FUZZY WUZZIES 



a snapshot of one driving one of the winches. It seems 

 almost incredible to think that, a very few years ago, 

 they were a race of bloodthirsty savages, prowling 

 round with spears wherewith to tickle one's ribs. Yet 

 here they were on board, driving steam-winches as 

 skilfully as any white engineer. It is about the only 

 work it is possible to get them to do, not because they 

 are lazy, as they are hard workers ; but, for some 

 peculiar reason best known to themselves, they will 

 only work on a ship or go out on the pasture lands. 



They have one other peculiar feature, or rather 

 trick. Without the slightest warning or apparent 

 reason, one will suddenly jump up and make a series 

 of tremendous leaps five or six feet straight into the 

 air, and then quietly squat down again. 



The other natives round there are of the coolie 

 class, not Arabs, and are much more polite and civil ; 

 they never argue, and take what you give quietly, 

 saluting you by touching their foreheads and then 

 their breasts with the right hand. 



Fortunately there was nothing to detain the 

 Bardistan for many hours at Aden, and we were soon 

 on our way again for Mombasa, our next port of 

 call. This portion of the journey proved to be quite 

 uneventful in every way. 



It was early on a May morning when we arrived 

 in Mombasa, the eastern door of the Dark Continent, 

 at least so far as the British are concerned. The scene 



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