Only one period of repose—one might almost say, of enchanted sleep—has fallen to the lot of the Red Sea. This was the time when Islam, just awakened to the consciousness of its power, succeeded in laying its heavy hand on the transition zone between West and East. With the cutting of the Suez Canal, the last shadow of this ancient barrier has disappeared, and the Red Sea and North Indian Ocean have regained at a stroke, in fullest measure, their old place in the common life of mankind.
The passengers on board our steamer, the Prinzregent, were chiefly German and English; and at first a certain constraint was perceptible between the members of the two nationalities, the latter of whom seemed to be influenced by the dread and distrust expressed in numerous publications of the last few years. Mr. William Le Queux’s Invasion of 1910 was the book most in demand in the ship’s library.
A more sociable state of things gradually came about during the latter part of the voyage; and this largely through the agency of an unpretending instrument forming part of my anthropological equipment. One day, when we were nearing the Straits of Bab el Mandeb, partly in order to relieve the tedium of the voyage, and partly in order to obtain statistics of comparative strength, I produced my Collin’s dynamometer. This is an oval piece of polished steel, small enough to be held flat in the hand and compressed in a greater or less degree, according to the amount of force expended, the pressure being registered by means of cogged wheels acting on an index which in its turn moves a second index on a dial-plate. On relaxing the pressure, the first index springs back to its original position, while the second remains in the position it has taken up and shows the weight in kilogrammes equivalent to the pressure. The apparatus, really a medical one, is well adapted for ascertaining the comparative strength of different races; but its more immediate usefulness appears to lie in establishing cordial relations between total strangers in the shortest possible time. On that particular hot morning, I had scarcely begun testing my own strength, when all the English male passengers gathered round me, scenting some form of sport, which never fails to attract them, young or old. In the subsequent peaceful rivalry between the two nations, I may remark that our compatriots by no means came off worst; which may serve to show that our German system of physical training is not so much to be despised as has been recently suggested by many competent to judge, and by still more who are not so competent.
In his general attitude on board ship, the present-day German does not, so far as my observations go, contrast in the least unfavourably with the more experienced voyagers of other nationalities. It is true that almost every Englishman shows in his behaviour some trace of the national assumption that the supremacy of the seas belongs to him by right of birth. Our existence, however, is beginning to be recognized—not out of any strong affection for “our German cousins,” but as a simple matter of necessity. If, for comfort in travel, one must have recourse to German ships; and when, at home and abroad, there is a German merchant-fleet and a German navy to be reckoned with, the first of which keeps up an assiduous competition, while the second is slowly but steadily increasing, these things cannot fail to impress even the less cultured members of the British nation. Only one thing is, and will be for many years to come, calculated to make us ridiculous in the eyes of Old England—and that is the Zanzibar Treaty. Never shall I forget the looks of malicious triumph and the sarcastic condolences which greeted us—the unfortunate contemporaries of the late Caprivi—when we came in sight of Zanzibar. My friend Hiram Rhodes, of Liverpool, the ever-smiling and universally popular, usually known as “the laughing philosopher,” from his cheerful view of life, was not as a rule given to sharp sayings, but with regard to the famous political transaction, I distinctly remember to have heard him use the expression, “Children in politics.” Caustic, but not undeserved! Another remark of his, after viewing Dar es Salam: “That is the finest colony I have ever seen!” served, it is true, as a touch of healing balm—but no amount of conciliatory speeches will give us back Zanzibar!
MAP OF THE MAIN CARAVAN ROAD, WITH ITS PRINCIPAL BRANCHES. DRAWN BY SABATELE, A MMAMBWE
The object of the journey on which I have embarked may now be briefly stated. Several decades since, and therefore before the beginning of our colonial era, the Reichstag voted an annual grant of some 200,000 marks for purposes of scientific research in Africa—purely in the interests of knowledge and without any ulterior intentions from a narrowly nationalist point of view. One might have expected that, after the establishment of our settlements in Africa and the Pacific, this fund would unhesitatingly have been devoted, wholly or in part, to the systematic exploration and study of these colonies of ours. But this has not been done, or only in a very uncertain and desultory manner—to the great grief of German scientific circles, who, under these circumstances, were forced to content themselves with the occasional reports of civil and military officials supplemented by sporadic research expeditions, official or private.
COURTYARD AT DAR ES SALAM—Dolce far niente
It was not till the first Colonial Congress in 1902 that a more vigorous agitation took place for the application of the African Fund on a large scale to the systematic investigation of our dependencies. From specialists in all branches of knowledge—geography and geology, anthropology and ethnography, zoology and botany, linguistics, comparative law, and the new science of comparative music—arose the same cry, with the result that, three years later, at the second Colonial Congress (October, 1905), we were in a position to state clearly the most pressing problems and mark out the principal fields of research in each subject. It might, however, have taken years to put the work in hand, but for the “Committee for the Geographical Exploration of the German Colonies,” and its energetic president, Dr. Hans Meyer, who rescued the proceedings from their normal condition of endless discussions, and translated them at one stroke into action. Dr. Jäger, Herr Eduard Oehler, and myself are the living proofs of this (in our country) unwonted rapidity of decision, being selected to carry out the instructions of the Committee (which is affiliated to the Colonial Office) and help to realise the long-cherished dream of German science.