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Christians in their zealousness. First the mosque caretaker got up and went around the village knocking on doors. Gradually those who felt inclined would make theirway to the mosque. Then for a space of half an hour there would be silence — while they meditated, so he was told.
    He had read accounts of the explorers, the great travellers, read reports of their lectures, including one at the Geographical Society of Hamburg given by Krapf. As a boy in England he might have heard Stanley. Didn’t they ever spend sleepless nights, these men, or waver from their purpose? Maynard, the seemingly indomitable Maynard, who had stalked the length and breadth of the country subduing intransigent natives, had confessed to him to bouts of sleeplessness, depression, doubt, taking to his diary to kill time and tire the brain, taking a local woman to kill loneliness. And also he had admitted to that snapping of nerves, an outbreak of savagery.
    That irregular journal for the junior official,
The View from Down Here
, had recently carried an article on the dreaded “disease” that often struck the lonely administrator in Africa, and dubbed the
Furore africanus.
“The thing to watch out for,” said the writer, “is a welling up of uncontrollable anger. Before the storm breaks out in a bayonet charge against a tax-evader or witchdoctor, it is a good idea to go out on safari.” An official in German East Africa, he read further, had hanged eight mothers in a row for infanticide. This was in the Pare region, not even a hundred miles away.
    Outside there would momentarily be the murmur of human voices as the Shamsis came out of the mosque and went home. Looking towards the shuttered window he could see the first rays of the morning light streaking in through the cracks. There would follow a few minutes of absolute stillness, and then the familiar flapping sound of birds on the move signalled that the day was at hand, and he would get up.
    After such nights of desolation he longed for European society; a round of bridge, which normally he did not play or like very much, a game of chess. Several attempts at chess with hisnow-absent Thomas had proved disastrous. They could not agree on rules, had quarrelled like schoolboys. They had played draughts sometimes, and even card games for two hands. Once, the Indian community had invited him to play carom, and six-handed whist, amidst tea and snacking and much giggling and staring on the part of the children and women. He realized they had made much accommodation for him, and the experiment was stopped — both to his relief and disappointment.
    He pored avidly over the Nairobi papers when they came, the
Herald
and the gossipy
Globetrotter.
The arrivals, the departures, the controversies were many. The outbreak of bubonic plague in the Indian quarter and the resulting outpouring of vituperation against the “unhygienic brown man,” the shooting or lashing of an African, the arrival of royalty or a flamboyant Chicago hunting expedition with balloons, a new chef at the Norfolk, the new Governor, the newspapers were a wonderfully exuberant source of news.
    25 December, 1913 (Christmas Day)
    … pantry bare, but there were spare tins of biscuits and corned beef under the bed. I had rather expected an invitation from the Mission, though I suppose with Thomas there it would have made for an awkward situation …
    The town was quite noisy for a holiday, and when I stepped outside to look I saw that preparations were afoot for what turned out to be a garden party. This “happiness” was for my benefit and quite pleasant, but the speeches were long.

    Perhaps Mrs. Bailey and Miss Elliott had thought he would be spending Christmas Day in Taveta.
    He had familiarized himself with the towns in the area,including Mbuyuni, where he finally met the German resident Lenz, who had been sent the letter (intercepted and read by Corbin) from the German commandant of Moshi Fort. A few times Corbin had been required