c MEMOIR 



They are not really barren all over, but they are quite destitute 

 of verdure ; and tufts of thyme, wild mastic or mint, though 

 they sound well, are not nearly so pretty as grass. Many little 

 ch arches, glittering white, dot the islands ; most of them, I 

 believe, abandoned during the whole year with the exception of 

 one day sacred to their patron saint. The villages are mean, 

 but the inhabitants do not look wretched and the men are good 

 sailors. There is something in this Greek race yet ; they will 

 become a powerful Levantine nation in the course of time. What 

 a lovely moonlight evening that was ! the barren island cutting 

 the clear sky with fantastic outline, marble cliffs on either hand 

 fairly gleaming over the calm sea. Next day, the wind still 



continuing, I proposed a boating excursion and decoyed A , 



L and S into accompanying me. We took the 



little gig, and sailed away merrily enough round a point to a 

 beautiful white bay, flanked with two glistening little churches, 

 fronted by beautiful distant islands ; when suddenly, to my 

 horror, I discovered the Elba steaming full speed out from the 

 island. Of course we steered after her ; but the wind that instant 

 ceased, and we were left in a dead calm. There was nothing for it 

 but to unship the mast, get out the oars and pull. The ship 

 was nearly certain to stop at the buoy ; and I wanted to learn 

 how to take an oar, so here was a chance with a vengeance ! 



L steered, and we three pulled a broiling pull it was about 



half way across to Palikandro still we did come in, pulling an 

 uncommon good stroke, and I had learned to hang on my oar. 



L had pressed me to let him take my place ; but though I 



was very tired at the end of the first quarter of an hour, and 

 then every successive half hour, I would not give in. I nearly 

 paid dear for my obstinacy however ; for in the evening I had 

 alternate fits of shivering and burning.' 



III. 



The next extracts, and I am sorry to say the last, are from 

 Fleeming's letters of 1860, when he was back at Bona and 

 Spartivento and for the first time at the head of an expedition. 



