motion of the steamer seemed slow to satisfy our ardent wishes. But
nearer and nearer as we approached the shore, one by one all our
illusions disappeared; the pleasant imagery vanished, and the stern
reality of mangrove swamps, sandy and sunburnt beach, wretched and
squalid huts, stared us in the face. Instead of the semi-Paradise
distance had painted to our imagination, we found (and, alas!
remained long enough to verify the fact) that the land of our
temporary residence could be described in three words--sun, dirt,
and desolation.

Massowah, latitude 15.36 N., longitude 39.30 E., is one of the many
coral islands that abound in the Red Sea; it is but a few feet above
high-water mark, about a mile in length, and a quarter in breadth.
Towards the north it is separated from the mainland by a narrow
creek about 200 yards in breadth, and is distant from Arkiko, a
small town situated at the western extremity of the bay, about two
miles. Half-a-mile south of Massowah, another small coral island,
almost parallel to the one we describe, covered with mangroves and
other rank vegetation, the proud owner of a sheik's tomb of great
veneration, lies between Massowah and the Gedem peak, the high
mountain forming the southern boundary of the bay.

The western half of the island of Massowah is covered with houses:
a few two stories high, built of coral rock, the remainder small
wooden huts with straw roofs. The first are inhabited by the wealthier
merchants and brokers, the Turkish officials, and the few Banians,
European consuls; and merchants whose unfortunate fate has cast
them on this inhospitable shore. There is not a building worth
mentioning: the Pasha's residence is a large, ungainly mansion,
remarkable only for its extreme filthiness. During our stay the