XXIV THE LAND OF THE LION 
January, 1697, the plague broke out in the garrison — 
and by July 23d there remained but the Commandant, 
nine Swahili, fifty native women, and the king of a neigh- 
bouring tribe — Faza. 
The Commandant died August 24th — yet the desperate 
remnant somehow managed to keep the Arabs out for 
three weeks. 
A relieving fleet came in September, and 150 Portuguese 
soldiers and 300 Indian mercenaries were thrown into the 
place — then the grip of the besiegers closed on it again. 
For fifteen months longer this almost unparalleled struggle 
went on, till December 12, 1698, when the Arabs at last 
stormed. The garrison, reduced to eleven men and two 
women, was too feeble to offer serious resistance, and all 
were slaughtered. 
1699, 1703, 1710. Portuguese expeditions tried to 
retake Mombassa and failed. What a story of tenacity, 
cruelty, and courage it is! —and scarcely one memorial 
of it save the yellow crumbling citadel, and its deep moat 
hewn with infinite labour from the coral rock, remains. 
Dense tropic tangle and the carelessness of the East 
have combined to wipe out almost entirely the scanty 
memorials of the great past—even the graves of the 
brave dead of those old days are now lost and forgotten. 
Arab and Portuguese alike, no one knows where they lie. 
One of the most intelligent Arabs in Mombassa — one 
too, who claims descent from the conquering Sultans who, 
drove the Portuguese out — and for so long reigned in their 
stead — gravely assured me that there never were any 
Portuguese graves — as they always buried their dead at 
sea. He was equally ignorant as to where his own con- 
quering ancestors, who fell before the place, lay. 
