYS PLAY ABOUT AND FISH.</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span></p> + +<p>The scene in the bay as we depart is most lovely; ships of every nation +are at anchor there, and as we pass out slowly we see island after +island all covered with that rich green growth which is the result of +the constant rain and warmth. Blue and green and gold is the world, and +the little brown boys play about their water-built villages, tumbling in +and out of the water, and living in the warm sea as much as on land day +by day. Shoals of them come round us in their catamarans and dive for +money, catching the silver bit as it twinkles down through the water, +even though they make their spring from many yards off. As we get +farther out we feel the difference in temperature at once, for now we +are heading north, and the night is cold and rough—it is like passing +into another climate.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 277px;"> +<img src="images/illus339.jpg" width="277" height="400" alt="PIGTAILS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">PIGTAILS.</span> +</div> + +<p>These are wonderful seas, and dearly should I like some day to bring you +on a cruise in and about this group of great islands to the south, which +is like nothing else in the world! There is Borneo, that gigantic +island, twice as large as the British Isles, which belongs partly to the +British and partly to the Dutch. The story of Sir Stamford<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> Raffles is +outdone by the story of the Rajah of Sarawak, which shows that even in +our own times the blood of Drake and Cook runs in the veins of +Englishmen.</p> + +<p>Hong-Kong is another island and also belongs to the British; it was +given to them by treaty in 1841. As we sail in under the lee of the +island by the narrow entrance to the bay between it and the mainland, we +see what a splendid natural harbour this is. High above on the island +rises what is called the Peak, and up and up and up it, in rows and +terraces, are the houses of the people who live here. We can go up the +Peak by a tram-line if we have time. The city is called Victoria, and is +actually built on the rock or, rather, on terraces cut out of the face +of it, one above the other. It is strange to find this little British +colony isolated here on a bit of China, separated from the real China by +half a mile of sea. As the steamer comes to rest on the mainland side at +Kowloon Wharf we must take a ferry over to the city.</p> + +<p>Once we are there we find a well-built town with wide roads, tree lined +and very clean; there are many quite English-looking buildings of stone, +and in the shops a strange mixture of wares, European and Eastern. Some +of the shops are piled with the rich Eastern silk embroideries, ivory +and lacquer work, carvings and fans, silver and metal work, paintings +and furniture.</p> + +<p>We have time to run up to the top by the tramway, and higher and higher +as we go, houses still, houses all the way, and even at the very top +there are some houses where the governor and other important people live +in summer. It has been gloomy and cloudy all day, threatening rain, but +just as we reach the summit the sun comes out in yellow glory, dropping +to the West, and all the innumerable inlets and bays are turned to gold. +The land between stands up in capes and cliffs and headlands, rather dim +and misty, with the golden water flashing between.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span></p> + +<p>We are off once more and up the coast to Shanghai, the last Chinese port +we touch before going over to Japan.</p> + +<p>Next morning we come up on deck to find a wet, clammy fog—we might be +back in England again—how astonishing!</p> + +<p>Now and again appearing out of the folds of swathing mist we see little +islands and gaily painted fishing-boats, the owners of which seem bent +on committing suicide. The boats sometimes are junks, with the square +brown sails that we have by this time seen so often, or they are tiny +little boats; whichever it is, they seem as if they deliberately tried +to get under our bows, as you have seen village children run across in +front of motor-cars. Again and again we feel the steamer sheer off a +little to clear them, and sometimes she just succeeds in doing so. I +expect the captain's temper is being pretty severely tried up there on +the bridge. He stays there while the fog lasts, but when it clears a +little in the evening he comes down for a hasty dinner.</p> + +<p>Then we get at him and make fresh demands on his patience by questions. +He seems to have a stock left, for he laughs good-humouredly when I +speak of the native boats. "They <i>do</i> do it on purpose," he says; "they +think it's good joss, as they say,—good luck that is, just to cross our +bows. It means a never-ending look-out all along this coast, and nothing +cures them. All the same they're some use when one gets fogged here, for +you can generally tell where you are, to some extent, by the +fishing-boats; they run in different colours and patterns at places +along the coast, each part has its own special fashions in paint and +rig."</p> + +<p>He has hardly time to swallow his dinner before he is back on the +bridge. It's a ticklish bit of navigation here.</p> + +<p>We still thread our way close inshore through innumerable islands. One +of them stands up stiff and straight,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span> pointing like an obelisk to the +sky. It is called the Finger Rock. We notice, too, very frequently, the +white lighthouses, kept very clean. Then we go through a pass, two miles +wide, called "Steep Island Pass," and are into the mouth of the +Yangtsekiang River. Up this we go for a hundred miles before reaching +Woosung, the Gravesend of Shanghai, which is still twelve or thirteen +miles farther on. Then a turn and we are in sight of Shanghai with its +factories and chimneys and great sheds called "godowns" with galvanised +iron roofs. It is a disappointing place, but as we go farther on we see +a public promenade and some clean, well-built stone houses. The +Europeanised part of the city is, however, uninteresting, and we don't +care to go into the native part by ourselves, so our chief amusement is +watching the Chinese coolies loading and unloading the ship. Notice, +they never push things on trollies, as our men do; they always carry +everything slung on a bamboo. Even that great lump of iron, which must +be part of some machinery, there it is, surrounded by a shouting horde +of men, all slinging it up by their own little ropes, all giving a hand +to carry the great mass along.</p> + +<p>We have gathered very little of China in our short time at the ports, +but we shall be able to get a better idea of Japan. Our first idea of it +is when we stop at the island of Rokwren two days later and take on the +pilot who is going to run us through the far-famed Inland Sea. At the +same time two or three smart little Japanese doctors in European dress +come on board to inquire into the health of passengers and crew, and +give us a permit, for the Japs are most particular about not letting any +foreign germs be landed on their shores, and at every port doctors come +on board to make quite sure everyone is free from illness.</p> + +<p>The next thing we know about Japan is her coal, for 1500 tons of it are +brought on board, in little baskets,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span> handed from one to another of long +rows of men, women, and children, all working equally hard.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus343.jpg" width="450" height="459" alt="CHINESE PORTER." title="" /> +<span class="caption">CHINESE PORTER.</span> +</div> + +<p>The narrow strait that leads into the Inland Sea is only a quarter of a +mile wide, and after passing through it we steam along quietly amid the +most beautiful scenery we have passed since leaving England. Everywhere +are little islands, well cultivated, woody, and rocky. Rocks and hills +and capes break up the vistas, and every time we turn a corner we see +something better than before. The ship stops at Kobé, but, unluckily, +you have got a touch of the sun and the doctor strictly forbids you to +go on shore. Never mind, we'll soon be at Yokohama, which is far better.</p> + +<p>By that time you are quite yourself again, and when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> the captain calls +us up on deck you are eager to go. He points to a solid triangle of +rock, sticking up out of the sea not very far distant, and as we look at +it a flash of red flame spurts out into the air and something red-hot +rolls swiftly down the scored sides. What does it remind you of? It is +another Stromboli, of course!</p> + +<p>"That," says the captain solemnly, "is the safety-valve of Japan. If it +were blocked up there's no knowing what might happen." Then he swings +round and points in another direction. Clear against the soft blue of +the sky we see a sharp-pointed white cloud of a very curious shape, like +an opened fan upside down. It seems quite detached from everything else, +merely a curious snowy fan hanging in mid-air. "Why, it's Fujiyama, of +course."</p> + +<p>So it is! The famous Japanese mountain seen in thousands of the +country's drawings and paintings; in fact, it has come to be a sort of +national signboard. Now that we know where to look we see that the white +fan part is merely the snow-cap running in large streaks downward, and +that this rests upon a base as blue as the sky. Henceforward we shall +see Fujiyama at many hours of the day—never a wide-spreading view but +Fujiyama will be there, never a long road but Fujiyama at the end of it, +never a flat plain without it. So odd is the great mountain, and so much +character has it, that we feel inclined to nod good-night or +good-morning to it when it greets us.</p> + +<p>Then we enter the magnificent harbour of Yokohama with its hundreds of +sampans, junks, tugs, ships, steamers, and every other craft. The +smaller craft surround us clamorously, and looking down upon them we see +that in almost every case there is a cat on board the junks, many of +them tabby or tortoise-shell.</p> + +<p>"'Cat good joss,' as the Chinamen would say," remarks a man standing +near us, "specially three-coloured cats.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> They wouldn't give a fig for +our lucky black ones without a white hair."</p> + +<p>Hundreds of coolies are now clamouring for jobs all round. They are +almost all dressed in blue, and those that wear upper garments have huge +hieroglyphics of gay colours on their backs—these are the signs of +their trades, or trades unions, as we might say, and each man wears his +with pride.</p> + +<p>So, with a fleet of attendant boats, gaily-dressed coolies, and +complacent cats surrounding us, we come to our anchorage, say good-bye +to the captain with great regret, and make our plunge into this new +land.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus346.jpg" width="450" height="323" alt="GATEWAY, JAPAN." title="" /> +<span class="caption">GATEWAY, JAPAN.</span> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> + +<h3>THE LAND OF THE LITTLE PEOPLE</h3> + + +<p>We are standing in front of a mysterious gate which is yet not a gate. +You must have seen pictures of Japan many a time, and in some of them +there must have been one of these curious erections. Yet how can one +describe it? The Greek letter Π is most like it. Imagine a +giant Π with a second cross-bar below the top one. In Japan +this is called a Torii. The one in front of us, rising like a great +scaffolding far above our heads, is made of wood, but they are often of +stone or metal too. They are always to be found before the entrance to a +Shinto temple. There must have been some meaning in them once upon a +time, but it is lost now, and they remain decorative but useless.</p> + +<p>We have left our rickshaw and are climbing up a long, long flight of +steps to a Shinto temple not far from Tokyo,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> the capital town of Japan. +Very many of the Japs are Buddhists, but it is a strange sort of +Buddhism, not pure like that of the Burmans, and is mixed up with +another religion called Shinto, and many of the people are Shintoists +altogether. This religion is vague and mystical, with much worship of +spirits, especially the spirits of the elements—earth, air, fire, and +water. Everyone who is dead becomes in some degree an object of worship, +and the Jap thinks more of his parents and ancestors than his +children—his dead ancestors especially being much venerated.</p> + +<p>When we reach the top of the steps we find ourselves suddenly in a blaze +of loveliness. To the right, to the left, and all around are cherry +trees, covered thickly with blossom which hangs in wreaths and rosettes +and festoons as if moulded in snow. The time for the best of the blossom +is a little past, and the ground at our feet is as white as the trees, +indeed whiter; for just here and there the fairy display on the trees is +slightly browned. The scent is very sweet, and hangs in the air like +delicate perfume. In the time of blossom there are many outings and +festivities in Japan; people make up parties to go to the orchards, and +thoroughly enjoy their beauty. Come right underneath the trees and look +up, we can see the thick, heavily laden branches against the soft rich +blue of a cloudless sky, and in our ears is the hum of a myriad bees. It +is as if the freshness of early spring and the richness of full summer +were mingled together.</p> + +<p>As we wander on over the scented ground we notice, a little way off, a +rather pathetic-looking Japanese in the national costume, with a flat +board or book in his hand. He is looking at us earnestly, and follows on +at a respectful distance behind us.</p> + +<p>Next we come upon a quaint little garden on the lines of what we should +call a landscape garden in England,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> but it is all on a tiny scale, as +if made for dolls to walk in. There is a pond as big as a tea-tray, +walks the breadth of one's foot, wee trees, gnarled with age and twisted +and fully grown, but no higher than your knee. It is all so delicate and +dainty and tiny that we are afraid to walk in it for fear we should +spoil it; we feel thoroughly big and clumsy as Gulliver must have felt +among the Lilliputians, and we expect every minute to see the rightful +owners, wee men and women the size of a man's fingers, rushing out from +the little summer-house with the curved roof at the end, and crying +shrilly to us to go away!</p> + +<p>Treading carefully, a foot at a time, along the miniature paths, we pass +through this and go on toward the temple which now appears amid a grove +of deep dark pines. The steps are worn and hollowed, and on each side of +them is an astonishing red figure of a man-monster in a very ferocious +attitude, like that of the lions rampant seen on crests. These figures +are a dark hot red and are dotted all over with white dabs; as we draw +nearer to them we see that these dabs are doubled up bits of white paper +sticking irregularly here and there without any arrangement. We cannot +imagine what they are for, but as we stare we hear a foot crunch the +gravel gently, and the little Jap with the board creeps up and salaams +deeply, making at the same time a curious hissing noise as if he sucked +in his breath. He must be very nervous.</p> + +<p>"If the honourable sirs will allow this humble servant to explain," he +begins in fluent and perfect English.</p> + +<p>We are only too glad of his help, and not to be outdone in politeness we +simultaneously raise our hats to him. He then tells us that all these +paper pellets are prayers or wishes. People write down what they want on +them and then moisten them in their mouths and spit them out against the +images; if the paper sticks it shows the wish will be granted, if it +falls to the ground then fate is against<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span> it. It is not a very beautiful +custom, but perhaps not quite so bad as betel-nut chewing!</p> + +<p>Then the Jap coughs nervously, and with an overwhelming apology for +daring to presume so far, explains that we ought to remove our +"honourable shoes" before entering the temple. Of course we do it at +once, though English shoes are not meant to take off and on at every +turn, and while we struggle with our laces he knocks on the woodwork of +the temple, and the sliding doors slip back along grooves, showing a +very aged priest who smiles and beckons us in; so we pass on, feeling +all the while conscious of the mystery of a country so utterly unlike +our own. Inside, the floor is covered with thick mats, so we do not miss +our shoes, though we step cautiously at first. It is very dim, but +gradually our eyes grow accustomed to the want of light and we see +lacquered screens, and little recesses, and bronze lamps, and curious +images. Though it is spotlessly clean, very different from the Hindu +temple, there is a strong smell of incense or burnt flowers or something +rather odd. Our friendly Jap has gone down on his knees and is bowing +his forehead to the ground, but we are not expected to do that +evidently.</p> + +<p>Two weird figures in peaked caps, fastened under their chins by tapes, +have drifted out silently from somewhere and follow us as the priest +leads us round. There does not seem to be any one special shrine with a +central figure for us to see; perhaps there is one, but it is not shown +to foreigners. It is all vague and rather meaningless, and the carving +and decoration are unsatisfying. After a while, as there does not seem +to be anything more forthcoming, we drop a few coins into a bowl held +out to us and prepare to go. Just as we reach the door another strange +being in a peaked cap appears with tiny cups of clear amber-coloured tea +on a tray, and holds them out to us. The little cups have no handles, +and there is no milk in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> the tea, but on the tray are several rather +nice-looking little cakes, only, unfortunately, they are all the colours +of the rainbow—violet and green and scarlet. I utterly refuse to touch +them, but the English-speaking Jap assures me they are "nice," so you, +declaring that you are "jolly hungry," eat several and pronounce them +"jolly good." We sip the tea, which tastes utterly different from that +we have at home, and bowing all round again we put on our shoes and +descend the steps. I'm sure if I lived here long I should be quite fit +to take a position at court, my "honourable" manners would be so much +improved. There is nothing brusque or rough or rude about these people, +you couldn't imagine them scrambling or pushing to get in front of +others even at a big show.</p> + +<p>A voice behind us says timidly, "Will the honourable sirs be pleased to +employ this humble servant as interpreter?"</p> + +<p>We stop and look at him. It is not a bad idea. We have felt already this +morning, even in coming straight from our very Western hotel here, how +helpless we are in this land where the chair-men do not speak a word of +English, and where even the street names are in Chinese characters. This +little man is quite unassuming, he would certainly be no trouble and +might be very useful. When we stop he deprecatingly opens his flat book +and shows us drawings in freehand of scrolls and animals that he has +made. He explains that he tries to get a living by offering such designs +to the shops, but that he would like better to be interpreter to us, as +he wishes to perfect his English. The terms he asks are absurdly +moderate. Yes, we will have him.</p> + +<p>We engage him then and there, and he enters our service at once; there +is no need for delay, for he is apparently not encumbered with anything +beyond his drawing-book.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> He brightens up wonderfully when we say "yes." +Poor little chap, I expect he is half starved. In most countries it +would be rash indeed to engage a man at sight without any sort of +written "character," but there is a simplicity and honesty about this +one which gives us confidence in him. I am sure he would never cheat us +deliberately, anyway, I am quite ready to risk it.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus351.jpg" width="450" height="243" alt="RICKSHAW." title="" /> +<span class="caption">RICKSHAW.</span> +</div> + +<p>We tell him that what we want is to see something of Tokyo to-day, and +then to go off into the country and try to get a glimpse of the real +Japanese life, un-Europeanised, in some small village where we could +stay at a little country inn for a day or two. He enters into the scheme +at once and says that he will have the plans all ready to suggest to us +this evening. Meantime he takes command, and after seeing us into our +waiting rickshaws, calls up another for himself, gives the three men +directions, and off we go.</p> + +<p>As we run back to the town we notice the houses standing by themselves +in the suburbs, quite good, large houses, some of them, surrounded by +their own gardens, shut in by high walls so that only the sloping +red-tiled roofs, curved up at the end, are visible. Some of these are +two storeys high, but when we get into the town we see<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> at first only +rows and rows of one-storey houses. There are frequent earthquakes in +Japan, and to build many-storeyed blocks would mean frightful disaster +and loss of life. As it is, the people can rush quickly out of their +little homes into the streets at the first signs of a shaking.</p> + +<p>What do you notice about the streets that strikes you most particularly? +To me it is the colouring—blue. You remember that in Burma there was +practically no blue; the people wore red and pink and magenta and +orange, but they seemed one and all to avoid blue. I used to think it +was because they knew that blue would not suit their sallow, yellowish +complexions; but the Japanese are just as yellow, in fact more so, for +the Burmese yellow is a kind of coffee colour, and theirs real saffron, +and yet the Japs are very fond of blue. The coolies and work-men all +dress in it, with those astonishing signs on their backs that we noticed +first at Yokohama, and the shops have blue banners hanging out beside +them. These are for their names—they are signboards, in fact. Instead +of running across horizontally, as our writing does, the Japanese +writing—which is the same as the Chinese, though the spoken language is +different—runs vertically. A Jap does many things exactly the opposite +way from what we do. He begins to read a book from what we should +consider the end, backwards, and instead of going along, he goes up and +down a line; and the long thin strips, with those mysterious cabalistic +signs on them, are the shopkeepers' names and businesses. The shops are +all open to the street, without glass, in this quarter; they are just +what we should call stalls; most of them seem to be greengrocers' or +fruiterers'. And in the first there are always prominently in front huge +vegetables like gigantic radishes or elongated turnips; the people eat +them largely, though to a European both the flavour and the smell are +nasty. In the fish shops the funniest<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> things to be seen are great black +devil-fish, or octopuses, with their lumpy round bodies and black +tentacles stretching out on all sides. They are loathsome to look at, +but the Japs are not the only people who use them for food; in parts of +Italy the peasants eat them as a staple dish whenever they can catch +them.</p> + +<p>There are no pavements here, and the streets are very muddy after last +night's heavy rain, but it doesn't seem to matter a bit to the numerous +inhabitants. All those who can afford it go in rickshaws, which pass us +every minute, and the others wear clogs which lift them high out of the +dirt. These clogs are called <i>geta</i>, and they are the funniest footwear +to be found anywhere. You would find it more difficult to get about on +them than on roller-skates, but the Japs are so much used to them that +they trip along morning, noon, and night in them without being the least +tired. They are simply little stools of wood, one flat piece being +supported by two smaller ones at the toe and heel, and they are held on +by straps across the foot. Men, women, and children are thus raised +inches out of the mud, and patter about, ting-tang, ting-tang, all day +long. Some of the women have coarse white stockings made with a separate +stall for the big toe, on the model of a baby's glove, so that the geta +strap can go through.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 205px;"> +<img src="images/illus353.jpg" width="205" height="400" alt="GETA CLOGS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">GETA CLOGS.</span> +</div> + +<p>We have now got into the middle of the town where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span> the more populous +streets are. You ought to notice how the colours of the clothes differ +for the different ages of the people: the grandmothers and grandfathers +wear dark purples and sombre hues; the middle-aged people have soft +colouring, grey greens and palish shades; and the children are very gay, +in every imaginable colour and often all mixed together. The girls have +all a broad sash called an <i>obi</i>, humped up in a funny way behind their +bodies; in the children this becomes a great bow like the wings of a +butterfly. The people are small, and were it not for the clogs they +would look smaller still; their country is not little, for Japan is +larger than the United Kingdom, but the people are rarely tall, and they +are slenderly built, with small bones, so that being among them makes an +ordinary fair-sized Englishman feel clumsy and long-limbed. Now we are +in the main street of all. Here comes a tram filled with Japanese, all +smiling and chattering and looking happy; they take life with a smile. +The houses here are larger than those we have passed, and some are just +European buildings of stone, and the shop-windows are filled with glass, +and show as fine a display as in the best London shops. There are many +entirely for the sale of Western things, and others for the things of +the country—the beautiful embroideries and silks, and silver-work and +lacquer-work and carving, which you know so well by sight at home, for +it is sent over in large quantities now, and anyone can buy it in London +as cheaply as here.</p> + +<p>As we near our hotel we tell the interpreter, whose "honourable name" we +have learned is Yosoji,—everything belonging to other people is +"honourable" here,—that we would like to see the palace where the +Emperor lives; so he gives an order to the rickshaw man, and we set out +once more.</p> + +<p>On the way we see many open spaces and pass through<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span> a park, but when we +get to the palace we find that no one is allowed to go in, and we can +only drive round by the walls and moat. The Mikado, or Emperor, is +worshipped by most of his people; he is in the position of a god, and it +is no mere expression of speech to say that every schoolboy would be +proud and glad to die for him. There is no country in the world whose +people are more passionately devoted to their fatherland than the Japs. +The idea of prominent Japanese going about in foreign countries trying +to belittle their own, or undermine her power in the countries she has +won by the sword, is unthinkable.</p> + +<p>Later in the afternoon, coming out again from our hotel, we find Yosoji +waiting for us, and we tell him we want to walk about on foot to look at +some of the shops. He protests, and we can see he thinks us almost out +of our minds to suggest going on foot. He pleads earnestly that +rickshaws are very cheap. We have to explain that it is not the money we +are thinking of, but that we really prefer to go on foot. He doesn't +believe it—he can't, because no Japanese would prefer to go on foot +when he could ride. So we take no further notice of him and just walk +away, leaving him to follow humbly and despairingly. We have not taken +many steps when a whole flight of rickshaw men swoop across the road and +are on our heels, crying out, "Rickshaw, rickshaw, shaw, shaw, r'sha," +like our old friends the pests of Egypt. We pretend not to hear, and +walk on with what dignity we can, but they follow persistently, almost +trampling on our heels, and reiterating their cries all the time. They +can only imagine we must be deaf and blind. The crowd grows greater, the +street is getting blocked. We pass a Japanese policeman in a stiff and +badly made uniform, and are seized with sudden hope that he will send +the offenders flying, but he does nothing of the sort; he fumbles<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span> in +his pocket, brings out a little text-book Of English, and laboriously +reads out, "Please secure me a good rickshaw," and looks at us +triumphantly as if he had solved the difficulty!</p> + +<p>I have no moral courage; I don't know if you have more, anyway, let us +take two and then they can follow us if they like, and the others will +go away. Accordingly we give orders to Yosoji, who bows, only +half-satisfied, and interprets our orders. The plan works, the other men +slink off, and the two selected ones follow us limply at a foot's pace.</p> + +<p>What I am really making for is a little print shop I saw as we passed +along here this morning, with a number of Japanese drawings in the +window. They are so queer, so well done, and yet so conventional that +they have a charm of their own. Here it is! Look at that extraordinary +picture of the great fish breaking through a hole in the blocks of ice! +The ice <i>looks</i> cold, it is very well done, but the little bits of spray +loop up round the fish in a stiff frill of a regular pattern. Then there +is that one of the sea. It gives one a tremendous idea of a heavy +lowering storm with the great indigo waves curling over that doomed +boat, yet the edge of every wave has a sort of lace frill on it exactly +alike! I must have those to take home; they won't take up any room.</p> + +<p>As we enter the Jap lady who is selling the prints gives a long hiss. +She bows profoundly, and so do we. They won't know us when we get home!</p> + +<p>"But why did she hiss?" you ask Yosoji. He says it is a sign of respect. +Oh! I thought they were nervous! How funny! As long as they don't expect +me to do it back again—I can manage the bowing when there is no one +there but you to see, but if I tried to hiss I should break down in the +middle! I take out my purse to pay for the print. The money here is +confusing, because there are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> yen and sen. A yen is equal to two +shillings and a halfpenny, and a sen is only the hundredth part of a +yen, or about a farthing. In order to reckon the change the old lady +takes up a frame with beads strung across it on wires; I believe it's +called an abacus, and they use them in kindergarten schools to teach +children to count. She must be an ignorant old dame, and yet she looks +wholly respectable. I wonder what Yosoji thinks of it. When we look at +him he is quite demure and solemn and doesn't seem to notice anything +odd.</p> + +<p>Coming out of the shop we find the dearest trio of children gazing at +us. Of all the sights in Japan the children are the most fascinating. +They are so funnily dressed, like the odd little Jap dolls English +children buy. These three are clad very magnificently in kimonos of silk +crape, very soft, and brilliantly coloured, with huge coloured sashes. +Their little heads, with straight all-round fringes of black hair +sticking out like brushes, are deliciously comic. They regard us gravely +and without any fear or shyness.</p> + +<p>It is getting dark; suddenly someone lights a Chinese lantern across the +street, and almost as if it were a given signal another pops out and +another and another. Chinese lanterns with us are used for decoration, +and it is impossible to help feeling as if it were a festival when we +see them gleaming along the street among the coloured streamers.</p> + +<p>Altogether the lanterns, the gay dresses, the smiling faces, the funny +shops, the clear deep blue of a perfect evening sky seen overhead, make +a glorious picture. Shut your eyes and "think back" a moment. Think of +Oxford Street on a wet night when the shops are shut and the high +arc-lights shine down coldly on rigid lines and bleak grey walls!</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus358.jpg" width="450" height="258" alt="A JAP VILLAGE." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A JAP VILLAGE.</span> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> + +<h3>IN A JAPANESE INN</h3> + + +<p>If we received a slight shock when we saw the woman in the shop adding +up by the help of beads, what about the booking-clerk at the station? He +seems unable to give the simplest change without this sort of reckoning. +Comic, isn't it? Picture the clerks at Euston fumbling away at their +beads while an impatient throng elbowed one another before the +pigeon-hole!</p> + +<p>The station is quite small, merely a shed with a wooden roof set on +posts. We are going second-class and taking Yosoji with us, so that we +shall see some of the native life.</p> + +<p>The trains are corridor, with the seats lengthwise and across the ends. +Many of the Japs are sitting sideways on them with their feet tucked +under them,—they are not used to have them hanging down,—but one grand +gentleman, directly opposite to us, is quite European in his top<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span> hat +and long coat, and his feet are on the floor as to the manner born.</p> + +<p>We have not been long started before he begins to fidget and shuffle, +and presently he hauls up a wicker basket beside him, undoes it, and +fishes out a very nice dark purple kimono. His top hat goes into the +rack. His collar, tie, and stud disappear. His coat comes off and is +carefully folded on the seat. We watch the gradual unpeeling with an +absorbed interest, wondering how far it will go. Luckily there are no +ladies present! We can stare as much as we like without being rude, +because everyone else in the carriage has their eyes fixed with a +straight unwinking stare upon us. It is difficult to realise that we are +more entertaining to them than the gentleman who is disrobing himself +with ineffable dignity in public, is to us.</p> + +<p>He has now slipped on the kimono over his remaining garments, there is a +little twist, and a slight, a very slight struggle, and in some +miraculous way the rest of his European outfit glides off underneath the +kimono, neatly folded. It is like a conjuring trick! Last of all come +off the boots also, and with his stockinged feet tucked up under him he +sits transformed into the Complete Jap. Judging from the lack of +interest taken in the performance by his fellow-countrymen, it must be +quite a usual thing to undress in trains.</p> + +<p>Having finished his task the gentleman on the seat turns to us and asks +innumerable questions. Where have we come from? Where are we going to? +How do we like Japan? Is it not a very poor, mean country compared with +the glorious and august land we belong to? All this is interpreted by +Yosoji, who no doubt puts our answers into the flowery language Japanese +courtesy demands; for instance, when I say that I like Japan very much, +I am sure, from the breathless sentence<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span> that follows, that he is saying +that the strangers think the honourable country of Japan far more +beautiful and wonderful than their own poor land. The man opposite does +not for a moment think really that England is to be compared with Japan, +but in Japan people are taught to talk like that, and must often think +us very rude and abrupt.</p> + +<p>It is not a long journey, and after an hour or so of passing through +pretty, hilly country, with many bushy pine trees dotted about, we stop +at a station which Yosoji says is our destination. It is a good thing we +have Yosoji with us, for certainly we could never have discovered the +name of the station for ourselves. We see a long scroll covered with +Chinese characters, and other smaller scrolls ornamented in the same +way, these are, of course, the name of the station and the inscriptions +on various waiting-rooms, but they leave us none the wiser. I ask Yosoji +how any European travelling alone could discover where he had got to, +and he smilingly points out a board at the extreme end of the station +with some of our own lettering on it. No one could possibly see it from +the incoming train.</p> + +<p>We still feel absurdly big as we get out of the little train on its +little narrow gauge line and wait while Yosoji captures our luggage from +the van. It is packed in great baskets which fit into each other like +two lids; we see them in England often, but there they are rather looked +down upon, here they are quite the correct thing. Indeed, among all the +luggage in the van there is no trunk or wooden or tin box at all, only a +great pile of such baskets of all sizes, mingled with a few bundles +simply tied up. When our belongings are rescued and identified they are +stowed away in a rickshaw by themselves, while we three mount in three +others and set off for far the most interesting part of the journey. At +first the road is quite good,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span> and the men trot away contentedly, the +big hats bobbing up and down before us. What do these hats remind you +of? To me they are exactly like the lids of those galvanised dustbins +you see put out in streets for the dustmen at home.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus361.jpg" width="450" height="376" alt="PORTERS, JAPAN." title="" /> +<span class="caption">PORTERS, JAPAN.</span> +</div> + +<p>The air is brilliantly fresh and sweet; we pass along by pine trees of +many sorts, and between them see the fresh green of the feathery +bamboos; these two colours, the dark blue-green of the pines and the +brilliant yellow-green of the bamboo, are seen everywhere in Japan. Then +there are avenues of red-stemmed trees called cryptomeria, we should say +cedars, with dark heads spreading out at the top of their immense +branchless stems. We see squirrels leaping about and scuttering up the +trunks.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span> Then we go across open spaces, which are like an emerald sea, +for they are the brightest green you can imagine, the green of the +growing paddy, which is cultivated here as in Burma. There are men +dressed in garments of glorious blue, like those we saw in Egypt, hoeing +and watching the important crops. Then we plunge into cool woods and +follow little paths up and down, and when we want to get out and walk, +feeling lazy brutes to sit still and let a fellow-creature haul us +uphill, Yosoji says no, it would hurt the feelings of our men, who would +imagine we thought them poor weak things and scorned them.</p> + +<p>We twist down to a wooden bridge, dark maroon in colour, and built in +one single span across a raging, leaping stream that dashes and splashes +merrily far below. At the other end is one of the picturesque roofed +arches or gates that the Japanese are so fond of, with its rich red +tiles curved up at the corners. Not far on we catch a glimpse of a +waving sheet of blue, a mass of flowers growing wild on a hillside, and +in sight of it, but still in the shade of the trees, we sit down for +lunch and to give the coolies a rest.</p> + +<p>Several times during the run we have noticed shrines with images of +little foxes before them, some clean and new, but some weather-worn and +grown over with lichen. As Yosoji unpacks the lunch he tells us these +are Shinto shrines put up in honour of the god of rice. It seems very +appropriate to hear this now, just as we are going to fare merrily on +hard-boiled eggs, a tiny chicken, and plenty of rice, finishing up with +those astonishing bright-coloured cakes, which we have learnt to eat +without fear. We rest a long time, and all except you smoke contentedly, +watching the blue films curl upward under the still foliage; and then up +and on once more.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 426px;"> +<img src="images/illus363.jpg" width="426" height="600" alt="OUR DINNER IN A JAPANESE INN." title="" /> +<span class="caption">OUR DINNER IN A JAPANESE INN.</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span></p> + +<p>It is nearly five o'clock before we reach our destination, a little +village, with a rather famous inn, not very far from the sea. In fact, +as we approach we can see the blue water shining out only about a mile +away across a flat expanse broken by hummocky sandhills. The village is +one long straggling street of thatched huts, rather like huge beehives, +with broad eaves. Our rickshaw men, who have been showing signs of +exhaustion, make a gallant effort at the last, and run us up to the door +of the inn in fine style. The inn stands on legs raised a foot or two +from the ground, and is well built, with solid wooden posts and a tiled +roof. It is two storeys high and has verandahs round both floors.</p> + +<p>As our men let down the shafts of the chairs for us to alight, two women +and a man in native dress come out on to the verandah, and immediately +fall down on their faces before us, with their foreheads on the ground. +I don't know how you feel about it, but not having been born in the +purple this sort of thing is embarrassing to me, and I wish they +wouldn't! I have a vague idea that I ought to rise to the occasion by +taking their hands and saying, "Rise, friend, I also am mortal," or +something like that!</p> + +<p>Yosoji, of course, does all the talking, and with a great deal of bowing +and volumes of flowing language, arranges for us to stay here the night, +requesting us to pass on into the house. In the porch it is evidently +expected that we should take off our boots, so we do, and they are +stowed away in a little pigeon-hole, while we are offered instead large +and awkward pairs of slippers like those we had at the mosques. You +reject them, preferring stocking feet, and you have the best of me, for +the next move is to go up a very slippery ascent like a ladder that is +trying to grow into a staircase. While you hop along gaily I leave one +slipper behind on the last rung, and in trying to recover it slip and +bark my shin! However, when it is retrieved, I take off the other and, +carrying them both in my hand, mount quite easily.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus366.jpg" width="450" height="414" alt="FUJIYAMA." title="" /> +<span class="caption">FUJIYAMA.</span> +</div> + +<p>The room we go into is specklessly clean, and through the wide sliding +panels, which are open on to the verandah, we see a glimpse of the blue +sea. The floor is made of mattresses in wooden frames neatly fitted +together, and is quite soft and comfortable to the feet; boots with +heels would certainly be out of place here. In a little alcove on one +side is a miniature tree such as those you sometimes see offered for +sale in England now, and behind it a quite beautiful sketch of Fujiyama +on a scroll. There is no other furniture at all, but when our luggage is +brought up we can sit on the baskets. We explain to Yosoji that we would +greatly like—first, a hot bath, after the heat and dust of the journey, +and next some food. Presently in comes the little Japanese maid whom we +saw<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span> on her face at the door in company with her master and mistress. +She prostrates herself at once, and with her forehead against the floor +says something, indrawing her breath in a most accomplished hiss. Do you +think we ought to do it back again?</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 330px;"> +<img src="images/illus367.jpg" width="330" height="400" alt="IN COMES THE LITTLE MAID." title="" /> +<span class="caption">IN COMES THE LITTLE MAID.</span> +</div> + +<p>Yosoji interprets that with great good luck the hot water is ready, and +if we go down now we can have a bath. Our things have been brought up, +so selecting a few clean garments we go once more along the polished +passage and down that dangerous ladder, then through a room, presumably +the kitchen, which is quite full of people, on to a covered-in verandah +on one side of the house, where two large shining brass basins stand on +a sink, and an iron tub stands on the floor, with its own fire beneath +it like a copper; clouds of steam arise from it. But what catches our +attention most quickly is an amiable Japanese man, who, clad in a very +slight garment, has evidently just had a bath. We can see he has been +pouring the contents of the basins over himself, and letting the water +run away between the wooden slats of the floor, so we wait for them to +be refilled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span> for us. All the people who were in the kitchen have by this +time drifted in here, and stand in interested contemplation of our +proceedings. "Which is the bath?" I ask Yosoji. He motions toward the +tub of boiling water. "But that's too hot; we shall be boiled sitting on +the top of a fire," I explain. Thereupon a great commotion ensues, +embers are raked out, and there is much running about and chattering. +The Japs themselves take their baths at a temperature which would peel +the skin off our bodies. As the water is still too hot, even when the +fire has been removed, we wait for it to cool, and meantime I ask where +is the other bath, as there are two of us? This produces great +consternation in Yosoji; who ever heard of each person having a bath to +himself? The notion is absurd. He knows the ridiculous prejudice of the +English, who do not like to use the same water as the Japanese, but, as +it happens, this water is perfectly clean, for even the gentleman who +has just gone out did not use it. Is it possible we can't use it, one +after the other? I ask him what state the water gets into when half a +dozen people have been boiled in it, one after another, and he tells me +that it is in no state at all, for, of course, etiquette does not allow +them to use soap actually in the bath! Well, we must manage somehow; +when they clear out we can tip some of the hot water into that second +basin and use it afterwards. Meantime they all stand, gaily expectant, +smiling affably. I explain to Yosoji that we can't undress before the +crowd, and he seems to think my ideas most extraordinary. In Japan +people always bathe in a garment and have not the least objection to +doing it in full view of the street.</p> + +<p>With considerable difficulty our absurd scruples are made clear to the +assembled company, who reluctantly depart, defrauded of their fun, and +draw close the sliding screen.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then—yah—it <i>is</i> hot! We manage to tip out two good basins full and +fill up with cold water from a tin pail which stands near. Well, we both +find it very refreshing. You go first, and while I am revelling in the +hot water I hear a dismayed exclamation, "Oh, the towels!" and see you +holding up a tiny thing no bigger than a table-napkin, embroidered in a +wandering blue pattern. There are two for each, and though they are +little more than pocket-handkerchiefs we must make them do.</p> + +<p>When we get back to our rooms in a more or less steamy condition, we +find that the screens, which are made of paper framed in wood, have been +drawn, and outside them wooden shutters have been fastened. The room is +very close, and there isn't an inch open for ventilation. After a long +expostulation with Yosoji we are allowed to have the outer shutters open +an inch or two, though he explains they must be shut and bolted before +we go to bed at night or the police will be down upon us. There are two +loose, flowing Jap gowns lying ready for our use, and very delightful +they are. As they are quite clean we slip into them instead of coats and +laugh across at each other. In comes the little maid, once more +prostrating herself, then she goes out and returns with a lacquered tray +on tiny legs a few inches high. This she sets on the floor, and after a +considerable interval, during which she has brought up many tiny dishes +and bowls, she suddenly seats herself on one side of the tray and +motions to us to begin.</p> + +<p>We wriggle across the floor inelegantly and squat opposite to her. The +first thing we see are two steaming bowls of soup; we make short work of +these, drinking from the bowl, and find at the bottom some tough-looking +bits of something. Then we discover all at once there are no knives, +forks, or spoons, only chopsticks, like forks with one prong. We try to +fish out the bits of something,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span> but even when we have caught them the +result is not satisfactory; it is like eating leather. Next comes bowls +of rice, and if it was difficult before, it is doubly so now. I should +certainly never be able to pick up grains of rice with a chopstick while +that solemn little maid sits opposite; it would take a Cinquevalli to do +it! I make a desperate attempt and explode suddenly, the maid giggles, +you roar, and even Yosoji, who is somewhere in the background, begins +tittering. After this the ice is broken; we entreat Yosoji to get the +maid away without hurting her feelings, and when she has departed we +finish the rice with our fingers. There are various other things—beans +which can be skewered on the chopsticks, and funny little bits of stuff +like mixed pickles, but even when we have eaten everything we are as +hungry as when we began. Just as we are realising it our little friend +appears again with a decent-sized fish on a dish, decorated with onions, +and we quickly fall to, using a funny kind of bean-paste made up like a +cake, instead of bread. By the time we have finished we are rather fishy +but very much more satisfied.</p> + +<p>The meal taken away, our handmaiden slides back a panel in the more +substantial side of the room, which is of wood, and produces various +stuffed rugs which she spreads on the ground—these are called <i>futon</i>, +and are very like our useful friend the <i>rezai</i>; we have some of our own +to add to them, and altogether the beds look so comfortable that we are +quite ready to get into them at an early hour. Having lit a Chinese +lantern at one end of the room before the little picture recess, a +sacred place in every Japanese household, the maid retires for the +night, and so does Yosoji. Only then do we discover that for pillows +they have given us tiny wooden stools, not unlike the national clogs, +only slightly larger! These we are supposed to place in the crick of the +neck; having tried<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span> it you declare that if you slept at all that way you +would certainly dream you were lying on the block to be beheaded, so +instead you choose the lid of one of the baskets, which, being yielding, +makes not half a bad pillow.</p> + +<p>Good-night!</p> + +<p>After a profound sleep I am awakened by a flood of light, and sit up +with a start, to find myself in bed before an admiring crowd. The +sliding panels opening on to the verandah have been pushed back, and +there stand my landlord and landlady, and the little maid-servant, and +several other persons, bowing and prostrating themselves and asking +innumerable questions, to which, as there is no Yosoji, I can give no +answers. Everyone in Japan asks questions, I find; it is supposed to +show a polite interest in you. I feel rather awkward sitting up there +among my futon and making a series of little jerks meant to be bows, and +I am glad when you wake up too and help me a little. You are not so shy, +it seems, for you hop out of your rugs and dance to the verandah, +revelling in the light and sunshine.</p> + +<p>An hour later we have had a sluice down with cold water from the brass +basins, eaten a most unsatisfying and unsubstantial breakfast, much like +the dinner the night before, minus the fish, and are out to visit the +village schools, at the suggestion of Yosoji, before going on.</p> + +<p>They are worth visiting! I never saw anything quite so quaintly pretty +as these rows of little dolls in their brilliantly gay garments, tied up +with their big sashes. They are sitting on the floor and laboriously +making strokes with a paint-brush. That is to say, they are learning to +write. The Chinese writing is not an alphabet like ours, but each +complicated symbol stands for an idea, and there are thousands and +thousands of them. It takes a child seven years even to learn fairly +what will be necessary in after life.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span></p> + +<p>These little mites are not making complete signs, but just doing one +stroke again and again, all over a large sheet of paper, and when they +have learnt that they will go on to another, until one complete symbol +is mastered. The writing is done by brush-work instead of with a pen, +and is more like artistic painting than stiff writing. Suddenly the +teacher gives a signal, and the tiny tots rush out into the air, and +dance and play and run and twiddle each other round and round like +little kittens; they are so gay and so bright it is quite evident that +Japanese children are not ill-treated.</p> + +<p>It is with great reluctance we pick up our luggage, pay our very +moderate bill, and leave this dear little village. Whatever else fades +out of our minds as time goes on I am sure the picture of those gay +children will never be forgotten.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus373.jpg" width="450" height="342" alt="AN INDIAN RESERVATION." title="" /> +<span class="caption">AN INDIAN RESERVATION.</span> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> + +<h3>THOUSANDS OF SALMON</h3> + + +<p>We dawdled so long in the quaint and charming country of Japan that it +was full summer when we left. As the inverted fan of Fujiyama faded +gradually into nothingness against the illimitable spaces of the sky, we +said again and again <i>sayonara</i>, which is the musical Japanese word +meaning good-bye, for we felt we were taking leave of an old friend. +Japan is on the other side of the world from England; shall we ever get +there again?</p> + +<p>Then came the voyage across the Pacific and the landing at Victoria, the +chief town on the great island of Vancouver, which lies off the west +coast of Canada. It is always a little confusing to people who have not +visited<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span> this part, because there are two Vancouvers: one the great +island which blocks the western coast of Canada, and the other the town +lying on the eastern side of the narrow straits, on the mainland.</p> + +<p>Well, here we are in Victoria, and the astonishing homeliness of it +gives us both a warm feeling of delight. It seems as if we really had +got almost in touch with our own country again. As we wandered through +the town to-day we saw in the outskirts red-brick creeper-covered houses +that might have been in an English market town. In spite of all its +trams and docks and general go-aheadness Victoria is old world. We +visited a place called Esquimault, by tram-car, and saw there British +ships of war and many other kinds of craft. Now we are back in the +hotel, and in our cosy bedroom there is little to remind us we have +still a continent and ocean between us and our beloved little island.</p> + +<p>What are you doing? Putting your boots out to be cleaned? Well, that is +one thing you won't get done here, it is not the custom; you will have +to go down to the basement and have them cleaned on your feet, and tip +the man who does them then and there. I'll come too, because we have to +make a very early start to-morrow. I wish we hadn't, for some things. +There is capital shooting and fishing here, though a great deal of the +island, which, by the way, is more than twice the size of Wales, is +covered with impenetrable forests. It is difficult to get about at all +in the interior, but we could have gone around by the coast and explored +the inlets, and with luck we might have seen something of the moose and +the bear, to say nothing of wild fowl and salmon and trout, but we can't +manage it this time. A friend of mine, who is in charge of a +salmon-cannery on the coast of British Columbia, is going to put us up +for a day or two, and he has arranged that we shall cross over on the +cannery steamer, the <i>Transfer</i>, which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span> leaves so early that we'll have +to be up at half-past four in the morning.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Ugh, I'm sleepy! But I see the sun is already up and shining in a +cloudless sky. It is a trifle cold when we get out at first in the +morning, but as we walk briskly down to the steamer we feel warmed up. +The wharf shows a busy scene; there are numbers of blue-clad Chinamen +rushing backwards and forwards loading boxes on to our little steamer, +which floats by the wharf, and what a comic steamer she is! She is like +nothing so much as a great fan-tail pigeon sitting on the water! That is +because her immense paddle-wheel is tucked away at the back. There is a +very good reason for this too! The steamer gives an agonised scream from +her siren, the Chinamen on board chatter and gesticulate frantically to +their comrades left behind, there is a terrific commotion, and for the +moment no one could help believing that something has gone wrong; but +no, this is only the way the Celestials say good-bye, for when we are +fairly off all the noise stops and a great calm falls on board.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 190px;"> +<img src="images/illus375.jpg" width="190" height="400" alt=""ONE PIECY EAT BREAKFAST."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"ONE PIECY EAT BREAKFAST."</span> +</div> + +<p>The view from the deck is glorious; in this brilliant light we can see +the mountains rearing up behind the town. While we are admiring them a +voice says, "One piecy eat breakfast, Master," and turning we see a +Chinaman in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span> spotless white bowing before us. We gladly accept and go +below, where we find other Chinamen gliding about in felt slippers +serving hot baked buckwheat cakes and maple syrup; the cakes are +beautifully flaky and about the size of a saucer; we soon dispose of +them and some decent coffee too, and return to the deck quickly not to +miss anything.</p> + +<p>It seems no time before we are gliding along close to the land on the +other side, startling myriads of water-fowl, who fly up in front of us +in an endless cloud, or dive just as we get near enough to see them +well. Then a tall white lighthouse heaves into sight and we round a +corner into that famous salmon river, the Fraser. There are red houses +peeping out between the trees, and boats begin to pop up here and there, +but we don't seem to be getting on very fast, for we are zigzagging this +way and that across the water, almost more crookedly than we did on the +Nile or Irrawaddy to avoid sandbanks.</p> + +<p>"See the nets?" asks one of the ship's officers, coming to a halt beside +us and pointing to a line of corks on the surface of the water; "we've +got to keep clear of them, and that's no job for a sleepy-head, I can +tell you." He goes on to explain that the nets are sixty feet long and +weighted with lead on the low side in the usual fashion. At this time of +year the salmon are all trying to get up the river. Salmon have queer +ways. They are born far up, in the head waters of the Fraser, or any +other great river, and come down as quite little fellows to the sea, +where they live a free bachelor life, enjoying themselves in the open +for three years; but at the end of that time an irresistible desire to +return to the fresh water seizes them, and in thousands and thousands +they press up the wide mouth of the river, tumbling over each other in +their eagerness to get there; this is the time they are caught. The nets +are made with wide meshes, and the fish in their struggle to get<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span> +forward run their blunt heads through, but when they try to withdraw +them they are held by the gills and remain fixed until they are hauled +out to meet their fate. But from six in the morning on Saturdays till +six in the evening on Sundays the law forbids netting, so a certain +number always escape and get up the river to lay their eggs, after which +they return to the sea and leave their families to hatch out; but their +life-work is finished, and they either die on the way or soon +afterwards. All this the officer tells us as we meander across the +smooth water.</p> + +<p>We stop once or twice where the flag calls, just as we did on the +Irrawaddy, to take up or put down some freight, and then we sight Lulu +Island, where we are to stay as the guests of Mr. Clay for a day or two. +Hullo! there he is! That tall fellow in a flannel shirt and blue +trousers. Oh no, it isn't—it's another Englishman; but among the +multitude of Chinese one Englishman looks very like another! This man +greets us as we get off at the pier, and says that Mr. Clay is expecting +us, and he pilots us into a great shed at the end of the pier. My word, +what a sight! There are thousands and thousands of salmon lying on every +square foot of floor, and not only covering it, but covering it +knee-deep, as they are piled one on the other. There are Chinamen wading +about among them, and every minute fresh boats arrive at the wharf with +their cargoes, and the men in them throw up the fish to the other men on +the wharf. The salmon we see here, our new acquaintance tells us, are +called "sock-eye," and weigh about ten pounds each. The great rush comes +every fourth year, one of which was 1913, when about thirteen million +fish were caught in the season. The men in the boats are Japs; we feel +quite friendly toward them. Mixed with them are some others with rather +Eastern faces too, but quite different from anything we have seen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span> yet. +Notice their greasy straight hair, their flat, broad, good-humoured +faces and little stocky figures; what race do you think they are? +Esquimaux? That is not a bad shot; they are very like the pictures one +sees of Esquimaux, but these fellows are Siwash Indians, who live along +the coast hereabouts. Here is Mr. Clay, who has been watching the +reckoning of the caught fish. He is dressed exactly like the man who met +us, and a useful working dress it is too. He greets us with the greatest +hospitality and says he'll take us right up to his house for breakfast +first, as we must be starved, and we can see all we want to afterwards. +When we are clear of the sheds we see a long, low, wooden building +standing by itself; to reach it we have to pass over several wooden +platforms raised on legs. These, Mr. Clay explains, are necessary, +because in winter the whole island is pretty well under water. As we +cross the verandah we are warmly welcomed by Mrs. Clay, and taken into a +charming wooden room in the middle of the house, on to which all the +other rooms open. Here is laid out a splendid home breakfast of bacon +and eggs and porridge, and after a wash it doesn't take us very long to +fall to! How long is it since we had bacon and eggs for breakfast? It +seems to me to be so far back I can't remember! We are both rather thin +after living on Jap diet so long, and are quite ready to wind up with +more buckwheat cakes when we have finished the other things. All the +servants are Chinamen you notice, and very well they wait too.</p> + +<p>While we eat, Mr. Clay tells us much about his kingdom. He and his wife +have another house which is in New Westminster, not far off up the +river, and they go there for the winter, only staying here in the summer +when the work is in full swing. He is the manager of only one cannery +here, and there are several others all working amicably together.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus379.jpg" width="450" height="432" alt="A SIWASH INDIAN." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A SIWASH INDIAN.</span> +</div> + +<p>Then we stroll out, feeling blissfully satisfied, a condition we have +long been strangers to, and as we smoke Mr. Clay points out the other +houses round. There is the house for the white men who assist him, the +houses for the Japs, and the Chinese house. At the back of his own +premises are sheds where he keeps a couple of horses and some cows for +his own use. Then there is the Stores, a big building full of tinned +meats, sacks of rice, tobacco and tea, and all sorts of underclothing, +as well as the other little things men are likely to want.</p> + +<p>Afterwards we stroll through the Chinamen's house. It is a queer-looking +place, with bunks ranged along the walls and a huge wooden table down +the middle, where just now numbers of complacent Chinamen are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span> sitting +down to a midday meal of rice with cooked fish. As we pass along we see +that each man keeps his little treasures beside his bunk, for, though so +impassive, the Chinaman is a home-loving creature; there are little +images of carved ivory and other small treasures. Do you see that white +rat with pink eyes restlessly doing sentry-go in his cage?</p> + +<p>Behind the house, and some distance off, is the Indian village, where we +see great barn-like buildings; here the Siwash Indians live, and several +of their flat-faced, broad-nosed children are tumbling about and +playing; as we come up one sturdy youngster raises a heavy stick and +flings it with all his force at a wretched little seal tied up by a +flapper. Mr. Clay goes quickly forward and catches hold of the little +Indian boy, and the women all rush out and talk at a tremendous rate; it +ends in the manager giving a trifle for the seal and making a signal to +his men, who take up the poor little beast and carry it off to put an +end to it mercifully. He does not put it back in the water, because +seals do much mischief in breaking the nets. The Indian children don't +mean to be cruel, but they have no imagination.</p> + +<p>Then we go on a voyage of inspection all round the place. We saw the +fish when they were first landed from the nets, and the next proceeding +is when they are slit open by the Indian women, who cut off their heads +and tails and throw them into vats of salt and water. After this they +are fished out and chopped into round pieces to fit the tins. This is +done by Chinamen, who get so clever at it that they can judge exactly +how much to put into each tin to make just one pound weight; the tins +are weighed as they pass on, and all those not right are sent back to be +done again. The tins which pass the test roll down an inclined shute. +Look at them, one after the other, exactly as if they were alive! As +they run they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span> roll in soldering stuff, so that their lids are sealed on +the way. But they have many other processes to go through before they +can be shipped off. Immense care is taken to get all the air out of the +tin, because if any were left in the fish would go bad. They are tried +and tested time after time at every stage. The salmon is cooked when +already in the tin, and the heating is so severe that all the bone +becomes soft too. You know this well in tinned salmon, don't you? You +know, too, the look of the tins, with their gaudy-coloured labels, as +they are sold in shops in England? These labels are stuck on after they +leave the cannery, which deals with the insides, not the outsides, of +the tins. There is a sarcastic saying at the canneries, "Eat what you +can and can what you cannot," but this is not fair, for the very +greatest trouble is taken to ensure the fish being quite good. When all +is ready, sailing ships come and are loaded up and carry off the +season's catch to all parts of the world. And this is going on all along +the coast at many and many a cannery, day after day, week after week, +during the fishing season.</p> + +<p>There is so much to see that when we leave the last shed the day is +almost gone. At that moment two Chinamen pass us carrying a pig +suspended from a pole by its four feet tied together. The poor little +beast is going to be killed, for the Chinese are very fond of pork.</p> + +<p>When we sit on the verandah after dinner, trying vainly to keep off the +mosquitoes by smoking strong tobacco, we are joined by one of the +assistant managers, a man named Jones, who has fiery red hair and, I +should judge, a peppery temper. He is very angry about something, and +several times Mr. Clay tries to argue with him and calm him down; it +seems that he has had a row with a Chinaman. This morning he spoke +sharply to the man, who went stolidly on with his work without seeming +to notice it, but later on, meeting Mr. Jones outside, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span> Chinaman +drew the knife which they all carry in their belts, and muttered +something threatening to his superior. This evening Mr. Jones keeps +saying again and again in an excited way, "Leave him to me, I'll settle +his hash," and Mr. Clay repeatedly tells him that he can report the man, +who can be fined, but that it would be rash to tackle anything of that +sort single-handed, as the Chinamen all stand together and are like an +enraged swarm of hornets if any one of their number is touched.</p> + +<p>However, next day we hear nothing more and spend a lazy morning +wandering about a little and sitting on the verandah until Mr. Clay +turns up about midday and says, "Come and see all the men leaving work +for dinner; you missed that yesterday, and it is quite a sight."</p> + +<p>So we go across with him to the big shed. Just as we reach it we hear a +furious noise like the buzz of hornets, and coming quickly round a +corner we run into an angry and excited crowd of Chinamen rushing this +way and that, and stabbing at random in the air with their knives.</p> + +<p>"That fool!" ejaculates Clay. "He's done something!" and before we +realise what he intends to do, he is right in among the mob of Chinamen, +knives and all, without a sign of fear. You and I are too much +interested to go away, but we keep well on the outskirts of the crowd. +The roar redoubles as Clay is seen, but after a while it dies away a +little, and then a small party emerge from among the rest, carrying one +of their number, unconscious, between them, and as they pass on down to +the house where they live, the others hurry after them, still chattering +and brandishing their knives.</p> + +<p>Clay is much upset. "That fool!" he says again, and there is a deep fold +of anxiety on his forehead. "This morning he took down with him to the +sheds a piece of lead-piping, and stood by the door there, and as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span> the +men came out one by one, he marked the one who threatened him yesterday +and dropped him with a stunning blow on the back of the neck. I don't +think he's killed the fellow. Luckily it takes a lot to kill a Chinaman, +but we'll have no end of a shindy over this; they'll lose days of work, +and the worst is, Jones has disappeared—no one knows where he is."</p> + +<p>All the afternoon the place is in a blaze of excitement, and, as Mr. +Clay foresaw, no work is done. Every now and then we can see, from where +we are sitting on the verandah, a band of Chinamen burst out of their +house flourishing knives and shouting and rushing about and then +quieting down and slinking back. If Jones shows himself now his life +won't be worth an instant's purchase! I try to get out of Clay what he +means to do, but he won't tell me, yet I am sure, from something he let +fall, that he has discovered the whereabouts of his junior, and I should +not be surprised if the man was in this house.</p> + +<p>When we turn in at last to our beds nothing more has happened, and Jones +has not appeared. I have been asleep for a little while when I hear a +subdued whispering on the verandah outside my window, and jumping up I +put my head out. There stands Clay in his pyjamas with a man I recognise +as the night-watchman, a European. Clay sees me and waves his hand, and +as the watchman disappears he comes over to me. "Strang has just been up +to tell me that the Chinamen have carried the poor beggar out of the +house and laid him on the bank of the river," he says in a low voice; +"that means to say they think he's dying, and they wouldn't have him in +their house, or his spirit would settle down there. That's a good job +for us, or by the morning he'll be spirited away! There's the little tug +ready, and it will soon run him up to New Westminster hospital. I'm just +going down to see the poor chap aboard."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What about Jones? Aren't you going to send him off too?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"No fear! He'll have to swallow his gruel. We can't spare him. Where +would I get another man from at this time of the season? Besides, that +would look as if he were afraid of them. We've lost hours of precious +time with his foolery already," he adds savagely, and I can guess the +headstrong Jones has "caught it" from his chief!</p> + +<p>Next morning still no Jones, and all seems as usual; work is resumed, +the Chinamen ask no questions as to their wounded comrade, and peace +reigns. About eleven o'clock Clay comes up from the works hurriedly and +gives a whistle, and from one of the bedroom doors emerges Jones, +looking rather like a schoolboy who has been in disgrace and means to +carry it off with swagger.</p> + +<p>When we get out on the verandah we find the rest of the white men +belonging to the place all gathered together with revolvers in their +hands, and with one consent they move off toward the big shed. For the +life of me I can't keep out of it, and it would be rather hard to stop +your going. I wouldn't miss seeing Jones reintroduced to his friends the +Chinamen for anything. Come on, but let us keep behind where we shan't +be noticed, or Mr. Clay would send us back at once.</p> + +<p>There is a busy hum surging out of the factory as we approach, and the +noise of it rings out on the still air; then, as the white men appear in +a little knot in the doorway, there is a dead pause, a silence so sudden +and dramatic that it seems as if one's heart must stop beating. The +half-dozen white men stroll up the gangway carelessly, but you note they +all keep together, until Jones, who doubtless has got his orders, +separates himself from the others and walks briskly ahead. His face is +very white as he bends over a Chinaman and glances at his work<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span> in as +natural a manner as he can command, then he looks sharply at another and +tells him to go ahead and not waste time. Hands grow busy, the noise +recommences, and in a few minutes the buzz rises again to concert pitch. +The critical moment has been safely passed. We follow the others into +the building and walk the whole length of it and back, and by the time +we get to the doorway again no one could tell that anything unusual had +happened.</p> + +<p>However, I shouldn't care to be Mr. Jones on Lulu Island, and if I were +he I should apply for a job elsewhere at the end of the season!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 408px;"> +<img src="images/illus386.jpg" width="408" height="600" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<h2>CHAPTER XXX</h2> + +<h3>THE GREAT DIVIDE</h3> + + +<p>We are now in the train running toward the great ridge of mountains +which rises like a backbone through the country from north to south, +cutting off the territory of British Columbia from Alberta, though both +are provinces of Canada. The Rockies! What ideas of grizzly bears and +Indians and scalps and trails the name brings up before me! I don't +suppose you have anything like the same feeling about them, because you +weren't brought up on Fenimore Cooper and Ballantyne and all those other +writers who are old-fashioned nowadays. Perhaps you have never even read +<i>The Wild Man of the West</i>, or <i>Nick o' the Woods</i>? It makes me sorry +for you!</p> + +<p>The Clays were good to the last; they brought us up on the little launch +by river to New Westminster, and then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span> we went by electric cable-car to +the mighty town of Vancouver on the Pacific Coast. What a town! Wide +streets, huge buildings, tram-cars, and much bustle and life. But what +struck us most was the splendid playground of Stanley Park which covers +all the ground at the end of the peninsula stretching out into the sea. +This is not an Englishman's idea of a park at all, for we think of the +rather stiff green expanses, with a few trees scattered here and there, +that we are used to at home. Stanley Park is just a bit of primeval +forest with roads running through it. There are immense trees rearing +their crowns on stems twelve feet in diameter. There are thickets and +wild creatures and rich undergrowth. The inhabitants of Vancouver are +lucky indeed, and they have another park on the other side of the town +too. Stanley Park overlooks the harbour, where lie ships of all nations, +from the liners of China and Japan to the tiny tugs of the Cannery +Companies. The amount of trade coming here is immense. The ships carry +cargoes of tea, rice, and silk and oranges, with skins from Siberia, and +take away grain, timber, fish, machinery, cattle, and manufactured +goods. There are some sailing ships, you still see them in this part of +the world, and these are loading masses of timber baulks from the great +pine woods inland. Lumbering and logging are the two great occupations +of the Western Canadian winter, and what you see here is the fruit of +that work. Terribly hard work it is too. Swinging an axe all day among +the great giants of the forest requires knack as well as strength, and +when a man first starts that game he quickly finds he is as weak as a +baby till his muscles get hardened to it. When cut down the trunks are +dragged to any stream, or creek, as they call them here, to be drifted +down to the coast. It is a wonderful sight to see a river about half a +mile wide literally covered with tree trunks wedged against<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span> one another +from bank to bank. When the logs get jammed, and have to be released, it +requires a great deal of courage to go right into the middle of the +stream and find the key-log, the one which holds the whole together, +like the keystone of an arch; most exciting work this is, many a man +loses his life or his limbs over it. In Burma, where the teak companies +run their business on the same lines, elephants are taught to do this; +they feel around with their trunks and draw out the right log, and then +make for the banks at full speed, to get out of the way before the whole +mass of tons' weight breaks loose and comes down upon them. But here +there are no elephants; dogs are the beasts of burden, and fine work +they do in teams, drawing laden sleighs over the frozen snow,—but dogs +can't pull out timber when it is jammed. A lumber man has to be a bit of +an engineer too, and learn how to dam up the stream to make enough water +to float his logs; he is a jack of many trades, and generally a fine +fellow too.</p> + +<p>If we had come straight on from Victoria in the Empress steamer from +Japan we should have landed at Vancouver. The Empress Line belongs to +the Canadian Pacific Railway Company, which has its terminus there. This +is one of the most miraculous railways in the world. We are on it now. +When first it ran out to the Western end, after surmounting +indescribable difficulties in crossing the mountain country, it stopped +at that little place we passed through when we came to Vancouver from +New Westminster. You remember we saw a deserted town, solitary and +silent, on the inner curve of the bay? It is called Port Moody, and the +name suits it to a T. It has a right to be moody, for when it was known +the railway was going to end here the town sprang up in a week or two, +in the way Canadian towns do; but the very first winter was so terribly +severe that ice was driven up into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span> the bay and blocked it completely, +preventing vessels from getting to the terminus at all, and so the +directors saw they must carry their line on farther round the bay to the +northern point, and here Vancouver arose; but the irony of it was that +no such winter has ever been known again! It only came that once, just +to blot out Port Moody's chances. So the place lies mouldering away, +with the lumber houses falling to pieces and the wharves rotting, and +only a few wooden crosses and headstones on the hill to mark the graves +of those who stayed behind when the others went.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 230px;"> +<img src="images/illus389.jpg" width="230" height="400" alt="NEGRO ATTENDANT." title="" /> +<span class="caption">NEGRO ATTENDANT.</span> +</div> + +<p>This is a very fine train, the cars are open all the way down, so we can +walk from end to end, the seats face in the direction we are going, and +the backs can be swung over to the other side in the same way as on a +tram-car. I know you have already noticed the very spruce negro +attendants, because I saw you staring at the first one who appeared with +all your eyes! There is an observation car with huge plate-glass windows +at the end of the train, and we will go there to-morrow when we get into +the mountains. I saw that there was a placard saying the negro attendant +will answer <i>all</i> questions! I hope he gets a very high salary!</p> + +<p>It was eight o'clock at night before we left Vancouver, and as there is +a capital dining-car on the train, we had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span> better get dinner at once. +But the fun begins when we go to bed. I send you along first and say +I'll turn in after a last smoke, but I have hardly settled down to an +interesting conversation with a man in the smoking-car before I see you +standing beside me looking very troubled. Well, what is it? In a low +whisper you say—</p> + +<p>"I can't go to bed there; there's a lady in the same car."</p> + +<p>"Never mind! She has her own bunk, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but——" a long pause—"she drops her hairpins on to me!"</p> + +<p>My laugh makes the man beside us very inquisitive. Never mind, old man! +Pick them up and return them to her in a neat little packet to-morrow, +but whatever you do don't go to sleep with your mouth open!</p> + +<p>It certainly is funny. When I join you I find that the lady is in the +upper bunk above that which you and I are going to occupy together. The +curtains hang straight down and it is a very tight fit indeed to wriggle +into my place without pulling open the top part, and a still more +difficult job to get out of my clothes lying in a space like a ship's +berth.</p> + +<p>In the morning I take care to get up early and rouse you, and as we +vanish out of the compartment we hear a little giggle, and looking back +I see a long lock of brown hair hanging down over the edge of an upper +bunk. I hope you gave her back her hairpins!</p> + +<p>We are surprised that the train is standing still, and want to find out +why. We saunter along to the observation car and breathe the glorious +freshness of the air, chilled by the great white peaks which rise +shining up against a clear sky. Seeing that several of the men +passengers have climbed down on to the track and are wandering along it +we follow, and round the next corner come upon a cattle-train off the +lines and blocking the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span> way. She was just turning on to a siding to wait +for our coming when the disaster occurred, and now she lies helpless, +with twenty cars filled with cattle who are lowing in a disconsolate +questioning way. Just look at the poor beasts, they are packed tighter +than ever we see them in England, simply jammed up against each other +like sardines in a tin. One of them has fallen, and the others bulging +out over the space thus made are trampling on him. A fine-looking +fellow, six feet high, in a blue shirt and cowboy hat, with a red +handkerchief twisted round his throat, comes along with a pole, and +skewering it under the fallen ox very cleverly levers it on to its feet +again, holding it up until it forces its way upward itself. He jabs at +it once or twice to make it move, but not unkindly. He looks a rough +specimen and has a two days' growth of beard, but we go up to him, as I +want to ask questions about the cattle. To our astonishment the moment +he speaks we know him for an educated Englishman. "Oh, they're not badly +looked after," he says; "they've all been out at Kamloops for twelve +hours to get rest and food and water. They were only put on the cars an +hour since."</p> + +<p>Looking at him keenly I find something very familiar in his face. "Are +you a Winchester man?" I ask.</p> + +<p>"By Jove!" he says, "Mitton!" and simultaneously I cry "Wharton!" and +our hands are locked.</p> + +<p>"Got a rough job?" I ask.</p> + +<p>He laughs. "It's all in the day's work," he says. "I've done worse +things. It's a man's job, anyhow."</p> + +<p>"Are you going to live out here permanently?"</p> + +<p>"No; not good enough. I've been knocking about now two years, and unless +you've got capital you can't make a start; a man can always keep +himself, of course, and you see something of life too, but for a +permanency, no, it's not good enough! I wrote to my people only<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span> last +week I'd be turning up next fall to settle down again."</p> + +<p>He has to go to help the men who are raising the wheels of the truck on +to the line again with jacks. It has been a queer accident altogether. +The train was running down in the early hours of this morning when a +huge boulder, which had been loosened by the vibration of its passing, +fell with terrific force against this particular car, and knocked it off +the rails; the coupling-pin connecting it with the next one in front +broke, and the engine and first few trucks ran on a little. Luckily the +derailed truck ploughed the ground and stopped within a foot or two of +the awful gulf yawning below, though those following, which had kept on +the track, gave it a shunt forward.</p> + +<p>It is not long before all is shipshape again, and we draw slowly past, +waving to Wharton, who stands up in his caboose, or van, a handsome, +healthy figure of a man. He was one of the best short-slips Winchester +ever had. For some time after this we pass waiting trains at every +siding, for all the traffic has been held up by the accident.</p> + +<p>For the rest of that day it is difficult to spare thoughts for anything +but the scenery. It is grander than anything I have ever seen in my +life. Very few people in England realise that there is not one but three +ranges of mountains to be crossed from the coast. We are through the +first now and into the Selkirks, and we have to climb right up these and +down again before starting on the heights of the Rockies, which is the +only range most people know by name. The peaks, which rise majestically +round, are often tree-clad far up; we see huge pines, centuries old, +towering out of a tangle of undergrowth that has probably never been +trodden by any human foot, not even those of the Indians. There is a +great deal of dead wood to be seen, and this hangs out in banners of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span> +brown among the sombre green, and here and there are long strips of +brilliant emerald, which stand out like streaks. We apply to the +long-suffering attendant, who tells us that they are the new growth on +some great gash, cut possibly by a fall or landslide in the winter, and +as we go along he shows us some of these bare patches, yet unhealed, +torn by an avalanche of stones and mud and snow.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus393.jpg" width="450" height="489" alt="INDIANS IN MODERN CLOTHES." title="" /> +<span class="caption">INDIANS IN MODERN CLOTHES.</span> +</div> + +<p>We pass on long trestle bridges over foaming torrents far below, and it +makes us shudder to think what would happen if the train went over. That +man in the smoking-car last night told me a story of what happened to +himself on this line, some twenty years ago, when he was crossing over +the barrier. The train he was in was trying to get up a tremendously +steep incline on a dark and stormy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span> night. The worst of these inclines +are not used now, for the way has been engineered round them. The wheels +were slipping on the greasy rails, and the engine was snorting and +sending up showers of sparks, and inch by inch, foot by foot, the driver +manœuvred her up, till he reached one of these bridges. There is a +man stationed on duty at each of them. There, notice his hut as we +pass—they have to guard the road and see to the safety of it and signal +to the train if anything happens to the bridge. The driver communicated +with the man on the bridge he had reached, and asked him to wire for an +engine to meet him at the next bridge and help him up. Engines are kept +in certain places ready for an emergency like this; so the wire was sent +and the train struggled on, but when they got to the next bridge there +was no engine. The message had gone through all right, and the man in +charge there had received a reply that the relief engine had started, +and it ought to have arrived by then, but there was no sign of it. The +line is a single one you notice, all the way, except at certain places, +where there are loops to allow trains to pass each other in the same way +as on some tram-lines. After waiting some time the engine-driver steamed +slowly ahead. He climbed on and up, and went very slowly, expecting at +every turn to meet the relief engine, or find it waiting for him, held +up at a bridge. But no, there was no sign of it, and yet every +bridge-keeper gave him the same message—it had been sent out and should +have been here by now. At last he reached the depôt itself, but there +was no engine! What had happened to it? It had been dispatched on the +single line, full steam up, into that stormy night, and it had vanished +completely! A search-party was sent out in the morning, and found at one +of the loops a slight fracture in the line; close to it the ground had +been ploughed up, and there, far below, lay a shattered mass of iron +and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span> steel in the narrow valley, with the torrent plunging over it. For +some unexplained reason the engine had left the rails and pitched +straight over the precipice, carrying with her the two men in charge, +who were, of course, killed outright.</p> + +<p>Beside the bridges there are tunnels and snow-sheds frequently on this +line. Our puny tunnels in England are nothing to these; a new one which +is just being bored through the Selkirks and fitted with electric light, +is five miles in length! The snow-sheds are very peculiar; they are +built out over the line with sloping roofs, so that when the avalanches +of snow and stones and ice come flying down as the grip of winter +relaxes, they are carried off right over any train that may happen to be +passing, and thunder on into the valley below. For the line is for the +most part laid on a mere shelf hewn out of the rock, with a precipice on +the one side and the towering wall of the mountain on the other. We are +not likely to get avalanches or snow-slides now, but in the spring it is +an extraordinary experience to be in the train and hear the roar and +rattle, as of big guns, followed by a hail of bullets, as tons of stuff +come down, and most of it goes shooting into space, though a good deal +is left on the sheds.</p> + +<p>These deep narrow valleys through which the rivers foam are called +cañons, and the narrowest point we pass through is called Hell's Gate. +Here the rigid walls of the cliffs come so near together that you could +easily throw a stone across, and the tossing, foaming water careers +along hundreds of feet below. The marvel is how any engineer could have +made a line here at all. Think of the blasting and of the machinery +which had to be used; how did they ever manage it? For before the track +was cut there was nothing to rest on. The engineers must have rigged up +some sort of scaffolding, I suppose, but it seems incredible. They had +no choice but to do it, for there was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span> no other way to get the line +through, except by these narrow valleys, already occupied by a +tempestuous river. The railway never would have been made at all but for +that grand old man, Lord Strathcona, who died so recently. It was he who +inspired people with his own enthusiasm and indomitable perseverance, +and he at last who had the honour of driving in the spike which joined +up the two ends of the line, that coming up from the Pacific slope, and +that which had run across the plains from the Atlantic, and thus he +bridged the continent. One of the finest peaks in the mountains is +called after him. And the great "park" of 830 square miles, now being +formed on Vancouver Island, is to be called Strathcona Park.</p> + +<p>The loops which the line makes are another thing to notice. Far up we +can see another train crawling about on the mountain-side, which seems +impossible! How did it get there? The negro attendant sees us staring, +and grins, showing his set of splendid white teeth, "Soon see him +below," he says, and he is right; in a comparatively short time we have +passed that train at a siding, and afterwards, on looking down, see it +deep below us in the valley. The line makes the ascent in a series of +great loops, and the sides of these, seen from above or below, appear to +be straight lines.</p> + +<p>Revelstoke is one of the interesting places we pass; here a branch goes +off to the Kootenay country, where there is splendid land and climate +for fruit-growing alongside the great lakes.</p> + +<p>You ought to be beginning to know something about Canada now. First the +salmon-fishing, then the lumbering, next the cattle-export, and now the +fruit-growing. It is a fine and prosperous country.</p> + +<p>It is the wrong time of year for the fruit, or we might have made an +excursion to the south to get a look at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span> it, for we could go down the +great lakes, through the Crow's Nest Pass, and back again to the main +line in a loop. But the blossom will all be over, of course; in spring +it is as great a sight as it is in Japan, with the flowers springing out +all along the trunk and branches like the hackles of a cock! Cherries +are one of the chief exports, and then there are peaches, pears, apples, +and plums, with other things such as strawberries and potatoes to fill +in. But many a man's heart must sink when he comes out first from the +old country and sees the wilderness he has to start on, for even if it +is "cleared" there may be stumps of huge trees sticking up all over, and +stones everywhere; it is all much rougher than our neat, tidied-up +country. But then, on the other hand, the land is far cheaper, the soil +is much more fruitful, and consequently the yield greater. After +Revelstoke we pass Glacier, where the line runs round in a kind of +amphitheatre, showing a magnificent range of peaks in solemn grandeur +rising above the fringe of fir trees.</p> + +<p>We have come down from the Selkirk range and now rise to the Rockies, +where the track is even steeper and more twisted; here the snowy peaks +lifted into the region of eternal snow are higher, but the scenery is +not so easily seen, as we are more hemmed in by even narrower cañons. +The main interest is in going through Kicking Horse Pass; but here even +the negro attendant fails—he cannot tell us how the name arose! His +spirits droop, but rise again when he comes eagerly to tell us we are +approaching the "Great Divide." We have been running through many +tunnels in and out of the "Cathedral Rocks," and now we reach the +water-shed of the country, where sparkling streams fall away in opposite +directions, one running down to the Pacific, and the other to Hudson's +Bay in the north-west. At last we reach Banff, a well-known place, with +a huge hotel of the most luxurious<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span> kind, belonging to the Canadian +Pacific Company. Near Banff is the Canadian National Park, a park +indeed, of 5732 square miles, including mountains and forests! You +simply can't imagine it; it is a great tract of country, preserved in +its natural state, and the haunt of wild things. Here are herds of the +buffalo of the West, the bison, a very different fellow from the +domesticated Eastern buffalo who so rudely chased you and Joyce. The +bison are fine to look at, with their extraordinarily large chests and +heads, out of all proportion to the rest of their bodies. Their great +shaggy fronts and humped shoulders make a peculiar outline. In years +past they were cruelly hunted and killed, but are now protected and +encouraged. Now the Government is doing its best to save the remnant.</p> + +<p>The amount of land yet wholly untrodden in the heart of these great +mountains is difficult to realise; even the Indians only pass through +some of it, and no white man's foot has ever touched more than a tithe. +Grizzly bears, cinnamon bears, deer, wild sheep, and goats live still in +these fastnesses, quite undisturbed by the little line that threads +through from sea to sea.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus399.jpg" width="450" height="250" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXXI</h2> + +<h3>ON A CATTLE RANCH</h3> + + +<p>Do you remember your first sight of the sea? I've not forgotten mine, +though it must have been many years before yours. I suppose I wasn't +more than four, and kindly patronising elder brothers and sisters had +tried to describe it to me beforehand, but the most I pictured was a +very, very big pond, with water as flat and uninteresting as that of +most ponds. No one can have any real notion of the sea before seeing it; +and it is the same with the prairie. I have often imagined it, but now +that we are actually on it, driving over it, I find that all my +mind-pictures are lifeless compared with the reality. It gives one a +feeling of freedom, as if one had been living always in rooms and +suddenly got out. It is not flat like a table, but full of gentle curves +and sweeps, as if it were always just going to reveal something unknown, +and yet it reaches on for ever on all sides. It makes us feel quite +insignificant as our conveyance crawls along the centre of a gigantic<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span> +circle which appears to move with us. But the thing which is most +surprising is the beauty of it. The grass is growing freely and is very +fresh, and mingled with it, like poppies and cornflowers in a +wheatfield, are innumerable flowers, red and blue and yellow, shining +like jewels in the brilliant sunlight—some are like sunflowers, and +others, growing singly, are tall red lilies. There are clumps of trees, +too, here and there, little round islands of them, bluffs, they are +called. We have left the mountains now and descended into the great +plains once only inhabited by wild tribes of the Redskins and mighty +herds of buffalo, but now for the most part taken up by white men for +grazing-ground.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 244px;"> +<img src="images/illus400.jpg" width="244" height="400" alt="A LEAN SUNBURNT MAN." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A LEAN SUNBURNT MAN.</span> +</div> + +<p>When our engine ran into Calgary station, with a great clanging of the +big bell, we found a sunburnt lean young man of twenty or so, in the +shady hat, blue shirt, breeches, and leggings we have become accustomed +to now. He greeted us very shortly: "For Mr. Humphrey's ranch?" and when +we said "Yes," led the way outside to where an odd kind of waggonette, +drawn by two horses, was waiting. We gather it is called a "democrat," +for we heard the stationmaster say, "Put 'em in the democrat" as sundry +square wooden boxes were gathered up from a storehouse. Our luggage was +a mere trifle compared with the miscellaneous mass of sacks and boxes +and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</a></span> bundles that were piled in behind. We were six hours late, as we +were due at two this morning and it is now eight. I remark on it to our +silent young driver when he gathers up the reins. He laughs shortly. +"You never can tell, sometimes it's as much as a day——"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus401.jpg" width="450" height="368" alt="LONE PINE RANCH." title="" /> +<span class="caption">LONE PINE RANCH.</span> +</div> + +<p>The trail out on to the boundless prairie, after getting clear of the +town, is merely marked by two deep ruts. When we meet another "rig," as +conveyances of any sort are called here, the driver usually goes off on +to the grass to make way for us, as we have a heavy load, a courtesy our +young driver acknowledges by raising his whip.</p> + +<p>It is very, very hot, and as we jog along in silence it is difficult not +to fall asleep. It seems a long, long time before the driver points with +his whip to a distant herd of cattle.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span></p> + +<p>"They belong to the Lone Pine Ranch," he volunteers. That's the ranch we +are going to stay at. Then a group of log buildings, with a few trees +near, rises out of the plain, and we draw nearer and nearer steadily and +realise this is our destination.</p> + +<p>The principal house is built entirely of logs and has a sort of verandah +around. Mr. Humphrey himself is waiting outside, and at a shout from him +a fair-haired, rosy-cheeked woman in a pretty pink cotton dress and +sunbonnet joins him, followed by a tiny toddling child.</p> + +<p>Their welcome is as warm as all the others we have received in Canada. +To our surprise the young driver turns out to be the Humphreys' son!</p> + +<p>His father and mother laugh heartily as he disappears round the corner +of the house to unyoke the horses.</p> + +<p>"Edmund is the best man at holding his tongue I ever came across," says +Mr. Humphrey; "seems to have been born that way; he doesn't get it from +either of us!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Humphrey is doing all the work of the house herself, for her +husband, five children, and three hired men, with the help of an Indian +woman for the rough scrubbing.</p> + +<p>"You can't get servants here," she says; "and if you brought them out +from England they'd get married in the first week."</p> + +<p>Edmund reappears for dinner, followed by three other young men dressed +precisely alike. They sit down in a lump at one end of the wooden table +and solidly consume immense helpings of boiled beef and dumpling, which +Mrs. Humphrey carries in, disdaining any help. When we have finished she +smilingly produces half a dozen jam tartlets from a cupboard.</p> + +<p>"I made them for you," she says, looking at you. "I'm proud of my +pastry, but I had to hide them, for Edmund and his father have an awful +sweet tooth, and if I'd put them out there wouldn't have been one +left."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span></p> + +<p>There are gurgles and nudges from the lower end of the table, and I see +you grow scarlet as the plate of tartlets is solemnly put in front of +you. I'll help you out. I have a "sweet tooth" too, and the toddler will +do his best, as he has one bestowed on him by his mother.</p> + +<p>There is a crash in the little scullery opening off the room we are in, +and as the mistress of the house jumps up with an exclamation the round +moon-face of an Indian woman appears for a moment in the doorway.</p> + +<p>It seems she has upset the coffee which she was going to bring in. Some +of it is saved from the wreck, though the "boys" have to go without. As +they file past, back to their work, Edmund follows last and snatches a +tartlet while his mother's back is turned, winking at you as he does it. +Mr. Humphrey immediately bolts another rather guiltily, so one, looking +very small, is left alone in the plate.</p> + +<p>I'm afraid Mrs. Humphrey thinks we have gobbled them up!</p> + +<p>This room has nothing to hide the bare wooden walls except a few +pictures from illustrated papers and a photo or two pinned up. The great +stove is a very ugly thing, and its pipe goes out through the roof. Our +room, which opens off on the same floor, is the merest slip of a place, +with hardly room for the couple of camp-beds side by side. From the +photos I guess it is Edmund's room, and that he has gone off to sleep +with the men in their quarters near the barn meantime. We have the +luxury of an enamel basin on a tripod, but, as Mr. Humphrey explains, +it's much easier to get a wash down with a bucket outside.</p> + +<p>While we sit on the verandah he explains that he has three other +children now at school; they will be back presently, and almost as he +speaks a waggonette with a roof over it appears in the distance, and +soon three rosy-faced girls, aged about seven, nine, and eleven, tumble<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span> +out, waving good-byes to a few friends who go on in the conveyance, +before they run in to get their dinner.</p> + +<p>"The authorities send the children from the outlying farms to school, +and fetch them again free now," says Mr. Humphrey. "It's the latest +thing, and a good thing too, or they would have to go without education +when they live as far away as this."</p> + +<p>"The marvel to me is how Mrs. Humphrey manages to do it all," I say.</p> + +<p>"You haven't heard the half!" he ejaculates. "She does all the washing, +looks after the pigs and poultry you see around here, milks the cows, +and finds time to go to every dance within twenty miles. She's a great +deal keener on dancing than Edmund is, though she makes him go with her. +That's not all, either; she'll show you herself her prizes—albums and +things she has won—that very rocking-chair you are sitting in is one of +them; those are for winning ladies' races, there isn't one that can beat +her. The finest day she ever did was two years ago, when Harry, that's +the little one, was only ten months old. She got up and did the family +washing at five, milked the cows, drove into Edmonton with the kid—she +hadn't anyone to leave it with you see; she did her shopping, turned up +at Poplar Lake Fair in the afternoon, and got someone to hold Harry +while she won the ladies' race there, giving a handicap to the field! +She's the finest dancer in the country round and has won things for that +too."</p> + +<p>Yet she looks not much more than a girl now!</p> + +<p>Next morning we are up early, as Mr. Humphrey has asked us if we would +like to go with him to see some cattle "shipped" by rail at Red Deer, +thirty miles away on a branch of the main line between Calgary and +Edmonton.</p> + +<p>The "boys" have been off with the beasts long before.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 434px;"> +<img src="images/illus405.jpg" width="434" height="600" alt="INDIANS AS THEY ARE NOW." title="" /> +<span class="caption">INDIANS AS THEY ARE NOW.</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span></p> + +<p>We reach Red Deer by half-past nine, and see from afar the great herd of +cattle, standing lumped together, while the young men, including our +silent friend, Edmund, sit motionless as statues on ponies surrounding +them.</p> + +<p>As we get nearer we see kraals, or enclosures, close to the railway +line, and on a siding some empty cattle-trucks ready. We are left to sit +in the buggy—another name for a conveyance—while Mr. Humphrey gives +orders and the boys begin to round the cattle up. It is a sight to see +them, for they seem simply to flow round the herd in a continuous +stream, they gallop so fast and handle their long-lashed whips so +cleverly. The outer gate of one of the kraals has been unbarred, and the +beasts are run through the opening into the kraal without the slightest +hitch.</p> + +<p>Mr. Humphrey walks across and seats himself on the high railing of the +kraal near the trucks. Then a bar is taken out on this side, the first +opening having been closed, and the cowboys send the cattle through this +on to the slanting gangway leading to the first truck. The truck holds +just nineteen beasts, and when nineteen are out of the kraal Mr. +Humphrey drops the bar behind the last.</p> + +<p>It is a difficult job to get the nineteen into the truck, for they are +frightened and suspicious and there is only just room enough for them +all to pack in. But at last it is done, the door is fastened, and the +truck moved on so that the next one comes abreast of the gangway. When +all the trucks but one have been loaded, we count and discover that +there are twenty-two cattle left. Mr. Humphrey shouts out that a certain +white steer must go in any case, and he indicates the three beasts which +can be left.</p> + +<p>But, of course, when the whole lot come through in a bunch the white +steer remains till the last! They are sent back again and brought +forward once more; the three unwanted ones press forward, and the white +steer remains<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span> by himself in the kraal, refusing to come out at all. It +is exactly as if the beasts had understood what had been said and were +determined to give as much trouble as possible.</p> + +<p>The boys do their work admirably. This time they "cut out" the three +unwanted ones and send them careering off across the prairie, to make +their own way homeward. The remaining eighteen are fitted into the +truck, and then they turn to tackle the steer, who stands in the middle +of the kraal waiting.</p> + +<p>Two or three of them, including Edmund, sidle up to him on their ponies +and try to edge him toward the gangway. But he only paws the ground and +throws his head up in the air. Just as Mr. Humphrey shouts out a +warning, everything happens all together in a second.</p> + +<p>The steer makes a mad rush. Edmund, who is nearest the gate, is through +it like a flash. The second man gallops for the other gate leading out +of the kraal on to the prairie, but the third, who is in the middle of +the green space, hesitates for an instant and is lost. The great beast +is at him, the pony wheels, slips, and falls, and his rider is shot off. +Another minute and the steer is on to him, pommelling at him with its +great horns. Edmund, however, has snatched up a lasso and is back into +the kraal like a streak of light; without ever checking his gallop he +flings the lasso round the enraged beast's head, and drags him away in a +great semicircle through the now open gate on to the prairie. We see him +with a sharp turn jerk the animal off its feet, and then a revolver shot +rings out; there is a convulsive kick or two and the great steer lies +dead.</p> + +<p>Meantime the others have run to lift up the unconscious man in the +kraal. Luckily he is not much the worse, for he has only a fractured +collar-bone and a broken arm. He was stunned by his hard fall, but soon +comes round. Nobody seems to think much of this, but they all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span> +congratulate him on having escaped with nothing worse. These accidents +are daily risks in a cowboy's life.</p> + +<p>It is late before we get back, and we have no time to wander round the +homestead that day. Next morning you are up and out early to investigate +something for yourself. I know quite well what it is, for you talked +"gopher" in your sleep.</p> + +<p>In coming across the prairie we saw here and there colonies of odd +little beasts that looked a cross between a squirrel and a rat. They +jumped up and sat on the tops of their holes to see us pass, and then +disappeared like a Jack-in-the-box when we got near. When I go out a bit +later I find you in fits of laughter at the inquisitive little +creatures. They can't resist peeping, and when they have popped into +their holes, back come the little heads and bright eyes to watch what +you are doing. I am pretty tired, as I was kept awake most of the night +by a bird in a tree near the window which kept saying, "Whip-poor-will" +over and over again at intervals. I understand that's its name, and it +is hated by the ranchers. No, it is not the bright little black and +white bird like a small magpie which pecks around, that is a +Whisky-Jack.</p> + +<p>I spend a gloriously lazy morning watching you crawling around behind +the holes and trying to grab the gophers! Needless to say you never get +one!</p> + +<p>At dinner-time Mr. Humphrey is much amused at your game. "They drive +dogs just frantic," he says, "especially young ones that don't know +them. Rabbits aren't in it!"</p> + +<p>After dinner he suggests driving us round the ranch, and invites you to +come and help him to yoke up. A minute or two later you both reappear +without the horses.</p> + +<p>"A brute of a skunk," says Mr. Humphrey tersely; "we'll have to wait a +while."</p> + +<p>It seems that one of these awful beasts has got into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span> the shed among the +harness, and till he chooses to move nothing can be done. Naturally I +want to see him.</p> + +<p>"You'll have to be as quiet as a mouse," you say, guiding me round on +tiptoe. "Mr. Humphrey says that he has a store of acrid fluid that +stinks like rotten eggs, and if he's disturbed he lets you know it. It's +weeks and months before any place is free from the smell."</p> + +<p>So we peep cautiously and see an animal about the size of a large cat, +with bright black and white markings, lying harmlessly on a pile of +harness. It has no sting, no formidable claws or beak, and yet it is +able to keep any number of men from disturbing it while it chooses to +lie on their possessions. No god could receive more respect from his +believers. It is after tea-time when you, creeping to report, tell us +the good news that at last Mr. Skunk has gone away!</p> + +<p>A day or two later Mr. Humphrey says he will take us to see an Indian +reserve, as he thinks we ought not to leave the country without seeing +one.</p> + +<p>You know the Indians are now looked after by the Government. There are +certain pieces of land kept for them, and no one else may live on them. +As the white men have spread over the land, and used it for corn and +cattle, the Indians have been driven farther back, and find more +difficulty in getting a living, so now Government agents are appointed +to manage these reserves; they know all the Indians in their charge, and +deal out to them certain amounts of stores and look after them.</p> + +<p>The settlement we are to visit is at Battle River, about forty miles +south of Edmonton. The day chosen is the one when the Indians come in +from the country to get their rations. They are a shabby-looking crowd +as they gather up near the lumber houses where the agent lives and where +the stores are kept.</p> + +<p>These are men and women of the tribe of the Crees,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</a></span> a very quiet, +peaceful tribe, not troublesome, like the Blood Indians. If you imagined +we should see them with feathers sticking out round their heads and +fringes of scalps on their leggings you will be terribly disappointed. +All these men are in European clothes, with round black felt hats, +soiled coats, and blue overalls for trousers. The only thing Indian +about them are their moccasins, the soft leather foot-covering they wear +instead of boots. They have broad faces, lanky hair, dark reddish skins, +and rather a sullen expression mostly, and look dirty and untidy, like +old tramps. The squaws, who wear old shawls and skirts, sit solemnly +smoking all the time; they nearly all carry on their backs papooses +(babies) tied up tightly like little mummies. There are endless numbers +of lean cur dogs, yapping and snarling at each other as they prowl for +scraps.</p> + +<p>The Indians go in single file past the counter in the store and get rice +and tea and flour dealt out to them, and then each one receives a +portion of meat. The agent speaks to each of them by name, calling them +Jim, Dick, or Charlie. Such grand names as "Sitting-Bull" or +"Swift-as-the-Moose" are mostly discarded now in favour of something +more European, which is considered more fashionable. The Indians hardly +speak and never smile, the expression on their faces does not alter in +the slightest when the agent chaffs them. When they leave the store they +carry their provisions over to where a lot of rough-looking ponies are +grazing. Do you see what a simple arrangement these ponies drag? It is +made merely of a couple of long sticks, which run on each side of the +pony like shafts; at the back the ends are crossed and tied together and +trail on the ground. The goods are fixed on to these sticks, and then, +seating themselves on the top of the bundles, the Indians set off +homeward, followed by their patient squaws, who trail along after them +on foot, carrying the papooses.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus412.jpg" width="450" height="288" alt="CROSSING LAKE SUPERIOR." title="" /> +<span class="caption">CROSSING LAKE SUPERIOR.</span> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXXII</h2> + +<h3>THE GREAT LAKES</h3> + + +<p>If we found the prairie astonishing even when uncultivated, what of +this? Corn, ripened in the sun, and spreading over mile after mile on +both sides of the railway line! There are no neat little fences to cut +it up into fields, and it does not grow unevenly, but all at one height, +so the effect is a flat and boundless plain, yellow as the desert sand. +Everyone has heard of the grain fields of Canada, the great stretch of +land, about a thousand miles in width, from whence corn is shipped to +the remotest ends of the earth.</p> + +<p>We lingered on so long with the Humphreys that already the harvest is +ready for cutting. On leaving Calgary we passed through some towns with +astonishing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</a></span> names. The first we noticed was Medicine Hat, which Mr. +Kipling has written about as "The Town that was Born Lucky," because gas +was discovered in great quantities below the surface, and when holes are +bored for it huge jets spring forth and can be used in countless ways; +even the engines of the C.P.R. make use of it.</p> + +<p>Then we came across Moose Jaw, Swift Current, Indian Head, and Portage +La Prairie. I forget at which of these it was we saw Indians in all the +gaudy finery of their ancestors, with feathers sticking up on their +heads, buckskin shirts covered all over with beads and decorated with +tassels, in which coloured grasses were twisted. As the Indian may not +take scalps now he has to find other trimmings! These men dress up like +this to attract tourists, because they want to sell buffalo horns, +bead-work moccasins and bags, and many other things.</p> + +<p>Then we got to Regina, the headquarters of the Royal North-West Mounted +Police, and were lucky enough to catch sight of one or two of the force +in their neat work-manlike khaki, with their round broad-brimmed hats +which the Boy Scouts have imitated. These men are hard as nails and +absolutely fearless; the story of the adventures of the force would make +a thrilling book.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 164px;"> +<img src="images/illus413.jpg" width="164" height="400" alt="INDIAN IN ANCIENT FINERY." title="" /> +<span class="caption">INDIAN IN ANCIENT FINERY.</span> +</div> + +<p>At every station we notice tall odd-looking buildings which form no part +of an English station. These are grain-elevators. When the farmer has +threshed his corn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</a></span> he can bring it here and receive a receipt for it, +and have it stored; then it is run up to the top of one of these places +by endless ropes, and thence can be easily poured down out of a +funnel-like shaft into the waiting trucks for shipment.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus414.jpg" width="450" height="448" alt="NORTH-WEST MOUNTED POLICE." title="" /> +<span class="caption">NORTH-WEST MOUNTED POLICE.</span> +</div> + +<p>At last there is a farm where the corn is being cut! I have been +watching to see one. That row of machines following each other, in what +seems from here to be a line, are cutting and binding the corn and +turning it out in neat sheaves. The Canadian farmer is often very much +ahead of us in the way of machinery. He has to be, for sometimes he has +furrows four miles long and a farm the size of an English county. There +is, for instance, a steam-plough which takes twelve fourteen-inch +furrows<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</a></span> at once! What would an English yokel, meandering along at the +tail of his two slow horses, say to that? His little job would be done +before it was time for breakfast! Hullo! there is another field, all in +stooks already—look across the boundless plain to the horizon. There is +nothing to be seen but stooks and that thin telephone wire running like +a line in the sky in the far distance. When you look at any map of +Canada you can't help noticing how straight the boundaries of the +provinces are, just as if ruled with a ruler; as a matter of fact they +run usually on lines of longitude or latitude, and are thus very +different from our county boundaries, which have grown up anyhow. This +province we are now in, Manitoba, has recently been increased by an +immense area of land in the north, so that it now has a seashore on +Hudson Bay, but before that it was nearly square. The farms are measured +out in the same exact way too; men have land given to them in sections a +mile square, and a man can take more than one section, or he can have a +part of one, but every bit of land granted is marked out evenly like the +squares on a chess-board.</p> + +<p>The days of our journey east seem to be just a succession of endless +cornfields and grain-elevators, with glimpses of busy towns and small +stations. And in the evening we see a yellow glow of sunset lighting up +the uncut fields in a splendour of light that is worth coming far to +see. There is a very striking difference about the twilight here and in +the East. You remember there how night seemed to shut down close upon +sunset, here the light remains on in the sky for many hours, even at +nine o'clock we can see the hands of our watches.</p> + +<p>Every now and then we discover our watches are an hour slow, and we have +to jump the pointers on. This is because Canada and the States are +divided up into strips by north and south lines, which mark off the +time<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</a></span> to be kept in each. As I explained long ago—how very long ago it +seems!—America is too vast a continent to keep one set time from shore +to shore, as we do in our little country, so it was found convenient to +make definite lines, each one hour apart, all the way across.</p> + +<p>Then we arrive at Winnipeg, the capital of Manitoba and the largest +corn-market in the world. The town is almost exactly half-way across +Canada. But we are not going to stop here, for towns do not interest us +so much as nature, though if we could have had a peep into the wide main +street, with its towering buildings, remembering it was a prairie trail +thirty years ago, it would have been worth while.</p> + +<p>The rest of that day we run through much prettier scenery than the +cornland, which has become very monotonous, and at night-time arrive at +a place called Port Arthur, where we are going to leave the train and +explore the Great Lakes. Well may they be called "Great"! In Lake +Superior, the largest of the five, you could put the whole of your +native land, Scotland, and have nearly two thousand square miles left +over! This is the largest fresh-water lake in the world. There are five +lakes here lying together, and the three largest—Superior, Michigan, +and Huron—spring from a common centre and stretch out just like the +fingers of a horse-chestnut leaf, but you will find out all this +to-morrow.</p> + +<p>It is a glorious afternoon the next day when we first catch sight of the +steamer waiting to take us across Lake Superior. She is more like an +ocean liner than anything else. She is called the <i>Hamonic</i>, and is +indeed as large as many of the ships of well-known lines running out to +the East from England, for she is five thousand tons, with accommodation +for four hundred first-class passengers. On the upper deck is an +observation room with windows along the whole length of each side. For +all we can see,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</a></span> when once we are out of sight of the shore, we might +have left Canada for ever and be taking our final plunge across the +Atlantic homeward. And it is the same thing all the next day. We see no +land and might as well be on the broad ocean, until, after luncheon, we +come to the great lock, or canal, which joins the two lakes of Superior +and Huron. It is nine hundred feet long, and had to be made because the +levels of the two lakes are different, and no steamer could have come +through the rapids which the Indians used to love to shoot in their +canoes. When we are through the lock we stop at a large and flourishing +place called Sault Ste Marie, and then get into far the prettiest part +of the route among the islands, where we see fine trees already turning +crimson and gold. Right across Lake Huron we go, passing the entrance to +Lake Michigan, and reach Sarnia at one o'clock the next day. Sarnia +stands on a narrow strait, and just opposite is part of the territory of +the United States of America.</p> + +<p>If Canadians are sons and daughters of Great Britain, the Americans are +first cousins, for there is no other country in the world, outside the +British Empire, of nearer kin to us than the mighty nation which leads +in the van of progress in all manufactures and enterprise.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus418.jpg" width="450" height="294" alt="A GATEWAY IN QUEBEC." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A GATEWAY IN QUEBEC.</span> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIII</h2> + +<h3>OLD FRIENDS AGAIN</h3> + + +<p>Supposing that some of our friends in Britain, who are expecting to +greet us at home in a week, could see us now, suddenly, I wonder where +they would think we had got to! Covered in borrowed oilskins, we stand +in a mighty cavern, whose vast stone roof reaches up to a hundred feet +or more, though in width it is comparatively narrow, like a long shelf. +In front of us is a wall of water so thick and overwhelming that it +resembles a curtain of giants; the roar of the falling water and the +howl of the never-ceasing wind mingle in a great turmoil, and the air is +thick with dashing spray. Fitting is the name of the Cave of the Winds! +For we are standing in a cave right beneath one of the wonders of the +world—the Falls of Niagara, on the American side. We have only had a +glimpse of the gigantic waterfall so far, for we came straight here, and +presently are going round outside on an electric tram.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 418px;"> +<img src="images/illus419.jpg" width="418" height="600" alt="THE FALLS OF NIAGARA." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE FALLS OF NIAGARA.</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</a></span></p> + +<p>These Falls lie between the two least of the Great Lakes, Erie and +Ontario, and on one side of them is America, and the other Canada. We +crossed on a bridge from the American side to an island in the middle +called Goat Island, and then dived downward to this gigantic cave right +below the American Fall. It gives one a mighty idea of power, doesn't +it? The world can't afford to waste power nowadays when it can be +harnessed up for use in generating electricity and a hundred other ways, +and not long before the end of the last century power stations were +started on both sides of the Falls to use this force. People cried out +at first, thinking that the stupendous sight might be spoiled, but not a +bit of it. What man has used is but as a few spoonfuls compared with the +vast energy of the tons of water flowing resistlessly and ceaselessly +day and night down these precipices and onward to the sea. Put out your +finger and thrust it into the wall of water; the force of it sends your +arm down to your side like a railway signal. We are not alone in the +cave; there are many other people from all parts of the world. We heard +French and German talked as we came across, though there is no chance of +hearing any conversation now. As we climb up again and put off the wet +oilskins, kept for the use of visitors, the roar becomes less, and when +suddenly someone takes hold of my arm in a friendly way, and calls out +my name, I wheel round to face the "nice" American who saved us from +starvation in the train in Egypt! He has recognised us at once and grips +our hands heartily. When we emerge on to the bridge he is full of +questions about our trip, and wants to know what we have seen and what +we have done. He has with him a boy who looks several years older than +you, and he tells us that this is his son, who is studying at Harvard, +but off on the long vacation. So we all go together back to Prospect +Park, on the American side, and get into an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</a></span> electric car, which swings +over a bridge just below the Falls, where we can see the whole grand +panorama and both Falls. The Canadian one is called the Horseshoe Fall. +Often you must have seen pictures of Niagara; but pictures do not convey +much, and this is one of the few sights in the world that runs beyond +expectation. As the torrent pouring over strikes the water below, the +foam flies up in a vast frothy mass into the air; we, from our height, +look down upon it and upon a tiny steamer in the basin just below. The +reason why the steamer is able to sail so near the Falls without being +swept down is because the falling water descends with such force that it +goes right below the surface of the bay and does not agitate it at all. +On the other side, away from the Falls, farther<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[Pg 391]</a></span> down the river, there +is a high suspension bridge belonging to the Grand Trunk Railway of +Canada, with a place for carriages and foot-passengers below the lines. +A carriage crawling over it looks like a small beetle. There was an +awful scene here not so long ago in the winter-time, when the river was +frozen from shore to shore. Some people were on the ice, which began to +break up in large blocks, and in the very sight of hundreds of their +fellow-creatures, who vainly tried to save them by throwing ropes, +several were swept away, including a man and his wife, who were on a +floating hummock. The man actually got hold of one of the ropes, but his +wife had fainted, and in trying to support her the rope slipped through +his fingers, and together the two black specks on the white ice-block +were borne by the current to their doom. A never-to-be-forgotten +tragedy!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus422.jpg" width="450" height="431" alt="THE FALLS OF NIAGARA." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE FALLS OF NIAGARA.</span> +</div> + +<p>After we have crossed the water we run along on the Canadian side close +to the edge of the cliff, high up, following the course of the current +downward; we go round a great curve, where it boils in a whirlpool, we +pass by a tall monument, and then, much farther down, we cross another +bridge, and are brought back on the American side, where the line runs +at first low down and gradually mounts till, after passing below the +suspension bridge, we reach our starting-place. While we are close to +the surface of the water we see the Rapids splendidly. This is where the +swift water from the Falls has come again to the surface, and, hemmed in +by the walls of the gorge, it tosses in fury; long sprays leap up from +below like grabbing fingers clutching to drag men down; miniature +whirlpools boil, and in the centre the water is forced up higher than at +the sides.</p> + +<p>All the time our American friend and his son, who seems quite a man of +the world, and has been to the Falls several times before, are trying to +persuade us to go home<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</a></span> by New York and pay them a visit <i>en route</i>. +Unfortunately we cannot. Our passages are booked by a steamer belonging +to the Allan Line, which sails from Montreal the day after to-morrow. +But I think perhaps sometime we may come back and make a tour of the +States!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus424.jpg" width="450" height="279" alt="THE ST. LAWRENCE." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE ST. LAWRENCE.</span> +</div> + +<p>It is hard to say good-bye and tear ourselves away from our hospitable +friends, but it must be done. The next day sees us at the fine city of +Montreal, having come by way of Toronto, the capital of Ontario.</p> + +<p>Montreal is a very bright city, with trees lining the streets and the +mountains rising at the back, and all the inhabitants seem cheerful and +good-natured. The great liner waiting to carry us homeward can only get +as far as this up the St. Lawrence in the summer; in winter she sets +down her passengers at Halifax, in Nova Scotia, right out on the ocean.</p> + +<p>As she steams slowly up the beautiful river we see the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</a></span> trees bursting +out here and there into a perfect flame of colour. The maple is Canada's +special tree, and it is the maples that make those crimson flame-like +patches among the other foliage. We notice, too, what an unusual +quantity of dead wood is left standing; this, in a small country like +England, would be cleared out or cut away, but here the forests are so +vast that it is left to rot.</p> + +<p>Then we pass Quebec on its heights, where Wolfe won his great victory, +and so made Canada British for ever. It is odd, however, to notice, +especially during the last part of our journey, how very French the +people are in their ways and customs. At one small station I remember +hearing a man chatting away in French and gesticulating like a +Frenchman, and as he turned to go another called after him, "Ha, +MacDougall!" The truth is that the original settlers here were mostly +French, but after a while many emigrants came over from Scotland and +intermarried with them, and the children, who naturally bore their +father's surnames, learned their mother's native tongue!</p> + +<p>Once out of the St. Lawrence we begin to feel the roll of the great +waves, but we need not at this time of year expect anything very bad, +and we shall see no icebergs. The early summer is the worst time for +them, for the warm currents have loosened them from the icefields in the +north, and they float southwards. The voyage is uneventful, and, +seasoned sailors as we are, we never miss a meal during the week that it +takes to cross before we sight the chimneys and wharves of grimy +Liverpool.</p> + +<p>As we step on to British soil once more, on the wharf we turn and look +at each other.</p> + +<p>Has it come up to expectation? You are not sorry you went with me?</p> + +<p>As for me, I have never had a pleasanter companion and never wish for +one. Hullo! here are your people,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[Pg 394]</a></span> ready to carry you off, rejoiced to +find you safe and sound after not having seen you for nearly a year, +during which time you have spanned the world and travelled somewhere +about twenty-five thousand miles.</p> + +<p>Good-bye!</p> + + +<h4>THE END</h4> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</a></span></p> +<h2>INDEX</h2> + + +<p> +Abu Simbel by sunrise, <a href='#Page_109'>109</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Acre, <a href='#Page_147'>147</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Aden, <a href='#Page_165'>165</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Africa, <a href='#Page_51'>51</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Albert, Lake, <a href='#Page_55'>55</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Amenhetep <span class="smcap">ii.</span>, tomb of, <a href='#Page_90'>90</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Amenhetep <span class="smcap">iii.</span>, <a href='#Page_79'>79</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Ants, white, <a href='#Page_278'>278</a>, <a href='#Page_279'>279</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Anuradhapura, <a href='#Page_194'>194</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Apes, Barbary, <a href='#Page_27'>27</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Arabs, <a href='#Page_128'>128</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Asia, <a href='#Page_120'>120</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Assouan, <a href='#Page_102'>102</a>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">dam at, <a href='#Page_118'>118</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Babel Mandeb, Straits of, <a href='#Page_165'>165</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Bakshish, <a href='#Page_70'>70</a>, <a href='#Page_181'>181</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Banff, Canada, <a href='#Page_369'>369</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Barbary apes, <a href='#Page_28'>28</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Battle River, <a href='#Page_380'>380</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Bazaar, an Indian, <a href='#Page_228'>228</a>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">at Jerusalem, <a href='#Page_129'>129</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +Benares, <a href='#Page_242'>242</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Betel-nut chewing, <a href='#Page_258'>258</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Bethany, <a href='#Page_137'>137</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Bethlehem, <a href='#Page_137'>137</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Bisharin tribe, <a href='#Page_105'>105</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Bison, Canadian, <a href='#Page_370'>370</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Bitter Lake, <a href='#Page_157'>157</a>, <a href='#Page_160'>160</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Bo tree, the sacred, <a href='#Page_200'>200</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Bombay, <a href='#Page_203'>203</a>-208.<br /> +<br /> +Bonito, the, <a href='#Page_168'>168</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Borneo, <a href='#Page_313'>313</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Boxing in Burma, <a href='#Page_269'>269</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Brahmans, <a href='#Page_214'>214</a>, <a href='#Page_231'>231</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Brazen Palace, Ceylon, <a href='#Page_198'>198</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Buddha, <a href='#Page_186'>186</a>, <a href='#Page_196'>196</a>, <a href='#Page_254'>254</a>, <a href='#Page_260'>260</a>, <a href='#Page_261'>261</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Buddhists, <a href='#Page_186'>186</a>, <a href='#Page_244'>244</a>, <a href='#Page_252'>252</a>, <a href='#Page_321'>321</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Buffalo, a Burmese, <a href='#Page_292'>292</a>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">North American, <a href='#Page_370'>370</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +Burma, <a href='#Page_250'>250</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Cairo, <a href='#Page_53'>53</a>, <a href='#Page_56'>56</a>, <a href='#Page_58'>58</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Calcutta, <a href='#Page_218'>218</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Calgary, <a href='#Page_372'>372</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Camels, <a href='#Page_68'>68</a>, <a href='#Page_104'>104</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Canada, <a href='#Page_345'>345</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Canadian Pacific Railway, <a href='#Page_360'>360</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Cañons in the Rockies, <a href='#Page_367'>367</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Caste, Indian, <a href='#Page_214'>214</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Cathedral Rocks, <a href='#Page_369'>369</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Cattle ranch, a Canadian, <a href='#Page_371'>371</a>-381.<br /> +<br /> +Cattle train, a Canadian, <a href='#Page_363'>363</a>, <a href='#Page_376'>376</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Cawnpore, <a href='#Page_235'>235</a>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Well of, <a href='#Page_236'>236</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +Ceylon, <a href='#Page_179'>179</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Cheops, King, <a href='#Page_61'>61</a>, <a href='#Page_62'>62</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Child-widows of India, <a href='#Page_231'>231</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Chinamen in Malay, <a href='#Page_306'>306</a>, <a href='#Page_308'>308</a>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">in Vancouver, <a href='#Page_347'>347</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +Chinese temple, <a href='#Page_307'>307</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Chuprassie</i>, a Burmese, <a href='#Page_264'>264</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Cingalese, the, <a href='#Page_180'>180</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Circuit House, Mandalay, <a href='#Page_272'>272</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Clogs, Japanese, <a href='#Page_327'>327</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Colombo, <a href='#Page_179'>179</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Colossi, the, <a href='#Page_87'>87</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Corn-growing in Canada, <a href='#Page_382'>382</a>, <a href='#Page_384'>384</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Cotton-growing in Egypt, <a href='#Page_68'>68</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Crees, <a href='#Page_380'>380</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Customs house, French, <a href='#Page_10'>10</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Cyclone, a, <a href='#Page_175'>175</a>, <a href='#Page_176'>176</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Dagoba, a, <a href='#Page_194'>194</a>, <a href='#Page_195'>195</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Dead Sea, <a href='#Page_136'>136</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Delhi, <a href='#Page_218'>218</a>-234.<br /> +<br /> +Delta of the Nile, <a href='#Page_54'>54</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Der El Bahari, Temple of, <a href='#Page_92'>92</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Desert, the, <a href='#Page_157'>157</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Dolphins, <a href='#Page_172'>172</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Dover, <a href='#Page_5'>5</a>, <a href='#Page_7'>7</a>, <a href='#Page_8'>8</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Dragoman, the Egyptian, <a href='#Page_85'>85</a>, <a href='#Page_87'>87</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Dutugemunu, King, <a href='#Page_197'>197</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Earthquakes, <a href='#Page_50'>50</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Edmonton, <a href='#Page_380'>380</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Edward, Lake, <a href='#Page_55'>55</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Egypt, <a href='#Page_53'>53</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Egyptian gods, <a href='#Page_82'>82</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</a></span>Elala, story of, <a href='#Page_197'>197</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Elephants, Burmese, <a href='#Page_276'>276</a>, <a href='#Page_292'>292</a>, <a href='#Page_360'>360</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Esquimault, <a href='#Page_346'>346</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Etna, Mount, <a href='#Page_49'>49</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Fakir, a, <a href='#Page_244'>244</a>, <a href='#Page_245'>245</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Fellaheen, Egyptian, <a href='#Page_69'>69</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Figs, Indian, <a href='#Page_45'>45</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Fire-flies, <a href='#Page_201'>201</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Fish, deep-sea, <a href='#Page_170'>170</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Flying fish, <a href='#Page_168'>168</a>.<br /> +<br /> +France, journey through, <a href='#Page_8'>8</a>-19.<br /> +<br /> +Fraser River, <a href='#Page_348'>348</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Fruit-growing in Canada, <a href='#Page_368'>368</a>, <a href='#Page_369'>369</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Fruits preserved, <a href='#Page_16'>16</a>, <a href='#Page_17'>17</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Fujiyama, <a href='#Page_318'>318</a>, <a href='#Page_338'>338</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Galilee, Sea of, <a href='#Page_145'>145</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Ganesh, the elephant-god, <a href='#Page_247'>247</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Ganges, the, <a href='#Page_242'>242</a>, <a href='#Page_243'>243</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Garden party in Burma, a, <a href='#Page_264'>264</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Gateway, Japanese, <a href='#Page_320'>320</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Gendarmes, French, <a href='#Page_16'>16</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Georgetown, Penang, <a href='#Page_305'>305</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Geta clogs, Japanese, <a href='#Page_327'>327</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Gethsemane, Garden of, <a href='#Page_136'>136</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Ghurkas, <a href='#Page_220'>220</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Gibraltar, <a href='#Page_27'>27</a>-32, <a href='#Page_50'>50</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Gizeh, Pyramids of, <a href='#Page_60'>60</a>, <a href='#Page_62'>62</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Glacier, <a href='#Page_369'>369</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Golden Pagoda, the, <a href='#Page_257'>257</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Gophers, <a href='#Page_379'>379</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Grain elevators, <a href='#Page_383'>383</a>.<br /> +<br /> +"Great Divide," the, <a href='#Page_369'>369</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Haifa, adventures on way to, <a href='#Page_146'>146</a>, <a href='#Page_147'>147</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Hatshepset, Queen, <a href='#Page_92'>92</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Herculaneum, destruction of, <a href='#Page_40'>40</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Hindus, the, <a href='#Page_244'>244</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Holy Land, the, <a href='#Page_120'>120</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Hong-Kong, <a href='#Page_314'>314</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Huron, Lake, <a href='#Page_387'>387</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +India, <a href='#Page_203'>203</a>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">travelling in, <a href='#Page_208'>208</a>-217.</span><br /> +<br /> +Indian corn, <a href='#Page_66'>66</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Indian Ocean, <a href='#Page_168'>168</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Indians, North American, <a href='#Page_350'>350</a>, <a href='#Page_352'>352</a>, <a href='#Page_380'>380</a>, <a href='#Page_383'>383</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Irrawaddy, the, <a href='#Page_251'>251</a>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the voyage by cargo boat on, <a href='#Page_278'>278</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +Ismailia, <a href='#Page_156'>156</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Israel, the land of, <a href='#Page_123'>123</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Italy, in, <a href='#Page_36'>36</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Jaffa, <a href='#Page_121'>121</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Japan, <a href='#Page_320'>320</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Japanese gateway, a, <a href='#Page_327'>327</a>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">inn, in a, <a href='#Page_332'>332</a>-344.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">porters, <a href='#Page_335'>335</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +Jerusalem, a walk about, <a href='#Page_120'>120</a>-138.<br /> +<br /> +Jews, the, <a href='#Page_121'>121</a>, <a href='#Page_128'>128</a>, <a href='#Page_134'>134</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Jews' Wailing-Place, <a href='#Page_134'>134</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Jim's story of his adventure with Joyce, <a href='#Page_291'>291</a>-303.<br /> +<br /> +Jordan, the river, <a href='#Page_137'>137</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Joyce, <a href='#Page_278'>278</a>-289.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">her adventure with Jim, <a href='#Page_291'>291</a>-303.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Kandy, <a href='#Page_184'>184</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Karnak, Temple of, <a href='#Page_83'>83</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Kashmir Gate, Delhi, story of, <a href='#Page_224'>224</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Khartoum, <a href='#Page_106'>106</a>, <a href='#Page_115'>115</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Kicking Horse Pass, <a href='#Page_369'>369</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Kishon, the river, <a href='#Page_149'>149</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Kobé, <a href='#Page_317'>317</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Kootenay, <a href='#Page_368'>368</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Kutab Minar, Delhi, <a href='#Page_227'>227</a>, <a href='#Page_228'>228</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Kutho-daw, Mandalay, the, <a href='#Page_275'>275</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Lakes, the great African, <a href='#Page_55'>55</a>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the great American, <a href='#Page_382'>382</a>-387.</span><br /> +<br /> +Lascars, <a href='#Page_157'>157</a>, <a href='#Page_281'>281</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Leogryphs, Burmese, <a href='#Page_257'>257</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Lesseps, Ferdinand de, <a href='#Page_52'>52</a>, <a href='#Page_153'>153</a>, <a href='#Page_154'>154</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Let-pet</i>, <a href='#Page_281'>281</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Lulu Island, salmon cannery on, <a href='#Page_349'>349</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Lumbering, <a href='#Page_359'>359</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Luxor, <a href='#Page_65'>65</a>, <a href='#Page_75'>75</a>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Temple of, <a href='#Page_78'>78</a>-84.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Macaroni, <a href='#Page_39'>39</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Malays, <a href='#Page_306'>306</a>, <a href='#Page_312'>312</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Mandalay, <a href='#Page_272'>272</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Mangoes, <a href='#Page_266'>266</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Manitoba, <a href='#Page_385'>385</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Maples, Canadian, <a href='#Page_393'>393</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Marseilles, <a href='#Page_16'>16</a>-19.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">strange bridge at, <a href='#Page_18'>18</a>, <a href='#Page_19'>19</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mecca, <a href='#Page_159'>159</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Medicine Hat, town of, <a href='#Page_383'>383</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Messina earthquake, <a href='#Page_47'>47</a>-49.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Straits of, <a href='#Page_47'>47</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mikado, the, <a href='#Page_329'>329</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Mimosas, <a href='#Page_292'>292</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Mohammedans, <a href='#Page_107'>107</a>, <a href='#Page_159'>159</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Monkeys, grey, of Ceylon, <a href='#Page_195'>195</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Monks, Burmese, <a href='#Page_252'>252</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[Pg 397]</a></span>Monsoon, the North-East, <a href='#Page_175'>175</a>, <a href='#Page_176'>176</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Montreal, <a href='#Page_392'>392</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Moses' Well, <a href='#Page_161'>161</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Mosque of Omar, <a href='#Page_132'>132</a>, <a href='#Page_133'>133</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Mosquitoes, <a href='#Page_57'>57</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Mount of Olives, <a href='#Page_134'>134</a>, <a href='#Page_135'>135</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Mummies, Egyptian, <a href='#Page_89'>89</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Naples, <a href='#Page_37'>37</a>, <a href='#Page_50'>50</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Nazareth, <a href='#Page_138'>138</a>, <a href='#Page_140'>140</a>-146.<br /> +<br /> +Negro attendants on C.P.R., <a href='#Page_361'>361</a>.<br /> +<br /> +New Zealand, <a href='#Page_166'>166</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ngapé</i>, <a href='#Page_253'>253</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Niagara Falls, <a href='#Page_388'>388</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Nile, the, <a href='#Page_53'>53</a>-56, <a href='#Page_77'>77</a>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">voyage by steamer up, <a href='#Page_95'>95</a>-108.</span><br /> +<br /> +North-American Indians, <a href='#Page_350'>350</a>, <a href='#Page_352'>352</a>, <a href='#Page_380'>380</a>, <a href='#Page_383'>383</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Nubia, <a href='#Page_103'>103</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Ocean, depths of the, <a href='#Page_168'>168</a>-178.<br /> +<br /> +Olives, Mount of, <a href='#Page_134'>134</a>, <a href='#Page_135'>135</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Orient line, the, <a href='#Page_6'>6</a>, <a href='#Page_20'>20</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Pagahn, Burma, <a href='#Page_284'>284</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Pagodas, Burmese, <a href='#Page_257'>257</a>, <a href='#Page_284'>284</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Palestine, <a href='#Page_120'>120</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Paris, <a href='#Page_14'>14</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Parsees, <a href='#Page_207'>207</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Penang, <a href='#Page_304'>304</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Persian, a, <a href='#Page_206'>206</a>, <a href='#Page_207'>207</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Pharaohs, the, <a href='#Page_79'>79</a>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">tombs near Thebes, <a href='#Page_85'>85</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +Phosphorescence, <a href='#Page_174'>174</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Policemen, French, <a href='#Page_16'>16</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Pompeii, story of, <a href='#Page_39'>39</a>, <a href='#Page_40'>40</a>-45.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Poongyi</i>, a Burmese, <a href='#Page_252'>252</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Port Moody, <a href='#Page_360'>360</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Port Said, <a href='#Page_52'>52</a>, <a href='#Page_153'>153</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Porters, Japanese, <a href='#Page_335'>335</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Potter, an Indian, <a href='#Page_232'>232</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Prairie, the Canadian, <a href='#Page_371'>371</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Pulo Pera, sea-birds on, <a href='#Page_305'>305</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Pwé, a Burmese, <a href='#Page_285'>285</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Pyramids, the, <a href='#Page_60'>60</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Quebec, <a href='#Page_393'>393</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Raffles, Sir Stamford, <a href='#Page_312'>312</a>, <a href='#Page_313'>313</a>, <a href='#Page_314'>314</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Rameses <span class="smcap">ii.</span>, <a href='#Page_79'>79</a>, <a href='#Page_80'>80</a>, <a href='#Page_194'>194</a>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">statues of, <a href='#Page_110'>110</a>, <a href='#Page_111'>111</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +Rangoon River, <a href='#Page_251'>251</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Red Sea, <a href='#Page_162'>162</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Regina, <a href='#Page_383'>383</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Revelstoke, <a href='#Page_368'>368</a>, <a href='#Page_369'>369</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Rice-growing in Ceylon, <a href='#Page_184'>184</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Rickshaws, Ceylon, <a href='#Page_180'>180</a>, <a href='#Page_182'>182</a>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Japanese, <a href='#Page_325'>325</a>.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Malayan, <a href='#Page_307'>307</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +Rocky Mountains, <a href='#Page_358'>358</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Rokwren Island, <a href='#Page_316'>316</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Roman Empire, the, <a href='#Page_50'>50</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Rosetta Stone, <a href='#Page_79'>79</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Ruanveli dagoba, <a href='#Page_196'>196</a>-198.<br /> +<br /> +Russian Pilgrims, <a href='#Page_131'>131</a>, <a href='#Page_137'>137</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<i>Saddiyeh</i>, a, <a href='#Page_98'>98</a>.<br /> +<br /> +St. Lawrence River, <a href='#Page_392'>392</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Salmon cannery on Lulu Island, <a href='#Page_349'>349</a>, <a href='#Page_352'>352</a>-353.<br /> +<br /> +Salmon in Fraser River, <a href='#Page_348'>348</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Sampan, in a, <a href='#Page_306'>306</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Sarnia, <a href='#Page_387'>387</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Sault Ste Marie, <a href='#Page_387'>387</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Sawbwa of Hsipaw, the, <a href='#Page_268'>268</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Scarabs, Egyptian, <a href='#Page_93'>93</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Scorpion, a, <a href='#Page_274'>274</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Selkirk Mountains, <a href='#Page_304'>304</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Shaduf</i>, a, <a href='#Page_96'>96</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Shanghai, <a href='#Page_316'>316</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Sheep-farming in Australia, <a href='#Page_166'>166</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Shinto Temple, <a href='#Page_320'>320</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Shintoism, <a href='#Page_321'>321</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Ship, life on board, <a href='#Page_21'>21</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Shiva, the god, <a href='#Page_247'>247</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Shwe Dagon, the, <a href='#Page_259'>259</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Sicily, <a href='#Page_47'>47</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Sikhs, the, <a href='#Page_221'>221</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Sinai, peninsula of, <a href='#Page_161'>161</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Singapore, <a href='#Page_311'>311</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Siwash Indians, <a href='#Page_350'>350</a>, <a href='#Page_352'>352</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Skunk, <a href='#Page_379'>379</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Snake-charmer, a, <a href='#Page_180'>180</a>-181.<br /> +<br /> +Snakes, <a href='#Page_202'>202</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Solomon's Temple, <a href='#Page_132'>132</a>, <a href='#Page_134'>134</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Soudan, the, <a href='#Page_106'>106</a>, <a href='#Page_114'>114</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Southern Cross, <a href='#Page_164'>164</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Spain, <a href='#Page_26'>26</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Sphinx, the, <a href='#Page_62'>62</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Storm on the Indian Ocean, <a href='#Page_174'>174</a>-178.<br /> +<br /> +Straits Settlements, <a href='#Page_304'>304</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Strathcona, Lord, <a href='#Page_368'>368</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Stromboli, <a href='#Page_45'>45</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Suez Canal, <a href='#Page_153'>153</a>-161.<br /> +<br /> +Sugar-cane growing in Egypt, <a href='#Page_69'>69</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Sumatra, <a href='#Page_305'>305</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Sunrise at Abu Simbel, <a href='#Page_109'>109</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Superior, Lake, <a href='#Page_386'>386</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[Pg 398]</a></span>Sydney, <a href='#Page_166'>166</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Tailor, the Indian, <a href='#Page_230'>230</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Tamils, <a href='#Page_180'>180</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Tarantula, a, <a href='#Page_275'>275</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Tea-plantation, a visit to, <a href='#Page_179'>179</a>-191.<br /> +<br /> +Temples, Burmese, <a href='#Page_257'>257</a>, <a href='#Page_284'>284</a>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Chinese, <a href='#Page_307'>307</a>, <a href='#Page_308'>308</a>.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shinto, <a href='#Page_320'>320</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +Thebes, <a href='#Page_77'>77</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Theebaw, King, <a href='#Page_268'>268</a>, <a href='#Page_275'>275</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Thunderstorm, a tropical, <a href='#Page_179'>179</a>-191.<br /> +<br /> +Time, alteration in, <a href='#Page_172'>172</a>, <a href='#Page_385'>385</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Tokyo, <a href='#Page_321'>321</a>, <a href='#Page_325'>325</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Tombs of the Kings, <a href='#Page_85'>85</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Tooth, Temple of the, <a href='#Page_185'>185</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Torii, a Japanese, <a href='#Page_320'>320</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Tortoises, sacred, <a href='#Page_193'>193</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Toulon, <a href='#Page_32'>32</a>, <a href='#Page_50'>50</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Towers of Silence, Bombay, <a href='#Page_208'>208</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Tripoli, <a href='#Page_38'>38</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Typhoon, a, <a href='#Page_176'>176</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Vancouver Island, <a href='#Page_345'>345</a>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">town of, <a href='#Page_358'>358</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +Vesuvius, Mount, <a href='#Page_37'>37</a>, <a href='#Page_40'>40</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Victoria, Lake, <a href='#Page_55'>55</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Victoria, Vancouver, <a href='#Page_345'>345</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Volcanoes, <a href='#Page_36'>36</a>, <a href='#Page_50'>50</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Vultures, <a href='#Page_207'>207</a>, <a href='#Page_208'>208</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Wady Halfa, <a href='#Page_114'>114</a>, <a href='#Page_116'>116</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Weaver, an Indian, <a href='#Page_231'>231</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Wheat-growing in Canada, <a href='#Page_382'>382</a>, <a href='#Page_384'>384</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Winnipeg, <a href='#Page_386'>386</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Yokohama, <a href='#Page_318'>318</a>.<br /> +</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Round the Wonderful World, by G. E. Mitton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROUND THE WONDERFUL WORLD *** + +***** This file should be named 28783-h.htm or 28783-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/7/8/28783/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Josephine Paolucci and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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