It is to be supposed that the type of ship that has survived in the East to the present day, like the mahaila and the goufa, is very much unchanged like everything else, and tells us faithfully what sort of ships there were in these waters some two thousand years ago or more.  If this surmise be a correct one, then we can trace the poop tower of the Great Harry and the square windows and super-imposed galleries of the Victory’s stern to this common ancestor.  I wish I had been able to get an elevation of the details of one of these more ornate sterns.  It would be interesting to compare the work with that in the ships of the Middle Ages and see if there is a definite development of type from East to West via the Mediterranean.

We passed down Ashar Creek just after sunset, and the house of Sinbad, with its picturesque surroundings, thoroughly looked the part.  The tower of the mosque stood out against a lemon-coloured sky, and wandering wisps of purple smoke curled up from countless hearths.

Some giant mahailas, nearly obliterated the crooked little galleries that overlook the creek, and a few boats glided silently down towards the open river.  Lights began to appear and stars studded the darkening sky.  Faint sounds of chanting music floated across the water and all the world was still.

[Illustration:  Dhows Basra.]

III

SINBAD THE SOLDIER

[Illustration:  Monitor “Moth” at Basra.]

[Illustration]

SINBAD THE SOLDIER

After a few days among the waterways of Mesopotamia one can get hardened against surprises.  The most amazing and outrageous types of craft soon meet the eye as commonplaces of river life.  Things that would make a Thames waterman sign the pledge proceed up and down without arousing any comment.  Noah’s ark, with its full complement, could ply for hire between Basra and Baghdad, and the lion’s roaring would be accepted as the necessary accompaniment of a somewhat old type of machinery resuscitated for the war.

I have seen boats jostling each other cheek by jowl that might have been taking part in a pageant entitled “Ships in All the Ages.”  There were Thornycroft motor-boats and Sennacharib goufas, mahailas and Thames steamboats, an oil-fuel gunboat and a stern paddler that could have come out of a woodcut of the first steamboat on the Clyde—­and all these in the same reach.  I travelled in this last extraordinary vessel for a short time.  She was in charge of a sergeant of the Inland Water Transport, with an Indian pilot and miscellaneous crew, and my adventurous cruise called to mind both the travels of Ulysses and the Hunting of the Snark.