THE PERSIAN GULF 167 



ing into the sea. It was a long night, and the campers were not 

 the only sufferers, for at daybreak they saw dhows and other 

 smaller craft, which had lain at anchor in Doha, scattered hither 

 and thither along the reefs, their crews struggling in the shallows 

 around them in their efforts to lay anchors and prevent their 

 craft being forced even further onto the reefs by the gusting 

 north-west shamal. 



Far out off the Qatar coast lies the small island of Jezirat Halul, 

 named after the she camel, perhaps on account of its high, 

 humpy aspect. It is utterly bare and the party who were established 

 in camp here to take astrolabe sights and watch tides found it 

 strange that the tents were soon overrun with rats which scuttled 

 across the sleepers in the night and nibbled at the hard flesh on 

 the soles of the men's feet if these happened to be exposed. 

 But they were soon to know how these rats lived where not even 

 a blade of grass grew. A dhow drew near the island one day and 

 white-clad Arab sailors landed from it in a small canoe they had 

 towed astern. They brought with them the body of a dead crew- 

 mate to bury upon the island, for this was the graveyard of the 

 dhow sailors of the Gulf. 



In April the ship once more sailed thankfully for Cyprus, and 

 in July was refitted at Gibraltar, where fair charts of both Qatar 

 and Cyprus were drav^m by the surveyors. 



Sam Southern had been appointed to England as Assistant 

 Hydrographer and thus the time had come for him to leave his 

 last sea-going command. This was a sad day, for all liked Sam; 

 he loved a good leg-haul and he loved a good 'run ashore', as 

 the sailor says. On his last night a party of officers from the ship 

 took him over the border to La Linea, the little Spanish town 

 where many a good night had been spent during the ship's visits 

 to Gibraltar. There was a fiesta on in the town on this occasion, 

 and after taking sherry in the different bodegas the party visited 

 the fairground. Bill Ashton, always in great form on these 

 occasions, was here there and everywhere, now borrowing the 

 microphone from a seller of raffle tickets and whipping up more 

 custom by touting for him in English, now taking over a barrel 

 organ from its operator, and all the while shaking hands with 

 everyone and welcoming them to the fair. For Bill was well known 



