high in the air. Merrily we move, singing to the sea, and
with the noonday sun land on the white stone pier of
Quillimane.
The boys shoulder the baggage, and we march in straggling
file through the street in the middle of an avenue of acacias,
whose deep ruby blossoms contrast pleasantly against the
houses glistening with ochre and neutral tints.
Flags of all nations fleat over the light-walled dwellings.
The dome-topped spires of the whitened church now
rear high above our heads. We pass unconcernedly the
standards of the Dutch, the Germans, and the French,
until on our left we see the meteor flag of old England,
and to the house over which it waves we direct our steps.
I handed to Mr. Shearer, the agent of the African Lakes
Company, the letter I carried from Mr. Moir of Blantyre.
After reading it he welcomed me heartily, but remarked—
A h ! you re not the man. There’s no reward for us with
you.”
“ What man ? ” was my natural question.
“ Well, we have received communications from London
offering a large reward for the capture of some individual
ffho is supposed to have obscured himself in Central Africa.
We thought the mysterious man for whom so many letters
have come could be none other than the “ treasure ” travelling
under a convenient alias.”
The steamer was expected in a few days. M. Giraud
arrived on the following morning, just in time to participate
in a good French breakfast with M. Hosier of the French
house and myself, a repast so long unknown, that the
occasion has left a lasting impression of our host’s hospitality.
At Quillimane we made many acquaintances, accepting
with pleasure the hearty good-fellowship of the various mer