CAIRO TO KISUMU That island is about a hundred miles from Aden and the two places practically control the entrance to the Red Sea and the Suez Canal. As for Aden, it is the Gibraltar of this part of the world, as well as one of the greatest of the British coaling stations. The harbour is excellent, and the outer entrance is more than three miles wide. The inner waters have been dredged so that steamers of twenty-six feet draft can go everywhere, and there is room enough for all the vessels that pass through the canal to anchor here at one time.

Aden is strongly fortified. The town, which stands on a volcanic isthmus, is guarded by a broad ditch cut out of the solid rock. It has a garrison of several thousand sol¬ diers, guns of the latest pattern, and no one knows how many submarine mines and other defences against attack.

But no matter what its military importance, Aden is the sorriest city I have ever seen. There is nothing like it except Iquique on the nitrate coast of South America, and Iquique is a paradise compared with Aden. Imagine a great harbour of sea-green water, the shores of which rise almost abruptly into ragged mountains of brown rock and white sand. There is not a blade of grass to be seen, there are no trees, and even the cactus and sage brush of our American desert are absent. The town is without vegetation. It is as bare as the bones of the dead camels in the sandy waste behind it, and its tropical sun beats down out of a cloudless African sky. Everything is gray or a dazzling white. The houses on the sides of the hills are white, the rocks throw back the rays of the sun, and the huts upon their sides are of the same gray colour as themselves.

The city looks thirsty and dry. It is dry. There is 230