The first time the island came in contact with modern ideas and modern civilisation was when the Portuguese occupied it in 1538, and this was, as we have seen, ephemeral. Then the island fell under the rod of Wahabi persecution at the beginning of this century, as did nearly the whole of Arabia in those days. In 1835 it was for a short time brought under direct British influence, and Indian troops encamped on the plain of Tamarida. It was then uncertain whether Aden or Sokotra would be chosen as a coaling station for India, and Lieutenant Wellsted was sent in the Palinurus to take a survey of it; but doubtless the harbourless condition of the island, and the superior position of Aden in that respect, caused the decision in favour of Aden.
The advantages Aden afforded for fortification and for commanding the mouth of the Red Sea influenced the decision, and Sokotra, with its fair mountains and rich fertility, was again allowed to relapse into its pristine state of quiescence, and the British soldier was condemned to sojourn on the barren, burning rocks of Aden, instead of in this island paradise.
Finally, in 1876, to prevent the island being acquired by any other nation, the British Government entered into a treaty with the sultan, by which the latter gets 360 dollars a year, and binds himself and his heirs and successors, 'amongst other things, to protect any vessel, foreign or British, with the crew, passengers, and cargo, that may be wrecked on the island of Sokotra and its dependencies,' and it is understood that the island is never to be ceded to a foreign power without British consent.
A more peaceful, law-abiding people it would be hard to find elsewhere—such a sharp contrast to the tribes on the South Arabian coast. They seem never to quarrel amongst themselves, as far as we could see, and the few soldiers Sultan Salem possesses have a remarkably easy time of it. Our luggage was invariably left about at night without anyone to protect it, and none of it was stolen, and after our journeys in Southern Arabia the atmosphere of security was exceedingly agreeable.
The only thieves were the white and yellow vultures who sat on guard around our kitchen and were always ready to carry off our meat, and made many valiant attempts to do so.
Money is scarce in the island, and so are jealousies, and probably the Bedouin of Sokotra will remain in their bucolic innocence to the end of time, if no root of bitterness in the shape of modern civilisation is planted amongst them.
It is undoubtedly a providential thing for the Sokotran that his island is harbourless, that his mountains are not auriferous, and that the modern world is not so keen about dragon's-blood, which is still called 'the blood of two brothers,' frankincense and myrrh, as the ancients were. A thing we regretted very much in leaving Sokotra was the delightful peace of travelling without an armed escort, which we had not enjoyed for years; we knew we should soon be travelling again with soldiers in Arabia.
There is a wretched hamlet of Somali at Suk, which had been visited by us from Hadibo. We had only one night at Suk, and in the morning my husband and Matthaios went off on foot to Haulah or Haulaf to see the boat. This is where the sultan lives. I believe the boat was actually at Khor Dilisha. They did not think it would have been so far or they would have taken camels. It was a three-mile tramp in the sand.
My husband and Matthaios came back from Haulah very hot and tired, not having seen the sultan; he was sleeping or praying all the time, the mode in which Moslems say 'not at home'—in short he was keeping out of the way. They described the boat as everything that was delightful, though people not so well accustomed as we were to voyaging in these ships might not agree with them, but it was impossible to come to terms. They had had a very stormy interview with the sultan's captain, who said that 1,000 rupees was the lowest price. My husband said he had paid no more for the steamer, and we had all had beds provided and food; 800 was his highest price.
The sultan has a miserable house in a very uncomfortable spot, surrounded by a few huts belonging to fishermen, who go out on little rafts made of bundles of palm-leaf ribs to drop the traps for fish.