e
red light glows on the bare arm of the jack tar at the bow with the
boat-hook, and just touches the white draperies of the native passenger
as he gets out awkwardly and goes up the steps--a person of importance
with attendants, I see, as they come up into the full acetylene light on
the quay head, someone very princely to judge by his turban and
waist--but a native's waist measurement sometimes only indicates his
financial position.

There is considerable variety of type and nationality amongst the few
people who sit taking the air on the stone parapet of the Bundar. On my
right are two soldiers--one an _Argyll and Sutherland_, with red and
white diced hose and tasselled sporran, a native of Fife to judge by his
accent; next him there is a _Yorkshire Light Infantry_ man. They chat in
subdued voices, people all do here, I suppose it's something in the sea
warm air--have you ever noticed how softly they talk in the Scilly Isles
at night? It is the same cause I expect--the soft warm atmosphere. They
smoke Occidental (American) cigarettes after the manner of all the wise
men of the East of to-day. A yard or so along is a bearded turbaned
native; he is from up North I think. He sits on the parapet with knees
under his chin, and a fierceness of expression that is quite refreshing
after the monotonous negatively gentle expression of the Bombay
natives; then beyond him are two Eurasian girls in straw hats and white
frocks, and they do look so proper. Further over the Parsi men in almost
European kit with their women folk sit in lines of victorias and
broughams, and they are silhouetted against the glow of lamps on the
lawn of the Yacht Club, under which the white women from the far
North-West listen to music and have tea and iced drinks through straws.
And the local Parsis _seem_ quite content eating the air in the
dusk--one or two of their menkind pay visits on foot from carriage to
carriage--they have at least a share in the pom pom of the brass
band--and welcome.

By the way, my piper friends who may read this, you will be amused to
hear some natives of Sassun objected to having the pipes on the lawn in
the afternoon at the Yacht Club--said they "couldn't hear any music in
them"--so Queen Victoria's favourite, "The Green Hills of Tyroll" was
turned on, in parts, and they were quite happy!

Now dinner, for there goes the Hotel brass band down below--_a cada
necio agrada su porrada_--to me the pipes, the brass band to the