CONSTANTINOPLE AND SANCTA SOPHIA 



467 



run their bowsprits and yards into houses 

 on the shore. Many a shipmaster has 

 paid damages for such unceremonious 

 intrusion not only of his rigging, but of 

 his sailors, into drawing-rooms and cham- 

 bers along the Bosphorus. I remember, 

 when making a good-by call upon an 

 English lady at Candili, her matter-of- 

 fact apology for the torn casements of 

 the windows and the disordered appear- 

 ance of the room. She said that a Greek 

 vessel ran into the house that morning, 

 and that the carpenters had not come to 

 make repairs (see page 438). 



A NARROW WATERWAY 



The Bosphorus contains few dangerous 

 submarine rocks or shoals. The locality 

 of these few is indicated by lighthouses 

 or buoys. The water is only slightly 

 tinged with salt and is marvelously clear. 

 The sands, glittering apparently near the 

 surface, may be 20 feet below. 



On a map of whatever scale, each of 

 those familiar straits, which cleave lands 

 and continents asunder, seems hardly 

 more than a silvery thread. Yet, as one 

 sails over their famous waters, the op- 

 posing shores on either hand sometimes 

 appear far away. The Strait of Gibral- 

 tar, which wrests Africa from Europe, is 

 16 miles wide: that of Messina, forcing 

 its way between Italy and Sicily, is from 

 2 to 12; that of Bonifacio, which, like a 

 blade of steel, cuts Corsica and Sardinia 

 apart, is 7 miles in width at its most con- 

 tracted point ; even the Dardanelles ex- 

 pands from over one mile to four. 



But the illusion as to distances created 

 by the map is reality as to the Bosphorus. 

 Off Buyoukdereh, where it attains its 

 largest breadth, its hemmed-in waters 

 broaden to only 9,838 feet, or about one 

 and four-fifths miles. Between Roumeli 

 Hissar and Anadoli Hissar they shrink 

 to one-sixth of these dimensions, or to 

 1,641 feet (see page 439). 



THK BATTI^E OF THE WINDS 



By a strange phenomenon, if the south 

 wind prevails the superficial current is 

 reversed, though the inferior current con- 

 tinues its accustomed course. Then the 

 waters on the surface are piled tumultu- 

 ously back upon one another, and the 



quays, which are several feet above the 

 ordinary Bosphorus level, are flooded and 

 perhaps made impassable. At such times 

 caiques and smaller boats do not dare to 

 venture upon the tempestuous surface. 



Sometimes a strong wind blows north- 

 ward from the Marmora, and another 

 wind as strong blows with equal violence 

 southward from the Black Sea. Then, 

 as one gazes from some central point like 

 Roumeli Hissar, he beholds ships under 

 full sail majestically approaching each 

 other from both directions till at last they 

 are only two or three miles apart. Be- 

 tween them lies a belt of moveless sea, 

 into which they are forced and on which 

 they drift helplessly about and perhaps 

 crash into each other's sides. This is a 

 duel royal between Boreas and Notus and 

 may continue for hours. Gradually the 

 zone of calm is forced north or south. At 

 last one wind withdraws like a defeated 

 champion from the arena. The ships 

 which it has brought thus far drop their 

 anchors and wait, or else hire one of the 

 numerous steam-tugs which are paddling 

 expectantly about. The ships which have 

 come with the victorious wind trium- 

 phantly resume their course, and mean- 

 while their sailors mock and jeer their 

 fellow-mariners, whose breeze has failed 

 them.* 



Of all its many descriptive epithets, 

 ancient and modern, none have clung 

 with more persistent tenacity than the 

 simple, early adjective of "fishy" Bos- 

 phorus. Seventy edible varieties of fish, 

 familiar to connoisseurs, sport in its 

 waters. Some have their permanent 

 haunts within the stream. The most are 

 migratory. The instinct of the seasons 

 moves them northward or southward 

 with the birds. The strait is their only 

 possible highwa}' between the Black Sea 

 and the Mediterranean, their summer and 

 winter homes. From March until June 

 and from August to December men, 

 poised in the quaint perches high on piles 

 above the water and constantlv on the 

 outlook, watch for the flash of their glid- 



* The average annual temperature of the 

 water is about 1^° Fahrenheit higher than 

 that of the air. In winter it is 14^° higher; 

 in spring, summer, and autumn it is 3%°, 4°, 

 and 1^4-° less. 



