We were passing the old rail head of the Suakim-Berber Railway, that was started in 1885. I wondered, as I followed fifteen miles of this rusty line, a gradual slope of 1,800 feet toward the sea, whether the road I had only just traversed had ever been surveyed for a railway, and whether anybody had the slightest notion of the difficulties to be contended with in carrying out the scheme. Of course, modern engineering, with such men as Sir Benjamin Baker at the fore, can overcome any difficulty if money be no object, but who can possibly see any return for the enormous outlay an undertaking of this kind would entail? To start with, there is one up grade of 2,870 feet within forty miles from Suakim, and the khors, through which the railway must wind, are sometimes raging torrents. To obviate this, if the line be built of trestles (timber elevations), as with the Canadian Pacific Railway, there is no wood in the country but for domestic purposes. Material, for every detail, must be imported. A smaller matter, but also somewhat important--though water apparently can be found in the khors for the digging, it is a question whether a sufficient quantity can be got at all times for the requirements of a railway. The natives themselves are often very badly off for water, as in the case of the Obak wells. Wells run dry at odd times in this country, and can never be depended upon. Of course, water can be condensed at Suakim and stored. Further, a rival line is already in progress, which will connect Wady Halfa with Berber early this year. European goods coming by that line from Alexandria would be free of the Suez Canal dues, and certainly the directors of that line would treat freights favorably if Suakim should ever be connected with Berber by rail. As for the interior trade of the country, nearly all the population have either died from recent famine or have been killed off in the Mahdi's cause. There is no commercial center or even market to tap from one end of the road to the other. The next morning we came in view of Suakim, the city of white coral, with her surf-beaten opalesque reefs stretching as far as the eye could follow. It seemed strange to me to be peacefully moving toward her outlying forts, for when I was last in her vicinity one could not go twenty yards outside the town without being shot at or running the gauntlet of a few spears. But here I was, slowly approaching its walls, accompanied by some of the very men who in those days would have cut my throat without the slightest hesitation. Suakim had changed much for the better; her streets were cleaner, and mostly free from Oriental smells. But these sanitary changes always take place when British officers are to the fore.