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 served to us,
after which we were not sorry to shake the mud of Aden off our feet, so we
chartered a shore boat amid a fearful clamour for extra pay and backshish,
and set forth to rejoin our ship, now swept and garnished, and showing
little trace of the coal she had swallowed.
_Monday, 20th_.--We reached Karachi yesterday morning after a quiet, calm,
and utterly uneventful passage across the Indian Ocean.
It was never hot--merely calm, grey, and even showery, our only
excitements being an occasional school of porpoises or the sight of a
passing tramp steamer.
Some time before leaving England I had written to my old friend General
Woon, commanding the troops at Abbotabad, asking him to provide me with a
servant capable of dry-nursing a pair of Babes in the Wood throughout
their sojourn in a strange land. The General promised to supply us with
such an one, who, he said, would rob us to a certain extent himself, but
would take good care that nobody else did so!
Immediately, then, upon our arrival in Karachi roads, a dark and swarthy
person, with a black beard and gleaming white teeth, appeared on board,
and reported himself as Sabz Ali, our servant and our master!
His knowledge of English "as she is spoke" was scanty and of strange
quality, but his masterful methods of dealing with the boatmen and
Custom-house subordinates inspired us with awe and a blind confidence that
he could--and would--pull us through.
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