ADEN
November 7th.—At the first break of day we reached the sun-baked city
of Aden, a British possession on the southern coast of Arabia, lying on
the Red Sea trade route between Europe and the East. The multiplicity
of rocks, and the absence of trees, are the two most striking features
of the landscape. Not a blade of grass is to be seen anywhere, and all
around there is desolation. Aden looked rather a dreary spot: just a
little cluster of white buildings lying at the feet of slate-coloured
rocks. The burning sand, the sun, and the flies render the town quite
unbearable. Opposite the port of Aden is Sirah, where the Arabs pretend
that Cain, after the murder of Abel, came to take refuge. The town has
but little local colouring. It was founded specially as a maritime
station; it gives shelter to traders and about a dozen hotel-managers.
The town looked baking hot. The want of water is cruelly felt. Stone
reservoirs have been constructed to catch rain-water, as there is no
other natural supply whatever. The only difficulty is that it practically
never rains, so the reservoirs stand empty. It is nearly three years
since it rained in these parts. The water is distilled now from the sea,
and an immense manufactory to fabricate artificial ice has been built,
changing completely the condition of local life. The inhabitants have
now plenty of water, and can refresh themselves with iced drinks _ad
libitum_. They are even undertaking to arrange a square with verdure and
trees out of a sand plot. Every morning hundreds of camels bring the
necessary provisions for the daily use of the inhabitants, from the oases
of the interior.
The water not being deep enough for landing, we had to moor some miles
from the coast, at “Steamer point.” The passengers are obliged to take
a small Arab boat to get on shore. Sergy and his companions went to
visit Aden, but the town was so little interesting that I preferred
to remain on board with Mrs. Serebriakoff. We watched from the deck a
band of negro boys with only a belt round their waist, with the words
“Diving Boy,” written in English. The harbour is infected with sharks,
the monsters of the deep, and tragedies have happened more than once.
Quite recently a shark made swift work of the life of a “diving boy,”
who was crushed up by the jaws of the monster in the presence of many
passengers. Nevertheless his comrades were not afraid of sharks, they
dived very deep under our boat and came out on the other side, holding
between their teeth the coins that the passengers threw into the water,
and scrambled again on board their boats. The local negroes belong to the
“Somali” tribe; they are very ugly, with perfectly flat noses, immense
teeth and woolly, crisp hair dyed a rich brick-red. It was too hot to
remain long on deck, and I went to lie down in my cabin until the return
of my husband. The order was given to close the port holes because of
the loading of coal. I was scarcely to be recognised, being quickly
transformed into a negress, my garments covered with oily soot.
Directly after dinner we weighed anchor and left Aden.
November 8th.—We are on the waters of the Red Sea, which is rightly
considered one of the hottest parts of the globe. We suffer terribly from
the heat; the ventilators give but a faint illusion of fresh air.
Towards evening the breeze seemed to rise, the surface of the sea began
to ripple, and soon a veritable squall arose. During our dinner a big
wave dashed into the dining-room through the portholes. After dinner,
when we mounted on deck to look at the boisterous sea, a spray of water
splashed right into my face. I gazed deeply impressed at the elements
in fury. How small is man in the presence of such a struggle! It was
difficult to keep one’s equilibrium on the rocking deck, and I tumbled
out of my chair rolling with it to the other end of the deck. One of the
passengers laid hold of me by my dress and hauled me out of danger, just
in time, for without his aid I should have slipped overboard.
November 9th.—We go full speed between the two parts of the world. On
our left—the grand African Desert, and on our right—the Desert of Asia.
We have over us the scorching sun, and below—the almost boiling water,
and are suffering the tortures of hell. The captain promises that in the
course of three days we shall feel the first touches of the north breeze.
It is etiquette on all the boats of the Méssageries Maritimes that
before eight o’clock one may wander on the decks in the _négligê_ of
early morning in the tropics, but on the stroke of eight bells, one must
disappear very promptly to array oneself for breakfast. This morning
amongst the passengers scattered here and there on the deck, in various
stages of undress, I saw my fat admirer curiously arrayed, muffled into
a sort of poplin of very light material, which gave him a most comical
appearance and set off rather too well every curve of his anatomy.
November 10th.—The temperature is supportable. In the afternoon a breeze
arose which revived us somewhat. After dinner, there was music, and I
was asked to sing, but objected, saying that my music was packed up. The
captain told me that as soon as we get to Suez, he would write to Port
Saïd for my favourite parts of “Margaret” and “Rosina.”
November 11th.—We are coasting along Egypt and glide quite near the Sinai
Mountains, on the top of which Moses wrote the Ten Commandments. Already
the liner had left the rocky perils of the treacherous Red Sea, studded
with hidden shelves, which are not marked on the charts.