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138 the sixteenth of a liter of brandy; in Italy he has one-quarter liter of wine; in Austria brandy is furnished. The war ration in Austria includes also smoking-tobacco for the men and cigars for the officers.

There is nothing more interesting about Constantinople than its defenses. The peculiar location of the city at the mouth of the Black Sea and on the direct route between Europe and Asia has made it for centuries the key to the Orient, and has led from times immemorial to its fortification. The system of defenses around the city is quite extensive, and represents the work of every age, from the wall, such as the Romans adopted for the protection of their cities, to most modern forts bristling with Krupp guns. The city is completely surrounded by walls, which are broken at intervals by gates and towers. Of course these fortifications would be of little use to-day if the city were besieged, nor are they kept up at all. Houses are built in many places close to them. At some points they have been partially torn down to furnish stone for other and more pressing wants. They add, however, immensely to the picturesqueness of the city, clad as they are with vines and plants, and their presence keeps fresh, too, innumerable legends of crime and deeds of courage.

The real defenses of Constantinople are not its walls, but the lines of forts which guard the two sea approaches to the city and those which ward off invaders by land.

The fortifications covering the approaches on the landward side are two-fold. The first is a quarter-circle of forts scattered from a point about eight miles west of Constantinople on the Sea of Marmora, around to a point on the Bosphorus, about the same distance north of the town. Twenty-five miles west of the city, running north and south across the peninsula, is the principal land defense, the Lines of Tchataldja. These were built in 1877, at the time of the war with Russia, but they have been greatly strengthened since.

The Bosphorus, connecting the Sea of Marmora with the Black Sea, is one of the water approaches to Constantinople. It is about twenty miles long, and upon the precipitous banks of both the European and the Asiatic shore are placed at intervals the forts which guard the city. There are some seventeen of them. Not all are modern; indeed, there are forts on the Bosphorus dating back to the fourteenth century. These, of course, would be of little use if it were not for the modern works above and below them. The first of the Bosphorus forts which one sees on leaving Constantinople are perhaps the most interesting, and that on account of their location. They stand on opposite sides of the narrowest portion of the channel—the point made famous by the crossing of Darius and his 700,000 men. Xenophon and his 10,000 are said to have crossed here, too, on their return to Europe.

The other seaward approach to Constantinople is by the Dardanelles—a narrow strait thirty-three miles long, connecting the Sea of Marmora with the Ægean. I had an excellent opportunity of observing the fortifications here, as I went from Constantinople to Greece by steamer. In going out we passed close to the sea walls, the ancient protection of Constantinople, and then crossed the Sea of Marmora into the straits. For several miles after entering the straits there are no forts, the channel being broad and the banks high; but about ten miles from the mouth the stream narrows and there is a sharp bend. Here are the most formidable works defending Constantinople, consisting of ten forts on the European side and five on the Asiatic. All of these works have been modernized, and mount the heaviest of recent guns. This bend in the Dardanelles, like the narrows in the Bosphorus, has always been a favorite passage for crossing. Xerxes, it is said, led over his 1,700,000 men here.

After passing this point of the Dardanelles, the straits widen again, and there are no more fortifications until the mouth is reached. Here again the banks bristle with guns. When we passed, the Turkish fleet was discreetly hovering under their shelter.

It was the 27th of May when I reached Athens, and the contrast between that city and Constantinople was most striking. I had left behind me a well-fortified city, the headquarters of a strong military administration, evidences of vast resources, both in disciplined men and system of supplies, a people proud of victory, a government confident because of success. I came to a city exposed on every hand, deficient in military resources, its government dejected by defeat, its people dissatisfied with their rulers and divided in their opinion of what had been done, or what course should be pursued in the