Part 31

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 9.—Shortly after breakfast this morning, we went ashore at the old Portuguese town of Mozambique, and wandered about until the big ship whistle warned us, at 1 P. M., to go on board. When we went down the ship’s side to enter the small boats which carry passengers ashore at a shilling each, we were mobbed by the Arab boatmen, who were quarreling over our patronage. They fought viciously, and many of them fell into the sea, but we had had no excitement for several days, and rather liked the commotion. There were certainly two boatmen for every passenger, and the noise they made was tremendous.... Mozambique is Moorish in design, and I greatly enjoyed my visit there. The streets are narrow and crooked, and the houses hundreds of years old; in some of them may still be seen the windows of mica with which they were originally fitted. Everywhere are the most delightful little parks, and wherever you go in the town you cannot see your way out, as the streets are crooked, and you see only queer old houses with thick walls of stucco. In most towns the streets are straight; there are long rows of houses on either side, and the streets end in a distant view of the country. But Mozambique apparently tries to hide the fact that it is a small town, so no street runs straight for more than a block or two, when it turns; thus you are constantly in a maze of houses. The streets are not more than thirty feet wide, and as all doors are open, owing to the intense heat, the visitor gains an intimate idea of the habits of the people. The Portuguese are related to the Spanish, so their houses have interior courts, and these are provided with gardens or fountains, when water can be had. I have never seen anything more quaint than the shops of Mozambique; it is a small, dull town, and its people are therefore polite. Seven out of ten of the inhabitants are negroes, but the negroes live in a location to themselves, and their houses are almost as unusual as the houses in the white town, for they differ from all the other negro huts I have seen in Africa.... Mozambique has an old fort, and the stones with which it is built were brought from Portugal in the rude ships of three or four hundred years ago. Its cannon are falling to pieces from rust, and I doubt if there is a big gun in the place that could be fired; but a Portuguese garrison is maintained there, and we were compelled to give up our cameras before going in—the soldiers feared we might take pictures of the fortification and sell them to their enemies. Portugal is the weakest of all nations, and has always been kicked about. It is unprogressive and poor, and people out here have very little more respect for the Portuguese than they have for the Kaffirs. Brazil once belonged to the Portuguese, and it became such a prosperous country that the court left Lisbon and located in Rio de Janeiro; the colony became greater than the mother country. But the inevitable revolution soon came, and Brazil is no longer a Portuguese colony, although there are more Portuguese there than in Portugal. Portuguese East Africa will become independent as soon as it wants independence.... The old fort in Mozambique has been assaulted and captured by the Arabs many times. This section was formerly the center of the slave trade. The Arabs began stealing the natives of East Africa and selling them as slaves, but the Portuguese saw that the traffic was profitable, and the two rivals for supremacy in what became a world industry, often clashed. It is related that on one occasion the Arabs besieged Mozambique fort many months, and when the garrison surrendered, only three of its defenders were left. There are no better fighters than the Arabs; they made up the armies with which Mahomet and his successors almost captured the world. The Mohammedan influence is still strong here; everywhere we see black men wearing the red cap which indicates the Mohammedan. Occasionally the red fez is supplanted by a white embroidered cap, indicating that its owner has visited Mecca, the holy city. On the ship, most of the deck passengers are Mohammedans, and we often see them at their prayers. A Mohammedan is as proud of his religion as a Salvation Army man, and when he is not praying, he reads the Koran with as much interest as a Christian Scientist reads “Science and Health.” As Christians say of the Bible, and Christian Scientists say of Mrs. Eddy’s book, every reading of the Koran displays new beauties.... Among our deck passengers, the only one who has been to Mecca is a big negro, and he is as devout as a Methodist class-leader. He has a prayer-rug, and seems to loan it to the Indians. Both the negroes and Indians should be ashamed to accept the Mohammedan religion, for it is a mark left on them by conquerors. Mohammedan Indians associate freely with negroes, but the Indians who have remained true to Hinduism do not.... In the history of the human race, probably more cruelty was practiced in the slave trade between Mozambique and Zanzibar than anywhere else in the world. And the negroes in the interior do not seem to be any more capable of defense now than they were when anyone was at liberty to enslave them. Human slavery is no longer practiced, either because of civilization among the stronger races, or because it doesn’t pay. Why should a planter go to the expense of buying slaves when he can hire a black laborer for $2 a month, and confine him to quarters, and make him work as many hours as he chooses? This is done in British territory all over Africa.... In Mozambique we visited the public market, and found that many of the negro women had their faces whitened like circus clowns, in order to look like white people. Adelaide weighs only a hundred pounds, and has rather a small waist, and all the negro women thought her waist was disgracefully small. One of them asked if she might measure it with a string. Permission being granted, and the measurement made, the string was passed around, and attracted a babble of disgusted comment from black ladies with the middle-age spread.... Young chickens were sold at the market at eighteen cents each, and everything else was equally cheap. Mozambique is built on a coral island, three miles from the mainland, and everything is brought in by boats.... The Englishman is a grave sort of person, and has little sense of humor, but Sammy Marks, the theatrical man, made me laugh today. In walking about Mozambique, we came across a school in which forty children of all races were reciting in chorus to an Arab teacher seated on the floor. “Children,” Mr. Marks said to them, “don’t you know this is a free day? Sammy Marks is in town, and you can take your books and go home.” Some of the children understood the words “free day,” apparently, for after a little preliminary chatter, every child in the room dashed out the front door, leaving the teacher to wonder what had happened. The English are great in commerce and war, but I never before knew one who had a real sense of humor.... One of the passengers on the “Burgermeister” is a Frenchman, and as he sits at our table, we know him very well. He is an old traveler, and knows how to handle ship servants. He eats more food, and drinks more wine, than any other human being I have ever been acquainted with. But he is a very polite man, and speaks German as well as French, so that he is of the greatest assistance when I get into difficulty with the German waiters. He is always buying champagne, and has five or six boxes of cigars in his cabin. He usually has not only his waiter hovering over him when in the dining-room, but the chief steward as well, and his capacity for getting what he wants is so great that he amuses me, although an electrical engineer at the same table is mad at him, and talks about a personal encounter.... I visited Mozambique with Sammy Marks, the theatrical manager from Capetown, and theatrical men are usually able to get what is coming to them. But Sammy Marks could not find a ricksha for hire in Mozambique. We saw plenty of rickshas, but were told that they were privately owned. Just as we acknowledged that rickshas were an impossibility in Mozambique, along came the Frenchman in one. Learning that Mrs. Marks and Adelaide were very tired, he gallantly turned his vehicle over to them. He went away for a few minutes, but soon came back riding in another ricksha, and continued with us in it until we returned to the boat-landing. Mrs. Marks speaks French like a native, having been born in Paris, and when I make a remark at table that interests her, she translates it to the Frenchman. One day I was asked to tell an “American story,” and it happened to greatly amuse Mr. and Mrs. Marks. The Frenchman did not catch the “story,” saying I talked too fast in telling it. Thereupon Mrs. Marks translated it, and the Frenchman was convulsed with laughter. Mrs. Marks telling my “story” in French, and the Frenchman listening seriously and intently, was a very amusing experience to me.... When we were ready to return to the ship, we found the tide out, and the Arab boatmen carried us to their boats. One boatman, in carrying a very fat woman, stumbled and fell in the water, and the fat woman was soaked.... Arriving at the “Burgermeister,” my boatman demanded 800 reis for carrying two of us to the town and back. The amount startled me, but it turned out that 800 reis amounts to only ninety-six cents in American money.... A Portuguese gentleman became a passenger on the “Burgermeister” at Mozambique, and a number of friends came aboard to say good-by. They were so busy drinking in the smoking-room that they did not note the whistle which blew for visitors to depart; so when we were a mile out, we were compelled to stop, and signal for a tug to come after them. As the visitors departed each one embraced his friend again, with great deliberation. Meanwhile Captain Ulrich was walking the bridge, swearing like a pirate. Just when it was thought the captain would explode with indignation, he was told that the mail had not been sent on board, and he was actually compelled to turn the huge ship around and return to the harbor, where we whistled ten minutes before the sleepy Portuguese put off in a boat to see what the noise was about. We were delayed an hour and a half by the sleepy Portuguese, and nearly everyone on board is cursing them. The Portuguese are everywhere regarded as slow and unenterprising, and countries controlled by them do not prosper.... I shall long remember Mozambique as the quaintest town I have ever visited. I had never heard of it, therefore it was a surprise.

THURSDAY, APRIL 10.—I awoke very early this morning, and found unloading in progress at Port Amelia. The deck passengers were up, as it was necessary to disturb them in order to remove the hatches and get at the cargo. But when we are at sea, the deck passengers divide the space over the forward hatch, and make rooms for themselves with bundles and boxes. Some of them have carpets in their bundles, and nearly all of them have bedding. A tarpaulin forms a covering over them, and at night their quarters are lighted by a bunch of electric lights. It is surprising how well these deck passengers get along, and how comfortable they are. They may buy supplies of the ship steward, and seem to have plenty to eat. Most of them are going back to India, which is not far away from this coast. It was from India that the small Arab boats came, after the Mohammedan conquest, and made slaves of hundreds of thousands of the people of the East Coast of Africa.... Here is an exact description of a dinner I saw six Indians eat yesterday evening: They squatted around a large pan of rice, which had been cooking most of the afternoon on the galley stove. In the centre of the rice was placed a small pan containing a yellow liquid; probably curry. In the curry-pan was a spoon, and the diners used this spoon to ladle out the curry into the rice. Each man covered the portion of rice in front of him with curry, and then stirred up the mass with his fingers, in order that the curry might be thoroughly mixed with the rice. The diners were very polite; when one of them used the spoon, he passed it on to the man next to him. The rice and curry being thoroughly mixed, the diners made it into balls with their fingers, and put it in their mouths. During the meal they discussed the gossip of the day in the most animated manner, as do diners who have many articles of food, served with plate and silver. One old Hindu in the party doesn’t seem to be very well, and he soon retired from the circle, and three others followed him not long after, but two young fellows remained until both pans were scraped clean. Civilized men eat a great variety of food, but the more primitive races do not seem to care for it.... Port Amelia is located in the finest harbor I have seen in Africa, but it is in the wilds, and does not amount to much. The place was founded by a major in the English army, who had been cashiered for bad conduct. He sold his rights to a British company, which secured a franchise for a railroad to Lake Nyanza, and hopes to finally be able to finance the venture. Any story of the American frontier may be duplicated in Africa; adventurers are bold, and capital timid. Several Arab boats which seemed to be hundreds of years old, came off after cargo. These boats do not exceed sixty or seventy feet in length, and sail all along the coast and to India. Several of the passengers accompanied Captain Ulrich ashore before breakfast. The captain is an enthusiastic photographer, and takes pictures in natural colors with an ordinary camera. Anyone may do it by using the special plates which are sold in most trade centres. The captain sells his pictures in Germany for very good prices.... Port Amelia was a short horse, and soon curried, and by 10 A. M. we were out at sea again, being entertained by a Hindu fakir who obtained permission to come up on our deck. This man has been my neighbor ever since I came aboard at Beira; he is camped on deck, with his family, in front of my window. He has a wife, a daughter of fourteen, a son of twenty, and a son of nine, and an old retainer who seems to be half cook and half assistant. My neighbor proved to be the cleverest man of his class I had ever seen. The collection amounted to only $2.50, and the old man was considerably disappointed, saying he did better in the second-cabin the day before. The son of twenty attempted a trick, but failed to do it, and was hooted by the passengers. Then the father attempted it, and succeeded without any difficulty. The old fakir knew me, having seen me in my room many times, from his quarters on deck, and addressed most of his conversation to me while doing his tricks. He talks a little of half a dozen languages, and Sammy Marks, the theatrical manager, says the old fellow would prove a drawing card at any theatre.... There is a woman on board who is said to resemble the late Queen Victoria. I think she started the story herself, as she seems very proud of the alleged resemblance.... The people on this ship are much politer, and much quieter, than were the passengers on the English ship “Anchises,” on which we sailed from Australia to South Africa. The English go crazy about ship sports, and greatly annoy those who want to be quiet, but the Germans are more considerate of others.