And the bells, re-echoing from fore and aft, seemed to call out: “All’s well, good night!”
CHAPTER III
AFTER a long, weary night, made seemingly longer by the slow passage through the tortuous channels, threatened by reefs and coral shallows, the “Gate of Dirge” was passed. The pilot dropped, the P. & O. liner entered through the picturesque Dacht il Mayum, the sluggish waves of the Red Sea.
Through the wondrous waters the ship cut her way energetically. The moon had set long since, the east was bathed in sulphur light and one by one the stars dropped out of existence.
The lower decks, forsaken the evening before, are now lively with passengers. The heat had made sleep impossible and now, one after another, they came up to breathe the reviving morning air.
What wind blows is from the starboard, but the port side is the shadier for the greater part of the day. It is this side which is quickly taken possession of by the Mohammedan part of the passengers. The gaunt Sikh, bewhiskered and beturbaned, the Persian venders with their fierce mustachios and fiercer eyes, shrewd-looking Syrians and fleshy Mamelukes, all congregate or segregate according to their individual desires, and all are bent upon their morning worship.
More or less gaudily colored patches of carpets and prayer rugs are spread upon the boards, devout heads bow down from prostrate bodies, turned to the east, to the rising sun, to praise Allah and to pray to Mohammed his prophet. They will turn to the east, even though Mecca is due north of the boat!
On the promenade and hurricane decks a couple of early risers are taking their constitutionals. On the bridge strides the fresh-looking skipper, and a neat second officer in glaring white is adjusting his sextant as he awaits the sun’s coming. A few deckhands and sailors are holystoning the decks and adjusting the striped awnings.