ury after century, for
eighteen miles along the western coast. And then the grim front of
_Portland Island_ itself loomed out above us. The road ran up steeply
among the bluffs, through line upon line of grey-slated houses; to the
left, at the top of the cliff, were the sunken lines of the huge fort,
with the long slopes of its earthworks, the glacis overgrown with
grass, and the guns peeping from their embrasures; to the left, dipping
to the south, the steep grey crags, curve after curve. The streets
were alive with an abundance of merry young sailors and soldiers,
brisk, handsome boys, with the quiet air of discipline that converts a
country lout into a self-respecting citizen. An old bronzed sergeant
led a child with one hand, and with the other tried to obey her shrill
directions about whirling a skipping-rope, so that she might skip
beside him; he looked at us with a half-proud, half-shamefaced smile,
calling down a rebuke for his inattention from the girl.

We wound slowly up the steep roads smothered in dust; landwards the
view was all drowned in a pale haze, but the steep grey cliffs by
_Lulworth_ gleamed with a tinge of gold across the sea.

At the top, one of the dreariest landscapes I have ever seen met the
sight. The island lies, so to speak, like a stranded whale, the great
head and shoulders northwards to the land. The moment you surmount the
top, the huge, flat side of the monster is extended before you,
shelving to the sea. Hardly a tree grows there; there is nothing but a
long perspective of fields, divided here and there by stone walls, with
scattered grey houses at intervals. There is not a feature of any kind
on which the eye can rest. In the foreground the earth is all
tunnelled and tumbled; quarries stretch in every direction, with huge,
gaunt, straddling, gallows-like structures emerging, a wheel spinning
at the top, and ropes travelling into the abyss; heaps of grey
_debris_, interspersed with stunted grass, huge excavations, ugly
ravines with a spout of grim stone at the seaward opening, like the
burrowings of some huge mole. The placid green slopes of the fort give
an impression of secret strength, even grandeur. Otherwise it is but a
ragged, splashed aquarelle of grey and green. Over the _debris_ appear
at a distance the blunt ominous chimneys of the convict prison, which
seems to put the finishing touch on the forbidding character of the
scene.

To-day the landward view was all