A few hours ago, in losing sight of the palms of Port Said, we left the last of Africa behind us. The flat, sandy shore of the Egyptian Delta has now vanished from our view, and a grey waste of waters lies before the vessel as she fights her way with increasing difficulty against the rising north-west gale. The Mediterranean in winter is not inviting. No trace in reality of the ever-cloudless sky we have been taught to look for; and Captain Scharf, who certainly ought to know, says that he has never experienced any other weather here at this time of year. This season is always cold and stormy, forming no pleasant transition between the delightful temperature of the Red Sea in winter and the sub-Arctic climate of the Atlantic and the North Sea. We shall have to steam along the coast of Crete and to pass close enough to the southern extremity of Greece, to catch sight of the snow-covered peaks of the Spartan mountains; so much does the head-wind retard the course of our broad-bowed, somewhat old-fashioned boat, which, for a first-class steamer, makes wonderfully little way. The traveller has all the more leisure to retire, in the comfortable smoking-saloon, into the solitude of his own thoughts, and take stock of all that he has seen, heard and learnt in the last nine months.

The evening of the 2nd of December passed very pleasantly on board the Kanzler in Lindi roadstead. One could scarcely make out where so many white-clad Europeans came from, all at once. One of the passengers attributed this influx to the iced Pilsener which Ewerbeck and I lavished in unlimited quantities in the high spirits of departure; but this suggestion is scarcely to be taken seriously. The presence of a German steamer in the harbour is in these latitudes always a festival, celebrated by most people whenever it comes round. And quite rightly so, for nothing is more deadening than the monotony of workaday life in Africa.

The trip which had taken the Rufiji three days of hard work was performed by the swift Kanzler in one day. Early on the morning of the fourth, Ewerbeck and I landed at Dar es Salam: Ewerbeck, in order to take his final leave of the Protectorate, and I, to give account to the Government of the financial and administrative side of my expedition. For a new-comer like myself a change of place made no difference; but the Imperial District Commissioner was visibly moved by sad and serious thoughts. He had spent the best part of his life, over fifteen years, in the development of this very part of German East Africa; and, in such a case, a man does not leave the scene of his labours with a light heart.

Dar es Salam was still more delightful than in June. At this time of year it abounds in mangoes of every size and every variety. The mango-tree was long ago imported from India, and is now found wherever Indians are settled in East Africa, whether in British, German, or Portuguese territory. It is certainly a pleasanter immigrant than the low-caste Indian; it somewhat resembles our linden tree in its mode of growth, and gives a pleasant look of home to a settlement. The fruit, sometimes as large as a child’s head, is served on ice at every meal, and is almost equal in flavour to the pine-apple.

Into this pleasant, easy life the news of the events of December 13th came like a bolt from the blue. An excellent hotel, the “Kaiserhof,” had been opened just before my return to Dar es Salam, and I had the great pleasure of being one of its first guests. We were almost suffocated with comfort: electric light, a broad, shady verandah outside every room, a comfortable bath-room attached to each apartment, and a more than luxurious table were, together, almost too much of a good thing, after our lean months in the bush. Fortunately, however, man becomes accustomed to every thing, even to good living.

I have seldom seen so many long faces as in those days, when the news of the sudden dissolution of the Reichstag burst like a bomb in the comfortable, well-to-do official circles of the town. It seemed as though every single European, down to the lowest subordinate, had been personally affected by the event; all the mess-rooms were loud with the dismal prognostications of the croakers as to the black future—or rather the want of any future—before the colony, whose inglorious end seemed placed beyond doubt, as each of us foresaw that the General Election in January would admit at least a hundred Socialists to the Reichstag. “And of course it is all up with the railways,” was the stereotyped refrain of all these lamentations, which the mourners duly drowned in a sea of whisky and soda. Personally I am convinced that things will not be as bad as that, but that the next Reichstag will show at least as much feeling for the colonies as its predecessor, or, indeed, it is to be hoped, still more. On January 25th our steamer is to arrive at Genoa; on that date the elections will be over, and on the following day we shall be able to get a general survey of the results, and form some idea as to the fate of our colonies in the immediate future.

I left Dar es Salam on December 20th by the Admiral, a splendid boat, almost new, and rolling far less even than the Prinzregent. It was also more comfortable than the latter; it was no wonder, therefore, that all the cabins were full. We had still more English on board than in the spring; many from Cape Town, and still more from Johannesburg. Accordingly, the prevailing style of dress was noticeably luxurious. This time I was able to go ashore at Tanga, and even see something of the Usambara railway. Captain Doherr, with his usual foresight, had (probably remembering the managerial functions which he had been called upon to perform a few months previously, in the service of the eight Deputies) arranged for a special train to be ready for the passengers, or at least for such as wished to avail themselves of it. With this we made the run to Muhesa, where the expedition was brought to a halt by means of enormous dishes of sandwiches and trays of whiskies and sodas. Something is really being done in the north-east of the colony, as one can see even from the train; it is true that not all the land is yet under cultivation, but every bit of it is already in the hands of a permanent owner, even far beyond the rail-head.

There were grand doings at Tanga in the evening. This town enjoys a whole series of advantages. In the first place, it is the nearest to the mother country of all our East African ports, and thus constitutes the gateway to the colony. In the second place, the harbour is tolerably good; the bay, indeed, is not land-locked to the same extent as that of Dar es Salam, but, like the latter, it has sufficient anchorage within a short distance of the shore. The most important point, however, is its nearness to Usambara, the choicest part of our territory as regards climate and soil. Usambara has but one fault: it is not large enough to accommodate all would-be settlers. It is said that even now the available land has been allotted, and there is no chance for later applicants. Many of these are now staying at Tanga, or on their way south to seek new fields for their energies: in fact, the boom at Lindi was in great part caused by the congestion in the north. The economic centre of gravity, therefore, for our whole colonial activity lies at present in this north-eastern district. This, by the bye, is evident from the whole aspect of European life at Tanga. After passing many months on end in the Usambara mountains, with no opportunities for social intercourse, the planter suddenly feels the need of society, and in a few hours’ time we may behold him seated in the club at Tanga.

Where there are Germans, there is also music. Dar es Salam enjoys the advantage of two bands—that of the sailors from the two cruisers, and that of the askari. Both are under official patronage, but I cannot say much for the proficiency of the native performers: in any case, their music was accompanied by a great deal of noise. At Tanga it is not in economic matters only that the residents assert their independence—even the Boys’ Band of that town is a purely private enterprise. Tanga is a scholastic centre par excellence, hundreds of native children being instructed in the elements of European knowledge and initiated into the mysteries of the German tongue, which, indeed, one finds that all the little black imps can speak after a fashion. The more intelligent, in whom their teachers discover, or think they discover, any musical gift, are admitted to the famous Boys’ Band. This is just now in excellent training. When the passengers from the Admiral presented themselves in the evening on the square in front of the Club, the band turned out to welcome them, and the playing was really remarkably good.