d its steps, and the Resident's house,
far up the hard hillside, looked down upon the harbour from a green
coolness. The place had a massive, war-like character. Here was
a battery with earthworks; there, a fort; beyond, a signal-staff.
Hospitals, hotels, and stores were incidents in the picture. Beyond the
mountain-wall and lofty Jebel Shamsan, rising in fine pink and bronze,
and at the end of a high-walled path between the great hills, lay the
town of Aden proper. Above the town again were the mighty Tanks,
formed out of clefts in the mountains, and built in the times when the
Phoenicians made Aden a great mart, the richest spot in all Arabia.

Over to the left, on the opposite side of the harbour, were wide
bungalows shining in the sun, and flanking the side of the ancient
aqueduct, the gigantic tomb of an Arab sheikh. In the harbour were the
men-of-war of all nations, and Arab dhows sailed slowly in, laden with
pilgrims for Mecca--masses of picturesque sloth and dirt--and disease
also; for more than one vessel flew the yellow flag. As we looked, a
British man-of-war entered the gates of the harbour in the rosy light.
It was bringing back the disabled and wounded from a battle, in which a
handful of British soldiers were set to punish thirty times their number
in an unknown country. But there was another man-of-war in port with
which we were familiar. We passed it far out on the Indian Ocean. It
again passed us, and reached Aden before we did. The 'Porcupine' lay not
far from the 'Fulvia', and as I leaned over the bulwarks, idly looking
at her, a boat shot away from her side, and came towards us. As it drew
near, I saw that it was filled with luggage--a naval officer's, I knew
it to be. As the sailors hauled it up, I noticed that the initials upon
the portmanteaus were G. R. The owner was evidently an officer going
home on leave, or invalided. It did not, however, concern me, as I
thought, and I turned away to look for Mr. Treherne, that I might fulfil
my promise to escort his daughter and Mrs. Callendar to the general
cemetery at Aden; for I knew he was not fit to do the journey, and there
was nothing to prevent my going.

A few hours later I stood with Miss Treherne and Mrs. Callendar in
the graveyard beside the fortress-wall, placing wreaths of artificial
flowers and one or two natural roses--a chance purchase from a shop
at the port--on the grave of the young journalist. Miss Treherne had
brought some sketching