After ploughing the waters of the Suez Canal, our ship entered Bitter Lake, where we anchored for the night, departing on our voyage at the break of dawn. Entering “The Gate of Tears,” a strait between Arabia and the continent of Africa, and so called from the danger arising to navigation caused by strong currents, we beheld the entrance to the Red Sea. The Twelve Apostles was the first memorial to remind us of the historical chronology of this broad body of water. These “apostles” seem to be of mysterious origin; they consist of twelve symmetrical columns of rock, which project from the sea in a straight line, the same distance apart, and shaped identically alike. Not far from the coast on our port side could be seen Mt. Sinai and Mt. Horeb, famed in biblical history. Some distance beyond is Mecca, the Jerusalem of the Mohammedans, near which a spot is pointed out as being the place where, under the providence of God, the Red Sea was divided, making a dry pass for the deliverance of the Israelites from their bondage in Egypt, under the leadership of Moses, the God-inspired liberator of his people. Steaming by Mocha, celebrated for its production of the finest coffee in the world, we entered the harbor of Aden, our first port in Arabia. Aden is a city typical of the “Far East”; spices of a rich odor permeate the atmosphere for miles from the coast. The city is built in the crater of an extinct volcano, and has an altitude of one thousand feet, is strongly fortified, and commands the trade to India. Arabs engage in trade of all kinds; beautiful ostrich feathers, Bengal tiger skins, and ornaments of carved ivory, and souvenirs of sandal-wood are displayed in the bazaars. Aden is not the dreariest place on earth, but the few palm trees which surround the city only serve to remove it a bit from this inconceivable state. The heat in this section of the world is intense, and, as we steamed out of the harbor of Aden, it seemed we were ploughing through molten copper; however, the nights were cool. After passing through the Straits of Bab el Mandeb and the Gulf of Aden, we entered the Indian Ocean, enjoying a delightful cool breeze; but soon encountered an interval of calm, which was followed by an East Indian “monsoon,” a veritable hurricane at sea. Engines were shut down, guns were lashed, hatches battened, and lookouts were strapped to the crow’s nest. Mountainous swells of water washed aboard the ship, and for nine hours the vessel was at the mercy of the waves. The storm having finally abated, our rigging was restored, awnings spread, and, after a few days of delightful cruising in the Indian Ocean, we entered the harbor of Colombo, the capital of Ceylon, firing the customary salute, which was returned by the forts and the various navies here represented.