Over to the left, on the opposite side of the harbour, were wide
bungalows shining in the sun, and flanking the side of the ancient
aqueduct, the gigantic tomb of an Arab sheikh. In the harbour were the
men-of-war of all nations, and Arab dhows sailed slowly in, laden with
pilgrims for Mecca--masses of picturesque sloth and dirt--and disease
also; for more than one vessel flew the yellow flag. As we looked, a
British man-of-war entered the gates of the harbour in the rosy light.
It was bringing back the disabled and wounded from a battle, in which a
handful of British soldiers were set to punish thirty times their number
in an unknown country. But there was another man-of-war in port with
which we were familiar. We passed it far out on the Indian Ocean. It
again passed us, and reached Aden before we did. The 'Porcupine' lay not
far from the 'Fulvia', and as I leaned over the bulwarks, idly looking at
her, a boat shot away from her side, and came towards us. As it drew
near, I saw that it was filled with luggage--a naval officer's, I knew it
to be. As the sailors hauled it up, I noticed that the initials upon the
portmanteaus were G. R. The owner was evidently an officer going home on
leave, or invalided. It did not, however, concern me, as I thought, and
I turned away to look for Mr. Treherne, that I might fulfil my promise to
escort his daughter and Mrs. Callendar to the general cemetery at Aden;
for I knew he was not fit to do the journey, and there was nothing to
prevent my going.

A few hours later I stood with Miss Treherne and Mrs. Callendar in the
graveyard beside the fortress-wall, placing wreaths of artificial flowers
and one or two natural roses--a chance purchase from a shop at the port--
on the grave of the young journalist. Miss Treherne had brought some
sketching materials, and both of us (for, as has been suggested, I had a
slight gift for drawing) made sketches of the burial-place. Having done