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 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