The trade in ivory, which has none of these restrictions upon it, still flourishes, and the cool, dark warerooms of Zanzibar are stored high with it.  In a corner of one little cellar they showed us twenty-five thousand dollars worth of these tusks piled up as carelessly as though they were logs in a wood-shed.  One of the most curious sights in Zanzibar is a line of Zanzibari boys, each balancing a great tusk on his shoulder, worth from five hundred to two thousand dollars, and which is unprotected except for a piece of coarse sacking.

 [Illustration:  A German “Factory” at Tanga, the Store Below, the
 Living Apartments Above.]

The largest exporters of ivory in the world are at Zanzibar, and though probably few people know it, the firm which carries on this business belongs to New York City, and has been in the ivory trade with India and Africa from as far back as the fifties.  In their house at Zanzibar they have entertained every distinguished African explorer, and the stories its walls have heard of native wars, pirate dhows, slave-dealers, the English occupation, and terrible marches through the jungles of the Congo, would make valuable and picturesque history.  The firm has always held a semi-official position, for the reason that the United States Consul at Zanzibar, who should speak at least Swahili and Portuguese, is invariably chosen for the post from a drug-store in Yankton, Dakota, or a post-office in Canton, Ohio.  Consequently, on arriving at Zanzibar he becomes homesick, and his first official act is to cable his resignation, and the State Department instructs whoever happens to be general manager of the ivory house to perform the duties of acting-consul.  So, the ivory house has nearly always held the eagle of the consulate over its doorway.  The manager of the ivory house, who at the time of our visit was also consul, is Harris Robbins Childs.  Mr. Childs is well known in New York City, is a member of many clubs there, and speaks at least five languages.  He understands the native tongue of Zanzibar so well that when the Prime Minister of the Sultan took us to the palace to pay our respects, Childs talked the language so much better than did the Sultan’s own Prime Minister that there was in consequence much joking and laughing.  The Sultan then was a most dignified, intelligent, and charming old gentleman.  He was popular both with his own people, who loved him with a religious fervor, and with the English, who unobtrusively conducted his affairs.

There have been sultans who have acted less wisely than does Hamud bin Muhamad bin Said.  A few years ago one of these, Said Khaled, defied the British Empire as represented by several gunboats, and dared them to fire on his ship of war, a tramp steamer which he had converted into a royal yacht.  The gunboats were anchored about two hundred yards from the palace, which stands at the water’s edge, and at the time agreed upon, they sank the Sultan’s ship of war in the short space of three minutes, and in a brief bombardment destroyed the greater part of his palace.  The ship of war still rests where she sank, and her topmasts peer above the water only three hundred yards distant from the windows of the new palace.  They serve as a constant warning to all future sultans.