THE FIRE. 119 



rounded by warehouses of valuable goods, moving 

 was in full swing. A frantic white man stood at 

 the low doorway of one of these dungeon-like stores 

 hastening the movements of an unending string of 

 porters. As each emerged bearing a case on his 

 shoulder, the white man urged him to a trot. I 

 followed up the street to see where these valuables 

 were being taken, and what were the precautions 

 against theft. Around the next corner, it seemed. 

 As each excited perspiring porter trotted up, he 

 heaved his burden from his head or his shoulders, 

 and promptly scampered back for another load. 

 They were loyal and zealous men ; but their 

 headpieces were deficient inside. For the bur- 

 dens that they saved from the fire happened to be 

 cases of gin in bottles. At least, it was in bottles 

 until the process of saving had been completed. 

 Then it trickled merrily down the gutter. I went 

 back and told the frantic white man about it. He 

 threw up both hands to heaven and departed. 



By dodging from street to street Mohammed and 

 I succeeded in circling the whole disturbance, and 

 so came at length to a public square. Here was 

 a vast throng, and a very good place, so I climbed 

 atop a rescued bale of cotton the better to see. 



Mombasa has no water system, but a wonderful 

 corps of water-carriers. These were in requisi- 



