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.
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