That report was written thirty-one years ago, and the slave trade is a thing of the past. At least, just so long as civilised nations continue to hold and administer this wild country. But the hearts of the men who are now our subjects are the hearts of the slavers their fathers, fierce, cruel, and unchanged. I think the story told by the gallant sailor is sufficient justification for our coming here, and for our remaining here. It certainly convinces me. CHAPTER XI RAMATHAN The Kharif--The month of Ramathan--The Sahib's gift and others. It is June, the season of the "Kharif"; the Kharif that has three elements--wind, dust, and heat. Zeila sky reminds me, this morning, of a Sheffield sky, covered at dawn with a pall of yesterday's foul smoke. The atmosphere is such as that near a huge furnace whose fires have burned out during the night. One can still feel the dead heat that will, later, take on a new, fierce life, as old Sol, then tipping the eastern horizon with a dull glow, rises higher into the heavens. The sea is grey and dull, the dullness of a cooling mass of molten metal sprinkled with fine ash. Not the greyness, or dullness, that heralds a change of weather, but that of tired burned-out nature, waking unrefreshed from her night's sleep. All night long Nature has tossed in troubled dreams, and now wakes to life, haunted by a vague wild feeling of oppression; an undefinable oppression almost akin to despair. There is no bright awakening here, with coloured cheeks and sparkling eyes. The face that nature turns towards the pitilessness of the new-born day is drawn and anxious. She is too tired to plead for mercy; too listless to try anew the thousand wiles that she alone is mistress of. Here is the stokehold of the world, and the devils who control it are lighting the fires. At midday the town of Zeila is fast asleep, for this is the month of Ramathan; the month that all good Mahomedans give up to prayer and fasting. The average Zeilawi, or Somal, cannot tell you why. The "Book" says it must be done, and that is all about it. They have heard and read something of Mahomed's son, or was it Mahomed himself, being poisoned by a Jew, and perhaps that is the reason. They will look it up and see. So, whilst the fast is on, they turn night into day and day into night. All those who can sleep through the day and pray and feast at night. The fast is observed between the hours of four a.m. and sunset. Others less fortunate, who must work through the day, have a hard time. Not a sup of water nor bite of bread will pass their lips until dusk. It follows that the work suffers. The chairs and tables in my bungalow are thick with dust: the house is untidy and uncomfortable. My servants are fasting. At sundown they come to life, and, after prayer, break their fast. When they have administered to my wants they go to the town where they play, pray, and feast all night with their friends.