The camels did not even then manifest the slightest
interest in the proceedings. Indeed, they would not condescend to reach
out three inches for the most luscious tit-bit held that far from their
aristocratic noses. The attendants had actually to thrust the fodder
between their jaws. I am glad to say they condescended to chew.
VII.
THE INDIAN OCEAN.
Leaving Aden, and rounding the great promontory of Cape Guardafui, we
turned south along the coast of Africa. Off the cape were strange, oily
cross rips and currents on the surface of the sea; the flying-fish rose
in flocks before our bows; high mountains of peaks and flat table tops
thrust their summits into clouds; and along the coast the breakers
spouted like whales. For the first time, too, we began to experience
what our preconceptions had imagined as tropical heat. Heretofore we had
been hot enough, in all conscience, but the air had felt as though
wafted from an opened furnace door--dry and scorching. Now, although the
temperature was lower,[2] the humidity was greater. A swooning languor
was abroad over the spellbound ocean, a relaxing mist of enchantment.
My glasses were constantly clouding over with a fine coating of water
drops; exposed metal rusted overnight; the folds in garments accumulated
mildew in an astonishingly brief period of time. There was never even
the suggestion of chill in this dampness.
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