MOMBASA. 73 



punkahs swung back and forth in lazy hypnotic 

 rhythm. We could see the two blacks at the ends 

 of the punkah cords outside on the veranda, 

 their bodies swaying lithely in alternation as 

 they threw their weight against the light ropes. 

 Other blacks, in the long white robes and ex- 

 quisitely worked white skull caps of the Swahili, 

 glided noiselessly on bare feet, serving. 



After dinner we sat out until midnight in the 

 teakwood chairs of the upper gallery, staring 

 through the arches into the black, mysterious 

 night, for it was very hot, and we rather dreaded 

 the necessary mosquito veils as likely to prove 

 stuffy. The mosquitoes are few in Mombasa, but 

 they are very deadly very. At midnight the 

 thermometer stood 87 F. 



Our premonitions as to stuffiness were well 

 justified. After a restless night we came awake 

 at daylight to the sound of a fine row of some 

 sort going on outside in the streets. Immediately 

 we arose, threw aside the lattices, and hung out 

 over the sill. 



The chalk-white road stretched before us. 

 Opposite was a public square, grown with bril- 

 liant flowers, and flowering trees. We could not 

 doubt the cause of the trouble. An Indian on 



a bicycle, hurrying to his office, had knocked 



3a 



