We are running near an island now and the water is shallow, so the line is stowed away. Bump, bump, bump, we are aground. The men spring overboard and push her over a hundred yards of shallows and spring in as we reach the deep water. Syyed is making ready more bait when crash goes the bamboo yard and the sail collapses. It is lowered and freed as quickly as possible. Meanwhile I keep a stern eye on the cook, who informs me nothing in the world will induce him to return in this boat on the morrow. A splint of sticks, evidently kept for such an emergency, makes a temporary repair of the broken bamboo, and a smaller sail is bent instead of the large one we have been using. No more fishing now; we anxiously watch the bamboo as the breeze stiffens, and we fairly fly through the water. At four-fifteen p.m. we are close to the Chinamen's island, just two and a quarter hours since leaving Zeila. It is a low sandy island, so narrow that I could almost throw a stone across it. From it, when the tide is out, it is possible to walk along a narrow winding riband of sand to the mainland.
As we come alongside the beach a dhow passes us a few yards away. It is from Jibouti, and a white man in the stern stands up to doff his cap. Syyed informs me he is a Greek fishing for a Frenchman who is camped on the island. Sure enough there is his camp, and a tall figure rises from a chair to give me a salute. Two Chinamen are waiting on the beach and ask me to drink tea, but, much as I dislike hurting their feelings, I cannot face the interior of their hovel, a construction of grass mats and driftwood. My own table is set up outside, and I drink their excellent tea and enjoy some very good cake. After that I talk for some little time before walking to the Frenchman's camp to pay my respects and satisfy my curiosity. They have a nice clean little encampment, in which I enjoy the drink so hospitably offered. The Frenchman informs me that he employs natives to net fish, and pays them by the pound for what they bring to him. He provides the nets, of which he shows me a wonderful collection, ranging from drag nets imported from Marseilles to the African circular throwing net. A sporting little affair this latter. They cut up the fish—nearly all sharks—into strips, which they cover with salt for twenty-four hours, then wash in the sea and hang in the sun to dry. The shark skins, fins, and tails are saved. The venture is as yet unproved, and the Frenchman informed me he hoped to find a market for the bulk of his dried shark's flesh at Zanzibar. I am doubtful if he will. Their catch to-day, they tell me, consisted of one hundred and thirty sharks. My face must have betrayed my inward doubt of this statement for I was conducted to a heap of tails and fins fresh enough to convince me of its truth.
It is getting dark and we sit down and chat.
"It is peaceful, Monsieur," said the tall Frenchman. "It is difficult to believe there is so much unrest in the world when one sits here at eventide."
I look round. Two natives are wading through the shallow water towards our island, and as they come they stop occasionally to throw the circular nets they carry. They are making a good haul. Syyed is talking to the Chinamen, a hundred yards away; my servant and orderly are erecting my camp bed. A few fishermen are kneeling round camp fires cooking their evening meal. I can see all over the tiny island. Along the coast a red light, and then a white, becomes visible as the darkness closes quickly round us.
That is Jibouti. Perhaps there is a liner lying in the harbour, homeward bound, full of passengers going to Europe. There will be ladies and little children, and now it is nearly dinner-time. How far away and unreal it all seems. There is scarcely a sound. My companion is very silent. I am aroused from my reverie by the splash, splash, splosh, splosh in the water of small fish trying to escape from some monster who seeks his evening meal.
"You have not answered my question, Monsieur," says the tall Frenchman. "It is peaceful here?"
"Pardon," I reply, "I did not realise it was a question, but even here there is war."
"How? Where?"
"In the waters!"