On a German ship we took final leave of Durban and South Africa, the route being along what is known as the East Coast of Africa and across the western end of the Indian Ocean, to Bombay, India. Every berth was engaged. New scenes ahead bespoke an interesting voyage. America was well represented among the passengers, as there were eight—five missionaries, two theatrical men and a printer.
A day's sail along the flat coast of Zululand and Tongaland and southern Portuguese-East Africa found us in Lourenzo Marques, the capital of Portuguese-East Africa. Seldom is the name Lourenzo Marques heard in this part of the world. "Delagoa Bay" is used 99 times out of 100 when speaking of that East Coast capital. Mention was made in the few Lisbon notes of the white and gray paving used in that city, and the same kind of pavement in Lourenzo Marques brings one's mind back to the Portuguese capital, particularly "Rolling Motion Square." The white population of Portuguese-East Africa is small considering the large territory embraced in that colony, Europeans numbering only 3,000. Public buildings do not make much of a showing, a good harbor and docks being the city's chief assets. Street car and electric light systems, a seaside resort and high prices are some of the characteristics of Lourenzo Marques. Natives are very numerous, and African fever—a notorious feature of this place—is so prevalent that all the white residents have a veiny, sickly appearance.
Fever trees, so called from their sallow appearance, grow not far from here. The leaves droop, are small, thin and lifeless, while the bark on the stunted trunks and limbs is scaly.
Lourenzo Marques, located on Delagoa Bay, is the nearest port for the Transvaal, through which most of the machinery and supplies for the great mines passed until the consolidation of the South African provinces. It was, in short, the chief Boer port of South Africa. Were the deaths that occurred while building the railroad from here to Pretoria made public it would make sad reading. During the stretch of 400 miles separating Johannesburg and Lourenzo Marques some of the territory traversed is through the worst fever zones in the world—even the trees contracting "fever."
Cruising along to the next port, Inhambane—also Portuguese territory—where the stately cocoanut palm raises its bushy head to an admiring distance from the earth, we again reach the tropics. Four of the missionaries disembarked—a bishop and his wife, and one other couple, who were located at a mission station a short distance from this port.
Three hundred whites live in this treacherous place and 30 per cent. die each year. The permanent missionary and his wife had both been fever victims, and if they fail soon to get out of the Inhambane district they will never come out alive. The husband is a powerfully built man, and his wife's skin as fair as a lily. She would be called pretty. They both had a good education, and both were hard workers. The missionary's predecessor had become "salted," but the bodies of three wives were resting under African soil. Black-water fever is nearly always certain death. Until a few years ago death was as certain after having contracted that form of fever as to one who stepped in front of a locomotive traveling at a speed of a mile a minute. All liquids drunk by a victim turn black.
A native was induced to scale a cocoanut tree and knock nuts off. Eight tumbled down, and we were charged two cents each for them. The cocoanut tree has no season—it blossoms and bears the year round.
Native women loaded and unloaded the ship, and looked stronger than the men. Sugar, copra and peanuts were put on at that port.
The anchor chain winds round the drum, and off we start on another run, bringing us to Beira, also in Portuguese territory, the port for Rhodesia. The best route to reach Salisbury or Bulawayo is from Beira. To the former place it is some 300 miles, and to Bulawayo nearly 700 miles.
Venice, Italy, is unique in canals and in the absence of vehicular traffic; and Beira may claim some resemblance to the Italian city, notably in the absence of carriages, automobiles, wagons, motorcycles and street cars. Beira is built on a sandbar, and the means of travel in that place is by vehicles called "trolleys," four-wheeled conveyances. The frame is of iron, and a foot-rest, seat, back and hood are built on this. It is a small carriage on low wheels. The track on which the trolley runs is two feet wide, and the rails are one-inch thick. Ties or sleepers support these. The "power" to move the "trolley" is two natives, who push the vehicle, and push it on the run. These natives are dressed in white cotton shirts, with short sleeves, and with a lava-lava or kilt made of calico, with big spots, which reaches to the knees. Their hat is a red fez with tassels, which suggests we have reached the influence of the Arab. The "trolley" pusher never runs between the rails—always on the one-inch rail. One would think there are grooves in his feet to fit in these. The streets are intersected by "trolley" tracks, switches being made at places, where "trolleys" branch to certain streets. On the main street are three tracks, and turntables have been built here and there on which to turn the cars around when ready for the return trip. They are comfortable to ride in, and most of them are privately owned.