Mombasa, May 13/76
My Dear Father
It is now my happy lot to be able to head my letter M’uta as the native term for Mosubas runs and I give you a bit of Swaheli to digest and think over, so that you can perhaps smell the spicy breezes as you read the language of this favoured land. After staying until the 10th at Zangebar (as it is written in the Atlases, and which the natives call it) and having during that time had many a pleasant ramble in the bush, there stirring up the Guinea fowl etc. word was sent that the Sultans yacht would be ready to go at 4.O’clock in the afternoon. Away the Rev Mr Lamb, myself and Mr Robertson, who had accompanied me from England, started for the Custom House to hunt up all our boxes, Mr Lamb having 34 for his own special comfort to look after, and as we had no small quantity each, I have 10 or 11 boxes, we were all morning hunting among the miscellaneous collection of bales, boxes, etc. then sending them down by a gang of natives to the lighter, and then seeing them on board. It was no joke I assure you to stand out in the tropical sun for 3 or 4 hours running here and there and shouting at the blacks to do things right and not throw down the boxes as if they were bales of cotton. At 4.O’clock we rowed on board and away for Mombasa.
Captain Mahumed Bin something very polite. Brought us a copy of real Arab coffee in a cup about a thimbleful size, as bitter as gall, but as he was a decent soul I asked for another cup which pleased him wonderfully. The yacht went 11 or 12 knots an hour and about 7.O’clock we were in Pemba channel. Then away we went down at the bow, up at the stern, and vice versa. From side to side, so that some of our fellow Christians looked very serious and went below, from whence sounds of distressed persons were plainly heard on deck. I went down to see about a place to lie down on, but soon turned for the companion again, and getting out my rugs I spread them on deck, put on my red Turk cap and tried to sleep, but it was no good. People kept coming to me and started talking right on till about 2. when I had a short nap and was woke by the engine. At 4.O’clock in the morning of the 11th I asked Captain Mahumed what was up. He said he was thinking we had come far enough and was waiting for day to break so that he might tell by the country where he was. I laughed at the idea of a captain not knowing where he was, but it is the way of the Arabs. They know all the coast from Cape of Good Hope to Cape Guardafui by sight and can take you in anywhere, but don’t know what a chart is.
Day broke soon and away we went, and certainly it was a grand sight to see the surf breaking in tremendous force over the Coral Reefs and our little boat going through them as easily as a horse is guided. The entrance to Mombasa is difficult on account of these reefs. You cannot see the way at all. Nothing but great rollers and here and there a great waste of foam, but the “Star” went in bravely, and at 6.45am we heard the anchor dropping in Mombasa Harb and jolly glad I was to get there at last, leaving England March 30th getting there May 10th.
After going with the Rev Mr Price, the Missionary here (who went to Zanz’ to meet us and brought us back) to have breakfast at his house, he took me to a large house, the highest in the town, and said I could have it whilst I was here. So, I could see Mr Robertson wished to be with me, so both of us had our baggage carried there. The house is well furnished. We have our room, about 60 feet long, 12ft wide and 12 high, with 5 windows at one side and one in each end, and two doors on other side to windows. We step out of there down on to the flat roof of room below (for our room is the top one) and have a splendid view of the Island and Mainland. One often hears of tropical luxuriance and scenery, but it cannot be described. Tall palm trees, cocoa nut trees, orange trees, mango trees in groves and singly, meet the eye. The hills covered with vegetation up to the summits for scores of miles away. The beautiful coloured birds, eagles soaring high up, the blue sea, and winding creek, the huts thatched with palm leaf, the Arabs in their strangely picturesque costumes, and with sword and gun, the native Swahelis, some of them clad according to Adam, but fine men and women for all that, and I think the women here can certainly be called very fine and well made, though there are some rather worse looking, the Banians in their own curious dress, all combined make up a picture which can only be understood or realized by seeing it in reality on the spot.
Mr Price then told us we must have a cook and a steward, so he went and enquired for some, and soon our cook put in an appearance. Not knowing English, and our steward just knowing a very few. But Mr P thought we would be able to pick up the Swaheli sooner by having a talk to steward, and what was worse having to tell them what we wanted for dinner. I just picked up a few words of Swaheli, so I told cook Nepi in poovigar na mazewa, Bring in some rice and milk, na makata and bread, in poonga and magewa. Yes, yes said he, no makata. Yes, yes I said, must have bread. No sir till 12 O’clock tomorrow, said he, must bake it in the sun. Well I told him, get chicken and let us have dinner. So at 6.O’clock dinner came in. First course, fish and rice, second chicken and rice, third, milk and rice, fourth oranges, fifth, tea. So we had our dinner. He is doing very well now. I am going into Swaheli, so dinner today should be 1st, soup, 2nd, fish, 3rd, beef 4th, rice pudding, 4th, orange, 6th, coffee, and plenty of makata and jam.
We have a bath room. A girl is our water carrier, and we have a sleeping room for the servant, and a good galley for cooking purposes. At one end of our room stands our bed with mosquito curtains round, in the is our table and chairs, at the other end are the boxes etc. I went out with my smooth box and rifle on the 11th to try them in the bush. They are splendid weapons and carry very true. Being thirsty I sighted the rifle at a cocoa nut and fired. Down it came and very soon I had a good drink and won’t say where the nut went to.
On the 12th went and saw the freed slaves on the estate. There are 300 there now, and a ship was expected yesterday with 100 captured from a dhow. One man was brought out and shown me. He had been flogged with a shark tail, and his poor back, sides and chest were all gashed and torn with the saw like weapon of his inhuman master. While I was there an Arab came demanding a slave girl of his who sought our protection, and he promised if we gave her up she should not trouble us again, because he would drown her. It is one thing to talk about slavery, but it is another to be amongst it. I can assure you Man’s inhumanity to man makes countless thousands mourn. And if the people of England only realised how much slaves were at their master’s disposal to be cut, whipped, murdered or to done as they pleased, there would be more ado made about it than has ever yet been made.
Last night and night before about 9.30 we heard some 30 natives with tom-toms and guns come under our windows and make the blessedest noise of singing(?) gun firing etc. in honour of great men’s arrival that is possible for imagination to conceive, and they kept it up until we thought they never would stop.
The heat here is great. My thermometer on the table, I am writing in shirt and trousers, though a fine cool breeze is blowing from window on to it, shows 84o. At 3.0pm it was 112o, and this is winter here.
I have to post letters without stamps as there is neither Post Office or stamps at Zanz’. The letters go to the Consul. So if they want to charge more than 1s/0d, which is the proper rate, you must tell the Post Office folk, as the people here all do the same, and they pay 1s/0d only at home, or else they may want to charge double postage. The letters, you see, have to be written in good time. Our postman, an Arab, leaves some 12 days before the arrival of the mail, as he has 150 miles of coast to walk and then cross 25 miles of sea to Zanzibar. I hope you will send me good long letters, as I feel what it is to be a stranger in a strange land, far from home and all dear, and I shall think much of a letter and a paper now and then to see how the world goes on.
An Arab is coming on Monday to start me with lessons in Swaheli, so it will be like
With love to all, I remain your affectionate and loving son.
George J Clark
P.S. I opened letter again (19th) to say you must
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