shore; and Major Harris happily describes the feelings with which a new
arrival is hailed by the British garrison on that dreary spot, their only
excitement being the periodical visits of the packets between Suez and
Bombay. In the dead of the night a blue light shoots up in the offing. It
is answered by the illumination of the block ship, then the thunder of her
guns is heard, then, as she nears the shore, the flapping of her paddles
is heard through the silence, then the spectral lantern appears at the
mast-head, and then she rushes to her anchorage, leaving in her wake a
long phosphoric train.

Wherever England drops an anchor a new scene of existence has begun. At
Aden, the supply of coals for the steam-ships has introduced a new trade;
gangs of brawny Seedies, negroes from the Zanzibar coast, but fortunately
enfranchised, make a livelihood by transferring the coal from the depots
on shore to the steamers. Though the most unmusical race in the world,
they can do nothing without music, but it is music of their own--a
tambourine beaten with the thigh-bone of a calf; but their giant frames go
through prodigious labour, carry immense sacks, and drink prodigious
draughts to wash the coal-dust down. Such is the furious excitement with
which they rush into this repulsive operation, that Major Harris thinks
that for every hundred tons of coal thus embarked, at least one life is
sacrificed; those strong savages, at once inflamed by drink, and overcome
with toil, throwing themselves down on the dust or the sand, to rise no
more. This shows the advantage of English philosophy: our coal-heavers in
the Thames toil as much, are nearly as naked, nearly as black, and
probably drink more; but we never hear of their dying in a fit of rapture
in the embrace of a coal-sack. When the day is done, drunk or sober,
washed or unwashed, they go home to their wives, sleep untroubled by the
cares of kings, and return to fresh dust, drink, and dirt, next morning.