THE EAST COAST 163 



The Deutsche-Ost-Afrika liner turns her bow 

 to the hghthouse and runs straight for the 

 shore. 



It really seems a case of steamship suicide. 

 But no ! just when a calamity appears inevitable 

 a creek begins to take shape out of mainland 

 jungle, and the Adolf Woermann drives straight 

 into the narrow opening. The creek twists and 

 serpentines. This entrance to Dar-es-Salaam is 

 like a street in the warren of Zanzibar. Time 

 after time a cul-de-sac in verdure and mud-bank 

 looms up before the good ship's bow ; time after 

 time a twist or a turn discloses a new and narrow 

 way into the harbour. 



Presently a corner in the jumble of land- and 

 sea-scapes is turned, and a great bush-wreathed 

 bay with a white city built on one arc of the 

 wreath appears. In some ways the scene recalls 

 memories of the approach to Milosis, in Rider 

 Haggard's romance, Allan Quatermain. But 

 whereas Milosis was a frowning city, Dar-es- 

 Salaam has all the appearance of an abode of 

 peace. 



The water that laps so gently against the 

 shallow beach, the sandbanks that rise so evenly 

 to the long esplanade running along the sea-front, 

 the snow-white steeple of the church, the palms 

 rustling with the murmur of the breeze, and, 

 above all, the azure sky brilliant with the warmth 

 and splendour of the sun — surely this is a fairy 

 bay of rest. 



Look into the scene a little more closely, 

 however, and observe the Seeadler, a German 

 gunboat, flying the pendant of the " Mailed 

 Fist." Notice a miniature dockyard, troops 

 around the landing-stage, and a few cannon on 

 the sea-front. You cannot rob the city of its 



