As we came in sight a signal was passed to some person inside the entrance.  When within twenty yards of the door, the Sultan, who was standing waiting, came down the steps, and, passing through the ranks, advanced toward us, with his right hand stretched out, and a genial smile of welcome on his face.  On our side we raised our hats, and shook hands with him, after which, doing according as he bade us, we passed forward, and arrived on the highest step near the entrance door.  He pointed forward; we bowed and arrived at the foot of an unpainted and narrow staircase to turn once more to the Sultan.  The Consul, I perceived, was ascending sideways, a mode of progression which I saw was intended for a compromise with decency and dignity.  At the top of the stairs we waited, with our faces towards the up-coming Prince.  Again we were waved magnanimously forward, for before us was the reception-hall and throne-room.  I noticed, as I marched forward to the furthest end, that the room was high, and painted in the Arabic style, that the carpet was thick and of Persian fabric, that the furniture consisted of a dozen gilt chairs and a chandelier,

We were seated; Ludha Damji, the Banyan collector of customs, a venerable-looking old man, with a shrewd intelligent face, sat on the right of the Sultan; next to him was the great Mohammedan merchant Tarya Topan who had come to be present at the interview, not only because he was one of the councillors of His Highness, but because he also took a lively interest in this American Expedition.  Opposite to Ludha sat Capt.  Webb, and next to him I was seated, opposite Tarya Topan.  The Sultan sat in a gilt chair between the Americans and the councillors.  Johari the dragoman stood humbly before the Sultan, expectant and ready to interpret what we had to communicate to the Prince.

The Sultan, so far as dress goes, might be taken for a Mingrelian gentleman, excepting, indeed, for the turban, whose ample folds in alternate colours of red, yellow, brown, and white, encircled his head.  His long robe was of dark cloth, cinctured round the waist with his rich sword-belt, from which was suspended a gold-hilted scimitar, encased in a scabbard also enriched with gold:  His legs and feet were bare, and had a ponderous look about them, since he suffered from that strange curse of Zanzibar—­elephantiasis.  His feet were slipped into a pair of watta (Arabic for slippers), with thick soles and a strong leathern band over the instep.  His light complexion and his correct features, which are intelligent and regular, bespeak the Arab patrician.  They indicate, however, nothing except his high descent and blood; no traits of character are visible unless there is just a trace of amiability, and perfect contentment with himself and all around.

Such is Prince, or Seyd Burghash, Sultan of Zanzibar and Pemba, and the East coast of Africa, from Somali Land to the Mozambique, as he appeared to me.