press down the handle of the pump, and talking to him, encouraging and comforting.

Whatever may be the explanation, certain it is that in far-away London a woman lay sleepless all that night, consumed with a feverish anxiety for him.

At length the water went down beneath the cabin floor, and Stayson got the stove going and cooked some food. Both the boys ate; then, as they still seemed dull and sleepy, he let them lie. When he went out on deck again, it was nearly light, and he could see land astern. It was high land, and one or two lights were twinkling on the cliff top.

With a supreme effort he got the mainsail and foresail up, then cut the sea-anchor rope. Then he turned the ship landwards, just as the edge of a fiery red sun cut the horizon; he felt as though his body were dead, but his mind was supremely happy.

Two thoughts ran through his brain, indistinct but absorbing. One a sense of accomplishment and justification, the other the lawyer habit of thought there was too much, too long a series of coincidence for it to be just chance. Could it be just chance that had snatched him from his busy work in London, sent him out into these long grey wastes of sea to arrive at a crucial moment, and to be the instrument of saving two young lives from destruction?

VOL. CCXII.-NO. MCCLXXXI.

A prolonged coughing fit seized him as he was coming back. He half fell into his seat in the cockpit, then raised his hand as a signal that he was ready. The motor-boat started, and Stayson kept the yacht in her wake.

The sun was well clear of the horizon now, and Stayson gazed longingly on his native land.

It seemed as though he was returning to her in a blaze of glory, and God seemed very good and near.

The launch puffed fussily between the pier-heads, and the yacht followed her faithfully into the smooth water of the harbour. Then the launch turned to the left to bring her to the anchorage, but the Sarcophagus went straight ahead, and was pulled up with a jerk.

"Starboard yer helm," shouted the fisherman, "starboard like hell."

But the hand that gripped the tiller was already growing cold, and the last voyage ended.

B

NOT long ago a brief and casual reference was made in some of the newspapers to the death of Mubarak, Sheikh of Koweit. Few readers saw in this an allusion to one mesh in the network of British, Turkish, and German diplomacy and intrigue in which the Bagdad Railway was involved. To myself it was the news of the death of an old friend, and of a remarkable man who ranked high among the sheikhs of modern Arabia. What part he played in the Great War I do not know; he must, from his proximity to Basra, have been to some extent involved in the Mesopotamian operations, and, if so, I feel sure he was our staunch ally. But my recollections of him are of earlier date, and I record them here as a small memorial to a great man.

The town of Koweit lies on the border of the Arabian desert near the head of the Persian Gulf. Behind it stretch leagues of sand; in front is a large desolate sheet of water enclosed in a bay, which forms its harbour. From the deck of a ship lying in the bay nothing meets the eye but the sea horizon all round, except where, to the south and west, a long low strip of sand is visible, broken by a group of brown, clay-built, flat-roofed houses which form the town. A more dreary and uninterest

ing spot could hardly be imagined.

About a dozen years before the world war broke out it was my destiny to dwell for some months in this desert harbour in command of one of His Britannic Majesty's cruisers, which I will call the Stella. The circumstances that brought the cruiser there need not be set forth in detail ; suffice it to say that this strange and almost unknown harbour of Koweit was at that time a storm-centre of European diplomacy. For the great railway that was then slowly crawling across Asia Minor from the Bosphorus to the Persian Gulf needed a port for its terminus on that gulf, and what harbour was more suitable than this of Koweit ? The question as to who controlled, or was to control, this sand-surrounded sheet of water became one of vital import

ance.

The territory in which the harbour lay, ruled over by the Sheikh of Koweit, was claimed by Turkey; the Sheikh repudiated this claim, and asserted his own sovereign independence. Germany, intensely interested in the matter, supported the Turkish claim, and, moreover, made strenuous efforts to obtain from the Sheikh the lease of a site for the railway terminus on the shore of the harbour, but without suc

cess, for the Sheikh was under an agreement with the British Government not to dispose of an inch of his territory without their consent.

It was on account of this state of affairs, and the complications and intrigues attending it, that the Stella lay there, week after week-" a painted ship upon a painted ocean," alone in exceeding loneliness, waiting and watching for events. It was summer, and the heat was intense. The ship was floating in hot water; from a cloudless brazen sky the sun beat down mercilessly from sunrise to sunset; the air quivered with the heat vapours ascending from sea and sand. It was not until the fiery red globe was sinking below the horizon that one could venture out from under cover.

One day, soon after my arrival, as evening came on I landed, with some officers, to call on the Sheikh, using a steamboat for the passage to the shore, for the ship lay three miles distant from the town owing to shoal water. There were no piers or jetties, and the boat could only approach to some fifty yards from the beach. Several fine Arab horses were waiting for us, and these were led into the water so that we could mount them from the boat, and so land dry-shod. This we did as rapidly as possible, for the smells on the beach were appalling, and constrained us not only to hurry but to smoke cheroots furiously while landing.

As we left our boat behind

us we left with it the twentieth century and all its works, and found ourselves plunged into the days of Haroun-al-Raschid and the Arabian Nights.' I had visited many remote and almost untrodden parts of the world, and everywhere I had found some traces of Birmingham and Manchester, of something European or American'; but here in Koweit I could see nothing of such origin: all was purely Oriental and apparently archaic, with one exception-firearms.

The town, with a population of 15,000, was large and farspread; the houses all of brown clay or mud, square-shaped and flat-roofed; the streets very narrow and tortuous; the bazaars typically Eastern, displaying no fine treasures, however, but the simplest necessities of life in the shape of food and clothing required by an Arab population. The town was walled all round except by the shore, and had but one gate, opening upon the desert; and outside this gate were camps of wandering Bedouins with their horses, camels, and sheep.

A short ride from the place where we had landed brought us to the Sheikh's palace, a house differing little from the others except in size. In an outer courtyard a number of grave and stately Arabs were seated; they were dressed in the flowing robes of the Bedouins with the invariable head-dress of red and white cloth, bound with a double

band of camel's hair cord. These men rose respectfully as we passed them and entered an inner courtyard, whence we mounted a flight of steps leading to the flat roof above Here were more Arabs, apparently of higher rank, one of whom came forward to greet us, and led us into a room built on the roof. This was the Sheikh's reception - room and council-chamber, a large and airy apartment looking out over the roof below upon the harbour and surrounding country. A Persian carpet was on the floor, and divans, chairs, and small tables formed the furniture.

As we entered, Sheikh Mubarak met us, shook hands, and invited us to be seated. Two of the principal Arabs had come in with us; the remainder stayed outside. All treated the Sheikh with the utmost awe and respect.

His appearance justified this attitude. Sheikh Mubarak ibn Subah-to give him his full name was a man of about sixty years of age, of medium height, though he looked taller in his flowing Arab dress, which was similar to that worn by the others. Under the projecting folds of the head-dress a strong, stern, hawk-like face, with a pair of very shrewd penetrating eyes looked out; a grizzled grey beard failed to conceal a firm mouth. His bearing was dignified, but friendly and courteous, and I saw that here was a man who could be as firm and faithful

a friend as a determined and relentless enemy.

It was, of course, to be expected that he would be friendly towards me, for I was there to support him in his independence and to defend him from aggression. And during the months I was at Koweit he and I remained firm friends.

Coffee was brought in by a dark-skinned attendant; it was served in small cups without handles, and was poured out of a huge brass pot with a very long projecting curved lip. Conversation was maintained by means of my interpreter, Abdullah, whose knowledge of Arabic (like Sam Weller's of London) was "extensive and peculiar," for he had accompanied several caravans of pilgrims across Arabia from the Persian Gulf to Mecca.

At the farther end of the reception - room an archway gave access to an inner room, where the coffee was prepared, and one of the doors from this inner room led into the Sheikh's private quarters and harem. This room will be mentioned later in connection with an interesting incident.

My first visit to Mubarak closed with friendly farewells, and he placed his horses at the disposal of myself and the officers whenever we wished to ride, an invitation of which we were glad to avail ourselves. It became my regular custom to land every evening at sunset, mount a beautiful mare called Wazna," caparisoned in a purple and silver saddle

Mubarak himself never visited me on board the ship, but I had frequent visits from his son, Jabur, and his vizier, Hadji Ali. Jabur was a finelooking, thick - set, blackbearded man, who was on excellent terms with his father, and seemed to me a chip of the old block." Hadji Ali was a crafty-looking old fellow with one eye, which he certainly kept wide open. From frequent conversations with these two, as well as with the Sheikh, I soon became aware of the network of intrigues with which Mubarak was surrounded. The Turkish authorities at Basra (backed from Constantinople and from Berlin) were inciting Abdul Aziz Ibn Raschid, the Emir of Nejd, the territory adjoining that of Mubarak, to attack the latter, who was an old enemy of his, promising Turkish cooperation.

No

doubt their object was to create a pretext for Turkish intervention and a further assertion of sovereignty. It was also reported from Basra that the Turks would make an attempt upon Koweit by sea, while Ibn Raschid attacked by land.

In addition to these political enemies, Mubarak had some bitter private enemies at Basra

on the circum

stances of his obtaining the position of Sheikh of Koweit. These circumstances make a story worthy of the Arabian Nights,' and were related to me by my interpreter, Abdullah. It appeared that when the old Sheikh, old Sheikh, Mubarak's father, died, a dispute arose as to the succession. Mubarak considered himself the rightful heir, but his two brothers (probably by a different mother) proclaimed themselves jointSheikhs, and took the direction of affairs into their hands. In these wilds of Arabia there is only one law-that of the strong arm,—and Mubarak had no means of appealing against the self-asserted claim of his brothers. He could only bide his time, gather adherents, and await an opportunity. His brothers feared him, and it came to his ears that to avoid further trouble they had decided to assassinate him. There were only two courses open to Mubarak - either to fly from the country, or to forestall his brothers. He rejected the first and determined on the second. How he carried it out was thus narrated to me by Abdullah :—

"One of the brothers, called Mahmoud, lived in a house near the Mosque; the other in another house not far away. Now there was living in Mahmoud's house a man who was a very religious man: every morning, before sun get up, he go out of the house to say prayer at the Mosque, and he leave the door open till he come