The collier could not be allowed into Kilindini for some time, as there were already at the moment two ships in the channel on their way out, but as soon as the course was clear she rounded the curve of the island and anchored in the harbour—and _that_ incident was ingloriously closed. We tried that night, I remember, to communicate with our ship by means of an electric flash-lamp fixed to the top of the flagstaff, but it was not a success, for the key was so badly insulated that after getting many violent shocks we had to give it up. We had heard from the soldiers that somewhere to the left of the watch-hut there was a cave containing a deep pool of water in which it was quite safe to bathe, so Browne and I, being off duty, one morning went down to try and find it. We crossed the road, and going downhill for a bit over long grass and through various stunted shrubs, came presently to a large rectangular hole in the ground, which, by a long slope, very slippery and covered with loose stones, communicated with the said cave. At the end of the slope was a very small hole, through which we crawled on hands and knees, and found, when our eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, that we were standing on a little ledge of rocks. At our feet lay a small sandy cove, which extended for some fifty yards to the mouth of the cave, across which stretched a reef about three feet high. As the waves rolled in the water every now and then poured over this reef into a large pool, and the ledge on which we were standing ran round the cave at a height of about three feet above the sand. We soon stripped and had a delightful bathe in the pool. About a quarter of a mile away we could see a large French liner stranded on the reef. I don’t know how long she had been there, but there is something awfully forlorn and desolate-looking about a wrecked vessel. Her stern had broken away and fallen off into deep water; and there was a great hole in her side through which every now and then the waves splashed, as though purposely deriding her and mocking at her downfall. On the following day the whole convoy came in from Tanga after having disembarked the troops. It was my morning watch, and I saw them on the horizon just as the dawn was breaking. CHAPTER VIII THE BOMBARDMENT OF DAR-ES-SALAAM Your troth was broken ere the trumpets blew; Into the fight with unclean hands you rode: Your spurs were sullied, and the sword you drew Bore stain of outrage done to honour’s code. And you have played your game as you began, Witness the white flag raised ... * * * * * And the swift stroke of traitor steel for thanks. * * * * * The world (no fool) will know where lies the blame If England lets your pleadings go unheard; To grace of chivalry you’ve lost your claim; We’ve grown too wise to trust a Bosche’s word. O.S. _Punch_: February 16, 1916.