We reached Bombay at 9.15 a.m. on Monday, and went straight on board.  The ship did not sail till next day and when it did they contrived to leave thirty-two men behind, including five of mine.

This is a new and pleasant boat, almost 6,000 tons and fitted up with every contrivance for mitigating heat.  But there are far too many persons on board:  nearly 1,200:  and as they simply can’t breathe between decks, the decks are as crowded as a pilgrim ship’s.  There are over forty units represented:  including drafts from about twenty-eight T.F. battalions.

We had the devil of a swell the first two days, though luckily we hit off a break in the monsoon.  Anyway, Mothersibb preserved me from sea-sickness:  but in every other respect I felt extremely unwell.  We reached Karachi on the Thursday morning and stayed there all day.  It is a vile spot, combining the architectural features of a dock with the natural amenities of a desert.  The only decent spot was a Zoo and even that had a generally super-heated air.

The thirty-two lost sheep turned up at Karachi, having been forwarded by special train from Bombay.  No fatted calf was killed for them:  in fact they all got fourteen days C.B. and three days pay forfeited; though, as Dr. Johnson observed, the sea renders the C.B. part rather otiose.

All Friday we coasted along Baluchistan and Persia.  It is surprising how big a country Persia is:  it began on Friday and goes right up into Europe.  On Saturday we reached the Straits of Ormuz and to-day (Sunday) we are well inside the Gulf, as the mention of Fars doubtless conveyed to you.

It is getting pronouncedly hotter every hour.  It was a quarter to one when I began this letter and is now half-past twelve, which is the kind of thing that is continually happening.  Anyway the bugle for lunch has just gone, and it is 96 deg. in my cabin.  I have spent the morning in alternate bouts of bridge and Illingworth on Divine Immanence:  I won Rs three at the former:  but I feel my brain is hardly capable of further coherent composition until nourishment has been taken.  So goodbye for the present.  It will take ages for this to reach you.

* * * * *

“P.S.S.  KARADENIZ,”
BASRA.

Friday, August 27th, 1915.

TO HIS MOTHER.

I wrote to Papa from just outside the bar, which is a mud-bank across the head of the Gulf, about seventeen miles outside Fao.  We anchored there to await high tide, and crossed on Tuesday morning.

Fao is about as unimpressive a place as I’ve seen.  The river is over a mile wide there, but the place is absolutely featureless.  In fact all the way up it is the same.  The surrounding country is as flush with the river as if it had been planed down to it.  On either side runs a belt of date palms about half a mile wide, but these are seldom worth looking at, being mostly low and shrubby, like an overgrown market garden.