blue mists, we sped

"Over the sea past Crete,"

until the tall lighthouse of Port Saïd rose on the horizon, followed by
the spars of much shipping, and the roofs of the houses dotted apparently
over the waters of the Mediterranean. At length the low mudbanks which
represent the two continents of Africa and Asia spread their dull monotony
on either hand, and the good ship sat quietly down for a happy day's
coaling.

Port Saïd has grown out of all knowledge since I first made its
acquaintance in 1877. It was then a cluster of evil-looking shanties, the
abode of the scum of the Levant, who waxed fat by the profits of the
gambling hells and the sale of pornographic photographs. It has now donned
the outwardly respectable look of middle age; it has laid itself out in
streets; the gambling dens have disappeared, and the robbers have betaken
themselves to the sale of the worst class of Japanese and Indian "curios,"
ostrich feathers from East Africa, and tobacco in all its forms.

Port Saïd has undoubtedly improved, but still it is not a nice place, and
we were unfeignedly glad to repair on board the _Marie Valerie_ as soon as
we noted the cessation of the black coaly cloud, through the murkiness of
which a chattering stream of gnome-like figures passed their burthens of
"Cardiff" into the bowels of the ship.

Port Saïd was cold, and Suez was cold, and we started down the Red Sea
followed by a strong north wind, which kept us clad in greatcoats for a
day or two, and, as we got down into wider waters, obliged us to keep our
ports closed.