IN TROPIC SEAS
Three days later we arrived off Mombasa, and here another warship took
over our convoy of transports and escorted them to their destination,
while we proceeded into Kilindini Harbour to effect some boiler repairs.
Kilindini is the deep-water harbour for Mombasa (the old harbour is only
able to accommodate vessels of shallow draught), and its entrance is
narrow, and invisible on approach from the sea. At first it seemed as
though our ship was heading straight for the beach, but presently she
turned sharply to port away from the town, and a lovely stretch of water
opened out. Up this we glided until the open sea was hidden by a bend of
the river, and finally we anchored in the stream just above Kilindini
wharf.
At first it seemed strange, after being for so long accustomed to the
sound of salt waves dashing against the ship’s side, to be lying quietly
at anchor in a stream, where during the ebb the water was almost fresh,
and to be surrounded by the green of inland vegetation which grew right
down to the edge of the shore.... Here for many days the old ship lay at
rest, while the busy engineers cleaned and scraped the boilers, which
were caked with the accumulated deposit from the thousands of gallons of
water which had circulated through them on the voyage out.
We were completely hidden from the sea, but we took full measures of
defence and offence in the event of a hostile vessel steaming up and
thinking to bombard at her leisure the apparently unprotected town of
Mombasa. The gunnery lieutenant was very busy “squaring off” on a large
map the area in which our guns could be effective; and another lieutenant
and two “snotties” were ordered to camp out near the old lighthouse,
whence they could command all the sea-approaches.
Their business was to signal to the ship should a hostile vessel appear,
and to indicate her position when she came within range.
These young officers vastly enjoyed the novelty of camping out. One day
I went up to have tea with them, and found them just bubbling over with
excitement. They exhibited their camp-equipment with great pride, and
even conducted me to their open-air kitchen, which was presided over by
a grinning Swahili. This boy treated everything as a huge joke, and took
special delight in being able to report a sail on the horizon—were it
only a dhow. It seemed to afford him immense amusement to see the officer
on duty run up the steps of the old tower to scrutinise the vessel
through his telescope. Fortunately, too, it was the dry season, so the
weather was just right for camping out.
On landing at Kilindini the first question to be decided is whether to
walk into Mombasa or to drive. Since it is generally very hot, and there
is a steep hill to be climbed from the wharf, the decision as a rule is
in favour of driving in a gharri. This is really a trolley, provided with
curtains and a sun-canopy, and having two seats, which at a pinch will
accommodate six persons. The motive-power is provided by two natives, who
push up the hills and along the level, but at every down gradient hop on
the tail-board and so get a rest. On a descent these vehicles develop
quite a respectable pace, and they all have strong brakes—a necessary
precaution in view of the steepness of the hill running down to Kilindini.
A good road, lined for the greater part of its length by fine shady
mango-trees, leads right up to the entrance to the English Club.
Facilities for shopping in Mombasa are not great; true, there are two or
three large stores which stock a little of everything, but are usually
“out of” the particular article required. And in addition to these there
are several Indian shops chiefly devoted to the sale of cheap (and not
rarely spurious) Japanese and Indian curios.
The Arab quarter of the town is interesting, although it cannot compare
with Zanzibar, and the houses are built right on the narrow streets,
presenting as a rule nothing but a blank whitewashed wall with a
door opening on an inner court. These doors are always massive, and
occasionally finely carved, and studded with huge nails of brass or iron
bosses. The native quarter is merely a collection of mud-huts with low
doorways, and window spaces large and open to the street if the tenant
has wares to display, but otherwise small and dark.
Here, too, the roads have a habit of dwindling away, until at length the
visitor finds himself among a cluster of huts which seem—as, indeed, they
are—set down without any regard for symmetry or the preservation of a
highway.
The dresses of the Swahili are picturesque and graceful. The men wear
a long-sleeved robe called a “kanzu,” which reaches to the ankles, and
is made of cotton—sometimes coloured—but more usually there is beneath
this one or more cotton vests of Manchester or Indian make, and possibly
drawers of similar material. A red fez without a tassel is the most
popular head-dress. The women’s apparel is even more simple, for it
consists merely of a brightly-coloured and figured cotton cloth wound
round the body below the armpits, while a second is draped shawl-wise
over head and arms. Like the majority of natives, the women hold
themselves magnificently, a fact probably due to their carrying on
their heads everything which is capable of being so carried. A European
umbrella of cheap Indian manufacture is a highly precious possession, and
it looks inexpressibly quaint to see this when not in use—balanced on the
head!
We were anxious to obtain some genuine African curios, but found this
was difficult, for although Oriental shops were well stocked with wares,
most of these were cheap and showy, and of no real worth. My most-prized
souvenir of Mombasa is a walking-stick made from a strip of dried
rhinoceros-hide so polished with oil that it resembles clouded amber.
The river, dividing here into two arms, makes of Mombasa an island. One
afternoon I landed on the mainland, where, opposite Kilindini wharf, is
an old naval canteen, relic of the days when we kept a squadron in these
waters for the suppression of the slave-trade of which Zanzibar was a
centre. There still exists a cleared space, once the recreation-ground,
on which, though it was largely overgrown, it was yet possible for our
sailors to enjoy an impromptu game of football.
The cocoanuts and mangoes were not yet ripe; indeed, the latter were
quite hard and green; nevertheless, despite my warnings, one or two
seamen tackled them with apparent relish, and, oddly enough, they seemed
subsequently to suffer from no ill effects!
After watching the football for a while I wandered down a little path
and came upon a cluster of native huts, where I found some more of our
bluejackets ingratiating themselves with the small brown children, and
charming the smiling mothers by their admiration of the naked babies—fat
brown little beings with a string of bright beads for their only
clothing. A grey-headed old man was offering some oranges for sale, but
would not accept English pence, and I was able to come to the rescue with
a few small local coins.
* * * * *
After spending about three weeks in Kilindini we were again ready for
sea, and one day a signal arrived which caused no little excitement.
Messengers were hurriedly sent ashore to demand the immediate return of
our washing—whether clean or no—and the officers out at the lighthouse
were ordered to strike camp and rejoin the ship without delay. The
following morning, at 10 a.m., we steamed out and cruised about at sea
just out of sight of land.