Hitherto, from the moment of our leaving England, the expedition had met with little but ill luck. At length, on January 16th, after long and wistfully gazing, as the mist rose, at the three conical heads, which the Portuguese call ‘Corôa de Mombaça,’ and when almost despairing of reaching them, the wind suddenly became favourable, and we were driven round Ra’as Betani into the land-locked harbour, right joyful to cast anchor opposite English Point, and to pass the quiet night of which we had disappointed our crew at Pemba Island. The run into Mombasah was truly characteristic of Africa. The men hailed us from afar with the query, ‘What news?’ We were unmercifully derided as Whites by the black nymphs, bathing in the costume of Camoens’ Nereids. And the sable imps, sunning themselves upon the white sand, shouted the free-and-easy Muzungu—‘Europeans!’ I was not a little astonished at the first sight of this ‘indomitable village,’ whose history is that of the whole East African coast. Can this paltry settlement have been the capital of the King of the Zing, concerning whom Arab travellers and geographers have written such marvels? Is this the place whose stubborn patriotism and turbulent valour rendered her for nearly two centuries a thorn in the side of the Portuguese? that gave them more trouble than all the 2000 miles of shore? that allowed herself to be burnt three times to the ground, and that twice succeeded in massacring an enemy whom she had failed to expel? Can this miserable village have produced heroes, the Samson-like Ahmad bin Mohammed; the generous and chivalrous Abdullah bin Ahmad, and Mubarak, whose daring valour displayed during the war against Sayyid Said, still lives in popular song? Of the second named a story is told, which might belong to the knightly days of Europe. During the siege of Lamu, where, by-the-by, he lent his shoulders as a scaling-ladder to his father’s soldiers, the young chief received a poulet from a fair friend, containing these words: ‘I hear that under our walls is a person named Abdullah; if he be the man I love, he will not remain so near me without claiming my hospitality!’ To hear was to obey. The Mazrui, taking his trusty sabre, proved himself capable of the perilous enterprise, and after returning to his father’s camp, he sent a slave to the governor with the simple message: ‘Last night I slept in Lamu, and right soon I will sleep in it with all my men.’ [Illustration: MOMBASAH FORT] CHAPTER II. MOMBASAH OR MVÍTA.[2] ‘Est autem urbs illa sita intra sinum quemdam in rupe præcelsâ et editâ. Fluctus cùm se ab introitu sinus incitant, in adversam frontem urbis incurrunt. Inde deducti introrsus penetrant et utrumque latus urbis alluunt ita, ut peninsulam efficiunt.’—OSORIO, describing Mombasah.