ever 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