Part 2

Yet all is not bare and dry, as we shall see if we continue 15 our tour of the peninsula. We drive through the old south gate to the Alameda gardens, the beauty spot of Gibraltar. Here are 16 shaded walks and open spaces as in an English park, though many of the plants are strange to us. But we are even here reminded of the fortress, since on the level parade ground we see 17 the troops of the garrison at drill in the cool of the early morning. Our road runs through a grove of trees; there is 18 the southern suburb in front of us, and below as we turn round is spread out the harbour and dockyard, with the calm bay of 19 Algeciras beyond. We pass more old fortifications spanning 20 the road, and come out above Europa point, the southern 21 outlook of the Rock. Here is the lighthouse, which we saw from the steamer, standing on the low cliffs. We have left the trees behind us and all is bare and windswept; but the fresh breeze brings relief after the stifling heat of the town, and so in this corner the Governor has his summer cottage. Here is a 22 view taken from it. We continue our walk round the eastern side of the point, past the old batteries, only to find that the 23 path ends suddenly, where the hill comes sheer down into the sea. As we have a special permit, let us climb the heights and see what is beyond the corner. The narrow ridge with its sharp 24 peaks stretches away to the north; we are looking along its steep eastern slope. Down below, in a little hollow, hemmed in by the sea and the hill, is the village of Catalan Bay, with its 25 colony of Genoese fishermen, descendants of those who settled on the Rock when the Spanish inhabitants left it two centuries ago. Here are the fishermen and their boats at close quarters. 26 Beyond the bay is a long line of surf beating on the low eastern shore of the isthmus, and in the distance, hidden by the mists, the range of the Sierra Nevada. On the middle peak is the 27 signal station, with the old wall of Charles V. running down the hillside; and behind it the aërial line joining the station to the town. Here ends our journey. The signal station is the eye of Gibraltar, ever watching the sea and the Strait, and ready to give instant warning of an enemy’s coming to the guns and ships below.

We think of Gibraltar to-day as one of the most valuable and necessary links in the chain of communication with the East; yet in the eighteenth century, some of the most patriotic and far-seeing among English statesmen were ready and even eager to restore it to Spain. Over and over again it was offered in exchange for some other place, or as a bribe for the Spanish alliance. In 1728, the Cabinet was prepared to surrender it without any return; Lord Townshend, writing to our ambassador, explains why they hesitated. “I am afraid that the bare mention of a proposal which carried the most distant appearance of laying England under an obligation of ever parting with that place would be sufficient to put the whole nation in a flame.” Even in 1783, after the great siege, we proposed to exchange Gibraltar for Porto Rico. The policy of our ministers was not so unreasonable as it seems at first sight. Our trade with the Near East was not increasing, and we had no special interests in the Mediterranean, so that it seemed a waste of strength to maintain a costly fortress there, when all that we could spare was needed for the defence of our distant dominions. In fact, France seemed to be the Power marked out by her history and geographical position as the natural ruler of the inland sea; and it was the sentiment of the English people rather than any practical justification in the conditions of the time which made us cling obstinately to our conquest.

We may realize more clearly the place of Gibraltar in British policy if we turn for a moment to another outpost in this region, which we held for most of the eighteenth century. Minorca was captured soon after Gibraltar, and the two were commonly associated since they both served a like purpose. Gibraltar divided Carthagena from Cadiz, and Toulon from Brest; it was 28 a bar to the union of the Mediterranean and Atlantic fleets of France or Spain. But in the eighteenth century France was the more dangerous enemy, and from the point of view of our relations with France, Minorca was more valuable than Gibraltar. Minorca had no land attack to fear and was better placed than Gibraltar for keeping guard over Toulon, the great arsenal of the French navy in the Mediterranean. The value of both stations lay in their influence on our fights in the Atlantic and the English Channel, since our road to India was round the Cape and we had no thought of the Mediterranean as an alternative. At the end of the century the eyes of British ministers were opened, when Gibraltar became associated not with Minorca but with Malta. It was Napoleon Bonaparte who first directed our policy towards Egypt and drove us to the occupation of Malta.

In 1797, Minorca was no longer ours; we had retired from Corsica and Elba after a short occupation, and not a single British warship was to be seen east of Gibraltar; the Mediterranean became for a time a French lake. Napoleon had been waiting and planning for this, and at once started on his great expedition to Egypt and the East. The expedition was part of a far-reaching design: Egypt was to be colonized by France, a canal cut through the Isthmus of Suez, and England to be attacked by way of India, while the Dutch and Spanish fleets kept us busy in the North Sea and the Atlantic. The defeat of the Dutch off Camperdown and of the Spanish off Cape St Vincent upset this elaborate plan, and in the spring of 1798 Nelson was in the Mediterranean. The French had a week’s start; their destination was uncertain. They were expected in Ireland, Sicily, Portugal; anywhere but in Egypt. Napoleon had been in Egypt for a month when Nelson’s long search ended in the battle of the Nile and the consequent cutting off of the French from their supports at home.

Malta had been occupied by the French without trouble, as there was treachery within the walls; it needed two years of blockade by the Maltese people, aided by our fleet, to compel the garrison to surrender. Still we did not realize its value. At the peace of Amiens we agreed to give it back under guarantees to the Knights of St. John, in spite of the strong protests of the Maltese. We prepared to withdraw our troops, but changed our plans at the last moment, through suspicion of Napoleon’s design; and the island remained in our possession with the full concurrence and goodwill of its inhabitants. When the war broke out again, the French occupied Italy; but Sicily was guarded by the British fleet and was used by us as a base from which to harry the French on the mainland and cut off their supplies by sea. It was a fine object-lesson in the value of a secure island base in these waters as an aid to the command of the sea.

A glance at the map will make clear the importance of the 29 position of Malta. It lies midway between Gibraltar and Port Said, the entrance and exit of the Mediterranean, where Sicily stretching out towards the projecting corner of Africa divides the long narrow sea into two distinct basins. The entry to the eastern half is either by the broad passage between Cape Bon and Sicily, or by the narrow strait of Messina. Malta blocks the one passage and is within easy reach of the other.

Gibraltar has been made by the Rock; its harbour is modern and artificial; but the harbour of Valetta is as old as the island and was used long before the town existed. Here is a plan of 30 the harbour: we see that it consists of two deep inlets with a spur between on which stands the main town. The entrance is narrow, and thus easily defended, while the inlets run far into the land and offer safe anchorage for the largest vessels. The southern inlet, partly closed by a long breakwater, forms the Grand Harbour, into which we are steaming. On our right, at 31 the corner above the breakwater, is the castle of St. Elmo: 32 on our left is fort Ricasoli, guarding the entrance. Higher 33 up are fort St. Angelo, on a jutting peninsula, and other forts and bastions on every point of vantage; while the main town and suburbs are encircled on the land side with ramparts and deep trenches. Here is a view towards the harbour mouth which 34 gives a good picture of the old town. The view is from the upper _Baracca_, where the old knights of Malta used to walk to take 35 the air. Here is another view from the lower _Baracca_, but looking up the harbour. In the harbour a long line of warships lies at anchor, and from the water’s edge the town rises up in steep streets and terraces. Let us climb up one of the main 36 streets leading from the water front. It is not an ordinary roadway, but a staircase with shallow steps of stone, owing to the steepness of the hill. The tall houses, with their weathered yellow stone, their carved fronts and overhanging balconies, and their heavily barred windows looking out on the street, might well belong to some old Italian city. The whole city has an air of dignity and age which we should hardly expect to find in a small and isolated island. Even the great forts suggest mediæval history and romance, armour and swords, rather than bayonets and quick-firing guns. They are very different from the batteries of Gibraltar. In fact, Valetta is far more than a mere fortress; it has a history, a people and a language all its own. The upper classes have been affected by contact with the Latin races of Southern Europe, while there is a strong Arab strain in the mass of the people; but all alike are Maltese, proud of their country and clinging tenaciously to their old customs and language. Here we see a portrait of a gentleman of pure Maltese descent, and 37 here again a Maltese lady, wearing the _faldetta_, or hooded 38 cloak, a remnant of national costume. The hood is still worn very generally by ladies in the street, and we may perhaps connect it with the Eastern custom of concealing the face, though it is not always used for this purpose by the Maltese, and their own tradition traces its origin to the insults of the French soldiers at the time of the occupation.

Malta is the meeting-place of East and West, and its position in the Mediterranean has determined its destiny. From the beginning of history every dominant race in the Mediterranean has held it at one time or another. Romans and Carthaginians fought for it: the Arabs occupied it for two centuries and left their mark on the language and the people: then came the Normans in the eleventh century and brought it into close contact with Europe; and finally, in 1530, it was handed over by the Emperor Charles V. to the Knights of St. John of Jerusalem, better known as the Hospitallers, who had been driven from Rhodes, their earlier home, after a great siege by the Turks. Thus Malta became an outpost of Christendom, barring Mohammedan progress westward, and a safe base for the knights in the perpetual war which they waged against the infidel in the eastern Mediterranean. It is no matter for surprise that three times in the course of twenty years the Turks besieged the knights with powerful armies; though each time they were beaten back with great slaughter. At the date of the third attack, in 1565, La Valette was Grand Master of the Order. On the retreat of the Turks he founded the new town of Valetta, round the harbour and forts which he had so well defended. The Order was wealthy, with vast possessions in Europe; princes and prelates contributed money as a thank-offering for victory over the Turk, and crowds of skilled workmen were brought over from the mainland. So the new city grew, with its fortifications and palaces, a fit home for a knightly aristocracy which was distinguished alike for its prowess in war and for its luxury in time of peace.

The city remains much as it was. The Grand Master’s palace is now the residence of the Governor; here in the armoury we 39 can still see the armour and weapons of its former owners. At Citta Vecchia, the former capital, we find the old Court of 40 Justice converted into a hospital. Here again is the house 41 of one of the knights made useful as a government school, and here the Auberge, or club house, of the knights of Castile 42 in the occupation of the Royal Artillery; while the beautiful cathedral of St. John, built by the knights, still stands to 43 remind us of the combination of religion and fighting which was so characteristic of the mediæval world. We can still see, 44 also, the great aqueduct, built to bring water to the city from the distant springs. Everywhere we have preserved and adapted the work of the knights, so that Malta is a picture of the past for the most part unspoiled.

Outside the towns there is little to see in Malta. Here is 45 a view across the country, and here a wider view from the 46 ramparts of Citta Vecchia; it looks dreary enough, with high stone walls crossing it in every direction with a few cypresses showing above them, and here and there a grove of olives. The walls are necessary, as the island is exposed to every wind that blows, and above all to the _gregale_, the boisterous north-east storm wind. Even more unpleasant is the Sirocco, a warm damp wind which blows in late summer and early autumn from the Sahara. The summer is hot, and usually without a cloud; and though heavy rains fall in the winter, they quickly soak into the porous rock. Though it seems so bare and rocky and the soil is thin, yet Malta is well cultivated and produces splendid crops on its little farms. But there are too many people for its small area, since the whole Maltese group is only about half as large again as the Channel Islands; and as the Maltese are loath to emigrate, much food must be imported, and large quantities of grain 47 are stored for emergency in the old underground granaries 48 which we see here, hewn from the solid rock. Everything is of stone in Malta; the island is one great mass of limestone with the thinnest covering of soil. We may cross the open country by the narrow gauge railway and enter Citta Vecchia by the old 49 gateway. The place seems sleepy and lifeless, since its people have migrated to Valetta. There are relics in it of very early days; a Norman house which we may recognize by the shape of 50 its doors and windows, and even still older, the remains of 51 a Roman villa. But even here, in this quaint old town, we 52 find soldiers of the Maltese regiment at drill, to remind us that a fortress is not far away.

We will now leave Valetta, with its harbour and forts, its close-packed houses and busy streets, to visit another island 53 of the Maltese group, more thinly populated than Malta and more old-fashioned and rural. We sail northward along the coast, past the deep bay which tradition connects with the wreck of St. Paul, past the islet of Comino, with its solitary castle, lying in mid-channel, and reach the landing-place of Gozo. Here, on the side facing Malta, the coast is low; but the rest of the island is bordered by steep limestone cliffs, hollowed out into caves and grottos. One of these our guide will show us as the very cave of Calypso described by Homer. We land and drive towards the 54 old capital, Rabato, re-named Victoria, which lies in the centre of the island, like the old capital of Malta; but there is no deep inlet on the coast to give rise to another Valetta. From the walls of the old castle, close to the cathedral, we can look 55 across the same flat country, cut up into pieces by stone 56 walls, which we saw in Malta. But the countryside is brighter; on our drive to Rabato we pass gardens where vegetables are grown for the Valetta market; thick hedges of scarlet geranium; fields of tall spiked red clover and banks of wild thyme and vetch. Gozo has been noted for its honey from very early times, and there is abundance of food here for the bees. Everywhere are herds of goats tended by half-clad children, and outside the houses we may see whole families of women and girls busy making lace. 57 The Maltese lace which we buy comes mainly from Gozo, where the industry has existed for thousands of years. Here is one of the old houses; notice its curious eastern look; we shall find 58 that even the language seems to differ somewhat from that of the Maltese and to be allied more to Arabic.

We are in an old-fashioned world, with little to remind us of Europe except the churches and the decaying fortifications of Rabato. But before the Arabs, before the Romans, and perhaps even before the Phœnicians, there were people in these islands who have left strange traces of their occupation. In both islands are to be found fragments of very ancient enclosures or temples, built of huge stones piled together without mortar, such as we 59 have in these two pictures. It may be that the race of these 60 old builders still survives to some degree in the Maltese, and they may well be proud to believe that they have been tenants of the islands without a break from before the beginning of the history of the races of modern Europe. Whatever the exact origin of the Maltese may be, in speaking of Malta and Gibraltar together we are certainly linking the very old with the very new. Gibraltar has no real native people and no continuous history; even from the point of view of naval strategy it is essentially modern. Malta was a naval base in the days when trade and civilization were confined to the Mediterranean; the opening of the Suez Canal has merely added to its former importance. Gibraltar only comes into history when western civilization has spread to the outer seas and the broad Atlantic.

LECTURE II

MALTA TO ADEN

On our voyage from the English Channel to Malta we are never out of touch with the countries of Western Europe. Even on the African coast European influence or control is becoming stronger every year. We have seen how our occupation of Gibraltar was incidental to our quarrels with France and Spain, and these same quarrels, in the end, brought Malta into our possession. But Malta is on the edge of the Near East, and in looking at its history in mediæval times we were always concerned with the rivalry of the West with the East, Europe with Asia. So even to-day, though Europe has proved itself the stronger, we shall find that beyond Malta we enter a new world where the relations of West and East are not yet finally settled. This uncertainty is shown alike in our own position and in that of the other great Powers of Europe. The problem of the Near East is still one of the chief worries of diplomats and governments.

From Malta to Aden is perhaps the most important section of the great trade route which we are following; yet right through, from the entrance of the Eastern Mediterranean to the outlet of the Red Sea, in spite of our great commercial and political interests, we shall not find a single acre of British freehold territory. Even as far as Malta we can only claim that part of the road is British, since, in time of peace, the important mail traffic goes through France and Italy, from Calais to 1 Brindisi. In fact, for our complete traffic, in passengers, mails, goods and ships, we might regard Aden as the first British station on the road to India.

So, at the European end of the journey, owing to the modern development of rapid transit, we are more and more dependent on the kindly offices of foreign nations. Beyond Malta conditions are different. Though we have no freehold possessions, the waterway is free to all, and we have agreements and rights of various kinds affecting its use and control. We must learn something of these rights, since Malta and Aden lose half their meaning for us unless we understand the nature of our interests in the intervening links in the long chain of communication.

As we steam eastward from Malta, on our way to Port Said, we 2 may pass within sight of the island of Crete. Here we are entering on the new region, as Crete has relations both with Europe and with Asia, and the ultimate form of these relations is still in doubt. Crete is a debatable ground between Turkey and Greece, and Britain is concerned with three other European Powers in determining its destiny. Further east, in the same latitude as Crete, lies Cyprus, which we must now notice, since its administration is in our hands, although it seems a long way out of our direct course to the East.

The island lies far away from the Greek Archipelago, in the angle formed by the coasts of Syria and Asia Minor, where the Gulf of Antioch runs in between the Taurus mountains of Cilicia and the northern continuation of the coast range of Lebanon. It is a region rich in history. On either side of the Gulf are the ancient sites of Tarsus and Antioch; inland is the commercial city of Aleppo, and beyond it the headwaters of the great river Euphrates. This small corner of the Mediterranean, now comparatively neglected, was of great importance in the ancient world; and some knowledge of its past may help us to appreciate its position at the present day.

The origin of the first inhabitants of Cyprus is doubtful, but we know that in historical times Phœnicians and Greeks were settled here in large numbers. Kitium, near the modern Larnaca, was Phœnician, while Salamis, near Famagusta, was one of the chief centres of Greek influence. These and many other cities, little kingdoms in themselves, were well known to ancient historians; though the whole island is only about twice the size of Lancashire. Cyprus in early times became famous for the worship of the Phœnician goddess Astarte, the Aphrodite of the ancient Greeks. Here we can still see the Phœnician rock tombs, and 3 here are fragments of the marble columns which once supported 4 a great temple of Zeus. Perhaps, too, these vast heaps of 5 slag, relics of the old workings for copper, which took its name from the island, may be due in part to the people who are thought to have reached even our own islands in their search for tin. But for the most part, bombardments, earthquakes, destructive natives and foreign searchers after antiquities have left few remnants of the ancient civilization except such as are buried beneath the earth. The real interest of Cyprus for us lies rather in its political history in mediæval and modern times.