Colin and Tiny were glad to shake off the dust of Cape Town. For one thing, they were all impatience to arrive at their Land of Promise. For another, it seemed simply astonishing how their money went, even with the strictest economy, during their ten days' enforced detention.
Already Tiny was showing decided signs of improvement in health. The sea voyage had done him a lot of good, and the air of South Africa, even though it were on the coast, helped to keep up the improvement. The fact that he had been able to ascend Table Mountain showed that. It fagged him, but even Colin felt the physical strain after about three weeks on board the Huldebras.
The Tomboli was a poor ship compared with the well-equipped Huldebras. For one thing, her speed was a bare eleven knots; her accommodation was meagre and far from comfortable. She rolled like a barrel, and in a following sea "steered like a dray"; and since, in addition to her slow speed, she was to call to land and unload cargo at Port Elizabeth, Durban, Lorenzo Marquez, and Mozambique, the time of her arrival at Dar-es-Salaam was a matter of question.
She carried twenty-three passengers, including four Portuguese officials, but amongst them was one whom Colin and Tiny were sorry to see—the shifty-eyed man from the hotel off Adderley Street.
In the passenger list his name was given as Joseph Londray, his destination Ujiji, which meant that in the circumstances Colin and Tiny would have to be in his company until they reached Tabora.
Londray showed no sign of surprise at meeting the lads on the deck of the Tomboli, and during the long and tedious voyage he made no attempt to address them. It was a case of mutual disinclination on both sides, and although they met regularly in the saloon for meals, not a word passed between the two chums and the shifty-eyed passenger.
At length, after landing and picking up passengers at various ports of call until only seven of those who left Cape Town remained on board, the Tomboli arrived at the spacious and land-locked harbour of Dar-es-Salaam—the name meaning the "Port of Tranquillity."
"This is another good step towards our journey's end," remarked Tiny, as the chums gazed upon the well-laid-out town that, thanks to German thoroughness, had taken the place of a squalid native hamlet.
But for the Kaiser's lust for world conquest by the force of arms, Dar-es-Salaam might have been under the Black Cross Ensign to-day, and bringing millions into the exchequer of the German Government. Instead, like the rest of "German East," it had passed under the control of Great Britain, and the blighting shadow of the Mailed Fist was for ever removed from the native population.
"I'm jolly glad we haven't to live here," rejoined Colin. "It's too hot and moist. Look at that chap. One could imagine him to be a slave-driver."