Surely the conclusion of the whole matter throughout the whole Empire must be men and women of our own stock, habits, language, and hopes brought in by every possible means under a well-settled policy?  Time will not be allowed us to multiply to unquestionable peace, but by drawing upon England we can swiftly transfuse what we need of her strength into her veins, and by that operation bleed her into health and sanity Meantime, the only serious enemy to the Empire, within or without, is that very Democracy which depends on the Empire for its proper comforts, and in whose behalf these things are urged.

EGYPT OF THE MAGICIANS

1913

SEA TRAVEL. 
A RETURN TO THE EAST.
A SERPENT OF OLD NILE. 
UP THE RIVER. 
DEAD KINGS. 
THE FACE OF THE DESERT. 
THE RIDDLE OF EMPIRE.

And the magicians of Egypt did so with their enchantments.—­EXODUS vii. 22.

I

SEA TRAVEL

I had left Europe for no reason except to discover the Sun, and there were rumours that he was to be found in Egypt.

But I had not realised what more I should find there.

A P. & O. boat carried us out of Marseilles.  A serang of lascars, with whistle, chain, shawl, and fluttering blue clothes, was at work on the baggage-hatch.  Somebody bungled at the winch.  The serang called him a name unlovely in itself but awakening delightful memories in the hearer.

‘O Serang, is that man a fool?’

’Very foolish, sahib.  He comes from Surat.  He only comes for his food’s sake.’

The serang grinned; the Surtee man grinned; the winch began again, and the voices that called:  ‘Lower away!  Stop her!’ were as familiar as the friendly whiff from the lascars’ galley or the slap of bare feet along the deck.  But for the passage of a few impertinent years, I should have gone without hesitation to share their rice.  Serangs used to be very kind to little white children below the age of caste.  Most familiar of all was the ship itself.  It had slipped my memory, nor was there anything in the rates charged to remind me, that single-screws still lingered in the gilt-edged passenger trade.

Some North Atlantic passengers accustomed to real ships made the discovery, and were as pleased about it as American tourists at Stratford-on-Avon.

‘Oh, come and see!’ they cried.  ’She has one screw—­only one screw!  Hear her thump!  And have you seen their old barn of a saloon? And the officers’ library?  It’s open for two half-hours a day week-days and one on Sundays.  You pay a dollar and a quarter deposit on each book.  We wouldn’t have missed this trip for anything.  It’s like sailing with Columbus.’

They wandered about—­voluble, amazed, and happy, for they were getting off at Port Said.