AFRICAN CAMP FIRES 



hope of seeing those camels hoisted aboard; but 

 in vain. While we were so waiting one of the deck 

 passengers below us, a Somali in white clothes and 

 a gorgeous cerise turban decided to turn in. He 

 spread a square of thin matting atop one of the 

 hatches, and began to unwind yards and yards of 

 the fine silk turban. He came to the end of it — 

 whisk! he sank to the deck; the turban, spread open 

 by the resistance of the air, fluttered down to cover 

 him from head to foot. Apparently he fell asleep 

 at once, for he did not again move nor alter his 

 position. He, as well as an astonishingly large 

 proportion of the other Somalis and Abyssinians we 

 saw, carried a queer, well-defined, triangular wound 

 in his head. It had long since healed, was an inch 

 or so across, and looked as though a piece of the skull 

 had been removed. If a conscientious enemy had 

 leisure and an ice pick he would do just about that 

 sort of a job. How its recipient had escaped instant 

 death is a mystery. 



At length, about three o'clock, despairing of the 

 camels, we turned in. 



After three hours' sleep we were again on deck. 

 Aden by daylight seemed to be several sections of a 

 town tucked into pockets in bold, raw, lava mountains 

 that came down fairly to the water's edge. Between 

 these pockets ran a narrow shore road; and along the 



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