on the fortifications of the citadel of Famagusta, and here 8
too is a fragment of the ancient palace of the Lusignan dynasty,
which has escaped destruction by the Turk only to be converted
into a prosaic police station. Unlike the knights of Malta, the
Lusignans made little impression on the natives of the island.
They attempted to replace the national Greek Church by the
Latin; yet the old Latin cathedral of St. Sophia is now used as
a mosque, while, in spite of occasional persecution, the Greek
Church still survives as the Church of the majority of the 9
people. Here is the outside of St. Sophia: it is partly ruined,
but we can see that it was once a fine building. Inside, it 10
still looks like a church, except for the presence of Mohammedans
wearing turbans. Out in the country, near Nicosia, we come on a
fine old monastery, still in the possession of the Greek 11
Church. Notice the monks in their curious dress. Not far away
is a once-famous abbey, now somewhat decayed, as we may 12
judge from a near view of the cloisters; here again is an 13
ugly modern village church, and here by way of contrast a 14
famous _tekkye_, or Mohammedan shrine. Everywhere Turk and 15
Cypriote, Mohammedan and Christian, are side by side; and behind
all is British power enforcing law and order and compelling the
different parties to live at peace with one another.
Cyprus of to-day is what the Turks have made it, since they
conquered it from Venice in 1570; we have succeeded to a heritage
of mis-government, and the conditions of our tenure hamper us
greatly in the task of bringing back prosperity to the people.
In 1878, after the treaty of San Stefano had been forced on
Turkey by Russia, we agreed to defend the Asiatic dominions of
the Sultan against further aggression, on condition first that
reforms were introduced for the protection of his Christian
subjects, and secondly that Cyprus should be occupied and
administered by Great Britain. We added to the agreement an
undertaking to pay annually to the Porte the surplus revenue
of the Island at the time of the occupation, and to evacuate
Cyprus if ever Russia should restore Kars and her other
Asiatic conquests to Turkey. This undertaking has retarded the
progress of the island under our rule in the past, since this
tribute, which now goes to pay the interest on a Turkish loan,
represents a steady drain on the revenue, so that it has been
found necessary to make an annual grant-in-aid from the British
Treasury.
[Illustration: CYPRUS.]
Yet Cyprus is capable of great improvement. It was famous in
the ancient world for its beauty and fertility, and at one time
supported a much larger population than at present. Let us get a
general view with the help of the map. A broad plain, the 16
Messaoria, stretches for seventy miles from one end of the island
to the other. In the midst of it is Nicosia, the capital, and
at the eastern outlet is the port of Famagusta. On the north a
narrow mountain ridge separates the lowland from the sea. Here
is a view of Nicosia across the plain, with the mountain 17
ridges sheltering it on the north; and here is Famagusta 18
as it appears from the roof of St. Sophia. It hardly strikes us
as a busy seaport. On the south of the plain a broader and more
varied highland, rising to six thousand feet in Mount Troodos,
fills the whole corner of the island. Here we see Troodos 19
from the south. The slope on our left is terraced for 20
vineyards. Here is a closer view of one of them. The southern
slope of the mountain is the home of the vine, for which Cyprus
was famous in antiquity, and all along its foot are the sites
of ancient cities. The plain is fertilized by the silt brought
down from the mountains by the heavy winter rains; but in the
spring and summer the rivers dry up and disappear in the porous
soil, and irrigation is necessary to retain the water for the
growing crops. The inland plain is not only dry but intensely
hot in summer, as the mountains cut off the cool breezes from
the sea. Even the natives cannot work in the noonday heat, and
we may often in our walks come on the harvesters taking their 21
noonday rest in the shade, as in the picture before us. At
one time the climate must have been more equable, when the plain
was heavily forested; even to-day it could be much improved by
replanting the trees. The Government is undertaking the work,
but the people and the goats are most destructive, so forest
guards have to be employed, such as the two picturesque 22
figures who are posing here to our artist for their portraits.
Time and money, especially money, are needed to repair centuries
of neglect, and the natives will do nothing without European
control. Here the climate intervenes; in spring and autumn it
is not unpleasant for Europeans, but in the summer months, as
in India, they take refuge in the hills, unless, as commonly
happens, their duties tie them to the plains.
The future of Cyprus depends on its agriculture. The locusts,
which at one time threatened to eat up everything, have been
almost exterminated by special methods of trapping introduced by
the Government; the real trouble arises from the recurrence of
drought and from the backward condition of the native peasantry.
Only a small part of the land is under cultivation, and the
methods of the native are such as might be expected after
centuries of misgovernment and excessive taxation. He scratches
the surface of the soil with a primitive plough, sows the seed
broadcast, regardless of weeds, and reaps the grain with sickles.
The threshing is equally primitive. Oxen drag about on the 23
threshing floor a board studded with flints, and the grain is
then winnowed by throwing it into the air with shovels when the
wind happens to be blowing. We can quite understand that the
wheat will not be of the finest quality after these operations.
The methods of the peasant are those followed by his ancestors
thousands of years ago, and he is slow to learn, though the
efforts of the Government to teach him are now showing some good
results.
To see the life of the real Cypriotes in its most primitive
form we must go to the villages and farms; here we see 24
one of these villages, with its orange orchards; and here 25
is a Turkish villager at the well. In the coast towns we find
another type, the Levantine Greek, who meets us everywhere on
the shores of the eastern Mediterranean. He is a trader and
shopkeeper--not a cultivator of the soil. The true Cypriotes
are not modern Greeks, though they speak the Greek tongue and
belong to the Orthodox or Greek Church. There are also many Turks
settled in the island, but as the native Cypriotes are rather
more industrious as well as more numerous, they are gradually
regaining possession of the land, and the Turkish influence
is growing weaker. But Turks and Cypriotes are alike in their
backward methods and reckless waste of the resources of the
country. They will cut down a whole tree for the sake of a single
plank, and destroy an ancient building to make a stable. In
the towns they have completed the work begun by the great 26
stone balls from the old Turkish cannon. Here is one of these
old huge weapons which was fished up in Famagusta bay. It has an
interesting history, since it is said to have been given by Henry
VIII. to the Knights of St. John, to aid them in the recovery of
Rhodes from the Turk. Primitive though it looks, such a gun could
do a great deal of damage; and the builders completed what 27
the guns began. The ruins of ancient Salamis supplied stones for
old Famagusta; of Salamis nothing but a waste remains. Old 28
Famagusta in its turn was dismantled, as we see it here, for the
building of the new modern town, while much of the material was
even sent by the Turks to Alexandria. It was easier to collect
the stones ready made than to dig them from the quarries. We
find fragments of ancient temples and monuments built into walls
and farmhouses; and it is necessary to set a guard over some
of the most interesting of the old ruins, as over the forests,
to preserve them from further destruction, though the natives
strongly resent this interference with their usual habits. The
Cypriotes have little regard for their own past history and its 29
monuments. Here are some of the famous ruins of St. Hilarion, 30
with their guard: we can see how convenient the native would 31
find these ready-hewn stones for his building.
The importance of Cyprus in ancient and mediæval times was due to
its position, with its harbours and shipping, between the great
Powers to the north, east and south. It commanded the sea-routes
which they used in their expeditions one against another. The
old harbours are small and silted up, or mere open roadsteads
quite unfitted for modern steamships, like the famous Bay 32
of Salamis which we see here. At Famagusta we find a modern 33
harbour, constructed by the Government, and here too the one
little railway of the island starts for the interior and the
capital. At one of the stations a Levantine Greek brings us 34
refreshments, while close by we see two Turkish women, closely
veiled in _yashmaks_. Except at Famagusta we shall probably
anchor off shore, and if the sea is rough we may find some
difficulty in landing. Yet with the aid of really good harbours
Cyprus might once again become a collecting centre for the trade
of the neighbouring coasts, and so regain some of its lost
prosperity. Political conditions have changed; the strong British
garrison which formerly occupied the island has been withdrawn;
but in the near future some of its past strategic importance
may return. The great railway, already in progress, from the 35
Bosporus to the Persian Gulf, must approach the sea at one
point only in its course, where it comes down over the Taurus
range beyond the head of the Gulf of Antioch. The railway, when
completed, will provide a route towards India roughly parallel
to that through the Suez Canal, and may lead to a revival of
agriculture in the rich valleys of the Euphrates and Tigris. The
natural approach to this route from the Mediterranean is not by
way of the Sea of Marmora but by the Gulf of Antioch, and there
will be a branch from the main line to Alexandretta or some other
port near. Cyprus will then once again be on the line of a great
trade route and must have a share in its prosperity; at present
it is side-tracked, and has suffered like an English town avoided
by some great line of railway; its importance has declined as
that of Egypt has increased. We may realize how far Cyprus is off
the main line of traffic by the difficulty of getting back to
our route; as it may take us a week to reach Egypt, travelling
by slow steamer and touching at ports on the Syrian coast on our
way.
We are bound for the Suez Canal and are approaching Port Said
at last. The coast ahead looks flat and desolate: on our right
a long line of sand and mud banks separates the shallow lake
Menzaleh from the open sea; on our left are more mud banks,
and beyond them waste marsh and desert. In front, for over a
mile, two long piers jut out through the brown water on the
shallows; very different it looks from the deep blue of the
open Mediterranean. The piers are needed to protect the channel
from the silt which is swept along the coast by the currents;
within them, on one of the mud banks, stands the town of Port
Said, modern, squalid and not specially interesting. We are in
the extreme corner of the delta of the Nile, on the edge of
the Arabian desert and far away from Egypt proper, with its
picturesque life and people. Only commercial necessity could have
planted a town on such a site; it is the gateway to the Canal and
nothing more.
Our chief recollection of Port Said is likely to be coal and 36
coal dust. No sooner is the anchor down than barges are drawn
by tugs up to the side of our vessel. The barges are sunk to the
water’s edge with their load of coal, and on them stand crowds of
men in dark robes, natives of Africa of every race. Even here,
however, we are reminded of home, for the coal has probably been
brought all the way from Cardiff and stored here for the supply
of our mail boat and others like it which do not carry enough
coal for long voyages at high speed. The barges are made fast
to the side; gangways are hoisted into place; and then with
much bustle and shouting the coal is shovelled into baskets and
carried into the steamer’s bunkers by continuous streams of men.
The black grit flies over everything, and we may perhaps avoid
it by landing for a short glimpse of the town. We can stroll
along the front drive or up the main street and look at the 37
bazaar or stalls, where we may bargain for valueless curios;
but there is little to attract us here, and we shall be glad to
leave the grimy port and, passing the fine buildings of the 38
Canal offices, enter on our ninety-mile journey through the great
waterway.
We move slowly, about five miles an hour, with our electric
searchlight throwing its beam ahead if it is night. Sometimes 39
we meet a steamer coming north, and must moor in one of the
passing stations, as the Canal is too narrow, except at these
points, for large vessels to pass one another. All round
us is the desert, though here and there we may see a small
Arab village or perhaps a string of slow-moving camels, where
the caravan route of the desert touches the line of the Canal.
Towards the southern end of the waterway we pass through the 40
Bitter Lakes. At some very remote age there must have been
a natural channel between the Mediterranean and the Red Sea; of
this the lakes are fragments, partly dried up, and the builders
of the Canal have only repaired the original work of Nature. On
Lake Timsah, halfway across, stands the town of Ismailiya. Here
is the real connexion with Egypt, by the railway from Cairo and
the sweet water canal from the Nile.
The sweet water canal represents in part the work of various 41
rulers of Egypt from the earliest recorded times. The plan of
connecting the two seas directly is modern; it was natural that
the earlier route should be by way of the great river of Egypt
and the inhabited part of the country. The restoration and
extension of this ancient waterway was essential to the scheme
for constructing the Suez Canal. A good supply of water was
vitally necessary for the vast army of native labourers engaged
in the work; the Canal could also be used for small traffic, and
for reclaiming the neighbouring desert by irrigation. So here we
have a link with the real Egypt, the waters of the Nile, and the
great dam at Assuan, far away up the river, which holds up 42
the water and controls the whole system. At both ends of this
long chain of water are vast engineering works of the most modern
type, designed by Europeans; between are the Pyramids, the 43
greatest triumphs of the engineers and builders of the past, and
the representatives of Egypt with all its ancient civilization.
It is a strange contrast of the very old with the very new which
meets us in this corner of Africa: the present conditions might
have been very different if the great route to India and the East
had passed elsewhere.
The Suez Canal, though of vital importance to the whole world
and especially to the commercial Powers of Europe, is not a
national undertaking but private property, constructed under
a lease granted by the Egyptian Government. Our own interests
in it are curious. The Canal was built through the energy and
initiative of the French; it is largely owned in France and
controlled from Paris. But the British people are shareholders,
since our Government, in 1875, bought up the private shares of
the Khedive, and now draws ordinary commercial dividends which
appear in our national accounts. The shares originally cost us
four millions sterling. They are now returning us as profit over
a million every year. British ships, which are the largest users
of the Canal, contribute the greater part of these dividends.
But the waterway was too important to be left as a mere private
undertaking; so, in 1888, all the great Powers of Europe agreed
on a Convention to render it free to the ships of all nations
in time of peace or war. By the terms of this agreement the
Government of the Khedive is entrusted with the task of enforcing
neutrality and protecting and maintaining the free use of the
Canal, with the assistance if necessary of the Government of the
Sultan of Turkey. In the last resort there is an appeal to the
Powers signing the Convention. The Powers also agree to maintain
the principle of equality in the use of the Canal, and not to
attempt to obtain any special political or commercial privileges
in regard to it. Thus, so far as documents and safeguards can
avail, the Canal is to be maintained, in the interests of the
whole of Europe, as an open sea-road to the East.
We steam through the Bitter Lakes and finally reach the southern 44
end of the Canal. The town of Suez lies away to the right, and
beyond it the high coast of Egypt. In the distance we can see
the steamers at anchor and the Egyptian bumboats plying busily 45
to and fro. But there is nothing to detain us here, so we steam
on again through the warm waters of the Red Sea. On either side,
for hundreds of miles, stretch the desert coasts of Egypt and
Arabia. On our right the sun seems to sink behind a chain of
mountains; these are not real mountains, but only the edge of a
plateau, for the land ends in a steep brink overlooking the Red
Sea, but slopes gently westward to the valley of the Nile. Thus
Egypt proper belongs only to the river and turns its back on the
sea.
[Illustration:
_Copyright._) (_See page 25._
FAMAGUSTA.]
[Illustration:
_Copyright._) (_See page 27._
A TURKISH VILLAGER.]
[Illustration:
_Copyright._) (_See page 34._
ARAB BOATS, ADEN.]
[Illustration:
_Copyright._) (_See page 37._
CAMEL MARKET, ADEN.]
We have no ports of call on these desert coasts, so make 46
straight for the exit into the Gulf of Aden and the wide Indian
Ocean. As we near the southern end of the Sea, the water grows
shallower, its shores approach again, and we can see bare brown
rock on either hand, which makes the blazing sun seem even hotter
than before. On our left, off a jutting corner of the Arabian
coast, lies a low bare island, Perim. It is without vegetation or
water, its sole virtue consisting in a deep harbour, commanding
the narrowest part of the outlet, where the channel is only about
twelve miles across. We occupied it as a precaution, fifty years
ago, and it is now a coaling and cable station, with a small
military guard. But it is without fortifications, and in spite of
its position it is not the real key to the Red Sea; we must look
for this in Aden, a hundred miles further east, just as we found
in Gibraltar the control of the strait to the westward.
[Illustration: ADEN.]
Aden proper is a small peninsula, five miles by three, lying 47
across a narrow isthmus which links it with the mainland.
Thus it is not unlike Gibraltar; but one end of the peninsula,
instead of jutting into the open sea, stretches westward towards
another peninsula, that of Little Aden, which helps to enclose
a large bay. Little Aden, the coastline and the mainland for a
short distance inland were all obtained by purchase during the
latter part of the nineteenth century; and the whole of the
country behind, south of a line drawn northeastward from the
coast opposite Perim, is a British Sphere of Influence. North of
the line is the territory of Turkey. Aden is thus made secure
from hostile approach on the land side. If we imagine the area
of Gibraltar to be extended all round the bay of Algeciras and
inland to the hill country of Spain, the position of the two
fortresses would closely correspond.
As we steam towards it, Aden appears as a rugged mass of dark 48
rock, ending in sharp edges and peaks. Along its base runs a
narrow strip of level ground, and a row of mean-looking houses
faces the bay and shows white against a dark and bare background.
There are no trees or vegetation to relieve the gloomy monotony.
Here we are at anchor, well out, off Steamer Point, as much 49
of the inner bay is shallow. At once we are surrounded by 50
small boats manned by dark-skinned Somalis from Africa, and
bringing a mixed crowd of all races eager to sell us tourists’
souvenirs, skins, horns and feathers, also the product of
Africa. Here too are more coaling barges as at Port Said. We
land and find that the near view is hardly more attractive than
the distant; but this is only an outlying suburb of the real
Aden. Let us hire a carriage, as it is far too hot and dusty to
walk. Our driver is a Somali, and the animal in the shafts a
decayed-looking pony; while the vehicle itself threatens every
moment to collapse and leave us in the sandy road. We make 51
our way along the Akaba and through the narrow and rocky 52
Main Pass to the old city. We have passed in our drive through
the wall of an old crater and the town lies at the bottom,
surrounded on all sides by the broken rim whose jagged edges we
noticed from the sea. Here is a general view of Aden from 53
the heights above. The whole peninsula is merely the fragment of
an extinct volcano. In the white town, with its straight streets,
we meet Arabs, Somalis, Indians, Negroes, Greeks, Jews and
British soldiers; their presence here, on a barren rock between
the desert and the sea, can be understood only in the light of
the past history of Aden.
Here, from the remotest antiquity, was without doubt a great
port of exchange for the products of India, Arabia, Africa and
the Mediterranean, by way of Egypt and the Nile. In the Middle
Ages, when first we hear of it from travellers, Aden was still a
strong and important city. The Portuguese, after their discovery
of the Cape route to India, saw that the possession of Aden would
complete their control of the Indian Ocean; but they failed in
their efforts to capture it by open attack. The Turks held it for
a time as part of the Yemen, the neighbouring southwest corner of
Arabia; then it fell under the rule of various local chiefs or
Sultans. So we found it in 1838, when we proposed to buy it from
the reigning Sultan. The negotiations failed through treachery
and outrages on the part of the natives; so in the following year
an expedition from India took forcible possession. As a result
of this, Aden is still technically a part of the Presidency of
Bombay.