To-night I heard the cannon fired at Jibouti by the French authorities to warn their Mahomedan subjects that the day had passed. I had been to the sports ground where a few of the keener lads had turned up to play hockey. Syyed Khudar the Arab, and his brother-in-law, were there, also Sub-inspector Buralli. Just before I arrived Syyed and the brother-in-law had quarrelled. Hungry men are angry men; blows followed words, and Buralli arrested them. Buralli explained to me that the trouble between the two men was of long standing--"rooted deep down in their stomachs!" Syyed is an independent trader, his brother-in-law is a carpenter. The latter's wife continually twits him with his poverty, comparing her own hard lot with the easy one of her sister. In consequence, when the carpenter sees Syyed the whole world turns black--according to Buralli. But then Buralli is fasting too. After a good meal the whole world will be lighter coloured for them all. But there was no hockey. As the sun sank in the west nature bestirred herself in a half-hearted effort to brighten up the skies. But all the colours fell from her tired hands into the sea, and spread across the face of the waters. Old gold, gold, vermilion, purples, a mad riot of tones, shades, and natural colours floated bewilderingly on the dull surface for a few fleeting moments, and were gone. Then the wind rose and lashed the sea into sullen anger, the while the crescent moon--symbol of Mahomedanism--smiled down complacently. Oh, Moon, well may you smile; _you_ "that rule the night and see us not by day." But the moon smiles on. Perhaps she can see a fairer land than this. On she goes, through a sky, now clear, and covered with a million flecks of gold dust. A chant breaks out in the centre of the town. Farther away a crowd of men are reciting a kind of litany on two notes, "Allah" on a high note and "Allah" on a low note; Allah-Allah; Allah-Allah; a harsh breathing sound. Suddenly a horn sounds from one of the dhows at anchor. Toot-toot-too-too-t-toot-too! There is a hush, the town is listening. Something is wrong. Lights appear at the end of the pier, and a boat puts off. A policeman runs to tell me that a dhow has broken loose. There is no one aboard except one small boy, and he it is who has sounded the alarm. The chanting, praying, and singing in the town re-commences. Again there is an interruption. This time a woman screams. Scream follows scream, until I send to inquire what is happening. My orderly returns and informs me, with a grin, that a "bint" is being soundly spanked by her mother. The young lady has been gallivanting without permission, and the sound of her cries heard all over the town will doubtless deter other young ladies from keeping their appointments this night. How the disappointed swains will bless her!