Finding that the funds were running out, I took to the sea again, and, getting a ship, worked my way round to Durban. Here I had to look round again for something to do, and finding that a Shakespearian company was playing in the town at the time, I presented myself at the stage manager’s office and applied for an engagement. They happened to have a vacancy, and I was taken on for small parts. The company was at rehearsal when I was engaged, and I was told to take my place at once among the others on the stage. As far as I could judge, I was no worse than the other members of the company, and for a month I appeared nightly for the edification of the aristocracy of Durban.
Tiring of the stage, I again took to the sea, and worked my way, from port to port, round to Zanzibar, where I gathered all the information I could about the interior, which did not amount to much more than that the country was very wild indeed.
However, my mind was made up now, and I was not to be scared off my plan; so, as there were no boats running to Mombasa—which is the gateway of British East Africa—I bargained with an Arab for a passage on a dhow which carried native passengers between the various ports along the coast. The owner of the dhow provided no accommodation for his passengers, and I suppose one could hardly expect that he would, seeing that the fare from Zanzibar to Mombasa—a distance of about 250 miles—was only two rupees, or two shillings and eightpence!
The boat had a single mast, and carried one huge sail. It had no compass or lights, and was navigated round the coast by keeping as close inshore as possible all the time. There was no place to make a fire or any provision for cooking. It had been so, the Arab told me, in the days of his father, and what was good enough for his father was good enough for him and those who chose to travel with him. This was said in Arabic, but was translated to me by a fellow-passenger who could speak a little English.
With fully fifty people on board the tiny craft we started on our voyage along the coast, but had not gone very far before we were in trouble. With the huge sail set to catch the breeze, we were flying merrily along, when we were suddenly brought up all standing, and found that we had come across some obstacle in the water. We were very quickly informed what it was by a shouting crowd of excited native fishermen who swarmed round our boat, loudly demanding to be compensated for the damage done to their nets, which, it seemed, formed the obstacle that had pulled us up and which we had destroyed.
The owner of the dhow did not seem to be at all disposed to give in to their demands, and they were about to seize the small boat which we were towing behind us, when I thought it was time to take a hand in the argument, as, in case of any accident to the dhow, this boat was our only hope of safety, the waters in that part being said to be infested with sharks. Picking up an axe, which happened to be lying handy, I jumped into the boat and threatened to brain the first man who came within reach. Although they did not understand English, my attitude was evidently suggestive enough to make it clear that they were safer at a distance, and, realizing that they were not likely to get any satisfaction by continuing the argument, they allowed us to proceed on our way.
After this we made fairly good headway, with a favourable wind, and, occupied in watching the changing scenery opening out as we made our way along the coast, I had almost forgotten the incident. I was settling down to enjoy the trip when, without any warning, we were suddenly pulled up again with a jerk, and the dhow came to a fullstop again.
Every one immediately got into a wild state of excitement, shouting and gesticulating, and making a perfect pandemonium of noise. The captain was shouting as wildly as the rest, and, thinking he was giving orders, I was surprised to see that nobody attempted to carry them out, but on asking the passenger who could speak some English what orders he was giving, and why no one obeyed them, he said, “He is not giving orders, he is praying. He is calling on Allah to help him.” This was no use to me, and I thought the best thing I could do was to take charge myself; so, getting the man to whom I had spoken to act as interpreter, I told them what to do to put things right. They then calmed down a good deal, and I went to take soundings. There was no leadline on board, so I had to make one with some old iron and some pieces of rope that were lying about. On sounding I found plenty of water on one side of the ship, while on the other it was very shallow, so that we were evidently stuck on a reef. As soon as I was certain of this I lashed some rope to the anchor, and had it taken out about twenty or thirty yards from the ship, in the small boat, and then dropped overboard. Then I made everybody lend a hand to pull hard on the rope, and after about six hours’ hard work we managed to pull her off. In case of trouble I kept the axe handy, but they were ready enough to obey my orders, so nothing happened.
When we got her off I found that the dhow was leaking pretty badly, so everybody was kept busy baling out the water, while I took the helm, and, keeping her close in to the land, steered towards Mombasa.
Noticing a large white building on the shore, I asked what it was, and my interpreter told me that it was the residence of a white man, and that the place was called Shimoni; so I took the boat in as close as possible and dropped anchor. On landing I found that the house was occupied by a British official, who offered to put me up, so I stayed the night there. The next morning I found that the dhow had continued her journey, and, as Mombasa was only thirty miles from Shimoni, I walked the rest of the way.