trod these native paths; and among them fine stone houses, soft
red-tiled roofs, verandahs all screened with mosquito gauze and
excellently well laid out, and you have Dar-es-Salaam.

Nothing is left of the old Arab village that was here for centuries
before the German planted this garden-city. Sloping coral sands, where
Arab dhows have beached themselves for ages past, are now supporting the
newest and most modern of tropical warehouses and wharves, electric
cranes, travelling cargo-carriers and a well-planned railway goods yard
that takes the freights of Hamburg to the heart of Central Africa.

It must be pain and grief to the German men and women whom our clemency
allows to occupy their houses, throng the streets and read the daily
Reuter cablegram, to see this town, the apple of their eye, defiled by
the "dirty English" the hated "beefs," as they call us from a mistaken
idea of our fondness for that tinned delicacy.

But the soldiers' daily swim in the harbour is undisturbed by sharks,
and the feel of the soft water is like satin to their bodies. Not for
these spare and slender figures the prickly heat that torments fat and
beery German bodies and makes sea-bathing anathema to the Hun. On German
yachts the lucky few of officers and men are carried on soft breezes
round the harbour and outside the harbour mouth in the evening coolness.

Arab dhows sail lazily over the blue sea from Zanzibar. If one could
dream, one could picture the corsairs' red flag and the picturesque Arab
figure standing high in the stern beside the tiller, and fancy would
portray the freight of spices and cloves that they should bring from the
plantations of Pemba and Zanzibar. But there are no dusky beauties now
aboard these ships; and their freight is rations and other hum-drum