A Holiday in the Happy Valley with Pen and Pencil | Page 7

the gambling hells and the sale of pornographic photographs. It has now donned the outwardly respectable look of middle age; it has laid itself out in streets; the gambling dens have disappeared, and the robbers have betaken themselves to the sale of the worst class of Japanese and Indian "curios," ostrich feathers from East Africa, and tobacco in all its forms.
Port Sa?d has undoubtedly improved, but still it is not a nice place, and we were unfeignedly glad to repair on board the Marie Valerie as soon as we noted the cessation of the black coaly cloud, through the murkiness of which a chattering stream of gnome-like figures passed their burthens of "Cardiff" into the bowels of the ship.
Port Sa?d was cold, and Suez was cold, and we started down the Red Sea followed by a strong north wind, which kept us clad in greatcoats for a day or two, and, as we got down into wider waters, obliged us to keep our ports closed.
An object-lesson on the subject of closed ports was given in our cabin, where the fair chatelaine was reclining in her berth reading, fanned by the genial air which floated in at the open port,--a truculent Red Sea billow, meeting a slight roll of the ship, entered the cabin in an unbroken fall on the lady's head. A damp tigress flew out through the door, wildly demanding the steward, a set of dry bedding, and the instant execution of the captain, the officer of the watch, and the man at the wheel!
How dull we should be without these little incidents!
A hoopoe took deck, or rather rigging, passage for a while, and evoked the greatest interest. Stalking glasses and binoculars were levelled at the unconcerned fowl, who sat by the "cathead" with perfect composure, and preened himself after his long flight.
The striking of "four bells" just under his beak unnerved him somewhat, and he departed in a great fuss and pother.
Our roomy decks afford many quiet corners in which to read or doze, and now that the weather is rapidly warming up we spend many hours in these peaceful pastimes, varied by an occasional constitutional--none of your fisherman's walks, "three steps and overboard"--but a good, clear tramp, unimpeded by the innumerable deck-chairs, protruding feet, and ubiquitous children which cover all free space on board a P. & O.
Then comes dinner, followed by a rubber of bridge, and so to bed.
On Saturday the 11th we passed the group of islands commonly known as the Twelve Apostles.
First, a tiny rock, rising lonely from the blue--brilliantly blue--waves; then a yellow crag of sandstone, looking like a haystack; and then a whole group of wild and fantastic islands, evidently of volcanic origin, and varying in rough peaks and abrupt cliffs of the strangest colours--brick-red, purple-black, grey, and yellow--utterly bare and desolate:
"Nor tree, nor shrub, nor plant, nor flower, Nor aught of vegetative power, The weary eye may ken,"
save only the white lighthouse, which, perched on its arid hill, serves to emphasise the desolation of earth and sky.
The Red Sea is remarkably well supplied with lighthouses; and, considering the narrowness of the channel in parts, the strong and variable currents, and the innumerable islands and shoals, the supply does no more than equal the demand.
I cannot imagine a more grievous death in life than the existence of a lighthouse-keeper in the Red Sea!
_Sunday, 12th_.--We passed through the Gate of Tears this morning--the dismal, flat, and unprofitable island of Perim being scanned by me from the bathroom port, while exchanging an atmosphere of sticky salt air for an unrefreshing dip in sticky salt water.
The hoopoe is again with us; in fact I do not think he really left the ship, but simply sought a secluded perch, secure from prying observation. He reappeared upon the port stay, and proceeded to preen himself and observe the ship's course. He is evidently bound for Aden, casting glances of quiet unconcern on Perim and the coast of Araby the blest.
Towards sunset we passed the fantastic peaks of little Aden, and, drawing up to Steamer Point, cast anchor under the "Barren Rocks of Aden."
_Monday, 13th_.--We had a shocking time last night. All ports closed for coaling left us gasping, whilst a fiendish din arose from the bowels of the ship, whence cargo was being extracted. The stifling air, reeking with damp, developed in the early morning a steady rain, which dripped mournfully on the grimy decks. Rain in Aden! We are told on the best authority that this is most unusual.
Aden, to the passing stranger, shows few attractions. We went on shore when the rain showed signs of ceasing, and after buying a few odds and ends, such as a pith hat and some cigarettes, we betook ourselves to the principal hotel, where an excessively bad breakfast was