The Rulers of the MediterraneanDavis, Richard Harding
History
The Rulers of the Mediterranean
Davis, Richard Harding
Mediterranean Region -- Description and travel
There are certain places and things with which the English novel has
made us so familiar that it is not necessary for us to go far afield or
to study guide-books in order to feel that we have known them intimately
and always. We know Paddington Station as the place where the detective
interrogates the porter who handled the luggage of the escaping
criminal, and as the spot from which the governess takes her ticket for
the country-house where she is to be persecuted by its mistress and
loved by all the masculine members of the household. We also know that a
P. and O. steamer is a means of conveyance almost as generally used by
heroes and heroines of English fiction as a hansom cab. It is a vessel
upon which the heroine meets her Fate, either in the person of a young
man on his way home from India, or by being shipwrecked on a desert
island on her way to Australia, and where the only other surviving
passenger tattooes his will upon her back, leaves her all his fortune,
and considerately dies. Long ago a line of steamers ran to the
Peninsula of Spain; later they shortened their sails, as the Romans
shortened their swords, and, like the Romans, extended their boundaries
to the Orient. This line is now an institution with traditions and
precedents and armorial bearings and time-hallowed jokes, and when you
step upon the deck of a P. and O. steamer for the first time you feel
that you are not merely an ordinary passenger, but a part of a novel in
three volumes, or of a picture in the London _Graphic_, and that all
sorts of things are imminent and possible. It may not have occurred to
you before embarking, but you know as soon as you come over the side
that you expected to find the deck strewn with laces and fans and
daggers from Tangier, and photographs of Gibraltar, and such other
trifles for possible purchase by the outbound passengers, and that the
crew would be little barefooted lascars in red turbans and long blue
shirts, with a cumberband about their persons, and that you would be
called to tiffin instead of to lunch.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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