CHAPTER I.
EASTWARD, HO!
Gibraltar—Port Said—Suez Canal—Kantara—Aden—Life Afloat—Floating Homes.
When our ship had nearly reached the mouth of the Mersey, on her outward voyage, the boatswain and his men were busily engaged in lashing everything moveable in its place on deck. “We shall get it to-night,” said that man of the sea; but on the vessel went as smoothly as ever, and everybody was merry at dinner-time, hours after the “Bosun’s” prophecy. We watched the setting sun, and a gorgeous after-glow of purple, grey, and gold. Then came the twilight, and a sense of chilliness. The land on the port-side was lost in a soft grey mist; then it became colder and darker, and we went below. The saloon looked bright and cheerful, with its sparkle of glasses in the swinging racks, and the mellow light of the lamps.
I read for an hour or more, and then “turned in,” heartily glad to think we were having such a smooth and pleasant time, and that the “Bosun’s” prediction had not been verified. I was soon asleep. How long I slept I do not quite remember, but I dreamed that I was falling down a well, and the crash made when I reached the bottom awoke me. I forgot for the moment where I was, but my first impressions were that, Zazel-like, I had been shot out of a cannon, and that I was whirling round chain-shot fashion. Instinctively stretching out my hands, I found myself in my berth, but the ship was plunging and rolling very much, and everything moveable was knocking about in all directions. Another crash, similar to the one which awoke me, told of loose crockery going to destruction in the steward’s pantry.
I spent some time in trying to decide whether the ship was playing at leapfrog, or trying to turn a somersault. A “sea change” put an end to my deliberations. Sleep was impossible, and I was glad when morning came, and I held on to the berth with one hand, and dressed with the other. That man of the sea was right. We had “got” it, and no mistake; and we continued to “get it” until off Cape St. Vincent, when we regained smooth water.
Cape St. Vincent is a rocky bluff, crested with a ruined convent and a lighthouse, the white walls of which gleam out brightly in the sunshine, although we are fully ten miles away. After we have passed it, and look back, it forms a much more picturesque object than when seen directly opposite; and in front of the nearly perpendicular cliffs is a curious cone-shaped rock, and through the narrow passage between this and the mainland, tradition says an American skipper ran his vessel for a wager, and got through safely. The whole coast here is bold and rocky, but not dangerous. Large craft may ride close in under the cliffs.
A few miles further along is Cape Sartenius, a rocky headland, which rises perpendicularly from the sea, and is crowned with a fort and lighthouse; and from this point the rugged coast-line falls away towards Trafalgar Bay and Gibraltar, a distance of nearly two hundred miles. We were fortunate in seeing the red honey-combed rock at Gibraltar in the morning’s sunshine, the pretty little town of St. Roque lying behind across the neutral ground. To the left the cork woods and Algesiraz. Exactly opposite “Gib,” on the African side, is Ceuta, with its lighthouse and fort on the hill, and square flat-topped Moorish houses below; while Apes’ Hill stands up clear and dark against the masses of fleecy white clouds. The straits here are about six miles wide, and it was near this point that the Moors used to cross, Pict and Scot fashion, into Spain in the olden time. Of course, like Mark Twain, we saw the “Queen of Spain’s chair” on the hill behind Gibraltar, and a naturalist friend reminds me that the rock here is the only place in Europe where monkeys and scorpions are naturalised. The wag meant “Rock Scorpions” I suppose, but the monkeys are there all right enough. By the aid of a good glass, we saw patches of cultivated crops on the low coast hills, and whitewashed farm-houses were freely dotted amongst them. Now we were fairly into the blue waters of the Mediterranean, and the coast lines began to recede on either side. Here and there, however, over the coast hills we obtained glimpses of the snow-peaked Sierra Nevada mountains standing out clear and cool against the blue sky.
It was about the middle of June, and very hot during the day time, but chilly at night. The sea is of the most emphatic blue when you look down into it, but has a purplish glow towards the horizon. The sunsets are occasionally very beautiful, with their tints of crimson, salmon, grey, vermilion, and gold. It is pleasant at sunrise, after a bracing salt-water bath under the hose-pipe, to watch the silvery dolphin as they follow each other in line and play around the bows of the ship, at times leaping clear out of the water. The velocity of these creatures is wonderful; they gambol around a ship, and keep up alongside without any apparent effort. A few black and white sea-gulls are the only aërial visitors, except that now and then flying fish are seen skimming the surface of the blue water with their glistening wings. In some places they may be seen by the hundred, rising in flocks from the water, to escape their enemies below. They fly for a distance of two or three hundred yards, rising and falling in a sinuous manner; and occasionally they dip into the crest of a wave for a moment, to moisten their wings, which enables them to prolong their flight. Many were washed or flew on board during the night, and were very delicate in flavour. The sailors say they fly at the lights, and thus fall on deck, which may be the fact, as it was only after dark that any were caught in this manner. Some specimens were sixteen inches in length, but about half that size appeared to be the average.
We caught a passing glimpse of Galita and Malta on our way. Both were once little more than barren rocks; indeed, Galita is so still; but Malta has been improved by cultivation, and now yields much of the early vegetable produce brought to the Paris and London markets. Tradition hath it that formerly vessels trading to Malta were obliged to bring a certain quantity of earth with them, so anxious were the Maltese to improve their tiny farms.