After Giving Them Some Casks Of Water,
We Directed Them To Muscat (The Port They Wished
To Make), And Our Vessel Resumed Its Journey,
Leaving Them Still Becalmed In The Midst Of That
Glassy Sea.
Whether they managed to reach their
destination I never knew.
As our steamer made its way to its anchorage,
the romantic surroundings of the harbour of
Mombasa conjured up, visions of stirring
adventures of the past, and recalled to my mind the
many tales of reckless doings of pirates and
slavers, which as a boy it had been my delight to
read. I remembered that it was at this very place
that in 1498 the great Vasco da Gama nearly lost
his ship and life through the treachery of his Arab
pilot, who plotted to wreck the vessel on the reef
which bars more than half the entrance to the
harbour. Luckily, this nefarious design was
discovered in time, and the bold navigator promptly
hanged the pilot, and would also have sacked
the town but for the timely submission and
apologies of the Sultan. In the principal street
of Mombasa - appropriately called Vasco da
Gama Street - there still stands a curiously
shaped pillar which is said to have been erected
by this great seaman in commemoration of his
visit.
Scarcely had the anchor been dropped, when, as
if by magic, our vessel was surrounded by a fleet
of small boats and "dug-outs" manned by crowds
of shouting and gesticulating natives. After a short
fight between some rival Swahili boatmen for my
baggage and person, I found myself being
vigorously rowed to the foot of the landing steps by the
bahareen (sailors) who had been successful in the
encounter. Now, my object in coming out to East
Africa at this time was to take up a position to
which I had been appointed by the Foreign Office
on the construction staff of the Uganda Railway.
As soon as I landed, therefore, I enquired from
one of the Customs officials where the
headquarters of the railway were to be found, and
was told that they were at a place called Kilindini,
some three miles away, on the other side of the
island. The best way to get there, I was further
informed, was by gharri, which I found to be a
small trolley, having two seats placed back to back
under a little canopy and running on narrow rails
which are laid through the principal street of the
town. Accordingly, I secured one of these
vehicles, which are pushed by two strapping
Swahili boys, and was soon flying down the track,
which once outside the town lay for the most part
through dense groves of mango, baobab, banana
and palm trees, with here and there brilliantly
coloured creepers hanging in luxuriant festoons
from the branches.
On arrival at Kilindini, I made my way to the
railway Offices and was informed that I should be
stationed inland and should receive further
instructions in the course of a day or two.
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