And the 'venturers yearn from the ends of earth, for none o'
the isles is as fair as I!


The enormous map of Africa loses no lure or mystery from the fact of
nearness to the continent itself. Rather it increases. In the hot
upper room that night, between the wreathing smoke of oil lamps, we
pored over the large scale map Monty had saved from the wreck along
with our money drafts and papers.

The atmosphere was one of bygone piracy. The great black ceiling
beams, heavy-legged table of two-inch planks, floor laid like a dhow's
deck--making utmost use of odd lengths of timber, but strong enough to
stand up under hurricanes and overloads of plunder, or to batten down
rebellious slaves--murmurings from rooms below, where men of every race
that haunts those shark-infested seas were drinking and telling tales
that would make Munchhausen's reputation--steaminess, outer darkness,
spicy equatorial smells and, above all, knowledge of the nature of the
coming quest united to veil the map in fascination.

No man gifted with imagination better than a hot-cross bun's could be
in Zanzibar and not be conscious of the lure that made adventurers of
men before the first tales were written. Old King Solomon's traders
must have made it their headquarters, just as it was Sindbad the
Sailor's rendezvous and that of pirates before he or Solomon were born
or thought of. Vasco da Gama, stout Portuguese gentleman adventurer,
conquered it, and no doubt looted the godowns to a lively tune. Wave
after wave of Arabs sailed to it (as they do today) from that other
land of mystery, Arabia; and there isn't a yard of coral beach,
cocoanut-fringed shore, clove orchard, or vanilla patch--not a lemon