72	TURKEY IN TRAVAIL
roofed houses set in trees, reaching down to the point
where the old Seraglio and the Imperial Harems frown
over the sea. Away beyond, divided by the Golden
Horn and spanned by the Bosphorus, stood Pera, once
the old ghetto, where now gaunt brick houses crowded
on the sides of many hills, full of Europeans and rich
people.
We anchored off Leander's tower where the Bosphorus
runs into the sea, and its fierce current twists and swirls,
mouths at the ships and snarls as it dives down a hundred
feet below sea surface. The waterways were crowded
with shipping and with myriads of small craft that kept
no rules of the road. While we waited I remembered
my last visit here in the hour of defeat, with my police-
man and in my ragged old uniform. Now I came back
on the tide of a stupendous victory and full of hope
of the great future. The Allied passport officers came
aboard. The Frenchman was fussy and a nuisance, be-
cause he could not help it. The Italian nosed round
on the chance of seeing a good-looking woman, because
he could not help it. The Englishman was frankly
bored. Outside England I have often wondered as to
the value of the Passport System. The efficient criminal
and the dangerous politician can easily circumvent it,
I suppose it holds up the feeble-minded and the silly
ass, and that is a blessing.
We landed at the Bridge and plunged into Galata
and into the rattle and roar that is the sound of Con-
stantinople. Instinctively I held my breath, waiting
for the crash. Trams banged and squealed, as they
passed over worn-out points. Motor-cars of all makes