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Title: An ivory trader in North Kenia
Author: Arkell-Hardwick, A.
Language: English
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AN IVORY TRADER IN NORTH KENIA
[Illustration: THE AUTHOR.]
AN IVORY TRADER IN
NORTH KENIA
THE RECORD OF AN EXPEDITION THROUGH
KIKUYU TO GALLA-LAND IN EAST
EQUATORIAL AFRICA
_WITH AN ACCOUNT OF THE RENDILI AND
BURKENEJI TRIBES_
BY
A. ARKELL-HARDWICK, F.R.G.S.
_WITH TWENTY-THREE ILLUSTRATIONS FROM
PHOTOGRAPHS, AND A MAP_
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON
NEW YORK AND BOMBAY
1903
_All rights reserved_
To
COLONEL COLIN HARDING, C.M.G.
OF THE
BRITISH SOUTH AFRICAN POLICE
TO WHOSE KIND ENCOURAGEMENT WHEN IN COMMAND OF
FORT CHICKWAKA, MASHONALAND
THE AUTHOR OWES HIS LATER EFFORTS TO
GAIN COLONIAL EXPERIENCE
THIS WORK IS DEDICATED
PREFACE
Although there may be no justification for the production of this
work, the reader will perhaps deal leniently with me under the “First
Offenders Act.” Among the various reasons which prompted me to commit
the crime of adding a contribution to the World’s literature is the
fact that little or nothing is known concerning certain peculiar
tribes; to wit, the Rendili and Burkeneji. They are a nomadic people
whose origin is as yet wrapped in mystery. In addition to this, an
account of the trials and difficulties to be encountered in the
endeavour to obtain that rapidly vanishing commodity, ivory, will
perhaps please those into whose hands this work may fall who delight in
“moving accidents by flood and field.”
It has been to me a source of lasting regret that a great many of my
photographic negatives were in some way or other unfortunately lost on
our homeward journey, and as usually happens on such occasions, they
were those I valued most, inasmuch as they included all my photographs
of the lower course of the Waso Nyiro River and also those of the
Rendili and Burkeneji peoples. I am, however, greatly indebted to Mr.
Hazeltine Frost, M.R.P.S., of Muswell Hill, N., for the care and
skill with which he has rendered some of the remaining badly mutilated
negatives suitable for the purposes of illustration.
In the course of this narrative it will be observed that I name the
people of the various countries or districts through which we passed
by prefixing Wa- to the name of the district they inhabit. This is
in accordance with Swahili practice, as they generally designate a
native by the name of his country prefixed by an M’, which in this
case denotes a man, the plural of M’ being Wa-. The plural of M’Kamba,
or inhabitant of Ukamba, is therefore Wa’Kamba, and an M’Unyamwezi,
or inhabitant of Unyamwezi, is Wa’Nyamwezi in the plural. Doubtless
a hypercritic would argue that this rule only applies to the Swahili
language, and consequently the names of those tribes who are in no way
connected with the Swahilis would be outside the rule. He would be
right; but I am going to call them all Wa- for the sake of convenience
and to avoid confusion.
I have endeavoured to place before the reader an account of the
incidents, amusing and tragic, as they appeared to me at the time.
Should the narrative prove uninteresting, it will, I think, be due to
faulty description. The incidents related were sufficiently exciting to
stimulate the most jaded imagination, and they have the rarest of all
merits—the merit of being true.
A. A.-H.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
_PREPARATIONS AND START._
PAGE
Engaging porters—Characteristics of Swahili, Wa’Nyamwezi, and
Wa’Kamba porters—Selecting trade goods—Provisions—Arms
and ammunition—The Munipara—Sketch of some principal
porters—Personal servants—List of trade goods taken—Distributing
the loads—Refusal of the Government to register our
porters—Reported hostility of the natives—Finlay and Gibbons’
disaster—Start of the Somali safaris—We move to Kriger’s
Farm—I fall into a game-pit—Camp near Kriger’s Farm—Visitors—The
start 6
CHAPTER II.
_FROM KRIGER’S TO MARANGA._
Off to Doenyo Sabuk—Troubles of a safari—George takes a bath—The
Nairobi Falls—Eaten by ticks—My argument with a
rhinoceros—The Athi river—Good fishing—Lions—Camp near
Doenyo Sabuk—We find the Athi in flood—We build a raft—Kriger
and Knapp bid us adieu—Failure of our raft—We
cross the Athi—I open a box of cigars—Crossing the
Thika-Thika—Bad country—We unexpectedly reach the
Tana—The _détour_ to the Maragua—Crossing the Maragua—In
Kikuyuland 25
CHAPTER III.
_FROM THE TANA TO M’BU._
We reach and cross the Tana—Maranga—The abundance of food
thereof—We open a market—We treat the Maranga elders to
cigars with disastrous results—Bad character of the Wa’M’bu—We
resume our journey—A misunderstanding with the
A’kikuyu—We reach M’bu 49
CHAPTER IV.
_FROM M’BU, ACROSS EAST KENIA, TO ZURA._
First sight of Kenia—Hostile demonstrations by the M’bu people—We
impress two guides—Passage through M’bu—Demonstrations
in force by the inhabitants—Farewell to M’bu—The
guides desert—Arrival in Zuka—Friendly reception by the
Wa’zuka—Passage through Zuka—Muimbe—Igani—Moravi—Arrival
at Zura—Welcome by Dirito, the chief of Zura 65
CHAPTER V.
_ZURA TO M’THARA, AND A VISIT TO EMBE._
The Somalis suffer a reverse in Embe—We reach Munithu—Karanjui—El
Hakim’s disagreement with the Tomori people—Arrival
at M’thara—N’Dominuki—Arrival of the Somalis—A
war “shauri”—We combine to punish the Wa’embe, but
are defeated—Death of Jamah Mahomet—Murder of N’Dominuki’s
nephew by Ismail—Return to camp 83
CHAPTER VI.
_OUR MOVEMENTS IN M’THARA AND MUNITHU._
Attempt of the Wa’M’thara to loot our camp—“Shauri” with
Ismail—The Somalis accuse N’Dominuki of treachery—He
vindicates himself—That wicked little boy!—Explanation of
the Embe reverse—Somalis lose heart—Attacked by ants—El
Hakim’s visit to Munithu—Robbery of his goods by the
Wa’Gnainu—I join him—We endeavour to recover the stolen
property from the Wa’Gnainu—The result 105
CHAPTER VII.
_RETURN TO M’THARA._
An ivory “shauri”—Death of Sadi ben Heri and his companions—Purchasing
ivory—El Hakim and I return to M’thara—A night
in the open—George ill—The Wa’M’thara at their old tricks—Return
of the Somalis from Chanjai—They refuse to return to
Embe—I interview an elephant 123
CHAPTER VIII.
_THE START FOR THE WASO NYIRO._
Some of El Hakim’s experiences with elephants—I am made a
blood-brother of Koromo’s—Departure from M’thara—A toilsome
march—A buffalo-hunt—The buffalo camp—Account of
Dr. Kolb’s death—An unsuccessful lion-hunt—Apprehension
and punishment of a deserter 141
CHAPTER IX.
_JOURNEY DOWN THE WASO NYIRO._
Arrival at the Waso Nyiro—The “Green Camp”—The “cinder
heap”—The camp on fire—Scarcity of game—Hunting a
rhino on mule-back 159
CHAPTER X.
_RETURN TO THE “GREEN CAMP.”_
The “Swamp Camp”—Beautiful climate of the Waso Nyiro—Failure
to obtain salt at N’gomba—Beset by midges—No
signs of the Rendili—Nor of the Wandorobbo—We decide
to retrace our steps—An object-lesson in rhinoceros-shooting—The
“Green Camp” once more 174
CHAPTER XI.
_DOWN THE WASO NYIRO ONCE MORE._
We send to M’thara for guides—Sport at the “Green Camp”—Non-return
of the men sent to M’thara—Our anxiety—Their
safe return with guides—We continue our march down the
river—Desertion of the guides—We push on—Bad country—No
game—We meet some of the Somali’s men—News of the
Rendili—Loss of our camels—In sight of the “promised
land” 190
CHAPTER XII.
_IN THE RENDILI ENCAMPMENT._
Narrow escape from a python—Arrival among the Burkeneji and
Rendili—No ivory—Buying fat-tailed sheep instead—Massacre
of the Somalis porters by the Wa’embe—Consternation of
Ismail Robli—His letter to Nairobi 206
CHAPTER XIII.
_THE RENDILI AND BURKENEJI._
The Burkeneji—Their quarrelsome disposition—The incident of the
spear—The Rendili—Their appearance—Clothing—Ornaments—Weapons—
Household utensils—Morals and manners 221
CHAPTER XIV.
_THE SEARCH FOR LORIAN._
Exchanging presents with the Rendili—El Hakim bitten by a
scorpion—We start for Lorian without guides—Zebra—Desolate
character of the country—Difficulties with rhinoceros—Unwillingness
of our men to proceed—We reach the limit of
Mr. Chanler’s journey—No signs of Lorian 244
CHAPTER XV.
_RETURN FROM THE LORIAN JOURNEY._
An interrupted night’s rest—Photography under difficulties—We
go further down stream—Still no signs of Lorian—Sad end
of “Spot” the puppy—Our men refuse to go further—Preparations
for the return journey—Reasons for our failure to reach
Lorian—Return to our Rendili camp—Somalis think of going
north to Marsabit—Ismail asks me to accompany him—I
decline—The scare in Ismail’s camp—Departure for M’thara 259
CHAPTER XVI.
_RETURN TO M’THARA._
Departure from the Rendili settlement—Ismail’s porters desert—The
affray between Barri and the Somalis—Ismail wounded—A
giraffe hunt—Ismail’s vacillation—Another giraffe hunt—Journey
up the Waso Nyiro—Hippopotamus-shooting 275
CHAPTER XVII.
_ARRIVAL AT M’THARA._
In sight of Kenia once more—El Hakim and the lion—The “Green
Camp” again—The baby water-buck—El Hakim shoots an
elephant—The buried buffalo horns destroyed by hyænas—Bad
news from M’thara—Plot to attack and massacre us
hatched by Bei-Munithu—N’Dominuki’s fidelity—Baked
elephant’s foot—Rain—Arrival at our old camp at M’thara 290
CHAPTER XVIII.
_AN ELEPHANT HUNT AND AN ATTACK ON MUNITHU._
We shoot an elephant—Gordon Cumming on elephants—We send
to Munithu to buy food—Song of Kinyala—Baked elephant’s
foot again a failure—The true recipe—Rain—More rain—The
man with the mutilated nose—The sheep die from exposure—Chiggers—The
El’Konono—Bei-Munithu’s insolent message—A
message from the Wa’Chanjei—George and I march to
attack Munithu 303
CHAPTER XIX.
_FIGHT AT MUNITHU AND DEPARTURE FROM M’THARA._
Attack on Bei-Munithu’s village—Poisoned arrows—The burning
of the village—The return march—Determined pursuit of the
A’kikuyu—Karanjui—George’s fall—Return to the M’thara
camp—Interview with Bei-Munithu—His remorse—Departure
from M’thara—Rain—Hyænas—A lioness—Bad country—Whistling
trees—A lion—Increasing altitude—Zebra 319
CHAPTER XX.
_ROUND NORTH AND WEST KENIA TO THE TANA._
The primeval forests of North Kenia—Difficult country—Ravines—Ngare
Moosoor—Rain—Ngare Nanuki—Cedar forests—Open
country—No game—Upper waters of the Waso Nyiro—Death
of “Sherlock Holmes”—Witchcraft—Zebra—Rhinoceros—Sheep
dying off—More rain—The A’kikuyu once more—Attempt
of the A’kikuyu to steal sheep—Difficult marches—Rain
again—Maranga at last—The Tana impassable 335
CHAPTER XXI.
_CONCLUSION. FROM THE RIVER TANA TO NAIROBI._
Arrival at the Tana river—A visit to M’biri—Crossing the
Tana—Smallpox—Kati drowned—I give Ramathani a fright—Peculiar
method of transporting goods across the river practised by the
Maranga—The safari across—M’biri—Disposal of the sheep—We
resume the march—The Maragua once more—The Thika-Thika—The
swamps—Kriger’s Farm—Nairobi 351
INDEX 365
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
THE AUTHOR _Frontispiece_
THE ATHI RIVER NEAR DOENYO SABUK }
} 36
CROSSING AN AFFLUENT OF THE SAGANA }
THE CAMP AT MARANGA }
} 52
BUYING FOOD AT MARANGA }
GROUP OF A’KIKUYU 60
GROUP OF A’KIKUYU WOMEN 76
ELDERS OF M’THARA }
} 114
DIRITO AND VISELI AND TWO FOLLOWERS }
THE AUTHOR MAKING BLOOD-BROTHERHOOD WITH KARAMA }
} 148
THE “GREEN CAMP” }
VIEW ON THE WASO NYIRO NEAR “SWAMP CAMP” }
} 178
CUTTING UP A RHINOCEROS FOR FOOD }
PALMS ON THE WASO NYIRO 204
HORNS OF BRINDLED GNU, ETC. 220
MASAI ELMORAN IN WAR ARRAY 242
HORNS OF BUFFALO, ETC. 258
PORTRAIT OF MR. G. H. WEST }
} 294
RHINOCEROS SHOT BY GEORGE }
ORNAMENTS WORN BY A’KIKUYU WOMEN 316
A’KIKUYU WEAPONS 328
MOUNT KENIA FROM THE NORTH }
MOUNT KENIA FROM THE SOUTH-WEST } 336
MAP
PART OF BRITISH EAST AFRICA _To fold out at end of book_
ERRATA IN MAP
_For_ NGARI NAMUKI _read_ NGARE NANUKI.
” GUASO NAROK ” WASO NAROK.
ERRATA
Page 135, line 16, _for_ “M’gomba” _read_ “N’gombe.”
” 135, lines 17, 18, _for_ “due north of Mathara” _read_
“north of the Jombeni Mountains.”
” 136, line 19, _for_ “Guaso” _read_ “Waso.”
” 136, line 23, _for_ “Gwarguess” _read_ “Wargasse.”
” 147, 148, _for_ “Koromo” _read_ “Karama.”
” 178, lines 9, 10, 13, _for_ “N’gomba” _read_ “N’gombe.”
” 183, line 2, _for_ “sassi” _read_ “sassa.”
” 213, lines 30, 32, _for_ “Van Hohnel” _read_ “von Hohnel.”
” 264, line 30, _for_ “M’Nyanwezi” _read_ “M’Nyamwezi.”
THROUGH KIKUYU TO GALLA-LAND
INTRODUCTION.
My friend, George Henry West, and myself left Cairo in the latter
part of the year 1899, with the intention of proceeding to Uganda
_viâ_ Zanzibar and Mombasa. George was an engineer in the service of
the Irrigation Department of the Egyptian Government, and had gained
a large and varied experience on the new works on the Barrage below
Cairo, then being concluded, and in building, running, and repairing
both locomotives and launches. As a profession I had followed the
sea for three years, leaving it in 1896 in order to join the British
South African Police, then engaged in subduing the native rebellion in
Mashonaland. At the conclusion of hostilities I wandered over South
Africa, and finally found my way to Egypt, where I met George West. A
year later, accompanied by George, I was on my way southwards again,
_en route_ for British East Africa.
When George and I left Cairo, our idea was to go up-country as far as
the Lake Victoria Nyanza, as we considered it extremely probable that
there would be something for us to do in the engineering line, either
in building launches or in the construction of small harbour works.
We reached Mombasa in due course, and from there proceeded to Nairobi
by the railway then in course of construction to Uganda. Nairobi
is 327 miles from the coast, and is an important centre, being the
headquarters of both the Civil Administration of the Protectorate and
the Uganda railway. On our arrival, George received an offer, which he
accepted, to go up to the lake with a steamer, which was then on the
way out from England in sections, and on his arrival at the lake with
it to rebuild it. I remained in Nairobi.
In course of time I met the personage referred to in these pages as “El
Hakim,”[1] whom I had known previously by repute. He was said to be one
of the most daring and resolute, and at the same time one of the most
unassuming Englishmen in the Protectorate; a dead shot, and a charming
companion. He had been shooting in Somaliland and the neighbourhood of
Lake Rudolph for the previous four years, and many were the stories
told of his prowess among elephant and other big game.
It was with sincere pleasure, therefore, that I found I was able to
do him sundry small services, and we soon became fast friends. In
appearance he was nothing out of the common. He was by no means a big
man—rather the reverse, in fact—and it was only on closer acquaintance
that his striking personality impressed one.
He had dark hair and eyes, and an aquiline nose. He was a man of many
and varied attainments. Primarily a member of the medical profession,
his opinions on most other subjects were listened to with respect. A
very precise speaker, he had a clear and impartial manner of reviewing
anything under discussion which never failed to impress his hearers.
He was a leader one would have willingly followed to the end of the
earth. When, therefore, he proposed that I should accompany him on an
ivory trading expedition to Galla-land, that vast stretch of country
lying between Mount Kenia on the south and Southern Somaliland on the
north, which is nominally under the sphere of influence of the British
East African Protectorate, I jumped at the chance; and it was so
arranged. He had been over much of the ground we intended covering, and
knew the country, so that it promised to be a most interesting trip.
About this time I heard from George that he was coming down country, as
the steamer parts had not all arrived from England, and consequently
it would probably be months before it would be ready for building. He
had also had a bad attack of malarial fever in the unhealthy district
immediately surrounding the lake at Ugowe Bay, and altogether he was
not very fit. I suggested to El Hakim that George should join us in our
proposed expedition, to which he readily agreed; so I wrote to George
to that effect.
To render the prospect still more inviting, there existed a certain
element of mystery with regard to the river Waso Nyiro (pronounced
Wasso Nēro). It has always been supposed to rise in the Aberdare Range,
but, as I shall show, I have very good reason to believe that it rises
in the western slopes of Kenia Mountain itself. The Waso Nyiro does
not empty itself into the sea, but ends in a swamp called Lorian, the
position of which was supposed to have been fixed by an exploring party
in 1893. But, as I shall also show in the course of this narrative, the
position of Lorian varies.
The upper reaches of the Waso Nyiro were visited by the explorer Joseph
Thompson, F.R.G.S., on his way to Lake Baringo during his memorable
journey through Masai Land in 1885.
In 1887-1888 a Hungarian nobleman, Count Samuel Teleki von Czeck,
accompanied by Lieutenant Ludwig von Hohnel, of the Imperial Austrian
Navy, undertook the stupendous journey which resulted in the discovery
of Lakes Rudolph and Stephanie. Count Teleki, on his journey north,
crossed the Waso Nyiro at a point in North-West Kenia near its source,
while Lieutenant von Hohnel went two or three days’ march still further
down-stream.
A few years later, in 1892-1893, Professor J. W. Gregory, D.Sc., of
the Natural History Museum, South Kensington, made, single-handed, a
remarkable journey to Lake Baringo and Mount Kenia, and in the teeth
of almost insuperable difficulties, ascended the western face of that
mountain and climbed the peak.
At the same time, in the latter part of 1892, an American, Mr. William
Astor Chanler, accompanied by Count Teleki’s companion and chronicler,
Lieutenant von Hohnel, started from a point in Formosa Bay on the East
Coast, and made his way along the course of Tana River to North-East
Kenia, intending later to go on to Lake Rudolph, and thence northward.
He and his companion, deceived by the reports of the natives, which led
them to believe that the Waso Nyiro emptied itself into an extensive
lake, and fired by the idea of the possible discovery of another
great African lake, made their way down to the Waso Nyiro, and after
a fearful march, enduring the greatest hardships, eventually reached
Lorian. To their great disappointment, it proved to be nothing more
than a swamp, and they turned back without examining it. A few weeks
later, Lieutenant von Hohnel, having been seriously injured by a
rhinoceros, was sent down to the coast, his life being despaired
of. Shortly afterwards Mr. Chanler’s men deserted him in a body, and
returned to the coast also, thus bringing his journey to a premature
conclusion; a much-to-be-regretted ending to a well-planned and
well-equipped expedition.
As Mr. Chanler was returning to the coast he met Mr. A. H. Neumann
coming up. Mr. Neumann spent the greater part of 1893 in shooting
elephants in the Loroghi Mountains, after going north to Lake Rudolph.
He also crossed the Waso Nyiro at a point north-east of Mount Kenia.
During the time Mr. Neumann was shooting in the Loroghi Mountains he
was obliged to make periodical visits to M’thara, in North-East Kenia,
in order to buy food from the natives, and on one such excursion he met
Dr. Kolb, a German scientist, who was exploring North Kenia.
Dr. Kolb ascended Mount Kenia from the north, and then returned to
Europe. An interesting account of his ascent of the mountain is
published in Dr. Petermann’s “Mitteilungen” (42 Band, 1896). Dr. Kolb
then returned to Kenia in order to continue his observations, but he
was unfortunately killed by a rhinoceros a couple of marches north of
M’thara.
Lorian, therefore, with the exception of Mr. Chanler’s hurried visit,
was practically unexplored. At the commencement of our trip, El Hakim
proposed that, if an opportunity occurred of visiting Lorian, we
should take advantage of it, and endeavour to supplement Mr. Chanler’s
information. As will be seen, an opportunity did present itself, with
what result a perusal of this account of our expedition will disclose.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] _Anglice_, “The Doctor.”
CHAPTER I.
_PREPARATIONS AND START._
Engaging porters—Characteristics of Swahili, Wa’Nyamwezi, and Wa’Kamba
porters—Selecting trade goods—Provisions—Arms and ammunition—The
Munipara—Sketch of some principal porters—Personal servants—List of
trade goods taken—Distributing the loads—Refusal of the Government
to register our porters—Reported hostility of the natives—Finley and
Gibbons’ disaster—Start of the Somali safaris—We move to Kriger’s
Farm—I fall into a game-pit—Camp near Kriger’s Farm—Visitors—The start.
One of the most important items in the organization of a “safari”
(caravan) is the judicious selection of the men. Choosing ours was a
task that gave us much trouble and vexation of spirit. El Hakim said
that for all-round usefulness the Wa’kamba were hard to beat, and
thought that we had better form the bulk of the safari from them, and
stiffen it with a backbone of Swahilis and Wa’Nyamwezi, as, though the
Wa’kamba were very good men when well handled, in the unlikely event of
hostilities with the natives it would be advisable to strengthen them
with an addition from the lustier tribes. To that end we proposed to
engage a dozen Swahili and half that number of Wa’Nyamwezi. Porters at
that time were very scarce; but having secured one or two good men as a
nucleus, we sent them into the bazaar at Nairobi to bring us any other
men they could find who wanted employment.
The Swahilis are natives of Zanzibar and the adjacent coasts. They are
of mixed—very mixed—descent, being mainly the offspring of various
native slaves and their Arab masters. They were originally a race of
slaves, but since the abolition of slavery they have become more and
more independent, and they now consider themselves a very superior race
indeed. They call themselves “Wangwana” (freemen), and allude to all
other natives as “Washenzi” (savages). They are incorrigibly conceited,
and at times very vicious, lazy, disobedient, and insolent. But once
you have, by a judicious display of firmness, gained their respect,
they, with of course some exceptions, prove to be a hardy, cheerful,
and intelligent people, capable of enduring great hardships without a
too ostentatious display of ill-feeling, and will even go so far as to
make bad puns in the vernacular upon their empty stomachs, the latter
an occurrence not at all infrequent in safari work away from the main
roads.
The Wa’kamba, on the whole, are a very cheerful tribe, and though
of small physique, possess wonderful powers of endurance, the women
equally with the men. We calculated that some of our men, in addition
to their 60-lb. load, carried another 30 lbs. weight in personal
effects, rifle, and ammunition; so that altogether they carried 90 lbs.
dead weight during one or sometimes two marches a day for weeks at a
stretch, often on insufficient food, and sometimes on no food at all.
The Wa’Nyamwezi are, in my opinion, really more reliable than either
the Swahili or Wa’kamba. They come from U’Nyamwezi, the country south
and east of Lake Victoria Nyanza. We had six of them with us, and we
always found them steady and willing, good porters, and less trouble
than any other men in the safari. They were very clannish, keeping
very much to themselves, but were quiet and orderly, and seldom
complained; and if at any time they imagined they had some cause for
complaint, they formed a deputation and quietly stated their case, and
on receiving a reply as quietly returned to their fire—very different
from the noisy, argumentative Swahili. They appear to me to possess
the virtues of both the Swahilis and Wa’kamba without their vices.
The Wa’kamba’s great weakness when on the march was a _penchant_ for
stealing from the native villages whatever they could lay their hands
on, being encouraged thereto by the brave and noble Swahilis, who,
while not wishing to risk our displeasure by openly doing likewise,
urged on the simple Wa’kamba, afterwards appropriating the lion’s
share of the spoil: that is, if we did not hear of the occurrence and
confiscate the spoil ourselves.
We had pitched our tent just outside the town of Nairobi, and
proceeded to get together our loads of camp equipment, trade goods,
and provisions: no easy task on an expedition such as ours, where the
number of carriers was to be strictly limited.
In the first place, we required cloth, brass wire, iron wire, and
various beads, in sufficient quantities to buy food for the safari
for at least six months. Provisions were also a troublesome item, as,
although we expected to live a great deal upon native food, we required
such things as tea, coffee, sugar, jam, condiments, and also medicines.
The question was not what to take, but what _not_ to take. However,
after a great amount of discussion, lasting over several days, we
settled the food question more or less satisfactorily.
During this time our recruiting officers were bringing into camp
numbers of men who, they said, wanted to take service with us as
porters. Judging from the specimens submitted for our approval, they
seemed to have raked out the halt, the lame, and the blind. After much
trouble we selected those whom we thought likely to be suitable, and
gave them an advance of a few rupees as a retaining fee, with which,
after the manner of their kind, they immediately repaired to the bazaar
for a last long orgie.
There was also the important question of arms and ammunition to be
considered, as, although we did not expect any fighting, it would
have been foolish in the extreme to have entered such districts as we
intended visiting without adequate means of self-defence. We concluded
the twenty-five Snider rifles used by El Hakim on a previous trip
would suffice. Unfortunately, we could get very little ammunition for
them, as at that time Snider ammunition was very scarce in Nairobi,
one reason being that it had been bought very largely by a big Somali
caravan under Jamah Mahomet and Ismail Robli, which set out just before
us, bound for the same districts.
We, however, eventually procured five or six hundred rounds: a
ridiculously inadequate amount considering the distance we were to
travel and the time we expected to be away.
With regard to our armament, El Hakim possessed by far the best
battery. His weapons consisted of an 8-bore Paradox, a ·577 Express,
and a single-barrelled ·450 Express, all by Holland and Holland. The
8-bore we never used, as the ·577 Express did all that was required
perfectly satisfactorily. The 8-bore would have been a magnificent
weapon for camp defence when loaded with slugs, but fortunately our
camp was never directly attacked, and consequently the necessity for
using it never arose. The ·557 was the best all-round weapon for big
game such as elephant, rhinoceros, and buffalo, and never failed to
do its work cleanly and perfectly. Its only disadvantage was that it
burnt black powder, and consequently I should be inclined, if I ever
made another expedition, to give the preference to one of the new ·450
or ·500 Expresses burning smokeless powder, though, as I have not
handled one of the latter, I cannot speak with certainty. El Hakim’s
·450 Express was really a wonderful weapon, though open to the same
objection as the ·557—that of burning black powder. It was certainly
one of the best all-round weapons I ever saw for bringing down
soft-skinned game. It was a single-barrelled, top-lever, hammer-gun,
with flat top rib. The sights were set very low down on the rib, to my
mind a great advantage, as it seems to me to minimize the chances of
accidental canting. Its penetrative power, with hardened lead bullets,
was surprising. I have seen it drop a rhinoceros with a bullet through
the brain, and yet the same projectile would kill small antelope like
Grant’s or Waller’s gazelles without mangling them or going right
through and tearing a great hole in its egress, thereby spoiling the
skin, which is the great cause of complaint against the ·303 when
expanding bullets are used.
I myself carried a ·303 built by Rigby, a really magnificent weapon. I
took with me a quantity of every make of ·303 expanding bullets, from
copper-tubed to Jeffry’s splits. After repeated trials I found that the
Dum-Dum gave the most satisfactory results, “since when I have used no
other.”
I also carried a supply of ·303 solid bullets, both for elephants and
for possible defensive operations. For rhinoceros, buffalo, or giraffe,
I carried an ordinary Martini-Henry military rifle, which answered the
purpose admirably. A 20-bore shot-gun, which proved useful in securing
guinea-fowl, etc., for the pot, completed my battery. George carried a
·303 military rifle and a Martini-Henry carbine.
It was essential that we should have a good “Munipara” (head-man), and
the individual we engaged to fill that important position was highly
recommended to us as a man of energy and resource. His name was Jumbi
ben Aloukeri. Jumbi was of medium height, with an honest, good-natured
face. He possessed an unlimited capacity for work, but we discovered,
too late, that he possessed no real control over the men, which fact
afterwards caused us endless trouble and annoyance. He was too easy
with them, and made the great mistake—for a head-man—of himself doing
anything we wanted, instead of compelling his subordinates to do it,
with the result that he was often openly defied, necessitating vigorous
intervention on our part to uphold his authority. We usually alluded to
him as “the Nobleman,” that being the literal translation of his name.
Next on the list of our Swahili porters was Sadi ben Heri, who had been
up to North Kenia before with the late Dr. Kolb, who was killed by a
rhinoceros a couple of marches north of M’thara, Sadi was a short,
stoutly built, pugnacious little man, with a great deal to say upon
most things, especially those which did not concern him. He was a good
worker, but never seemed happy unless he was grumbling; and as he had
a certain amount of influence among the men, they would grumble with
him, to their great mutual satisfaction but ultimate disadvantage. His
pugnacious disposition and lax morals soon got him into trouble, and
he, together with some of his especial cronies, was killed by natives,
as will be related in its proper sequence.
Hamisi ben Abdullah was a man of no marked peculiarities, except a
disposition to back up Sadi in any mischief. The same description
applies to Abdullah ben Asmani and Asmani ben Selim.
Coja ben Sowah was a short, thick-set man, so short as to be almost a
dwarf. He was one of the most cheery and willing of our men, so much so
that it was quite a pleasure to order him to do anything—a pleasure, I
fear, we appreciated more than he did. On receiving an order he would
_run_ to execute it with a cheery “Ay wallah, bwana” (“Please God,
master”), that did one good to hear.
Resarse ben Shokar was our “Kiongozi,” _i.e._ the leading porter, who
sets the step on the march and carries the flag of the safari. He,
also, always ran on receiving an order—ran out of sight, in fact; then,
when beyond our ken, compelled a weaker man than himself to do what
was wanted. I could never cure him of the habit of sleeping on sentry
duty, though many a time I have chased him with a stirrup-strap, or a
camp-stool, or anything handy when, while making surprise inspections
of the sentries, I had found him fast asleep. He was valuable, however,
in that he was the wit of the safari. He was a perfect gas-bag, and
often during and after a long and probably waterless march we blessed
him for causing the men to laugh by some harmless waggish remark at our
expense.
Sulieman was a big, hulking, sulky brute, who gave us a great deal of
trouble, and finally deserted near Lorian, forgetting to return his
rifle, and also absent-mindedly cutting open my bag and abstracting a
few small but necessary articles. Docere ben Ali, his chum, was also of
a slow and sullen disposition, though he was careful not to exhibit it
to us. When anything disturbed him he went forthwith and took it out of
the unfortunate Wa’kamba.
Of the Wa’kamba I do not remember the names except of two or three
who particularly impressed themselves on my memory. The head M’kamba
was known as Malwa. He was a cheerful, stupid idiot who worked like
a horse, though he never seemed to get any “for’arder.” Another
M’kamba, named Macow, afterwards succeeded him in the headmanship of
the Wa’kamba when Malwa was deposed for some offence. We nicknamed
Macow “Sherlock Holmes,” as he seemed to spend most of his leisure
hours prowling round the camp, peering round corners with the true
melodrama-detective-Hawkshaw expression in his deep-set, thickly browed
eyes. He would often creep silently and mysteriously to our tent, and
in a subdued whisper communicate some trifling incident which had
occurred on the march; then, without waiting for a reply, steal as
silently and mysteriously away.
I must not conclude this chapter without some mention of our personal
servants. First and foremost was Ramathani, our head cook and factotum.
Ramathani had already been some three months in my service as cook
and personal servant, and a most capable man I had found him. My
acquaintance with him began one morning when I had sent my cook, before
breakfast, to the _sokoni_ (native bazaar) to buy bread, vegetables,
etc. As he did not return I went outside to the cook-house in some
anxiety as to whether I should get any breakfast. Several native
servants were there, and they informed me my cook was still in the
bazaar, very drunk, and most likely would not be back till noon. Of
course, I was angry, and proceeded to show it, when a soothing voice,
speaking in very fair English, fell upon my ear. Turning sharply, I
was confronted by a stranger, a good-looking native, neatly dressed in
khaki.
“Shall I cook breakfast for master?” he inquired softly.
“Are you able?” said I.
“Yes, master.”
“Then do so,” I said; and went back to my quarters and waited with as
much patience as I could command under the circumstances.
In a quarter of an hour or so Ramathani—for it was indeed he—brought
in a temptingly well-cooked breakfast, such as I was almost a stranger
to, and at the same time hinted that he had permanently attached me as
his employer. My own cook turned up an hour or so later, very drunk
and very abusive, and he was incontinently fired out, Ramathani being
established in his stead.
Ramathani had two boys as assistants, Juma and Bilali. Juma was an
M’kamba. His upper teeth were filed to sharp points, forming most
useful weapons of offence, as we afterwards had occasion to notice.
Bilali was an M’Kikuyu, and a very willing boy. He was always very
nervous when in our presence, and used to tremble excessively when
laying the table for meals. When gently reproved for putting dirty
knives or cups on the table, he would grow quite ludicrous in his
hurried efforts to clean the articles mentioned, and would spit on them
and rub them with the hem of his dirty robe with a pathetic eagerness
to please that disarmed indignation and turned away wrath.
Having finally secured our men, it only remained to pack up and
distribute the loads of equipment, provisions, trade goods, etc. We did
not take such a large quantity of trade goods as we should have done in
the ordinary course, as El Hakim already had a large quantity in charge
of a chief in North Kenia. The following is a list, compiled from
memory, of what we took with us:—
UNGUO (CLOTH).
2 loads Merikani (American sheeting).
2 ” kisuto (red and blue check cloths).
2 ” blanketi (blankets, coloured).
1 load various, including—
gumti (a coarse white cloth).
laissoes (coloured cloths worn by women).
kekois (coloured cloth worn by men).
UZI WA MADINI (WIRE).
{ seninge (iron wire, No. 6).
2 or 3 loads of { masango (copper wire, No. 6).
{ masango n’eupe (brass wire, No. 6).
USHANGA (BEADS).
{ sem Sem (small red Masai beads).
2 or 3 loads of { sembaj (white Masai beads).
{ ukuta (large white opaque beads).
2 loads of mixed Venetian beads.
When all the loads were packed, they were placed in a line on the
ground; and falling the men in, we told off each to the load we thought
best suited to him. To the Swahilis, being good marching men and not
apt to straggle on the road, we apportioned our personal equipment,
tents, blankets, and table utensils. To the Wa’Nyamwezi we entrusted
the ammunition and provisions, and to the Wa’kamba we gave the loads of
wire, beads, cloth, etc. Having settled this to our own satisfaction,
we considered the matter settled, and ordered each man to take up his
load.
_Then_ the trouble began. First one man would come to us and ask if
his load might be changed for “that other one,” while the man to
whom “that other one” had been given would object with much excited
gesticulation and forcible language to any alteration being made, and
would come to us to decide the case. We would then arbitrate, though
nine times out of ten they did not abide by our decision. Other men’s
loads were bulky, or awkward, or heavy, or had something or other the
matter with them which they wanted rectified, so that in a short time
we had forty men with forty grievances clamouring for adjustment. We
simplified matters by referring every one to Jumbi, and having beaten
an inglorious retreat to our tents, solaced ourselves with something
eatable till everything was more or less amicably settled.
Nothing is more characteristic of the difference in the races than the
way in which they carry their loads. The Swahilis and Wa’Nyamwezi,
being used to the open main roads, carry their loads boldly on their
heads, or, in some cases, on their shoulders. The Wa’kamba, on the
other hand, in the narrow jungle paths of their own district find it
impossible, by reason of the overhanging vegetation, to carry a load
that way. They tie it up instead with a long broad strip of hide,
leaving a large loop, which is passed round the forehead from behind,
thus supporting the load, which rests in the small of the back. When
the strain on the neck becomes tiring they lean forward, which affords
considerable relief, by allowing the load to rest still more upon the
back. There were also six donkeys, the property of El Hakim, and these
were loaded up as well. A donkey will carry 120 lbs., a weight equal to
two men’s loads.
Finally, we had to register our porters at the Sub-Commissioner’s
office, as no safaris are allowed to proceed until that important
ceremony has been concluded, and the Government has pouched the
attendant fees. In our case, however, there appeared to be a certain
amount of difficulty. On delivering my application I was told to wait
for an answer, which I should receive in the course of the day. I
waited. In the afternoon a most important-looking official document was
brought to me by a Nubian orderly. In fear and trembling I opened the
envelope, and breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief when I found that the
Government had refused to register our porters, giving as their reason
that the districts we intended visiting were unsettled and, in their
opinion, unsafe, and therefore we should proceed only at our own risk.
We did not mind that, and we saved the registration fee anyhow. The
Government had already refused to register the Somali’s porters, and
they intimated, very rightly, that they could not make any difference
in our case.
Jamah Mahomet, who was in command of the Somali safari, started off
that day. He had with him Ismail Robli as second in command. A smaller
safari, under Noor Adam, had started a week previously. Both these
safaris intended visiting the same districts as ourselves. We were
fated to hear a great deal more of them before the end of our trip.
In the evening I received a private note from one of the Government
officers, informing me that we were likely to have a certain amount of
trouble in getting across the river Thika-Thika without fighting, as
the natives of that district were very turbulent, and advising us to go
another way. My informant cited the case of Messrs. Finlay and Gibbons
by way of a cheerful moral.
Finlay and Gibbons were two Englishmen who had been trading somewhere
to the north of the Tana River. They had forty men or so, and were
trading for ivory with the A’kikuyu, when they were suddenly and
treacherously attacked and driven into their “boma” (thorn stockade),
and there besieged by quite six thousand natives. From what I saw
later, I can quite believe that their numbers were by no means
exaggerated. During a night attack, Finlay was speared through the hand
and again in the back, the wound in the back, however, not proving
dangerous. They managed to get a message through to Nairobi, and some
Nubian troops were sent to their relief, which task they successfully
accomplished, though only with the greatest difficulty. It was not till
six weeks after he received the wound that Finlay was able to obtain
medical assistance, and by that time the tendons of his hand had united
wrongly, so that it was rendered permanently useless. This was a nice
enlivening story, calculated to encourage men who were setting out for
the same districts.
The following day I received a telegram from George to say that he
had arrived from Uganda at the Kedong Camp, at the foot of the Kikuyu
Escarpment, so I went up by rail to meet him. He looked very thin and
worn after his severe attack of fever. We returned to Nairobi the same
evening, and proceeded to our camp. El Hakim, who was away when we
arrived, turned up an hour later, and completed our party. He had been
to Kriger’s Farm about seven miles out. Messrs. Kriger and Knapp were
two American missionaries who had established a mission station that
distance out of Nairobi, towards Doenyo Sabuk, or Chianjaw, as it is
called by the Wa’kamba.
El Hakim, being anxious to get our men away from the pernicious
influence of the native bazaar, arranged that he would go on to
Kriger’s early on the following morning, and that George and I should
follow later in the day with the safari, and camp for the night near
Kriger’s place. Accordingly he started early in the forenoon on the
following day.
George and I proceeded to finish the packing and make final
arrangements—a much longer task than we anticipated. There were so
many things that must be done, which we found only at the last minute,
that at 3 p.m., as there was no prospect of getting away until an
hour or so later, I sent George on with the six loaded donkeys, about
thirty of El Hakim’s cattle, and a dozen men, telling him that I would
follow. George rode a mule (of which we had two), which El Hakim had
bought in Abyssinia two years before. They were splendid animals, and,
beyond an inconvenient habit, of which we never cured them, of shying
occasionally and then bolting, they had no bad points. They generally
managed to pick up a living and get fat in a country where a horse
would starve, and, taking them altogether, they answered admirably in
every way. I would not have exchanged them for half a dozen of the
best horses in the Protectorate. One mule was larger than the other,
and lighter in colour, and was consequently known as n’yumbu m’kubwa,
_i.e._ “the big mule.” It was used by George and myself as occasion
required. The other, a smaller, darker animal, was known as n’yumbu
m’dogo, _i.e._ “the little mule.” It was ridden exclusively by El Hakim.
After George’s departure I hurried the remaining men as much as
possible, but it was already dusk when I finally started on my
seven-mile tramp. Some of the men had to be hunted out of the bazaar,
where they had lingered, with their loved ones, in a last long farewell.
There is no twilight in those latitudes (within two degrees of the
equator), so that very soon after our start we were tramping along in
the black darkness. I had no knowledge of the road; only a rough idea
of the general direction. I steered by the aid of a pocket-compass
and a box of matches. After the first hour I noticed that the men
commenced to stagger and lag behind with their lately unaccustomed
burdens, and I had to be continually on the alert to prevent
desertions. I numbered them at intervals, to make sure that none of
them had given me the slip, but an hour and a half after starting I
missed three men with their loads, in spite of all my precautions.
I shouted back into the darkness, and the men accompanying me did
the same, and, after a slight interval we were relieved to hear an
answering shout from the missing men. After waiting a few moments, we
shouted again, and were amazed to find that the answering shout was
much fainter than before. We continued shouting, but the answers grew
gradually fainter and more faint till they died away altogether. I
could not understand it at first, but the solution gradually dawned
upon me. We were on a large plain, and a few hundred yards to the left
of us was a huge belt of forest, which echoed our shouts to such an
extent that the men who were looking for us were deceived as to our
real position, and in their search were following a path at right
angles to our own. I could not light a fire to guide them, as the grass
was very long and dry, and I should probably have started a bush fire,
the consequences of which would have been terrible. I therefore fired
a gun, and was answered by another shot, seemingly far away over the
plain to the right. Telling the men to sit down and rest themselves on
the path, I ordered Jumbi to follow me, and, after carefully taking
my bearings by compass, started to walk quickly across the plain to
intercept them.
It was by no means a pleasant experience, trotting across those plains
in the pitchy blackness, with the grass up to my waist, and huge
boulders scattered about ready and willing to trip me up. I got very
heated and quite unreasonably angry, and expressed my feelings to
Jumbi very freely. I was in the midst of a violent diatribe against
all natives generally, and Swahili porters in particular, which I
must admit he bore with commendable patience, when the earth gave way
beneath me, and I was precipitated down some apparently frightful
abyss, landing in a heap at the bottom, with all the breath knocked
out of my body. I laid there for a little while, and endeavoured to
collect my scattered faculties. Soon I stood up, and struck a match,
and discovered that I had fallen into an old game-pit, about 8 feet
deep. It was shaped like a cone, with a small opening at the top,
similar to the old-fashioned _oubliette_. I looked at the floor, and
shuddered when I realized what a narrow squeak I might have had; for on
the centre of the floor were the mouldering remains of a pointed stake,
which had been originally fixed upright in the earth floor on the place
where I had fallen.
“Is Bwana (master) hurt?” said the voice of Jumbi from somewhere in the
black darkness above.
I replied that I was not hurt, but that I could not get out
without assistance; whereupon Jumbi lowered his rifle, and, to the
accompaniment of a vast amount of scrambling and kicking, hauled me
bodily out.
We were by this time very near to the men for whom we were searching,
as we could hear their voices raised in argument about the path. We
stopped and called to them, and presently they joined us, and we all
set off together to join my main party. We reached it without further
mishap, and resumed our interrupted march.
It was very dark indeed. I could not see my hand when I held it a
couple of feet from my face. One of the men happening to remark that
he had been over the path some years before, I immediately placed
him in the van as guide, threatening him with all sorts of pains and
penalties if he did not land us at our destination some time before
midnight.
I was particularly anxious to rejoin George, as I had the tents,
blankets, and food, and he would have a very uninteresting time without
me. We marched, therefore, with renewed vigour, as our impromptu guide
stated that he thought one more hour’s march would do the business.
It didn’t, though. For two solid hours we groped blindly through
belts of forest, across open spaces, and up and down wooded ravines,
until somewhere about eleven p.m., when we reached a very large and
terribly steep ravine, thickly clothed with trees, creepers, and dense
undergrowth. We could hear the rushing noise of a considerable volume
of water at the bottom, and in the darkness it sounded very, very far
down.
I halted at the top to consider whether to go on or not, but the
thought of George waiting patiently for my appearance with supper
and blankets made me so uncomfortable that I decided to push on if
it took me all night. We thereupon commenced the difficult descent,
but halfway down my doubts as to the advisability of the proceeding
were completely set at rest by one of the men falling down in some
kind of a fit from over-fatigue. The others were little better, so I
reluctantly decided to wait for daylight before proceeding further.
I tried to find something to eat among the multifarious loads, and
fortunately discovered a piece of dry bread that had been thrown in
with the cooking utensils at the last moment. I greedily devoured it,
and, wrapping myself in my blankets, endeavoured to sleep as well as
I was able on a slope of forty-five degrees. A thought concerning
George struck me just before I dropped off to sleep, which comforted
me greatly. “George knows enough to go in when it rains,” I thought.
“He will leave the men with the cattle, and go over to Kriger’s place
and have a hot supper and a soft bed, and all kinds of good things like
that,” and I drew my blankets more closely round me and shivered, and
felt quite annoyed with him when I thought of it.
At daylight we were up and off again, and, descending the ravine,
crossed the river at the bottom, and continued the march. On the way I
shot a guinea-fowl, called by the Swahilis “kanga,” and after an hour
and a half of quick walking I came up with George.
He had passed a miserable night, without food, blankets, or fire,
and, to make matters worse, it had drizzled all night, while he sat
on a stone and kept watch and ward over the cattle. The men who had
accompanied him were so tired that they had refused to build a boma to
keep the cattle in. He seemed very glad to see me. We at once got the
tent put up, a fire made, and the boma built, and soon made things much
more comfortable. In fact, we got quite gay and festive on the bread
and marmalade, washed down with tea, which formed our breakfast.
El Hakim was at Kriger’s place, about a mile distant. We had to
wait two or three days till he was ready to start, as he had a lot
of private business to transact. We left all the cattle except nine
behind, under Kriger’s charge; we sent the nine back subsequently, as
we found they were more trouble than they were worth.
In the evening I went out to shoot guinea-fowl; at least, I intended to
shoot guinea-fowl, but unfortunately I saw none. I lost myself in the
darkness, and could not find my way back to camp. After wandering about
for some time, I at last spied the flare of the camp fires, halfway up
a slope a mile away, opposite to that on which I stood. I made towards
them, entirely forgetting the small river that flowed at the foot of
the slope. It was most unpleasantly recalled to my memory as I suddenly
stepped off the bank and plunged, with a splash, waist deep into the
icy water. Ugh!
I scrambled up the opposite bank, and reached the camp safely, though
feeling very sorry for myself. El Hakim and George thought it a good
joke. I thought they had a very low sense of humour.
On the following morning George and I sallied forth on sport intent.
George carried the shot-gun, and I the ·303. We saw no birds; but
after an arduous stalk, creeping on all fours through long, wet grass,
I secured a congoni. Congoni is the local name for the hartebeeste
(_Bubalis Cokei_). The meat was excellent, and much appreciated. El
Hakim joined us in the afternoon, accompanied by Mr. Kriger and Mr. and
Mrs. Knapp, who wished to inspect our camp. We did the honours with the
greatest zest, knowing it would be the last time for many months that
we should see any of our own race.
The day afterwards El Hakim and I rode into Nairobi, accompanied by
some of the men, and brought back twelve days’ rations of m’chele
(rice) for our safari, as we intended starting the following day.
Kriger and Knapp decided to come with us on a little pleasure trip as
far as Doenyo Sabuk, a bold, rounded prominence, rising some 800 feet
above the level of the plain, the summit being over 6000 feet above
sea-level, lying about four days’ journey to the north.
CHAPTER II.
_FROM KRIGER’S TO MARANGA._
Oil to Doenyo Sabuk—Troubles of a safari—George takes a bath—The
Nairobi Falls—Eaten by ticks—My argument with a rhinoceros—The Athi
River—Good fishing—Lions—Camp near Doenyo Sabuk—We find the Athi
in flood—We build a raft—Kriger and Knapp bid us adieu—Failure of
our raft—We cross the Athi—I open a box of cigars—Crossing the
Thika-Thika—Bad country—We unexpectedly reach the Tana—The _détour_ to
the Maragua—Crossing the Maragua—In Kikuyuland.
Kriger and Knapp joined us on the morning of June 7th, and at 2 p.m.
we set out on our eventful journey. It was rather a rush at the last
moment, as so many things required adjustment. It was impossible to
foresee everything. I stopped behind as whipper-in for the first few
days, as the porters required something of the sort at the commencement
of a safari, in order to prevent desertions, and also to assist those
who fell out from fatigue.
On the first day I had a lot of trouble. The donkeys annoyed me
considerably; they were not used to their loads, and consequently
they kept slipping (the loads, not the donkeys), requiring constant
attention.
The porters also were very soft after their long carouse in the bazaar,
and every few yards one or another sat down beside his load, and swore,
by all the saints in his own particular calendar, that he could not,
and would not, go a step farther. It was my unpleasant duty to persuade
them otherwise. The consequence was, that on the evening of the first
day I got into a camp an hour after the others, quite tired out. It was
delightful to find dinner all ready and waiting. To misquote Kipling, I
“didn’t keep it waiting very long.”
The next morning we crossed one of the tributaries of the Athi River.
It was thickly overgrown from bank to bank with papyrus reeds, and we
were consequently obliged to cut a passage. The donkeys had also to be
unloaded, and their loads carried across. We got wet up to the knees in
the cold, slimy water, which did not add to our comfort. We passed a
rhinoceros on the road, but did not stop to shoot him as we were not in
want of meat.
Crossing another river an hour or so later, we made the passage easily
by the simple expedient of wading across up to our middles, without
troubling to undress or take our boots off; all except George, who
was riding the mule. He declared that he “wasn’t going to get wet!”
_we_ could be “silly cuckoos” if we liked! _he_ was “going to ride
across.” He attempted it; halfway across the mule slipped into deep
water, plunged furiously to recover itself, broke the girth, and George
and the mule made a glorious dive together into ten feet of water.
Jumping in, I succeeded in getting hold of the mule’s head while George
scrambled ashore, gasping with cold. In the mean time Kriger and Knapp
with El Hakim had got some distance ahead, leaving George and myself to
see the safari safely across. When we reached the other side we found
ourselves in a swamp, through which we had to wade for over a mile
before reaching firm ground. Then the porters struck in a body, saying
they were done up and utterly exhausted, and could go no further. I
eventually convinced them, not without a certain amount of difficulty,
however, that it would be to their interest to go on.
Soon afterwards I got a touch of sun, and my head ached horribly. I
then fastened the saddle on the mule with one of the stirrup straps,
and rode some of the way. We reached the Nairobi River towards the
close of the afternoon, and crossed by clambering over the boulders
plentifully strewn about the river bed. Just below were the Nairobi
Falls, which are about 100 feet deep, and extremely beautiful.
At the foot of the Falls the river flows through a deep, rocky glen,
which in point of beauty would take a first prize almost anywhere.
Great water-worn boulders, clothed with grey-green and purple mosses,
among which the water trickled and sparkled in tiny musical cascades;
ferns of rare beauty, and flowers of rich and varied hues, gave an
artistic finish to the whole; an effect still further accentuated by
the feathery tops of the graceful palms and tree ferns that grew boldly
out from the steep and rocky sides of that miniature paradise.
We found the others had camped a few yards away from the Falls. Kriger
and Knapp had been fishing, and had caught a lot of fine fish; Kriger
had also shot a congoni. I had my tent pitched, and immediately turned
in, as I felt very tired and feverish. Walking in a broiling sun, and
shouting at recalcitrant porters for eight and a half hours, on an
empty stomach, is not calculated to improve one physically or morally.
After a good night’s sleep I felt much better, and decided to walk
when we made a start next morning, handing the mule over to George,
who had been very seedy ever since we left Nairobi, the result of his
recent severe illness in Uganda. When the tents were struck, we headed
due northwards to Doenyo Sabuk, which was now beginning to show up
more clearly on the horizon. It was about twenty miles distant, and we
calculated that two days’ further marching would take us round it.
Soon after we started Knapp shot a guinea-fowl. He used a Winchester
repeating shot-gun, a perfectly horrible contrivance, of which he was
very proud. When the cartridges were ejected it clanked and rattled
like a collection of scrap iron being shaken in a sack.
During that march we had a maddening time with the ticks, with which
the Athi plains are infested. They were large, flat, red ticks, similar
to those I have seen in Rhodesia (_Ixodes plumbeus?_). They clung to
our clothing and persons like limpets to a rock. We should not have
minded a dozen or two, at least not so much, but they swarmed on us
literally in thousands. We halted every few moments while Ramathani
brushed us down, but, so soon as we were comparatively cleared of them,
we picked up a fresh batch from the long grass. They bite very badly,
and taking them by and large, as a sailor would say, they were very
powerful and vigorous vermin; almost as vigorous as the language we
wasted upon them.
About an hour after we started we sighted a rhinoceros fast asleep in
the grass, about three hundred yards down wind. George and I examined
him with the binoculars—the others were a mile ahead—and as we were not
out looking for rhinoceros just then, we passed on. We had proceeded
barely a quarter of a mile when a confused shouting from the rear
caused us to look round. The sleeping rhinoceros had wakened, and
proceeded to impress the fact upon the safari. Having winded the men
he incontinently charged them, and when George and I glanced back we
saw the ungainly brute trotting backwards and forwards among our loads,
which the men had hurriedly dropped while they scattered for dear life
over the landscape. It was certainly very awkward, as it looked very
much as if I should have to go back and slay it, which, I will confess,
I was very loth to do, as Ramathani was some distance ahead with all my
spare ammunition. The magazine of my ·303 contained only half a dozen
cartridges, with soft-nosed bullets. I diplomatically waited a while to
see if the brute felt disposed to move; but it was apparently perfectly
satisfied with its immediate surroundings, and stood over the deserted
loads snorting and stamping and looking exceedingly ugly.
The cattle and donkeys, which were under Jumbi’s charge, were also
coming up. Jumbi came as near as he dared, and then halted, and waited
in the rear till it should please the Bwana (meaning me) to drive the
“kifaru” away. The rest of the porters having scuttled to what they
considered a safe distance, sat down to await events with a stolid
composure born of utter irresponsibility.
I felt, under the circumstances, that it was incumbent upon me to
do something, it being so evidently expected; so I advanced towards
the rhinoceros, not without some inward trepidation, as I greatly
distrusted the ·303. Walking to within fifty yards of the spot where
it was stamping defiance, I shouted at it, and said shoo! as sometimes
that will drive them away. It did not move this beast, however, so,
mentally donning the black cap, I took careful aim, and planked a
bullet in his shoulder! If it was undecided before the beast soon made
up its mind then, and, jumping round like a cat, came straight for
me at a gallop, head down, ears and tail erect, and a nasty vicious
business-like look about the tip of his horn that gave me cold chills
down the spine. I don’t wish to deny that I involuntarily turned and
ran—almost anybody would, if they obeyed first impulses. I ran a few
yards, but reason returned, and I remembered El Hakim’s warning that
to run under such circumstances was almost invariably fatal. I turned
off sharply to the right, like the hunters in the story books, hoping
that my pursuer would pass me, and try one of the porters; but he
wouldn’t; he had only one desire in the wide, wide world, and that was
to interview me. I, on the other hand, was equally anxious not to be
interviewed, but I must admit that at the moment I did not quite see
how I was to avoid it. He was getting closer and closer at each stride,
so there being logically no other way, I stopped and faced him.
I therefore knelt down and worked my magazine for all I was worth,
fervently hoping that it would not jam. In less than ten seconds I put
four bullets into the enraged animal at short range. All four took
effect, as I distinctly saw the dust spurt from his hide in little
puffs where they struck. At the fourth shot he swerved aside, when
within fifteen yards of me, and as he turned I gave him my sixth and
last cartridge in the flank to hasten his departure; and very glad
indeed I was to see him go. He had six bullets in various parts of his
anatomy; but I expect they did little more than break the skin, though
the shock probably surprised him. He disappeared over a rise in the
ground a mile away, still going strong; while I assumed a nonchalant
and slightly bored air, and languidly ordered the men to take up their
scattered loads and resume the march.
An hour or so after we reached and crossed the Athi River. It was
a hot and dusty tramp. Kriger being some miles ahead, had, with a
laudable desire to guide us, fired the grass on his way. The result
was hardly what he anticipated. The immense clouds of smoke gave us
our direction perfectly well, but the fire barred our progress. Quite
half a dozen times we had to rush through a gap in the flames, half
choked and slightly singed. Once or twice I thought we should never get
the mules or donkeys through at all, but we chivied them past the fire
somehow. The burnt ground on the other side was simply horrible to walk
on. I fully realized what the sensations of the “cat on hot bricks”
of the proverb were. Kriger meant well, but, strange to say, neither
George nor I felt at all thankful. As a matter of fact, our language
was at times as hot as the ground underfoot, not so much on our own
account as on that of our poor barefooted men.
The Athi was not very wide at the point where we crossed, but a little
distance lower down it becomes a broad and noble stream flowing round
the north side of Doenyo Sabuk till it joins the T’savo River about
120 miles south-east of that mountain, the two combining to form the
Sabaki, which flows into the sea at Milindi. The Athi is full of fish,
and we saw fresh hippopotamus’ tracks near the spot where we camped at
midday.
After lunch George and I went fishing with Kriger and Knapp: net
result about 40 lbs. of fine fish, a large eel, and a mud turtle.
Afterwards Kriger and I went out shooting. We were very unlucky. Out on
the plains towards Doenyo Sabuk we saw vast herds of game, including
congoni, thompsonei, zebra, impala, and water-buck, but the country
was perfectly flat and open and the wind most vexatiously variable, so
that, do what we would, we could not get within range. I managed to
bag a hare with the before-mentioned piece of mechanism which Knapp
miscalled a shot-gun. Soon afterwards we were traversing some broken
rocky ground when Kriger suddenly exclaimed, “Look, there are some wild
pig!” We started after them, and got within a hundred yards before we
discovered that the supposed wild pig were a magnificent black-maned
lion and four lionesses. They spotted us almost as soon as we had seen
them, and when we tried to get near enough for a shot they walked into
a patch of tall reeds and remained there growling, nor would they show
themselves again. We did not think it good enough to tackle five lions
in thick reeds, so we reluctantly withdrew.
Kriger had shot a lion some months previously, and was attacked and
badly mauled by the lioness while examining the prostrate body of
his quarry, his left arm being bitten through in several places. He
struggled with her for some minutes, forcing his arm between her open
jaws, and thereby preventing her from seizing his shoulder or throat.
His life was only saved by a sudden fall backwards over a bank which
was concealed by the undergrowth. The lioness was so surprised by
his complete and utterly unexpected disappearance that, casting a
bewildered look around, she turned and fled.
We continued our hunt for game, and presently Kriger wounded a congoni.
It appeared very badly hit, and we followed it for several miles in
the hope that it would drop; but it seemed to get stronger with every
step, and finally, to our great disgust and disappointment, joined
a herd and galloped away, while we sat down on the hard cold ground
and bemoaned our luck. On the way back to camp—and a weary walk it
was—we shot another solitary congoni at three hundred yards’ range,
and fortunately hit him; but we put three bullets each into the beast
before it dropped, so remarkably tenacious of life are these animals.
We returned to camp at dusk, thoroughly tired out. I retired to rest
immediately after dinner, thus concluding a not entirely uneventful day.
We did not march the next day, as El Hakim wished to examine the
surrounding country from a farming and stock-raising point of view. He
and Kriger rode off on the mules after breakfast with that intention.
Knapp and I went fishing, while George—sensible chap—laid himself on
the grass in the shade and watched us. Knapp caught one very fine fish
weighing over 9 lbs., while I caught only two small fish and a sharp
attack of fever. I returned to camp and climbed into my blankets. In
an hour and a half my temperature rose to 105°, and I felt very queer
indeed; but towards evening I recovered sufficiently to eat a little.
El Hakim and Kriger returned at 6 p.m., having explored the adjacent
country to their satisfaction, and on their return journey they shot a
zebra and a congoni. Zebra meat is excellent eating, especially if it
has been hung for three or four days. When cooked it is firm and white,
in appearance somewhat resembling veal. We always secured the strip of
flesh on each side of the backbone, called by the Swahilis “salala”
(saddle), and also the under-cut, or “salala n’dani” (inside saddle),
for our private consumption. The kidneys are very large, as big as
one’s fist; and they, as are also the brains, are excellent eating when
fried in hippo fat.
We started at 7 a.m. on the following morning, El Hakim, Kriger, and
Knapp going a long way ahead, leaving George and myself with the big
mule, to look after the safari. George was still so queer that he could
hardly sit on the mule. He was constantly vomiting, and at every
fresh paroxysm the mule shied, so that poor George had anything but a
cheerful time. I did not know the way, and depended wholly for guidance
on the spoor of the others who had started early.
Soon after starting, a pair of rhinoceros charged us, scattering the
safari far and wide over the plain in a medley of men, loads, donkeys,
and cattle. I went back with the 8-bore, which I had kept close to me
since my experience two days before, but before I could get near them
they made off again, nearly getting foul of Jumbi in their retreat. He
had hidden himself in the grass, and they passed within a dozen yards
of him without becoming aware of his presence.
I have mentioned that I was depending for guidance on the spoor of that
portion of the caravan which had preceded me, so it can be imagined
that I was exceedingly surprised to come upon a party of the men who
had left camp before me, sitting down waiting for me to come up. On
being questioned they stated that the “m’sungu” (white men) were “huko
m’beli” (somewhere ahead), but as they had lagged behind, and so lost
them, they had waited for me to come up and show them the way. I was
in something of a quandary, as, the ground being very rough and stony,
no tracks were visible. After a moment’s consideration I decided to
make for the north end of Doenyo Sabuk, which was quite near, as I knew
the others intended going somewhere in that direction. On the road I
stalked and shot a congoni, but my Swahili aristocrats refused to touch
the meat, as I, and not they, had cut its throat, consequently it was
“haran” (_i.e._ sinful, forbidden). They were much less fastidious
later on, and ate with avidity far less palatable food than freshly
killed congoni.
After a solid eight hours’ march I came up with the others. They had
camped on the right bank of the Athi, which at this place is very broad
and deep. It makes a vast curve here from due north to south-east, so
that we were still on the wrong side of it, and would have to recross
it in order to reach the Tana River. Kriger and Knapp were, as usual,
fishing, and had caught some magnificent fish, averaging 9 lbs. to
10 lbs. each. On our arrival in camp, George and I had a refreshing
wash and a cup of tea, which revived us considerably. In the evening
I shot a crested crane (_Belearica Pavonina_) with the ·303. George
went to bed early, as he was very weak and exhausted; I did not feel
very bright either, after the smart attack of fever I had had the day
before, coupled with that day’s eight-hour tramp in a blazing sun.
We did not move on the following day, as El Hakim wished to examine the
surrounding country. He and Kriger accordingly saddled up the mules and
made another excursion. They saw a leopard on the road about a mile out
of camp, but the man who was carrying their guns was, unfortunately,
some distance in the rear at the time. I believe El Hakim used bad
language, but I could not say for certain, though I do know the
gun-bearer looked very sorry for himself when they returned to camp in
the evening. They saw some very pretty falls on the river lower down,
situated in the midst of a very lovely stretch of park-like scenery. El
Hakim was quite enthusiastic about them.
We spent the next day looking for a place to cross the river. It was
from this camp that Kriger and Knapp were to return to their station,
and our journey was really to begin. We examined a ford that Kriger
knew of, two hours’ journey up the river, but found the river in flood
and the ford deep water. On the way back El Hakim shot a congoni,
which gave us a much-needed supply of fresh meat. As there seemed no
other way out of the difficulty, we decided to build a raft. We found
it a very tough task, there being no material at hand, as the wood
growing near was all mimosa thorn, so hard and heavy when green that
it will hardly float in water. We spent all the afternoon, waist-deep
in the river, lashing logs together with strips of raw hide cut from
the congoni skins. When the raft was finished, just before sundown,
it looked very clumsy and unserviceable, and we had very grave doubts
of its utility, as the volume of water in the river was very great,
and the pressure on such an unwieldy structure was bound to be
enormous—much more than any rope of ours would stand. However, that was
a question that the morrow would decide; so we moored the raft to an
island a few yards from the bank, and went back to camp for dinner.
We dined on the crane I had shot two days before. It was as large
as a small turkey, and splendid eating, though my ·303 had rather
damaged it. El Hakim and I sat up late into the night, making final
arrangements and writing letters, which Kriger was to take back with
him next morning, when we intended to make a determined effort to cross
the river _en route_ for Mount Kenia and the “beyond.”
Kriger and Knapp returned to Nairobi early on the morning of June 14th.
They took our remaining cattle back, as we found them too much trouble,
and El Hakim had others at Munithu, in North Kenia, which we could
use if we required them for trade purposes. We bade them adieu, and
they returned the compliment, wishing us all kinds of luck. They then
departed on their homeward journey.
[Illustration: THE ATHI RIVER NEAR DOENYO SABUK.]
[Illustration: CROSSING AN AFFLUENT OF THE SAGANA. (See page 50.)]
We found our raft waterlogged and almost entirely useless, but we
determined to try what we could do with it. We had great difficulty
in persuading the men to go into the water, but managed it at last,
and got a rope across the river with which to haul the raft over. We
put two loads on it, and though they were got safely across they were
soaked through, and once or twice very nearly lost. When we tried to
haul our raft back the rope parted, and the unholy contrivance we had
spent so much time and labour upon drifted rapidly down-stream, and was
lost to sight.
We abandoned the idea of crossing by raft—especially as there was
then no raft to play with—and so we prospected up the river-bank for
some little distance, and eventually discovered a place that promised
a better crossing than any we had previously seen. There were two or
three small islands near the hither bank of the river, which narrowed
it to more manageable proportions, and by lunch-time we had rigged the
rope across the main channel. After lunch we all stripped, and prepared
for an afternoon’s hard work; nor were we disappointed. The stream,
breast-deep, was running like a mill-race. Its bed was composed of flat
slabs of granite polished to the smoothness of glass by the constant
water-friction. Strewn here and there were smooth water-worn boulders
with deep holes between, which made the crossing both difficult and
dangerous. By dint of half wading and half swimming, holding on to the
rope for safety, we managed with incredible labour to get all the loads
across without accident.
Getting the mules and donkeys across was a still more difficult task.
They absolutely refused to face the water, and had to be forced in.
Once in, though, they did their best to get across. The mules and four
of the donkeys succeeded after a severe struggle, but the other two
donkeys were swept away down-stream. We were unwilling to lose them,
so I swam down the river with them, trying to head them towards the
opposite bank. I succeeded at last in forcing them under the bank a
quarter of a mile or so lower down stream; but at that place it was
perfectly perpendicular, and there we stood, the two donkeys and
myself, up to our necks in water on a submerged ledge about two feet
wide, on one side of us the swiftly rushing river, which none of us
wished to face again, and on the other side a perfectly unclimbable
bank, topped with dense jungle. I thought of crocodiles, as there
were, and are, a great many in the Athi River, and I went cold all
over, and wished most heartily that I was somewhere else. I shouted
for the men, and presently heard their voices from the top of the
bank overhead; they could not reach me, however, as the jungle was so
thickly interlaced as to be impenetrable. They tried to cut a way down
to me, but gave it up as impossible; besides, they could not have got
the donkeys out that way, anyhow.
I grew more than a little anxious about the donkeys, as I was afraid
they would lose heart and let themselves drown. Donkeys are like that
sometimes when they are in difficulties. I clung to the ears of my
two, and held their heads above water by main force. I got cold and
chilled, while thoughts of crocodiles _would_ come into my head. Once a
submerged log drifted past beneath the surface, and in passing grazed
my thigh. I turned actually sick with apprehension, but it went on with
the current, and left me shivering as with ague. I ordered some of
the men to get into the river and swim down to me, and presently they
arrived. I immediately felt much better, as I reflected that my chances
of being seized were now considerably lessened.
When I had got half a dozen men down, we took the donkeys by the ears
and tails, and half towed, half pushed them up-stream against the
current, and successfully landed them, though certainly they were more
dead than alive.
I found that El Hakim and George had got the tents up, and that dinner
was being prepared by the indefatigable Ramathani. I dried myself,
and, putting on some clothing, went out in search of something edible
in the way of meat. I saw no antelope, but I made a good shot with the
·303 at an adjutant stork (_Leptoptilus marabou_). The tail feathers,
the Marabout feathers of commerce, were magnificent. This bird is a
carrion-eater, and consorts with the vultures, so it was therefore not
suitable for the pot. I cut off the large bag attached to the throat,
in order to make a tobacco-pouch of it, but the dog sneaked it and, I
believe, devoured it.
We sat down to dinner in the moonlight, all three of us thoroughly
tired out, but pleased at having conquered the formidable Athi. Now, I
had in my possession a box of particularly atrocious cigars, which I
had bought in a hurry on the day we left Nairobi as a surprise for El
Hakim and George. They were somebody’s “Morning whiffs.” As far as the
others were concerned, the surprise was complete, but they surprised me
also, though I was half expecting something out of the common.
I remember the first one I smoked that night. I remember it distinctly,
though I would much rather forget it. We had just finished dinner, and
were sitting at the table in semi-darkness. It was a beautiful evening.
The stars shone brilliantly in the unclouded firmament, and the cool
breeze softly played and whispered among the palms. The men were happy
and contented, and all was peace and harmony. Suddenly remembering
those cigars, I went into my tent and took three out of the box. I
put two of them in my pocket for the others, and proceeded to light my
own before going outside again. The first puff knocked me backwards,
but I strove gallantly to recover my scattered faculties, and, dashing
the tears from my eyes, made another attempt. It was hard work, but I
persevered, though I admit I perspired freely. After a little practice
I found that if I took a cautious draw or two, sandwiching deep long
draughts of fresh air between each, I could manage to get along. Then I
went outside and sat down at the table where El Hakim and George were
quietly and happily conversing.
Presently George said, “Funny smell, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” El Hakim replied. “I have noticed it for the last two or three
minutes. I hope those men have not set fire to the grass.”
“Have you noticed it?” said George to me.
“No, I can’t say I have,” I answered. “What is it like?”
“Great Scott! your nose must be out of order,” said George. “It reminds
me of a brickfield. I wonder what it can be?”
“Oh, you fellows must be dreaming,” said I. “I can’t smell anything
extraordinary.”
“Can’t you?” said El Hakim, turning in his chair to look at me. “Hullo!
what are you smoking?” he added.
“A cigar, of course, and a jolly good one too,” said I, puffing away
vigorously as a proof of my enjoyment, which very nearly proved my
undoing. “Have one?”
El Hakim rose slowly to his feet, and gazed sorrowfully and
reproachfully at me; then giving one or two distinctly audible sniffs,
he walked slowly to the edge of the camp and gazed silently over the
plains, followed a moment later by George, who made some almost
unintelligible remark about “he could stand a good deal, but that——”
and, shuddering visibly, he too vanished.
I threw the remains of the cigar into the river, where it probably
continued its nefarious career, doubtless doing a lot of harm. George,
with a lofty disregard of my feelings, euphoniously christened them
“stinkers,” and neither he nor El Hakim could ever be persuaded to
smoke one.
I got hardened to them in time, but I only smoked them on special
occasions or in default of anything better. I used to smoke them after
George and I had turned in for the night. It did not matter whether
George was asleep or not; after the first half-dozen puffs he would
turn over in his blankets, and, giving vent to a resigned and massive
sigh, get up, and, uttering no word the while, he would with great
ostentation and an unnecessary amount of noise, open the tent-flaps at
each end, thus letting a fierce draught through. He would then go back
to bed again, and shiver violently with the cold, and cough pathetic
little coughs, till in sheer self-defence I would discontinue smoking
and close the tent, but I would have my revenge in the morning while
we were dressing, as I would then relight the end left from overnight.
George said the smell took away his appetite for breakfast, but that
must have been mere vulgar prejudice, as I never noticed anything wrong
with his appetite.
We were off again next morning, and in two hours reached the
Thika-Thika, the next considerable river on our route. It was the
inhabitants of the country adjacent to this river about whom we were
warned in Nairobi; but, in consequence of our détour north-eastward to
Doenyo Sabuk, we struck the river much lower down than the presumably
hostile districts.
It was a rather narrow but deep stream, full of water, with a very
swift and powerful current. We could not find a crossing-place, so we
tried to bridge the stream at the cataracts which we discovered lower
down, at which place the channel narrowed to something like twenty
yards. There was a large tree standing on the bank, and we cut it down
in the hope that it would fall across the river. It was a long and
tiresome task, and somehow the tree fell the wrong way; so we thought
we would not built a bridge, after all. We then went higher up the
river, and at one place found two dead logs, which we lashed together
to form a raft. The raft completed, we called for a volunteer to take
the line across. As Asmani ben Selim was a good swimmer, we ordered
him to volunteer. He did so, and got the line across without accident.
He then hauled the raft across with another line attached, by which we
were enabled to haul it back again, and then, having satisfactorily
demonstrated the practicability of our idea, we adjourned for lunch.
After the meal we went down to the river again, and amused ourselves
all the afternoon by pulling the raft to and fro across the river with
two loads on at a time. We had all the loads safely across by five
o’clock in the afternoon, and then proceeded to get the men across by
the same means. Some of them had not sense enough to sit still, and
on three separate occasions they managed to upset the unstable craft
in midstream, and were hauled across clinging to the overturned raft,
feeling very miserable indeed, which feeling was in no way alleviated
by the gibes of their more fortunate companions who had got across
without accident.
It was dark by the time the last man had crossed, and the animals
were still on the wrong side of the river. We accordingly camped on
the bank, and sent a guard of three men back again to look after them
during the night.
At daylight next morning we proceeded to get the animals across by the
simple expedient of tying one end of the rope round their necks, when a
team of a dozen men on the opposite bank of the river soon hauled them,
kicking and struggling, across. I admit that they made the passage for
the most part under water; but still, there was no other way, and the
objections of the animals themselves, though very strenuous, did not
count for much.
That business concluded, we struck camp and continued our march. We
followed no road, and, being without a guide, we travelled by compass
in a north-easterly direction. By so doing we hoped to strike the upper
waters of the Tana River at Maranga. We saw great numbers of antelope
on the road, and there were also numerous herds of zebra and brindled
gnu (_Connochactus taurinus_). We were in want of meat, but the game
was very shy, and while stalking a herd of zebra I had the ill luck
to startle them somehow, and they went off at a gallop. I took a long
shot—200 yards—at the leader of the herd, and, as luck would have it,
brought him down.
We went on till 10 a.m., when we halted for breakfast, and did
ourselves very well on grilled zebra liver. We made a “Telekesa” march
(_i.e._ a march resumed after a short halt for refreshment), usually
necessary in localities where water is scarce and water-holes long
distances apart—so by soon after midday we were on the move again.
The country was now getting very nasty. We could see low ranges of
steep hills ahead that promised to be very inconvenient. At dusk we
ascended the outlying spurs, finding it very hard work, and soon after
we camped for the night. I shot a congoni during the afternoon, which
kept us in fresh meat for a day or two. That the estimate we had formed
of the natural difficulties to be encountered was a correct one, we
had many opportunities of verifying during the next two days. It was a
perfectly horrible piece of country. It seemed to be a collection of
rocky hills thrown down just anyhow, without the slightest regard for
order. Long coarse grass and rank vegetation did their very best to
impede our progress. We were retarded every half mile or so by steep
descents, down which we toiled slowly and painfully, only to find a
roaring rushing torrent at the bottom, that needed the most careful
negotiation. Our poor donkeys suffered very much by the constant
loading and unloading of their burdens, rendered necessary in order to
cross some particularly obnoxious ravine, while the men’s patience was
severely tried.
In the early morning it was still worse, as the dense undergrowth
was then soaked through with the heavy dew, which descended on us in
icy showers as we forced our way through, thus adding to our other
miseries. There was no game to speak of. I shot one solitary congoni at
our first camp in this uninhabited wilderness, and on the same day we
inadvertently walked on to a sleeping rhinoceros, which livened things
up a little.
El Hakim was riding at the head of the safari, and George, on the other
mule, was close behind him. I was walking a few yards behind George.
Suddenly I saw El Hakim stiffen in his seat and kick his feet free
of the stirrup-irons; a fraction of a second later he was out of the
saddle and behind a bush, while George emulated his example with a
promptitude that could only have been rendered possible by the most
urgent necessity, George being, as a rule, extremely deliberate in his
movements, as befits a heavy man. At the same instant, with a rush and
a snort, a large black rhinoceros galloped blindly at us. I took up an
unobtrusive position behind an adjacent tree, with as little delay as
possible consistent with my dignity, and the rhinoceros rushed past and
disappeared. It appeared annoyed at being disturbed.
On the afternoon of the third day after leaving the Thika-Thika we got
into some very dense scrub, and fairly lost ourselves. The bush was
absolutely impenetrable, except for the low tunnels made by wandering
hippopotamus, which indicated the presence of water not far off. These
tunnels gave the scrub the appearance of a gigantic rabbit-warren,
in which we had to walk bent double in order to make any headway at
all. It was exceedingly hot and dusty, and we plunged about in the
bewildering maze of tunnels till we were tired out, while seemingly
no nearer to the opposite side. Presently the tunnel in which we were
burrowing at the moment abruptly dipped downwards, and a few yards
further on we emerged unexpectedly on the edge of a broad and noble
river, which flowed swiftly and serenely past our delighted eyes.
We had no doubt that this was the Tana which we had not expected to
reach for another day at least; a surmise which proved to be correct.
It is called here the Sagana, or more rarely the Kilaluma (_i.e_.
firewater). It is a very beautiful river, with very high perpendicular
banks clothed in the most lovely verdure. Tall water-palms (_Raffia_
sp.?) reared their stately heads far above the surrounding luxuriant
vegetation; while tropical trees of many species formed a playground
for troops of monkeys. Birds of brilliant plumage darted hither and
thither like diminutive rainbows, and completed as charming a picture
of tropical beauty as could be found in Africa.
The river itself was about eighty yards broad, and very deep, with a
four-miles-an-hour current. We had struck it at a point about two days’
march above the Carl Alexander and Sweinfurth Falls. It is full of
hippopotamus. George shot at one in the water, but it sank immediately
and disappeared from view.
Our men skirmished round, and discovered a small clearing, in which we
camped. Some of the Wakamba porters informed us that farther up the
river there was a bridge, and beyond that the “shambas” (plantations)
of the A’kikuyu. We were rather sceptical about the bridge, as they
used the word “dirage,” which is the Swahili word used by the Wakamba
either for a bridge, a boat or raft, or a ford, though the Swahilis
themselves have separate and distinct words for each.
We ascertained one fact. A large river, called the Maragua, joined the
Sagana two hours’ march up-stream, and we should have a much better
chance of a successful crossing if we crossed before the Maragua
joined forces with the already swollen Sagana, though such a course
necessitated crossing two rivers instead of one.
Early next day we set off up-stream in a westerly direction. Travelling
was like an excursion over the roofs of a row of houses. The jungle
was very dense everywhere, and we were also in constant danger from
the numerous hippopotamus-traps which had been set by the natives,
who sometimes hunt this side of the river. These traps consisted of a
heavy log of wood, probably thorn, about 18 inches long and 9 inches
in diameter, with an iron blade 8 inches long firmly set in one end.
This was suspended blade downwards over the centre of the path, and
connected with a cord stretched across the path an inch or so above the
ground. When the unsuspecting hippopotamus passed that way it kicked
the cord, thereby releasing a catch, and down dropped the heavy log,
armed with its keen blade, into the unfortunate victim’s back, usually
severing the spine. We had to keep a very sharp look-out for these
traps, sending men ahead of the safari to search for them and release
the suspended log before we passed.
We lost sight of the Sagana altogether in an hour or so, as here
it makes a big curve to the north before flowing down again to the
Mumoni hills. We reached the Maragua in due course, and found that our
men’s information was correct, and that there was a genuine bridge. I
discovered later that it was built by Gibbons on his ill-fated journey
to M’bu. It was very well built, some small islands in the channel
being utilized as piers, upon which were laid the straight stems of the
water-palm which was growing at hand in great profusion, and answered
the purpose excellently. It was, however, partly destroyed by fire,
and required great care in crossing. We could not trust the animals
on it, so we had to fall back on our rope, and haul them across a
little higher up the river, where the water was deeper and the current
consequently less violent.
Just below the bridge were a series of magnificent cascades, which
filled the air for a long distance round with their stupendous roar.
As we intended making another march that day, we went on again after a
short halt. The men had had no food for three days, except the remains
of the insignificant quantity of meat I shot a few days before. We
were therefore anxious to reach the cultivated country in order to buy
fresh supplies for them.
After a weary walk from eleven in the morning to four in the afternoon,
we were relieved to find ourselves among the shambas of the natives. We
camped beside a small stream close to a village, and immediately opened
a market, and when the natives appeared we bought a small supply of
maize and sweet potatoes, which were at once served out to our hungry
men.
CHAPTER III.
_FROM THE TANA TO M’BU._
We reach and cross the Tana—Maranga—The abundance of food thereof—We
open a market—We treat the Maranga elders to cigars, with disastrous
results—Bad character of the Wa’M’bu—We resume our journey—A
misunderstanding with the A’kikuyu—We reach M’bu.
Early the following morning we struck camp and travelled due north,
following native paths. Ascending a low hill, we were unexpectedly
greeted by the paramount chief of the district, who rejoiced in the
name of Kinuthia, and several of his elders. He presented us, by way
of an introduction, with a gourd containing about half a gallon of
fresh milk, which we much appreciated, signifying the same in the usual
manner. When we regained our breath once more, Kinuthia handed us a
note given him by Mr. Hall, a Government officer, who had been up there
a month before in order to select a site for the new Government station
for the Kenia district; which stated that Kinuthia was a friendly
chief, and desired to be recognized as such. We immediately recognized
him as such by enlisting him as our guide to the Sagana, which we
expected to be able to cross that day.
After a short conversation he took the lead, and on we marched again.
He led us across some very rough country for an hour and a half,
when we reached a small, swift river, an affluent of the Sagana. We
crossed without much trouble by the timely aid of the ragged-looking
A’kikuyu noblemen in attendance on their chief. Another two-hour tramp
followed, when we at last reached the Sagana, which is really a noble
river, abounding in hippo here, as indeed it does everywhere. We saw no
crocodiles, though we inquired most anxiously after them.
Kinuthia informed us that the Somalis’ safari had crossed three weeks
or a month before. One of Jamah Mahomet’s cows, while fording the
river, had been seized by a crocodile and the poor beast’s shoulder
torn right out. We did not feel more comfortable on receipt of this
intelligence, but we were assured by the natives that they had since
poisoned all the crocodiles for a distance of half a mile or so each
side of the ford, though they thought it likely that a stray reptile
or two might have escaped the general poisoning. We had no choice,
however; so we stripped and waded, chin-deep, to the opposite side,
about eighty yards distant.
The current was immensely powerful, and the bottom very pebbly and
slippery; but we were assisted by some of Kinuthia’s aristocracy, and
made the passage in safety. Our men were tired and rather nervous of
the current, so for three “makono” (about 1½ yards) of cloth each, we
induced fifteen of the aforesaid A’kikuyu noblemen to carry their loads
across for them—a task they successfully accomplished, Kinuthia himself
not disdaining to discard his royal robes (a goatskin) and earn his
piece of cloth.
We breakfasted on the bank, and then made another move, as Kinuthia
impressed upon us the fact that an hour’s journey further on was
situate the village of Manga, the chief of the Maranga, whose people
had an abundance of food for sale, and where we should be able to
buy all the supplies we needed without any trouble. He said he would
accompany us and introduce us, which we thought was very good of him.
Our way lay through dense plantations, which fully bore out friend
Kinuthia’s assertions as to the richness of the district in
food-stuffs. In an hour we reached a gently sloping hill, covered with
short green grass, on which we pitched our camp. We sent for the chief,
who shortly afterwards made his appearance. He seemed a very decent
old fellow, and anxious to assist us. We stated our requirements, and
he immediately commanded his people to bring us food for sale, and did
everything in his power—short of giving anything away himself—to show
us that he was friendly and well-disposed towards us.
His son, Koranja, a rather good-looking young fellow for a native, had
been down to Mombasa with a safari, and spoke Kiswahili fairly well. He
seemed very intelligent. Some of the old men of the tribe also spoke
Kiswahili, which, we presumed, they had picked up from passing Arab or
Swahili safaris. Kinuthia bade us adieu and returned to his own village
the other side of the Sagana, having received from us a suitable
present of beads, etc., to gladden his heart, or rather the hearts of
his wives.
Large quantities of food then began to arrive, and we decided to stop
where we were for a day or two, and buy at least ten days’ rations for
the men, before resuming our journey northwards. We retired that night
a great deal easier in our minds about the commissariat than we had
been for some days.
Next morning the camp was fairly buzzing with natives of all ages and
both sexes. Most of them had brought food to sell, but many of them
came merely to look at us. Not that we were much to look at; in any
civilized community we should have run a great risk of being arrested
as vagrants and suspicious characters. El Hakim and George both wore
embryo beards, and our appearance generally was rather that of tramps
than otherwise. El Hakim had a great affection for a pair of moleskin
trousers and a leather jacket, both of which had seen much service.
His hat, too, had known better days; but it was an idiosyncrasy of his
to wear his clothes on safari work till they were absolutely beyond
further mending and patching. On one occasion he was reported to have
tramped about the Lykipia plateau for months, clad only in a coloured
cloth and a pair of brown boots, with a towel twisted round his head
turban-wise, he having lost his only hat. I can vouch for the comfort
of such a dress in a good climate such as obtains on the Waso Nyiro, as
I tried the experiment myself.
[Illustration: THE CAMP AT MARANGA.]
[Illustration: BUYING FOOD AT MARANGA. (See page 54.)]
As soon as we had breakfasted, we went about the important business
of marketing. Maranga, as is Kikuyu generally, is extraordinarily
rich and fertile. All kinds of grain are exceedingly plentiful. Among
those brought to us for sale were millet (_Panicum Italicum_), called
by the natives “metama;” _Pennisetum spicatum_, known as “mwele,” a
seed resembling linseed, which grows on a close spike like a bulrush
flower; _Eleusine corocana_, known as “uimbe;” and “muhindi,” or
“dhurra” (maize). A large variety of edible roots is also cultivated,
the most common being “viazi” (sweet potatoes), “vikwer” (yams), and
“mahogo” (manioc). Sugar-cane was very largely grown, and is known to
the natives as “mewa.” The stalks of metama, which are called “kota,”
are also chewed by the natives on account of the sweetish sap. The
half-grown stalks of the same plant are known as “metama m’tindi.”
“N’dizi” (bananas) are also extensively cultivated, but we never ate
any, as they are never allowed to ripen. The natives pluck them while
they are green and hard, and roast them in hot ashes. When cooked
they have the appearance and taste of a floury potato, though with a
slightly astringent flavour. Wild honey was procurable in moderate
quantities. It is called “assala,” evidently derived from the Arabic
word for the same substance, “assal.” The Masai name for honey is
“naischu,” the word generally used in Kikuyu. At certain seasons of the
year the staple diet of the natives is “kundu” (beans), of which we
saw two varieties, viz. “maragua,” a small white bean like a haricot,
and “baazi,” a black bean which grows in pods on a small tree like a
laburnum. They also grow several kinds of gourds, named respectively
“mumunye,” which resembles a vegetable marrow in size and appearance,
“kitoma,” a small, round kind, and “tikiti,” a small water-melon. It
will be observed that we did not lack variety.
We bought large quantities of m’wele, which our Swahilis at first
refused to eat: they said it was “chickens’ food.” They knew better
afterwards. We also procured some “mazewa” (fresh milk) for ourselves.
Food was comparatively cheap. A “makono” of cloth or a handful of beads
bought several “kibabas” of grain or beans. A kibaba equals about a
pint. The term “makono” (meaning, literally, a hand) is applied to the
measure of the forearm from the tip of the elbow to the end of the
second finger, generally about eighteen inches. Four makono equal one
“doti” (about two yards), and twenty-five yards or so make a “jora” or
“piece” of cloth.
The beads most in demand were the small red Masai beads known as
“sem-sem.” We did not part with any wire, as we wanted it for the
districts farther north.
George and I went out in the forenoon to try and shoot hippo in the
Sagana, which was only an hour’s walk from the camp. On reaching a
likely pool, I sat down on the bank to watch. George had turned very
sick again on the way, and laid down under a shady tree. I shot two
hippo in the water, but they sank, and though I sent men down the river
to watch the shallows, I never saw any more of them.
There were a lot of guinea-fowl about, so I sent back to camp for my
shot-gun. George was feeling so queer that he went back also. When my
gun arrived, I had a good time among the guinea-fowl, securing eight
in an hour or so. I also got a partridge, which turned up in a—for
it—inopportune moment.
When I got back to camp, I found that El Hakim had been highly
successful in his marketing, and had obtained a large quantity of food,
mostly mwele, muhindi, and some viazi. For our own consumption we had
laid in a stock of muhindi cobs, maragua beans, and some butter. The
butter was snow-white, but, being made from curdled milk, was very acid
and unpalatable.
The natives always drink their milk sour; they do not understand our
preference for fresh milk. Another thing that tends to make their milk
unpopular with European travellers is the dirty state of the vessels it
is kept in. They are made from gourds which have had the inside cleaned
out by the simple process of burning it out with hot ashes, which gives
the milk a nasty charred flavour. The finished milk vessel is called a
“kibuyu.” I have been told that they stir the freshly drawn milk with
a charred stick from the fire, to preserve it, but I never saw it
done. The Masai especially are very bad offenders in this respect. The
old women who milk the cows invariably wash out the empty vessels with
another fluid from the same animal, certainly never intended by nature
for that purpose. If the milk is intended for sale to the “wasungu”
(white men), it is more often than not adulterated in the same nauseous
manner.
We lunched on some of the guinea-fowl I had shot in the forenoon.
Ramathani somehow boiled them tender. Afterwards we held a “shaurie”
(council), at which old Manga and many of his elders attended. We
wanted all the information we could obtain about our road northward,
the districts we should have to pass through, and the position of the
various streams and camping-places.
We were smoking Egyptian cigarettes, a box of which we numbered among
our most precious possessions, and it was rather a nuisance to have to
pass a freshly lighted cigarette round the circle of natives squatted
in front of El Hakim’s tent for each to take a whiff. They could not
properly appreciate them, and it seemed to me very much like casting
pearls before swine. In addition, when the cigarette was returned,
the end was chewed about, and a good smoke thereby spoiled. If we lit
another, the same process was repeated. The native gentlemen called it
etiquette. I considered it downright sinful waste, an opinion in which
El Hakim evidently concurred, as, after we had had several cigarettes
spoiled in this provoking manner, he turned to me and said, “Get out
your box of ‘stinkers,’ Hardwick, and let’s try the old gentlemen with
those.”
I thought it was a splendid idea, so I brought out two of them, and,
lighting one myself, handed the other to old Manga. He glanced at it
suspiciously, turning it over and over in his grimy paws. He had
apparently never seen a cigar before, but seeing me smoking a similar
specimen, he at last ventured to light it. It seemed to grate on him a
little, but he said nothing, and puffed stolidly away for a moment or
two, though I could see his powers of self-control were being exerted
to the utmost. After a game struggle the cigar scored a distinct
success, and Manga, deliberately passing it on to the elder on his
right, rose slowly, and, stalking with great dignity out of camp,
disappeared behind a clump of bushes.
The old man to whom he handed it gazed wonderingly after him for a
moment, then, placing the fatal weed between his aged lips, he took a
long pull and inhaled the smoke. A startled look appeared in his dim
old eyes, and he threw a quick glance in my direction; but I was calmly
puffing away at mine, so _he_ said nothing either, and took another
whiff. In a few short moments he in his turn was vanquished, and,
handing the cigar to his next neighbour, retired with great dignity to
the clump of bushes, where he and old Manga offered up sacrifices to
the goddess Nicotina with an unanimity that was as surprising as it was
novel.
It was only with the very greatest difficulty that we managed to
control our risible faculties. We were inwardly convulsed with laughter
at the facial expressions of the old gentlemen before and after
tasting the fearsome weed. The looks of delighted, though timorous,
anticipation, the startled realization, and the agonized retrospection,
which in turn were portrayed on the usually blank and uninteresting
countenances of Manga’s Ministers of State, was a study in expression
that was simply killing. One by one they tasted it; one by one they
retired to the friendly clump of bushes that concealed their exaltation
from prying eyes; and one by one they returned red-eyed and shaky, and
resumed their places, inwardly quaking, though outwardly unmoved.
We also had to get up and go away, but not for the same purpose. If
we had not gone away and laughed, we should have had a fit or burst a
blood-vessel. It was altogether too rich. _We_ returned red-eyed and
weary also, and I believe that the old gentlemen thought that we had
been up to the same performance as themselves, though they could not
understand how I resumed my cigar on my reappearance, and continued
smoking with unruffled serenity. I made a point of finishing my smoke
to the last half-inch, and all through the “shaurie” that succeeded I
became aware that I was the recipient of covert glances of admiration,
not unmixed with envy, from the various members of that little band of
heroic sufferers in the cause of etiquette.
When the “shaurie” was at length resumed, we gained a lot of
interesting information. We found that the people who had attacked
Finlay and Gibbons were the Wa’M’bu, who live two days’ journey to the
north of Maranga, on the south-east slopes of Mount Kenia. They had
a very bad reputation. The Maranga people spoke of them with bated
breath, and remarked that they were “bad, very bad,” and that if we
went through their country we should certainly be killed.
Jamah Mahomet’s safari, numbering nearly 100 guns, had refused to go
through M’bu, and had turned off to the west from Maranga, to go round
the west side of Mount Kenia and thence northward to Limeru, as the
district north-east of Kenia is called by the Swahilis.
There are many different peoples between Maranga and M’thara, the most
northerly inhabited country, though they are all A’kikuyu in blood.
Beyond M’thara the desert stretches away to southern Somaliland and
Abyssinia, with Lake Rudolph in the foreground about twelve days’ march
north-west of M’thara.
The Maranga elders entreated us very urgently to go round west of Kenia
by the same route as Jamah Mahomet and Co., but we did not see things
in the same light at all. We were three white men with twenty-five
guns; and, as El Hakim observed, we were “not to be turned from our
path and our plans disarranged by a pack of howling savages, however
bad a reputation they might have”—a decision we conveyed to our Maranga
friends forthwith. They heard it with much raising of hands and rolling
of eyes, and clearly regarded us as persons of unsound mind, who
really ought to be kept in confinement; but still, they said, if we
were determined to court a premature end in M’bu, why, they would do
all in their power to help us—an ambiguity we indulgently excused in
consideration of the evident sincerity of their wish to advise us for
our good.
We were informed that all the people northward were “kali sana” (very
fierce), and we should do well to use the utmost precaution in passing
through the various districts—a piece of advice we did not intend to
disregard. To go round the other way meant quite a fortnight more on
the road to M’thara, in addition to which El Hakim was very anxious
to see Mount Kenia from the east side, as, indeed, were we all, as no
white men that we knew of had been round that way before. Perhaps the
fact that the Somalis funked the M’bu route had something to do with
our decision also.
We gathered what information we could of the topography of M’bu and
the adjacent countries, which afterwards proved exceedingly useful.
We packed up our goods and chattels, and made our preparations for
a start on the morrow. One of our men, Hamisi, had a severe attack
of dysentery, and we made arrangements with the old Manga to leave
him behind with enough cloth for his keep for some months. Manga’s
son Koranja and some of the old men signified their intention of
accompanying us part of the way. It appeared that for two days’ journey
we should be among friendly tribes. After that, the Wa’M’bu!
We started the following morning as soon as Koranja appeared. The
country was extraordinarily rich and fertile. The soil is bright red,
and produces, in conjunction with the constant moisture, a practically
unlimited food-supply. The ground was very hilly and well watered—too
well watered for our comfort. There were no large trees, but the
undergrowth was very rank and dense. We saw large quantities of the
castor-oil plant (_Ricinus communis_) growing wild. The natives press
the dark-coloured oil from the seeds and smear their bodies with it.
Several times on that morning’s march we saw Koranja, who was leading,
dart hurriedly to one side, and, leaving the path, plunge into the
undergrowth, making a devious détour round something, followed, of
course, by the safari. We asked the reason of his strange conduct,
and the answer more than satisfied us. It was the single word “ndui”
(small-pox). We passed quite half a dozen villages which were entirely
depopulated by the scourge. Now and again we saw a solitary emaciated
figure, covered with small-pox pustules, crouching on the side of the
path, watching us with an uninterested and vacant stare. On a shout
from Koranja and a threatening motion of his spear, it would slink
mournfully away into the deeper recesses of the jungle.
We reached a small clearing about midday, and camped. We were unable
to build a boma round the camp, owing to the absence of thorn trees,
or any reliable substitute; so that we were in a measure defenceless
against a sudden attack. Large numbers of armed natives soon put in
appearance, and swaggered in and out with great freedom, and even
insolence. We cleared them out politely, but firmly, and they then
congregated outside and discussed us. They talked peacefully enough,
but it was more like the peaceful singing of a kettle before it boils
over. We ate our lunch, and retired to our tents. George and I went
to our own tent, and, taking off our boots, laid down on our blankets
for a quiet smoke. Our men seemed very much upset by the stories they
had heard in Maranga concerning the warlike qualities of the Wa’M’bu,
and their condition could only be described as “jumpy.” To put it
plainly, they were in a pitiable state of fright, and needed careful
handling, if we were to avoid trouble with the natives through their
indiscretion; as trouble would come quite soon enough of its own accord
without that.
[Illustration: GROUP OF A’KIKUYU.]
To resume, George and I had lain down, perhaps, half an hour, and were
quite comfortable and half asleep, when a terrific altercation caused
us to jump up and rush outside. We were just in time to assist El Hakim
in forcibly disarming our men. Some of them were placing cartridges in
the breeches of their rifles; a few yards away a vast crowd of natives
were frantically brandishing their spears and clubs and yelling like
demons. If a shot had been fired, we should have been in rather a tight
place, for, as I have said, the camp was quite open, and practically
defenceless. If the A’kikuyu had rushed us, then the chances are that
another fatality would have been added to Africa’s already long
list. As it was, by much shouting and punching, we induced our excited
and frightened men to put down their weapons in time, and so regained
control over them.
Koranja, shaking visibly, went up to the Kikuyu chief and smoothed
matters down, after which mutual explanations ensued. It appeared that
an M’kikuyu warrior had indulged too freely in “tembo” (native beer),
and had run amuck through our camp. Our men, in their already fidgety
state, jumped to the conclusion that they were being attacked, seized
their rifles, and were about to use them, when our timely appearance on
the scene prevented a very pretty butchery. The natives professed to be
very sorry for what had occurred, and, seizing their drunken companion,
hurried him away, and peace, if not harmony, was restored.
We did not trust them, however, as they seemed very sullen over the
whole business. Koranja was also very nervous, and showed it, which
did not tend to reassure our men. We ate our dinner at dusk, to the
accompaniment of howling and shouting from A’kikuyu concealed in the
surrounding bush. We doubled the guard at sundown, just before we went
to dinner, giving them the most precise instructions in the event of
an alarm. At the conclusion of the meal we were startled by a volley
from the sentries. The whole camp was immediately alarmed, and symptoms
of a panic manifested themselves. We restored order with a little
difficulty, and, on investigation, found that the sentries had fired on
some natives skulking round in undue proximity to the camp.
We now made every preparation for attack, and made arrangements for one
or the other of us to be on guard all night. I took the first watch
from 8 p.m. to 10 p.m., and El Hakim the second from 10 p.m. to 12
a.m.; but everything remained quiet, and El Hakim did not think it
necessary to call George at midnight, the rest of the night proving
uneventful, with the exception that our fox-terrier gave birth to six
puppies, of which she seemed very proud.
At daylight we struck camp, and were away before the sun was fairly
up. The country was much the same as on the day before, though, if
anything, the jungle was more dense. The shambas were filled to
overflowing with unripe muhindi and pumpkins, while sweet potatoes and
beans were growing in great profusion on every side. Travelling in the
early morning was decidedly unpleasant, as the dew collected on the
shrubbery was shaken down upon us in showers, wetting us through to the
skin. We crossed two or three small rivers, and at midday reached and
camped at a place called Materu.
The chief soon put in an appearance, and we purchased a further supply
of food, in the shape of potatoes, beans, muhindi, and a little honey.
We also obtained further information of the road through the notorious
M’bu country which, I must confess, did not seem to have any better
reputation the nearer we approached it.
Our Maranga friends, under Koranja, appeared very frightened at their
close proximity to the dreaded Wa’M’bu, and intimated their intention
of returning to Maranga. We answered that they might go when we gave
them permission, but for the present we required their services; with
which answer they had perforce to be content.
The next morning we again travelled through much the same densely
populated and cultivated country as that hitherto passed, though it
seemed to get more mountainous. We had not as yet got a view of Mount
Kenia, as the sky had been for days covered with a thick curtain of
grey clouds. Koranja informed us that two hours after starting we
should reach a river called “Shelangow,” which was the boundary of
M’bu. We said the sooner the better.
At midday, after some hours’ steady march, we appeared to be as far
from the “Shelangow” as ever, though we had been informed that it was
“huko mbeli kidogo” (only just in front) for over three hours. As the
men were very tired, El Hakim decided to camp, in spite of Koranja’s
energetic protests that the Shelangow was “karibu kabissa” (very near).
The country was very wet with the constant drizzle and mist, which made
the steep clayey paths exceedingly slippery, while between the shambas
the way led through thickets of brambles and stinging nettles, which
caused the porters endless discomfort. On halting, we built a boma
of shrubs; not that we thought it would be of any use in case of an
attack, but to give the men confidence. We wrote letters and gave them
to Koranja, on the remote chance that they would get down to Nairobi,
and thence to England. (They did get down four months later, and were
delivered in England five months after they were written.)
In the evening Koranja and his friends then bade us an affectionate
and relieved farewell. They remarked in parenthesis that they would
never see us again, as the Wa’M’bu would certainly kill us all; a
belief that probably explained why they helped themselves to all our
small private stock of sweet potatoes before they left; a moral lapse
that—luckily for them—we did not discover till next morning. Our men
sent a deputation to us during the evening, pointing out the perils of
the passage through M’bu, and saying that we should of a certainty be
killed, and most likely eaten. This statement we received with polite
incredulity, and dismissed the deputation with a warning not to do it
again.
Next morning I was very queer, a large lump having formed in my groin.
This is a very common complaint in East Africa and Uganda, supposedly
due to over-fatigue and walking, though I think climate and diet have
something to do with it. George had two very bad ones on his way down
from Uganda. It was my second experience of them, and the oftener I
suffered from them, the less I liked them, as they are exceedingly
painful. The only cure seems to be complete rest, and hot fomentations
applied to the swelling.
We did not travel that day in consequence, but occupied ourselves in
buying a little food and getting what further information we could
about the road ahead. There were not many natives or villages about—a
fact easily explained by the contiguity of the M’bu border. The place
where we were camped was a sort of neutral territory, or “no man’s
land.”
Next day, soon after daylight, we set out for the Shelangow, which was
reached after a couple of hours’ march over very steep country. It
proved to be merely a mountain torrent, which we easily crossed. On the
other side rose a very steep hill, to the top of which we climbed, and
found ourselves at last in the country of the dreaded Wa’M’bu.
CHAPTER IV.
_FROM M’BU, ACROSS EAST KENIA, TO ZURA._
First sight of Kenia—Hostile demonstrations by the M’bu people—We
impress two guides—Passage through M’bu—Demonstrations in force
by the inhabitants—Farewell to M’bu—The guides desert—Arrival
in Zuka—Friendly reception by the Wa’zuka—Passage through
Zuka—Muimbe—Igani—Moravi—Arrival at Zura—Welcome by Dirito, the chief
of Zura.
In order that there should be no misunderstanding on the part of the
Wa’M’bu as to our calibre, El Hakim determined to pursue an aggressive
policy, without, however, committing any overt act. We accordingly
pitched our camp in the middle of one of their shambas, and helped
ourselves freely to anything we fancied in the way of muhindi, etc.
Their natural line of reasoning would be that a safari which had
the effrontery to act in that way must be very powerful, and should
therefore be approached with caution.
The result entirely justified our action; which was only what we
expected, as with bullying natives, might is _always_ right.
No natives came into our camp—a bad sign, though we saw many skulking
round in the bush. They seemed very morose and sulky, but so far showed
no signs of active hostility. We put on a double guard for the night,
and went to sleep in our clothes; but we were not disturbed.
We did not travel the following morning, as we were without guides; and
as no natives came into camp we resolved to capture one on the first
available opportunity. At sunrise we got our first glimpse of Mount
Kenia, and a wonderful view it was. Kenia is called “Kilimaro” by the
Swahilis, and “Donyo Ebor” (Black Mountain) and “Donyo Egere” (Spotted
Mountain) by the Masai; so called because of the large black patches
on the main peak, where the sides are too precipitous for the snow to
lodge.
Thompson[2] describes his first impressions of Kenia thus:—
“As pious Moslems watch with strained eyes the appearance of the new
moon or the setting of the sun, to begin their orisons, so we now
waited for the uplifting of the fleecy veil, to render due homage to
the heaven-piercing Kenia. The sun set in the western heavens, and
sorrowfully we were about to turn away, when suddenly there was a break
in the clouds far up in the sky, and the next moment a dazzling white
pinnacle caught the last rays of the sun, and shone with a beauty,
marvellous, spirit-like, and divine; cut off, as it apparently was, by
immeasurable distance from all connection with the gross earth. The
sun’s rays went off, and then, with a softness like the atmosphere
of dreams, which befitted the gloaming, that white peak remained as
though some fair spirit with subdued and chastened expression lingered
at her evening devotions. Presently, as the garish light of day melted
into the soft hues and mild effulgence of a moon-lit night, the
‘heaven-kissing’ mountain became gradually disrobed; and then in its
severe outlines and chaste beauty it stood forth from top to bottom,
entrancing, awe-inspiring—meet reward for days of maddening worry and
nights of sleepless anxiety. At that moment I could almost feel that
Kenia was to me what the sacred stone of Mecca is to the Faithful, who
have wandered from distant lands, surmounting perils and hardships,
that they might but kiss or see the hallowed object, and then, if it
were God’s will, die.”
While I am unable to rise to the dizzy heights of rhetorical
description, or revel in the boundless fields of metaphor so
successfully exploited by Mr. Thompson, I fully endorse his remarks.
The first sight of Kenia does produce a remarkable impression on the
traveller; an impression which does not—one is surprised to find—wear
off with time. Kenia, like a clever woman, is chary of exhibiting her
manifold charms too often to the vulgar gaze. One can live at the base
of the mountain for weeks, or even months, and never get a glimpse of
its magnificent peak.
We, however, could not stop to romance, as the enemy were even now
clamouring without our gates; and we were reluctantly compelled to turn
our wandering attention to a more serious business. It appeared quite
within the bounds of possibility that we should “die” without even
“kissing” the “hallowed object” so ably eulogized by Mr. Thompson; as
the irreverent Wa’M’bu were making hostile demonstrations in the thick
bush surrounding our camp, regardless of our æsthetic yearnings. They
were apparently trying our temper by means of a demonstration in force,
and such awful howlings as they made I never previously heard.
Our men became very nervous, and fidgeted constantly with their guns,
looking with strained gaze into the bush without the camp. El Hakim
was, as usual, quite undisturbed, and George and I succeeded in
keeping up an appearance of impassive calm, and condescended even to
make jokes about the noise, an attitude which went a long way towards
reassuring our men, who watched us constantly. Any sign of nervousness
or anxiety on our part would have been fatal, as the men would have
instantly scattered and run for the border, with a result easily
foreseen.
The morning passed in this manner, the Wa’M’bu continuing their
howling, while we went through our ordinary camp routine with as much
nonchalance as we could command.
We had lately lived largely upon vegetables, and now determined to give
ourselves a treat, so we cooked our only ham, and made an excellent
lunch on ham and boiled muhindi cobs. During the meal the war-cries of
the Wa’M’bu increased in volume, and our men were plainly very much
disturbed. They kept looking in our direction as if for orders; while
we appeared as if utterly unaware that anything untoward was happening.
Presently Jumbi came up with his rifle at the shoulder, and saluting,
stood a yard or so away from the table. El Hakim was busily eating, and
studiously ignored him for a moment or two. Presently he looked up.
“Yes?” he said inquiringly.
Jumbi saluted again. “The ‘Washenzi,’ Bwana!” said he.
“Well?” interrogated El Hakim again.
“They are coming to attack us, Bwana, on this side and on that side,”
said Jumbi, indicating with a sweep of his arm the front and rear of
the camp.
“All right,” said El Hakim, “I will see about it after lunch; I am
eating now. You can go.”
And Jumbi, saluting once more, went off to where the men were nervously
waiting. His account of the interview, we could see, reassured them
greatly. They concluded the “Wasungu” must have something good up their
sleeve to be able to take matters so calmly.
At the conclusion of the meal we instructed our men to shout to the
enemy and ask them as insolently as possible if they wanted to fight.
There was a sudden silence on the part of the Wa’M’bu when they
realized the purport of the words; but in a little time a single voice
answered, “Kutire kimandaga” (We do not want to fight). We then invited
their chief to come into camp, an invitation he seemed very slow to
accept, but after long hesitation he mustered up sufficient courage,
and walked slowly into camp, accompanied by one other old man.
He was a fine-looking, grey-haired old chap, and carried himself with
great dignity. Negotiations were opened with a few strings of beads,
which after a moment’s indecision he accepted. We then talked to him
gently, but firmly, and asked the reason of the unseemly noise outside.
“Do you want to fight?” we asked aggressively.
He replied that the _old_ men did not want to fight, but the _young_
men did.
“Very well,” we said, still more aggressively, “go away and tell the
young men to come on and fight us at once, and let us get it over.”
He then added that the young men did not want to fight either.
This was our opportunity, and, seizing it, we talked very severely to
him, intimating that we were much annoyed at the noise that had been
made. We did not consider it at all friendly, we said, and if there
were any more of it, we should not wait for the young men to come to
us, we should go to them and put a stop to their howling.
He appeared much impressed, and after a while returned to his people,
and evidently delivered our message, as shortly afterwards the howling
ceased.
We mustered the men in the afternoon, and inspected their arms and
ammunition, as we were not at all trustful of the Wa’M’bu. We trebled
the guards during the night, but contrary to expectation, everything
remained quiet.
Early on the following morning the two old gentlemen returned to camp,
and we immediately made them prisoners, informing them that they were
now in our service, _pro tem._, as guides, and if they played us false
they would be instantly shot. Our object, we told them, was to get
through their country as safely and as expeditiously as possible, and
it rested with themselves whether our object was accomplished without
inconvenience to the inhabitants.
They both protested earnestly that they were our friends; so at 9 a.m.,
having struck camp, we commenced what, by the general indications, bade
fair to prove the crucial march of the safari.
The country was very rugged, and most densely cultivated. M’bu seemed
to be prodigiously rich in food. We saw thousands of acres planted
with muhindi, stretching as far as the eye could reach. There were
no boundaries between the shambas. It occurred to us that perhaps
the Wa’M’bu, unlike the other tribes of A’kikuyu, owned the ground
in common, but we had no opportunity of deciding this point, as the
Wa’M’bu did not appear to us to encourage any degree of intimacy.
Indeed, soon after the start we had proofs that they meant to make
matters lively for us _en route_.
When we left camp, El Hakim with one guide took the head of the
column, and George and I brought up the rear with the other. At every
cross-path great crowds of warriors, fully armed, watched our passage
in ominous silence. As soon as we passed they closed in on our rear and
followed at a distance of two or three hundred yards, their numbers
being continually augmented by other bodies who joined them on the
road. The path lay through narrow valleys, and on the heights on each
side were more bodies of natives who shouted at us, and informed us in
a most insulting manner that they were coming to kill us. They really
did seem inclined to try conclusions with us, and things looked very
nasty for a time, whilst we needed all our wits about us to preserve
some sort of discipline among our men.
George and I especially had a very difficult task in the rear, when
crossing the small rivers, or spruits, of which there were many in
the road. It was no easy task to keep off the armed bands of natives
simply by moral force, without firing a shot, whilst we unloaded the
refractory donkeys, and half pushed half dragged them unwillingly
across a rocky little stream, and loaded again on the other side. In
the meantime, in consequence of the delay, the main safari would have
moved on and left George and myself alone with the six donkeys and as
many men, and with something over three or four hundred aggressive
Wa’M’bu within two hundred yards trying to make up their minds to
attack us.
At such times George and I, leaving Jumbi to get the donkeys across,
would face round with our rifles at the ready, and direct our reluctant
guide to inform his bloodthirsty friends that if they came a step
nearer the Wa’sungu would slay them with their guns. Our determined
attitude, no doubt, prevented an actual collision, but we had an
exceedingly anxious time, being within measurable distance of a
violent death on several occasions during that memorable march. If we
had relaxed our vigilance for one single instant we should undoubtedly
have been attacked, and at a tremendous disadvantage. It could only
have had one ending—an ending which would have effectually prevented
this description being penned. I am still undecided as to the reason
why we accomplished that march without a fracas. The Wa’M’bu, being
a numerous and _united_ people, are, therefore, very dangerous to
tackle in their mountain fastnesses. The weak spot in most of the other
tribes of that region is the fact that they are ruled by numerous petty
chiefs, and have no cohesion and consequently no real strength.
El Hakim had no inconsiderable task in the van of the safari, as he
had to keep his eye upon the other guide in order to prevent him from
leading us into an ambush, and had also to verify his course by compass.
This nerve-wearying march lasted till sundown, when we reached a
partially cleared shamba on the crest of a rounded hill, and pitched
our camp. There were no materials for a boma, so that we were obliged
to depend for safety during the night on constant watchfulness. We
trebled the sentries, and slept in our clothes, keeping our weapons
within easy reach; but we were not disturbed.
I do not think the Wa’M’bu quite understood us. We played a game of
pure bluff throughout, and, strange to say, it answered perfectly,
though personally I have no wish to repeat the experience—at least,
not without a much larger quantity of ammunition than we then carried.
They were strong enough to have utterly annihilated us, though no doubt
they would have suffered in the process; and it speaks well for the
prestige of the white man that we three were able to pass unharmed
through the most difficult part of their country, literally surrounded
by thousands of their fighting men. Our forty men did not count for
much in the eyes of the Wa’M’bu, as they knew them to be natives like
themselves, and comparatively easily disposed of in spite of their guns.
After pitching our camp we interrogated the two guides, and found that
another hour’s march would take us out of M’bu altogether, and into
another country called Zuka, with the inhabitants of which the Wa’M’bu
were at enmity.
As we were not pining for the further company of the Wa’M’bu, we were
up and moving before daylight on the following morning. In these cold
misty highlands the natives do not turn out till the sun is well up,
so that by starting early we were perfectly safe from their unwelcome
attentions, and were over the border before they realized that we had
departed hence.
To our disgust, we found that one of the two guides had managed to
escape during the night; but we kept tight hold of the other, who was
presently joined by another of his friends, so that we still felt
safe about the road. After a difficult tramp, lasting over two hours,
through thick jungle, we unexpectedly emerged on the edge of a vast
ravine, one of the largest I have seen round Mount Kenia. It must have
been several hundred feet deep, and perhaps half a mile across. The
sides sloped sharply down at an angle of 120°, so that descent was
quite impossible. One could fancy from its appearance that it had been
cut clean into the lower slope of Kenia by a Titanic sword-stroke. At
the bottom was the foaming torrent which served as the boundary between
M’bu and Zuka.
Having learned from the guides that further down the river there was a
place where we should be able to cross, we resumed our march in that
direction, and, forcing our way through the jungle, skirted the crest
of the ravine until we found the crossing. Though the sides of the
ravine were still terribly steep, we scrambled down somehow, and at the
bottom found a rude bridge thrown across the stream. It was simply a
tree-trunk, but with a little care the whole party got safely to the
other side. The animals we swam across, first taking the precaution to
tie a rope round their necks. We then pulled them over to the other
bank, and landed them safely, unappreciative perhaps, but alive and
most certainly kicking.
As it was then about ten o’clock, we sat down and breakfasted, passing
the time of day with a small crowd of Wa’M’bu, who had by this time
collected on the slope on the side of the ravine we had just quitted.
At eleven o’clock we resumed the march. If the jungle in M’bu was bad,
this side of the ravine was ten times worse, being one impenetrable
wall of vegetation. The heat at the bottom was terrific, and we all
felt its effects severely. Palms grew on every side, intermingled
with giant forest trees, which were in their turn covered with exotic
creepers, orchids, and climbing plants, thickly interlaced with
rattans, which formed a solid wall extending right up to the summit of
the ridge.
Our two guides now went on strike. They demanded to be released, as
they declared that they would be killed on sight by the Wa’zuka. We
offered to protect them from such an untimely fate if they led us
safely to the top of the ridge; and we promised to send an escort back
with them to M’bu. They seemed satisfied, and were permitted to go in
front to find a path. A moment later there was a rush and a scuffle,
and then dead silence. George and I hurried up, and found El Hakim
swearing softly to himself over their sudden disappearance. It seemed
that they had suddenly slipped round a tree-trunk, and vanished before
anybody knew what had happened.
We looked blankly at each other, and wondered how on earth we were
going to reach the top. However, wondering would not transport us
there, so we called up two or three men with axes and knives, and set
them to cut a path. In a few moments they discovered the remains of
an old path, which was so overgrown as to be almost obliterated. In
places it had been deliberately blocked up with tree-trunks and logs,
evidently by the Wa’zuka, as a defence against raids by their warlike
neighbours, which defensive preparations certainly gave us a vast
amount of trouble.
Upwards we toiled in the broiling heat, streaming and half blinded
with perspiration. After two hours’ hard work we had climbed about a
third of the way up, and reached a little open space a few feet square,
where, tired out, we sat down to rest, while some of the men were sent
on to search for a path. All egress, however, was barred by heavy logs
and trees. We then formed a working party with axes, and set them to
cut a way through, while we had fires kindled and partook of a little
food.
In an hour or so we heard glad shouts from our men, mingled with the
vigorous blows of their axes; and then the voices of natives shouting
encouragingly to them. We went to see what was happening, and found
that the Wa’zuka had become aware of our presence, and, being also at
enmity with the Wa’M’bu, were for that reason welcoming us warmly. They
came down to us, and assisted our men to demolish the barricades, the
path, by their aid, being soon cleared.
We resumed the march, and after another half-hour’s upward toil
reached the top. Several times on the way up we passed mouldering
corpses of a party of Wa’M’bu, who had made an ill-advised attempt at
raiding some days before.
When we arrived at the top a scene of wonderful beauty lay spread out
before our eyes, glowing red in the rays of the setting sun. Gently
rolling uplands, covered with smiling plantations of muhindi and
sugar-cane, dotted with the figures of women and children completing
their daily task, stretched as far as the eye could see. The valleys
between were already in twilight, and slowly filling up with the thin
grey mist that envelopes these highlands at sunset, there remaining
till the advent of the sun on the morrow.
The scene seemed so peaceful and still that I became absorbed in
contemplation of its beauties as we strode along. Presently I kicked
something as I walked, and, looking carelessly down, started and
shuddered as a mutilated human head rolled out of my path. A glance
round, and an unmistakable odour, showed me a little pile of corpses,
partially devoured by the vultures and hyænas, which lay in the corner
of the little plantation we were crossing, relics of the aforesaid
Wa’M’bu raiders. A few yards away from the putrefying heap a group of
women, with babies strapped to their bent backs, were planting beans
and weeding their gardens, assisted by the elder children; while the
younger ones played and prattled among the dirt, unconscious of the
tragedy a yard or two away. It was a striking object-lesson of the
native’s callous disregard of the presence of death.
[Illustration: GROUP OF A’KIKUYU WOMEN.]
At sunset the friendly Wa’zuka conducted us to a camping-place, and
some of the elders brought us presents of sugar-cane and bunches of
green bananas, which were divided among our men. The sugar-cane was
excellent, and George and I consumed quite a large quantity. Before
leaving they promised to send us a guide by the first thing in the
morning.
I fancy the Wa’zuka, though they were so friendly, were anxious to pass
us along to the next district as quickly as possible, and so be rid of
us. They evidently did not trust us, and, in fact, regarded us with not
a little fear, as, having passed through M’bu without being hurt, they
naturally concluded that we must be very strong indeed, and that it was
advisable to treat us with due respect, which, after all, is the proper
frame of mind for a native. The knowledge of our security gave us a
better night’s rest than we had enjoyed for some time.
As the promised guide had not made his appearance at seven o’clock
next morning, we set out without him, and of course lost ourselves
in consequence. The path we followed wound in and out of extensive
plantations of sugar-cane, and eventually brought us to the edge of
another of the vast ravines that radiate from their common centre,
Mount Kenia. It was much too steep to descend, and we were forced to
retrace our steps. We were now overtaken by our dilatory guide, who
led us by a good path in a more north-westerly direction. We spent the
morning dodging in and out of the plantations of sugar-cane, muhindi,
and m’wele. As the sugar-cane was just ripe, and of good size and
splendid quality, George and I and the men quite enjoyed ourselves.
Large areas of the country were given up to the cultivation of bananas,
but the fruit was as yet green and hard.
Late in the afternoon our guide informed us that we were now out of
Zuka and on the border of the Imbe country. He further remarked that
the Wa’Imbe were “very bad people,” and would be sure to make things
uncomfortable for us. The prospect did not alarm us, however, as,
after our experience in M’bu, we considered ourselves equal to any
little tribe thereabouts; so we dismissed our guide with a present.
We had been vegetarians for a couple of days, so that when I shot a
partridge, while the tents were being pitched, the addition to our
larder was greatly appreciated, though one small bird between three
hungry men does not go very far.
On the following morning we packed up, and, having consulted our
compass, cast about for a path. A faint track was soon found leading
approximately in the direction we wished to travel. For some hours we
followed it over very rough gravelly and rocky country, with here and
there outcrops of white quartz.
Late in the afternoon we came to a deep, swift stream, rushing
tumultuously between grey granite walls, as perpendicular and smooth
as a dock-wall. This narrow gorge was spanned by a rude bridge,
consisting of three rough—very rough—hewn planks. El Hakim was ahead,
and dismounting, walked across leading his mule. Halfway across the
mule slipped and fell, and in endeavouring to recover herself, slipped
again, and finally plunged with a terrific splash into the stream
20 feet below. She turned over as she fell and struck her back on a
projecting knob on the cliff wall. Fortunately, the saddle saved her
back from being broken, though the saddle itself was badly ripped. She
disappeared beneath the surface, and remained under for some time. We
feared she was drowned, but presently she rose to the surface, shaking
her head in a very disgusted manner, and started swimming bravely
against the current. One or two of the men jumped off the bridge and
joined her, and succeeded in turning her head down-stream; and about
half an hour later they turned up with her quite unharmed. They had
swum down-stream till they found a ford, where they had scrambled
ashore. The rest of the animals were sent down to the ford, and were
got across without difficulty. There was a large hill with a flat
summit a few hundred yards away, and we camped on the top.
The day had been exceedingly hot and dry, and we found that all the
puppies, except one, that were born in Maranga were dead. The man who
carried the bucket containing them had put his blanket over the top
to keep the sun from them, and they had been suffocated. Their mother
however did not seem to be much concerned.
We saw a lot of natives hanging about on the adjacent heights, but did
not encourage them to come any nearer, bearing in mind the warning of
our Zuka guide. We were now fairly in the Imbe country, and the next
day would decide whether they were inclined to be friendly or otherwise.
The next morning on resuming the march the character of the country
again changed. The quartz boulders and gravelly stretches gave place
to pretty woodland scenery. Lovely stretches of greensward occurred
at intervals, dotted with stately trees. Magnificent baobabs and tall
sycamores (Egyptian fig) were numerous. The sycamores are called by the
Swahilis “Mikuyu.” Unfortunately, they were not in fruit. It was quite
refreshing to see the smooth green grass dotted with the gigantic stems
of the baobabs, which gave us the idea of being in some beautiful park.
Presently we encountered some of the Wa’Imbe headed by their chief,
who, to our astonishment, welcomed us most ostentatiously. They
insisted on helping our men to carry their loads, and on learning that
we wished to camp, the chief pointed out an open space that appeared
to be the market-place. Our tents accordingly were pitched beneath
the grateful shade of a group of sycamores, and we made ourselves as
comfortable as possible, inwardly wondering what prompted this more
than usually friendly attitude.
After we had eaten we held a “shaurie,” and the mystery was explained.
It appeared that some three months before, the Wa’Igani, who are the
neighbours of the Wa’Imbe on the north, arose in their might and smote
the Wa’Imbe sorely, spoiling them of many sheep. The Wa’Imbe were not
strong enough or not courageous enough to make reprisals, and hailed
our arrival with great joy as possible avengers. They calmly proposed
that we should accompany them, attack the Wa’Igani, and recover their
lost property, and incidentally anything else we could lay our hands on
that was worth annexing. We dismissed them with a diplomatic answer to
the effect that we would consider the matter.
That night I felt very queer and feverish, and turned in early. I got
no sleep, and when we started off early the following morning I was
very ill indeed. I had great difficulty in sitting on the mule, while
my eyes were so affected that I was hardly able to see. We traversed
much the same country as on the day before, but being only half
conscious, I did not take much interest in the scenery. El Hakim had a
touch of fever also, and in consequence we made a comparatively short
march, and halted and camped at midday. I went to bed immediately,
and the rest of the day was a blank as far as I was concerned. The
following morning I was too ill to move, and so the day was passed
quietly in camp. I grew better towards evening, and went outside and
lay in a blanket on the grass under a baobab tree.
The Wa’Imbe chief made us a present of a sheep, which was very
acceptable, as, with the exception of that solitary partridge in Zuka,
we had had no fresh meat for six days.
The next day, though very sick and dizzy, I was so much better that we
resumed our march, and travelled for three hours, when we halted and
breakfasted. After an hour’s rest we went on again. At four o’clock
in the afternoon we discovered that we were in Igani. We saw natives
hurrying hither and thither among their shambas, but though they were
rather noisy, they showed no signs of open hostility. When we camped
they came and visited us in large numbers. Once in our camp they
appeared rather more ready to quarrel, and made a deal of noise; so
much so that we were compelled to use force to clear the camp, our men
belabouring them soundly with the butts of their rifles, which had a
very salutary effect, as they at once grew much more respectful and
well behaved. They went away, and returned later with some bunches of
green bananas and a jar of very fair honey as a present. They came
back early the next morning with a sheep, and desired to make “muma”
(blood-brotherhood) with us; an honour we declined for the present,
apparently to their great disappointment.
We then departed, and travelling rapidly, shook the dust of Igani from
our feet. The next little kingdom on our route was Moravi, which we
crossed in an hour or two, and finally entered Zura, where El Hakim was
well known. We were now in the Limeru district, which comprises the
whole of North-East Kenia, and contains numerous small districts, each
ruled over by its petty chief. In the immediate vicinity of Zura are
G’nainu, N’dakura, Munithu, Katheri, and Karanjui. To the north-east
lay the Jombeni mountains, which are inhabited by the Wa’Embe. Between
the Jombeni mountains and Karanjui was a small range of hills called
variously “Chanjai” or “Janjai,” and between Chanjai and Embe resided
the Wa’Mthara.
The destinies of Zura were presided over by a Masai named “Dirito,”
who was a great friend of El Hakim’s. He had even then some cattle
belonging to El Hakim in his charge. We were presently met by Dirito
himself, a fine-looking man with a good reputation as a fighter, who
appeared very pleased to see us, and welcomed us warmly. We camped just
outside his village, which was surrounded by a very strong stockade,
and soon afterwards he brought us a quantity of honey and some milk for
our refreshment.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] “Through Masai Land,” by Joseph Thompson, F.R.G.S., p. 222.
CHAPTER V.
_ZURA TO M’THARA, AND A VISIT TO EMBE._
The Somalis suffer a reverse in Embe—We reach Munithu—Karanjui—El
Hakim’s disagreement with the Tomori people—Arrival at
M’thara—N’Dominuki—Arrival of the Somalis—A war “shauri”—We combine to
punish the Wa’embe, but are defeated—Death of Jamah Mahomet—Murder of
N’Dominuki’s nephew by Ismail—Return to camp.
In the afternoon Dirito came over to our tent to discuss the “habari”
(news). Among other things he told us that the Somalis under Jamah
Mahomet had arrived at Munithu, an hour’s march distant; that the
smaller safari under Noor Adam had arrived some days before the big
one; that Noor Adam had been attacked in Embe, and had had many of his
men killed, and that the combined Somali safaris were now contemplating
reprisals.
As I was still very shaky and weak from my attack of fever, I remained
in camp next morning, but El Hakim and George rode over to Munithu to
interview the Somalis and verify the news we had heard. They returned
in the afternoon, having seen Jamah Mahomet and discovered the truth of
what had occurred in Embe. It appeared that the smaller safari, which
consisted of about thirty porters under Noor Adam, Bhotan, and Abdallah
Arahalli, reached Limeru a few days before the other. They bought
what food they required, and then went on to Embe. They were, by all
accounts, welcomed by the Wa’Embe, who even made blood-brotherhood
with them. The next night without warning their camp was treacherously
rushed by a large force of the Wa’Embe, some of their cattle and trade
goods being looted, and nine of their men killed outright. They managed
to make good their retreat with the remainder of their caravan, and at
Munithu met Jamah Mahomet and his party coming up. They asked their
assistance, and Jamah Mahomet, having somehow received news of our
approach, advised them that El Hakim and the other two Wasungu would
be at Munithu in a few days, and suggested that they should wait and
consult them, so they had waited. El Hakim heard their account of the
affair, and after promising to consider the matter, he and George
returned to Zura.
After breakfast the following morning we moved bag and baggage over
to Munithu, where we were well received by the chief, old grey-headed
Bei-Munithu, an old friend and ally of El Hakim’s. The Somalis had
started the same morning for M’thara, so we did not see them. We
lunched just outside Bei-Munithu’s village, conversing meanwhile with
the old rascal. He brought us some splendid thorn honey. It had a
very pleasant acid taste, which we much appreciated. Munithu is about
5000 feet above sea-level, the climate being very moist and warm,
though cold at night. Bei-Munithu had a large quantity of trade goods
belonging to El Hakim stored at his village, over forty loads in fact,
besides two or three dozen head of cattle and some donkeys.
After lunch we started for Karanjui, which is a sort of halfway camp
to M’thara. In an hour or so we reached the forest that stretches in
one unbroken belt right round Kenia. It was almost impenetrable,
but fortunately El Hakim, on a former expedition, had cut a path
through it, which we now followed. It was a weird and gloomy-looking
forest, the trees being twisted and tangled in every direction with
out-spreading branches which, growing low down, made riding impossible.
One would look in vain for a straight tree-trunk or branch. Nature had
apparently amused herself by twisting them into all sorts of curious
and fantastic shapes. The men crept through with silent footsteps, and
only the rattle of a rifle or the feeble twitter of a solitary bird
broke the intense stillness of the semi-twilight. On the way I noticed
some black-and-white hornbills. Presently we reached Karanjui, an oval
depression in the ground, perhaps 700 yards long and 500 yards wide,
and perfectly clear of trees. In the rainy season it is swampy, but at
the time of our visit it was quite dry except for a pool at one end,
and covered with coarse grass. All round it and beyond stretched the
silent forest. Here we camped for the night.
Near Karanjui live the Tomori people, with whom El Hakim had had a
difference of opinion some months before. After our evening meal we
persuaded El Hakim to tell us the yarn. Briefly it was as follows:—
Travelling from Munithu to M’thara, he was passing through the forest
belt, intending to camp at Karanjui. On his arrival there he found
that two of his porters were missing. He thereupon sent his head-man
and some other porters back into the forest to look for them. They
returned an hour or two later with the mutilated bodies of the missing
men, which were perforated all over with spear-wounds and also horribly
hacked and chopped about with “simes” (native swords). Their loads
had disappeared altogether. El Hakim gave directions for the safari
to go on with their camping arrangements, and, selecting four men,
immediately set out for the village of the Tomori chief. Arrived there,
he stood outside and summoned him. That worthy soon swaggered out,
accompanied by fifty or sixty warriors as a bodyguard, and insolently
demanded the M’sungu’s business. El Hakim, through his interpreter,
quietly stated his grievance, and asked that the young men who had
murdered his servants should be given up to him for punishment; also
that his missing trade goods should be restored. The chief laughed in
his face, and turning to his admiring followers, derisively repeated
the M’sungu’s demand, which was received by a shout of laughter,
accompanied by threatening gestures in El Hakim’s direction. The
chief again turned to him, and in a most insolent manner, shaking
his spear, bade him begone, accompanying his words with contemptuous
gestures. El Hakim never moved a hair, but quietly repeated his demand,
adding that if the murderers were not given up he would hold the
chief personally responsible and deal with him accordingly. When this
warning was interpreted to him, the chief worked himself into a rage
and proceeded to violently harangue his warriors. Suddenly he turned
and, with uplifted spear, made a rush at El Hakim, who forthwith shot
him. His four men simultaneously poured a volley into the excited
crowd of warriors, who immediately fled to the shelter of the village,
from which point of vantage they peppered El Hakim and his escort with
poisoned arrows. Walking round to the back of the village, El Hakim
discovered his missing loads at the foot of a tree, where they had been
hurriedly thrown on his appearance. He promptly recovered possession
and started for camp, but had gone barely a quarter of a mile when
the warriors, reinforced by others from a neighbouring village, made
an ugly rush from the rear upon his little force. Telling his now
frightened men to go on to camp with all speed, he sat on an ant-hill
and put in some fancy shooting at short range, which was rightly
interpreted by his assailants as a hint to keep away and not crowd him,
a hint they wisely acted upon with considerable promptitude. He then
rejoined his men, and they proceeded on their way to camp. Several
times during the next hour the natives tried to rush the little party,
but whenever they got unpleasantly near El Hakim repeated his former
tactics with continued success, until the crestfallen warriors realized
that they were getting more kicks than halfpence out of the game, and
sullenly withdrew with the loss of twelve killed and wounded; El Hakim
returning to camp, perfectly serene in the knowledge that he had come
out of a bad business in a very satisfactory manner.
We left Karanjui early next morning and re-entered the forest belt,
the second part of which we were not quite three-quarters of an hour
in crossing. The character of the country now changed considerably,
the dense bush and coarse, rank vegetation of east Kenia giving way to
open plains with small rocky hills scattered here and there. The level
of the country now descends slightly, M’thara being situated about
4500 feet above sea-level, 200 feet less than Munithu. To our right
rose the succession of rounded prominences known as Chanjai, which are
inhabited by a tribe who, though really A’kikuyu, show many marked
Masai characteristics. They are warlike and treacherous. In front, some
miles away, rose the frowning heights of the Jombeni range, inhabited
by the Wa’Embe, with whom we were shortly destined to become better
acquainted. On the slopes, at the foot of the Jombeni Mountains,
and to westward of them, reside the Wa’Mthara people, who gave Mr.
Chanler[3] so much trouble when he visited Kenia in 1893, and to whom
we were making our way.
We were now about 4500 feet above sea-level, and not more than ten
miles north of the Equator. The heat during the day was very great,
varying from 100° to 110° Fahr., but a cold north wind blew in the
evening and during the night, and the temperature dropped to about
60°, a variation which made an overcoat comfortable after sundown. The
ground was of a gravelly nature, and cultivated only in patches. We had
said good-bye at Karanjui to all the shady forest trees, _coniferæ_,
etc., which were replaced by the inhospitable thorny acacia or umbrella
thorn, and farther north, the Doum palm, which two were henceforth to
be our constant companions. The men all turned to and made themselves
sandals, it being impossible to walk barefoot where the umbrella thorn
flourishes. The thorns are white, several inches long, and wonderfully
sharp. They stick out from the branch in all directions, so that when
a twig is broken off by the wind or any other cause, the fallen twig
lying on the ground resembles a miniature _chevaux de frise_, as some
of the spines are always pointing upwards, lying in wait for the bare
foot of the unwary.
The chief of M’thara is an old man named N’Dominuki. In his youth he
had a great reputation as a warrior, and was commonly credited with
the slaughter at various times of thirty-five men with his own spear.
It is uncertain whether he joined in the attack on Mr. Chanler’s
expedition; at any rate, no mention is made of him by name in that
explorer’s book; his first appearance in print being in Neumann’s
book,[4] he being a great friend of Neumann’s, having, in fact, made
blood-brotherhood with him. Neumann had had a very large experience of
natives, and soon reckoned up Mr. N’Dominuki. At the outset of their
acquaintance, he very plainly intimated to that worthy that friendship
and fair dealing with the white man would certainly pay, and, on the
other hand, treachery and hostility would as certainly not. N’Dominuki,
being no longer in the first flush of youth, was old enough and wise
enough to take the hint, and as will be seen, he was by far the most
honest and trustworthy old savage that we ever had dealings with. He
had a very great admiration for his blood-brother Neumann. On one
occasion he told us that Neumann was “a very good white man, he always
spoke the truth, and he told me that other white men who might come
here would treat me well if I were friendly to them and gave them food
and guides; and it is even as he said. I have always spoken truly and
helped the white men, and, behold, now I am a rich man.”
El Hakim had had dealings with N’Dominuki on several occasions
previously, and was very friendly with the old chief, who had a number
of cattle belonging to him in his charge. El Hakim seemed to have
cattle and trade goods scattered all over North Kenia in charge of
various natives. He had also a score or so of loads of brass, copper,
and iron wire buried on the Waso Nyiro. I mentally likened El Hakim’s
head to Aladdin’s lamp. If we wanted cattle or cloth or wire, El Hakim
would, metaphorically speaking, rub his head, and lo! after a moment’s
cogitation, he would announce that buried in such and such a spot a few
days’ march away, or in charge of such and such chief not far distant,
were the identical articles we required.
We reached an acacia forest at 10 a.m. Inside, about half a mile from
the border, was a clearing somewhat resembling Karanjui, in which we
pitched our camp. An hour or so afterwards old N’Dominuki himself,
hearing of our arrival, came down and welcomed us warmly. The Somalis
had not yet arrived, they apparently having diverged at Karanjui to
Chanjai. N’Dominuki confirmed the news of the mishap to Noor Adam’s
safari, and was curious to know what steps we intended taking. We
did not satisfy his curiosity, not wishing to express an opinion
until we had heard all the available evidence. The old chief stayed
with us until the evening, then withdrew to his village, promising
to return on the morrow with his people and bring us food. The old
man was at one time the paramount chief of the turbulent Wa’Mthara,
but with increasing age his power had gradually weakened, so that
he now exercised complete control only over his own village and the
people living immediately around. His influence, however, was still
appreciable, and his knowledge of passing events absolute.
Our camp we found most inconveniently windy. A strong gale blew night
and day, and made things very uncomfortable. The tents had to be
fastened down very firmly and additional guy-ropes rigged, and even
then they thrashed and shook in a most alarming manner, threatening
every moment to blow bodily away. It was when we sat down to meals,
however, that the real fun began. The aluminium plates were now
and again whirled right off the table by a sudden fierce gust, and
disappeared in the grass many yards away. The cups were kept down by
the weight of the liquid in them, but one would sometimes forget the
saucer for a moment when lifting the cup to one’s lips. Away would go
the saucer on the wings of the wind, upsetting a bottle or something,
in its hasty flight. In the confusion which ensued, the half-poised cup
would be tilted a trifle and some of the contents spilt, which would be
instantly dissipated in a fine spray, drenching the unfortunate person
who happened to be to leeward. We were annoyed until the humour of the
situation struck us; but even then we got tired of it however, and put
the table inside El Hakim’s tent, and there the thrashing of the tent
prevented conversation except we shouted at the very top of our voices.
We decided to stay at M’thara for some days, as we wished to purchase
an adequate supply of food for the safari before going into the
inhospitable uninhabited wastes northward. There was also the Embe
affair to be settled one way or another. We were sadly inconvenienced
by this trouble in Embe, as we had intended going through that country
on our way to the Waso Nyiro. It is very rich in food, and we should
have been able to get a much greater quantity there than we could
hope for in M’thara; and again, the Embe route would have shortened
our journey over the desert to the Waso Nyiro by at least two days.
However, the Wa’Embe, always a sullen and treacherous people, were now
actively hostile; their hostility towards the Somalis would be extended
to us, as natives do not discriminate between one safari and another in
matters of this kind. Another factor which influenced our deliberations
was, that if no steps were taken to punish the brutal and unprovoked
attack on Noor Adam’s safari, we should be in a position of some
personal danger. With these natives, as with all others, and sometimes
even among civilized peoples, a policy of “masterly inactivity” is an
acknowledgment of weakness. These savages are civil to a safari only
in direct proportion to their idea of its power of reprisal. Once
it enters their heads that they are the stronger, that safari is in
imminent danger of attack, and would need a very resolute defence,
backed with a large quantity of ammunition, to prevent its extirpation.
If that were the worst we had to fear, we could have afforded to
let matters go, as we need not have gone near Embe; but all the
neighbouring tribes had been closely watching events. If we failed
to restore in some way our lost prestige, we should have all the
natives, even those who were at present our friends, down on us also,
and in that case we should be in a very awkward predicament. It is
not often that these natives get a chance to plunder a caravan which,
to them, seems to be laden with incalculable riches. When I say _our_
lost prestige, I say precisely what I mean, for, as I have previously
remarked, these ignorant savages do not discriminate between one safari
and another, whether it is European, Arab, or Swahili; and neither do
they wish to.
The combined Somali safaris reached M’thara at midday on the day
following our arrival. They proceeded to camp near us with much noise
of shouting and blowing of “barghums” (kudu-horn trumpets). It was
amusing to see the enthusiastic greetings between our respective
porters. Friends long separated vehemently embraced each other amid
cries of “Yambo” (greeting), with loudly shouted inquiries as to each
other’s health. For instance, Jumbi recognized a distant relative among
the crowd of the Somali porters, who, at the same instant, recognized
him. They rushed into each other’s arms, then vigorously shook hands.
“Yambo,” said Jumbi, and the other answering “Yambo!” they again shook
hands. Once more Jumbi said “Yambo,” and was again answered “Yambo.”
They embraced again; “Yambo sana,” continued Jumbi. “Yambo sana,”
answered the other once more. They embraced yet again. “Yambo sana
sana,” again said Jumbi. “Yambo sana sana,” answered the other; and so
they continued for quite five minutes, interrupted only by intervals of
embracing and handshaking. As they were only one couple out of many,
the noise may be faintly imagined.
As soon as the Somalis had built their boma and put their camp in
order, we received a message to the effect that they were coming to
visit us. Soon afterwards they came over in great state. Arrayed in
all the dignity of snow-white turbans and flowing robes, beautifully
coloured vests richly embroidered with gold, praying-beads of amber,
sandalwood or ebony in hand, and decorated with numerous watch-chains
and jewelled charms, they presented a most picturesque appearance.
Jamah Mahomet alone wore European clothes. He was in khaki serge with
puttees to match, and wore a double “Terai” hat. He had been in the
service of the Government, and had also accompanied Mr. Cavendish
on his late expedition through Somaliland to Lake Rudolph. He was
a tall, sinewy, well-set-up man with clean-cut, regular features,
extremely intelligent, thoroughly trustworthy, honourable, polite, and
hospitable—a man whom it was really a pleasure to meet. He was about
thirty years of age.
Ismail Robli was a short stout man with a shifty eye, and decidedly
prognathous jaws, very plausible, and, when he had an object in view,
very hospitable; but he hid a craven spirit under a show of bluster
and bullying. Noor Adam was a little slim man, with narrow eyes and
ferret-like features. He was reported to have shot some of his porters
on his journey across West Kenia, for attempted desertion. He somehow
provoked an instinctive feeling of dislike, and we never got on with
him. His two partners, Bhotan and Abdallah Arahalli, were much of the
same kidney. All three were Ogaden Somalis, a tribe who have not the
best of reputations. There were sundry other lesser lights who are not
of sufficient importance to deserve notice.
When they came into camp we received them with due ceremony, and asking
them to be seated, interchanged greetings in the Mohammedan manner.
For a moment the air resounded with such remarks as “Sabal Kheir”
(God bless you), “Salaam Aliekoum” (Peace be on you), and “Aliekoum
Salaam” (And on you peace), mingled with the Swahili “Uhali ghani?
Habari ghani?” (How are you? What news?), till etiquette was satisfied.
We then got to business, and discussed the Embe affair in all its
bearings. El Hakim cross-questioned Noor Adam and some of his men very
severely, but could find no discrepancy in their various accounts.
We discussed the matter very fully, and finally, for the good and
sufficient reasons I have already enumerated, we determined to punish
the Wa’Embe in co-operation with the Somalis. We instructed them to
provide thirty-five men carrying Snider rifles, while we undertook
to supply twenty-five men similarly armed, which, with ourselves,
made up a strong force of sixty-three men, a number we considered
amply sufficient for the purpose in hand. We despatched a nephew of
N’Dominuki’s to Embe as a spy, to find out a good road and the position
of the villages, etc., and he started the same evening.
On the following day we held another “shaurie” with the Somalis to
discuss the _modus operandi_ of our projected expedition. N’Dominuki’s
nephew had been instructed to return from Embe within two days, and we
decided to start on the afternoon of the next day—by which time, bar
accidents, he would have returned—and march immediately on receiving
his report. We intended to start just before dusk, pass through M’thara
in the darkness, and be over the Embe border unperceived at midnight.
A short rest and a dash on the Wa’Embe at dawn would complete the
operation. It was a good plan, and would have answered admirably but
for one of those little accidents that make “the best-laid schemes o’
mice and men gang aft agley.” As will be seen, it suited _the enemy_
admirably.
Embe on this side (the west) consists of a range of steep mountains,
where it rains nearly all the year round. It has, therefore, a very
moist climate and fertile soil, and its steep slopes and deep valleys
are covered with dense jungle interspersed with banana plantations,
making it a very nasty country to fight in, especially against natives
who know every inch of the ground and every turn of the paths. We did
not tell N’Dominuki of our plans—a very grave oversight that nearly
cost us our lives and those of the whole expedition.
On the following morning, as we really could not stand the wind any
longer, we shifted our camp to the inside of the forest, and while we
were about it we fortified it as well as we were able by felling thorn
trees, etc. We were much more sheltered in this new position, though,
to be sure, it was rather damp. This wind had a nasty cold nip with it
night and morning, which was the reverse of agreeable.
When we had our camp satisfactorily settled, we made our simple
preparations for the expedition to Embe. We took one tent with us
in case we were away more than a day or two. A loaf of bread and a
hind quarter of boiled mutton were also included; and, of course, a
plentiful supply of ammunition. The men had thirty rounds of Snider
cartridges each, which was all we could spare. The Somalis’ men had
fifty rounds each, and they, in addition, had a reserve chest of six
hundred rounds for emergencies.
At 5 p.m. we started. The natives in our immediate vicinity had, with
their usual unerring instinct in such matters, smelt a row, and about
fifty of them turned up armed with spears and shields. We did not want
them, but could not very well turn them away, and at the last moment it
occurred to us that they might prove useful as scouts, and we therefore
allowed them to remain. When our force had assembled, it made quite an
imposing array with the sixty men with rifles and the fifty others with
spears. Altogether, we commanded upwards of a hundred men, and had no
doubt but that we should teach the Wa’Embe a severe lesson.
N’Dominuki’s nephew had not returned, and we concluded that he had
been discovered and killed, and were consequently rather nonplussed
for the lack of a guide. At the last moment a Masai warrior came
forward and volunteered to guide us. On the Somalis saying that he
was known to them, we accepted his services. Soon after we started,
N’Dominuki’s nephew unexpectedly returned and joined us, and he and the
Masai took the head of the column. Darkness had fallen as we marched
through M’thara, the road continually ascending. The path at last grew
extremely difficult, and on several occasions El Hakim expressed doubt
as to whether we were going right. However, we were now committed to
whatever the Fates had in store for us; it was impossible to withdraw.
Onward we stumbled in the darkness, now up steep hillsides, and anon
down deep and gloomy valleys clothed in thick jungle where the deep
booming note of a mountain torrent growled hoarsely from somewhere out
of the pitchy blackness below. Soon the path became so narrow that we
could advance only in Indian file, which weakened us considerably, as
our fighting line was thereby stretched out for some two hundred yards,
being consequently out of our immediate control, while the jungle,
meeting overhead, blotted out what little light the stars provided.
It was impossible, on account of the denseness of the vegetation, to
place men out on our flanks, and in addition we were counting on taking
the Wa’Embe by surprise, and so did not wish to make too much noise.
At 10 p.m. we were well within the Embe border, and we then looked for
a place to rest awhile and prepare for our rush at dawn. We could not
find a suitable spot, however, and eventually decided to halt on the
path. A drizzling rain came on, which did not improve matters. One of
our men found a place a little distance from and below the path, that
did not slope at such an acute angle as the rest of the landscape, and
we as noiselessly as possible pitched the tent. El Hakim, George, and
I partook of a frugal meal, but we were without water, and naturally
we felt ever so much thirstier than we would otherwise have done. We
placed sentries, Jamah Mahomet doing the same where he had halted on
the path. We three Wasungu then dropped off to sleep.
Somewhere about midnight we awoke with a start, reaching for our rifles
as the sound of a shot floated down to us from where Jamah Mahomet’s
sentries were posted. It was followed by a second, and then a third.
Then all was silent again, except for the subdued hum of suddenly
wakened men. On sending for explanations, we found that some Wa’Embe,
coming down the path, had stumbled right on to the sentries, and were
instantly fired upon. All hope of a surprise was thus abolished,
but on consultation we decided that if we started an hour or so
earlier, possibly 3 a.m., we might take the enemy at a disadvantage.
Accordingly, at that time we once more set out.
It was dark as Erebus. As we noiselessly formed up on the path, a
sort of half sense of impending disaster seemed to have fallen on
the men. We did our best to dissipate it, and apparently succeeded.
The Masai guide and N’Dominuki’s nephew led the way; next came four
of the Somalis as advance-guard; then Jamah Mahomet, who was wearing
a waterproof coat over his khaki costume; finally George, El Hakim,
and myself. A few yards farther on we found a spear in the path,
probably dropped by one of the Wa’Embe in their flight, when fired at
by the sentries. If possible, the path grew worse as we advanced, and
presently we reached a deep ravine with a swift torrent roaring and
tumbling at the bottom. It was spanned by a single tree-trunk, which
served as a bridge. Beyond the ravine the path sloped upwards with many
twists and turns. On each side the jungle prevented anything being seen
more than a yard or two away.
We advanced slowly and cautiously in the order described, when a shot
rang out almost under our feet; another followed; and then a volley
from the advance-guard showed that something serious was toward. A
terrific howl and the long repeated _U-u-u-i_ (the A’kikuyu war-cry)
showed us that we were very skilfully ambushed, and the realization
was not pleasant. The firing at once became general all along the line.
It was a very fierce fusillade while it lasted; the reports of the
rifles and the cheers of our men, mingled with the war-cries of the
enemy, sounding weird and ghastly in the dense blackness of the early
morning (it was then 4 a.m.).
For a few moments pandemonium reigned supreme. Neither El Hakim nor I
could see a single native. George, though only a yard or so away, was
hidden from us, both by the darkness and by a turn in the path. El
Hakim clutched my arm and dragged me into a sitting position on the
ground as the whirring, hissing rush and plaintive whine of bullets in
unpleasant proximity to our ears warned us that we were in considerable
danger of being shot by our own men. Owing to the serpentine winding of
the path, they were firing towards every point of the compass, and we
were therefore much safer on the ground. In a few moments the war-cries
of the enemy died away as suddenly as they came, and the spiteful
crackle of the rifles lessened a little. As soon as we were able to
make ourselves heard, we gave the order “Cease fire,” and endeavoured
to find out what damage had been done. I called to George, and, to my
great relief, he answered me.
El Hakim and I then advanced, and turned the corner. We could then
dimly discern George amid the gloom. He came towards us saying that
Jamah Mahomet was wounded, and was lying on the path a yard or so away.
Hastening to the spot, we saw Jamah stretched upon the ground, moaning
pitifully. He had a great spear driven right through him. A native had
concealed himself in a pit dug on the side of the path and lain in
wait, letting both the guides and the advance-guard go past him in the
hope of bagging one of the Wasungu. In the darkness he mistook Jamah
Mahomet’s tall form, clad in European clothes, for George, and as
Jamah passed he thrust upwards with all his strength. Jamah instantly
fell. George, who was only a yard behind, saw the thrust, and, raising
his rifle, he shot the native through the stomach, but did not drop
him. This was the shot which gave us the first alarm.
El Hakim made a hasty examination of the stricken man, and pronounced
the wound fatal. The broad spear-blade, over two feet in length, had
entered the right side just below the ribs, and, passing through the
body, emerged just under the left arm, protruding several inches. Jamah
was semi-conscious, and apparently in great pain. Grouped round him, on
the alert, were the four Somalis who formed the advance-guard. As El
Hakim concluded his examination, Ismail Robli, Noor Adam, and others
of the Somalis, came up. When they learnt what had happened to Jamah,
such a wail of grief and dismay went up as I hope never to hear again.
Ismail behaved like one demented. He wept and cried upon “Allah” in the
most frenzied accents.
As we were crowded together in the path over the dying Jamah,
N’Dominuki’s nephew crept out of the bush, and, with shaking limbs and
horror-stricken countenance, approached El Hakim, attempting to say
something which his trembling lips refused to utter. The other guide
had disappeared. El Hakim seized him, and was trying to understand what
he was saying, when Ismail Robli caught sight of the palsied wretch.
His face changed instantly from an appearance of pious supplication to
one of demoniacal fury, and, crying “This man is a false guide; he has
caused Jamah’s death,” placed his rifle, a ·577 express, against the
other’s side, and, before I could raise a hand to interfere, pulled
both triggers, literally blowing the poor wretch to pieces.
It was a hideous and revolting exhibition of savage ferocity. Ismail
did not even put the rifle to his shoulder—we were too crowded for
that—he simply pushed the barrels past me and fired from his hip. The
murdered man collapsed in a writhing, moaning heap on the ground.
Ismail turned away and reloaded his rifle.
It was no time for recrimination, as at the report of Ismail’s rifle,
a fresh burst of firing broke from our men in the rear, which we
instantly quelled. It was a dastardly act on Ismail’s part, even though
at the time he was almost frenzied with grief at Jamah’s injury, as
we had no reason to believe that the unfortunate guide had played us
false. As we found out afterwards, the real culprit was the Masai
volunteer, who, it appeared, was a native of Embe, who had been sent
for the purpose of betraying us. At the same time, N’Dominuki’s nephew
had neglected to warn us, or point out that we were going by a bad
road. A great deal remained to be explained, but his untimely end put
further explanation out of his power for ever.
However, there we were in the dark, stuck on a path eighteen inches
wide, with a wounded man and no guides. The question now was how to get
out without further loss. We called a council of war, first posting
the Somali advance-guide a few yards up the path. We decided to wait
till daylight, as we could not move while Jamah was living, and he was
too far gone to be carried. It was a ghastly wait. After the firing
and shouting, the silence could almost be felt; it seemed absolutely
deathlike. We strained our ears to the utmost at the slightest rustle
of a leaf, as, for all we knew, the bush might be swarming with natives
waiting their opportunity for a rush.
A curious sight we should have presented to a spectator. The Somalis,
led by Ismail, were grouped, praying, round the dying Jamah, who was
sinking fast and moaning softly at intervals. El Hakim, revolver in
hand, stood bolt upright, and intensely on the alert, his face showing
faintly white through the gloom. Beside him stood George, drumming
with his fingers on his rifle—a habit of his—softly humming an air
from “Cavalleria Rusticana.” Crouched down on the path were the men,
motionless as bronze statues, conversing in low whispers now and
then, while they strained their eyes in the endeavour to pierce the
surrounding bush. A yard or so away lay the dead body of N’Dominuki’s
nephew; his dirty cotton waist-cloth smouldering where it had caught
fire from the explosion of Ismail’s rifle, nearly choking us with the
smell of singed flesh and the pungent odour of burning cloth. We tried
several times to put out the cloth, but we had no water, and it was
in vain we attempted to smother it; so it smouldered all night, and
uncommonly unpleasant we found it.
We were parched with thirst, having had no water since the previous
afternoon. Once in a while the flash of a sentry’s rifle would
momentarily light up the surrounding jungle, and the sharp report
stabbed the silence. I laid down on the path and slept—fighting
sometimes affects me that way—and woke up at dawn, just as Jamah
died. We were exceedingly sorry, as he was one of the best of his
race we ever had to do with. At the first glimmer of daylight we
dug a grave on the side of the path, and he was buried with all the
ordinances proclaimed by Mohammedan law that were possible under the
circumstances. Prayers and lamentations in Arabic resounded on all
sides from the deceased’s assembled compatriots.
There being now no signs of the enemy, El Hakim, George, and I were
for continuing the advance and pulling the fat out of the fire somehow,
but Ismail and the other Somalis would not hear of it. They said that
the enemy were now fully prepared for us, and instanced the numerous
freshly dug pits that had been found on each side of the path when
digging Jamah’s grave. Another argument they employed was that our
respective camps were almost entirely unprotected, and it was more
than likely that the Wa’M’thara or the Wa’Chanjai would attack and
loot them in our absence, more especially as they (the Somalis) had a
large number of cattle, which are particularly tempting to a native.
In addition, we were now entirely without guides, while the path ahead
seemed worse than ever.
We saw the force of this reasoning, and common prudence directed
that, for the present at any rate, we must abandon the attack;
which decision, though gall and wormwood to we Englishmen, we were
reluctantly compelled to admit was the wisest possible under the
circumstances. We made up our minds, however, that we would return
under more favourable auspices, and wipe out the disgrace of our
defeat, for defeat it was, and so with that understanding we acquiesced
in the retreat, and gave the necessary orders to retire.
It was with very mixed feelings that we travelled back over the
difficult path we had trodden a few hours before with such confidence.
We found out afterwards that our sudden retreat disconcerted the
Wa’Embe, who were massed in force further along the path at a place
where they had dug a large number of pits, in which they had kindly
placed sharpened spikes for our reception.
At eight o’clock we were met on the road by an M’thara man named
Koromo, who handed us a jar of honey as a present. When we got within
a mile or two of our camp large numbers of fully armed natives slunk
past us, going towards Chanjai. They were coming from the direction of
our camp. Hurrying on with sinking hearts, we soon arrived at the camp,
and to our great relief found all safe, though Jumbi was full of some
report or other about armed natives who had been round the camp during
the night. We said he could tell us about it afterwards, as at present
we wished to eat. It was then one o’clock in the afternoon, so we set
to and made a hearty meal, and afterwards retired to our blankets and
slept the sleep of the just until dinner-time.
FOOTNOTES:
[3] “Through Jungle and Desert,” by William Astor Chanler, A.M.
(Harv.), F.R.G.S., pp. 168-177.
[4] “Elephant Hunting in East Equatorial Africa,” by Arthur H. Neumann,
pp. 42, 43.
CHAPTER VI.
_OUR MOVEMENTS IN M’THARA AND MUNITHU._
Attempt of the Wa’M’thara to loot our camp—“Shauri” with Ismail—The
Somalis accuse N’Dominuki of treachery—He vindicates himself—That
wicked little boy!—Explanation of the Embe reverse—Somalis lose
heart—Attacked by ants—El Hakim’s visit to Munithu—Robbery of his
goods by the Wa’Gnainu—I join him—We endeavour to recover the stolen
property from the Wa’Gnainu—The result.
Ismail’s apprehensions for the safety of our respective camps seemed
to have been well founded. Jumbi, whom we had left in charge of our
boma, reported that on the evening of our departure for Embe he had
noticed that large numbers of armed natives were concealed in the
surrounding bush. He unostentatiously put the camp in as good a state
of defence as possible, and kept his few men moving about inside the
boma to give an appearance of numbers. He then noticed that the long
grass in the clearing was also crowded with concealed warriors, to the
number of several hundred. Presently some of them showed themselves. He
shouted to them, asking what they wanted. They answered by inquiring
if the “Wasungu” were in camp. He, with ready wit, shouted back that
one of the Wasungu had gone away somewhere, but the other two were in
camp. Did they wish to see them? They apparently did not, and he saw
no more of them, though they still remained within easy distance; and
consequently he passed a very anxious night. Our unexpected return next
morning disconcerted the warriors, who hastily retreated. They were
the fighting men we had passed on our way back. Jumbi said they were
Wa’M’thara, which, if true, was a very serious matter.
The men in charge of the Somalis’ camp made a similar report. Without
doubt the natives’ plan was to wait till news arrived of our defeat and
massacre in Embe, and then to rush and loot the camps, after spearing
the few defenders. These preparations seemed to indicate a deep-laid
plan on the part of some one, and some one, also, who was sure of
success.
Ismail Robli, with several of the other Somalis, came into our camp in
the afternoon showing every sign of terror, which they endeavoured,
unsuccessfully, to conceal. They asked for a “shaurie,” and when
we granted their request, they came out with a ridiculous story of
treachery on the part of N’Dominuki. They declared he was a traitor,
ignoring the fact, which we pointed out to them, that N’Dominuki had
been kept in ignorance of our plans. They further stated that he
was even now preparing to attack us at the head of the Wa’M’thara,
reinforced by a strong body of Wa’Embe. We refused point-blank to
believe a word of it. On questioning them as to their source of
information, they said that a man from Chanjei, who had come into
their camp to sell food, had told them. We were disgusted with their
credulity, and said as much. El Hakim told them that he had known
N’Dominuki for years as the most trustworthy of natives, and so had
other Englishmen before him, and he would not believe that he had
turned traitor, on the more than doubtful word of a casual native, whom
nobody knew, and who was of no consequence or position.
Ismail was obstinate. He persisted in his assertion that N’Dominuki
was a traitor, and instanced the armed Wa’M’thara who had concealed
themselves round about our camps the night before, as proof of his
words. We were a little troubled, as, though we would not for a moment
believe N’Dominuki to be the traitor, we did not know what his people
might do without his knowledge, or in spite of him. At all events, the
presence of armed men round our camp needed explanation. As we did not
quite understand matters, we sent for N’Dominuki, asking him to come to
our camp, as we wished particularly to see him. Our messenger returned
in the course of the day with a message to the effect that N’Dominuki
was suffering from fever, and was unable to come. We sent up again,
with some medicine, asking him to come if possible. He again returned
an answer that he was ill, but would come to-morrow.
His non-appearance seemed proof positive to Ismail and his following
that N’Dominuki was actively hostile. They were, in consequence, in
a perfectly frantic state. Of course, had N’Dominuki turned traitor
we should have been in a very bad fix, though it was only what could
have been expected after the double reverse in Embe. However, we were
very loth to believe it of him in the absence of direct and conclusive
evidence.
Ismail returned to his own camp, but visited us an hour or so later
with a fresh budget of news to the effect that N’Dominuki had received
the Embe chief in his house, and had killed a sheep in his honour. Once
more we sent to N’Dominuki, this time detailing the charges alleged
against him, and saying that, although we did not believe them, we
should be obliged if he would visit us as soon as possible. He sent
back to say that he would come to-morrow without fail.
All these conflicting accounts caused us considerable anxiety. As for
the Somalis, they were in a most pitiable state; that is, it would have
been pitiable had it not been so thoroughly contemptible. They appeared
panic-stricken, and worked with feverish energy in strengthening
their boma, felling huge trees and cutting thorn bush till long
after sundown. We ourselves did not neglect obvious precautions, and
strengthened our boma a little, more especially for the purpose of
reassuring our men, amongst whom the Somalis’ stories had created
something like alarm. We then sent a peremptory message to the Somali
camp, warning them that if their frightened sentries, through a false
alarm or any such cause, fired in the direction of our camp, we should
not hesitate to return the fire with interest. This message had the
effect of calming their nerves a little.
Next morning they again came over to our camp, still with the same old
tale of N’Dominuki’s treachery. These repeated allegations against
N’Dominuki caused us to suspect some ulterior motive. Still another
urgent message was sent to N’Dominuki, and this time he sent back word
that he was coming with his people, bringing food. He arrived an hour
or so after the message, and sending for Ismail and the other Somalis,
we held a big “shaurie.”
First we asked N’Dominuki why he had not appeared in answer to our
frequent messages the day before. He replied that _he and his people
had fled to the hills with all their cattle and goods, under the
impression that we were going to attack them_!
We inquired who gave him that idea, and he said that _a boy from the
Somali camp had told him so_.
_Then_ we began to see daylight. We inquired where the boy was.
N’Dominuki replied that as far as he knew he was still in the Somali
camp, so we ordered Ismail to produce him. In a few minutes he was
delivered, bound, at our feet. A cross-examination of the Somalis
elicited the fact that the boy had deserted from their camp, taking
with him one of their sheep. On being again questioned, N’Dominuki
stated that the boy had come to him for shelter. He had told the boy
that he would not allow him to stop there, but would send him back
to his masters, but the artful little boy said, “I have done it for
_your_ sake, N’Dominuki. I wished to warn you that the Wasungu and the
Wa’Somali are about to attack you.” N’Dominuki believed him, and fled
forthwith.
In a little while the boy, not liking the life with the natives, and
yearning for the flesh-pots of the camp, returned to the Somalis, after
having concocted a satisfactory explanation of his absence. He made out
to the Somalis that he had gone as a spy on N’Dominuki, who was an “el
moruo torono” (a wicked old man), as he had heard that he was hostile
to his dear masters, and that at great risk and personal inconvenience
he had carried out his plan successfully. He then solemnly warned them
that N’Dominuki was preparing to attack them. He counted on the gravity
of his announcement averting any unpleasant inquiries about the stolen
sheep—a ruse which was completely successful.
_Now_ we had got hold of the truth. Small boys will be small boys all
the world over, whether white or black, and this little untutored
specimen of his genus had kept a hundred and fifty armed men, in two
camps, in a state of intense anxiety for two days, and had driven a
tribe with all its cattle and goods in mortal terror into the hills for
the same period, in order to cover his impish escapade. He was treated
in the same way as from time immemorial other small boys have been—for
equally reprehensible escapades, and forthwith received the thrashing
he so richly deserved.
We gently chided N’Dominuki for believing “that little vulgar boy,” and
asked him why he had not come into camp and found out the truth for
himself. He was afraid, he said, that we should bind him and kill him
at our leisure! El Hakim represented that it was very unkind to think
that of _him_, who was such an old and proved friend. N’Dominuki’s
only reply was “_The boy told me so!_” That is a savage all over! They
believe the first story that comes to hand, even against their better
judgment. In N’Dominuki’s case, although his experience of white men
had always been of the best and pleasantest, he had met them late
in life, and had never quite lost the savage’s innate distrust of
strangers.
We dismissed the crestfallen Somalis, and advised them to give less
credence to casual reports in future. They seemed very sulky, and
were, we were beginning to believe, rather sorry that N’Dominuki had
successfully vindicated himself.
From that old savage we afterwards gathered a great deal of
information, which threw considerable light on the recent events in
Embe. It was now shown beyond the shadow of a doubt that the Masai
volunteer guide was an Embe native who, while spying round, had seized
the opportunity offered him of serving us to our disadvantage. The
Somalis were greatly to blame for saying that they knew him. So they
did, but in the hurry of the moment they had neglected to tell us that
they had merely seen him knocking about their camp for a day or two.
When we passed through M’thara in the darkness we were observed by
some of the Wa’M’thara, who were friendly to the Wa’Embe, and who
immediately sent off a runner with the news of our advance, thus giving
the enemy time to skilfully prepare the nice little trap into which we
all walked. Our escape throughout was due more to good luck than good
management, as the party who ambushed us and killed Jamah Mahomet were
only an advanced post of the Wa’Embe, the main body being posted a mile
further on, where they had dug numbers of pits in the path, in which
they, with great forethought, had placed sharp-pointed stakes. It was
their intention to attack us when we were floundering about in these
pits.
We had sadly underrated the skill and courage of the enemy, and
altogether had had a very narrow escape from irretrievable disaster. If
we had underestimated their capabilities, however, they had also paid
us the same compliment. The terrific fire which instantly greeted their
first onslaught must have surprised them greatly. It certainly daunted
them, and probably considerably disarranged their plans, preventing
them from bringing their main body up and surrounding us. Before they
had formed any fresh plan we had made good our retreat, which, in
the light of subsequent knowledge, proved to be a wise, if somewhat
humiliating step.
N’Dominuki said we should have told him of our plans. He only heard of
our intention to attack Embe after we had passed his village, and it
was then too late to warn us. He offered, if we wished to renew the
attack, to personally guide us into Embe by a much better path, with
open country on either side; the road we had followed being the very
worst one we could have chosen. His proffered assistance was gladly
accepted, and we communicated with the Somalis, expecting they would
jump at this opportunity of avenging the death of their leader. To our
intense surprise, they did nothing of the kind, but replied that they
only wished to buy food peaceably, and go their way northward. We were
simply astounded, and could not at first believe that Somalis, above
all people, could be so craven-spirited; besides, a successful punitive
expedition had now become a vital necessity if we were to preserve the
lives of our party, and render the country safe for those travellers
who might come after us.
Already there were ominous mutterings among the surrounding tribes,
begotten of our reverse in Embe, but we could not get Ismail to see
the matter in the same light, argue as we would. Jamah’s death seemed
to have thoroughly discouraged him. We reasoned, we begged, but to no
purpose. George and I went over to his camp in the evening in order
to make a final effort to rouse a little spirit in him. George has a
wonderful knowledge of Arabic, and he used it then with vigour and
fluency. I also possess a rudimentary knowledge of vituperation in
that language, and employed it to the utmost; but in vain. We argued,
threatened, cajoled, and insulted, but could get no response, beyond
the statement from Ismail that he was a man of peace, and wished to
go his way and trade. I pointed out to him with some emphasis that it
was not because he was a “man of peace” that he did not fall in with
our views, as I had had ocular demonstration of the fact that he was
the very reverse when he felt inclined. The reason, I told him, that
he did not wish to avenge the blood of Jamah, which was crying aloud
for vengeance, was a cowardly fear of a few naked savages, who were
not even Mohammedans. I called Allah to witness that he was a traitor
to his blood and his religion, and that Jamah, from among the “houris”
in Paradise would look down and curse him for “an unclean dog without
religion.”[5] He smiled a sickly smile, and repeated that he was a
peaceful trader, not a man of war. I then spat upon the ground to show
my utter contempt for him, and left him.
The following day we bought a large quantity of food from N’Dominuki’s
people, and packed it in loads in preparation for our march to the
Waso Nyiro. In the afternoon Koromo, the man who met us with the honey
when we were returning from Embe, came into camp with N’Dominuki and
requested the honour of blood-brotherhood with El Hakim, and that
interesting though disgusting ceremony was accordingly performed.
That night George and I had a very disagreeable experience. We and
the puppy had gone to our tent for a good night’s sleep after the
worry and trouble of the last three days. The pup was very restless,
and ran whining about the tent in a most annoying manner. At first we
thought it was only his “cussedness,” and scolded him well; but he got
worse instead of better, and finally rolled frantically on the ground,
yelping most dismally. Suddenly George said “D——n!” in a loud voice,
and sprang up from his bed, which was on the ground, and after a little
searching pulled a black insect from some part of his anatomy. He at
once examined his blankets, and found that they were literally covered
with tiny black ants, which, in spite of their small size, bit most
ferociously. I also turned out and found the ground under my bed was a
seething black mass of ants, which instantly attacked the unprotected
portions of my person with an earnestness and attention to business
which, under other circumstances, would have commanded my highest
admiration. Mine was a camp-bed standing a foot off the ground, and
consequently there were comparatively few on my blankets. We turned our
attention to the agonized puppy, and found that the poor little brute
was black underneath with the tiny pests, who had bitten into his flesh
and held on like limpets. We brushed him free and put him out of harm’s
way, swept out the floor of the tent, getting innumerable bites on our
naked feet and legs in the process, and sent for some ashes, with which
we liberally sprinkled the ground, and also spread them in a circle
round the tent, which to some extent mitigated the nuisance. I did not
suffer so much, as my bed, as already explained, was some inches above
the ground, and consequently George, who slept on a heap of rushes,
bore the brunt of the attack. I was aroused several times during the
night by a muttered exclamation from the darkness on his side of the
tent, followed by the slap which signalled the hurried exit of another
of our tiny enemies from this world of woe. We found in the morning
that we had not been the only sufferers. Round all the men’s tents
a broad band of ashes testified to the defensive measures they had
been compelled to adopt. The cry of “siafu” (ants) in camp is at all
times a signal for instant action. Red-hot ashes are hastily gathered
and sprinkled in the path of the advancing horde, and the greatest
excitement prevails till the foe is finally vanquished. I was compelled
to shift our tent during the day to another spot some distance away. By
first beating down the earth into a hard concrete-like floor and then
strewing it with ashes, we hoped to prevent a recurrence of the attack
of the previous night, an arrangement we found to answer admirably.
[Illustration: ELDERS OF M’THARA.]
[Illustration: DIRITO AND VISELI (on the right) AND TWO FOLLOWERS. (See
page 132.)]
The same day the Somalis left M’thara for Chanjai, where they
desired to purchase food. They promised that on their return in four
days’ time they would accompany us on another expedition into Embe—a
result I should have attributed to my eloquence of the night before had
we not been perfectly aware of the unreliability of their promises. El
Hakim, however, decided to wait on the off-chance of their returning,
and resolved to fill in a day or two by a journey back to Munithu
to collect food, and also to try to get news as to how far our Embe
reverse had affected native feeling towards us in those districts. He
took eight men with rifles with him. I amused myself all the morning
trying to make toffee from native honey and butter. The resulting
compound, though palatable enough, could not be induced to harden, so
we were compelled to devour it with a spoon. George gave in at midday
to a nasty touch of fever. I administered a couple of phenacetin
tabloids, and sweated him well, which towards evening reduced his
temperature. Next morning he was decidedly better, and together we made
a tour of inspection round the camp. We saw a peculiar striped rat in
the boma, which we nicknamed the zebra rat. It was mouse-coloured with
black stripes, but as we had not a trap we could not secure a specimen.
At midday George was down again with the fever, and I dosed him once
more. At 12.30 two men came back from El Hakim with a note for me. He
asked for some fresh bread and a bottle of milk, also for six more men
with rifles. It seemed that the Wa’G’nainu, the people of a district
west of Munithu, on hearing of our Embe reverse, had come down and
looted some of the trade goods which El Hakim had left in Bei-Munithu’s
charge, and that he intended to try to recover them. He also asked for
my company if I could leave camp. As George was so queer I did not
feel justified in leaving him, but on his assurance that he was quite
able to look after himself while I was away, I decided to go.
I took no baggage or blankets, and with six men and four donkeys,
which were required to bring back the balance of El Hakim’s goods
still remaining with Bei-Munithu, started at one o’clock, intending
to try to reach Munithu the same evening, though it had taken the
safari two days to reach M’thara from Munithu on the outward journey.
At sundown, after a toilsome and seemingly interminable march, my
party and I arrived at El Hakim’s camp outside Bei-Munithu’s village,
where El Hakim, pleased at our rapid journey, forthwith ministered to
my material wants in the way of towels, soap, and supper. After our
meal he summoned Bei-Munithu, and bade him recapitulate for my benefit
the story of the pillaged goods. Briefly it amounted to this: A large
party of the Wa’G’nainu had come on a friendly visit to Bei-Munithu.
During their sojourn with him a report came to hand that the Wasungu
had been driven out of Embe with great loss, and one of them had been
killed. The news caused some excitement, and, as was only natural,
the assembled natives discussed in what way the Wasungu’s supposed
misfortunes could be turned to profitable account. It was already well
known that Bei-Munithu had one of his huts filled from floor to roof
with the trade goods and equipment of the chief Wasungu, and it did not
require much persuasion to induce that venerable humbug to exhibit the
contents to his guests. The sight of so much riches naturally inflamed
the already excited cupidity of the Wa’G’nainu. The next step was
easy. In spite of Bei-Munithu’s lukewarm remonstrances, they helped
themselves liberally and departed, exulting, to their villages. The
next day El Hakim unexpectedly arrived, and, entirely unaware of what
had taken place, asked that his trade goods should be brought out for
his inspection, as he wanted to take them over to M’thara. Bei-Munithu,
with many excuses and much wringing of hands, detailed the events of
the preceding day. El Hakim was exceedingly wroth, and he there and
then wrote me the note which had brought me over.
After Bei-Munithu had retired to his village we talked matters over. El
Hakim was very much annoyed at the turn of affairs, and assured me that
this was only one of the unpleasant results of our reverse in Embe.
What others were in store for us, time alone would disclose. We decided
before we turned in that we would go early on the morrow to G’nainu and
demand our goods. We wished to proceed on the principle of _suaviter in
modo_ rather than _fortiter in re_, but if the former failed we were
determined to apply the latter without hesitation. El Hakim had taken
an inventory of the missing goods, and found that more than four loads
had disappeared. Bei-Munithu’s conduct in the affair was not above
suspicion, but we could not afford to quarrel with him just then.
At night a bed of banana leaves was made up for me on the ground in El
Hakim’s tent, which, with the addition of a couple of blankets, made
me as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. My well-earned
rest, however, was soon disturbed by the field-rats, which used me as a
playground, and continually skipped and jumped over my body and face,
to their own infinite amusement and my extreme discomfort. Two or three
times during the night I woke up and found a large rat curled up fast
asleep in the hollow of my neck or under my arm. El Hakim awoke at my
frequent and somewhat profane exclamations, and gently inquired what
was the matter. When I held forth on the drawbacks of slumber in the
savage wilds, he feigned polite incredulity, and remarked, “Shocking,
shocking! Most unfortunate delusions! Very regrettable, Hardwick,
_very_;” and turning over in his blankets, he added insult to injury
by chuckling audibly at intervals for an hour afterwards, in a most
aggravating manner.
At four o’clock next morning we roused our fourteen men, and set out
for G’nainu, some twenty or thirty of Bei-Munithu’s men accompanying
us. It was rather a rough tramp, the country being very hilly and
much cut up by ravines and streams. We crossed the river Kazeta
(which flows in a south-easterly direction through Zura at an average
altitude of 5000 feet) by a tree-trunk bridge, and at seven o’clock
reached the first village of the Wa’G’nainu and halted outside. Our
men waved green branches as a sign that we came in peace, but got no
answer, the village, which was very strongly fortified, seeming to be
entirely deserted. It was situated on the crest of a forest-covered
hill, and was surrounded by a very massive outer stockade of roughly
hewn tree-trunks with pointed tops. Inside there were two additional
stockades of pointed logs, and the huts within were also stockaded one
from the other, the whole forming a position almost impregnable to an
enemy without firearms. We waited for a while, but were unable to get
any answer to our signals, and held a consultation to decide on our
next move, but in the middle of the discussion a shower of poisoned
arrows from the surrounding bush winged their destructive way into our
midst, killing three of Bei-Munithu’s men outright; at the same time
the now familiar war-cry rose on all sides, and resounded from hilltop
to hilltop in a manner which showed us that we were fully expected.
The natives, we found afterwards, had driven off most of the stock,
which, with all their women and children, was safely out of the way on
the hills, while their husbands and fathers contentedly settled down
to a comfortable day’s fighting with the Wasungu, with the prospect of
a nice little massacre afterwards as a fitting conclusion to a most
enjoyable day.
We were compelled to quickly decide upon our course of action, as
the Munithu men were wavering, and their desertion would have meant
disaster, they alone knowing the paths. Retreat was not to be thought
of, as, taken in combination with the Embe reverse, it would have
confirmed the natives in their opinion of our helplessness, and our
prestige would be hopelessly lost. Our men summarily settled the
question by firing a volley into the surrounding bush in reply to fresh
showers of arrows. We were now in for a large-sized quarrel, and as we
did not see any immediate prospect of recovering our pillaged goods
by pacific means, we determined to avail ourselves of the opportunity
to recover at least their value, and also to punish the treacherous
Wa’G’nainu for their unprovoked attack. Accordingly we gave the word of
command, and our little force advanced at the double and captured the
village without encountering any serious opposition. Inside were a few
goats and sheep that had been left behind in the general stampede which
occurred when our arrival was first signalled. The enemy had drawn
off for reinforcements, and meanwhile contented themselves, after the
native fashion, with shouting insulting remarks, together with a list
of the various surgical operations they later on intended performing
upon our persons.
El Hakim mustered our men in the village, and divided them into two
parties, one of which he placed under my command, with orders to
forage round for more live stock, while he, at the head of the other,
held the village as a fortified base.
When I was about to select the men I required, we discovered, to our
consternation, that there were only nine instead of fourteen! Questions
elicited no information as to the whereabouts of the absentees. It
was that firebrand Sadi ben Heri and three or four of his particular
cronies who were missing. I had seen them only ten minutes before,
but where they had gone after we captured the village I could not
ascertain; however, we trusted they would turn up all right. I took
five men of our own and about a dozen of the Wa’Munithu to try to
capture some more stock in order to balance our account with the
Wa’G’nainu.
They certainly made me work for what little I captured. They disputed
every plantation and every village till I began to run short of
ammunition. Two or three of my Munithu contingent were killed, so when
I reached the next village I burnt it, just to show the enemy that they
had in no way intimidated us by their opposition; a proceeding which
heartened my men wonderfully. It was very hard work. Every village
was perched on an eminence, and in most cases reached by only one, or
at the most two, almost inaccessible paths. I proceeded all the time
at the double, so that my men should not have time to think about the
danger, and after racing up and down several hills as steep as the roof
of a house, I was fairly pumped and streaming with perspiration, in
spite of the comparatively low temperature. I captured a few head of
cattle and a hundred or so sheep and goats in the course of an hour or
two, and burnt four villages in the process; which proceeding greatly
facilitated my safe retirement to the base held by El Hakim, when I
was forced both by lack of breath and ammunition to turn my footsteps
thither.
During my retirement the enemy concentrated in force along my route,
but a few well-directed shots from my ·303 persuaded them that it was
safer to scatter and take cover. I rejoined El Hakim, and found that
he had also gathered a couple of dozen or so additional goats and
sheep, and three or four head of cattle. It was then nine o’clock in
the morning. There was no sign of the five missing men. The war-cries
and howls of the enemy were increasing rapidly in volume, and it became
more and more evident that a determined effort was to be made by them
to prevent our return. Our Munithu contingent showed unmistakable signs
of wavering, so we concluded that in the interests of our own lives and
those of our remaining men we had better put on a determined front,
and fight our way back to Munithu. We therefore burnt our temporary
headquarters, and retired in good order, trusting that the misguided
Sadi ben Heri and his equally misguided companions had already safely
retired by another route.
After leaving the village the path abruptly descended into a narrow
valley and ascended the opposite slope, winding amid thick bush, in
which large numbers of the enemy had congregated. Our first view of
them was by no means encouraging. The bush seemed alive with them. We
were at once greeted with a shower of poisoned arrows at long range,
which, though they did no bodily harm, badly shook the nerves of the
men; but El Hakim and I put in a little fancy shooting at 200 yards,
and order was soon restored. We got safely through that particular
part, but several times in the next mile or so we were greeted with
showers of arrows from concealed natives. A few shots, however,
generally persuaded them that discretion was the better part of valour.
After a tiring march, with intervals of skirmishing, we reached Munithu
with our captures intact. When we reckoned them up, however, they
barely covered the value of the trade goods stolen, to say nothing of
the expenditure of ammunition and the personal risk entailed in the
collection. We were very tired and very hungry, but before eating we
dispatched native spies to try to obtain news of the missing men. After
lunch we retired for an hour to sleep off the effects of our unusual
exertion.
FOOTNOTES:
[5] Should the reader be inclined to consider my language to be
somewhat theatrical, it must be remembered with whom I was dealing. I
knew my man, and pointed my remarks accordingly.
CHAPTER VII.
_RETURN TO M’THARA._
An ivory “shauri”—Death of Sadi ben Heri and his companions—Purchasing
ivory—El Hakim and I return to M’thara—A night in the open—George
ill—The Wa’M’thara at their old tricks—Return of the Somalis from
Chanjai—They refuse to return to Embe—I interview an elephant.
In the afternoon Bei-Munithu paid us a visit in order to hear our
version of what had happened at G’nainu. He listened attentively to our
recital without making any comment. When we had concluded he informed
us that he also had sent spies back to G’nainu, as, in addition to our
five men, eleven of his own who had accompanied them were missing.
We learnt further that the natives of a village about two hours’ march
distant wished to sell us a tusk of ivory. We heartened considerably
at that, and asked Bei-Munithu to bring the owner along to talk it
over. He thereupon withdrew, presently returning with a very aged
and decrepit man, who tottered forward by the aid of a staff, whom
he introduced to us as the owner of the tusk. We politely begged the
venerable gentleman to seat himself, and waited till it pleased him to
open negotiations. In a few moments he had collected enough energy to
speak, and producing a reed some six feet long, indicated that that
was the measurement of the tusk.
“Very well,” we said. “It seems a good tusk. How much do you want for
it?”
After a little thought he remarked that one cow and three sheep would
be considered a very fair return.
“All right,” said we; “if the tusk is all it is represented to be, we
will give even the price asked, in order to save the trouble of a long
‘shauri.’ But first let us see the tusk.”
He assented to this, and in a little while rose and retired, presumably
to bring the tusk. For over two hours we waited expectantly, but
he did not return, and we were just thinking of sending over to
Bei-Munithu for an explanation when that gentleman himself appeared,
leading forward a native still more ancient than our former visitor.
This latter individual slowly seated himself in front of our tent and
solemnly chewed a twig which he drew from a bundle of similar ones
carried in his belt.[6] The ancient gentleman munched away for some
minutes, and finally condescended to speak. He announced, between
chews, that he owned a tusk of ivory which he wished to sell us. We,
metaphorically, hugged ourselves. Two tusks in one afternoon! But we
received a rude shock when the interpreter informed us that the old
gentleman was referring to the same tusk.
“Why,” we explained, “the owner has already called upon us, and we have
completed the bargain.”
“Oh no,” said the old savage, “that was a young man sent to bargain
with you” (practically testing the market). “I am the owner.”
“Very well,” said we. “We don’t care whom it belongs to so long as it
is sold to us; and the sooner the better.”
“But,” said the old savage, “I want a cow and _four_ sheep!”
We grew heated, and told him to go to Heligoland, or words to that
effect; but he refused to depart thither.
“The other man,” he said, “like all young men, was very rash, and
exceeded his instructions. I myself could not think of letting such a
beautiful tusk go for less than one cow, a _good_ cow, and four sheep.”
We remained firm, however, and he finally agreed to let us have the
tusk at the original price. He then retired, while we wiped our
perspiring foreheads and took a nice long drink of brackish water.
At that moment a messenger arrived from M’thara with a note to me from
George, asking me to return as soon as possible, he being very ill with
fever. El Hakim had intended returning on the morrow, since we were
still waiting for news from G’nainu of our missing men, though we had
lost all hope of their being still alive.
Next morning, therefore, we rose early, and sent a messenger over
to the people who had the tusk, inquiring why they had not sent it
over the day before as they had promised. The messenger returned
saying that they were close behind him bringing the ivory. We waited
with what little patience we could muster till nearly midday, when a
deputation of elders turned up leading a withered, tottering skeleton,
which on closer inspection proved to be an extremely ancient native.
He looked more like a fossil than a human being, but, as we found, he
still possessed, in a high degree, the native cunning and keenness
in a bargain. The deputation carefully seated the fossil before us,
and, grouping themselves respectfully round it, relapsed into a dead
silence, only interrupted by the clicking of their jaws as they chewed
their everlasting twigs. The fossil moved, woke up, and for some time
gazed at us out of its bleared eyes, expectorating thoughtfully at
intervals, while we in turn looked at it with some interest. After we
had satisfied our mutual curiosity we spoke to the fossil, politely
inquiring its errand. It gazed at us once more, expectorated, coughed,
and announced that it was the owner of the much-disputed tusk, and had
come to arrange the purchase price!
“What!” we cried, “is this tusk owned by a syndicate? We have already
had two ‘shauries,’ and wasted two days over it. Who _is_ the owner,
anyhow?”
The deputation assured us, with the utmost simplicity that _this_
was the _real_ owner; the other two were _only friends_. We resigned
ourselves to the inevitable, and prepared to engineer yet another
bargain.
The fossil again condescended to speak, and declared that the precious
tusk should not go out of his possession except in exchange for one
very good cow, and three female sheep with lambs! We refused to
entertain any such advance on the original price, and the matter
was discussed with considerable animation and some heat for an hour
or more. At the end of that time, when our patience was almost at
vanishing-point, we agreed on a compromise. We argued that we had not
yet seen the tusk, and consequently did not know if it was really as
good as it was represented to be. We would therefore send a man over to
their village, and on his return with a favourable report would give
the price last demanded. On the contrary, if it were not such a good
tusk as we had been led to believe, we would only give the original
price asked. This plan they eventually agreed to. Resarse ben Shokar
was ordered to accompany them to their village and report on the ivory.
The deputation then rose and withdrew, taking the fossil with them. We
retired to our tent, but had not been seated more than a few moments
when the sound of excited exclamations from the men caused us, ever on
alert for news of our missing men, to spring to our feet. We rushed
outside and saw an excited, heaving group of our men volubly discussing
some object in their midst. I shouted an order, and the group separated
and led towards our tent a man apparently in the last stage of
exhaustion. Commanding silence, we called Ramathani to interpret. The
man straightened himself, and we were horrified to observe a great
gaping wound in his right arm, that looked like a sword-cut, which
had been roughly stitched up with fibre. He announced amid breathless
silence that he was the sole survivor of our five Swahilis and the
eight native allies who had accompanied them. Our men groaned and wept
at the news, but we again commanded silence, and bit by bit, by dint of
careful questioning, we extracted the whole wretched story.
“Your four Zanzibaris,” said the native, “Sadi, Hamiz, Abdullah, and
Marazuki, and one M’kamba, with eight of we Munithu people, slipped
away from Wa’sungu so that we might collect cattle and sheep. We went
very far and got many cattle. Presently we crossed the border of
G’nainu into Nimbere, and there Sadi ben Heri, who commanded, seized
many cattle and sheep from the Wa’Nimbere, who at once attacked us;
but your men drove them away with their guns. We could not turn back,
as the Wa’G’nainu were behind us, and Sadi ben Heri said, ‘Let us go
on through this country, and so come to Munithu, where we shall be
safe.’ We therefore crossed Nimbere, being many times attacked by the
‘Washenzi’ (savages) on the way, but the Zanzibaris always drove them
off with their guns; but afterwards they had not many cartridges left.
“We then got into N’dakura, where there are many people, and there
Sadi ben Heri said, ‘Let us take even more cattle and sheep from
these people.’ So we took many cattle and sheep from the Wa’N’dakura,
who then attacked us very fiercely; but your men again drove away
the Washenzi with their guns. But their cartridges were very nearly
finished, while the paths were narrow and the bush very thick. The
Wa’G’nainu and Wa’Nimbere were behind us, and the Wa’N’dakura were
in front. They came so close that we had to leave all the cattle and
sheep that we had taken, so that we might try to save our lives. The
enemy came closer and closer to us in the plantations and the bush,
and then your men fired their last cartridge. Soon after that Abdullah
was speared in the stomach, then Sadi was killed with spears, while
the M’kamba was killed with a sword, and Marazuki and Hamiz were also
killed with spears. There were very many of the ‘Washenzi.’ I was cut
on my arm with a sword, and I ran away and hid in the forest. The other
seven Munithu men were killed while trying to run away. Some were
killed with spears and others with swords, and some with arrows. I
waited till it was night, and then I came here.”
Such was the story of the missing man, and a ghastly business it was.
It was entirely due to the disobedience of Sadi and his companions,
and also to their stupidity in not confining their operations to
the people with whom we were fighting. As it was, they had now given
offence to two powerful tribes who had hitherto been friendly to us.
In addition, four of our rifles were in the hands of the enemy, which
might well be a source of bitter trouble to us in the future; as,
indeed, it turned out.
At the conclusion of the narrative we sent the wounded man away, with
orders that his wants should be attended to, and talked the matter
over. It was then dusk, and much too late to think of starting for
M’thara.
A few moments later Resarse arrived in camp from the village where
the ivory was, and delivered his report. He informed us that it was
a fair-sized tusk, and would weigh perhaps 50 lbs. An hour later the
fossil and his friends turned up, and after a mild discussion we agreed
to pay the price demanded, viz. a cow and three ewes with lambs—on the
condition that they were to let us have the tusk very early on the
following morning, as we explained that we were greatly desirous of
starting early for M’thara; I, for one, being a little anxious about
George.
Therefore at sunrise next morning we despatched Resarse to the fossil’s
village with a cow, together with a message to the effect that he
(Resarse) was to bring back the tusk with him, accompanied by one
or two of their men, to whom we would hand over the balance of the
purchase price due to them, _i.e._ the three ewes and their lambs.
Partaking of an early breakfast, we next packed up the tent and the
numerous loads belonging to El Hakim which had been in Bei-Munithu’s
charge, though we had to leave some of them behind. There were about
fifteen loads of various beads, a 300-yard Alpine rope, ten or a dozen
loads of mardūf (English drill), about six loads of iron, copper, and
brass wire, some “bendera” (red cloth) and “kiniki” (blue cloth), and
also some loads of camp equipment, medicines, and ammunition; which,
together with some signal-rockets and gamekeepers’ flares, totalled up
to some forty odd loads. The donkeys gave some trouble at first, as
they were very fresh, and strongly objected to being loaded again after
twelve days’ idleness. Finally, somewhere about ten o’clock we were
ready for our long-delayed return to M’thara.
All this time there were no signs of Resarse or the ivory. Half an hour
after we had finished packing he was descried approaching the camp,
but was still driving the cow; there were no signs of the tusk. Our
disgust and annoyance can be imagined when we heard that the fossil had
hidden the tusk and run away! Bei-Munithu was peremptorily summoned,
and we angrily demanded the reason of this treatment, expressing our
displeasure in sufficiently severe terms. Bei-Munithu, much disturbed,
departed to find out.
We simmered for another two hours till his return. From his account it
appeared that there were _two_ tusks, and the owner, seeing Resarse
approaching with only one cow, thought we intended to cheat him, and
incontinently fled. Bei-Munithu, however, had now persuaded him that
we were honest, and he was now on his way to camp with the two tusks.
Again we sat down and waited, with as much patience as we could command
under the circumstances.
We unloaded the donkeys, and tried to rake out something eatable, but
failed, as there was nothing cooked. At two o’clock in the afternoon
we were still waiting. At that hour one of Bei-Munithu’s men came into
camp with the information that the fossil and his friends had _run
away again, taking the two tusks with them_. El Hakim exploded at this
aggravating news. He sent for Bei-Munithu once more, and fairly made
the old reprobate shake with fear, though, as far as we knew, it was no
fault of his.
“Go at once,” cried El Hakim, “and tell these people that I have waited
two days on their account. I will wait no longer. If they do not bring
that ivory within two hours, I will come and burn their villages and
destroy their plantations to the last muhindi stalk.”
Bei-Munithu became greatly agitated, and implored El Hakim to have
a little patience while he himself went to see the fossil and his
friends, in order that he might try to convince them of the error of
their ways.
He returned late in the afternoon, accompanied by the fossil and the
other two ancients, with whom we had bargained, bringing with them
the two tusks. We gave them a piece of our minds and the price agreed
upon, and allowed them as a special favour to pick their three ewes, a
proceeding which occupied the greater part of another hour.
The tusks were only medium specimens, weighing 90 lbs. the pair. We
thanked Bei-Munithu for his efforts on our behalf, although we had more
than a shrewd suspicion that he had caused the whole delay from first
to last, though for what purpose we could not be very certain.
It was very late in the day when we eventually started for Mathara,
and there seemed very little hope of reaching it that night, though we
determined to try, notwithstanding our many loads and our miscellaneous
collection of cattle, sheep, goats, and loaded donkeys, all of
which seemed to have contracted a malignant type of perverseness,
inasmuch as they would not keep to the path, needing constant care
and watchfulness and frequent halts in order to recover stragglers.
Fortunately, Dirito and one of his tribesmen volunteered to accompany
us and “chunga” (drive) the animals, an offer which we gladly accepted.
We made fair progress until we reached the strip of forest described in
the account of our first march to Karanjui, on the borders of which we
arrived just before dusk. We were joined there by Viseli, one of the
head-men of Chanjai, and one of his people, who proceeded to assist
Dirito in driving the animals. In this manner we reached Karanjui, and
El Hakim proposed that we should camp there. I was averse to such a
plan, however, remembering George’s note, so we pushed on.
Traversing the further belt of forest, we crawled out into the open
plain which stretches away to Mathara. The sun had already set, and
the wind became bitterly cold. The porters were tired and beginning
to straggle, but as there was no water nearer than a stream an hour’s
march on the hither side of our own camp, we had no choice but to
proceed in spite of the darkness. On we went, Dirito and Viseli with
the tired animals keeping close to us, while the porters were strung
out in an irregular line in the rear. It grew pitch dark, and a cold
wind, increasing in violence, nearly froze us.
Hour after hour we pursued our hopeless way in the blackness of the
night, until somewhere about 8 p.m., when we reached the small stream.
It was useless going any further, so we camped. We called for the
tent to be pitched and firewood brought, but to our surprise met with
no response. We could not understand it. We called again, but beyond
Dirito and Viseli and their two henchmen with the animals, there were
not more than three or four men with us, and they were carrying loads
of cloth. The others were scattered somewhere in the darkness along the
path by which we had come. We were in a nice predicament, our small
party being perched on a bare, bleak hillside, exposed to the full
fury of the icy blast without a tent, a blanket, or a thing to eat,
though nothing had passed our lips since our hasty meal at daylight
that morning. However, there was nothing to do but to make the best of
it, so we ordered a large fire to be made, to try to mitigate in some
degree the freezing horror of the icy gale. Another disappointment
awaited us; there was absolutely no firewood to be had. Our few men
searched diligently for an hour, and brought back two or three handfuls
of brushwood, which by dint of a wasteful expenditure of matches,
coupled with no small amount of profanity, were transformed into a puny
apology for a fire.
Presently, to our great joy, we heard shouts from the other side of
the stream, and soon we had the satisfaction of beholding a small body
of our porters approaching. We eagerly examined their loads, but alas!
they consisted, of course, of brass and iron wire, and, by the irony of
fate, one load of cooking and table utensils.
El Hakim and I resigned ourselves to a night of discomfort, and
crouched down over the miserable spark we dignified by the name of
a fire. An hour later a solitary porter struggled into our midst,
and, lo and behold, he carried the fly-sheet of the tent. We hastily
uncorded it, and found the tent-pegs rolled up inside; these were at
once sacrificed for firewood, and we soon had a moderate blaze going.
Then Ramathani discovered some pieces of raw meat among the cooking
utensils, the remains of a sheep we had killed two days before. We very
soon had them out, and cutting them into chunks, toasted them in the
frying-pan, which formed a nourishing though somewhat indiarubber-like
meal. El Hakim then spread the canvas fly-sheet out on the ground, and
we both crept under it and tried to forget our discomfort in sleep.
The gale blew with great violence all night, blowing our protecting
fly-sheet up at the corners, and sending an icy draught up our
trouser-legs in a most disagreeable manner; so that, altogether, we
were unfeignedly thankful when the first grey streaks that heralded the
dawn appeared in the eastern heavens.
We arose and stretched our stiff and frozen limbs, and calling up the
few men who, huddled to the leeward of the animals, resembled so many
corpses under their scanty linen cloths, we started for our camp at
Mathara, which, having struck the right path, we reached in an hour.
George had not yet risen, but, hearing our arrival, wrapped himself in
a blanket and came out of his tent. I was very disagreeably surprised
at his appearance. He was quite yellow and very thin and haggard, the
effect of a severe attack of fever, which, coupled with anxiety on
our account and differences with the Wa’Mathara in camp, had given
him a very bad time indeed. He looked more like a ghost than a living
being, but “all’s well that ends well,” and our arrival safe and sound
contributed in no small degree to his speedy recovery. The Wa’Mathara,
it appeared, had again been up to their old trick of surrounding the
camp with armed men, and on one occasion they had actually attacked
some of our camp followers while on their way to the stream for water.
In fact, George was compelled to get up from his bed, where he lay
racked with fever, and, seizing his rifle, sally forth accompanied by
four or five men in order to drive off the enemy, who, however, fled
at his approach without further hostilities.
We now commenced preparations for our move northward to the Waso
Nyiro River, selecting what trade goods and cattle we should require,
intending to leave the balance with N’Dominuki. Food had also to be
bought and packed into loads, as, after leaving Mathara, there were no
other cultivated districts in the direction we intended to travel, and
we should have to depend for sustenance entirely upon the food we were
able to carry with us, and on any game we might be able to shoot. An
inventory of the contents of our food-boxes showed that there was no
reserve salt, and beyond an ounce or two in use, there was absolutely
none in the safari. I mentioned the disconcerting fact to El Hakim,
but he consoled me with the assurance that we should certainly be able
to obtain salt at a crater, marked N’gomba on the map, a little to the
south of the Waso Nyiro and due north of the Jombeni Mountains. Our
supply of English flour was also finished, and we were then living on
the native M’wele and Metama.
In the afternoon I took a rifle, and, leaving camp, struck in a
northerly direction in search of game. Crossing the thorn forest, I
came out on to a gravelly highland, covered with thorn scrub, and here
and there isolated Morio trees. Underfoot a few small aloes with red
flowers grew in the patches of earth between the blocks of white quartz
plentifully bestrewn everywhere.
The Morio (_Acocanthera Schimperi_) is a curious-looking tree with its
bare stem, averaging about six feet in height, formed of several thin
stems twisted round each other after the manner of a vine. Surmounting
the bare stem is a spherical crown of leaves, giving it the appearance
of those little toy trees supplied to children in Noah’s arks. It has
a small leaf and small pink-and-white flowers, which have a delightful
scent. The A’kikuyu and Wa’Ndorobo use the distilled sap of the roots
for poisoning their arrows. It is also used by the Somalis for that
purpose combined with the sap of another variety of the same species
(_Acocanthera Ouabaio_) which grows in the Arl mountains of northern
Somaliland. The resultant poison is the celebrated “Wabaio” of the
Somalis. No other plant or tree will grow near the Morio, consequently
they are met with only in little groups or as isolated specimens.
About two miles from camp I reached a small stony hill. On the summit
I discovered a small rudely constructed fort, built of flat stones,
containing small huts of stone roofed with brushwood. It faced to the
north, and I afterwards found that it was used by the A’kikuyu as a
watch-tower when expecting a Rendili raid. From the top of this fort
I obtained a good view of the surrounding country. To the north the
ground sloped away in a long incline to the Waso Nyiro, the bed of
which lies more than a thousand feet lower than M’thara at the point in
its course due north at that place. Beyond the Guaso Nyiro showed dimly
the shadowy outlines of Mounts Lololokwe and Wargasse, 7750 feet and
10,830 feet in height respectively. Further away to the north and east
lay the desolate sandy wastes of Samburu or Galla-land.
To the north-east beyond the Doenyo lol Deika (a hog-backed ridge 6200
feet above sea-level) the great plateau of Lykipia stretched as far
as the highlands of Kamasia and Elgeyo. At the foot of the Kamasia
highlands lies Lake Baringo, distant a hundred and twenty miles,
the southern end of which is inhabited by the Wakwafi of Nyemps.
Fifteen miles south of Baringo is Lake Hannington, discovered by,
and named after, the late Bishop Hannington, who was murdered by the
natives of Usoga in 1885. The water of this lake is lukewarm, and,
being impregnated with mineral salts, is very bitter. The Lykipia
Plateau is terminated on the north by the Loroghi Mountains, and on
its eastern side by the Elgeyo escarpment, which, together with its
southern continuation, the Mau escarpment, forms part of the eastern
wall of the great “fault” in the earth’s crust which extends from the
sea of Galilee, over 33° north of the Equator, down the valley of the
Jordan, thence down the Red Sea, and southward through North-Eastern
Africa to Lake Tanganyika, 10° south of the line, and which is known to
geographers as the Great Rift Valley.
South-west of my point of vantage rose the lofty peak of Kenia, veiled
as usual by its curtain of cloud. To the south-east, and on the eastern
side of Kenia, lay the route we had just traversed, extending through
M’thara, Munithu, Zura, Moravi, Igani, Wuimbe, Zuka, and M’bu back to
Maranga on the Tana River. The first stage of our journey was safely
accomplished. Who could tell what Fate had in store for us in the
unknown regions to the northward?
On the way out I met with no game, but on my return I saw two or three
impala antelopes, at which I could not get a shot, chiefly owing to the
noise I unavoidably made in approaching them over loose pebbles and
quartz blocks. I returned to camp unsuccessful in consequence.
We learnt from George that during our absence at Munithu one of the
donkeys had fallen sick and died. When El Hakim asked where the carcase
was, George told us that our Wakamba porters had _eaten_ it. They
did not ask for permission to do so, possibly because they feared the
ridicule of the “M’sungu,” but the same night, when all was still in
camp, they sneaked out one by one, and, cutting up the carcase, brought
it into camp and cooked and devoured it during the night. It became a
standing joke against them with the rest of the safari, who at once
nicknamed them “Fisis” (hyenas) for the remainder of the trip. When
any of the Swahili porters felt particularly jocular, they would sing
out, “Nani amakula punda?” (Who ate the donkey?) which earnest inquiry
would be immediately answered by a ringing shout from the rest of the
Swahilis, “Wakamba fisi” (the Wakamba hyenas), followed by a shout of
laughter, accompanied by cat-calls. The Wakamba themselves would smile
a contented, cheerful smile, and think lovingly of the magnificent
gorge they had enjoyed, and, I believe, rather pitied the Swahilis for
their fastidious prejudices.
The morning after our arrival from Munithu, the Somalis returned from
their sojourn in Chanjai, where they had been purchasing food. They
intended to start from the Waso Nyiro on the following day, and, as
we had expected, absolutely refused to entertain the idea of another
expedition into Embe. I concluded a little “deal” with Ismail during
the morning, exchanging twenty cartridges for a little coarse salt.
Just before noon I went out alone with the 20-bore shot-gun, with the
intention of shooting guinea-fowl for the pot. I wore rubber shoes, and
in jumping a stream, strained my instep badly. The pain was severe, but
I tried to walk it off. I got into the thick forest between our camp
and M’thara, but saw no birds. Noiselessly threading my way along a
narrow game-track, while on the look-out for partridges, I suddenly
saw a large brown mass looming through the openings of the foliage.
Only small patches of it were now and again visible, and, as I had not
the least idea what it was, I cautiously crept closer in order to get
a better view. It was quite stationary, and at first I thought it was
a large hut, though what it was doing there I could not imagine. I
cautiously approached to within ten yards, and then halted and watched.
Suddenly the mass moved, a low rumbling noise was heard, and then an
enormous head swung into my field of vision, flanked by vast outspread
ears and a pair of magnificent tusks. There I stood gazing straight
into the face of the largest bull elephant I had ever seen, with only a
20-bore shot-gun and No. 6 shot with me! After a few seconds’ suspense
I regained the use of my scattered faculties, and it immediately
occurred to me that this particular part of the forest was not a good
place for guinea-fowl, and at once decided to look somewhere else. I am
modest by nature, and deprecate ostentation; therefore I made as little
noise as possible on my backward journey—at least till I was quite a
quarter of a mile from the elephant. I did not wish to alarm him. I
took the bearings of the place, and limped back to camp for a rifle.
El Hakim immediately went back with me, but we could not find the
elephant. He had evidently winded me on my first visit, and retreated
into the deeper recesses of the thorn forest.
On my return to Cairo, I happened to mention this encounter with the
elephant to an American friend of mine. He listened with a twinkle in
his eye, and remarked, “Why, if that isn’t strange! Do you know, ’most
the same thing happened to me last Fall; when I was huntin’ in the
Rockies with my brother. We had gone out pretty early one morning to
try and shoot a few by-ids. After a smart tramp along the river-bank,
through a lot of bushes, we were pulled up with a jerk, as, on coming
round a tree, we spotted an old grizzly b’ar reared up on his hind
legs, feedin’ on something in the bushes. As we were only loaded for
by-ids, we drew back and watched him. Pretty soon ‘old grizzly’ turned
around and looked us straight in the face. My brother thought it must
be nearly breakfast-time, so we started for our camp on the run! As we
dodged among the bush we could hear the pit-pat of the grizzly’s feet
in our rear, and I tell you we ran good and hard. Presently the sound
of pursuing footsteps grew fainter and fainter, and, taking a quick
look round, durned if ‘old grizzly’ wasn’t runnin’ hard’s he could the
other way! What?”
FOOTNOTES:
[6] The sap of this wood possesses certain stimulating qualities,
and is extensively chewed by the natives of North Kenia. I tried it
afterwards, and found it of a somewhat peppery flavour. Its effect upon
me was rather nauseating, and it afterwards gave me a slight headache.
CHAPTER VIII.
_THE START FOR THE WASO NYIRO._
Some of El Hakim’s experiences with elephants—I am made a
blood-brother of Koromo’s—Departure from M’thara—A toilsome march—A
buffalo-hunt—The buffalo camp—Account of Dr. Kolb’s death—An
unsuccessful lion hunt—Apprehension and punishment of a deserter.
Early the next day the Somalis left for the Waso Nyiro. Soon after
their departure we were aroused by a sound of altercation in our camp.
On sending to inquire the cause, we found that four of the Somalis had
returned, and were busily searching the tents of our men for deserters
from their safari. Summoning them, we asked by what right they entered
our camp and searched it without even asking permission. They were so
impertinent that I lost my temper, and abused them soundly, and ended
up by kicking them out of the camp. The looks they bestowed on me, an
Infidel, who had dared to raise his foot against a follower of Mahomet,
boded ill for my personal safety, if it should ever chance that
opportunity favoured them.
We were not quite ready to march, as our loads gave us more trouble
than we had bargained for. N’Dominuki came to see us in the morning,
accompanied by a large number of his people bringing food. We purchased
about a fortnight’s rations, as we did not intend to be away more than
a month in any case, and we could easily eke out the rations with
game. We only took a month’s supply of tinned stuff, soap, candles,
etc., for ourselves, leaving two cases behind with N’Dominuki as a
reserve store to take us back to Nairobi. We also left behind twenty
loads of beads, large-bore ammunition, and odds and ends of equipment,
and all the cattle, except eight or nine head which we intended to take
with us. N’Dominuki had five young camels belonging to El Hakim, which
we also took along, as we thought they might be useful for buying ivory
from the Rendili.
I wished to go out again to look for my friend the bull elephant, but
I was unable to put my foot on the ground in consequence of my injured
instep. After our evening meal, which we had taken under the trees
outside the tent, George and I had an interesting chat with El Hakim
about elephant-hunting, upon which subject he was a veritable mine of
information. He had shot elephants persistently for the previous four
years in Somaliland, Galla-land, and the country round Lake Rudolph,
having killed over 150, on one occasion shooting twenty-one elephants
in twenty-one days—a fairly good record. Commenting on the size of
the tusks obtainable in the districts north of the Waso Nyiro River,
he mentioned that his largest pair weighed just over 218 lbs., and
measured 9 feet in length.
Naturally, exciting incidents, when in pursuit of his favourite quarry,
were numerous. Once he sighted a solitary bull feeding in the open
plain some little distance away from his camp. Snatching up an 8-bore
rifle and two or three cartridges, he started in pursuit. On proceeding
to load his weapon, he found that in his hurry he had brought away the
wrong cartridges! They were by a different maker than those usually
used in the rifle, and there was a slight difference in the turning of
the flange, which caused them to jam a little. He forced them in, and,
by an exercise of strength, closed the breech.
After a careful stalk he reached a favourable position for a shot, and,
taking aim, banged off. The rifle exploded with a terrific report,
the barrels blowing off in his hands, fortunately without doing him
any injury—the explosion of 10 drams of powder being too much for the
incompletely closed breech-locking grip. There was El Hakim with the
butt of his rifle in his hand and the barrels in the other, vaguely
wondering in what manner the beast would kill him, and, no doubt,
feeling very much _de trop_. The elephant, who was hit in the shoulder,
turned towards him, and, after regarding him with a prolonged stare,
turned away again, and moved slowly off as if a bullet in the shoulder
was of little or no consequence, leaving his discomfited assailant
considerably relieved.
Another time he took the same 8-bore—which, by the way, had not been
repaired—and started in pursuit of a herd of elephants. He loaded the
weapons, and, after closing the breech, bound it round and round very
tightly with a leather bootlace. On the first discharge, stock and
barrels again parted company; whereupon he handed the useless weapon to
one of his bearers, and, taking an old Martini in exchange, rushed off
after the herd, and bagged three more elephants.
In Somaliland, one of the favourite amusements of his party was riding
out, mounted on light Somali ponies, to bait wild elephants. Their
_shikaries_ would perhaps locate a couple of the animals in a small
clump of trees, where they were resting during the heat of the day.
One of the party would then ride up and fire a pistol at one of them.
The result, of course, would be a scream of rage, and a furious
charge by the insulted animal. Horse and rider would at once make
themselves scarce. The elephant would seldom charge more than 100
yards or so away from cover, but at that distance, or under, would
halt and then slowly return, thus giving another member of the party
a chance. With a wild shout another horse and rider would gallop at
full speed across the elephant’s path, just out of reach. Round would
come the huge beast in another attempt to put an end to what it justly
considered a nuisance—an attempt foredoomed to failure. One after
another the horsemen would gallop up to the now thoroughly infuriated
beast, shouting and firing pistols, provoking ugly rushes first at one
and then another of them—for all the world like a lot of schoolboys
playing touch. Sometimes one or other of them had a narrow escape, but
somebody would nip in at the critical moment and divert the elephant’s
attention. A slip or a fall would have meant a horrible death from the
feet and tusks of the enraged pachyderm; but the ponies were as agile
as their riders, and enjoyed the fun every whit as much.
We had no ponies, and playing with elephants in that manner would not
have been sufficiently amusing when mounted on a mule, which had a
habit of violently shying whenever it was urged faster than a moderate
trot. El Hakim once had a very unpleasant experience through this
mule’s aggravating peculiarity. He was riding ahead of the safari, when
he noticed a herd of elephants feeding a mile or so in front. Taking
his rifle from the bearer, he trotted after them. The elephants moved
slowly on, and disappeared over a ridge some distance ahead. El Hakim
urged the mule faster, but, in spite of his efforts, on gaining the top
of the ridge, he had the mortification of seeing his quarry moving off
at an ever-increasing speed. Fearing that he would lose them after all,
he jammed his spurs into the mule, and raced away down the slope for
all he was worth.
It was fairly steep, the ground being covered with loose stones, some
of which, displaced by the mule’s hoofs, rolled and clattered downhill
after him, and so frightened the animal that she incontinently bolted.
El Hakim’s whole energies were now concentrated on keeping his seat,
his rifle, and his presence of mind. Just as he felt that he was
gradually succeeding in getting his agitated steed under control, she
shied at a clump of cactus, and shot him clean out of the saddle,
and over the cactus, into the clinging embrace of a well-developed
wait-a-bit thorn which was growing on the other side. When the men
had finally cut him out, he had quite given up the idea of shooting
elephants that day, turning his attention instead to his numerous
abrasions. Besides, the elephants were by that time miles away.
After the evening meal, when we generally sat in front of the camp-fire
smoking, George and I used, figuratively speaking, to sit at the feet
of El Hakim and listen for hours to his yarns of elephant-hunting. It
was very seldom we could get him to speak about his experiences, but
when in the mood to talk, his tales were well worth listening to.
We had some hazy idea that elephants were shot at something like a
hundred yards’ range with a powerful large-bore rifle, which mortally
wounded them at the first discharge. Once I asked El Hakim, off-hand,
at what range he generally killed his elephants.
“Oh,” he replied, “anything from five to twenty yards!” and went on to
explain that it was much safer to shoot big game at short range.
“Always stalk your beast carefully,” said he, “and get close enough
to be certain of your shot; then hit him hard in the right place, and
there you are!”
It certainly sounded very simple, and I must say that El Hakim puts his
own precepts into practice with conspicuous success; but a beginner
does not find it so very easy. The temptation to fire at say eighty or
a hundred yards, is well-nigh irresistible. It seems so much safer,
though in reality it is much more dangerous—a fact which is rather
difficult of assimilation by the novice.
“Besides,” El Hakim would remark in conclusion, with the air of one
propounding an unanswerable argument, “it is more sportsmanlike.”
Another advantage of the short-range shot is this: Suppose a herd of
elephants is located. If the conditions of wind, etc., are favourable,
one can, with ordinary care, get right up to them, near enough to
pick out the finest pair of tusks, and drop their owner with a bullet
through the brain. If a ·303 is used there is no smoke, while it makes
a comparatively small report, which is most likely attributed by the
rest of the herd to the effect, and not the cause, of their comrade’s
fall. A second and even a third elephant can often be obtained under
these circumstances, before the herd realizes what is happening and
stampedes.
This rule of careful stalking till near enough to make the result of
the shot certain holds good with all big game, though there are certain
other factors to be considered, such as the angle to your line of sight
at which the beast aimed at is standing, and also light, etc. One
can go into any club or hotel billiard-room in those parts of Africa
where big game is to be found, and listen to conversation on, say,
lion-shooting. The chances are that nine out of ten men present have
“had a shot at a lion;” but only a very small percentage have actually
bagged their beast. In these days of small-bore, high-power rifles, a
man can shoot at a stray lion at six hundred yards, and he may be lucky
enough to wound it or even, perhaps, kill it; but surely that is not
“playing the game.”
On the afternoon of the day after the Somalis left for the Waso Nyiro,
N’Dominuki came into camp with a chief named “Karama,” who wished to
make “muma,” or blood-brotherhood, with me, to which I consented. It
was rather a long affair. They brought a sheep with them, which was
killed, and the liver cut out and toasted. Karama and I then squatted
on the ground facing each other, while our men on the one side, and
Karama’s friends on the other, formed a circle round us. A spear and a
rifle were then crossed over our heads, and N’Dominuki, as master of
the ceremonies, then took a knife and sharpened it alternately on the
spear-blade and the gun-barrel, reciting the oath of “muma” meanwhile.
It was a long, rambling kind of oath, amounting in fact to an offensive
and defensive alliance, with divers pains and penalties attached, which
came into operation in the event of either or both the blood-brothers
breaking the said oath. At the conclusion of N’Dominuki’s speech the
assembled spectators shouted the words “Orioi muma” three times.
Three incisions were then made in my chest, just deep enough to allow
the blood to flow, and a similar operation was performed on Karama.
N’Dominuki then ordered the toasted sheep’s liver to be brought, which,
on its arrival, was cut into small pieces, and a piece handed to both
Karama and me. A further recitation of the penalties of breaking the
oath was made by N’Dominuki, and again the spectators shouted “Orioi
muma.” Karama and I then dipped our pieces of liver in our own blood,
and amid breathless silence exchanged pieces and devoured them. This
was repeated three times to the accompaniment of renewed shouts from
the spectators. The remainder of the liver was then handed round to
the witnesses, who ate it, and the ceremony was concluded, it only
remaining for me to make my new blood-brother a present.
The next morning our final preparations were completed, and N’Dominuki
having come over early, we turned all the animals we were leaving
behind over to him. He bade us adieu, with a wish that we might return
safe and sound, and, what is more, he sincerely meant what he said.
After leaving our late camp we plunged once again into the thorn
forest, which we soon crossed, emerging into the sparsely vegetated
highland I have mentioned before as extending to the northward. The
sun was very hot, and travelling slow and laborious, not so much from
the nature of the ground, perhaps, as from the soft condition of the
men after their long rest. The ground, nevertheless, made walking a
wearisome task, as the loose pebbles and quartz blocks turned our
ankles and bruised our shins.
[Illustration: THE AUTHOR MAKING BLOOD-BROTHERHOOD WITH KARAMA.]
[Illustration: THE “GREEN CAMP.” (See page 162.)]
After two hours’ toiling we found ourselves on the edge of the
tableland looking down a sharp declivity to the plain beneath, which
stretched out in desolate barrenness as far as the eye could reach.
It was a dreary khaki-coloured landscape, with peculiarly shaped
hills in the extreme background. In the middle distance were belts of
dusty-looking thorn trees, while here and there mounds of broken lava
reared up their ugly masses to add to the general air of desolation.
Somewhere ahead of us, about four days’ march, was the Waso Nyiro;
and beyond that lay the desert again, stretching away up towards Lakes
Rudolph and Stephanie, and thence onward to the hills of Abyssinia and
Somaliland. The country we should have to cross in order to reach the
Waso Nyiro was, as far as we knew, waterless, with the exception of
one tiny brook, which flowed northward from M’thara, probably emptying
itself into the Waso Nyiro. We followed it, therefore, in all its
multitudinous windings, as, without it, we should have been in a sorry
plight indeed.
As we descended to the plain the heat appreciably increased. We met
several rhinoceros on the road, but we discreetly left them to their
meditations. Apparently there had once been grass on the plain, but it
had been burnt, and during the passage of our safari a fine, choking
black dust arose, which, in combination with the dust from the dry red
soil, formed a horrible compound that choked up our ears, eyes, noses,
and throats in a most uncomfortable manner. For four hours we marched,
and then camped on the banks of the stream.
Innumerable rhino tracks crossed in every direction, leading us to
suppose that we were camped at the place where the brutes usually
drank. George, hearing the shrill cries of some guinea-fowl from the
opposite bank, sallied forth with the shot-gun, and soon the sound
of many shots in quick succession showed that his energy was reaping
its reward. He returned presently with eight birds, which were a very
welcome addition to our larder.
We turned in early. During the night I was awakened by the sound of
torrents of rain beating down on the tent. I rose and looked cautiously
out. A noise from El Hakim’s tent at once attracted my attention,
and gazing in that direction I saw El Hakim himself, clad only in a
diminutive shirt, busily engaged in placing the ground-sheet of his
tent over the stacked loads. He was getting splashed considerably. I
did not disturb him, but retired once more to my blankets, perfectly
satisfied that the loads were being properly looked after.
In the morning the sky was as clear as crystal, while the parched earth
showed no traces of the heavy shower that had fallen during the night.
We travelled over the same kind of country as that traversed the day
before, dry brown earth, burnt grass, and loose stones being the most
noticeable features, if I except the ubiquitous rhinoceros, of which
truly there were more than “a genteel sufficiency.” In fact, they
proved a terrible nuisance, as we had sometimes to make long _détours_
in order to avoid them. They were not only capable of doing so, but
seemed only too anxious to upset our safari. The men were mortally
afraid of them, and much preferred their room to their company.
After a couple of hours on the road we saw in the distance a large
swamp, which we had not previously noticed, surrounded for a radius
of a mile or so by thorn-bush, which grew a great deal thicker than
on other parts of the plain. The quantity of game we saw on the road
was simply incredible. Vast herds of oryx, zebra, and grantei, roamed
over the landscape; ostriches and giraffes were also in sight, and, of
course, rhinoceros. It is a sportsman’s paradise, and as yet, with one
or two exceptions, untouched.
When we reached the swamp the safari was halted to allow the stragglers
to come up. While waiting I saw something sticking out of the grass a
hundred yards away, to which I called El Hakim’s attention. He observed
it attentively through the binoculars for a moment, and then turned to
me with an exclamation of satisfaction, softly observing, “Buffaloes,
lying down.” Taking his ·450 express, and motioning the few men with
us to be silent, he started to stalk them, followed by myself with the
Martini rifle. We crawled down very cautiously to leeward, and after
half an hour’s careful stalking, during which we advanced only fifty
yards, we ensconced ourselves in a favourable position in the reeds
fringing the swamp. We were considering the advisability of a further
advance, when our fools of men who had been in the rear reached the
spot where we left the others, and on learning that a whole herd of
the dreaded “mbogo” (buffalo) were in such close proximity, promptly
climbed the adjacent trees, from which safe and elevated position they
carried on an animated discourse on the merits of buffalo meat as an
article of diet. As a consequence we had the mortification of seeing
the old bull prick up his ears and listen, then slowly rise and sniff
the air. The indications were apparently unsatisfactory, for the whole
herd rose slowly to their feet, and, after a preliminary sniff, moved
slowly off over a rise in the ground, and out of range. Words would not
express our feelings!
El Hakim and I vehemently consigned our indiscreet followers to the
hottest possible place known to theology, but even that did not comfort
us. We decided not to give up, but to go on and follow the herd,
although it was extremely unlikely that they would allow us to get
within range, as the buffalo is a very keen beast, especially when
once alarmed. However, to our surprise and delight, we found, when we
had breasted the rise, that the herd (about thirty head) had halted
about two hundred yards away. We then noticed several very young calves
among them, which at once explained why they were so deliberate in
their movements. They were, however, on the look-out, and directly we
appeared they saw us. The cows with their calves took up their station
in the centre of the herd, while the bulls faced outwards, something
after the manner of soldiers forming square. Most noble and majestic
they appeared, with their huge, powerful bodies and immense frontal
development of horns. They had an air of savage grandeur and ferocity
about them that commanded my highest admiration.
There were a few stunted thorn trees standing about, and we took up a
position behind one of them. As I have said, we were about two hundred
yards away, and as they showed no disposition to run, we thought we
might venture to walk boldly to another tree some distance nearer to
them. There was a certain amount of risk of being charged in so doing,
but we chanced it, and were perfectly successful in our design, though
our quarry were manifestly uneasy. Sitting down, we waited patiently in
the scorching sun for over an hour, in order to let them settle down
again, so that we might approach still nearer. They gradually resumed
their feeding, but not without much sniffing of the air on the part of
the bulls, coupled with many suspicious glances in our direction.
El Hakim thought that the best thing to do would be for me to go to
another tree a hundred yards to the right. Once there we would both
crawl gradually within range, and then act as circumstances might
direct. I started off for the tree, and arrived without accident,
although the old bull, the guardian of the herd, sniffed severe
disapproval. They were evidently getting used to our presence, but it
was highly improbable they would tolerate our nearer approach, should
they observe it. We again waited, and then, watching El Hakim, I saw
him crawl stealthily on his stomach towards another tree fifty yards
nearer the herd. I followed suit on my side, suffering considerably in
so doing.
The vertical sun beat fiercely down, and, flattened out as I was, I
felt its full effects on my back, which was protected only by a flannel
shirt. The ground was covered with sharp pebbles and quartz crystals;
and the long sharp thorns, blown down from the trees, pricked me
cruelly, while I was tormented by a raging thirst. That fifty yards’
crawl took us twenty minutes; it seemed an age. When I arrived, panting
and gasping, at my tree, I was bleeding freely from numerous cuts and
scratches on my chest, elbows, and knees.
However, we were now within easy range of the herd, and after resting
a few minutes to steady ourselves, we prepared for action. Looking
over to my left, I saw El Hakim raise his rifle, so, taking aim at the
largest bull I could pick out, I let drive, followed a fraction of
a second later by El Hakim. My beast jumped, staggered a few paces,
with the blood streaming in showers from his mouth and nostrils, and
then toppled over dead, shot through the lungs. El Hakim’s beast also
staggered a few paces and went down, evidently mortally wounded. We had
neither of us shot at the big bull, as at the moment of firing he was
behind some of the other animals. We had then two magnificent beasts
down, and did not want more, but the herd would not move away. They
smelt the two carcases stamping and pawing the ground, but did not
budge an inch.
The big bull gazed round, seeking an assailant; but we were well under
cover. Suddenly he turned, exposing his shoulder. Two rifles spoke
simultaneously, but he did not go down. Once more we fired together,
and again he was struck, but still kept his legs. Yet again we fired,
and had the satisfaction of seeing him settle down on his hind
quarters. To our great delight, the herd then moved off, and we were
able to walk cautiously up to within ten feet of the big bull, as he
sat propped up on his fore legs, bellowing defiance. Such a spectacle
of impotent rage I had never previously witnessed. He made most
herculean efforts to rise, but being unable to do so, he rolled his
blood-shot eyes, while foam dripped from his massive jaws. He was the
very picture of helpless though majestic rage. I took pity on the noble
beast, and planted a Martini bullet in his neck, smashing the spine,
thereby finishing him for good and all. We carefully examined him, and,
an instance of the splendid vitality of an old bull buffalo, found all
our six bullets planted in his left shoulder, so close together that
they could have been covered with an ordinary-sized plate. Three were
mine and three were El Hakim’s. We could easily distinguish them, as,
though our rifles were of the same bore (·450), those from El Hakim’s
Holland and Holland were clean-cut and symmetrical, while my heavier
Martini bullets, propelled by half the charge of powder used by El
Hakim, made a more ragged hole. We tossed for the head, and I won.
Four men were required to carry it into camp, when it was severed from
the body. The horns were magnificently proportioned, and in perfect
condition. The horns of my first beast also were quite up to the
average.
As by this time it was long after midday (our stalk having lasted three
hours), we determined to camp near the edge of the swamp. We dubbed
it “Buffalo Camp,” and decided to stop there the next day in order
that the men might cut up the dead buffaloes and dry their meat into
biltong. We left their entrails where the beasts had been shot, with
men to protect them from the vultures till sundown, in the hope that
during the night they might attract lions.
Jumbi reported in the afternoon that two of the porters had deserted
on the road, and, worst of all, they were carrying, one a load of
food, and the other a load of the Venetian beads which were to buy us
food from the Rendili. We sent Jumbi with six men back to endeavour to
apprehend them.
Our camp was situated only about half a mile or so from the grave of
Dr. Kolb, whom Mr. Neumann met at M’thara. In reading Neumann’s book[7]
a pathetic paragraph (in the light of after events) met my eye; it ran
thus:—
“Here I had the honour of introducing my companion (Dr. Kolb) to
my esteemed brother N’Dominuki, and to the rhino, an animal whose
acquaintance he had not yet made. He had shot hippos in the Tana,
but felt rather desponding about his chances about bagging a ‘faro.’
However, I promised him that he should have that satisfaction, and my
pledge was fulfilled the first time he went out with me. After that
he shot many. He was, I believe, a first-rate shot, though somewhat
hampered in the bush by the necessity of wearing spectacles.”
Soon after those words were written Dr. Kolb was killed by a rhinoceros
under particularly affecting circumstances. El Hakim was travelling in
company with him at the time, but on the fatal morning he was some half
hour’s march in the rear, and arrived only in time to see the end. I
got the story from El Hakim, and can vouch for its truth as far as he
was concerned in it.
It appeared that Dr. Kolb was walking at the head of his men, when he
saw a half-grown rhinoceros in the path. He was carrying a Mannlicher
rifle, the magazine loaded with soft-nosed bullets. He immediately
fired, dropping the rhinoceros dead in its tracks. The mother rhino
then sprang up from the grass, where she had been lying until then
unobserved and probably asleep, and charged down on to Dr. Kolb and his
party. She caught his gun-bearer first, and tossed him two or three
times, her horn transfixing both the man’s thighs. Dr. Kolb meanwhile
was pouring magazine fire into her, but failed to stop her, and she
charged him in turn. He turned and fled, but was overtaken in a very
few yards, and hoisted into the air, falling behind the rhinoceros, who
passed on and disappeared. Her long sharp horn entered the lower part
of his body from behind, and penetrated upwards for some distance. His
men carried him into the shade of a bush, and there El Hakim found him
half an hour later. He was quite conscious, and in no pain. El Hakim
urged him to permit him to examine his injuries, but Dr. Kolb assured
him that he was fatally wounded, and, like a true scientist, detailed
his symptoms for El Hakim’s benefit. He was quite calm and collected,
and asked El Hakim for a stimulant, and brandy was immediately
supplied. Dr. Kolb then referred to his watch, and calmly remarked that
he had twenty minutes more of consciousness and half an hour of life,
his prognosis proving correct in every particular.
The next morning as we were occupied in superintending the manufacture
of the biltong, a shout of “Simba! simba!” (Lions! lions!) caused us
to eagerly examine the landscape. Trotting unconcernedly past our
camp, not more than four hundred yards away, were a superb lion and
lioness. El Hakim, George, and I followed at once, and discovered them
loitering about some distance from the buffalo entrails. We laid down
near the remains, hoping they would come for them, and so give us a
shot, and watched them for some time.
They were a magnificent pair. Although the lion is known to be rather
a skulking brute than otherwise, there is such a suggestion of latent
power combined with careless grace in its carriage, that it compels
one’s admiration and causes lion-shooting to appear an eminently
desirable method of passing one’s time. These two lions came gradually
nearer, evidently attracted by the buffalo meat, but when they were
about two hundred yards away, in spite of our caution, the lioness
spotted us, and she immediately growled, and so put her lord and master
on the alert. Presently, to our great disappointment, they turned and
walked slowly away, stopping now and again to look round and growl.
We followed them, and at times when they halted a little longer
than usual, we almost got within range—almost, but not quite, they
invariably moving on again when we approached closer than they judged
expedient.
This game continued until we were several miles from camp, and,
notwithstanding our ardour, we were getting tired. Eventually they
retired to a patch of bush, but just as we were making arrangements to
beat it, the lioness emerged, and laid down in the grass out of range,
being presently joined by her mate. The old game of follow-my-leader
then recommenced, and after six hours of this we got rather sick of it.
On the way they were joined by another male, a beautiful black-maned
brute, the sight of which revived our flagging energies, and we
continued the chase, but to no purpose. In spite of our efforts they
kept a long way ahead, and finally went on at a trot, leaving us far
in the rear, quite out-distanced, and extremely disgusted. We returned
to camp after a fruitless tramp of about seven hours.
Jumbi returned in the evening with one of the deserters; he had been
unable to secure the other. The captured culprit was the man who had
carried the load of food, which he had _deliberately burnt_. It was
really wicked. Food which was so hard to obtain, and which before long
would be so sorely needed by our men, had been deliberately destroyed,
and for no object, that we could ascertain, beyond sheer perversity.
The delinquent was ordered a flogging—and got it. The other deserter,
who had not been recaptured, had also burnt his load of Venetian beads,
which were particularly valuable in view of our proposed stay among the
Rendili.
I had the three buffalo heads buried in a large ant-heap against our
return, as we were unable to carry them about with us, and to have
hung them in the trees would have exposed them to theft from wandering
Wandorobbo or stragglers from the Somali caravan. The ants were very
large, being quite an inch in length, and of a bright scarlet colour;
they died on exposure to the air and light. They bit very fiercely,
drawing blood whenever they fastened their immensely powerful jaws.
The men who buried the horns suffered considerably about the legs, but
I was consoled by the thought that the horns would be safe from the
hyænas while in charge of such powerful little warriors.
FOOTNOTES:
[7] “Elephant Hunting in East Equatorial Africa,” by Arthur H. Neumann
(1898), p. 126.
CHAPTER IX.
_JOURNEY DOWN THE WASO NYIRO._
Arrival at the Waso Nyiro—The “Green Camp”—The “cinder-heap”—The camp
on fire—Scarcity of game—Hunting a rhino on mule-back.
Next morning we continued to follow the course of the little stream
which issued, greatly diminished in size, from the opposite side of
the swamp. The country grew more barren as we advanced. Great gravelly
areas alternated with brown earth, and now and again an outcrop of
quartz or lava occurred. The universal thorn tree was the only member
of the vegetable world that seemed to be able to draw any sustenance
from the arid soil, with the exception of a few cacti and small aloes.
Rhinoceros there were in plenty, and several giraffe loomed on the
horizon. We were also greatly excited to observe elephant tracks, two
or three days old, trending north-eastward towards the Waso Nyiro.
In the distance we could see frowning cliffs of pink gneiss, and due
north, some peculiarly shaped hills, one in particular being an almost
exact replica of the Great Pyramid of Cheops at Ghizeh. Another to the
left of it consisted of a pyramidal base, surmounted by a columnar
peak that by some agency or other had been split vertically into two
unequal portions, which remained sticking boldly upwards like a couple
of gigantic teeth. Standing out prominently to the north-north-west was
the massive outline of Mount Lololokwe, 3000 feet above the level of
the surrounding plain, while behind it, one point more to the westward,
Mount Gwarguess reared its stately head 2000 feet higher.
To our great annoyance and dismay, the little stream we were following,
which had been dwindling in size for some miles, now disappeared
completely into a subterranean passage. It was eleven o’clock in the
forenoon, so we crept into the scanty shade afforded by some thorn
trees, and rested in preparation for a long march to the Waso Nyiro in
the afternoon.
The heat was intense, and the atmosphere most remarkably dry and clear.
Small objects at long distances stood out with remarkable distinctness.
The hills, at the foot of which flowed the Waso Nyiro, seemed not more
than an hour’s march distant.
About two o’clock, having rested sufficiently, we once more forged
ahead, bearing more to the north-east than in the direction we had
hitherto followed. We encountered the same soft crumbling brown earth,
with loose stones on the surface. Aloes, morio trees, and thorn
trees were the only vegetation, and even they were only sparsely
distributed. The country was formed of long rolling ridges, which we
traversed at right angles. It was a weary and tiresome march. Each
time we climbed a ridge we looked eagerly forward for a sight of the
longed-for Waso Nyiro. Again and again we were disappointed, each
ridge exactly resembling the last. At four o’clock in the afternoon we
entered a small belt of thorn trees and dodged a couple of rhinos who
were love-making just inside, and would no doubt have resented being
disturbed. When we once more emerged from the thorn belt we gazed over
a broad plain which sloped gently down to a range of dun-coloured hills
some miles away. The Waso Nyiro, we knew, flowed at the foot of these
hills, and once more we pressed forward, momentarily forgetting our
fatigue in our eagerness to reach the desired goal.
I was walking with my Martini over my shoulder, when I was considerably
startled by a noise from my left, which caused me to hurriedly bring my
rifle to the ready. It was a long-drawn growling grunt, and my first
thought was of lions. Closer attention, however, solved the mystery.
It was the cry of a zebra, one of a herd of Grevy’s beautiful zebra
which were congregated over half a mile away. The cry of the zebra is
very like a long-drawn growling whistle, and in the distance, when too
far off to hear the whistle, the growl very much resembles that of a
lion. There were large herds of oryx in sight, and a few rhinoceros and
water-buck.
The sun sank gradually lower in the western heavens, and we were
still apparently no nearer the range of hills we were making for, so
deceptive are the apparent distances in the clear atmosphere. But just
as dusk had fallen, our eyes were gladdened by the sight of a large
clump of Doum palms growing in the centre of an open green space a mile
away. We made towards them, and feasted our weary eyes on the beautiful
green expanse stretching out before us.
A spring emerged from the earth here, perhaps the same stream we had
followed in the morning, and which had so disappointed us by suddenly
disappearing. The water was quite warm, and impregnated with mineral
salts; so much so as to be almost undrinkable. It welled up into a
hole in the rocks about 20 feet long and 12 feet wide by 4 feet deep,
forming a lovely natural bath, overgrown with varicoloured mosses and
ferns. The overflow meandered through the grass for 100 yards or so
in a little stream a foot deep with a pebbly bottom fringed by dark
green rushes, and then spread out into a swamp overgrown with tall
papyrus reeds 10 or 12 feet high. There were two or three acres of good
green grass on one side of the swamp, to which our animals rushed with
whinnies of delight the instant they caught sight of it, and ate and
ate as if they would never stop. We crossed this little stream, and
pitched the tents under some large thorn trees. We christened the place
“Green Camp.” It was about 3500 feet above sea-level, and over 1000
feet lower than M’thara.
There was a splendid specimen of the Doum palm on the other side of
the camp, which can be seen in the photograph of the Green camp. The
Doum palm (_Hyphæne Thebaica_) is called m’lala by the Swahilis. It is
a very graceful palm, and grows to a great height on the Waso Nyiro,
and was to be found everywhere along the banks of the river. The stem
divides into two branches a few feet from the ground, each branch again
and again dividing and being crowned with its canopy of broad, flat,
fan-shaped leaves. The fruit, about the size of a potato, is mostly
hard uneatable kernel, with a layer of moist fibre, about half an inch
thick, contained in a reddish bitter rind. It reminds one of eating
chopped cocoanut fibre, with a sweetish, slightly astringent flavour.
George and I ate quantities of it later on, as also did the men, when
we were without other vegetables.
While we were pitching the tents a rhinoceros emerged from among the
papyrus, where he had been wallowing in the swamp, and trotted towards
us. A shout soon caused him to change his mind, and off he went full
gallop for the Waso Nyiro, which, I should have remarked, was about
half a mile distant.
The country outside the camp was covered in places with large white
patches of mineral salts, principally carbonate of soda and sulphate
of magnesia; but we searched in vain for any common salt. There was
very little soil, and the men who were driving in the tent-pegs struck
rock three or four inches below the surface. A violent gale of wind
came on at sundown, and it needed the most extraordinary precautions,
in the way of extra guy-ropes to the tents, to prevent them being blown
bodily away.
After supper we held a consultation to decide what form our plans
should take. First and foremost, we wished to find the Burkeneji and
Rendili peoples, in order to trade for ivory. These people are nomads,
and wander at will over the immense tract of desert country bounded,
roughly, on the north by Southern Somaliland, on the south by the Waso
Nyiro, on the west by Lake Rudolph, and on the east by the fortieth
degree of longitude. They have one or two permanent settlements,
notably Marsabit, some eight or ten days’ journey to the north of the
Waso Nyiro, and at Mount Nyiro, situated some two or three marches
south of Lake Rudolph. There was every sign that there had been a long
drought (we found afterwards that no rain had fallen for three years),
and it was more than likely that they had come south to the Waso Nyiro,
as was their habit when water was scarce in the arid country to the
north.
After a little deliberation, therefore, we determined to follow the
course of the Waso Nyiro down-stream—that being, of course, to the
eastward—in order to try to discover the Rendili, whom we were very
anxious to find.
We started soon after daybreak the following morning. The weather was
perfect, being dry, warm, and clear; we felt it a pleasure to be alive.
We followed the river, as there was, of course, no other water. The
course of the Waso Nyiro is always clearly defined by the belts of
Doum palms that fringe the banks, and by the greater greenness of the
vegetation in its immediate vicinity. At first we thought that if we
followed the general direction of the river, viz. eastward, we should
never be far from the water, whether it was in sight at the moment or
not. Two or three days’ journey, however, undeceived us on that point.
The river, as a matter of fact, winds about in a most extraordinary
manner, and on several occasions when, thinking we were near the river,
we halted for the purpose of camping, we found, owing to an utterly
unexpected turn, that it was really miles away. Consequently we adopted
the more fatiguing but safer course of following it in all its windings.
Just such an experience befell us on the morning we left “Green Camp.”
Away to the eastward of that place, and about ten miles distant, was a
mass of gneiss rock known as Mount Sheba, towering 500 feet above the
plain, and 3500 feet above sea-level. We knew the river flowed within
a mile or two of it, but on which side, whether to the north or south,
we were uncertain. We therefore made for the north end of the mountain,
as, if the river flowed to the south, we should necessarily meet it,
while if it went to the north we should still be going right.
The first hour’s march was fairly easy. Level stretches of sand covered
with patches of mineral salts, and dotted with stunted thorn trees,
offered no great impediment to our progress. Several rhinoceros were
browsing about, one brute being right in our path. We cautiously
approached and shouted at him, but he did not seem disposed to move.
On approaching nearer we saw that he was wounded, a great hole in his
ribs showing that he had been fighting his brother rhinoceros, and
had, apparently, considerably the worst of the argument. Rhinoceros
are inveterate fighters amongst themselves; and of all the animals
shot during the expedition there was not one who did not show healed or
partially healed wounds somewhere in the region of the ribs. As this
particular beast would not move, I started forward with the intention
of shooting him, but he suddenly awoke to the exigencies of the
situation, and quietly trotted out of harm’s way.
As we proceeded, smooth patches of black lava showed themselves above
the surface of the sand, and quartzose rocks occurred here and there.
Half a mile further on rose a plateau about 25 feet high, apparently
composed of some black substance. It lay right in our path, and we
pushed forward towards it in order to more closely examine it. When we
arrived at the foot, we found, to our dismay, that it was composed of
blocks of black vesicular lava, varying in size from a football to an
ordinary trunk. It stretched in either direction, left and right, as
far as the eye could see, and there was no alternative but to attempt
to cross over the top, which we were very loth to do, although we
consoled ourselves with the thought that it would only be for a few
hundred yards. We therefore scrambled to the summit, and only then got
a faint idea of what was before us.
The whole country round was covered with loose blocks of lava to a
depth of 30 to 50 feet. The surface was not even fairly level, but
was irregularly disposed in heaps, forming little hills and valleys
of loose and often insecurely poised stones. There was a great and
ever-present risk of a careless movement bringing two or three tons of
stuff rolling down, and obliterating the unfortunate individual who had
disturbed the _status quo_. The hard slag-like blocks were perforated
by innumerable holes caused by air-bubbles when the lava was fluid,
giving them the structure and appearance of a dark brown, or black,
petrified sponge, the ragged edges of which soon reduced our boots to
ribbons. The men who were wearing sandals suffered severely, as did
the animals. It was, of course, impossible to ride, the mules having
painfully hard work even to get along alone.
Imagine a tiny ant endeavouring to clamber across a newly laid,
unrolled cinder-track, and you will have our position precisely. There
was, however, no help for it; the cinder-heap, as we dubbed it, had to
be crossed. We advanced slowly and painfully for over two hours, but,
to our inexpressible disappointment, saw no signs of nearing the other
side. The heat of the sun was terrific. Its rays, beating vertically
down, were readily absorbed by the lava, seemingly almost causing it to
glow in the intense heat, which, radiating afresh from under our feet,
gave us the feeling of being slowly baked in an immense oven.
At the end of the second hour we halted for a space, dead beat. Sitting
still in the sun we found was much worse than walking, so we resumed
our painful march, climbing slowly and wearily over the interminable
lava-heaps, following a faint track made by wandering rhinoceros.
Here and there a few stunted thorn bushes made a pitiful struggle for
existence, though how they managed to live we could not imagine, seeing
that the closest scrutiny failed to show any traces of soil, their
roots seemingly going straight down between the blocks of lava. As we
walked, El Hakim suddenly jogged me in the ribs with his elbow, thus
calling my attention to a couple of giraffe which were standing about
fifty yards ahead watching us. Strange to say, they did not exhibit the
least alarm, but watched us till we had approached to within twenty
yards, when they turned and shambled off, with their ungainly heads
swaying to and fro like the masthead of a ship in a seaway.
A few minutes later we walked round a corner right on to a rhinoceros.
He faced round, and we instantly scattered. I made for the lee side
of a convenient lava-heap, and loaded my ·303; El Hakim and George
following suit. The slight noise we made in doing so scared the brute,
for he suddenly turned and trotted away over the loose lava as if it
were a lawn, and, notwithstanding his bulk, without a sound.
We toiled onwards for another couple of hours, when our hearts were
gladdened by an appearance of smoothness underfoot. It was only
temporary, however, and soon we were again continuing our unequal
struggle with nature. Slowly and mechanically we toiled along, El
Hakim, George and I, and our personal servants; the rest of the safari
had long since tailed off, and were scattered in twos and threes along
the path in our rear.
The sun rose higher and higher as the morning advanced, and scorched us
till it seemed as if we had not a single drop of moisture left in our
bruised and wearied bodies. I feebly wondered if we were doomed to be a
sort of modern edition of the “Wandering Jew,” with Dante’s “Inferno”
as the sphere of operations. When I suggested the idea to my companions
in a vain attempt at a joke, it did not provoke even a smile. Our boots
were ruined, and our feet sore and cramped from springing from one
piece of loose rock to another. The lava rolled and slipped from under
us, bruising our ankles; we were parched with thirst, hot, dog-tired,
and altogether in a most miserable plight.
Suddenly George gave vent to a feeble hurrah! El Hakim and I gazed
wonderingly at him, trying to grasp the reason for such a singular
demonstration. He indicated by a gesture that we should look ahead.
We did so, and immediately endeavoured, as well as our parched and
swollen tongues would permit, to follow his example, though the attempt
was more or less a failure. There before us was a sharp dip; at the
foot stretched one of the familiar, gravelly, sandy plains covered
with thorn trees. We had grumbled enough at them heretofore, but after
that terrific “cinder-heap” the thorn-covered plain seemed a veritable
paradise.
As if to make amends for our sufferings, we at that moment caught sight
of Mount Sheba, which was our objective on leaving camp that morning.
It was, alas! still some miles distant, but it meant water.
Away we went at a quick walk, animated by only one desire—the desire
for water. There were no signs of our safari, but we knew that they
could easily follow our tracks, so we hurried on. Hour after hour we
pushed on, now walking and anon half running, in our eagerness to reach
the river. We met several rhinoceros, but such was our hurry we did
not stop to speak. Suddenly a group of the thrice-blessed Doum palms
appeared at the bottom of a valley. We raced down the slope, and there
at the bottom lay a pool of beautiful, cool, clear, sparkling water. Ye
gods! what pen can hope to adequately describe the supreme delight of a
long, long draught of cool, pure water, after hours of such a sun as we
had been exposed to on the “cinder-heap?” We lay down on our stomachs,
and, plunging our faces beneath the surface, drank our fill of the
life-preserving fluid. When we were satisfied, we laved our chests,
and, playing with the water, watched the sparkling crystal drops drip
from our fingers and fall with a musical splash into the parent pool.
It was not such a long time, after all, that we had been without
water, but the sun was terribly fierce on the heaps of lava, and, in
addition, the horrible uncertainty as to whether we were not going
further and further away from water, increased our thirst to quite an
abnormal degree.
Afterwards we despatched the two or three men who had accompanied us
on the backward track, to communicate the joyful news to the rest of
the safari, and to relieve of their burdens those on whom the long and
arduous march had had most effect. In the course of an hour or so some
of the men began to arrive in twos and threes. The others, we found,
were not far behind, so we went on, and in another half-hour reached
the river.
Whether it was the contrast to what we had just undergone or not, the
river appeared to us to be as near an approach to Paradise as it is
possible to get in this world. The swift water rushing past, here over
rocks in miniature cataracts, and there over smooth gravel beds, gave
forth a musical murmur in the highest degree conducive to slumber.
As our tents, eatables, and, indeed, all our personal equipment were
somewhere behind, halfway between the river and the “cinder-heap,” we
slumbered accordingly under the grateful shade of the palms.
A curious fact which I have often noticed on a long and fatiguing march
is that, as in this instance, when the first of one’s men get into
camp, they are invariably the men who are carrying the loads of trade
goods, the cloth, or, unkindest cut of all, the cooking utensils!
Towards evening the rest of the safari staggered in, some of the
men having been twelve hours on the road. One man had fallen from
exhaustion and died on that awful “cinder-heap,” his load having been
brought on by Jumbi. We had made, I suppose, about six miles in a
bee line from our last camp, though how much ground we had actually
covered in our laborious march it is difficult to say.
At the conclusion of our breakfast-dinner-supper we turned in,
thoroughly tired out; but, as it happened, we were destined not to
enjoy a quiet night’s repose. First Ramathani came into the tent; he
held an egg in his hand—a guinea-fowl’s egg.
“The men found this, Bwana,” said he.
Now, I fancied an egg very much, so I awakened George. “I’ll go halves
with you,” said I, when I had induced sufficient wakefulness in him to
understand what I was saying.
Ramathani was accordingly ordered to boil the egg. I lent him my watch,
so that he should boil it for exactly three minutes, neither more nor
less. Meanwhile I secured two spoons and the pepper-box, and we waited
expectantly till Ramathani reappeared bearing the precious egg cooked
to a turn. I took it and rapped it with my spoon. Hardly had I touched
it before it exploded with a loud report, and flew to pieces. It was
empty inside, at least it appeared empty; a second after it blew up
George looked blankly at me, and I returned the compliment, and we were
still gazing at each other when the after-effect, so to speak, struck
us. Then, choking, we made a dive for the open air. Hastily summoning
Ramathani, we bade him penetrate to the interior of the tent, open both
ends, and then wave a blanket till the sewer gas, or whatever it was,
had dispersed, a proceeding which occupied some time. We then turned
in again, and slept peacefully, though odorously, till somewhere about
midnight.
Suddenly a cry of “Moto! moto!” (Fire! fire!) rang out, accompanied
by a terrible roaring and crackling. Out we rushed, clad only in
our shirts—the night was warm—to find one portion of the camp in a
blaze. We seized blankets, sacking, anything we could get hold of, and
furiously attacked the flames.
The dry grass and reeds burned like paper, but the great danger lay in
the palm trees. If once they caught fire, our tents, stores, and, in
fact, everything, would be utterly destroyed. We fought, therefore,
for our very existence. Fortunately we managed, by the most strenuous
exertions, to keep the flames clear of the palms, and, after an hour’s
hard work, to entirely subdue them. Our bare feet and legs were
slightly burnt, and my shirt was scorched, but beyond that no serious
damage was done. We turned in again at 2 a.m., and slept undisturbed
till 7 a.m., when we once more resumed our march.
We intended to go only a short distance, in order to give the men a
rest after their fatiguing exertions of the previous day. The country
was by no means level, and here and there showed a tendency to produce
more lava-blocks, but we met with nothing that seriously impeded
our progress. We saw a herd of zebra in the distance, but they were
very shy and wary. Our men, with that reckless improvidence which
distinguishes the Swahili “pagazi” (porter), had already consumed
the twelve days’ store of grain and flour which we had brought from
M’thara, and had now (six days after leaving that place) only a few
pieces of buffalo-meat left. It was imperative, therefore, that we
should shoot some meat for them.
Smooth patches of sand, interspersed with bare rock, now became the
predominant features of the landscape, and game was very hard to
approach in consequence.
The river, which we sedulously followed, was distinguished by the line
of palms which fringed the banks. It flowed in places at the foot of
frowning cliffs of gneiss, their rugged scarps inhabited by countless
monkeys and baboons which chattered incessantly, skipping from ledge to
ledge, apparently the only animated creatures in the whole sun-baked,
dun-coloured landscape. I successfully stalked and shot a grantei,
which, in my opinion, is the very best eating of all East African
gazelles. Saddle of grantei, after being hung two or three days, is a
joint fit for a monarch. We were very anxious to shoot a rhinoceros for
the men, which was probably the reason why we saw none, notwithstanding
that they had been so indecently numerous during the previous few days.
We camped at ten o’clock in the forenoon on the bank of the river,
which here flows over gigantic boulders of gneiss, and sometimes white
sandstone or granite. In the afternoon we saw large herds of game
a mile or so from camp, principally oryx, zebra, and grantei. They
were strangely shy, and, the country being perfectly open, I found it
impossible to get nearer than 800 yards to them.
The following day we were off again soon after sunrise. El Hakim shot
a small grantei soon after starting. We also saw a herd of buffalo,
but could not get within range, as they took alarm, plunged into the
river, and, swimming across, retired to the safety of the country on
the other side. We also saw some giraffe on the opposite bank, but
this portion of the river was unfordable. El Hakim went out in the
afternoon to try to shoot meat for the men, but could not get within
range of two rhinoceros, the only animals he saw. Food for the men was
getting rather a pressing question, and when we resumed the march on
the following morning, George and I took a different path from that of
the safari, but parallel to it, in the hope that we might see game.
During the whole march we never saw a single head, and we arrived at
the place where the safari had halted, thoroughly tired and disgusted.
As we got in, El Hakim had just sighted a rhinoceros, and, seizing his
rifle, he mounted the mule and gave chase. The rhinoceros, however,
retreated, followed at full speed by El Hakim, while George and I had
an opportunity of enjoying the unique sight of a mounted rhinoceros
hunt. When it came to speed, however, the rhino was an easy first, and
El Hakim returned, hot, weary, and, worse still, unsuccessful.
CHAPTER X.
_RETURN TO THE “GREEN CAMP.”_
The “Swamp Camp”—Beautiful climate of the Waso Nyiro—Failure to
obtain salt at N’gomba—Beset by midges—No signs of the Rendili—Nor
of the Wandorobbo—We decide to retrace our steps—An object-lesson in
rhinoceros-shooting—The Green Camp once more.
On account of the animals, El Hakim had directed that the camp should
be pitched on a tongue of grass-land adjoining a large swamp. This
swamp extended over an area of quite two square miles, probably more.
The water, being impregnated with mineral salts, was so brackish that
it was absolutely undrinkable. A hundred yards from our camping-place
the Waso Nyiro foamed and tumbled past at the bottom of a deep gorge,
which, in the course of countless centuries, it had cut through
the solid rock (gneiss). The sides of the gorge were perfectly
perpendicular. Two or three little streams, emanating from the swamp,
drained over the summit, falling in clouds of spray upon the rocks
a hundred feet below. There were several wild date palms (_Phœnix_
sp.)—the only specimens I saw in the whole of North Kenia—growing at
the side of the cliff; they were bearing fruit, which, however, was
quite green and very small. The Swahilis name this palm “m’tende,”
and the fruit “tende.” We found the side of the gorge extremely
precipitous, and had to go up-stream for quite a quarter of a mile for
a suitable place to descend.
The weather was glorious. It was so dry that the intense heat of the
day passed almost unnoticed. The evenings I shall never forget; they
were simply idyllic. As the sun set, a cool breeze sprang up; cool,
yet not cold. After our frugal supper, we usually donned our pyjamas,
lit cigars, and sat out in the open air, now carrying on a desultory
conversation, and anon sitting silent, wrapt in contemplation of the
manifold beauties of the tropical night. The atmosphere was so dry that
no dew fell, and it was perfectly safe in that beautiful climate to
sit out in the open air when only partially clothed. The clearness and
purity of the deep blue-black of the heavens, studded with its myriads
of brilliant stars, was such as I have seen only in Egypt and the
Southern Seas. At such times the only sound which broke the stillness
was the far-off musical roar of the Waso Nyiro, as, hurrying to its
unknown destination, it tumbled over its rocky bed; or the murmur
of subdued conversation from where the men sat round their fires,
resting after the toil and labour of the day. As the evening advanced
the animals lay down one by one, an example soon followed by the men.
Presently, our cigars finished, we also would reluctantly retire, not
at once to sleep, however, but instead, opening both ends of the tents
to the fullest extent, to lie down and gaze out into the calm and
silent majesty of the night, drinking in the beauty of the scene with
its atmosphere of restfulness and peace, and requiring, for the moment,
nothing further from the Author of all things.
In the morning the order of things changed somewhat. As the first signs
of dawn appeared in the eastern heavens, Jumbi aroused the sleeping
porters with his cry of “Haya! haya! safari! safari!” Ramathani next
arose, and, blowing into a blaze the embers of yesterday’s fire,
proceeded to boil the kettle for our matutinal coffee—that is, when
we possessed any. A rattle of buckets outside our tent, as the boys
poured fresh water into our wash-basins, roused us, and we waited with
half-closed eyes for the appearance of the boy Bilali with our freshly
greased boots.
Juma waited on El Hakim, and sometimes he was a little slack in the
performance of his duties. George and I, quietly dressing, would hear
something like this from El Hakim’s tent—
El Hakim (_in a muffled voice_): “Juma!”
No answer.
El Hakim (_in raised accents_): “Juma-a!”
Still no answer.
El Hakim (_in a very loud voice_): “Juma-a-a!” (Sotto voce): “Where the
devil _is_ that boy? Oh! _here_ you are. Wapi viatu?” (Where are my
boots?)
An interval of silence.
El Hakim (_evidently getting angry, and alternating English with the
vernacular_): “Ju-ma-a! Have you got those boots yet? Eh? Wapi viatu?
Eh? Wewi sedui? (You don’t know?) What the dickens _do_ you know?
Tafuta sana, maramoja!” (Search well at once!)
(_A moment’s silence, broken by sounds of searching among kit-boxes,
etc., followed by an indistinct murmur from the unhappy Juma._)
El Hakim: “You can’t find them, eh? Now, I’ll tell you what I’m going
to do with you! I’m going to give you a hiding! Wewi sikia? (Do you
hear?) Wha—at! They’re under my bed, where I put them last night!
Hum—m—m! Nenda Kuleta maaji! Oopace! (Go and get some water, quickly!)
If you don’t do better than this in future you shall carry a load!”
After we had washed and dressed, the tent-bearers, who were already
waiting, pulled up the pegs, and in a trice the tents were lying flat
on the ground, leaving the blankets and kit exposed, waiting to be
packed up ready for the march by Ramathani’s deft fingers. Donkeys
trotted skittishly round, colliding with everything and everybody,
waywardly declining to be saddled and loaded by the perspiring Jumbi
and his assistant, and skilfully evading all attempts at capture. The
command, “Funga mzigo yako!” (Tie up your loads) having been given, the
men selected their loads from the pile in which they had been stacked
overnight, and proceeded to bind their effects to them with lengths of
rope of native manufacture, either of skin or fibre. El Hakim, George,
and I having finished our tea or coffee, and seen that the tents and
kits had been properly packed and ready for the march, prepared in our
turn. Ammunition was slipped into side pockets, water-bottles filled,
and weapons examined. When Jumbi reported that the donkeys were ready,
I raised my voice, “Watu wote tayire?” (Are all the men ready?) “N’deo!
tayire, Bwana” (Yes, all ready, master!) would be shouted in reply. A
last look round to see if anything had been forgotten or overlooked, a
critical examination of the donkeys’ pack-saddles, or a dispute between
two porters summarily disposed of by the judicious application of a
boot, and “Chikua mzigo yako!” (Take up your loads) would ring out.
Immediately after Jumbi, shouting “Haya! haya! safari twende!” (Hurry
up! hurry up! go on your journey!) would “chunga” his donkeys, and
El Hakim, mounting his mule, would set out, followed by the porters,
George and I staying behind to see the last man out of camp, and
safely on the road; thus another day’s march commenced.
We made up our minds to stop a day or two at this “Swamp Camp,” as we
called it, in order to give the animals a much-needed rest; there were
also sundry small matters which required attention, and which could not
be done very well on the march.
An hour or two after the camp was pitched we despatched Jumbi,
accompanied by three other men, to Mount N’gombe to look for salt.
Mount N’gombe was placed on my map as due north of Mount Sheba, which
we had passed two days before. It is really some thirty or forty
miles to the east of Sheba, as it (N’gombe) lies some thirty miles
south-south-east of our “Swamp Camp,” which was itself some twenty
miles due east of Sheba. It was also marked on the map as a salt
crater, and in it lay our only hope of obtaining salt during the next
four months, the small supply I obtained from Ismail Robli, in M’thara,
being already finished.
In the afternoon George and I went down to the river and indulged in a
most delightful swim, in spite of the supposed presence of crocodiles.
Towards evening the mosquitos troubled us somewhat, and prevented us
sleeping at all well.
[Illustration: VIEW ON THE WASO NYIRO, NEAR “SWAMP CAMP.”]
[Illustration: CUTTING UP A RHINOCEROS FOR FOOD. (See page 190.)]
We were up very early on the following morning, but it was not our
own fault. At sunrise we were assailed by myriads of midges; they
were very, very small, but they possessed a most venomous sting, the
mosquitos being, in fact, quite harmless by comparison. They settled
down in clouds on man and beast, and drove us all nearly frantic. Our
faces, necks, and arms were soon covered with innumerable bites, which
itched with a malevolence beyond anything I had hitherto experienced.
George and I seized our rifles and fled from them as from a
pestilence. We were out all the morning looking for game, and never
once caught sight of a single animal. The men were badly in want of
food, and we ourselves were in great need of raw hide wherewith to
repair our boots. George and I had each attempted to buy an extra pair
before leaving Nairobi, but there were no boots our size in the town
at the time. We had been walking with our feet showing through those
we were wearing, which were almost dropping to pieces. The country
was so rough and stony underfoot that a long march was an event to be
painfully remembered.
Jumbi and his companions returned in the evening from M’gomba, having
discovered no traces of salt! They brought us samples of carbonate of
soda, which, they said, was the only kind of salt there, but there was
plenty of that. They had seen no natives, which was both surprising and
disappointing, as there are generally a few Wandorobbo wandering up and
down the Waso Nyiro. We were the more anxious to meet some of these
people, as they generally have news of the Rendili.
The Wandorobbo are a nomad tribe of native hunters, who wander round
the country at their own sweet will in search of wild honey and
elephants. One or two Wandorobbo are to be found living in or near all
the permanent settlements of both the Masai and the A’kikuyu. They
live entirely by hunting; cultivating nothing. They are very skilful
hunters of the elephant, which they kill with a poisoned spear. This
spear consists of a heavy shaft about five feet long with a socket in
the top, into which the poisoned barb is loosely fitted. Stealthily
approaching his unconscious quarry, the naked hunter, with poised
spear, watches his opportunity. At the right moment a quick movement
of the arm launches the heavy spear, and the keen barb penetrates the
elephant’s vitals. The hunter instantly dives into the bush; sometimes
he is caught and killed. Accidents will happen, but I do not know that
such an occurrence spoils the appetites of his companions. The elephant
on receiving the thrust generally rushes away through the bush, and
the spear-shaft, falling off, leaves the poisoned head in the wound to
do its deadly work. They spear hippopotamus in the same way, but leave
the rhinoceros severely alone unless they happen to catch him asleep.
The origin of the Wandorobbo is still somewhat of a mystery. It is
generally supposed that they are the offspring of degenerate Masai,
with admixtures of other tribes. To a certain extent this is the case,
but there are pure-blooded Wandorobbo who, in the opinion of Professor
Gregory as recorded in his book,[8] are of very different descent.
He says, “I suggest that they should be called the Wa’doko, for they
agree in habits, appearance, and position with the tribe thus named by
Harris[9] and Avanchers.[10] The Doko were said to occur on a high,
cold, misty plateau in the neighbourhood of dense bamboo forests. Their
home is about six weeks’ march from Mombasa, and between a snow-covered
mountain called Obada and Lake _El Boo_ or _Bari_. The mountain must be
Kenia, and the lake Baringo. Hence it seems safe to conclude that the
Doko or Wa’berikimo of Harris, Avanchers, Krapff,[11] and Rigby[12]
are the elephant-hunting Negrillos on the plateau of Lykipia and the
district to the north.”
When discussing the Wandorobbo with El Hakim, I learned that the
Wandorobbo have a language of their own, though it is only spoken
among a few of the tribe on Mogogodo (a hog-backed ridge north-west of
the Doenyo lol Deika), where some of the pure-blooded Wandorobbo—or
Wa’doko—have a permanent settlement. They were very unwilling to let
strangers hear it, a fact also mentioned by Prof. Gregory. El Hakim had
heard scraps of it, and it was unlike anything else he had ever known.
He was ignorant of the language of the South African Bushmen, and
therefore could not say if there was any resemblance.
As we had now been two days at the “Swamp Camp,” and had seen no
natives, and consequently had no news of the Rendili, we thought it
unlikely that they were encamped down-stream as we had supposed. We
decided, therefore, to retrace our steps to the “Green Camp,” and from
thence try up the river in the direction of Lololokwe and Wargasse,
and thence onwards to Koma and Seran. Having once been over the ground
between our present camp and the “Green Camp,” we were to some extent
familiar with the topographical aspect of the intervening country. We
calculated, therefore, to be able to make several short cuts, thereby
making the return journey in a day or perhaps two days less than we had
taken on our journey hither.
The next morning we started very early, being encouraged thereto by our
implacable little foes, the midges. They made matters very unpleasant
for a while, and we were quite half a mile on our road before finally
getting rid of them. Taking a short cut across the mouth of a big curve
made by the river hereabouts, we travelled to our camp of July 31st,
missing the one of August 1st, passing on the way the remains of a vast
Rendili encampment several years old.
Soon afterwards our men were gladdened by the sight of a rhinoceros
accompanied by a _m’toto_ (young one), and El Hakim and George
immediately set off in chase of her. Suddenly, to our astonishment,
we heard the sound of a shot from the other side of a ridge in front.
The chase of the rhinoceros was at once abandoned, and we raced up the
slope, expecting we knew not what. Nothing! absolutely nothing! met our
eager gaze; the country stretched at our feet was the usual gravelly,
stony abomination studded with the thorn trees we were so accustomed
to; the course of the river showing in the distance as a darker green
line in the brown landscape. Strain our gaze as we might, nothing in
the way of a safari met our eyes. It was inexplicable. We could have
sworn we heard a shot, and so also could the men; but nevertheless the
landscape appeared absolutely deserted. I fired a shot from my own
rifle, but, beyond the multitudinous echoes, there was no response. We
treated the occurrence as we would any other riddle, and gave it up,
and once more proceeded on our way.
Presently another rhinoceros hove in sight, and El Hakim started
for him. He had almost got within comfortable range of the brute,
which, unconscious of its danger, was busily feeding, when the men,
discovering what he was after, raised yells of delight at the prospect
of a feed at last, and to El Hakim’s intense annoyance startled
his quarry, which made off at a gallop. He returned in a towering
passion—“Wewe Kula mejani sassa” (You can eat grass now), said he. “I’m
not going to be made a fool of when I am trying to shoot meat for you,”
and mounting his mule he resumed his place at the head of the safari.
Towards evening we reached our old camp of July 31st, and on arrival we
immediately sent men back to try to discover if there were any signs of
another safari in the neighbourhood. One of the men also was missing,
together with his rifle and a valuable load of cloth. We thought that
he might have sat down to rest and fallen asleep, and let the safari
pass on, so we sent Jumbi up the summit of a lofty hill near the camp,
with a gamekeeper’s flare which burnt for five minutes with a brilliant
blue light, and would be visible in that clear atmosphere and at that
height for several miles. As he did not turn up that night or the next
morning in spite of the most diligent search by the parties of men we
sent out, we concluded that he had deserted and gone back to M’thara.
The other men whom we had sent to look for and report on the possible
presence of another safari in the neighbourhood returned, stating that
they had seen no signs of a safari whatever. We questioned the men as
to whether any of them had fired the shot, but they each and all denied
it; besides, the shot had seemed to come from the front. It was a
mystery which we never solved.
Next morning I left camp half an hour before the safari, in order to
try to shoot some meat before the caravan, with its varied noises,
frightened the game away. A mile or so out of camp I saw a solitary
oryx (_Oryx beisa_) feeding in the open. There was no cover, and the
need was urgent, so I sank my scruples about shooting at a long range,
and crawling to just within two hundred yards I let drive at it with
the ·303. My bullet struck it in the ribs, but failed to knock the
beast over. A second shot clean through the shoulder did the business,
however. I waited till the safari came up with me, and joined them. The
flesh of the oryx is tough and tasteless, and when dried the hide is
extraordinarily hard, and as stiff as a board.
At the end of a two and a half hours’ march we reached the camp at
which we had such a narrow escape from destruction by fire on July
30th. It was now completely burnt out, having evidently caught fire
again after our departure. The fire had spread very much, the palms for
over two miles along the bank being reduced to a collection of mere
blackened poles, in many places still smouldering. Camping was out of
the question, so we went on again for another hour and a half. As we
were crossing a small sand river which ran across our path, a herd of
water-buck dashed out from among the palms forty yards ahead, racing
across our front in fine style. It was a chance not to be missed,
and raising my ·303 I took a snapshot and brought one down with a
bullet through the shoulder. Two or three hundred yards further on I
unexpectedly came upon a small herd of grantei, and another lucky shot
laid low a fine buck; not at all a bad morning’s work in a district so
devoid of game as that through which we were passing.
Soon after I shot the water-buck we deviated to the right, and,
entering the belt of palms, selected a shady spot a few yards from the
river and halted for a meal which we called breakfast, though it was
past midday. At three o’clock in the afternoon we were again on the
road, and remembering the “cinder-heap,” kept close to the river-bank.
It was no use, however, as we discovered to our intense disgust that
the lava came right down to the river, and there ended abruptly, as
there were no traces of it on the opposite bank. Its difficulties,
were, however, modified to a great extent by the fact that it was
possible at intervals to descend to the water’s edge, and march for
sometimes a quarter or even half a mile along the smooth sand.
After more than two hours’ wearisome tramp, we got into the open plains
stretching away to the “Green Camp.” It was then growing dusk, and as
we had still some miles to go, we hurried forward. Presently a solitary
rhinoceros appeared, quietly feeding, about three hundred yards away
to our right. El Hakim inquired if I would shoot it, but as I was hot,
tired, and perhaps a little short-tempered, I declined, hinting that I
was anxious to see him put his precepts on short-range shooting into
practice. It was an ungracious speech, and El Hakim would have been
quite right to have ignored my remark. As it was, he merely sniffed,
but dismounted, and taking his ·577 from Juma pointedly asked George if
he would like to accompany him, an offer George accepted with alacrity.
El Hakim walked down, followed by George, and, then advanced cautiously
to within twenty yards of the unsuspecting rhinoceros. He then raised
his rifle, and, pausing a moment to aim, pulled the trigger. A puff
of dense white smoke appeared, followed an instant later by a heavy
report. The stricken rhinoceros jumped, then galloped madly away, with
a bullet through the lungs, falling dead before it had gone fifty yards.
It was a pretty exhibition, and it looked so absurdly simple that when,
on the report of El Hakim’s rifle, a second rhinoceros jumped up from
the grass between us, where it had been lying unobserved, I snatched
the Martini from Ramathani, and slipping a cartridge into the breech,
ran up to within sixty yards of it, and kneeling down banged off at
its shoulder. I admit that sixty yards was a long and unsportsmanlike
range, but I was anxious to bag the beast before El Hakim, who was
approaching it on his return from the dead rhinoceros, in a direction
at right angles to my line of fire, could get within range. Of course
my rhino, when hit, behaved quite differently to El Hakim’s. It
galloped madly, it is true, but in my direction. It came straight for
me, its head lowered and tail up, and I slipped another cartridge into
my rifle, fully expecting to see fireworks within a very few seconds.
Nearer and nearer it came, but just as I braced myself up for the shot
that should decide my fate, my antagonist swerved aside and commenced
what Neumann calls the rhino’s death-waltz, which consists of backing
round and round with its head in the air, until it succumbs. In another
moment he was down, and as I surveyed my prostrate quarry I mentally
patted myself on the back for what I considered a good performance.
My self-congratulations, however, were rudely dispelled by El Hakim,
who had come silently behind me, remarking in his quiet voice, “H’m-m,
just the sort of thing you would do,” thereby covering me with
confusion; I ventured to remonstrate, and he then asked me where I had
hit the beast. I showed him: the bullet had missed the shoulder and
struck the neck, severing the main artery and the wind-pipe—cutting
the beast’s throat, in fact. “Does not that emphasize what I have told
you?” he inquired. “If you had gone close enough to be certain of
placing your bullet in the shoulder, you would not have run the risk
you did. As it is, it is a very lucky thing for you that your bullet
struck the artery; so you see you owe your freedom from accident more
to good luck than good shooting.”
I admitted the justice of the rebuke, and determined to manage things
better next time.
On the next occasion I tackled a rhinoceros I endeavoured to put
into practice the lesson I had learnt, though it could hardly be
considered a happy attempt. This time the fault lay in carelessness
due to over-confidence. It was in this way. We were going across a
piece of open country in the near neighbourhood of the Waso Nyiro, when
we saw a rhinoceros just within a fringe of stunted thorn bush, some
four hundred yards to the right. El Hakim looked at me inquiringly. I
nodded, and, taking the Martini, placed a couple of cartridges in the
pocket of my shirt and set out, never doubting but that one cartridge
would be sufficient. By careful stalking I got to within fifteen yards
of the rhino, and aiming at the shoulder pulled the trigger. To my
horror I saw the blood appear on his withers, the bullet striking too
high up, just wounding sufficiently to annoy, but not disable him.
The rhino at first stood still, and then slowly walked away. I was
unwilling to risk my last cartridge on a doubtful shot, so I remained
passive. Presently he stopped again a few yards further on, and loading
up again I made a move to try to get nearer. In so doing I unavoidably
made a slight noise on the loose stones underfoot, which was apparently
what the rhino was waiting for, as he came round like a flash and
charged me. I went hot and cold by turns as I remembered how much
depended on my solitary cartridge, and as further disguise was useless,
I dashed to leeward of a small heap of stones two or three feet high,
which lay a yard or two away on my right. Round came the rhinoceros
after me, and I dodged to the other side, and, a favourable opportunity
presenting itself, I put my bullet fairly into his spine, dropping
him dead not three yards from me. I breathed a great sigh of relief,
and walking back to El Hakim and George, who had been watching the
performance, assumed an air of great nonchalance, and casually asked El
Hakim for a cigar. That gentleman gazed steadily at me for a moment,
but said never a word, and we resumed our interrupted march in silence.
Having now bagged two rhinoceros, we determined to push on to the
“Green Camp,” though darkness had already fallen and the bulk of the
safari were still some distance behind. Leaving the mules in charge of
Ramathani, El Hakim, George, and I pushed forward on foot. We marched
on and on, but no sign of the camp we were looking for appeared, and we
were inclined to think that we had mistaken our way in the darkness. At
seven o’clock in the evening, however, we reached it. It seemed almost
like coming home. I had been on my feet since half-past five in the
morning, and was thoroughly done up. El Hakim and George were not much
better, as riding a mule at a walk becomes very tiring after some hours
in the saddle. We three gathered some dry wood and lit a large fire
to guide our men, who presently straggled in two or three at a time,
till all had arrived, with the exception of Jumbi, his assistants, and
the animals. As they had not turned up at ten o’clock in the evening,
we got out a large signal rocket, and after some searching found a
suitable stick and set it off.
Something, however, went wrong, as instead of ascending the rocket
described a low curve in the air and then pitched into the dry grass in
front of the camp, instantly setting it into a blaze. We had to bestir
ourselves _then_. It took us an hour of hard work coupled with some
small amount of profanity to get the flames subdued.
The humour of the situation then struck us, and we laughed till our
sides ached, to the great astonishment of our poor perspiring men, who
could not see anything funny in it at all. Another rocket was then sent
up with better results, as it ascended to a great height and burst most
satisfactorily with a loud report and a shower of multi-coloured stars.
It answered its purpose, as half an hour afterwards Jumbi and his
assistants came in with the animals, all dead beat, having been over
fourteen hours on the road.
FOOTNOTES:
[8] Professor J. W. Gregory, D.Sc. Lond., “The Great Rift Valley,” pp.
322 and 325 (1896).
[9] W. C. Harris, “Particulars concerning the Great River Gochol and
the Countries adjacent thereto from Native Information collected in the
Kingdom of ‘Shoa.’” _Trans. Bombay Geog. Soc._, vol. vi. (1844), pp.
63, 64.
[10] Leon des Avanchers, “Esquisse Geographique des pays Oromo ou
Galla.” _Bull. Soc. Geog. Paris_, ser. 4 (1859), map and p. 164.
[11] J. L. Krapff, “Travels, Researches, and Missionary Labours, etc.,
in Eastern Africa” (1860), pp. 43-45.
[12] P. Rigby, “Remarks on the North-East Coast of Africa, and the
Various Tribes by which it is Inhabited.” _Trans. Bombay Geog. Soc._,
vol. ii. (1844), p. 80.
CHAPTER XI.
_DOWN THE WASO NYIRO ONCE MORE._
We send to M’thara for guides—Sport at the “Green Camp”—Non-return of
the men sent to M’thara—Our anxiety—Their safe return with guides—We
continue our march down the river—Desertion of the guides—We push
on—Bad country—No game—We meet some of the Somalis’ men—News of the
Rendili—Loss of our camels—In sight of the “promised land.”
Early on the morning following our arrival at the “Green Camp” we
despatched three men to M’thara with a message to N’Dominuki, asking
him to send us a couple of Wandorobbo guides from Embe, as we wished
to go across country to Lololokwe, and, if we deemed it necessary,
further north to Mount Nyiro, at the south end of Lake Rudolph. The
rest of the men went back to the two dead rhinoceros to obtain a supply
of meat. George went out during the day and shot three grantei. In the
afternoon El Hakim also went out shooting. He took the ·450 Express,
as he intended shooting grantei only. He secured four. On his way back
to camp he was annoyed by a rhinoceros which had the temerity to stalk
him, so waiting for his pursuer he neatly planted a bullet in the
creature’s brain, at a distance of about ten yards. I have read that
the skull of a rhinoceros is invulnerable, especially from the front,
but on examining El Hakim’s beast, I noted that it had been shot from
the front, the bullet entering the temple and penetrating the skull at
precisely the proper angle, reaching the brain. There was no blood, the
bullet-hole being so clean-cut that the skin closed over the wound in
such a manner as to make it difficult to discover where it _had_ been
hit. It was as neat and workman-like a job as I have ever seen.
We stayed at the “Green Camp” for some days, occasionally shooting game
to supply the larder, cleaning our weapons, mending our clothes and
boots, and otherwise occupying our time to good purpose. A zebra which
I shot supplied us with hide, and we repaired our travel-torn boots by
the simple process of stitching a piece of raw hide over them with a
surgical needle and thread, and then hanging the boots out in the air.
The hide shrank on as it dried, and formed a fairly well-fitting though
clumsy covering; but it was only a temporary arrangement at best, and
required constant renewing, as over rough, stony ground the hide would
wear through in three marches.
On the plains to the eastward of the camp roamed vast herds of
game—zebra, oryx, water-buck, and grantei. Rhinos were disgustingly
frequent, El Hakim shooting two more that had evinced an impertinent
curiosity regarding his movements, when he was taking a walk abroad one
afternoon. The rhinoceros were all of the black or prehensile-lipped
variety of the _Rhinoceros bicornis_, and we found that they had, on
the average, much smaller horns than other specimens of the same family
south of Kenia.
We all kept in splendid health, George and I in particular being burnt
almost black by the fierce sun; and we felt that we should be content
to remain where we were for an indefinite period. Game was more than
plentiful, the climate was glorious, and we were free as the pure air
we breathed. Only those who have been placed in similar circumstances
can appreciate the full value of that word “free.” We did precisely
what seemed good to us in our own eyes. We rose early, bathed in
the warm spring, ate our breakfast, and then went shooting, or, if
disinclined for that, we sat in a folding-chair in the shade of the
trees and read, or mended our clothes, ever and anon raising our eyes
to watch the herds of game walking steadily past our camp on their
way down to the river to drink. In time we got to know the various
herds, and even to recognize individual members of the same herd. The
different herds also had their regular times for drinking, which never
varied by more than a few minutes. The water-buck were the earliest;
they came down just after sunrise. At ten o’clock precisely the
graceful grantei would come down in herds, scouted by the young bucks.
They were followed at midday by the oryx; and at four in the afternoon
the zebra arrived in their turn. The rhinoceros, on the contrary, went
down at all times, whenever they felt inclined, though they usually
drink at night.
It was a perfectly Arcadian existence, which we left with very real
regret when the exigences of travel compelled us once more to resume
our weary march over the sun-scorched desert country down-river.
During our stay my shot-gun was not idle. In the evenings there were
numerous doves in the vicinity, which made a welcome change in our
menu; and now and again I secured a few grouse. Hares, too, were always
obtainable with a little trouble. One night, about eleven o’clock,
we were called out of bed by the sentry, who put his head into our
tent, and in an awestruck whisper ejaculated, “Kuja kutasamo m’bogo,
Bwana” (Come and see the buffalo, master). We went outside, where we
were joined by El Hakim, who had also been called. It was a brilliant
moonlight night, and the country was almost as clearly visible as in
the daytime. On the bank of our little stream, just opposite the camp,
a mighty herd of buffalo was marching along, utterly unconscious of
our proximity. They showed up wonderfully distinct in the brilliant
moonlight, as they stalked majestically past. A passing cloud covered
the face of the moon, and the weird sense of power and grandeur was
further heightened by the temporary obscurity, as the now dim and
ghost-like procession moved past. We gazed at them with a feeling that
was half exultation and half awe, as we reflected that to us had been
vouchsafed a sight at once so impressive and now, alas! so rare.[13]
As on the fifth day after the despatch of the men to M’thara there
were still no signs of them, we began to grow anxious, and sent Jumbi
and another man back to investigate, with orders to return in three
days at the utmost. Our provisions were also growing short, as we had
finished all our sugar; the mustard also had given out. Two days later,
as neither Jumbi nor the three men first sent to M’thara had put in an
appearance, we made arrangements to pay a flying visit to M’thara on
the morrow, to find out what had become of them, as we were more than
a little anxious about their safety. The next morning, therefore, the
absentees having made no sign, we started for M’thara, leaving two or
three men in charge of the camp. We took no tents or baggage—nothing
but a blanket each and some food, together with a good supply of
ammunition. After two hours on the road, to our great relief we met
the laggards returning with two Wandorobbo guides. They explained that
N’Dominuki had experienced some difficulty in procuring the guides, and
they were consequently detained. We were too thankful that they had
rejoined us in safety to critically examine their story, so we let it
pass, and at once retraced our steps, arriving at the “Green Camp” at
three o’clock in the afternoon.
The guides were typical specimens of the Wandorobbo hunter, and greatly
resembled each other in appearance. They were both elderly gentlemen,
with grey and grizzled hair. Though of medium height, their backs were
bowed, partly by age and partly by the stooping, creeping posture
they adopt when walking. They trod softly as cats, their heads thrust
forward, nothing on the road escaping their observant gaze, though
seemingly they were lost in abstraction. Each carried a small bow, a
bundle of arrows, tipped with poison, and a walking-staff. A strip
of goatskin, tied over the left shoulder, descending as far as the
waist, a bead necklet, and an armlet or two completed a by no means
superabundant costume. Their luggage consisted of a small skin bag,
containing a knife, a couple of pieces of wood for making fire, and a
few pieces of string; and in addition each carried four or five pounds
of Kikuyu tobacco, wrapped up with banana leaves into spherical parcels.
From them we learnt that the Rendili were a long distance down the
river—much farther down than we had been. This intelligence revived us
somewhat, and next morning we set off once more on our journey down
the river. The “cinder-heap” was once more crossed, but, thanks to the
guides, by a much better road than the one by which we had made our
toilsome march. The going was still bad enough, in all conscience, but
in comparison to our first experience our progress seemed wonderfully
easy. Besides, we knew the extent of the lava-belt now; before we did
not know what was in front of us, and the uncertainty had contributed
to no small extent to the magnifying of the horrors of our position.
We halted for breakfast on the other side of the lava-belt, and at 2
p.m. were preparing to resume the march, when Ramathani approached us
in a very hesitating manner, evidently wishing to communicate something
which he found unpleasant. Questioned as to what had happened, he
blurted out, “Bwana, _the guides have run away_!” We were absolutely
nonplussed. It is difficult at all times to fathom the motives that
influence a savage; but whatever could have induced those guides to
come three days’ journey to us, delaying us seven days meanwhile, only
to run away again on the first march, we could not possibly guess, nor
could we even faintly imagine.
We were now in a precisely similar position to that in which we had
been placed a fortnight before, with the single exception that we now
had certain information (for we saw no reason to doubt it) that the
Rendili were down the river. After a consultation we decided to push
on, guides or no guides, and trust to luck. We therefore resumed the
march, and, after a long hot tramp, reached our old camp of July 31
and August 4, where we remained for the night. A peculiar incident,
that I have never been able to understand, occurred on that day.
Before we resumed the march, after the desertion of the guides, I
went out of camp alone in search of game. The country was very rough,
being intersected in every direction by steep “kloofs” and “dongas,”
interspersed with gravelly mounds. Loose blocks of quartz were
scattered everywhere, mingled with flakes of rock-crystal and smaller
pieces of quartz of a greenish colour, due to the presence of epidote.
Stunted and misshapen thorny acacias and a few aloes formed almost
the only vegetation. I was laboriously climbing a gravelly slope,
when suddenly there was a rush and a roar as of a mighty whirlwind
bearing directly down upon me. I looked round in some alarm, as it is
very unpleasant being caught in one of these dust-devils with nothing
solid handy to hold on to. To my intense surprise I could see nothing
whatever. Not a leaf or a branch stirred, and not a particle of dust
or sand rose. The rushing, tearing sound increased in volume, and drew
nearer and nearer, finally seeming in full blast not more than twenty
feet from where I stood. But nothing stirred; the air was perfectly
clear, and everything else remaining still as death. It was a most
uncanny sensation. I abandoned the idea of a whirlwind, thinking
perhaps there might be a blow-hole in the vicinity for escaping
volcanic gases. I searched the neighbourhood carefully under that
impression, but found nothing of the sort. Finally, the sound died
away. Two or three times after that, during my walk, the same thing
occurred. On one occasion I seemed to be standing in the very midst of
the whirlwind. It rushed and roared round about me, and I involuntarily
gripped a tree-trunk to steady myself against the expected shock. But
nothing happened; nothing moved. I am not a nervous person, and my
reason convinced me that there was a perfectly natural explanation for
the phenomenon, but, nevertheless, I had a very nasty sensation in the
small of my back. I was irritated, also, at being unable to discover
the cause of the noise.
The next day we marched over the now familiar desert country to our
old “Swamp Camp.” Remembering the midges, we did not stop there,
but pushed on for another mile, and camped on the top of a cliff
overlooking the river. Opposite us the cliffs of red gneiss rose to
a height of over 300 feet. The face of the cliff was inhabited by
thousands of monkeys and baboons, who chattered excitedly over our
arrival, an excitement which was not allayed by a bullet I sent through
a group of them, which flattened itself against the cliff wall with a
sharp smack. They at once scattered to various places of safety behind
the rocks, and from thence made rude remarks in monkey language.
We went out after lunch to make a short survey of the route ahead. The
result was most discouraging; a more barren and desolate landscape I
had never seen. Soft brown earth, into which we sank over our ankles,
was strewn with volcanic _débris_ in the shape of our old enemy the
lava blocks. Vegetation was scarce, and game conspicuous by its
absence. It seemed rather a hopeless task to attempt to cross such
country without guides, but we determined to make a supreme effort.
We were now beginning to suffer a little for want of salt. I had a
nasty sinking feeling in my stomach, with a tendency to vomiting, and I
always felt empty inside, even immediately after a very full meat meal;
but this wore off after a week or two. We were restricted to a few
ounces of native meal (m’wele) per diem, which our _chef de cuisine_,
the indispensable Ramathani, made into little flat cakes, fried with
meat, which was the only other item on our menu.
For some days we ploughed over the rotten brown earth just described.
It was a painful experience, as the sharp blocks of quartz and lava
bruised our ill-shod feet. The sun was intensely hot, and distant
objects danced and shimmered in the heat-haze.
On the morning of August the 15th we had camped for breakfast on the
river-bank, when we were greatly excited by a sight of two sheep
grazing peacefully further down the river. Our men immediately started
in pursuit, and captured them after an exciting chase. They were of
the fat-tailed variety, and were Rendili sheep beyond a doubt. All
that afternoon was spent in searching the country round, but we saw no
signs that led us to believe that the country was inhabited. El Hakim
shot a rhinoceros while we were out. It was feeding in the open. He was
carrying the ·577, and proceeded to stalk it, accompanied by George,
who carried the ·450 Express. When within thirty yards of the rhino,
El Hakim motioned to George to remain where he was; he himself crawled
thirty yards to the left, so that hunters and hunted formed a triangle.
El Hakim fired, and the rhino, on receiving the shot, charged straight
down upon George. It was then that I had an opportunity of observing
a wonderful exhibition of nerve and true sportsmanship on George’s
part, begotten of the confidence we both placed in El Hakim’s skill.
Holding his rifle at the ready, George awaited the wounded beast’s mad
rush without a tremor, refraining from firing in order not to spoil
El Hakim’s second barrel—a confidence which was fully justified by
the result, as that individual’s left barrel spoke when the enraged
rhinoceros was within a dozen yards of George, dropping it dead with
a bullet through the heart. George afterwards declared that he could
not have stood the strain much longer, and would have fired in a few
seconds more. We had now sufficient meat for our immediate needs, and
were still determined to push on, though the country seemed almost
entirely devoid of game, and feeding ourselves and our men was getting
to be quite a serious problem. A rhinoceros only lasted the men two
days, as, in spite of its huge bulk, it cuts up very badly, there being
a good deal of waste; and, in addition, the men, who even at ordinary
times were tremendous meat-eaters, in the entire absence of cereals,
developed a carnal appetite that can only be described as monumental.
Returning to the spot where we had lunched, we resumed the march,
going another mile down the river before camping. When the tents were
pitched, Ramathani busied himself in cooking our unpalatable meal
of grantei-steak fried in an insufficiency of fat. Soon afterwards
we heard an excited shriek of “Afreet! afreet!” (Devil, devil) from
Ramathani and some of the other men near him. He rushed up to me and
implored me to bring my “bunduki ya n’dege” (literally, “bird-gun”) and
slay the “afreet.” I laughingly inquired where the “afreet” was, and
he pointed upwards into the branches of a large tree, whose branches
spread laterally over the fire at which he was cooking. I could not
see anything, and was about to turn away, ridiculing him; but the men
appeared so genuinely terror-stricken that I paused and looked up
again. Judge of my surprise when I discovered that the “afreet” was
nothing more than a large water-lizard stretched out on a branch. A
dose of No. 6 shot on the side of the head brought it down with a thump
on the ground. Examination showed that none of my shot had penetrated
its skull or body, it being merely stunned by the shock. None of the
men could be induced to touch it under any pretext whatever, saying
that it was highly poisonous, and its bite meant instant death; so,
seizing it by the tail, I carried it over to our table. It woke up
while I was carrying it, and, squirming upwards, attempted to bite me,
causing me to drop it hurriedly, to the intense amusement of the men. I
killed and dissected it. Its heart beat for quite half an hour after I
had removed it from the body. The reptile was four feet in length, and
over a foot in girth.
The next morning we divided the men into small parties and sent them
out to search the surrounding country for inhabitants, while I climbed
a hill near the camp and minutely examined, with the binoculars, the
whole country round; but in vain. There was no sign of any inhabitants;
the country seeming to be deserted by man and beast alike, and lay
under the scorching sun “the abomination of desolation.”
I returned to camp at midday, the search parties returning at the
same time reporting that they had seen no signs of the Rendili nor
indeed traces of anybody whatsoever. We therefore resumed our march
down the river at half-past two in the afternoon. The vegetation had
almost disappeared, with the exception that along the river-banks a few
rows of thorn trees here and there indicated the position of lines of
depression in the earth’s surface, probably the beds of sand rivers;
the rest of the country was strewn with stony _débris_ which converted
a march into a painful and difficult pilgrimage.
At sundown we pitched the tents, but found that it was impossible to
drive the pegs into the rocky ground, so the guy ropes had to be made
fast to huge boulders collected and piled for the purpose. To add
to our discomfort, a strong cold wind sprang up as the sun set, and
blew great guns all night, the tents thrashing and thundering in a
way that precluded sleep, and threatened every moment to blow bodily
away. Firewood also was scarce, and the men spent a most miserable
night in consequence. The two Rendili sheep, which we had been keeping
for our own consumption, escaped during the night, and we never saw
them again. We did not linger long in that inhospitable spot, but at
sunrise again resumed our weary march down-stream.
Game was absolutely non-existent, and the men, having finished the
last of the rhinoceros, were in great need of food. Where it was to be
obtained we could not imagine, unless we were to kill one or two of our
cattle, which we were very loth to do, except as a very last resource.
After a solid four hours’ march we camped on the river-bank under a
clump of palms, and determined on the morrow to make one last effort to
find the Rendili by means of search parties, and then, if there were
still no signs of them, to make the best of our way back to the game
country by forced marches.
The animals were sadly out of condition for want of proper and
sufficient nourishment, and we were afraid that if we went further and
were still unsuccessful in our search, they would all die before we
could get back. “It is a long lane that has no turning,” however, and
about four o’clock in the afternoon one of the men, whom we had sent
out to look for game, came into camp, shouting excitedly that he had
seen “many people.” El Hakim and George at once saddled up the mules
and investigated. The “many people” turned out to be eighty of the
Somalis’ men, bound for Dhaicho (a trading settlement on the eastern
side of Embe) in order to buy food. Most important of all, they told
us that Ismail, with the main body, was camped among the Rendili, who
were _five days’ march further down the river_. This news cheered us
up wonderfully. Resting our men for the remainder of the day, we were
on our way again on the following morning long before daylight, led by
a guide lent us by the Somalis. We pushed forward as fast as our men
could travel, and we had every reason for haste, as they were entirely
without food. We halted at ten o’clock in the forenoon for breakfast.
At least _we_ breakfasted, the men having nothing to eat at all, while
we had little more. At two o’clock we were again on the road, and at
four o’clock camped for the night, the men being exhausted. Jumbi, and
Malwa, the head-man of the Wa’kamba, did not come in with the others.
Inquiries elicited the fact that, owing to either Jumbi’s or Malwa’s
carelessness, the five camels had strayed on the road and were lost. El
Hakim was very much annoyed, as he had always been very proud of his
camels, nursing them tenderly, and taking great pains to ensure their
health and comfort.
The next morning the camels had not turned up, neither had Jumbi nor
Malwa. El Hakim, being eager to reach the Rendili encampment, pushed
on with nothing but his tent and a little food, leaving George and me
behind with the bulk of the safari to send search parties out after the
camels. At eleven o’clock Jumbi and Malwa came into camp _without_ the
camels. They were very frightened, rightly dreading El Hakim’s anger,
and were considerably relieved when they found only George and me in
camp. At that moment some of the men, whom we had despatched earlier
in the morning in search of the missing animals, came in and reported
that they had seen the tracks of the camels leading away to the south
straight towards the hills, some days’ journey distant, which proved
to be the extreme north-eastern end of the Jombeni range, inhabited
by our _bêtes noires_ the Wa’embe. I immediately despatched Jumbi and
Malwa, together with the men who had seen the tracks, to follow them
up, instructing them to find the camels if possible, but if not, to
return and follow me, as I was going on after El Hakim. After they had
rested awhile they departed on their errand, and at two o’clock in the
afternoon, George and I, having forded the river—which was quite easily
done, as it was very broad and came no higher than one’s middle—marched
steadily and rapidly down the north bank of the river in El Hakim’s
wake. We marched for four hours, passing the falls discovered by and
named after Mr. Chanler, an hour after starting. The vegetation was now
somewhat more dense, the wait-a-bit thorn becoming quite inconveniently
frequent; the country also tended to become gravelly underfoot, and the
very reverse of level.
Late in the afternoon we arrived at a range of rocky hills some three
or four hundred feet in height, which extended for some miles at right
angles to the river, and consequently right across our path. So far we
had seen no signs of El Hakim, so I decided to push on at all costs,
and with great difficulty we climbed to the summit of the range.
When we reached the top a beautiful and welcome sight met our weary
eyes. Away to the right, curving round the end of the range, ran the
dark green line of the Waso Nyiro. A day’s march further on it branched
out into numerous broad shallow channels, spreading over a tract
of country perhaps ten miles long and four miles wide. Innumerable
Doum palms covered this tract with a beautiful mass of greenery,
interspersed with patches of pure white sand. Immediately outside
the palm region the country changed sharply to desert again, which
stretched dazzlingly white and perfectly level to the encircling
horizon. I had no doubt but that we should find the Rendili encamped
near the palms. The river emerged from the other side of this fertile
tract, and winding round the southern spur of a vast and lofty
tableland, which showed dimly in the distance, disappeared from view
on its way to the mysterious and unexplored “Lorian.” The plateau I
recognized as the Marisi el Lugwazambo. It can be imagined with what
joyful emotions we gazed on the mass of vivid green spread at our feet,
after so many scorching days of brown earth and bare rock. I could
quite realize the sensations of Moses as he gazed on the “Promised
Land” from the summit of Mount Pisgah.
It was almost time, too, that we reached our long-desired goal. Our men
had not enjoyed a full meal since El Hakim shot the rhinoceros four
days before, and they were almost famished. We ourselves were little
better off, having tasted nothing for two days but a few miserable
M’wele cakes, no larger than a five-shilling piece. We could not stop
on the summit of the hill for an indefinite period, however, much as
we admired the view—our needs were too imperative; so with a last long
look at the beautiful scene, we turned and cast about for a path by
which to descend to the plain below. To our dismay, we discovered that
the cliff dropped sheer down for two hundred feet without foothold
enough for a goat. After trying two or three places without success,
we were eventually compelled to force our way along the crest of the
ridge, in the hope of finding some sort of path nearer the river. It
was a terrible scramble, and I should think it very unlikely that even
natives had ever been on to the top before—certainly no white man ever
had. The wait-a-bit thorns grew together in an almost impenetrable
wall, necessitating constant work with our knives to free ourselves.
Great boulders barred our progress, and gravel and pebbles slipped
under our feet, so that by the time we had covered a mile we were tired
out.
[Illustration: PALMS ON THE WASO NYIRO.]
Just before sunset George spotted a possibly likely place for the
descent. It certainly looked desperate enough, but by this time we
were beyond counting the risks. We scrambled down, therefore, leaping
from boulder to boulder, and every few moments having to stop in order
to cut ourselves free with our knives from the clinging embrace of the
ubiquitous “wait-a-bit.” Our clothes and skin suffered terribly, but we
were determined to reach the bottom somehow, and plunged and scrambled
downwards, regardless of minor personal injuries. Halfway down we heard
a shot from among the greenery near the river, which I recognized as
El Hakim’s ·450. I answered it with another shot in order to apprize
him of our presence, and continued the descent. Finally we reached the
bottom, breathless and bleeding, our clothes literally in ribbons. The
donkeys and cattle followed us, scrambling down in some remarkable
manner, though how I could not stop to inquire. Most probably they,
like ourselves, were induced by the sight of the green vegetation and
the smell of water to attempt a descent which at any other time they
would never have faced.
Another three-quarters of an hour over the flat brought us to the spot
where El Hakim was already camped. The report we had heard had been the
death-knell of a Waller’s gazelle (_Lithocranius Walleri_), which was
at once divided among the men, so that they had at least a taste of
meat to go on with—we ourselves dining on two guinea-fowl, one of which
I had shot on the road, the other having been secured by El Hakim. We
were all tired out, and turned in immediately we had finished eating.
The tents were not needed, the climate being so mild. Indeed, from
now onwards, till we were once more at this point on our way back to
Kenia, we did not need to use the tents at all, except for the sake of
privacy.
FOOTNOTES:
[13] The rinderpest has all but exterminated the buffalo and the eland
in British East Africa, as elsewhere on the African continent.
CHAPTER XII.
_IN THE RENDILI ENCAMPMENT._
Narrow escape from a python—Arrival among the Burkeneji and Rendili—No
ivory—Buying fat-tailed sheep instead—Massacre of the Somalis’ porters
by the Wa’embe—Consternation of Ismail Robli—His letters to Nairobi.
At sunrise next morning we were awakened by the twittering of
innumerable song-birds, and by the raucous screams of the guinea-fowl
and francolins calling to their mates. It was a perfect morning, the
bright, clear sunshine and soft balmy atmosphere reminding one of a
summer morning in the Mediterranean. Our spirits responded instantly to
the cheering influence of the soft sunshine, which quickly dispelled
the gloomy spectres of famine and desolation which had haunted us for
so long. We resumed our journey with a cheeriness and sprightliness to
which we had long been strangers.
On the road I had a good time among the guinea-fowl, which here were of
the Vulturine variety. They were exceedingly plentiful, and I managed
to bag five in a very few minutes, all large and very handsome birds,
with long tails and beautiful light blue breast feathers. They are at
times most difficult birds to shoot, as they will very seldom rise, but
run over the sand at a great rate, keeping just out of effective range.
In the absence of a dog, the only way to shoot them is to run after
them at full speed, till, by gaining on them—no easy task—they are
compelled to rise. The moment they get up, one has to stop instantly
and let drive at them. Even then they will not always rise together,
but in groups of two or three, necessitating very accurate shooting
if a bag is to be obtained; which is not always possible when one is
puffed by a two hundred yards’ sprint, and consequently panting heavily.
Yellow-throated francolins were fairly plentiful. They dodged in
and out of the roots of the shrubbery with great agility, and were
correspondingly difficult to hit. Pigeons also were very numerous.
While following the guinea-fowl I had rather a narrow escape. I was
crossing a patch of long, dry, coarse grass, which grew in a small
depression. As I forced my way through, my eyes upon the birds, I heard
a rustle at my feet. I instantly looked down, and, quick as a flash,
jumped back three or four feet, shivering violently. A large bright
yellow snake, mottled with gamboge, about ten feet in length and as
thick as my arm, glided away into the tangled grass and disappeared. I
supposed it was a python, though I did not see much of it, nor was I
anxious to investigate.
We halted for breakfast at ten o’clock. At half-past twelve El Hakim
went on ahead with four men and his tent, as we were only one march
from the Rendili, and he was anxious to meet them. George and I were to
stay behind with the men and animals and start later, as they were not
sufficiently rested. We waited till half-past two, and then followed
him.
Soon after starting we lost his tracks, but pushed on nevertheless,
following the course of the river. We soon reached the point where the
Waso Nyiro divided into the numerous channels we had observed from the
hilltop the previous evening, and there we first met the Burkeneji. We
had temporarily lost sight of the river, and, striving to regain it,
we struggled through a dense belt of Doum palms, eventually emerging
to find ourselves in the bed of a sand river. We followed its course,
and in a few minutes reached one of the channels of the Waso Nyiro.
It was not more than a foot deep at this place, flowing smoothly over
a soft bed of sand. We stopped to drink, and while in the act were
confronted by a few natives, who suddenly emerged from the bush on the
other side. I put on my most amiable smile, and walked into the river a
little way. After a moment’s hesitation one or two of the Burkeneji—for
it was indeed they—did likewise, and we met in midstream. I held out
my hand and said “yambo,” on the chance that it would be understood.
My _vis-a-vis_ answered immediately “serian” (peace), shaking my hand
vigorously. I repeated the word after him in a very hearty manner, not
at all assumed. This appeared to be precisely the right thing to do, as
other natives now came across the river and fraternized with our men.
They were fine, clean, wholesome-looking negroes, very much resembling
the Masai in appearance, but, unlike them, were habited in cloth
instead of skins. A chorus of “serian” resounded on all sides.
One of our Wakamba named Mumbo could speak a little Masai, and through
him we learned that El Hakim had passed near there an hour or two
before. We left our new-found friends, and departed amid another chorus
of “serian,” well pleased at our first meeting with the tribes we had
braved so much to find.
We went on in the direction pointed out to us by the Burkeneji as the
path taken by El Hakim, but saw no traces of him. Keeping to the
river as being the best possible guide, we travelled another eight or
nine miles. Just before sundown we reached an acacia thicket, where
I decided to camp, continuing the search for El Hakim on the morrow.
The donkeys were off-loaded, and Ramathani busied himself in preparing
a meal. George strolled out of camp, and while “fossicking” round
discovered a Burkeneji village in the acacia forest about three hundred
yards away. Taking Mumbo with us as interpreter, George and I went
over to the village. No one appeared to meet us, as the men were out
bringing in the cattle and sheep for the night. Two or three young
women stood about with empty milk-vessels, evidently waiting for the
herds to come in. They were quite fearless, and approached us, laughing
merrily at the curious figures George and I must have cut in our
tattered shirts and trousers and clumsy boots covered with zebra-skin.
They were well built, plump, very pretty, and undeniably saucy, and
were clothed with a small, very small, piece of cloth about their
middles, and numerous small bead necklaces and brass wire armlets. They
stood a yard or so away, and discussed our personal appearance with
great freedom and animation, now and then pointing out to one another
some new item in our make-up not previously noticed, and breaking into
a hearty laugh. George came in for more than a fair share of their
attention. He is a fine, big chap, and the girls always do pay him more
attention than he deserves; both white and black, though, to do him
justice, he was never conceited in consequence.
As we stood there waiting for the return of the Burkeneji men, the
description of the Anglo-Saxon as the “heir of all the ages” occurred
to me, and I chuckled inwardly at the spectacle of two ragged “heirs of
all the ages” standing outside a little negro village, the helpless
butts of the saucy tongues of a group of little negresses of a tribe
who have no ambitions beyond their daily wants, and no ideas beyond
supplying them; and who, as far as I know, are not yet definitely
classified by ethnologists.
Presently a tall, dignified native strode up, followed by several
others. He was certainly not less than six feet in height, and proved
to be the chief of the village. At his approach the women ran away—not
very far, however, but remaining in the background, they continued
their frivolous remarks. The chief did not seem at all respectful
either; in fact, he appeared rather bored than otherwise. We exchanged
the usual “serian,” and then, through the medium of the interpreter, I
inquired the location of the Somalis’ camp. The reply was that it was
“quite near.” I suggested that the chief should guide us thither. He
acquiesced, and returning to the camp we loaded up the donkeys again,
much to their disgust, and followed our new-found guide.
In half an hour, when it was quite dark, the guide halted, and said
that we had better camp, as the Somalis’ camp was “quite far.” I was
very annoyed at this turn of affairs, and expressed my intention of
going on whether it was dark or not. We started once more, but I could
see that the guide was very unwilling and sulky. Presently I heard
the bleating of sheep and goats in the darkness to the left, and
ascertained from the guide that the sound came from a Rendili village.
I resolved to camp there; but he objected. I insisted, however, and
finally he reluctantly led the way. I pitched the camp just outside the
village, so that I might be sure of obtaining a guide in the morning.
The Rendili in the village then came out to us, and offered fresh
goat’s milk for sale. We bought about a gallon for a few red beads, and
in exchange for five yards of merikani I also procured two sheep, which
were immediately slaughtered for the men, who raised a hearty cheer
thereat, as, with the exception of the tiny portion of Waller’s gazelle
the night before, it was their first regular meal for four days. The
milk we boiled, and George and I partook freely of it, too freely
perhaps, considering the state of our stomachs, as, after drinking
about a quart each, we both felt very queer. Our heads swam, and we
were very dizzy and weak, the effect being similar to that produced by
alcohol.
At daybreak we secured a couple of Rendili youths as guides, and
proceeded through a belt of bush on our way to the Somalis’ camp, near
which I felt convinced we should find El Hakim.
This bush belt was quite a mile wide, and owed its existence to the
large proportion of earth that the desert sand had not yet thoroughly
covered, coupled with the close proximity of the Waso Nyiro. The bushes
grew in clumps, with smooth patches of ground between. They were a
beautiful vivid green, thickly covered with longish narrow leaves and
blue-black berries, and averaged eight feet to ten feet in height.
These berries greatly resembled black currants in appearance. They
contained a large, smooth spherical seed, covered with a layer of
glutinous pulp, which was hot to the palate, and something similar to
nasturtium seeds in flavour. The guinea-fowl were particularly fond of
these berries, and were in consequence to be found in large numbers in
the bush. Every few yards little ground squirrels, like the American
chipmunks, darted across our path; while the tiny duiker—smallest of
the antelopes—now and again scurried hurriedly away to the shelter
of a more distant bush. Little naked sand-rats were very numerous,
the tiny conical heaps of excavated sand outside their burrows being
scattered everywhere. At intervals, clumps of acacias of large size
afforded a certain amount of shade from the vertical rays of the sun, a
fact fully taken advantage of by the Rendili, as we noticed that where
such a clump existed we were certain to find a village.
After tramping for about an hour through this charming and refreshing
scenery, we arrived at Ismail Robli’s boma. El Hakim’s tent was pitched
two or three hundred yards away from it on the left. A moment later
El Hakim himself appeared to welcome us. We did not build a boma, but
pitched our camp under the shade of the palms some two hundred yards
from the river.
During the morning George and I went down to bathe in the river.
Divesting ourselves of our clothing, we ventured into the shallow water
near the bank, keeping a sharp look-out for crocodiles meanwhile. I
had not advanced many steps before I uttered a yell, and jumped wildly
about, to the intense astonishment of George. He was about to inquire
the reason of my extraordinary conduct, but when he opened his mouth,
whatever he intended to say resolved itself into a sudden sharp “Ouch!”
and he commenced to dance about as wildly as myself. Something (which
I afterwards found to be leeches) had attempted to bite our legs,
and especially our toes, causing anything but a pleasant sensation.
Bathing, consequently, was only indulged in under difficulties. We were
compelled, for fear of crocodiles, to bathe in but a foot of water,
and even then our ablutions were only rendered possible by keeping
continuously in motion, so that the leeches were unable to fasten on
to our persons. The instant we discontinued jumping and splashing,
half a dozen nibbles in as many places on those portions of our anatomy
which happened to be under water, would remind us of their presence,
and we would either make a dash for the bank or recommence jumping. The
spectacle of two white men endeavouring to bathe in water a foot deep,
and at the same time performing a species of Indian war-dance, would
doubtless have been extremely diverting to spectators of our own race,
had any been present; but the Rendili and Burkeneji, who also came
down to bathe, merely eyed us in astonishment, probably considering
our terpsichorean efforts to be a part of some ceremonial observance
peculiar to ourselves; or they might have put it down to sunstroke. The
Rendili and Burkeneji bathe with frequency and regularity, seeming to
derive great enjoyment from the practice. This is another very marked
characteristic which distinguishes them from the other tribes we had
met with—the A’kikuyu and Masai, for instance. Parties of the young men
would go down to the river and run about, splashing and shouting in the
shallow water for an hour or two, with every manifestation of pleasure.
When we returned to camp we found several of the Rendili elders
visiting El Hakim, chief of whom was an old man named Lubo, who is,
probably, at present the most influential as well as the most wealthy
man among the Rendili. There were also two other chiefs named Lemoro
and Lokomogo, who held positions second only to Lubo.
In his account of Count Teleki’s expedition, Lieutenant Von Hohnel
gives a short description of the Rendili, which he compiled from
hearsay, which, as far as it goes, is remarkably correct. Von Hohnel
is a very exact and trustworthy observer; his maps, for instance,
being wonderfully accurate. I carried with me a map issued in 1898 by
the Intelligence Department of the War Office, which contained several
inaccuracies and was therefore unreliable, and consequently useless.
Unfortunately, I did not at that time possess one of Von Hohnel’s maps,
or we should have been saved many a weary tramp.
In 1893 Mr. Chanler found the Rendili encamped at Kome, and stayed with
them two or three days. He appears to have found them overbearing and
intolerant of the presence of strangers, and inclined to be actively
hostile. He made an extremely liberal estimate of their numbers, as he
says that they cannot amount to less than two hundred thousand, and
that he had heard that if the Rendili were camped in one long line,
it would take six hours’ march to go down the line from one end to
the other. He considered, moreover, that a large force was necessary
if a prolonged visit was to be made to the Rendili; but we found that
our small party was quite sufficient for our purpose. Since his visit
the tribe had suffered severely from small-pox, which may have curbed
their exuberant spirits somewhat, as we found them, apart from a few
little peculiarities hereafter described, an amiable and gentle people
if treated justly; very suspicious, but perfectly friendly once their
confidence was gained.
We did nothing in the way of trade that morning, but spent most of the
time in satisfying our neglected appetites by regaling ourselves upon
boiled mutton, washed down by draughts of camel’s milk. Afterwards
we held a consultation to decide on the best way of disposing of our
goods. To our great disappointment we learnt that ivory was out of the
question, as we were informed a Swahili caravan, which had accompanied
a white man from Kismayu, had been up some two months before, and had
bought up all the available ivory.[14] We decided, therefore, to invest
in sheep, and proceeded to open our bales of cloth, wire, and beads,
in readiness for the market. I returned to the village at which George
and I had camped with the safari on our arrival the preceding evening,
taking with me half a dozen men and some cloth, wire, etc. When I
arrived there everybody was away bringing in the flocks, so I was
compelled to wait for a while till they returned.
It was most interesting to watch the various flocks come in at sundown.
Till then the village is perfectly quiet, but soon a low murmuring
is heard some considerable distance away, which gradually swells as
the flocks draw nearer, till it becomes at last a perfect babel of
sound with the baaings and bleatings of sheep, and the beat of their
countless little hoofs. They presently arrive in flocks numbering two
or three thousand each, kicking and leaping, and raising a vast cloud
of dust. The women of the village, who have been waiting, then come out
with their milk-vessels, each with a kid or a lamb in her arms, which
she holds on high at the edge of the flock. The little animals bleat
loudly for their mothers. Those mothers, far away in the body of the
flock, in some marvellous manner each recognize the cry of their own
particular offspring among the multitude of other and similar cries,
and dash towards it, leaping over the backs of the others in their
eagerness to reach their little ones. The woman restores the youngster
to its mother, and it immediately commences its evening meal, wagging
its little tail with the utmost enjoyment. The woman then goes to the
other side of the mother, and draws off into her milk-vessels as much
of the milk as can be spared.
The price of a good “soben” (ewe) was six makono of cloth, or about
one and a half yards; but the market was not very brisk, as there was
such a great amount of haggling to be gone through before the bargain
could be considered satisfactorily completed. A man would bring round
an old ram and demand a piece of cloth. When I gently intimated
that I required a “soben,” he would scowl disgustedly and retire.
In a few minutes he would be back again, dragging by the hind leg a
_female goat_, and demand the piece of cloth once more. An animated
discussion on the difference between a sheep and a goat would follow;
my prospective customer maintaining that for all practical purposes a
female goat and a female sheep were identical, while I contended that
if that was the case he might as well bring me a sheep, as under those
circumstances it would make no difference to him, and I myself had a,
doubtless unreasonable, preference for sheep. Finally a very sick and
weedy-looking ewe would be brought, and again the same discussion would
go merrily on. I would not give the full price for a bad specimen,
and my customer would persist that it was, beyond a doubt, the very
best sheep that was ever bred—in fact, the flower of his flock. “Soben
kitock” (a very large sheep) he would observe emphatically, with a
semicircular wave of his arm round the horizon. I would point out that
in my humble opinion it was by no means a “soben kitock” by shaking my
head gravely, and observing that it was “mate soben kitock.” Finally
he would bring a slightly better animal, and I would then hand over
the full price, together with a pinch of tobacco or a few beads as a
luck-penny. I returned to camp the next morning, having bought about
a dozen sheep. In this manner we spent some days buying sheep. It was
very tiring work, but I varied the monotony by building a large hut,
heavily thatched with the fan-shaped leaves of the Doum palm. It was
open at both ends, and served as a capital council chamber and market
house.
There was a great demand for iron wire, and El Hakim and I discussed
the advisability of my journeying up the Waso Nyiro to a spot two days’
march beyond the “Green Camp,” where El Hakim had some twenty loads of
iron wire buried. We eventually decided that it was not worth while,
and the matter dropped.
Some days after our arrival among the Rendili, Ismail Robli came into
our camp, bowed almost to the ground with grief. His tale was truly
pitiful in its awful brevity. I have mentioned the party of eighty of
his men whom we had met five days up the Waso Nyiro, and who had lent
us a guide to bring us to the Rendili. It appeared that after they
left us they lost their way somewhere on the northern borders of Embe,
and were three or four days without water. Eventually they found some
pools, at which they drank, and then, completely exhausted, laid down
to sleep. While they slept, the Wa’embe, who had observed them from
the hills, descended, and, taking them by surprise, pounced upon them
and literally cut them to pieces. Only sixteen men, who had rifles,
escaped; the rest, numbering sixty-four in all, being ruthlessly
massacred. We were horrified at the news; and as for Ismail, he seemed
completely prostrated.
As a result of the massacre, he had not nearly enough men remaining to
carry his loads, and he was therefore compelled to considerably alter
his plans. He now intended to buy camels from the Rendili, and thus
make up his transport department.
We were really grieved about the men, but felt no pity for Ismail,
because, as we took care to point to him, if he had only gone back
to Embe with us after our first reverse, we should have so punished
the Wa’embe as to have precluded the possibility of such a terrible
massacre. As it was, the unfortunate occurrence was the very worst
thing that could have happened for all of us, as such a signal success
would without a doubt set all North Kenia in a ferment, which would
probably culminate on our return in an organized attack by all the
tribes dwelling in the district. The surmise proved to be only too
well founded, and, as will be seen, it was only by the most vigorous
measures on our part on the return to M’thara that the danger was
averted.
As it was no use worrying ourselves at the moment over what _might_
happen in the future, we once more turned our attention to our
immediate concerns. El Hakim thought it possible that there might
be elephants down the river, and I agreed that it would be a better
speculation for me to go down-stream on the chance of meeting them,
leaving El Hakim to buy the rest of the sheep, than to occupy a
fortnight in journeying up the river after the twenty loads of iron
wire, which might possibly have been dug up by Wandorobbo in the mean
time.
On the following day Ismail Robli came to see us again, bringing with
him a present of a little tea, and a little, very little, salt. The
object of his visit was to get me to write a letter for him to his
partner in Nairobi. I insert it as I received it from his lips, as an
object lesson in the difficulties encountered even by native caravans
in the search for ivory.
“Waso Nyiro, August 26th, 1900.
“TO ELMI FAHIER, NAIROBI.
“Greeting.
“Mokojori, the head-man, said when we started, that he knew the road,
and took us to Maranga. After we left Maranga he said that he did not
know the road, and took us to some place (of which) we do not know the
name. Our food was finished (meanwhile). We asked the head-man if he
knew where Limeru was, and he answered that he did not. We packed up
and followed the mountain (Kenia)—not knowing the road—till reached
Limeru, where we found Noor Adam, who had reached there before us. He
had been into Embe, and was beaten by the Wa’embe. He came back and
asked us to go into Embe with them. We went, and Jamah was killed. In
Limeru we did not get much food, but the head-man said, ‘Never mind, I
know the road, and I will take you to the Wandorobbo, and in fifteen
or sixteen days you will be able to buy all the ivory you want.’ When
we left Limeru to find the Wandorobbo, the head-man took us eight days
out of our road to the north of the Waso Nyiro. On the eighth day
we found some Wandorobbo, who said they had no ivory. We waited and
looked about, and found what they said was true. We then asked the
head-man where the ivory was, and he said he did not know; so we came
back south to the Waso Nyiro, having to kill three cows on our way for
food. When we reached the Waso Nyiro we found the Rendili camped. Then
we asked the head-man where was the food and the ivory, and he said,
‘You are like the Wasungu. You want to buy things cheaply and then go
away. When Swahili caravans come here, they stop a year or more....
But I know where there is food. If you give me the men and the donkeys
I can get food in twelve days.’ We gave him eighty men and seven
donkeys, with six and a half loads of trade goods, and they went away
to get food. They followed the river for three days, and then went
across country southwards. There was no water, and after going one day
and one night without water, the head-man halted them, and told them
to wait where they were for a little time while he went a little way
to see if there was any water in a certain place he knew of. He went
away, and did not come back. The other men then went on for three days
without water, and on the afternoon of the fourth day after leaving
the river they found water. They drank, and then laid down to sleep.
While they slept the Wa’embe attacked them, and killed nearly all of
them, only six Somalis and ten Wa’kamba coming back. The donkeys and
trade goods and seven guns were taken by the Wa’embe. Now all the
Somalis are together in one safari—except Jamah, who was killed—and
are with the Rendili trading for ivory. Salaam.
“(Signed) ISMAIL ROBLI,
“Faragh.”
[Illustration 1. Brindled Gnu.
2. Waterbuck.
3. Oryx Beisa.
4. Congoni.
5. Rhinoceros skull.]
FOOTNOTES:
[14] We found afterwards that the caravan referred to was that under
Major Jenner, Governor of Kismayu. It is now a matter of history how,
in November, 1900, the caravan was attacked during the night by Ogaden
Somali raiders, and the camp rushed, Major Jenner and most of his
followers being murdered.
CHAPTER XIII.
_THE RENDILI AND BURKENEJI._
The Burkeneji—Their quarrelsome disposition—The
incident of the spear—The Rendili—Their
appearance—Clothing—Ornaments—Weapons—Household utensils—Morals and
manners.
This chapter contains a short account of the Rendili and Burkeneji,
compiled from a series of disconnected and incomplete notes taken on
the spot. They will, however, serve to give the reader some idea of
that peculiar people, the Rendili. Their utter dissimilarity from those
tribes hitherto encountered, such as the A’kikuyu, Wa’kamba, and Masai,
is very striking. Who and what they are is a problem the solution of
which I leave to abler and wiser heads than mine.
The Rendili and Burkeneji are two nomad tribes, the units of which
wander at will over the whole of Samburuland. They have, nevertheless,
several permanent settlements. Von Hohnel speaks of Rendili inhabiting
the largest of the three islands in the south end of Lake Rudolph,
the other two being occupied by Burkeneji and Reshiat. He also speaks
of settlements of mixed Rendili and Burkeneji in the western portion
of the Reshiat country, at the north end of the lake, though very
possibly the latter were only temporary settlements. The Burkeneji
also inhabit the higher portions of Mount Nyiro, where they have
taken refuge from the fierce attacks of the Turkana. With the single
exception of Marsabit, a crater lake situated about sixty miles north
of the Waso Nyiro which is always filled with pure sweet water, there
is no permanent water in Samburuland. Elephants were at one time very
numerous at Marsabit, but we learnt from the Rendili that they had
disappeared during the last few years. The lake is the headquarters of
the Rendili, from whence they move south to the Waso Nyiro only when
the pasturage, through the scarcity of rain or other cause, becomes
insufficient for the needs of their vast flocks and herds.
At the time of our visit there had been no rain during the previous
three years, and in consequence the pasturage had almost entirely
disappeared. Even on the Waso Nyiro it was very scanty.
We found the Burkeneji a very sullen people. The young men especially,
very inclined to be pugnacious, and, not knowing our real strength,
were haughtily contemptuous in their dealings with us. The majority
were apparently unaware of the power of our rifles, though one or two
of the old men had seen shots fired at game. The Burkeneji and the
Rendili together had, some time before, fought with the Ogaden Somalis,
many of whom were armed with old muzzle-loading guns, using very
inferior powder and spherical bullets. The Rendili declared that they
were able to stop or turn the bullets with their shields. The following
incident shows the serio-comic side of their belief in their own native
weapons.
A party of Burkeneji warriors were in our camp one day when I returned
from an unsuccessful search for game. They noticed my rifle, and
one of the party put out his hand as if he wished to examine it. I
handed it to him, and he and his friends pawed it all over, commenting
on its weight; finally it was handed back to me with a superior and
contemptuous smile, while they balanced and fondled their light spears
with an air of superiority that was too ludicrous to be offensive.
The Burkeneji are very like the Masai or the Wakwafi of Nyemps in
appearance, wearing their hair in a pigtail in the same manner, while
their clothing and ornaments are very similar. Owing probably to long
residence with the Rendili, however, they are gradually adopting the
dress and ornaments of the latter, a large majority of them having
already taken to cloth for everyday wear. They appeared to be very
fond of gaudily coloured “laissos,” quite unlike the Rendili, who will
wear nothing but white. The Burkeneji speak Masai, but most of them
understand the language of the Rendili.
They own large numbers of good cattle and grey donkeys, and also large
flocks of sheep and goats, the latter mainly looted from the Rendili.
This little failing accounts for the nickname “dthombon” (robbers)
given them by the latter. Their donkeys were beautiful animals, in
splendid condition, being sleek, glossy coated, and full of fight. It
was risky for strangers to approach them while they were grazing. They
seemed inclined to take the offensive on the one or two occasions on
which I endeavoured to get near enough to examine them; and to have
had to shoot one in self-defence would probably have led to serious
trouble with its owner. Besides which, such a course seemed to me to
savour too much of the ridiculous. They were more than half wild, and
many were wearing a particularly diabolical twitch, otherwise I suppose
even their owners would have had some difficulty in handling them.
This cruel instrument consisted of a piece of flexible wood a foot in
length thrust through the cartilage of the nostrils, the ends being
drawn together with cord, so that the whole contrivance resembled a bow
passed through the nose.
The Burkeneji were very unwilling to trade; in fact, they refused to
have anything to do with us. On one occasion this bad feeling led to
friction between some of our men and the young warriors of one of
their villages. We had sent a small party of five or six men to this
particular village with a supply of cloth, wire, and beads for the
purpose of buying sheep. Our men were from the first badly received,
and after a while the warriors commenced to hustle them. They put
up with it for some time, but presently a spear was thrown, happily
without fatal result, as the M’kamba at whom it was launched received
it on the butt of his Snider, where it made a deep cut in the hard
wood. Our men, with commendable prudence, refrained from using their
rifles, and returned to camp amid the jeers of their assailants.
On their return El Hakim decided that it was absolutely necessary
that the matter should be stringently dealt with, and to that end
issued orders that on the following morning a party of our men were
to hold themselves in readiness to accompany us to the village for
the purpose of demanding a “shaurie.” These preparations, however,
proved superfluous, as at sunrise we were waited upon by a deputation
of elders from the village in question, who had come to try to square
matters. As a sign of our displeasure, we kept them waiting for some
time, and after the suspense had reduced them to a sufficiently
humble frame of mind, we condescended to appear and listen to their
explanation.
They prefaced their apology by a long rambling statement to the effect
that “the Burkeneji were the friends of the white man.” “It was _good_
to be friends,” said they, “and _very bad_ not to be friends,” and so
on. After they had quite exhausted their limited powers of rhetoric, we
put in a few pointed questions.
“Do friends throw spears?” we asked.
“Oh, _that_!” said they, in tones of surprise that we should have
noticed such a trivial occurrence, and they forthwith plunged into a
maze of apologies and explanations to the effect that young men _would_
be young men. It was, of course, extremely regrettable that such an
unpleasant incident should have occurred to mar our friendly relations,
but they trusted we would take a lenient view of the conduct of the
foolish young man, the more so as he had already been driven away from
the village as a punishment for his offence. “And,” they added, with a
charming naïveté, “would we give them a present and say no more about
it?”
El Hakim declined to take such a lenient view of the case. To have
done so would have been construed into a confession of weakness, and
probably have led to more serious complications. He therefore demanded
that the young man should be delivered up to him for punishment, or,
failing that, a fine of ten sheep should be paid by his father.
They answered solemnly that the white men had very hard hearts;
furthermore, the young man, having already been driven out of the
village, could not now be found, and they were in consequence quite
unable to give him up.
“Then,” said El Hakim, “his papa must pay the fine.”
They protested that the wicked young man had no papa, or, indeed,
any relatives whatsoever; in fact, that he was an outcast whom, from
charitable motives, they had allowed to stop in their village. We
declined to believe such a preposterous story, and remained firm on the
subject of the fine. After a time, finding remonstrance useless, the
elderly deputation sorrowfully withdrew, after promising that the fine
should be paid.
The next day six sheep were driven into our camp, and the old gentleman
in charge stated that they were all he could afford, and would we
consider the matter settled. We were inexorable, however, so soon
afterwards the balance of the fine was brought into camp and handed
over.
It was the old, old story, which can be paralleled in any town in the
civilized world. The story of a young man sowing his wild oats, who,
for some breach of the peace or other, comes within the grasp of the
law, when ensues the police court, and the fine paid by papa, anxious
to redeem his erring offspring.
We were truly sorry for the good old Burkeneji gentleman, who paid
the fine in order to keep the peace which his son had so recklessly
endangered; but our sympathy did not prevent our sense of justice—in
this case more than usually acute, as the safety of our own persons was
threatened—nor did it prevent us from exacting the full penalty.
The Rendili we found to be of very different behaviour, though they
have a very bad character from Mr. Chanler. He describes them as
overbearing, quarrelsome, treacherous, and haughtily contemptuous
towards strangers. He met them at Kome in 1893, and stayed with them
two or three days. Since his visit, however, they have been, as I have
already remarked, terribly decimated by small-pox, and possibly that
has toned them down somewhat.
They are tall and well built, with slim and graceful figures and
light, clear skins. They have an appearance of cleanliness and
wholesomeness which was altogether wanting in the other natives whom
we had previously met. Their distinctly Semitic features bear little
resemblance to those of the typical negro, with his squat nose,
prognathous jaws, and everted lips. There were many members of the
tribe with good clean-cut features, well-shaped jaws and chins, and
pronounced aquiline noses. They somewhat resembled high-bred Arabs
in general appearance, and, if clothed in Arab dress, they, with
their fine, straight, close-cut jet black hair, could not be easily
distinguished from that aristocratic race.
At one time they wore a rough, coarsely woven garment of sheep’s wool,
but at the time I saw them they had entirely taken to trade cloth to
the exclusion of the home-made article. They then wore large mantles of
this cotton cloth, made by sewing together two three-yard lengths of
cloth, thus forming a large square piece. The edges of this are then
unravelled to form tassels, which are further ornamented with small red
and white beads. This they draped round them somewhat in the manner of
a Mexican “serape.” They and their clothes were always scrupulously
clean. Unlike the Burkeneji they will never wear anything but white
cloth. “Coloured cloths,” they remarked contemptuously to us on one
occasion, “were only fit for women and Masai.” They prefer the English
drill, called “Marduf” by the Swahilis, to the lighter and commoner
“Merikani” (American sheeting).
They wear a good many beads as ornaments, which are carefully worked
into necklaces and armlets of artistic design, and not put on
haphazard, as is the custom of the surrounding tribes, and of those
south of the Waso Nyiro. The beads are usually strung on hair from the
tail of the giraffe, which is as stiff as thin wire. With this they
make broad collars and bands for the arms and ankles, the beads being
arranged in geometrical designs, such as squares and triangles, of
different colours, red and white being the favourites. The demand for
_seninge_ (iron wire) was extraordinary, though _serutia_ (brass wire)
ran it a close second. Copper wire, strange to say, they would not look
at.
They are circumcized in the Mohammedan manner, and, in addition, they
are mutilated in a most extraordinary fashion by having their navels
cut out, leaving a deep hole. They are the only tribe mutilated in this
manner with the exception of the Marle, who inhabit the district north
of “Basso Ebor” (Lake Stephanie), and who are probably an offshoot of
the Rendili.
The Rendili women are singularly graceful and good looking, with
arch, gentle manners and soft expressive eyes. They wear a good many
ornaments, principally bead necklaces and armlets of coloured beadwork.
Their hair is allowed to grow in short curls. One or two I saw wore it
cut very close, with the exception of a ridge of hair on the top of
the head, extending from the centre of the forehead backwards over the
crown to the nape of the neck, which was left uncut. Whether they were
Turkana women who had intermarried with the Rendili or not, I am unable
to say, it being the custom of the Turkana women to dress their hair
in that manner; though, on the other hand, the fashion might have been
merely copied from them by the Rendili women.
The Rendili women also wear cloth. Their garments were of much less
generous proportions than those of their lords and masters; but they
wore more ornaments, the Venetian beads we carried being in great
demand for that purpose. They also wore armlets and leg ornaments
of brass and iron wire, the iron wire especially being much sought
after. They do not use skins for clothing, though they cure them and
use them for sleeping-mats, and also for trading with the Reshiat and
Wa’embe. The skins are cured by the women, who, after the skin is
sufficiently sun-dried, fasten it by the four corners to a convenient
bush, and scrape the hair from it with a broad chisel-shaped iron tool,
afterwards softening it by rubbing it between the hands.
El Hakim bought several cornelian beads from the women, evidently of
native manufacture. They were roughly hexahedral in shape, and were
cleanly pierced, with no little skill, to admit of their being strung
on a thread. We could not discover from whence they had obtained them.
It is possible that they may have filtered through from Zeila or
Berbera on the Somali coast, where they had been brought by Arab or
Hindoo traders.
The Rendili women, unlike the Masai, are remarkably chaste, the morals
of the tribe as a whole being apparently of a comparatively high
standard. Polygamy is practised, but it is not very much _en évidence_.
A point which struck me very much was their fondness for children.
For some reason, perhaps on account of the small-pox, the birth-rate
by no means equalled the deaths, and children were consequently very
scarce. What children they possessed they fairly worshipped. Everything
was done for their comfort and pleasure that their adoring parents
could devise. This love of children extended to the offspring of other
tribes, and they were perfectly willing to adopt any child they could
get hold of.
Both Lemoro and Lokomogo—two of the principal chiefs—asked us on
several occasions to sell them two or three of the boys who acted as
servants to our Swahilis, but we declined to do so, as it was, to our
minds, too much like slave dealing. We gave some of the boys permission
to stop with the Rendili if they felt so inclined, but only two of them
tried it; and they came back a few days later, saying the life was too
quiet for them.
Ismail Robli, we had good reason to believe, sold some boys to Lemoro,
and we were afterwards the means of rescuing one little chap, who came
into camp saying that Ismail had sold him to that chief, though he did
not want to stop with the Rendili. We protected him during a somewhat
stormy scene in our camp with old Lemoro, who said he had given Ismail
two camels for the boy. When we taxed Ismail, he, of course, denied
it, saying that the boy had deserted to the Rendili, and that the two
camels were only a present from Lemoro. However, we kept the boy, who
belonged to M’thara, and had left there with Ismail’s safari as a
servant to one of his porters, and on our return to M’thara sent him
to M’Dominuki with an account of the affair, and he was ultimately
restored to his home. After this incident Ismail tried to do us what
mischief he could by causing friction between ourselves and the
Rendili, but was happily unsuccessful, though he nevertheless caused us
some anxious moments.
The Rendili have no definite religion so far as I could ascertain. Mr.
Chanler mentions a story current among them about a man and a woman who
settled somewhere in the north of Samburuland a very long time ago,
and from whom the Rendili are descended; very similar to the Biblical
story of Adam and Eve. They show traces of contact with Mohammedans by
their use of the word “Allah” as an exclamation of astonishment, though
seeming not to know its meaning.
They have apparently no regard for the truth for its own sake, lying
appearing to them to be a most desirable form of amusement. It is on
this account rather difficult to obtain information about themselves
or of their country, as in answer to questions they will say only what
they think will please their questioner, whether it is right or not.
When one finds them out they do not betray the slightest embarrassment,
but regard the matter rather in the light of a good joke.
They will tell the most unblushing lies on all and every subject
under discussion, and if, as sometimes happened, circumstances
disproved their words to their very faces, they would smile an amiable
self-satisfied smile as of one who says, “See what a clever fellow I
am.”
On one occasion I inquired of the people of a certain village some
two hours’ march from our camp if they wished to sell any sheep. I
was informed that the inhabitants of the village in question were
simply yearning to sell their sheep. I came down to plain figures, and
inquired how many they would be likely to sell.
“Very many, quite as many as that,” said my informant, indicating a
passing flock of sheep that numbered some hundreds.
Knowing the vast numbers of sheep possessed by the people of that
particular village, I thought it not unlikely that I should be able to
buy at least a hundred. However, when I went to the village, joyfully
anticipating a good market, I found that they did not wish to sell any
sheep whatever, and, moreover, never had wished to. I was eventually
compelled to return disappointed—not having secured more than two
or three—and very much annoyed with the elderly gentleman who had
so deliberately misled me. He knew at the time that the people of
the village did not wish to sell any sheep, but being unwilling to
disappoint me by telling me so, he lied, with the laudable but mistaken
idea of sparing my feelings.
They are probably the richest natives in Africa, calculated per head of
population. Some of them own vast numbers of camels, sheep, and goats,
and since the small-pox has nearly exterminated this once powerful
and numerous tribe, it is not uncommon to find a village of eight or
ten families, numbering not more than thirty persons all told, owning
flocks of over 20,000 sheep and goats, and large numbers of camels. Old
Lubo, the _doyen_ of the Rendili chiefs, personally owned upwards of
16,000 camels, besides over 30,000 sheep and goats. The Rendili live
almost entirely on the vast quantities of milk they obtain from their
flocks and herds, for they milk their camels, goats, and sheep with
equal impartiality. They do not hunt as a rule, but sometimes the young
men spear small antelope. They are very unwilling to slaughter any of
their animals for food. They must do so occasionally, however, as I
have once or twice seen them eating meat. Furthermore, the old women
of the tribe used occasionally to bring a grilled bone, or a bladder
of mutton fat into camp, for sale to our men. Meat would seem to be
quite a luxury to them, as a bone to which a few scraps of meat were
adhering was offered for sale at an exorbitant price, with an air as of
conferring a special favour.
We ourselves lived almost entirely on milk during our six weeks’ stay
among the Rendili, with the exception of the twelve days occupied by
our journey down the river in the search for Lorian. El Hakim, George,
and I drank nearly two gallons per day each. It formed a pleasant and,
from a dietetic point of view, a useful change from the exclusively
meat diet on which we subsisted, from the time of our arrival at the
“Green Camp” till our return to M’thara, a period of over two months.
The camel’s milk was very salt, which to some extent compensated for
the absence of that mineral in the ordinary form. El Hakim informed me
that a little to the east of Maisabit a large extent of the country is
under a layer of salt, two or three inches in thickness. It required
one day’s journey to cross it, which represents a vast quantity of pure
salt, and it was principally from this that the animals of the Rendili
obtained such salt as they required.
The milk we required for our own use we bought with the Venetian beads.
We, of course, boiled every drop before using it, and rendered it still
more palatable by the addition of a tabloid or two of saccharin from
the medicine chest, so long as they lasted. The milk often curdled in
boiling, owing to the vessels it had been brought in not having been
cleaned since the milking the night before, and we were compelled
to eat the solid curds with a spoon. We served out an allowance of
beads to the men every day, with which they bought milk, fat, and
occasionally meat.
El Hakim heard that many years before, the sheep and goats of the
Rendili, with the exception of Lubo’s, which were camped in another
place at the time, had been swept away by a pestilence. In such cases
the custom of the tribe appears to be that the owner of the surviving
flocks must give the others sufficient animals to enable them to
recommence breeding; but he has the right to take them back, together
with their progeny, provided that his own needs require it. Old Lubo,
therefore, was practically the owner of all the vast flocks of the
Rendili, which could only be numbered by hundreds of thousands. The
confidence between the animals and their owners was very noteworthy,
even the sheep allowing themselves to be handled freely for milking,
and for purposes of examination. They are of the fat-tailed variety,
some of the tails weighing as much as thirty pounds. This fat tail is
another object lesson of the way nature provides her creatures against
all emergencies. The Rendili sheep in times of plenty develop and store
a large reserve of nourishment in the fat of their ponderous tails,
so that when, as often happens, their pasturage becomes exhausted
through want of rain or other causes, they have a store to draw upon,
sufficient for their needs for a considerable period. Another store of
fat is also formed, in the case of the Rendili sheep, in a large pouch
or dewlap under the throat, and also on the breast-bone, where the fat
is often a couple of inches in thickness.
As an instance of the ignorance and denseness of the average Swahili,
as regards anything outside his own particular sphere, I will mention
a little incident which occurred one day. El Hakim sent Jumbi and
three or four men with a supply of cloth and beads to buy sheep at a
Rendili village. He was instructed to buy “soben,” _i.e._ ewes, in good
condition. He returned next day with a dozen or so of the raggedest
scarecrows that the Rendili had been able to rake out. El Hakim
reprimanded him, and asked why he had not obtained better animals, as
those he had brought had no fat tails at all, but merely shrivelled-up
skin. Jumbi answered that it was true that the Rendili had brought
sheep with much fatter tails to him, but he had rejected them, their
tails being so large that _he thought the sheep would not be able to
travel_!
The Rendili own donkeys, but not so many as the Burkeneji. They also
own horses, which the Burkeneji do not, and which they probably procure
from the Borana, who are reported to own vast numbers of them. The
Borana are a very powerful and numerous tribe living in north-east
Galla-land. They are fierce fighters, and it was formerly quite the
correct thing for any warrior among the Rendili who yearned for
distinction to lead a raiding party against the Borana, who as often
returned the compliment.
The Borana fight with two short, broad-bladed spears, while for
defensive purposes they carry a small round shield made from the skin
of the hump of the oryx. They wear cloth—a small cloth round the loins
and a larger one thrown over the shoulders completing their costume.
They possess large numbers of cattle, sheep, and goats, and vast
herds of half-wild horses. They are a sullen, inhospitable people,
very unwilling to receive strangers. They, like the Rendili and
Burkeneji, wear sandals, the thorny acacia, so plentifully distributed
thereabouts, being even too much for the naked feet of savages.
The Rendili ride their horses with a saddle something like the native
Somali saddle. It is made of wood, covered with sheepskin, and is
fastened by a girth knotted to rings in the saddle. The stirrups are
similar to those of the Somali, consisting merely of two iron rings,
into which the rider thrusts his big toe, his sandals having been
previously removed. A breast-plate and crupper are used to keep the
saddle in place. They use a very crude iron bit, of a particularly
cruel form, attached to strips of undressed leather which do duty for
reins.
The Rendili are among the most persistent beggars that I have ever met
with. The Egyptian beggar, with his oft-reiterated “backshish,” is hard
to beat, but the average Rendili could easily give him long odds and
a beating. It grew to be quite a fashionable amusement with them to
come down to our camp, often some hours’ journey, and spend the day in
begging for small articles. When El Hakim, who slept outside his tent,
awoke in the morning, he would find a number of them squatted round his
bed, and as soon as he opened his eyes a murmur of “Mate serutia?” (Is
there no brass wire?) greeted him. He would answer “Mate! mate!” (No!
no!) and retreat hurriedly to the interior of the tent. But it was of
no use; a moment later he would be again approached by his questioners,
who would softly inquire, “Mate serutia?” having apparently forgotten
his emphatic negative to the same inquiry five minutes before. Again
El Hakim would answer, “Mate serutia!” (There is no brass wire!). So,
gazing reproachfully at him, his tormenters would leave him and come to
me.
The same succession of beseeching inquiry and stony refusal would be
gone through, and when they were convinced that I was as hard-hearted
as El Hakim, they would leave me and try George. He also was adamant;
but they were not discouraged. Back they would go to El Hakim, and
repeat the whole performance.
This happened every hour of every day during the whole period of our
sojourn among them; it almost drove us frantic on occasions. To do
them justice, the cry was sometimes varied; sometimes it was “Mate
serutia?” and other times “Mate tumbao?” (tobacco), of which they are
inordinately fond, probably because they can obtain it only on the rare
occasions when they come in contact with the Wa’embe, and the Reshiat
at the north end of the “Basso Norok” (Lake Rudolph).
Lubo himself often sat for hours in front of the temporary hut of palm
leaves we had erected as a council house, begging for a few beads or a
small piece of brass wire. We ridiculed him once, saying that we were
surprised that he, who was such a wealthy man, should beg for a few
beads. He was amazed!
“Is it not good to give?” he said.
“Well, then, why do you not give us something?” we inquired.
“You have never asked me!” he answered simply.
If we had been a wealthy exploring caravan, rich enough to have
bestowed munificent gifts on the Rendili on our arrival, doubtless
their value, or near it, would have been returned to us in kind, but
we could not then have been certain of getting what we needed, as the
return gift might have consisted of camels or some other commodity
which we did not require, and which we would be unable, from the nature
of the case, to refuse. We preferred, therefore, the slower and more
sordid process of bartering for what we wanted. We had, of course,
bestowed presents on arrival, but nothing large enough to warrant the
gift of perhaps half a dozen camels in return.
Their begging was at times particularly aggravating; for instance,
after a hot and weary morning passed in trade “shauries” and
discussions with the various elders respecting presents to be given
and received. Having lunched on a quart of milk or so, we would
retire for a smoke and a siesta. Just as we were dropping off into a
delicious doze, a dusky countenance would be thrust into the hut, and
a gentle voice would softly utter, “Mate serutia?” accompanied by
a touching smile and insinuatingly outstretched paw. At such times
language failed us, and we could only glare. But glaring did not seem
to have any effect; the intruder did not mind it in the least, so
the services of Ramathani had to be requisitioned, and as he led the
culprit gently away, we would compose ourselves once more to sleep to
the accompaniment of the plaintive murmur of “Mate serutia” sandwiched
between the voluble remonstrances of our faithful henchman.
But five minutes later, the whole performance would be repeated!
The Rendili villages consist of low, flat-topped huts constructed of
bush and reeds arranged in a circle a hundred yards or so in diameter.
In the centre they construct a circular enclosure for their flocks.
Outside the whole a strong thorn “boma” is built, with generally two
gateways on opposite sides, which are closed at night. In consequence
of the great reduction in their numbers by small-pox, most of the
villages were very short handed. Women and little children acted as
shepherds in place of the now extinct warriors, whose duty it had been
before the scourge removed them. So much was this the case that in
some villages the inhabitants, even when reinforced by the women and
children, were still too few to be able to drive all their animals to
water daily. They were therefore reduced to the expedient of driving
their sheep and goats down one day, and the camels the next, and so on
alternately.
Their household utensils were few, and simple in construction. Their
milk-vessels were either of wood, hollowed and shaped, or of plaited
string, made watertight with gum. Some of the vessels of plaited
string were further strengthened by a covering of raw hide stitched
with gut. They were made in all sizes, ranging from a tiny measure
holding scarcely a pint to large vessels holding two or three gallons.
They also construct a rude spoon from plaited string. They possess a
few gourds, doubtless obtained by barter from other tribes. They use
the bladders of animals for the purpose of holding fat, and for other
purposes, such as satchels and bags.
The pack-saddles for their camels and donkeys are made of wickerwork.
They are very light and strong, and answer the purpose admirably.
The donkey pack-saddle consists of two elongated oval frames of bent
wickerwork laced with strips of hide in a similar manner to the gut in
a tennis racquet. These frames are then connected with two broad bands,
which are fastened to their lower edges and pass over the donkey’s
back. The forage or household effects, or whatever has to be carried,
is packed on the donkey, being kept from slipping by the frames, which
are then tied with cords on their upper edges, one to the other, thus
making the package complete and snug.
Their weapons consist of spears, shields, and bows and arrows. The
spears are very light, and do not look at all dangerous. The blade is
of the usual laurel-leaf shape, common to the Suk, Turkana, and Kamasia
tribes, though one or two of Somali pattern are occasionally seen.
Their shields are also of the shape peculiar to the Suk and Turkana.
Made of buffalo-hide, they are of a very narrow oblong shape, with a
peculiar curve when seen in profile. They are ornamented with a tuft of
feathers at the top. They are now usually constructed of ox-hide, as,
since the rinderpest, the buffalo is very scarce, and a buffalo shield
is valued accordingly. There are also a few of the wickerwork shields
of the Reshiat in use among them.
Their bows differ in shape from those of the A’kikuyu and Wa’kamba, in
that they are turned forward at the ends, in a similar manner to the
conventional Cupid’s bow. So far as I could ascertain, their arrows are
not poisoned.
They do not use clubs as weapons; at least, I saw none that could be
used as such. The only club they carried consisted of the kernel of the
doum nut fastened on to the end of a slight stick some eighteen inches
in length, a hole being bored longitudinally through the nut, and the
stick inserted. The kernel was in many cases ornamented with small
coloured beads, which were inlaid when it was new and comparatively
soft, the whole then finished off by being covered with a thin layer of
gum.
That the reports of the powers of the Rendili in warfare were not
devoid of foundation was borne out in a striking manner by facts
which came under our observation. Many of our visitors showed livid
scars on the left forearm and breast. Inquiry revealed the fact that
the warriors who wished to be accounted brave in warfare dispensed
with their shields altogether, receiving on their left forearm those
spear-thrusts they were unable to avoid. This is, as far as I know,
a unique characteristic among African savages, though I am open to
correction on that point. The fact that the Rendili, besides attacking
the Borana, have also successfully raided the Wa’embe and the A’kikuyu
of north-east Kenia speaks well for their courage and enterprise. Most
of the elders we met showed great scars on the arms, breasts, and
thighs—relics of spear-thrusts received in the sanguinary conflicts of
their hot-blooded youth. The tribe now shows only the merest traces of
its former greatness, depending mainly on the Burkeneji for protection
from outside interference, though they are still by no means to be
despised.
The Burkeneji, noting the ravages of the small-pox on their once
all-powerful neighbours, were not slow in profiting by the lesson. When
the scourge appeared, they sent their young men away to separate camps,
and so preserved them. They were able to do so without inconvenience,
as they did not own such numbers of animals as the Rendili, who would
not send their youths away, as they wanted them to look after their
flocks and herds—a short-sighted policy which cost them very dearly.
Now, the Burkeneji were perfectly willing to protect the Rendili, but
in return they considered that they ought to be allowed the right to
help themselves from the Rendili flocks whenever they felt so disposed;
and to do them justice they fully acted up to this idea, without fear
of reprisals. It seemed to me a very peculiar state of affairs. The
two tribes lived together, that is, their villages were intermingled,
and they travelled together; yet the Burkeneji constantly raided the
Rendili, and though the Rendili did not seem to like it, they never
openly resented the depredations.
Old Lubo once complained to us that he had been raided during the
afternoon—as a matter of fact, the raid took place not five minutes’
walk from our camp—and a few score of sheep and two women had been
looted from him. We inquired why he made no attempt to recapture them.
He opened his eyes widely at the novelty of the idea.
“We do not fight between friends,” he said.
Notwithstanding their fighting qualities, both the Rendili and
Burkeneji were very anxious about the Masai. They seemed to live in
dread of them. We were frequently asked if we had seen any Masai on our
march up, and whether we thought they were coming to the Waso Nyiro.
Large parties of Masai “elmoran” (warriors) had occasionally attempted
to raid the Rendili, but were almost always unsuccessful, the principal
reason being the inaccessibility of the country and the nomadic habits
of the tribe.
On the march the Masai elmoran carries next to nothing in the way of
provisions, trusting to find cattle on the road, which he can use for
food, after massacring the owners. Thompson describes the ceremony of
the departure of a Masai war-party thus—
“For a month they devoted themselves to an indispensable, though
revolting preparation. This consisted in their retiring in small
parties to the forest, and there gorging themselves with beef. This
they did under the belief that they were storing up a supply of muscle
and ferocity of the most pronounced type. This strange process being
finished and the day fixed on, the women of the krall went out before
sunrise, with grass dipped in the cream of cow’s milk. Then they
danced, and invoked N’gai for a favourable issue to the enterprise,
after which they threw the grass in the direction of the enemy. The
young men spent several hours at their devotions, howling out in the
most ludicrous street-singer fashion, ‘Aman N’gai-ai! Aman M’baratien!’
(We pray to God! We pray to M’baratien!). Previous to this, however,
a party had been sent to the chief ‘lybon’ of the Masai—M’baratien—to
seek advice as to the time of their start, and to procure medicines to
make them successful. On their return the party mustered and set off!”
[Illustration: MASAI ELMORAN IN WAR ARRAY.]
It will be seen that under these conditions it was a very difficult
matter to successfully raid a tribe like the Rendili, to reach whom
they had to cross uninhabited and desolate country for ten days
or more, and generally to arrive at their prospective victims’
camping-ground starved and emaciated with their rapid and difficult
march, to find that the Rendili had withdrawn with all their flocks
and herds still further into the depths of the wilderness. Weakened
by want of food, and fatigued almost beyond endurance, there would be
nothing for the war-party but to retrace their steps, it being quite
hopeless to attempt to find the Rendili in the desert, in which they
were quite at home. So, sadder and wiser, the crestfallen elmoran would
return, many dropping by the way from hunger and exhaustion, till a
pitiful remnant of the once proud and arrogant war-party would totter
home, to rest and recuperate before starting on another raid on the
A’kikuyu, where the prizes, if few in number, did not entail so much
inconvenience in the collection.
CHAPTER XIV.
_THE SEARCH FOR LORIAN._
Exchanging presents with the Rendili—El Hakim bitten by a scorpion—We
start for Lorian without guides—Zebra—Desolate character of the
country—Difficulties with rhinoceros—Unwillingness of our men to
proceed—We reach the limit of Mr. Chanler’s journey—No signs of Lorian.
The climate was still all that could be desired. The heat in the
daytime was terrific, but the air was so dry that it was quite
bearable. No dew fell at night, and sleeping in the open was, in
consequence, an unmixed pleasure. Our camp was about 1200 feet above
sea-level, and the temperature during the day could not have been much
less than 120° Fahr., which dropped at night to from 85° to 90° Fahr.
I made several short trips into the surrounding country in search of
fresh meat, but except a solitary grantei or wallerei at intervals,
the country was devoid of game. The flocks and herds of the Rendili
roamed so far afield in search of pasture that all the game within a
day’s march had been driven away. The guinea-fowl were very wild, and
I found my 20-bore was unable to deal with them, as it would not kill
far enough. Also we considered it unwise to do any shooting in the
near vicinity of the Rendili or Burkeneji villages, as the women and
children, being unaccustomed to firearms, were very much frightened by
the explosions, and it might possibly have proved a cause of friction,
which we of course wished to avoid.
About ten miles away to the north-east was the “Marisi-al-lugwazambo,”
or Zambo Plateau. It was of a most imposing-looking formation, its
sides being as steep and clean cut as if they had been shaped with a
knife. The sandy plain extended right up to the base of the plateau,
which rose fully 500 feet above the level of the surrounding country.
The plateau was composed chiefly of gneiss rock, with large blocks
of lava liberally sprinkled on its surface and sides. It is about
twenty-five miles long, with an average breadth of five miles.
A few days after our arrival Lubo came into camp with a present of
fifteen sheep. In return we gave him some coils of brass and iron wire
and about thirty yards of marduf, with which he professed himself very
pleased.
In and around our camp there were large numbers of centipedes and
scorpions, and it was quite exciting sometimes when a centipede was
discovered snugly ensconced in the blankets, just as one was going
to turn in. El Hakim, while turning over some pieces of cloth, when
making up Lubo’s present, was stung in the hand by a large scorpion.
It was pure white in colour, and consequently lay unnoticed among the
folds of the cloth. His arm soon became very painful, the armpit and
chest being immediately affected. Before the pain became too severe,
however, I injected a solution of morphia with a hypodermic syringe,
which relieved him greatly. The following morning the pain had almost
entirely subsided, and in a couple of days no further ill effects were
noticeable.
In the course of conversation with some of the Rendili elders, we were
surprised to hear that Lorian was only _two days’ march_ distant. We
were very much surprised, as Mr. Chanler made it at least forty-five
miles’ march over extremely difficult country, beyond the furthest
eastern spur of the Zambo Plateau, which itself lay some fifteen to
twenty miles distant from our camp. We expressed our incredulity,
but we were assured that the Rendili could reach it in two days. We
concluded, therefore, that, making every allowance for characteristic
Rendili exaggeration, Lorian was much nearer than we had thought, and
we had half decided to make an attempt to reach it, when a statement
by the assembled Rendili to the effect that there were “plenty of
elephants down there,” clinched the matter. We asked for guides, and as
Lubo promised that they should be forthcoming, we made our preparations
for a journey to the mysterious Lorian.
The next day, as no guides had put in an appearance, El Hakim and
George went over to Lubo’s village, to find out the reason for the
delay. Lubo, excusing himself, said that he was looking for guides, but
so far he had not got hold of any one who knew the way. Two more days
passed, but still no guides were forthcoming. Lubo was full of excuses
and promises, but as far as he was concerned the matter was allowed to
drop. Eventually we determined to make the journey without guides. We
could always follow the river, which of course would be a more tedious
journey, but there seemed no other way out of the difficulty.
On August 30th, therefore, we made a start, taking with us only a
dozen men, and leaving Jumbi and the bulk of the men in charge of our
camp, with instructions to continue buying sheep. The tents were left
behind with most of our other impedimenta, as we intended travelling
as lightly as possible. We took with us merely a blanket or two, the
necessary culinary utensils, my camera, some spare ammunition, and a
change of clothing apiece.
On leaving camp we skirted the north bank of the Waso Nyiro for some
miles, deviously threading our way among the palm trees. It was a
glorious excursion, this tramp through the cool dark glades beneath the
palms, where the remnants of the bright sunshine which filtered through
the leafy canopy overhead gave the scene the appearance of the interior
of a vast cathedral dimly illuminated by rays of sunshine through
stained glass windows. The effect was heightened by the occasional
glimpses between the palm trunks of the smooth shining surface of the
river, over which numbers of brilliantly coloured kingfishers darted to
and fro like the falling fragments of a shattered rainbow.
Presently we emerged on the river-bank at a likely looking spot for a
crossing. As we did so, a sliding, slipping sound, followed by a dull
splash, warned us of the presence of crocodiles, and an examination of
the bank showed us that three or four of the loathsome reptiles had
been basking in the sun at that very spot. The tracks were, however,
those of comparatively small ones, probably not more than six or eight
feet long. Across the river several others of about the same size,
as yet unaware of our presence, were basking on the sandbanks. The
noise made by the porters soon roused them, and they also disappeared,
with a wriggle and a flop, beneath the swirling stream. The river not
being very deep, scarcely four feet at the deepest part, we entered
the water and waded across, the men shouting and splashing with great
vigour, while casting many a sidelong glance at the turbid current.
Once across, our search for Lorian had commenced in good earnest,
and setting our faces to the eastward, we strode forward on a course
parallel to the south bank of the river.
An hour later we saw a herd of zebra, and George and I, after a long
and careful stalk, secured four. They were in prime condition, and very
plump, yet, strange to say, the country appeared to produce nothing
more nourishing than occasional clumps of coarse grass, or rather
straw, as it was burnt yellow by the fierce rays of the sun. These four
zebras were a veritable windfall, as they not only enabled the men who
accompanied us to lay in a few days’ supply for our journey down the
river, but by sending a messenger back to Jumbi he was enabled to send
for the remainder, which was sufficient to feed the men remaining in
camp for some days.
We camped on the river-bank, which we had some difficulty in regaining,
having to cut our way with knives and axes through the densely
interlaced bush and creepers which fringed the water’s edge. The
weather was delightful, though the heat in the open was terrific, this
camp being situated within one degree of the equator, and not more than
one thousand two hundred feet above sea-level.
On starting the following morning we found that the river curved away
to the northward, rounding the easterly spur of the Zambo Plateau. As
we proceeded, the luxuriant tropical vegetation gave way to scattered
acacias and patches of burnt-up elephant grass. The soil underfoot also
changed in character, the rocky outcrops and boulders of quartz and
gneiss almost entirely disappearing. In their place were vast stretches
of smooth shining sand, alternated with patches of loose brown earth,
as soft and crumbly as starch, which made travelling a matter of great
toil and difficulty. Game was very plentiful. I shot a grantei during
the morning, and when we halted for lunch I secured three water-buck.
After we had eaten and rested awhile we resumed the march. The aspect
of the country grew worse and worse. The brown crumbling soil gave way
under our feet; it seemed so rotten that it was unable to bear our
weight, and at every step we sank into it over our knees, our passage
raising a brown impalpable dust which choked our eyes, ears, and
nostrils in a most uncomfortable and disconcerting manner. The mules
suffered even more than ourselves. It was impossible to ride them, as
at every stride they sank up to their hocks in the rotten earth, and
floundered about in a most pitiful and distressing manner. The sand,
which seemed so smooth and firm on the surface, was also honeycombed
underneath by some agency or other. I had a nasty fall from this cause
during the afternoon’s march. I was riding the big mule, when the sand
suddenly collapsed under her forefeet and she went down on her chest,
afterwards rolling over on my leg, pinning me to the ground. In her
struggles she kicked me in the side several times, inflicting severe
bruises. Ramathani secured her head, and I was pulled from under her,
feeling badly shaken and very faint. The mule then broke away and raced
across country, kicking her heels in the air in delighted freedom. She
was not caught for over an hour, during which I had to stumble along in
the burning sun as best I could, with my head spinning like a top, and
my temper considerably above the boiling-point. We concluded a weary
march by sundown, and again camped under the palms on the river-bank.
These palms formed a home for large troops of baboons and little
monkeys, who chattered unceasingly. After our meagre meal of fried meat
we retired. The moon was in the first quarter and shed a little light
after the sun had set, and we laid back in our blankets and, gazing up
at the palms, spent an hour or so in desultory conversation, or perhaps
discussing our route for the morrow. As the sun set the night-birds
appeared, and tuned up, preparatory to their usual concert, lasting
from sunset to sunrise. One bird in particular went regularly up and
down the scale, starting from D, and mounting by leaps and bounds over
a couple of octaves, descended again. This performance was repeated
with maddening insistency during the greater part of the night.
At sunrise on the morning of September 1st we were again on the road.
We saw several herds of water-buck on the banks of the Waso Nyiro, but
they were very shy and most difficult to approach. The river ran in a
direction almost due north. The further we followed it to the north
and east the scarcer became the vegetation. Rhinoceros became once
more unpleasantly numerous, and during that morning’s march we dodged
several who at one time bade fair to disperse our little company. I
suppose that they have their uses, though they are inconvenient at
times. I know of nothing better for livening up the monotony of an
otherwise uninteresting march, than a crusty old rhino who has just
been roused from a refreshing nap. A lion does not create half so
much excitement. El Hakim and George had to bestir themselves on one
occasion during the morning, in order to prevent accident. It was
in this wise. I was marching ahead, and contemplating as I went the
manifold beauties of nature. A few yards behind me rode in silence El
Hakim and George, also contemplating the beauties of nature—or were
they thinking of the approach of lunch time? Anyhow, we were some few
hundred yards ahead of the men when an agonized yell from Ramathani,
who was in the rear, caused us to look round. There, not forty yards
away, were two rhinoceros, a mother and a half-grown young one, coming
straight for us with speedy but noiseless footsteps. I instantly took
up a strategic position on the opposite side of an adjacent bush, and
became an interested spectator, taking the precaution, however, to slip
a cartridge into my rifle in case it should be needed. El Hakim and
George dismounted with such rapidity that they almost seemed to fall
off. Letting go the mules, who dashed away at full speed, they also
selected a bush from which to view the procession, both of them being
unarmed. The rhinos were by that time hardly half a dozen yards behind
them, and scarcely had they slipped behind their respective bushes when
the brutes charged right between us and went on. Not twenty seconds
could have elapsed from the time Ramathani’s warning shout reached
us to the time the rhinos passed, but to us it seemed nearer twenty
minutes. I give this instance—one of many—to show how pleasantly one is
kept on the _qui vive_ in the districts where the rhinoceros abounds,
be the landscape ever so monotonous, or the march ever so weary.
After a march lasting from sunrise till ten o’clock in the forenoon we
halted for breakfast, or lunch, as we variously called our first meal,
according to the time of day at which we made our halt. The continuous
meat diet was getting very monotonous and unpalatable, chiefly owing
to the absence of sufficient fat for cooking purposes. Our tobacco, of
which, owing to some inadvertence on our departure from the Rendili
camp, we had brought only a very small supply, gave out on this day,
and we were thus deprived of another solace in the midst of the trials
and difficulties of the journey.
After we had breakfasted we made our simple preparations for resuming
the march, but to our dismay we found that the mules had disappeared.
The man in charge of them while they were grazing had carelessly let
them wander, and they were not to be found. We eventually discovered
their tracks leading back over the path we had traversed in the
morning, and we immediately sent some of the men in chase. They
returned in an hour with the refractory animals, and we set off once
more on our journey down the river. We saw immense herds of game on the
road, including giraffe, buffalo, rhinoceros, grantei, and water-buck,
and now and again we passed old elephant and lion tracks.
To the south and east the shining desert extended away to the horizon,
with only a few thorny acacias to relieve the general appearance of
sameness. Troops of baboons squatted on the sand or skipped about like
children at play, their hoarse barks being interpreted by our little
puppy as a challenge, which, however, he wisely declined to accept.
At sundown we camped under a clump of palms, and turned in early,
thoroughly tired out. For myself, during the whole of our journey
to Lorian and back, I slept in paragraphs, so to speak, waking at
intervals all through the night, a result contributed to in no small
degree by the up-and-down-the-scale-two-octaves bird I have already
mentioned.
The following day we were on our way again at sunrise. An hour
afterwards we entered the most desolate region it had so far been our
ill luck to traverse. Trees and palms disappeared, and their place was
taken by coarse dry elephant grass eight or ten feet in height. The
country bore unmistakable signs of having been under water not so very
many seasons before. It was pitted in every direction by elephant,
rhinoceros, and hippopotamus tracks, which must have been made when the
earth was very soft, as they averaged from a foot to eighteen inches
in depth. These caused us great inconvenience, as, being hidden by
the long grass, we stumbled in and out of them in a most unpleasant
way, jarring our teeth and our tempers with great frequency. In our
endeavours to find some sort of a path we lost the river, leaving it as
we thought on our extreme left, and in searching for it, to our intense
surprise, we walked nearly into it. It was flowing between perfectly
perpendicular banks about six feet in height, and in a direction
at right angles to its course at the commencement of the morning’s
march. It was now little more than a large ditch, and required to be
followed very carefully, as there were no trees on the banks to mark
its position. This immense dried swamp is called by Mr. Chanler the
Kirrimar Plain. Personally I am of opinion that in wet seasons, or
after a series of wet seasons, that portion of it immediately adjoining
the river forms part of a swamp or chain of swamps, to which the name
Lorian is given. My reasons for this supposition are given in the next
chapter.
We followed the river very carefully, as, in the event of its taking
a sudden curve, we should have been absolutely lost, and in that case
must inevitably have perished. Indeed, the men were already very
frightened, and grumbled openly. They declared that we had got to the
end of the world, and had much better turn back before worse befell
us. The presence of numbers of rhinoceros had very much frightened
them. We encountered over thirty of them on one march; and quite half
a dozen times had to warily circumnavigate some ungainly member of the
species who was grazing directly in our path. We paid no attention to
this display of insubordination on the part of the men, but pushed on,
every obstacle to our progress only serving to encourage us still more
to persevere in our effort to reach the much-desired goal. The heat on
this open plain was tremendous; it must have been above 120° Fahr. We
were only a matter of about 800 feet above sea-level, and consequently
encountered the full force of the vertical rays of the equatorial sun.
At midday we halted, and, creeping under a bush for shelter, ate our
frugal meal of broiled meat, lying at full length on the ground. During
the meal a whisper of “ungruwe” (pig) from Ramathani brought El Hakim
to his feet. Seizing his rifle, he stepped outside and shot an old
boar, who, with two or three sows, was quietly feeding about fifty
yards away, utterly oblivious of our presence. His flesh was tough and
tasteless, not in the least resembling pork.
Several of the men came to us during the halt, to inquire how much
further we were going, as they thought that we had got into the country
of the “Afreets” (devils), and it would be advisable to go no further.
We assured them that two or three days at most would see us at the
end of our journey. The country looked so desolate and barren that I
do not wonder its appearance worked on the superstitious minds of our
men. We laughed at them, but they were only half reassured. We started
again, and continued to follow the river, which was now not more than
ten yards wide. Large crocodiles swarmed on every mud-bank, some of
them immense brutes, even El Hakim declaring that he had never seen
larger. One ugly reptile which started up and plunged into the water
at our approach, must have been fully twenty feet long or more. El
Hakim appropriately called him “the father of all crocodiles.” This
loathsome reptile, with its blunt and massive snout and immense scaly
body, reminded me of the “Mugger” of the ford, in one of Kipling’s
stories. The largest crocodiles were dark-brown in colour, but there
were multitudes of smaller ones, some bright green and others bright
yellow, two of which I shot during the afternoon. When we camped that
evening we built huge fires between ourselves and the water, in order
to prevent the possibility of any of our party being seized during the
night by the hideous reptiles.
The following day was merely a repetition of the previous one. We
advanced through the same dried-up swamp, with its innumerable pits,
hidden by the same coarse grass and reeds. If anything, the landscape
seemed to have acquired an added tinge of desolation. Rhino were a drug
in the market, owing to the increased supply, but zebra and grantei
stock advanced several points during the day. We followed the river
very closely, not only because it was our only guide, but because the
hippopotamus, which abound in this portion of the Waso Nyiro, had, in
wandering from pool to pool, trodden a rough path on the crest of the
perpendicular bank of the river, which made walking much easier than if
we had forced our way across the plain in endeavouring to cut across
curves in the river-bed, though it necessitated a longer walk. This
path was also a favourite sleeping-place for wandering rhinoceros, and
on several occasions we walked almost on to them, as they were hidden
by the tall grass. A shout generally brought the sleeping brute to his
feet with a snort and a stamp, and he would scurry away over the plain
the picture of indignant reproach.
During the march a slight misunderstanding between El Hakim and myself
came very near to landing us both in an extremely perilous position.
One rhino we came up with did not wake so easily, and as he lay right
across the path, we had to shift him by some means. Standing fifteen
or twenty yards away, we shouted, but he did not move; so El Hakim
stole softly up to within three or four yards of him, and, stooping,
he broke off clods of earth from the edge of the river-bank and threw
them at the sleeping beast, just as a small boy might chivvy a cat
with stones. Even that did not move him, so I stole softly up to El
Hakim with his ·577, which I handed to him. Instead of taking it,
he seized my small-bore rifle, and I, thinking he meant me to try
my luck with his, proceeded to cock it; but while I was doing so El
Hakim let drive at the brute’s head with my rifle. If he had warned
me of his intention, I should have told him that my ·303 shot very
high at short range, but he fired before I could do so, and missed
its brain altogether, only drilling a clean hole through the ear. Up
jumped the rhino and faced us. I waited for El Hakim to fire again,
while he, it afterwards appeared, waited for me to put in a shot with
the heavier weapon. The rhino, meanwhile, made a rush at us, and we
were both prepared to slip over the bank into the river and chance
the crocodiles, when the brute changed its mind, and, swerving aside,
galloped away across the plain. Mutual explanations ensued, and we
proceeded on our momentarily interrupted journey. In cold print it
would seem as if we had both betrayed some indecision, but the reader
must bear in mind the fact that from the time El Hakim fired the shot
from my ·303 to the time the rhino swerved and galloped away, an
observer could not have counted more than four or five seconds.
The river still diminished very much in volume, as a large amount of
water must of necessity be absorbed by the surrounding dry country,
while the loss by evaporation must be enormous. According to our
calculations we should now have been almost in sight of Lorian, having
travelled quite sixty-five miles down the river from our Rendili camp.
On reaching a pool situated in a bend of the river, we came upon a
school of hippopotamus wallowing in the mud at the water’s edge. We
hid ourselves on the bank about ten yards away, and watched them for
some time, as one very rarely has a chance of seeing them, unobserved,
at such close quarters. Presently one of them rose, and, climbing
the bank, walked slowly towards us, grazing as it came. El Hakim sat
down—his favourite position for a shot—and dropped it dead with a
bullet through the neck. At the sound of the report a terrific splash
from the pool announced the alarm of the other members of the school,
and with one accord they dived to the bottom, whence they reappeared at
intervals to breathe, accompanied by much blowing and snorting. With
shouts of joy our men instantly pounced upon the fallen hippopotamus,
its meat being greatly esteemed by them as food. We also were badly
in need of fat, which the dead animal supplied in great abundance. On
cutting it open we found layers of rich yellow fat, a couple of inches
thick, between the skin and the body. Great fires were at once lit,
and for the next hour or two the spot resembled the deck of a whaler
when the blubber is being boiled down. The men got a plentiful supply
of fat for themselves, and, after an hour’s boiling and rendering, we
also obtained two buckets of rich fat congealed to the consistency of
butter, which it resembled in colour.
At this stage the men again wished to turn back, but as we could not
have been very far from Lorian, we thought it would be a pity to give
up the search; so we announced our intention of proceeding, a decision
which they received with every sign of discontent and even terror.
At one o’clock in the afternoon, having disposed of the remains of
the hippo, we once more made our way down-stream. Just before sunset
we sighted the immense sycamore tree which marked the limit of Mr.
Chanler’s journey, and from whence he sighted Lorian. Pushing forward
with renewed vigour, we finally reached it, and looked round with eager
eyes, fully expecting to get a glimpse of our long-sought-for goal.
Not a sign of the swamp could be seen! The river, scarcely half a dozen
yards in width, meandered eastwards, flowing smoothly and sluggishly
between its low banks. On every side stretched the silent plains, in
some places perfectly bare, and in others covered by patches of dried
reeds, while a few solitary thorny acacias stood like ragged sentinels
amid the general desolation.
Lorian had vanished!
[Illustration: 1. Head of old bull buffalo. The horns are very rugged,
one being broken at the tip.
2. Waller’s gazelle.
3. Thompson’s gazelle.
4. Greater Koodoo.
5. Grant’s gazelle shot south of Kenia.
6. Lichtenstein hartebeeste.
7. Grant’s gazelle shot near the Waso Nyiro.]
CHAPTER XV.
_RETURN FROM THE LORIAN JOURNEY._
An interrupted night’s rest—Photography under difficulties—We go
further down-stream—Still no signs of Lorian—Sad end of “Spot” the
puppy—Our men refuse to go further—Preparations for the return
journey—Reasons for our failure to reach Lorian—Return to our Rendili
camp—Somalis think of going north to Marsabit—Ismail asks me to
accompany him—I decline—The scare in Ismail’s camp—Departure for
M’thara.
We were bitterly disappointed at this unexpected turn of affairs,
but, after a short consultation, determined to proceed on the morrow
still further down-stream, in the hope of reaching the tantalizing
swamp. In our eagerness to reach the sycamore tree we had outstripped
our half-mutinous men, and they were slowly coming into camp in twos
and threes long after our arrival. Two of them had deserted during
the march, an M’kamba and the ruffian Sulieman, who happened to be
carrying a small black portmanteau which contained all George’s and
my kit. This he had cut open and had abstracted therefrom my matches,
fishing-line, and the whole of my stock of needles and thread, so
that we were left without the wherewithal to repair our clothing.
These desertions were the more serious in that they necessitated our
sending two of our remaining men back to the Rendili camp so that Jumbi
might apprehend the deserters, or, failing that, to at least prevent
him being deceived by a spurious message purporting to come from us,
to the effect that he was to hand over a quantity of trade goods to
Sulieman on the pretence that we required them—a trick often practised
by Swahili deserters from a party operating away from their main camp.
Sending these men away reduced our already weak party by four men,
whose loads had to be distributed among the remainder; a proceeding
which still further increased their discontent.
That evening we dined on the hippopotamus tongue, which proved a right
royal dish. It was wonderfully fat and tender, and, as it weighed about
seven pounds, it afforded a substantial as well as a very pleasant
meal. We turned in early, and as I wished to change the plates in my
camera, I manufactured an extempore dark room by throwing a blanket
over a bush and creeping beneath it. I could not, however, use it with
safety till the moon had set, at 2 a.m., so I instructed the sentry
to call me at that time, and, getting out my package of spare plates,
placed them, together with my collapsible ruby lamp, beside me, and
endeavoured to sleep. We had arranged our beds at the foot of the
sycamore tree, and, as it turned out, right in the path used by the
hippopotamus and rhinoceros in their nightly wanderings along the banks
of the river.
We had slept for perhaps two hours, when a shout of alarm from the men
was followed by a stampede, as the two mules broke from their picket
ropes and bolted. Waking up with a start, I was surprised to see El
Hakim and George, clad in the very scantiest attire, come flying across
my bed as if they were practising the high jump. I glanced round, and
an instant later rose hurriedly from my blankets and joined them. A
rhinoceros, coming along the path, had rushed among our sleeping men
and charged through, scattering them right and left. He then rushed
at the fire and stamped on it, and when I awoke was coming down with
the speed of an avalanche to the spot where we had been sleeping. We,
however, with a sudden access of modesty, due perhaps to the knowledge
of our attire, bashfully retreated to the other side of our friendly
sycamore tree, where some of our men were already perched among the
branches, while the rhinoceros passed on without further demonstration.
Inquiries revealed the fact that none of the men were hurt, with the
single exception of Docere ben Ali, who had grazed his shin. _He_ said
the rhinoceros did it, but I rather inclined to the belief that he did
it himself in his haste to climb the tree at the commencement of the
stampede. We retired to our blankets, thanking our lucky stars that
nothing worse had happened. Not more than half an hour later, when I
had just got comfortably to sleep again, I was once more aroused by
El Hakim uttering my name in an intense whisper. In an instant I was
wide awake, and saw him and George standing on their blankets gazing
intently into the darkness. A cloud had temporarily obscured the light
of the moon, and it was at first somewhat difficult to distinguish
objects a few yards distant. When my eyes grew accustomed to the
darkness, I became aware of the presence of a herd of hippopotamus
standing irresolute within a dozen yards of my bed. One, ahead of the
others, was slowly advancing in a line that would bring him right
across our blankets, and was at that moment not five yards away. We
stood undecided; we did not wish to alarm them, as they might have
stampeded over us, and in that case we might just as well have stayed
at home and died an easier death beneath a steam-roller. It was too
dark to use a rifle with any effect, while it was open to the same
objection. Meanwhile the herd was slowly advancing and the situation
was becoming more and more strained, when our dog sprang at the
foremost with a snarl, while “Spot,” the puppy, yelped defiance in his
shrill treble. The herd paused, turned, and disappeared like a flash
in the opposite direction, with a thundering of feet which constituted
an unpleasant reminder of what might have happened had they come in
our direction. The puppy took all the credit of the affair to himself,
and came up to be patted and stroked, wagging his diminutive tail in a
manner expressive of the utmost contempt for wild beasts in general,
and hippopotamus in particular. We turned in again and tried to sleep
once more.
I was called when the moon had set, and proceeded to rig up my _al
fresco_ dark room. During the two alarms either El Hakim or George had
trodden on my ruby lamp and had stamped it out quite flat. It took me
some time to bend it back into something of its former shape, while the
sentry stood by and struck matches to enable me to see. Finally the
lamp was more or less satisfactorily adjusted and the blanket placed
in position. In the middle of the operation an excited whisper of
“Faru, bwana,” caused me to drop my apparatus and scramble hurriedly
out. I took one glance round, yelled to El Hakim and George, and we
all three hastily took up our position behind the tree, while the
oncoming rhinoceros danced through the camp at fifteen miles an hour
and disappeared.
We began to think that these visitations were becoming too much of a
good thing. The men, too, manifested an anxious desire to emulate the
fowls of the air and roost among the branches of our friend in need,
the sycamore tree.
Returning to my dark room, I completed the operation of changing the
plates, and once more sought my blankets, in the pious hope that we
should not be disturbed again.
But it was not to be. On two other occasions during that eventful
night we were compelled to rise hurriedly from our blankets and
betake ourselves to the shelter of the friendly sycamore, while a
too impetuous rhinoceros whirled past; and the dawn discovered us
blear-eyed and weary from the effects of our nocturnal gymnastics.
When the usual time for starting the day’s march arrived the men
flatly refused to go a step further. We argued the point with them,
and finally induced them to make one more march, promising that if
we did not find the “Siwa” (swamp) then we would return. With that
understanding we set out, marching at a good pace, as the ground was
rather firmer underfoot than hitherto.
Just before midday we passed a small herd of grantei, and I managed to
secure one at long range. An hour later a couple of bull buffaloes were
seen, quietly feeding on the opposite side of the river. El Hakim put
in some pretty shooting at fifty yards, bringing them both down. We
crossed the river and camped beside the carcases.
It was here that we sustained a loss which we all felt very deeply,
and which even now I cannot recall without a sigh. “Spot,” the puppy,
who had endeared himself to us all by his lovable disposition and
pretty ways, had gone to sleep in the grass while El Hakim was engaged
with the buffaloes. When we crossed the river he was forgotten, and
not until we were making our arrangements for camping, did a shrill
bark from the other side of the river call our attention to the small
owner thereof. We immediately sent a couple of men across the river to
bring him over, but they had to go fifty yards or so lower down to do
so. The gallant little chap would not, however, wait for the men, but
plunged boldly into the stream and swam towards us, wagging his tail in
infinite delight at his own daring. He had scarcely got three-parts of
the way across when he gave a sudden sharp yelp of pain and disappeared
under the surface with a jerk, leaving us standing on the bank
speechless with consternation and distress. Ramathani ran up with a
rifle, but I waved him away in despair. A hundred rifles could not have
restored our gallant little dog to us, the crocodile which had seized
him having never shown itself above the water. There was nothing to do
but to turn sorrowfully away and console ourselves as best we might.
We called the men together after we had eaten and asked them if they
were willing to go on still further, but they were unanimous in their
determination not to go a yard further down the river. “Takufa yote,
bwana” (We shall all die, master); “Mangati tele hapa” (There are many
wild beasts here); “Afreeti winge hapa” (There are plenty of devils
about here); and “Tu’nataka kurudi, bwana” (We wish to return, master),
were among the remarks which greeted our ears at the mere suggestion
that we should go further down-stream. Finally we compromised. We asked
for two volunteers who would go down the river, there and then, for
some hours’ march, and see if they could see anything of Lorian. If
they discovered it they were to return, and we would all go on together
there, but if they saw nothing of it, we would return to our Rendili
camp on the following day. This was agreed to, and two of the men,
Asmani ben Selim and Kati (an M’Nyamwezi), accordingly started off.
They returned late the same evening, and reported that they had been
some miles down the river and had seen no signs of the swamp. We
were greatly disappointed, but in accordance with our agreement made
arrangements to commence our return march on the following day. We
could not have done otherwise, as if we had signified our intention of
proceeding further to the eastward in defiance of our promise, the men
would have deserted in a body during the night, and gone back to the
Rendili camp.
It took Mr. Chanler nine days, starting from a point opposite our
Rendili camp, to reach the sycamore tree under which we had slept—or
rather tried to sleep—the night before, while the same distance only
occupied us five days, which is easily explained by the fact that we
had already a general idea of the course of the Waso Nyiro, while Mr.
Chanler had to feel every mile of his way. We were now a march beyond
the sycamore tree, which formed the limit of his journey, and our men
had been some miles farther still down the river and had not seen the
swamp. The only hypothesis I can advance which will account for our
failure to find Lorian at the place where Mr. Chanler saw it on January
7th, 1893, is this.
In very wet seasons, or after a series of wet seasons, the Waso Nyiro
overflows its banks and covers a portion of the Kirrimar Plain, forming
a vast swamp, or more probably a chain of swamps, to which the name of
Lorian has been given by the natives. That the portion of the Kirrimar
Plain immediately adjoining the river is at times under water, is
beyond a doubt, as I have already mentioned in the previous chapter.
After a long drought, by which the supply of water brought down by
the Waso Nyiro would be materially curtailed, these swamps dry up,
those lying up-stream, owing to their higher level, naturally drying
up first, and consequently the western edge of the swamp, or swamps,
called Lorian, would gradually recede more and more to the eastward as
the drought increased. At the time of our visit in September, 1900,
there had been no rain in Samburuland for three years, according to the
Rendili, and it is therefore quite reasonable to suppose that Lorian,
for the reasons enumerated, had receded many miles to the eastward of
the point at which Mr. Chanler turned back, having satisfied himself
that Lorian was merely a swamp and not a lake as he had supposed. It
is quite possible that the swamp seen by Mr. Chanler may not have been
Lorian at all, but may have been only one of the chain of swamps to
the west of it and higher up the river, and which had dried up prior
to our visit. The evaporation in that terribly hot climate (scarcely
one degree north of the Equator, and not more than 700 feet above
sea-level) must be enormous, and would be sufficient to dry up even a
large lake providing it was not well fed with water, as in the case
of Lorian. A shallow body of water with a very large surface-area,
such as this swamp, would be very easily dried up in one season if its
river-borne water-supply was much reduced.
On the morning of September 5th we reluctantly turned our backs on the
elusive Lorian, and retraced our steps. Nothing of interest occurred
on the return journey beyond the usual weary marches over the desolate
country already described, punctuated at intervals with a rhino charge
or a hunt for meat. I remember one rhinoceros which amused us very
much. We were making our way across a belt of bush which somehow
managed to draw sustenance from the sand, when the familiar but subdued
shout of “Faru” caused us to glance hurriedly round. Facing us ten
yards away a large rhinoceros was stamping and snorting. In a few
seconds he made up his mind to investigate, and charged down upon us.
Something impelled George to place his fingers in his mouth and send
forth a shrill ear-piercing whistle. The charging rhinoceros stopped
suddenly in mid-career, so suddenly, indeed, that he almost sat on
his hind quarters. Such a look of porcine surprise came over its ugly
features that we involuntarily burst out into a roar of laughter,
which apparently completed the ungainly brute’s discomfiture, as it
turned and galloped away with every symptom of fear. We also shot
every crocodile we could get at on the return journey, as a set-off
against the loss of our lamented pup, but it failed to afford us any
satisfaction.
On the fifth day after we started on our return journey we arrived
half-starved and footsore at our Rendili camp. In the light of this
experience I can quite believe that the Rendili were right when they
asserted that they could reach Lorian in two days, always supposing
Lorian to be in the position roughly assigned to it, viz. read 1° 5’
0” N. lat. and 30° 30’ 0” E. long. A native perfectly acquainted with
the country would abandon the Waso Nyiro altogether, and cut across
the big curve which the river makes to the north and south-east, and
travelling across the desert in a direction east-north-east from the
Zambo Plateau, he would only have a fifty-mile march before him—by no
means a difficult matter for a native, as he would only require to make
two marches of twenty-five miles each in forty-eight hours. If I ever
make another trip down the Waso Nyiro I shall certainly adopt that plan
myself.
The moment we reached camp we ordered a sheep to be killed, and when
it was cooked the three of us sat down and finished it. We were very
hungry, and it was only a small sheep. While we were satisfying our
material wants, we summoned Jumbi that he might give an account of his
stewardship. It appeared that he had bought a couple of hundred sheep
in our absence. The Somalis under Ismail Robli had moved their camp
one march up the river, following the Rendili and Burkeneji, who were
moving their villages up-stream, the adjacent pasture being finished.
There was a recrudescence of small-pox among the Rendili, and many were
dying daily. Such was the news.
On the following morning I rode over to Ismail’s camp to hear what
he had to say. I found the Somalis very despondent. Business was
decreasing, as, owing to the presence of two safaris, the market
was glutted with trade goods. They were buying camels, which was
necessarily a very slow process, as the camels could only be bought
for so many sheep. These sheep had first to be purchased for cloth or
wire, and Ismail was finding out that between the value of a sheep he
wished to buy, and that of a sheep he wished to sell, there was a wide
difference.
Ismail also informed me that a party of Wa’Embe had come to trade
with the Rendili and Burkeneji, and had stayed at a Burkeneji village
further up the river. When the Wa’Embe heard that the Somalis were
camped among the villages of their hosts, they inquired of them why
they had not attacked the Somalis and speared them. “We have beaten
them twice,” they said, “and killed many of their men with our spears.
Their bullets did not hurt us. Why do you not spear them?” This advice
was not lost on the Burkeneji, and they would have probably acted upon
it in the near future; but Ismail, hearing the news from his spies,
went forth to attack the mischief-making Wa’Embe, who forthwith fled
without giving battle.
The next day we also moved our camp up-stream, and pitched our tents
afresh on a spot a few yards from the river-bank and 500 yards or so
from Ismail’s boma. We understood from Ismail that he intended going
north to Marsabit, and for some reason he was very anxious that I
should leave El Hakim and George to return alone and accompany him
northward. He was very pressing in his invitation, which, however, I
consistently declined. If Jamah had been alive, nothing would have
pleased me better than an opportunity of penetrating further northward
to Marsabit and perhaps Reshiat and Marle at the north end of Lake
Rudolph, but I entertained such a hearty contempt for Ismail, that
the prospect of some months’ journey in his company did not offer
sufficient inducement to warrant me in altering my arrangements.
After we had settled down in our fresh camp we concentrated our
attention on exchanging the remainder of our cloth for sheep, so that
we might start on our return journey to Nairobi. El Hakim wished to
get back to Nairobi in November for personal reasons, otherwise we
should have gone back to M’thara, and after buying a fresh supply of
food there, and getting the forty odd loads of beads which were in
N’Dominuki’s charge, we had intended journeying to Lake Baringo and
thence northward into the country of the Turkana.
Business was very slack until El Hakim hit on a bright idea. He called
the Rendili chiefs Lubo, Lokomogo, Lomoro, and other lesser lights
together, and pointed out that although we had dwelt amongst them for
almost a month, so far only one of them, Lubo to wit, had brought us a
present. “It was well known,” continued El Hakim, “that when ‘friends’
visited the Rendili they were always presented with many sheep, and
even camels, as a token of good-will.” He was therefore reluctantly
compelled to conclude that we and the Rendili were not friends, a
state of affairs which filled his heart with sorrow. But still, it
was not yet too late, and if those who had not yet brought sheep as
a present did so within the next few days all would be forgotten and
forgiven.
The effect was magical. Early the following day Lokomogo stalked into
camp, followed by a couple of men driving a small flock of thirteen
sheep, which, after much circumlocution, he introduced as his present.
El Hakim immediately made him a return present of a quantity of cloth,
wire, and beads, of the value of something like twenty per cent. above
the market price of the sheep. Lokomogo was delighted, and departed
with his present with every sign of pleasure and good-will.
The other chiefs must have been waiting to see how Lokomogo’s present
was received, as the next day, finding it had been satisfactory, the
presents came in thick and fast, every present consisting of exactly
thirteen sheep, neither more nor less than that brought by Lokomogo.
Each donor received a return present over and above the market value
of the sheep, and business fairly boomed, everybody being satisfied.
Had we offered treble the value of the sheep in the ordinary way of
business, we could not have bought any, as the market was glutted with
trade goods. El Hakim, however, touched them on their weak spot when
he made a ceremonial transaction of it, and the result fully justified
his claim to a certain amount of insight into the working of the native
mind.
About this time I was prostrated with a very severe toothache, which
confined me to my tent for some days. By the time I was about again our
scheme for the exchange of presents had worked so well that our cloth
was almost exhausted, and we were nearly ready to take our departure
for M’thara. We had now upwards of 500 sheep, and it promised to be a
tedious task to transport them safely to Nairobi; more especially as we
were extremely doubtful of our reception by the A’kikuyu of north-east
Kenia.
Late in the evening two days before our departure from the Rendili
settlement, a couple of the Somalis came into our camp exhibiting every
symptom of alarm. They brought a message from Ismail to the effect that
the Burkeneji warriors had killed and eaten three sheep[15] preparatory
to attacking him and us. The attack was to take place during the small
hours of the same night. His information emanated from some friendly
Rendili.
We had already retired for the night, but we donned our clothes and
went over to the Somali camp to see Ismail.
The Somali camp was in a great state of excitement. Ismail himself was
serving out ammunition to his men with a lavish hand, and others of
the Somalis were cutting bush and otherwise strengthening the boma. We
did not quite believe their story, but as it would do no harm to take
ordinary precautions, we returned to our own camp and proceeded to put
it into a state of defence.
It was already well protected on two sides by a thick belt of bush, so
thickly interlaced as to be impenetrable, and by a large fallen thorn
tree, which, while easily seen through, formed a barrier as impassable
to naked savages as a barbed wire entanglement. More thorn-bush was cut
down and a strong barrier erected on the river side. On the opposite
side, where the men’s tents were situated, we built another thorn
fence, leaving the tents outside with the fires burning as usual, in
the hope that in the event of hostilities the apparently unprotected
tents would draw the first attack. We did not think that the enemy
would feel inclined to make a second.
The men all slept under arms in the centre of our boma, with the
exception of the sentries, whom we posted some distance outside the
camp. The 8-bore, loaded with slugs, was placed handy, together
with half a dozen of the blue flares, which would instantly light
up the scene for a hundred yards round with an intense radiance as
awe-inspiring to the enemy as it would be useful to ourselves. When our
defensive preparations were completed we retired fully dressed to our
blankets, and endeavoured to snatch a little sleep, with such success
that we did not wake till sunrise.
We temporarily demolished the “boma” on the side on which the men’s
tents stood, so that we should not give our scheme away should we be
visited during the day by any of the Burkeneji, as, for all we knew, it
might yet prove useful.
The Burkeneji were undoubtedly restless, as we found that they were
moving their villages _down_ the river again, some of them going as far
as the eastern spur of the Zambo Plateau.
The next night we took the same precautions as on the previous evening,
but still nothing happened.
On September 20th we had finally disposed of all our stock, and were
now quite ready to leave for M’thara. Ismail informed us that he was
going north to Marsabit, and bade us good-bye.
When we retired that night we took the same precautions against
surprise. About eight o’clock in the evening we were aroused by the
report of a rifle from the direction of the Somali camp. After a
short interval we heard another, then another, and then a sound of
rapid firing mingled with shouts and yells. We sprang up and got our
men under arms and waited events. A dead silence succeeded the former
pandemonium, nor did we hear another sound. We concluded that the
Burkeneji had attempted to rush the Somali camp, and, finding them
prepared, had abandoned the attack.
Next morning we packed up in preparation for the start. While we were
thus engaged we were visited by Ismail, who came over to explain the
cause of the disturbance of the preceding night.
It appeared that the Somalis, as well as their men, were still very
nervous on account of the supposed hostility of the Burkeneji. After
they had gone to sleep, their cattle, which were corralled in a small
enclosure in the centre of their boma, were by some means stampeded.
Breaking out of their enclosure, the frightened animals rushed hither
and thither among the sleeping porters, who, waking up under the
impression that the Burkeneji were upon them, were immediately stricken
with panic, and crawling under blankets, bushes, or anything that
afforded them the slightest cover, they yelled dismally for mercy, thus
adding to the general confusion. Ismail and his lieutenants seized
their rifles and rushed out of their tents, to find some of their men
trying to break out of the boma, some crawling about on their hands
and knees, crying for mercy, while others were brandishing spears and
shouting defiance. They likewise jumped to the conclusion that they
were being attacked, and that the enemy were actually within the boma;
and under the influence of a panic, no whit less than that of their
men, they without further ado raised their rifles and fired into the
confused groups of men, seen dimly in the flickering light of the
camp-fires. After a time order was restored, and it was found that
there had been no attack at all. Two of their porters were shot dead in
the confusion, and one Somali received a Snider bullet in the forearm;
while a horse which Ismail had bought from the Rendili, and of which he
was very proud, received a bullet in the chest and another in one of
its hoofs. The cattle were probably stampeded by the scent of a lion
which had been prowling round the boma, and which, some days before,
had actually, in broad daylight, seized and killed a cow belonging to
Ismail.
Congratulating Ismail on the state of his nerves and on the discipline
of his camp, we bade him adieu once more. We then shook the dust of the
Rendili settlement from our feet, and started amid the joyous shouts of
our men on our journey up the river _en route_ for M’thara.
FOOTNOTES:
[15] It is the custom of the natives to kill and eat meat before
setting out on a warlike expedition.
CHAPTER XVI.
_RETURN TO M’THARA._
Departure from the Rendili settlement—Ismail’s porters desert—The
affray between Barri and the Somalis—Ismail wounded—A giraffe
hunt—Ismail’s vacillation—Another giraffe hunt—Journey up the Waso
Nyiro—Hippopotamus-shooting.
WE marched steadily for nearly three hours, and then, selecting a
suitable spot, camped on the river-bank. _En route_ we noticed several
stone cairns, which on inquiry I learnt were the burial-places of the
Rendili. Unlike the Wakamba, A’kikuyu, and Masai, they do not leave
their dead or dying relatives outside their villages, to the tender
mercies of the hyænas. They, on the contrary, dig a hole in the ground,
in which the corpse is placed in a sitting position. Stones are then
piled over the body till a cairn is formed, and finally a spear is
placed upright on the summit. In view of the utter dissimilarity
between the Rendili and the ordinary negro, and the lack of definite
information concerning their origin, it is to my mind a curious
coincidence at least that they should bury their dead in almost
precisely the same manner as the people who at one time inhabited the
banks of the Nile in Upper Egypt.[16]
I remember hearing in Cairo, in the early part of 1899, that Professor
Flinders Petrie had unearthed some graves which were supposed to be
those of a people so ancient as to be unacquainted with the use of
metals, and who buried their dead in a sitting position, afterwards
covering them by inverting a large earthen jar over the body and then
filling up the grave. These facts, taken in conjunction with Mr.
Seton Karr’s discovery of flint implements in Somaliland resembling,
I believe, those discovered by Professor Petrie in Egypt may, in the
hands of an antiquarian, throw an interesting light on the antecedents
of this remarkable people. It would be interesting indeed could it be
shown that the Rendili are the modern representatives of the primitive
race who manufactured clay pottery and worked in flint on the banks of
the Nile before the pyramids were built.
When we had constructed a boma for the sheep, George and I went down
to bathe in the Waso Nyiro, a feat we successfully accomplished to the
accompaniment of the usual eccentric dance on account of the leeches.
In the evening a young Somali, named Barri, came into camp. He wished
to return to Nairobi with us, and as he was not bound to Ismail in
any way, not receiving any pay, we consented to his doing so. He was,
indeed, a small trader on his own account, and with a couple of cattle
had accompanied Ismail in order to try to exchange them for two tusks.
This purpose he had not been able to carry out. He therefore sold them
to some of the other Somalis who accompanied Ismail’s caravan on the
same conditions as himself, and, unknown to Ismail, proposed to return
to Nairobi with us. We did not know at the time that Ismail was unaware
of the proposed change, and as Barri had formerly been a personal
servant of El Hakim’s, and a very good man, we gave him permission to
accompany us on condition that he made himself useful.
Before sunrise on the following morning, Barri went away from camp
to try to procure some fresh milk for us at an isolated Burkeneji
village some little distance away. He borrowed my Martini and half a
dozen cartridges, as he had no more ammunition for his own weapon,
a carbine of Italian manufacture, and set out. An hour later, as we
were preparing to start on our march, Ismail Robli, who had travelled
all night, accompanied by a strong party of Somalis, all fully armed,
strode into our camp. He stated, none too politely, that most of his
remaining porters had deserted, and he had reason to believe that they
were accompanying our safari. Ignoring his discourtesy, we politely
informed him that such was not the case, nor had we seen his men; but
if it would in any way ease his mind he had our permission to look
through the camp. He proceeded to do so, and of course found no traces
of his missing porters.
In the meanwhile Barri was returning with the milk he had purchased,
and was approaching the camp, all unconscious of this new aspect of
affairs. He was sighted by two of Ismail’s armed guards, who, slipping
cartridges into their Sniders, rushed towards him, demanding his
instant surrender on pain of death. Barri’s reply, more forcible than
polite, was a shot from the Martini, which sent them helter-skelter to
the cover of the nearest bush. From that comparatively safe position
they held a parley with him, under cover of which they sought an
opportunity of shooting at him. He, however, was aware of their amiable
intentions, and, standing with his rifle at the ready, threatened to
shoot the first man who raised his weapon. One of them tried it, but
Barri instantly fired, which, though he missed his man, effectually
stopped any further attempt at such treachery.
Ismail, busily searching for his absent porters, heard the shots, and,
momentarily desisting from his search, rushed out of camp to see what
was the matter. Fifty yards away he saw Barri with uplifted rifle
covering the two Somalis, who were cowering behind the bush. If ever
I saw murder written on a man’s face, I saw it then on Ismail’s, and
remembering what he was capable of, I went after him, followed by El
Hakim and George. Ismail was carrying a 12-bore shot-gun loaded with
ball cartridges, and as he ran at Barri he unslung the weapon from his
shoulder. Barri turned in the nick of time, and without a second’s
hesitation fired point-blank at him. Ismail collapsed into a writhing
heap on the ground, while Barri turned and fled with the speed of a
deer into the surrounding bush.
These events happened in such rapid succession that we had no time to
interfere and prevent the catastrophe, as we were only just outside
the camp when Ismail fell. Of the two Somalis who had brought Barri
to bay, one followed him, but, apparently very half-heartedly, he
soon returned, and the other ran to assist Ismail. That swashbuckler
and would-be assassin had struggled into a sitting position, and was
groaning with great vigour, punctuating his howls at intervals with
supplications to Allah, mingled with bitter curses on the head of his
assailant. We immediately examined him to ascertain the extent of
his injuries. He had sustained a nasty flesh-wound on the inside of
his right leg a few inches above the ankle. The bullet had cut away
the flesh and laid bare the bone, but fortunately had not fractured
it. El Hakim dressed and bound the wound, while I superintended the
construction of a litter in which Ismail could be conveyed to his own
camp.
His removal took place soon after midday. El Hakim accompanied him to
his camp, and, on arriving there, again dressed the wound, returning
to our own camp late in the evening. Ismail’s wound was by no means
serious, and would be quite well in a week or so, and as many of his
porters had deserted, he seemed inclined to accompany us back to Kenia,
and we decided, therefore, to make very short marches for the next
few days, primarily in order that Ismail could communicate with us if
necessary, and secondly, to gradually accustom the sheep to marching in
preparation for their long tramp to Nairobi.
We did not pity Ismail in the least, as neither he nor any of his men
had a right to threaten Barri or in any way to control his movements,
and, in addition, I had ocular evidence that Barri had acted purely
in self-defence. Nevertheless, knowing that Ismail’s safari was now
numerically very weak, and the Wa’Embe, as already stated, were in
communication with the Burkeneji, we were strongly disinclined to
abandon his safari to perhaps further misfortune. This feeling, I must
admit, did not extend to Ismail personally, as he had shown himself
to be a vacillating bully, and a man of evil passions, which at times
entirely mastered him. But he had still some forty or fifty porters
who deserved a better fate, and in addition, a mishap to one safari
naturally mischievously affected any other which happened to be in the
district at or near the same time.
During the night we were much troubled by lions round the camp. They
were not roaring, or we should have had no apprehensions, as Leo does
not roar till he has killed. It was the peculiar low whining grunt,
which is so modulated that it is extremely difficult to estimate the
brute’s distance, or even locate his direction. The sheep were very
uneasy, and it required the utmost exertions of our men to prevent
them from stampeding. The fires were stirred up and fresh wood piled
upon them, but all night we were kept constantly on the alert, though
fortunately nothing untoward happened. Next morning we struck camp, and
wandered up the river, camping again before the sun was well above the
horizon. This programme was repeated for the following six days.
During this time we received almost daily reports from Ismail by the
hands of special messengers. These reports were couched in his usual
vacillating terms. One day he would send word that he was coming on the
following day with his safari for the purpose of accompanying us back
to Kenia, while the next message would state that he had determined to
buy more camels and go north to Marsabit. We did not alter our six-day
programme, but marched slowly on.
For one thing, we had great difficulty in feeding the men, game being
scarce. We were naturally unwilling to kill sheep for food except as a
last resource, but turned our attention instead to shooting.
On the afternoon of the third day I was lucky enough to hear from
a party of Burkeneji that a few giraffe were in the neighbourhood.
I saddled up the big mule, and, taking the Martini, sallied forth,
accompanied by a couple of men.
After a ten-mile tramp in a direction almost at right angles to the
river, I discovered a herd of seven or eight giraffe quietly feeding
at the base of a hill half a mile distant. I dismounted and examined
them through the binoculars. They had not observed me, but there was no
possible chance of my reaching them from where I was, as the plain was
quite open between us, and, in addition, I was dead up-wind. Leaving
the mule in charge of the two men, I made a long _détour_ on foot,
which occupied me nearly an hour. Finally, by careful stalking, taking
advantage of every scrap of cover afforded by dongas and thorn-bush,
I got to leeward of them and about 250 yards distant. There was a
gentle dip in the ground between myself and my proposed quarry; I had
reached a point on the summit of the rise, while they were halfway up
the slope on the opposite bank. In spite of all my care, they were
evidently aware of the presence of danger, though they had not as yet
located it. As they showed an inclination to stampede, I determined,
unsportsmanlike as it was, to risk a long shot. I picked out the
largest bull I could see and banged off at him. They immediately made
off, and though I had distinctly heard the thud of my bullet, I saw
no sign of weakness on the part of the beast I had hit. They galloped
away to the top of the opposite rise, and from there sighted the two
men with the mule. They doubled sharply back, and bore down straight
for the spot where I was glued to the earth behind a small tuft of
grass. When they had approached to within thirty yards, they became
aware of my presence and turned off to my left. As they did so, the
old bull gave me a capital shoulder shot, of which I was not slow to
take advantage. He seemed to take no notice whatever of it, but, to
my great disappointment, disappeared with the others among the trees
which covered the lower slopes of a small hill on my left. I set off in
chase, but before I had gone many yards I heard the crash of a heavy
body, breaking trees and branches in its fall. Hurrying to the spot,
I found my giraffe, dead. There were two wounds in its body, one in
the stomach, evidently my first shot, and the other fairly through the
shoulder. I found, on cutting the beast up, that my second bullet
had smashed through the shoulder-blade and ribs, and then, having
been slightly flattened, had passed clean through the heart, tearing
a great hole in that organ, and then passing through the ribs and
shoulder-blade on the opposite side, it lodged under the skin, where it
formed a small lump, which was distinctly visible from the outside.
In spite of the extensive nature of its injuries, the stricken giraffe
had galloped over a hundred yards without giving any sign that it was
hurt. With regard to the injuries themselves, I do not think the most
expensive express rifle made would have done better. Certainly the
Martini is a wonderfully useful all-round weapon.
As my two men with the mule had not turned up by the time I had
concluded my examination of the giraffe, I went to look for them. They
were not on the spot where I left them, neither could I get any answer
from them, though I shouted myself hoarse. I therefore made my way back
to the small hill I have mentioned and climbed to the summit. From
there I got an extended view of the country, but nevertheless I could
not see a sign of the men. I shouted, but my voice was lost in space.
I had a syren whistle with which I was in the habit of summoning the
men; but though I hooted and screamed through it like the cry of a lost
tug-boat, nothing resulted.
I gazed round the empty landscape with a feeling akin to desperation.
The sun was sinking fast, and I stood a very good chance of passing the
night ten miles from camp and supper, alone on the hillside with the
body of the giraffe. Once more I wailed on the syren whistle, but there
was no answer beyond the chirrup of a frightened bird.
At length I saw them loafing around about 800 yards away. I redoubled
my shouting and whistling, but they did not seem to hear me. As a
last resource, I laid down, and, taking aim with the Martini, planked
a bullet in the sand within fifty yards of them. Their attention
was immediately aroused, and they gazed about trying to locate my
direction. Another shot gave them the information they required, and
they immediately started to rejoin me. Leaving one man safely ensconced
in the branches of a tree as a guard over the giraffe, I returned with
the other to camp, which I did not reach till long after night had
fallen.
On arrival, I despatched half a dozen men, with water and the means
of lighting a fire, to guard the dead giraffe from the hyænas, and
possibly lions. Barri, I found, had returned to our camp and thrown
himself on our mercy. He was informed that he might be perfectly easy
in his mind, as we should not give him up to Ismail on any account,
for which consideration he was extremely grateful. During the night we
were troubled again by lions, who prowled round the camp, doubtless
attracted by the sheep.
We moved up the river a little further on the following morning, and,
camping early, sent the majority of the men to cut up the giraffe. We
found the meat horribly tough and tasteless, but we struggled with it
somehow. Even the men did not take kindly to it. The marrow bones,
which were very large, we first roasted over a fire, and then, breaking
them with an iron bar, ate their rich marrows with a teaspoon. It was
very well flavoured, and much appreciated.
On the opposite bank of the Waso Nyiro was a small village of mixed
Rendili and Burkeneji, the elders of which paid us a visit during
the course of the day. They brought us four sheep as a present, and
in return we gave them the remainder of our stock of beads and some
cloths, with which they were delighted. They left us in the evening,
and as a special honour, and to secure them from the attacks of
crocodiles while crossing the river, El Hakim lit a blue flare, and
giving it to the awestruck chief, he and his followers departed. It was
very amusing to see the way the chief held it. He was half afraid of
it, but did not care to show as much before his followers, so he held
it at arm’s length, shuddering with apprehension every time it dropped
a few sparks.
On the morning of September 29th, it being the sixth day subsequent
to Ismail’s accident, we considered our obligation to linger in the
district at an end. Scarcely had we come to that decision when a
messenger from Ismail brought word that the Somalis had finally decided
to go north to Marsabit. On hearing this message, we sent our blessing
to Ismail, which, I expect, got the messenger into trouble—that is, if
he ventured to deliver it, which I doubt—and we started for M’thara in
earnest. We passed the hill which had occasioned George and myself so
much trouble on our journey down the river, passing between it and the
river by a narrow path which wound round its southern scarp. We halted
at a boma that we found near the river, which had been built by Ismail
on his journey to the Rendili.
The men reported a hippo in a pool some way up the river, and we
accordingly went forth to slay it. We found the pool at the lower end
of the rapids, which extend from the foot of the Chanler Falls for
nearly a mile below. We found the hippo there, and George banged at it
with the 8-bore. It was the first time this weapon had been used during
the trip, and George, being unfamiliar with the sighting, missed the
brute’s brain, merely drilling a hole in its skull and stunning it. It
never gave us another chance, so we had to leave the pool without our
hippo.
On the way back to camp we sighted two giraffe on the other side of
the river, which were coming down to the water’s edge to drink. I took
a shot at 200 yards with the ·303 and wounded the foremost, which
immediately dashed away, followed by its companion. Being unwilling to
let it go, I jumped into the river, which, though the current was very
swift, was at that point not more than four feet in depth. Followed
by two or three of the men, I waded across and resumed the chase of
the wounded giraffe. I found it a few hundred yards further on, and
planked another solid bullet into it, which had the effect of once more
starting it off at a gallop.
This went on for a mile or two, the giraffe stopping every now and
then for a rest, and on receiving another shot, making off again.
Finally it forced its way into a patch of thick bush interlaced with
a large number of prize specimens of the terrible wait-a-bit thorn. I
did not attempt to penetrate this bush in like manner, but went round
it instead, seeking for a more favourable entrance. While doing so, I
heard the familiar crash of a falling body, and being then satisfied
that my quarry had at last succumbed, I attempted to retrace my
footsteps.
In the excitement of the chase I had carelessly neglected to take any
bearings, leaving that part of the business to the men who accompanied
me when I dashed across the river. When I turned to speak to them,
I found that not one of them was near. The long chase not being to
their liking, they had turned and sneaked back long before. Two little
A’kikuyu boys had alone remained, so I directed them to take me back
to camp by the shortest route. They protested they did not know the
way, however, so I was compelled to take the lead and to try to find it
myself.
It was fast growing dusk, and as I hurried on I pictured to myself the
discomforts attendant on a night passed in the fork of a tree. I was
once lost in the bush for twenty-four hours while after sable antelope
in Mashonaland, and I had no wish to repeat the experience. After an
hour of climbing and scrambling, I once more reached the river, but
alas! at a point far below our camp. The river at this place flowed
through numerous narrow channels between great boulders of pink gneiss,
and it seemed as if there would be a possibility of crossing by jumping
from rock to rock, though it was rather a dangerous proceeding, the
rocks being rendered as smooth and polished as glass by the constant
action of the water. However, I stripped and attempted the crossing.
When I say I stripped, I mean that I removed my boots and socks, as I
had not much else on in the way of clothing; a thin cotton vest, and
a coloured cloth worn petticoat-wise, completing as airy and cool a
costume as one could wish for in that beautiful climate. I slipped and
fell once or twice, though fortunately I sustained no injury, and half
an hour later I reached camp, tired but happy, and dined sumptuously on
a guinea-fowl.
At daylight the following morning we sent the men to cut up the
giraffe; but they returned in an hour, saying that they were unable to
find it. Judging from the way they complained of the other one I shot,
I do not think they were over-anxious to do so.
Setting off once more on our march up the river, we camped soon after
midday, and sent men out to search for game. Presently one man returned
with the report that a solitary hippo was disporting itself in a rocky
pool a little distance away. We adjourned to the spot, and on our
arrival sat down to watch. In a moment or two a faint ripple disturbed
the surface of the water, and under an overhanging rock on the opposite
side of the pool appeared two red nostrils covered with coarse black
hair. We held our breath and waited. In about twenty seconds they
disappeared as suddenly and as silently as they had come into view. We
waited for over an hour in the hope that the brute would expose its
head and thus give us an opportunity for a decisive shot. But nothing
occurred beyond the periodical appearance and disappearance of the
nostrils on the water-line to indicate the presence of the huge body
below. At length, as the head did not emerge, we held a whispered
consultation, and El Hakim and I decided to cross the river in the
hope of obtaining a shot from the opposite bank, leaving George on
the look-out. We accordingly made our way down-stream to where the
river, running over gravel banks, became shallower. Stripping to our
shirts, we waded across breast-deep. Arrived on the other side, we
cautiously made our way to a spot opposite George, and directly above
the place where the hippo came to the surface to breathe. Half an hour
passed while we stood still and silent as statues, with our soaked
shirts flapping round our bare legs. Suddenly, unnoticed by George
and myself, the hippo came to the surface a little further out in the
pool. El Hakim, however, saw it instantly, and quick as thought sent
a ·577 bullet through its head. He had not time to place the rifle
to his shoulder, and in consequence his finger was torn by the heavy
recoil. He succeeded, however, in his object, which was either to kill
or momentarily stun the hippo. Presently the water in the pool became
violently agitated, and soon the immense beast rolled over on the
surface, and I immediately gave it its quietus with a bullet through
its brain.
Our waiting men gave vent to a yell of delight, and rushed down to
secure the carcase; but, to their dismay, before they could reach it
the current washed it away and wedged it tightly between two rocks
at the top of the small waterfall which gave exit to the pool. The
pressure of the water on the body was very great, but the men needed
food so badly that we made the most Herculean efforts to dislodge it by
the aid of ropes and poles. After an hour’s hard work, we managed to
free it, only to be thrown into the utmost consternation by the body
sinking immediately to the bottom of the next pool. The men flatly
refused to go into the water to look for it, as there were all sorts
of queer holes in the rocks into which one could have been washed by
the current and crushed or drowned, and in addition, there was the
ever-present fear of crocodiles.
We sounded with poles till our arms ached, and were about to give up in
despair when one or two of the men, bolder or more hungry than their
fellows, jumped in and attempted to dive. Suddenly one of them came to
the surface with a joyful shout, saying he had found the carcase at the
bottom of the pool in ten feet of water. We gave him the end of a stout
line in order that he might dive again and make it fast to one of the
feet. This he attempted to do, but after repeated trials he confessed
himself beaten.
There being no other help for it, I undertook the task myself, and at
the third attempt, after a lot of manœuvring in the swift current, I
succeeded in making the line fast round one of the legs just above the
foot. Success at last seemed certain, and by dint of pulling gently
on the line, we at length raised the body slowly to the surface. The
excited men raised a shout of joy, which died away in a wail of bitter
disappointment as the frail rope parted and the hippo sank once more
to the bottom of the pool. I was by this time almost exhausted and
shivering with cold, but again I essayed the task of making the rope
fast, and eventually succeeded, and at length, by steady and persistent
pulling on the untrustworthy line, we drew the body ashore just as the
dusk fell.
The men at once set to work with their knives, and very shortly the
cooking-pots were bubbling merrily away, and our hungry followers
proceeded to gorge themselves on the meat; a congenial occupation
which commanded their earnest attention until the early hours of the
following morning.
FOOTNOTES:
[16] The Bongo of the Bahr el Ghazal also bury their dead in the
sitting position, covering the body with logs and branches instead of
stones.
CHAPTER XVII.
_ARRIVAL AT M’THARA._
In sight of Kenia once more—El Hakim and the lion—The “Green Camp”
again—The baby water-buck—El Hakim shoots an elephant—The buried
buffalo horns destroyed by hyænas—Bad news from M’thara—Plot to attack
and massacre us hatched by Bei-Munithu—N’Dominuki’s fidelity—Baked
elephant’s foot—Rain—Arrival at our old camp at M’thara.
On resuming the march up-river next morning, we found the road much
better than on our journey down the opposite bank. It lay over firm
gravelly ridges, littered with quartz _débris_ dotted here and there
with scattered thorn bushes. Now and again we crossed patches of
mineral salts, some of which we boiled down in the endeavour to
obtain some table salt, but the resulting compound tasted more like
the nauseous mixtures administered by the family physician in our
childhood’s happy days than anything, and was in consequence utterly
useless for table purposes.
During the next few days we did not keep rigidly to the Waso Nyiro, but
cut across many of the curves, occasionally camping miles away from
the river, obtaining the necessary water by digging in the beds of the
numerous sand rivers, when it was generally found not far below the
surface, in small quantities it is true, but sufficient for our needs
if we dispensed with washing. This was the easier as we were quite
without soap, and a wash without soap is an unsatisfactory performance
anyhow.
Once or twice we caught a glimpse of Kenia far away to the southward.
It seemed like an old friend, and its appearance was always greeted
with a cheer from the men, followed by a spasmodic burst of energy,
for, resettling their loads on their shoulders, they would step out
with renewed vigour, as if anxious to reach it at once, but after a few
minutes their suddenly awakened enthusiasm would vanish, and they would
relapse once more into the listless but steady gait of men wearied by
continuous travel.
The appearance of Kenia at that distance was grand beyond the power of
expression. The wonderful peak, crowned with patches of purest white
snow, sparkled like an immense diamond in the brilliant sunshine, an
effect further accentuated by the perfect background afforded by the
deep clear blue of a cloudless sky. Even were I gifted with the pen
of a poet or the brush of an artist, I should hesitate in the attempt
to adequately depict that magnificent temple of nature, rearing its
stately head heavenwards, and bearing a silent and convincing testimony
to the glory of the Creator.
On October 3rd we crossed the Waso Nyiro once more. Game was still
scarce, an occasional water-buck or rhinoceros forming our only
sustenance. Even that limited selection failed us at times, and we
were compelled to kill some of our cattle for meat. We yearned for
vegetable food, as only those who have lived for the best part of two
months exclusively on meat, without salt, can yearn. The monotony of
boiled meat, roast meat, fried meat, and boiled meat again, must be
experienced to be fully understood.
Two days after crossing the river we passed our old “Swamp Camp,” where
the midges so annoyed us. We made a “telekesa” march on that day,
however, and our second march took us beyond the swamp. We camped at
sundown on a spot very close to the river—only a few yards from the
water’s edge, in fact. We disturbed a pack of wild dogs in so doing,
and they dashed off with the speed of greyhounds. George banged at them
and wounded one, but it got away, though it was very probably devoured
by the rest of the pack soon afterwards. They were jet black in colour,
with long bushy tails tipped with white. They appeared to be very
well-formed, speedy animals, and in the pink of condition.
As usual we built a boma for the sheep, and George and I had our tent
pitched, but El Hakim preferred to sleep in the open, so his bed was
placed a yard or so away from our tent. After we had eaten we retired
to rest, posting a sentry a few yards away. At about 2 a.m. George and
I were aroused from sleep, and considerably startled, by a yell from El
Hakim, followed by a rushing sound as the sheep broke down their boma
and stampeded, amid the excited shouts of the awakened men. Rushing out
of our tent, we saw El Hakim, rifle in hand, peering into the darkness
on the left, the tails of his shirt, his only garment, fluttering in
the breeze. It appeared that he was peacefully sleeping and doubtless
dreaming of home and beauty, or maybe of the two boxes of provisions
we had left at M’thara, when an agonized whisper from the sentry smote
upon his ear. He awoke instantly, and opening his eyes ... gazed full
into the face of a full-grown lion which was standing by the side of
his bed critically examining him, probably from a gastronomical point
of view. El Hakim, with a rapidity born of long experience, rolled out
of bed on the opposite side and groped for his rifle, at the same time
uttering the startled cry which had aroused the camp. When George and I
appeared, the lion had already fled, and we found El Hakim bemoaning
his luck at not getting a shot, instead of being profoundly grateful
that the lion had not taken him with him when he departed.
It took the men a couple of hours to get the startled sheep together
again. On examining the lion’s spoor, we found that it had walked right
through the camp, having apparently carefully threaded its way among
the recumbent bodies of the sleeping porters.
On the next march the sheep showed signs of fatigue, so we camped
early. We sent a couple of men on to M’thara to report on the attitude
of the natives, and also to come back and meet us with the two
provision boxes. On the following day we once more negotiated the
“cinder-heap,” and just before sundown reached the “Green Camp,” after
a rather forced march. Ramathani surprised a baby water-buck asleep
in the grass, and after a smart chase ran it down and captured it. He
proudly brought it to El Hakim, who determined to make an effort to
rear it. He therefore extemporized a feeding-bottle from a tumbler and
a piece of rubber tubing from his surgical case, while the ink-filler
of his fountain pen provided both a piece of glass tube and a teat. The
stupid little beast did not appreciate his well-meant efforts, however,
and absolutely refused to suck. It was eventually provided with a meal
by the combined efforts of the three of us. I held it still, George
forced its mouth open, while El Hakim poured the milk drop by drop down
its throat with a teaspoon, though during the operation it did not seem
at all grateful for the care so lavishly bestowed upon it.
During the afternoon George shot a rhinoceros. I also wished to shoot
another rhino or two, and determined to stay in the “Green Camp” for
another day for that purpose, while El Hakim and George went on with
the bulk of the safari and the animals. By making a forced march I
could overtake them on the second day at our old “Buffalo Camp.” In
addition, I was anxious to shoot a few grantei, and so lay in a stock
of meat for the use of the men until we were able to purchase food in
M’thara.
Accordingly, the following morning El Hakim and George went on, while
I sallied out on sport intent. Crossing the little stream which flowed
round two sides of the camp, I made my way towards the Waso Nyiro. Five
hundred yards away from camp I reached the path usually taken by the
game when going down to drink at the river. The grantei, as I knew from
previous observation, usually came down at ten o’clock in the morning;
so at a quarter to ten I concealed myself behind the trunk of a thorn
tree, stretching myself out at full length upon the ground, a most
uncomfortable position, as the ground was strewn with little knobs of
rock firmly embedded in the soil. When I did venture to remove some
loose pieces that inconvenienced my elbows and knees, I disturbed a few
colonies of tiny ants, which, although they did not bite, crawled all
over me in a most uncomfortable manner. I had lain there about half an
hour, when my patience was rewarded by the sight of the advance guard
of the grantei army advancing steadily in my direction. They were led
by a noble-looking buck, who displayed a magnificent pair of horns.
He was a little suspicious, and hesitated whether to come on or not.
I was very carefully concealed, and as I kept perfectly still, he
finally conquered his distrust, and once more advanced, followed by
the remainder of the herd. Waiting my opportunity, I banged at him at
forty yards, and dropped him with a dum-dum bullet through the heart.
The others ran this way and that, not knowing from which quarter
the danger had come, as I still kept carefully out of sight. The
consequence was that I secured two others, as handsome as the first,
with the expenditure of only two more cartridges. As I now had enough
meat, I stayed my hand, and did no further execution, though, had I
been so disposed, I might have secured at least a dozen from the herd
before they finally recovered from their confusion and took to flight.
[Illustration: MR. G. H. WEST (“GEORGE”).]
[Illustration: RHINOCEROS SHOT BY GEORGE. (See page 293.)]
Of course, as I particularly wished to secure a couple of rhinoceros,
there were none to be seen, though at the “Green Camp” they were
usually as plentiful as could be desired. After a fruitless search,
I returned to camp at midday, and then despatched half a dozen men
in as many directions to look for one. The afternoon passed without
result, but just as the declining sun approached the horizon two of
the Wanyamwezi came in and reported a rhinoceros feeding about a mile
away. Taking Barri with me, I started off in pursuit. In a quarter of
an hour we got the beast’s spoor, and followed it till it led us into
a belt of trees and out the other side into an open space in the bush.
In the centre of this open space was a small eminence, and on the top
of the eminence stood our rhino, who had evidently heard or scented us,
and now stood snorting and stamping in preparation for the opening of
hostilities. Taking the Martini from Barri, I worked round to one side
of my quarry and took up a position in the open within forty yards. A
couple of seconds later a bullet caught her—it was a female—fairly in
the shoulder, but a little too far forward. Round she came and charged
me, but another shot in the face caused her to change her mind. As
she swerved a third bullet took her in the ribs, and she set off at
a gallop, squealing like a gigantic pig. She ran for a matter of a
couple of hundred yards, and then stood quite still in an attitude
of profound thought; finally, she laid down as if she had resolved to
sleep, as the result of her cogitation, and when I got up to her she
was dead. The horns were fairly long, but badly scratched and chipped,
she being evidently a very old beast. Her body was covered with the
scars of numerous conflicts with others of her kind. After a struggle
I succeeded in hacking off the horns with my hunting-knife, El Hakim
having taken our only remaining axe away with him in the morning.
When I got back to camp, I found five men who had been sent back by El
Hakim to carry any meat I might have shot. They told me that El Hakim
had shot a solitary elephant they had met on the road in the morning.
The next morning I started early, and, after a stiff march, reached
the place at which the others had camped on the previous evening.
The remains of their fires were still hot. I passed the body of the
elephant on the way. It appeared to be a young bull, and the hyænas and
vultures between them were making short work of the carcase. After a
couple of hours’ halt I resumed the march, and after another hard tramp
lasting three hours I reached the “Buffalo Camp,” tired out. George had
had a slice of luck, as he had secured a very fine impalla (_Æpyceros
melampus_) on the road. The horns were slightly over twenty-eight
inches, which is, I believe, as good as it is possible to obtain.
A great disappointment awaited us here. On going to the ant-hill in
which I had buried the buffalo horns, we found that, in spite of the
ants, the hyænas had disinterred and utterly destroyed them. My large
pair were gone, and also the other two pairs buried with them, there
being nothing left beyond a few splinters of bone. The baby water-buck
died in the evening, having steadfastly refused to feed since its
capture, and resisting to the utmost of its power our well-meant
efforts to help it.
During the next day’s march we met the men whom we had sent to M’thara
four days before. To our immense satisfaction, they bore the two
boxes of provisions which had occupied our thoughts for so many weary
days. They were about to tell us something concerning hostile natives
at M’thara, but we had motioned them away, desiring that nothing,
especially bad news, should interfere with our first civilized meal,
and so detract from our enjoyment. Ordering a halt, we got to work with
a screw-driver while the tents were being erected. Ramathani exerted
himself, and in an incredibly short time a steaming pot of oatmeal
porridge awaited our attention. After two months of meat, that oatmeal
tasted as never oatmeal tasted before. When it was finished, Ramathani
brought us some broiled zebra collops, and with mustard, pepper, and a
bottle of Worcester sauce, they made a dish fit for a monarch. There
were also biscuits, jam, and a couple of tins of butter, and as a wind
up, we opened a pound tin of mincemeat, and, passing the tin round, ate
it with a spoon. To crown our enjoyment, a box of cigars and a bottle
of vermouth were discovered, and as we inhaled the first smoke for
weeks we would not have changed places with anybody.
At the conclusion of the banquet we felt sufficiently fortified to hear
the news brought by our men from M’thara. They were therefore summoned
and cross-questioned for over an hour. The result of the examination
was even worse than we had anticipated, and sufficed to change our
thoughts from the optimistic attitude they had assumed to one of most
anxious and gloomy foreboding. Summed up, the situation was this. We
required a large quantity of food for our journey round North and
West Kenia, which is uninhabited. There was, we discovered, a famine
in M’thara, as, unfortunately, the bean-crop had utterly failed for
want of rain. There was, on the other hand, plenty of food in Munithu
and Zura, as the famine did not extend to those districts. In the
ordinary course of events we should have bought food there, but to our
amazement and indignation we heard that during our absence on the Waso
Nyiro both Dirito and Bei-Munithu had turned traitors, and were now
bitterly hostile to us, absolutely refusing to supply us with food.
Their change of front had the effect of bringing together all the other
chiefs in North-East Kenia, with the single exception of N’Dominuki,
and they had, in solemn conclave assembled, formed an offensive and
defensive alliance against us. The reasons for this attitude were not
hard to find. Our reverse in Embe, and Jamah Mahomet’s death, followed
by the death of Sadi ben Heri and his companions and the capture of
their guns in N’Dakura, and, lastly, the terrible massacre of the bulk
of Ismail’s men on the road to Dhaicho, had occasioned a great loss
of prestige, and prepared the native mind for what was to follow.
During the deliberations, and while matters hung in the balance, one
of our men who had deserted on the Waso Nyiro turned up, and when
taxed by Bei-Munithu with being a deserter he denied it, and declared
that the Wasungu were all dead, having been killed in a fight with
the Burkeneji, and only a few porters had got away with their guns
and some of the trade goods, and were now returning to M’thara. Some
colour was lent to his story by the reappearance in Embe of the three
camels belonging to El Hakim, whither they had wandered after straying
from us nearly six weeks before. This was considered by Bei-Munithu
to be a capital opportunity to annex the numerous loads deposited in
N’Dominuki’s charge. That true friend, however, refused to entertain
the suggestion, saying that he did not believe the Wasungu were dead,
in spite of the deserter’s story, and the circumstantial evidence of
the camels. He stated, furthermore, that he did not intend to give
them up, even if the Wasungu were dead, as other white men would
soon come into the country and demand an account of the loads in his
charge. Bei-Munithu then formed a coalition of all the petty chiefs
of North-East Kenia, for the purpose of waylaying and massacring any
safaris who should in the future endeavour to enter the country, a plan
to which N’Dominuki steadfastly refused to lend his aid.
From an agreement to attack our supposed surviving porters, to another
agreement to attack the Wasungu themselves, should they be alive, was
but a step, and an easy step at that. Bei-Munithu was evidently the
moving spirit of the combination. He was reported to have said that
the Wasungu’s bullets did not hurt, and as he had formerly been the
friend of the Wasungu, he was supposed to speak with some authority
on the subject. “Even if the Wasungu are not dead,” said this wily
old reprobate, “we can just as easily take their goods when they do
return. If they are dead, so much the better; and if they are not,
they soon will be,” he continued; and in that case the question of the
annexation of our goods would have been speedily solved. It seemed that
this course was eventually decided upon by the A’kikuyu. Without a
doubt things all round looked uncommonly gloomy, the only bright spot
in the whole murky aspect being N’Dominuki’s unswerving fidelity. The
situation required great firmness and tact in handling, as we wished to
get out without further fighting, the Snider ammunition being almost
exhausted. On consideration, we determined that if we were compelled
to fight, we would make a good fight of it, and punish the enemy as
heavily as we knew how, otherwise the next unfortunate safari coming
into the district would stand a very poor chance.
An incident in connection with the strayed camels occurred at M’thara,
which, while it amused us at the time, had its serious side also. When
we left M’thara for the Waso Nyiro, we had left an M’Kamba porter,
who had injured his leg and was unable to walk, with N’Dominuki. He
retained his gun and half a dozen cartridges for protection. When the
camels strayed into Embe, some of the inhabitants brought them down
to N’Dominuki and offered them for sale. He recognized them as ours,
and refused to have anything to do with them. Our gallant M’Kamba,
however, demanded that they should be given up to him, as the Wasungu’s
representative, which proposal the Wa’Embe treated with scorn. The
M’Kamba thereupon brought out his rifle and fired into them, shooting
one man through the thigh. The serious side of the question now
obtruded itself, inasmuch as it was not an Embe man whom he had so
rashly wounded, but a native of M’thara who happened to be standing
near; and old N’Dominuki had to pay one of our cows and two of our
sheep in order to square the injured man and his indignant friends and
relatives!
As we had heard and also read much about the excellence of baked
elephant’s foot, we thought we would give it a trial. To that end
El Hakim had preserved one of the feet of the elephant he had shot
two days previously. To the best of our knowledge, the proper way to
cook this alleged delicacy was to dig a hole in the earth and build a
fire in it. When there was a sufficient quantity of hot ashes, the
foot was placed in the hole among them, covered up with earth, and
left for a few hours. Ramathani was therefore instructed to dig a
hole and build a fire, which he accordingly did, and when the ashes
were ready the foot was placed inside. It was disinterred in time for
supper, after it had been cooking some eight hours, but to our intense
disgust and disappointment it was quite uneatable. It was of the most
indiarubber-like consistency, and after blunting my hunting-knife
on the knuckle-bones in our efforts to carve it, we gave it up as a
bad job. I tried to cut it afterwards with an axe, but could make no
impression on it worth mentioning, as the axe bounced off. We concluded
that it was not sufficiently cooked, and determined that there should
be no such mistake in our next attempt—always supposing that we caught
another elephant.
Some smart showers of rain made their appearance during the evening,
which did not tend to improve the condition of the sheep. They had
experienced no rain for three years, and we were very doubtful of the
effect of the wet and the attendant cold on their constitutions.
Our next march, we calculated, would take us right on to our old camp
at M’thara. On the following morning, after two and a half hours’
tramp, we halted for breakfast. As we were preparing for another move
a terrific thunderstorm came on, and in a very short space of time
drenched everybody and everything. We took shelter under the trees
from the blinding torrents of rain, hoping that it would soon cease.
It did nothing of the kind, however, and after we had endured it for
over an hour we decided to put up the tents and camp for the remainder
of the day. Getting the tents erected was a terrible task. They were
soaking wet and heavy as lead, and the violent gale which accompanied
the storm caused them to thrash and flap about in a most aggravating
way. The rain poured harder than ever, and soon converted the surface
of the ground into a filthy bog. The water dribbled down the backs
of our necks and up the sleeves of our coats in a manner we found
most exasperating. After an hour’s hard work we got both tents up and
trenches dug round them; and then, of course, the rain ceased, the
wind dropped, and the sun appeared from behind the clouds and shone
brilliantly. It was, however, too late to think of making another
start, so we stopped where we were. It rained hard again during the
night, and several of the sheep died. At daylight we made another
attempt to reach our old M’thara camp, and after an hour’s tramp
through the thorn forest we had the satisfaction of once more emerging
upon our old camping-ground. It was just as windy, and rather more
swampy than before, but it was surrounded by masses of restful green
vegetation most grateful to the senses after the blinding deserts and
arid wastes of the Waso Nyiro.
CHAPTER XVIII.
_AN ELEPHANT HUNT AND AN ATTACK ON MUNITHU._
We shoot an elephant—Gordon Cumming on elephants—We send to Munithu
to buy food—Song of Kinyala—Baked elephant’s foot again a failure—The
true recipe—Rain—More rain—The man with the mutilated nose—The sheep
die from exposure—Chiggers—The El’Konono—Bei-Munithu’s insolent
message—A visit from the Wa’Chanjei—George and I march to attack
Munithu.
On arriving at our M’thara camp we were agreeably surprised to find
recent elephant spoor all over the place. Some of the tracks were
very large—possibly those of the old bull I had encountered in the
thorn forest. Jumbi, with some of the men, was at once despatched to
N’Dominuki to inform him of our arrival, and to bring back to camp the
loads of equipment and the stores and cattle left in his charge.
About two o’clock in the afternoon a native came into camp with the
news that a couple of elephants were feeding in the thick bush only a
few hundred yards from our camp. Snatching up our rifles, we hurried
out in pursuit. El Hakim carried his ·577 Express, George the 8-bore,
and I my ·303. Advancing cautiously through the jungle, we came up with
the animals about 200 yards from camp. It was a very bad place in which
to shoot elephants, as the bush was so thick and dense as to be almost
impenetrable, and it also concealed our quarry from view. Now and again
among the leaves we caught sight of a patch of brown hide or the tip
of an ear, but nothing showed up well enough to justify a shot, though
we were well within twenty yards of our quarry.
After a long and breathless wait we held a whispered consultation,
and came to the conclusion that we might perhaps have a better chance
from the opposite side. Leaving the native who had warned us of their
presence safely ensconced in the fork of a thorn tree to watch the
elephants, we, accompanied by Ramathani, succeeded in circumnavigating
them, being lucky enough to reach the other side without being winded.
There we found a small ant-hill, from the top of which we were able to
see over the undergrowth. The elephants were then in plain sight about
150 yards distant. They were both bulls, one of them a magnificent old
fellow with a very large pair of tusks. The other was a younger animal,
with rather smaller ivories. The old bull was not the one I saw in the
thorn forest before, as I had at first supposed, his tusks being of a
different shape, being longer, but thinner, and not so discoloured.
In spite of El Hakim’s knowledge of woodcraft, we were unable to get
any nearer to them, the bush being too thick and solid. We waited,
therefore, for some time, hoping they would come closer, as they were
now between us and the camp, and what little breeze was stirring was
blowing directly from the camp on to them; and we calculated that on
scenting it they would come down wind, and so nearer to the spot where
we lay concealed. However, they did not seem to mind the proximity of
the camp, although, even from where we were, we could distinctly hear
the men talking.
For two hours by the watch we waited, not daring to move, or venturing
to speak above a whisper. At last we sent Ramathani by a circuitous
route back to camp to call out the men, with instructions that they
were to surround the elephants on every side except that on which
we had taken up our position, and, by making slight noises in the
bush, endeavour to drive them gently down in our direction. These
instructions the men carried out; but to our great alarm the elephants
showed a disposition to break through the line of beaters on the camp
side. Fearing that we should lose them altogether, El Hakim, contrary
to his usual practice, took a shot at the big bull at a little over a
hundred yards. Bang! went the ·577, and a steel-tipped bullet crashed
its way into the elephant’s shoulder. Turning instantly, he charged in
our direction, followed by his companion; but when within forty yards
the left barrel spoke, and they turned aside, and, smashing through
the forest to our left, disappeared, followed by another shot from
El Hakim, which caught the smaller elephant somewhere in the stern.
We set off at top speed in their wake, but at first they outstripped
us, though their tracks were plainly visible in the soft earth, and
at intervals on the path we saw tiny flecks of blood. The stricken
elephant was evidently bleeding internally.
At the end of an hour’s hard going, we could see by the freshness
of the footprints that we were once more getting closer to them. It
therefore behoved us to proceed with great caution, as an old bull
elephant who has been wounded is apt to make himself unpleasant if
it so happens that in the ardour of pursuit the hunter gets at all
careless, and it is most disconcerting, on rounding a bush, to find
the elephant’s head when one expected to see his tail. Suddenly, as
we were creeping silently along, we heard a quick shrill scream of
rage, apparently from the other side of some bushes twenty yards away.
Thinking the wounded beast was about to charge, we hopped aside out
of the path and behind the adjacent bushes with a celerity only to be
acquired under similar circumstances. It was, however, a false alarm,
as, on peering round the bushes, we saw both elephants standing in the
jungle about a hundred yards distant, looking at us.
As soon as we made a move they turned and plunged once more into the
bush, with us in hot pursuit. They, however, crossed a small stream
that flowed through the bush a few hundred yards further on, and
disappeared. When we reached the stream we found it to be so swollen by
the previous few days’ rain as to be unfordable. We therefore returned
to camp and despatched Barri and two others to follow the elephants,
and to send word back to camp when they stopped once more.
On our return we found N’Dominuki in camp. He greeted us with every
sign of pleasure, and we were just as pleased to see him, as his
conduct during our absence was of the very highest order, and we
regarded him as a very real friend. We had a long talk with him, and he
confirmed the unpleasant news we had heard about the scarcity of food
in M’thara and the hostile attitude of Bei-Munithu.
Just before dusk a report from Barri came to hand to the effect
that the two elephants, after working round in a circle, were now
not far from camp. Once more we set out, and after half an hour’s
walk we reached the place where they were reported to be resting.
Creeping stealthily up, we found that the big bull had succumbed to
his injuries, and lay stretched out on his side quite dead. The other
elephant, very much on the alert, was standing a little way off in the
bush, and George and I immediately set out to try and bag him. He was,
however, much too wary, and aided by the gathering darkness succeeded
in eluding us in the thick bush, so we returned to camp in the hope
that he would return during the night to his dead companion.
Early next morning, therefore, George and I set out in search of the
other elephant, but he was nowhere to be seen, having evidently cleared
out of the district for good during the night. After breakfast we went
to the spot where the dead elephant lay, in order to chop out the
ivory. He was a magnificent beast. I measured him with the tape as
accurately as possible, and the following are the measurements which I
jotted down in my notebook at the time:—
The distance between two spears planted vertically in the ground, one
in a line with the sole of the foot and the other against the shoulder
as he lay, measured 10 feet 8 inches, which may be taken as his height.
From the forehead to the root of the tail the tape marked 13 feet
3 inches. Round the girth he measured 18 feet 8 inches; while the
circumference of each fore foot totalled up 4 feet 8 inches, though, on
measuring the tracks, I found they were fully 5 feet in circumference,
an increase due to the expansion of the foot under the enormous weight
of the animal. The tusks weighed 75 lbs. and 65 lbs. respectively, the
lighter tusk having had a piece about 18 inches in length broken off
from the end.
On cutting him up we found the steel core of a ·577 bullet in his
chest, which might, from its appearance, have been there for years. It
was of precisely the same pattern as those used by El Hakim, and as Mr.
Neumann, the only man who had shot elephants at M’thara before, did
not, so far as I know, use steel core bullets we came to the conclusion
that it was a bullet which had been fired some two years previously by
El Hakim at the same elephant, which had got away after being wounded.
El Hakim said he had lost one or two elephants in this bush about that
time, after wounding them.
The bush round North Kenia is very bad for elephant-shooting. It is
terribly thick and leafy, and the elephants themselves very wild.
Neumann, after a fortnight’s unsuccessful hunting in this place, became
altogether disheartened, and, after a thorough trial of the district,
came to the conclusion that he was wasting his time and strength, and
gave up the task as hopeless. I was much interested in reading in Mark
Twain’s “More Tramps Abroad” an extract from Gordon Cumming’s account
of his experiences with an elephant which he gives in that book. It is
such a quaint account, and is in such contrast to the modern sporting
methods and ideas, that I make no apology for inserting it here:—
“Having planted a bullet in the shoulder-bone of an elephant, and
caused the agonized creature to lean for support against a tree,
I proceeded to brew some coffee. Having refreshed myself, taking
observations of the elephant’s spasms and writhings between the sips,
I resolved to make experiments on vulnerable points, and approaching
very near, I fired several bullets at different parts of its enormous
skull. He only acknowledged the shots by a salaam-like movement of his
trunk, with the point of which he gently touched the wounds with a
striking and peculiar action. Surprised and shocked to find I was only
prolonging the suffering of the noble beast, which bore its trials with
such dignified composure, I resolved to finish the proceeding with all
possible despatch, and accordingly opened fire on him from the left
side. Aiming at the shoulder I fired six shots with the two-grooved
rifle, which must have eventually proved mortal, after which I fired
six shots at the same part with the Dutch six-pounder. Large tears
now trickled down from his eyes, which he slowly shut and opened,
his colossal frame quivered convulsively, and falling on his side he
expired.”
The next day the bulk of the men were still busily engaged in cutting
up the carcase of the elephant, slicing the meat into strips, which
they dried in the sun or in the smoke of their fires. As we were badly
in need of grain food, we decided to send a party of men to Munithu
and Zura to try to buy food, and also to bring back the few remaining
loads of trade goods still in Bei-Munithu’s possession. Our purpose, as
much as anything, was to test the temper of the natives there, and to
see whether Bei-Munithu, now that he had heard of our safe arrival, was
still determined to put his treacherous plans into execution.
In the mean time the men were busy gorging the elephant meat. A little
M’kamba boy named M’waniki composed a song, which was sung with great
success by a lady named Kinyala, who, with many others, had on the
previous day joined their fortunes to those of our porters, in many
cases deserting their husbands and homes in M’thara that they might
follow the safari to Nairobi, which, to these poor creatures, was a
vast and distant city of a splendour beyond their wildest dreams. Jumbi
had strict orders not to allow any women in camp, but in spite of
our frequent “drives” some of them managed to conceal themselves and
escaped the general clearance. Kinyala attached herself to the modest
and respectable Ramathani, and as she possessed some personal charms—to
the mind of a native—that individual made no very strenuous objections.
Well, Kinyala sang the song I have already spoken of, and it “caught
on” tremendously; and, as a consequence, it was dinned into our ears
day and night. It ran thus:—
SONG OF KINYALA.
(_Solo_) “Wasungu kwenda wapi?
(_Omnes_) Kwenda kwa Rendili.
(_Solo_) Kwani kwenda kwa Rendili?
(_Omnes_) Kwa sababu ya n’gamia.
Wasungu wa’ntaka n’gamia;
Wasungu wa’ntaka kondo ya mafuta;
Huko kwa Rendili n’yama tele-tele.”
TRANSLATION.
(_Solo_) “Where are the white men going?
(_Omnes_) They are going to the place of the Rendili.
(_Solo_) Why do they go to the place of the Rendili?
(_Omnes_) Because of the camels.
The white men want camels;
The white men want fat-tailed sheep;
There in the place of the Rendili is very much meat.”
The above is a specimen, with a somewhat free translation, of the half
song, half recitative, so dear to the native heart. It is generally
impromptu, and contains at times a certain dry humour and caustic
comment on current events that is quite unexpected.
Thinking that this was a good opportunity of making another trial of
baked elephant’s foot, I caused a large hole to be dug in the centre
of the camp, and a party of men were sent into the forest to gather
sufficient fuel. When the fuel arrived, an immense fire was kindled in
the hole. All day long it burnt, and in the evening we were rewarded by
the sight of a glowing pit filled to the brim with red-hot ashes. With
much trouble (the foot weighed nearly forty pounds, and the furnace was
very hot) we placed the bulky tit-bit in the ashes, and then, building
a large bonfire over it, we considered that we had done our part of
the business, and hopefully awaited developments.
Several times during the ensuing twenty-four hours El Hakim or I
carefully poked the fire with an iron bar in the endeavour to ascertain
whether the foot was cooking properly. We were absolutely certain that,
if it were not burnt to a cinder, it would be at least sufficiently
cooked, and it was in high hopes that we should at last partake of the
reputed dainty, that we disinterred it from the miniature crater on the
following evening. Alas and alack! in spite of all our toil and trouble
it was as indiarubber-like as its predecessor. Twenty-four hours in
the fire had burnt the outside and reduced the foot somewhat in size,
but the rest was as uncooked as if it had never been near the flame.
This result, however, was entirely our own fault, as, on looking up
the subject since, I find that we were entirely wrong in our method of
cooking it. The true recipe, as given by Mr. Foa,[17] is as follows:—
“Take an elephant’s foot, preferably young and very fresh; remove the
white flesh which covers the bone, and cut it into strips the thickness
of your finger, reminding one of sticks of _pâté de guimauve_. Place
the appetizing strips for two days in the sun to dry, and collect the
pure fat which exudes from them in the form of clear oil. To make the
dish known as _mwendo wa nzou_, take one of these strips, cut it into
small pieces, put it into a saucepan containing a little water, place
it on a gentle fire, and renew the water several times. When a jelly
has formed, add to it the oil in which you have browned a few onions, a
little thyme, etc., or an equivalent aromatic plant, one or two very
strong chillies, and let it cook gently for twenty hours, still adding
water when necessary. Serve hot, with manioc flour or grated biscuit
separately.
“N.B.—This dish keeps several days, and only requires re-warming.”
So far, so good; but as our friend N’Dominuki did not keep a general
store where we might have been able to purchase the few onions, thyme,
and chillies, etc., required, it would not have helped us much even had
we possessed this recipe at the time.
The weather now changed considerably for the worse, the fine, clear,
sunny weather of the Waso Nyiro being succeeded by heavy rains and cold
winds. These rains were nearly two months late, and the inhabitants
of M’thara were half starving in consequence; but they came now with
a vengeance, though they were too late to do any good to the bean
crop. Day after day we endured a steady downpour, which killed off
the sheep by twos and threes every night. Of the men whom we had sent
to buy food in Munithu, half returned two days later. They reported
that Bei-Munithu had refused to sell any food, though he had more than
plenty, and he had also refused to give up the loads still in his
possession. Furthermore, he had secretly planned to attack them during
the night and put them to death. They had, however, received timely
warning from a friendly native, and so escaped; some of them coming
back to us, and the remainder going on to Zura to see how matters stood
at that place.
A strange Swahili accompanied them. He had been one of Dr. Kolb’s
porters, and had been left behind, sick, at Munithu. He asked
permission to return to Nairobi with us, which we readily granted. He
also confirmed the news of Bei-Munithu’s hostility, and his statements
threw light on several little matters which had puzzled us. It now
seemed more than probable that the whole of the G’nainu affair had been
planned by that old rascal in conjunction with the Wa’gnainu, which
would explain why those people were so completely prepared for us on
the morning when we went into their country to demand our trade goods;
and why they opened the attack without listening to what we had to say.
This Swahili was a peculiar-looking man, as at some time or other the
end of his nose had been bitten off by a hyæna. The voracious brute
had actually dashed up to where he was sleeping with other men round
a fire, and, seizing him, had tried to drag him away. His companions
awoke at his cries, and drove his assailant off with fire-brands. When
the hyæna seized him, it had bitten his face and taken the end of his
nose clean off. When rescued, he searched for and found the piece, and,
sticking it on again, he secured it with a length of hair or fibre,
which he passed over it and tied at the back of his head; however, the
piece slipped and finally grew on to his face an inch to the left of
its proper position, so that he had one nostril complete and in its
right place, while the other grew apparently out of his cheek. He still
kept the piece of fibre tied round it, and could not be induced to
remove it, though the piece of nose was firmly united to his cheek. El
Hakim offered to perform an operation in plastic surgery and replace it
in its rightful position, but he steadfastly refused, and El Hakim did
not press the point. This man turned out to be a very good drover, and
rendered valuable service in that way on our march down country after
leaving M’thara.
On the 18th October, after six days’ continuous downpour, the rain
ceased for a couple of days. Thirty of the sheep had succumbed, and
the others were very sick, as a large number of them were suffering
from the effects of the unaccustomed exposure. As the men who had gone
on to Zura had not returned, we sent Jumbi with several men to see what
had become of them. We were very anxious to leave M’thara, but we could
not venture round West Kenia without a supply of food in hand, as game
might be scarce. The camp already commenced to smell very badly, as the
rain had soddened the earth and converted it into a bog. The quantity
of meat drying in the smoke of the fires was already six days old, and
though it was relished by the men, we ourselves found the effluvia
offensive.
During our stay large numbers of natives came into camp for medicine to
cure the ulcers caused by “chiggers.” The chigger (_Pulex penetrans_)
is a species of flea which is in the habit of selecting the sole of
the foot or the flesh under the toe-nails as a place of residence.
Once safely ensconced under the skin, the female chigger proceeds to
lay large numbers of eggs, which are disposed in the form of a round
bag, the size of a pea. The irritation produces a troublesome ulcer,
amidst which the young larvæ appear. Some of the natives of M’thara had
lost many of their toes through these pests. It was especially sad to
see the little children with their feet horribly lacerated, who were
brought into camp for treatment by their despairing mothers. Under
El Hakim’s direction, I made a large quantity of ointment by mixing
iodoform and powdered boric acid with hippo fat, and this was freely
dispensed among the sufferers, their expressions of gratitude amply
repaying us for any trouble we incurred in relieving them. I myself had
been crippled for three weeks on one occasion by chiggers, and was
therefore in a position to feel for the unfortunate wretches.
An “elkonono,” or native blacksmith, came into camp one day, and we
got him to manufacture a few knives and ornaments for us from iron
which we provided. He took up his quarters, together with a couple of
his wives, in a shelter which we had built for the mules. His tools
were very simple, consisting merely of a flat stone for an anvil, and
a piece of round bar iron, 1½ inches in diameter and about 8 inches in
length, slightly flattened at one end, which formed his hammer. He also
possessed a very crude pair of iron pincers.
His forge, which was fed with charcoal, was formed by a hole in the
ground, into which the air was forced from bellows through a short pipe
of baked clay. The bellows consisted of a couple of goatskins with a
clay nozzle at one end. The other end was open, the sides being sewn to
two flat pieces of wood, to which small straps were attached. One of
the blacksmith’s wives thrust her fingers through these straps, and,
opening her hand and at the same time raising her arm, she filled the
goatskin with air. The hand was then closed and the goatskin sharply
compressed by a downward stroke of the forearm, and the air contained
in it was driven out of the nozzle through the clay pipe into which it
was inserted, and so into the glowing charcoal. She worked a bellows
with each hand alternately, thus providing an almost continuous draught.
Our “elkonono” set to work and toiled away for three days “from rosy
morn till dewy eve,” and at the end of that time had manufactured two
knives and a couple of ornaments. We asked him if it was not rather
slow work, and to our great disgust he remarked, “Yes, it is true I
have not made much for you, but” (proudly) “I have made knives for all
your children!”
On inquiry we found that whenever our backs were turned, our porters
had gone to the “elkonono” either to have a knife made or repaired, and
as a result he had done ten times more work for them than he had for
us, though we were paying him and he was using our material. Our simple
“elkonono,” however, professed ignorance, saying that he thought that
in doing these little jobs for “our children” he was serving us; which
might or might not have been the truth.
A deputation from the Wa’Chanjei came into camp on the 17th of October.
They came ostensibly on a friendly visit, but really to see how the
land lay. After they had spent an hour or two in our camp, they
evidently came to the conclusion that we were quite able to take care
of ourselves, and politely and silently withdrew.
On the 19th of October the rain ceased for a while, to our immense
satisfaction. During the morning Jumbi returned from Munithu and Zura
with the remainder of the men. He had seen Bei-Munithu and demanded
that our loads should be given to him. He was met by an insolent
refusal. In addition, Bei-Munithu sent an insulting and threatening
message to the effect that “If the Wasungu themselves came to the door
of his house with their guns, he would not give up the loads!”
Jumbi also reported that food was extremely plentiful in both Munithu
and M’thara, but the inhabitants of those places, acting under
instructions from their chiefs, point blank refused to sell us any.
[Illustration: ORNAMENTS WORN BY A’KIKUYU WOMEN.
1, 2, 3, 4. Leather belts ornamented with beads and cowrie shells.
5, 6, 7, 8. Girdles of iron chain and beadwork.
9, 10. Collars of iron chain and beadwork.
11, 12, 13, 14. Necklaces of twisted iron, brass and copper wire, with
pendant chain.
15, 16. Armlets of thick brass wire.]
The situation was now serious, and after dinner that evening we held a
consultation to decide what was to be done. Leaving M’thara without
a supply of food was out of the question, and to stay in M’thara was to
court disaster. I therefore proposed to El Hakim that I should proceed
to Munithu on the morrow with an armed party, leaving him in charge of
the camp, and make a demonstration in force at Munithu, and see if that
would not bring old Bei Munithu to his senses, and George volunteered
to accompany me. As both El Hakim and I considered that such a
proceeding would not entail any serious risk, he acquiesced in my
proposal. We therefore determined that El Hakim should stay in command
of the camp with one or two men—who, with himself, would, he hoped, be
sufficient to defend it should it be attacked in our absence—and that
George and I, with all the men who could be spared, should go over
and endeavour to convince Bei-Munithu and Co. that we were better as
friends than enemies.
Accordingly at noon on the following day George and I started for
Munithu. We had sixteen men armed with Sniders, but we were terribly
short of ammunition, possessing not more than seven cartridges per man,
a fact which made the undertaking rather more hazardous. Considered
afterwards, in cold blood, it seems to me to have been foolish in the
extreme to have attempted to penetrate into a hostile country, so
thickly populated as Munithu, with so few men and so little ammunition;
but at the same time there was no help for it. Luckily, both George and
I had a fair number of cartridges. I, as usual, carried my ·303, but
George, whose rifle had once or twice missed fire, did not see the fun
of risking his life with a weapon which might fail him at a critical
moment; so he carried my 20-bore shot-gun with a supply of ball
cartridges. These ball cartridges contained 2½ drams of powder, which
propelled a spherical leaden bullet about the size of an ordinary
marble, and a double-barrelled gun using them was a very ugly weapon up
to a couple of hundred yards.
We pushed on till sundown, and camped at a distance from Bei-Munithu’s
village, and turned in early, as we needed all our energy for the
morrow.
FOOTNOTES:
[17] “After Big Game in Central Africa,” by Edward Foa, F.R.G.S.
(Translation from the French by Frederic Lees), 1899, pp. 59, 60.
CHAPTER XIX.
_FIGHT AT MUNITHU AND DEPARTURE FROM M’THARA._
Attack on Bei-Munithu’s village—Poisoned arrows—The burning
of the village—The return march—Determined pursuit of the
A’kikuyu—Karanjui—George’s fall—Return to the M’thara Camp—Interview
with Bei-Munithu—His remorse—Departure from M’thara—Rain—Hyænas—A
lioness—Bad country—Whistling trees—A lion—Increasing altitude—Zebra.
An hour before sunrise we arose, and, giving the men the most precise
instructions to husband their ammunition to the utmost and leave any
shooting to George and myself should it become necessary, we marched on
to Bei-Munithu’s village. The moment we sighted it, where it stood on
the summit of a hill, we rushed forward with a cheer, and, swarming up
the side of the hill, we succeeded in getting into the village before
the inhabitants knew what was happening. It was captured without a shot
being fired, the natives fleeing out at the other end and into the
bush. Instructing the men to collect as much food as they could carry,
I took three or four with me and made for the huts where our goods
were stored. Breaking them open, we soon had the loads out, and I then
proceeded to Bei-Munithu’s hut. Bei-Munithu himself was nowhere to be
seen. On searching his hut I found a large quantity of our goods stowed
away in odd corners, and I was not at all surprised to find that some
of them were a portion of the goods which were supposed to have been
stolen from Bei-Munithu’s charge by the Wa’gnainu, and in which that
old arch-traitor had evidently gone shares. I also found and promptly
confiscated an old muzzle-loading musket, which was among his most
treasured possessions.
By this time, as the men had collected all our loads of trade goods and
also a few loads of food, I gave the command to retire. As I did so the
phwit! phwit! of poisoned arrows aroused our attention, and a few of
the tiny feathered shafts fell into the village and stuck quivering in
the ground. It was very evident that the A’kikuyu did not intend to let
us get away without a struggle. The men had also collected a few head
of cattle and a large number of sheep and goats; and as it seemed that
we should have to fight, I determined to make a running fight of it,
and make it a good one while we were about it, and so teach the enemy a
lesson, though we were sadly handicapped for want of Snider ammunition.
When I had got my little force together, I first set fire to the
village, and then formed them up outside. As the enemy would most
likely harass our rear, I took the rearguard myself, putting George in
command of the bulk of the men, with the loads and the captured stock.
I asked him at the same time to see that the men did not fire a shot
till it was absolutely necessary. Barri, the Somali, took the advance
guard of our little column.
By this time the smoke of the burning village and the cries of the
fugitive inhabitants had aroused the whole country-side, and from the
manner in which the war-cries resounded over hill and dale on every
side, we discovered that we were in for a rather rough time. Our little
force therefore moved off in the order described at ten minutes to
eight in the morning, on the return march to M’thara.
The first hour’s march took us through a number of scattered villages,
the inhabitants of which fled on our approach and joined the
ever-growing force which threatened our rear. The villages were built
in the midst of extensive banana plantations, and it was here that the
first symptoms of serious opposition manifested themselves. A number
of warriors concealed among the bananas commenced to pepper us with
poisoned arrows at very short range, though fortunately none of the men
were hit. One bold warrior let fly an arrow at George at not more than
thirty yards, and then, catching my eye, he subsided behind a banana
tree. He did not take into account the penetrative power of a ·303, and
I think he must have been a very surprised native indeed when my bullet
passed through the pulpy stem of the banana. Another let fly an arrow
at the mule, which was being led, and missed her by an inch. George
caught him with the 20-bore, dropping him, and then, swinging round,
stopped another adventurous warrior who was creeping up to him with the
other barrel, to the native’s intense discomfiture.
After a little more light skirmishing of this description on the route,
we reached a small clearing, and on coming out into the open were
cordially greeted with a shower of arrows from a large number of the
enemy concealed in the bush on the opposite side. A smart fusillade
from our men put a temporary check on the proceedings of this informal
reception committee, and we continued our advance. Another warrior,
who recklessly exposed his person in order to make insulting remarks
with greater effect, retired precipitately with a much better idea of
the theory of projectiles than he had hitherto possessed; and another
who received a spherical ball in the leg at 200 yards from George,
ceased to take any further interest in the proceedings. After this
interchange of civilities the enemy kept out of range for awhile, and
allowed us to cross the remainder of the banana plantations in safety,
and into the thick bush on the other side; however, they were merely
gathering reinforcements and preparing to attack in earnest.
It being, I believe, an axiom of warfare that “a retreating column
should resemble a scorpion and carry its sting in its tail,” I picked
out Resarse ben Shokar and Asmani ben Selim as being two of the coolest
men, and they, together with a boy named Koranja, who carried my
cartridge-bag and binoculars, formed my rearguard. George, with the
main body of the men, had his hands full in preventing them firing away
their few cartridges at the scenery, and then throwing down their loads
and bolting—a proceeding which would have resulted in immediate and
overwhelming disaster.
When we got into the thick bush the enemy tried several times to rush
us, but the bush was as much in our favour as theirs, as it was too
thick for them to use their arrows, for which providential circumstance
I was devoutly thankful. Once or twice some of the bolder spirits
advanced openly along the rearward path in the endeavour to rush my
two men and myself, and cut us off, but the Lee-Metford is a beautiful
weapon under such circumstances, and they abandoned the attempt. The
enemy were constantly increasing in numbers, and the noise they made
with their shouting and war-cries was terrific. I think they did it
to keep their courage up, but it is a terrible waste of breath. They
soon afterwards concentrated in force on our flanks and rear and tried
another rush, but we were able by judicious shooting to keep them from
getting too close.
The bush now ended in a ravine, at the bottom of which was a small
stream. On the opposite bank of the stream was the edge of the thick
forest which I have previously mentioned, and which extended as far as
the open space called Karanjui, an hour’s journey further on. While
George superintended the crossing of the men and animals, I and my two
men squatted down in the bush at a turn in the path, about a hundred
yards in the rear, and prepared a surprise for the enemy. They were
howling in a most unmelodious key, and between the howls they informed
us that they were coming to kill us, a piece of news which seemed to
me to be quite superfluous under the circumstances; they added the
interesting information that they were going ahead of us into the wood,
and were there going to ambush us. I had already guessed that such was
their intention, but I determined that such an awkward situation should
not occur if I could prevent it. Our men in their turn inquired why,
if they were coming to kill us, did they not come and carry out their
intention? It appears that these exchanges of repartee are part of the
ceremonial of A’kikuyu warfare, though at the time it seemed to me
to be very childish. The enemy then shouted, “Resarse kutire mwaka,”
literally, “Your bullets have no fire;” meaning to say that they did
not hurt—evidently Bei-Munithu’s teaching. They were asked to “come and
see,” an invitation they accepted. My little ambush worked perfectly,
and they were within twenty yards when I opened fire. Two of them were
put out of action at the first discharge, and the others retreated in
disorder, having learnt a wholesome lesson.
A message from George then reached me, informing me that all the men
and animals were now safely across the stream, so I followed him. Just
as I got across the stream in my turn, some of the enemy, who had
crossed higher up, made another rush, one of the most dangerous they
had so far attempted. They got close enough this time to throw spears,
one of which killed an unfortunate goat. I used my revolver, and George
his gun, and they once more retired. One of the A’kikuyu who threw a
spear was shot with an arrow by one of our Wakamba, who carried a bow
and arrows which he had found in Bei-Munithu’s village. The M’kikuyu’s
arm was still uplifted in the act of throwing the spear when our man’s
arrow caught him in the side of the chest, under the armpit. The light
arrow went halfway through his chest as easily as if he had been made
of butter. If I had not seen it myself, I should not have credited
their tiny arrows with such penetrative power. After crossing the
stream we were beyond the boundary of the Munithu district, and I did
not think it probable that we should be followed any further, as these
people do not as a rule go into the territory of another tribe; but in
this case I was mistaken.
During our march through the forest they made one or two abortive
attempts to close with us, but finally contented themselves with
howling, and, between the howls, threatening what they would do to
us when they got us to Karanjui. It was my intention to try to reach
Karanjui first, so that we might have a reasonable chance of crossing
it before the enemy surrounded us. This we succeeded in doing, and we
were halfway across when the leading warriors, forsaking the cover of
the forest, trooped out into the open about 300 yards away. Asmani and
Resarse, for whose conduct I have nothing but praise, waited behind to
assist me in delaying the A’kikuyu, and so enabling George with the men
and cattle to get across and into the cover of the forest on the other
side. One of the enemy, bolder than the others, climbed on an ant-hill
70 yards distant from me, and danced at us in derision, making obscene
gestures and insulting remarks. He desisted, however, on receiving a
message from the ·303 that he was unable to disregard.
The next move of the enemy was to try to work round the western edge
of Karanjui, which was about 500 yards away, and so get ahead of us. I
took a few long shots at them, and wounded one man (who I afterwards
found out to be a nephew of Bei-Munithu) in the leg, and soon stopped
that game. George and the others were by this time once more in the
forest, so I retired from my place in the open, and with my two men
took up a fresh position at the entrance to the path leading into
the forest. The enemy could not then see me, and, supposing I had
gone on, they all came out into the open. When I saw their numbers I
fairly gasped. “Wow,” said Resarse, “Watu winge, bwana” (There are
many people, master), while Asmani merely grunted. They poured out of
the forest paths in never-ending lines, till I thought every native
in North Kenia was present. The plain soon became fairly black with
them, and as they shouted and danced with their gaily painted shields
and glittering spears flashing in the sun, I thought that a very short
time indeed would see the end of my career. If “Captain Kettle” had
been present at that moment, he would have considered it a particularly
appropriate time to have composed a short piece of poetry; for myself,
I simply broke out into a profuse perspiration, and proceeded to count
my ammunition. It was with a horrible sinking feeling in the region
of the belt that I discovered that I had only twenty rifle cartridges
left, with about eighteen revolver ditto, and for a moment my nerve
almost failed me as I realized what a really serious position we were
in. It was only for a moment, however, and shouting to George to hurry
on with the men as fast as possible to Chanjai, and bidding the boy
Koranja go on with them, I settled down with Asmani and Resarse in a
last desperate endeavour to turn the pursuit.
My plan was to expend my twenty cartridges in long-range rifle
practice, and then hurry along after George, and trust to my revolver
_en route_. After the first shot or two I found the range, and dropped
one man at 300 yards, and then, as his companions scattered, I wounded
another at 500 yards. The result was extremely gratifying, as the
whole body of the enemy, and there must have been at least a thousand
of them, then took cover and grovelled on their faces in the grass. I
breathed freely once more, as I felt that I had got the enemy in hand.
Soon a few of them rose to their feet again, but I waited till most of
them had done so, and once more started in with the rifle. Down they
all went again as regularly as clockwork. Asmani and Resarse shook
with laughter at the sight. It really was too ridiculous to see the
plain, which one moment would be covered with fierce black figures, and
then on the sound of a shot the whole crowd disappear as one man, and
nothing would be seen but the yellow tint of the waving grass.
After an expenditure of ten cartridges in this manner the A’kikuyu
seemed to come to their senses, and they shouted that they “did not
know the Wasungu were present,” but they now acknowledged their
mistake, and added something to the effect that they were now quite
convinced that the rifles of the Wasungu were not made solely for
ornament. Without replying, I and my two men hurried on in George’s
wake, and soon came up with him. I found that he had forty cartridges
left, so that we had still a reasonable chance of getting back to camp.
We were not attacked in the second belt of forest, and on reaching
the next open space we found to our infinite relief that the pursuit
had almost entirely ceased; only a few natives following us, and those
taking good care to keep out of range. We crossed another bush-belt and
came out into the open plains at the foot of the Chanjai hills, and
there the enemy finally abandoned the chase.
After a few minutes’ halt to rest, we resumed our march to camp. George
now mounted the mule, intending to ride for an hour and then give me a
turn, as we were both rather tucked up. We had marched for perhaps half
an hour, when the mule suddenly shied, and, the girth breaking, George
was thrown heavily to the ground. He fell on the back of his head and
lay still. I hurried up, but before I could get near he was picked up
by a couple of the men. When I finally reached him I asked if he were
hurt, and he answered in a strange hollow sort of voice that he was
“not hurt, only badly shaken.” This statement he repeated several times
in a most aimless manner. I shook him a bit, but could get nothing more
out of him. Suddenly he asked me if he might lean on me; he appeared
to keep his feet with difficulty. In a few moments he seemed to be
sufficiently recovered to ride again, and as the men had now caught the
mule, I readjusted the saddle and helped him up, advising him to watch
the mule closely in case she shied again. “All right,” he said, still
in the same strained voice, and he went on again, while I resumed my
position in the rear. Ten minutes later I saw him stop and wait for
me to come up. When I reached him he asked in his natural voice what
had happened? He had _absolutely no recollection_ of his fall from
the mule or the events immediately following it till he came to, and
found himself on the mule quite ten minutes later. I told him what had
happened, though he was manifestly incredulous. Beyond a few bruises
and a headache he was not much hurt, and he never felt any serious
after-effects.
We reached camp at 3 o’clock in the afternoon, after a solid seven-hour
march, three hours of which were spent in continuous fighting. I did
the whole distance on my feet, and by the time we reached camp felt
pretty well done up.
The casualties on the enemy’s side, so far as I could ascertain,
amounted to about nineteen. On our side we had one goat killed; a
marvellous escape, all things considered.
When we got into camp we found everything safe. El Hakim was very
surprised at our account of the persistent manner in which the natives
had followed us, and expressed himself in warm terms on the way in
which we managed to get away without any serious mishap.
Soon after our arrival we were surprised to see old Bei-Munithu
come into camp. He had come to beg our pardon, and to swear eternal
friendship in future. He bore no malice, which, to my mind, is a most
engaging trait in the Kikuyu character. The A’kikuyu know when they
are beaten, and a few hours after a life-and-death struggle with one,
in which they had been vanquished, they will come into one’s camp and
talk over it with a primitive frankness which I think delightful. Of
course, should matters go the other way, they would just as cheerfully
dance over your dismembered corpse, and should a favourable opportunity
arise they would not hesitate to attempt any underhand trick; it is all
the same to them. If their traitorous intentions are discovered and
frustrated, they reason among themselves, “This is a very sharp and
clever M’sungu. Let us go and see him, and eat food in his camp;”
and away they go on a visit to their erstwhile enemy, and, after eating
and making merry at his expense, they bid him a cordial adieu and
perhaps attack him again next day. It is all so delightfully childlike,
and primitive, and savage, that one cannot find it in one’s heart to
bear any malice.
[Illustration: A’KIKUYU WEAPONS.
1. A’kikuyu shield.
2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. Spears in use among the A’kikuyu.
8. Axe.
9. Knife.
10. Leather quiver for poisoned arrows.
11. Sword in leather sheath.
12. Iron club formed of two iron nuts from the railway.
13. Sword.
15. Poisoned arrow, showing leather wrapping to preserve the poison.
16. Poisoned arrow, unwrapped.
14, 17, 18. Wooden clubs.]
To return to Bei-Munithu. That old savage admitted that he had been
very foolish, and had only been treated as he deserved, and undertook
in future to treat all white men who came into his district with
the greatest consideration. In the mean time he would like to make
blood-brotherhood with George and myself. He was sorry, he added
naïvely, that he had not done so on our way up. I told him that I hoped
it would be a lesson to him, and pointed out that N’Dominuki, who
had remained faithful, was now reaping his reward in the presents we
showered upon him. Bei-Munithu then returned to his village, escorted
by Jumbi and half a dozen men as far as Karanjui, in order to prevent
the possibility of the Wa’Chanjei waylaying and murdering him.
As we had now a moderate quantity of food, we proposed starting on
the following morning on our march round Kenia. The rain, however,
once more descended in torrents, and drove us to the shelter of our
tents for the next two days. We occupied ourselves during that time,
partly in arranging and distributing loads, and partly in dispensing
ointment to the constant stream of women and children who came into
camp, suffering from chiggers. We also bought a few live fowls, which
we carried with us.
_Apropos_ of fowls, and as an instance of the ignorance often displayed
by natives about anything outside their own particular concerns, I give
an experience which once befell, El Hakim at Nyemps, the settlement at
the south of Lake Baringo. On one occasion when visiting that place El
Hakim took with him a dozen or so live fowls. Leaving there on one of
his periodical excursions after elephants, he placed them in the care
of an old man in Nyemps. Owing to unforeseen circumstances he did not
return for six months. On his arrival there at the end of that time he
inquired after his fowls. The old man who had been charged with their
care led the way outside and pointed them out. As El Hakim did not see
any chickens he concluded that the old man had eaten the eggs, and
inquired if such were the case. After a little the old man seemed to
understand, and, shaking his head, beckoned El Hakim to follow him.
He led him into a hut, and displacing a stone which covered a hole
in the centre of the floor, he proudly exhibited to El Hakim the six
months’ collection of eggs, which were stored in the hole against his
return. Asked why he had not eaten them, the old fellow looked amazed;
he was apparently quite ignorant of the fact that they were eatable.
He immediately called some of his cronies to him, and explained the
seeming wonder to them. Their eyes glistened when the name of food
was mentioned, and they immediately begged El Hakim to give them the
eggs, which he did. They then doubtfully proceeded to test the truth of
the M’sungu’s words, a proceeding which, as the eggs were some months
old, led to the most disastrous results, and they became more than
ever convinced that El Hakim was a most terrible liar. Further inquiry
showed that they were perfectly ignorant of the nature of eggs, and of
the part they played in the economy of nature.
At eleven o’clock in the morning of the fourteenth day after our
arrival at M’thara from the Waso Nyiro the rain ceased, and taking
advantage of the sunshine, we made hasty preparations for a start.
A number of Wakamba who had wandered from their own country during
the famine, desired to return with us, and we allowed them to do so.
This necessitated a rearrangement of the loads. There was, of course,
a quarrel over the ivory. Resarse seized the 75-lb. tusk, and held it
against all comers, until he was allowed to carry it. His previous load
weighed barely 60 lbs. This was a striking illustration of the force
of training. For centuries the Arabs, for interested reasons, have
instilled into the mind of the Zanzibari that it is an honour to carry
the largest tusk; with the result that it is now a part and parcel of
safari “dasturi” (custom), which is like unto the “laws of the Medes
and Persians, which altereth not.” However, after the usual squabbling,
everything was arranged more or less satisfactorily, and bidding
N’Dominuki farewell, we started on our long tramp to Nairobi.
Scarcely had we been an hour on the road when down came the rain again.
It was impossible to get the sheep or cattle to travel in the rain.
All they would do was to turn their backs to it and stand motionless.
The rain soon converted the narrow path into a gutter, and when the
downpour finally ceased, just before dusk, we were splashing through
water over our ankles. We only made a little more than an hour’s
ordinary march, and even then some of the sheep did not get into camp
until long after dark. The hyænas were very bold, and in spite of the
extra men whom we sent to the assistance of the drovers, they got among
the sheep in the darkness and killed several.
All night long it rained in torrents, and we awoke in the morning to
find over thirty sheep stretched out lifeless on the sodden earth. It
was really most disheartening.
We made a start again at ten o’clock and marched in a westerly
direction, the country gradually ascending as we progressed westwards.
From our camping-place the following evening we looked down on M’thara
and Embe, while the temperature was appreciably lower. On the next
day’s march we crossed over country of a rocky and gravelly formation,
dotted everywhere with the peculiar whistling trees, which made a very
weird and mournful sound in the breeze. It was a small thorny tree
from four to eight feet in height, the leafless branches of which are
covered with hollow spherical seed-pods, black in colour and the size
of a plum. An insect bores a small hole in this shell, which, when
the wind blows, causes it to emit a musical note, similar to that
produced by an Eolian harp. These whistling trees covered the country
for miles, and whistled in all keys at every breath of wind; the sound
now increasing in volume, and anon dying away in a mournful wail that
sounded almost uncanny.
We saw a solitary lioness on the road, but as soon as she saw us
she made off at top speed over the open, before we could get within
reasonable range.
We camped at some water-pools which the rain had left in a depression
in the rocky surface. The men informed us that they had heard in
M’thara that there was no water beyond these pools for ten days’ march;
but though there were no rivers marked on my map, we felt convinced
that there must be some rivers on the north side.
Joseph Thompson says, “A very few streams, and those of the smallest,
rise on the east and north side” (of Kenia).
On the contrary, we had found the east of Kenia exceedingly well
watered, though there were certainly no very large rivers, and as
events proved, Thompson was equally at fault as regards the north side.
But then he never visited north or east Kenia, his knowledge of those
parts having been derived from native sources.
However, we felt certain that we should find water, so we pursued the
uneven tenor of our way in spite of the maps.
We were still ascending, and the air began to get very cold at night;
though the sun’s rays, when it was not raining, beat down during the
day with undiminished vigour. Owing to the formation of the country,
walking was by no means an unmixed pleasure, sand, gravel, and loose
blocks of lava, and fragments of white quartz, making travelling both
tiresome and fatiguing.
There was no game, and even the vegetation was very scanty; a few
stunted thorn trees, and a species of aloe with red flowers, and some
isolated Euphorbias forming the sole representatives of the vegetable
world. The giant-branched Euphorbias (_Nyikæ pax_), presented a
peculiar appearance with their huge cactus-like stem and vertical
branches, which gave them the appearance of an immense candelabra. Some
of them were thirty feet in height, with a stem six or eight feet in
diameter. Great ravines, similar to those of east Kenia, but without
their luxuriant vegetation, traverse the country from south to north.
They required careful negotiation. Some of them had to be followed for
miles along the edge before a suitable crossing-place was discovered.
They all have considerable streams of water in the bottom, which flow
north, and eventually join the Waso Nyiro.
We saw another lion, and stalked him for awhile, but he retreated into
a patch of bush near one of the ravines and could not be found, nor
could we waste much time in looking for him.
Late in the afternoon, on October 27th, we crossed a large ravine, and
on climbing the opposite slope we emerged into open green country.
As far as the eye could see the grass-grown surface rolled away in
undulating ridges, without a tree or a bush to relieve the eye. It
reminded me very much of portions of the Downs in Sussex, from which
the trees had been removed. A herd of zebra disported themselves on the
plain, and after a careful stalk I secured one of them for the men, who
were already growing short of food. We camped that night on the grass,
the air being very much colder, the temperature being certainly not
more than 55° Fahrenheit.
CHAPTER XX.
_ROUND NORTH AND WEST KENIA TO THE TANA._
The primeval forests of North Kenia—Difficult country—Ravines—Ngare
Moosoor—Rain—Ngare Nanuki—Cedar forests—Open country—No
game—Upper waters of the Waso Nyiro—Death of “Sherlock
Holmes”—Witchcraft—Zebra—Rhinoceros—Sheep dying off—More rain—The
A’kikuyu once more—Attempt of the A’kikuyu to steal sheep—Difficult
marches—Rain again—Maranga at last—The Tana impassable.
For the next day or two we travelled over rolling grass-land, scarred
by ravines, the sides of which were clothed with magnificent forests.
These forests are very beautiful, and convey a welcome sense of
restfulness and peace to the tired and weary traveller who enters
their dark and silent precincts. The contrast from the glare of the
sun-baked lava plains, dotted with the glittering quartz blocks, which
were visible to the north, was exceedingly grateful; and the easy
walking over the soft yielding moss was most delightful after the loose
pebbles and stones and stiff yellow grass we had stumbled over for the
previous few weeks. Tall junipers and podocarpus reared their stately
heads towards the sky, the masses of grey beard-like lichen, pendant
from their massive boughs, giving them a hoary and venerable appearance
that accorded well with the deep silence of these forest glades, whose
solemn aisles are seldom, if ever, disturbed by man. Even the birds
and insects seemed unwilling to break the universal silence, and the
soft hum of some flying insect, or a subdued chirp from a solitary
bird were only occasionally heard. That most irreverent of animals,
the Zanzibari porter, hushed his speech to a soft murmur, impressed
in spite of himself by the grandeur and solitude of these primeval
glades. On the first day’s march over the grass plains we crossed three
good-sized streams, and finally camped at some pools we discovered in
the bed of a sand river, which sufficed for our own requirements, the
animals having drunk all they required during the march. On that day
I shot another zebra, but found they were increasingly difficult to
obtain in this open country. They were very wild, and would not let
me approach nearer than 600 yards. I risked a shot at that distance
with the Martini, and as luck would have it, I dropped one beast with
a bullet clean through the heart. On short rations we found that it
required one zebra per diem to feed the men.
The next day we reached a large ravine, at the bottom of which flowed
a large river, called the Ngare Moosoor (Egg River), which took us an
hour and a half to cross. No game was to be seen, but luckily the men
had enough food to last them for another day or two, as they still had
some of the grain left which they had brought from Munithu.
[Illustration: MOUNT KENIA FROM THE NORTH.
(Distant about 12 miles.)]
[Illustration: MOUNT KENIA FROM THE SOUTH WEST. (See page 349.)
(Distant about 30 miles.)]
It rained hard during the night, but cleared up again at sunrise, and
we resumed our march over the grass-covered downs. At midday we reached
yet another ravine, the largest we had seen so far. Its sides were
clothed with the same forest, but the undergrowth was thicker than
usual. Not finding a place to cross the ravine, we threaded our way
through the jungle in a direction parallel to it. It was extremely hard
work, we having to cut our way with knives and axes for considerable
distances. The _simés_ of our Wakamba proved exceedingly useful at this
work. The undergrowth was loaded with raindrops, which soon drenched
us through, and at this considerable altitude (over 8000 feet) it was
very cold in the shade, which rendered us still more uncomfortable in
our soaked condition. Finally we found a Wandorobbo path, which led us
to the bottom among some of the wildest forest scenery I ever beheld. A
river flowed at the base, but we could not discover its name. It rained
very hard in the afternoon, so we camped in the cedar forest on the
opposite summit of the ravine.
The next morning we found many of the sheep had died during the night
from the cold and exposure. After a short march we reached the Ngare
Nanuki (Red water), wrongly spelled on the map as the Ngare Nyuki, and
we crossed and camped on the further bank. No game was to be seen on
the road, so we were compelled to kill ten of the sheep for food for
ourselves and the men. The next march took us to a large river, called
the Sirimon, which we crossed, though not without some difficulty, as
the swift current swept the sheep away, so that the men were compelled
to stand in the water and hand them across. The cedar forest on the
other side was exceedingly beautiful, but the weather was very cloudy
and uncertain, and this circumstance detracted somewhat from our
enjoyment of the scenery.
We camped on the further bank of another stream, half an hour’s march
beyond the Sirimon. We were then at an altitude of about 10,000 feet.
To the south of the camp a huge cloud bank indicated the position of
Kenia. Presently this cloud bank showed signs of dispersing, and I took
the camera out into the open in the hope of obtaining a photograph of
the peak of Kenia from its northern aspect. For over an hour I waited
patiently while the cloud bank swirled hither and thither, at times
disclosing a small portion of the peak in a most tantalizing manner;
but just as I was beginning to despair of getting a chance before the
light failed, the clouds parted for a moment, and to my great delight I
secured the coveted exposure, which, though yielding a far from perfect
negative, was as good as I could expect under the circumstances.
We were compelled to kill more of the sheep for food, as no game
whatever was to be seen; the effect, I suppose, of the rinderpest. We
saw thousands of skulls of cattle scattered over the plains of North
Kenia, the remains of the vast herds of the Masai, who at one time used
this stretch of country as a grazing ground. Some few of the remains
were no doubt the tracks of parties of Masai elmoran, who, from their
settlements at Kinangop and Naivasha, used this road on their raiding
expeditions to M’thara, Munithu, and north-east Kenia generally.
On the following day, which on consulting my diary I find to be the 2nd
of November, 1900, we started at eight o’clock in the morning, and an
hour later reached a small stream. Crossing this without much trouble
we marched for another two hours, at the end of that time reaching the
upper waters of the Waso Nyiro.
The Waso Nyiro has always been supposed to rise in the Aberdare Range,
and to flow in a north-easterly direction till it is joined by the
Ngare Nanuki, and then to flow northward. This is a mistake, so far as
it is supposed to rise in the Aberdare Range, as the Waso Nyiro really
rises in the western side of Kenia itself, the comparatively small and
muddy stream hitherto supposed to be Waso Nyiro being merely tributary
to it.
At the spot only a few miles from its source, where we crossed the
Waso Nyiro, it was already a fairly large and deep stream, with a very
swift current. It lies at the bottom of a large ravine, which we were
at first unable to cross, but after searching the crest for an hour
we discovered a broad elephant path which took us down to the bottom,
across the river, and up the other side. At the crossing-place the
Waso Nyiro flows over dark coloured rock; the water was icy cold and
most remarkably pellucid. Objects such as small stones, etc., in the
bed of the stream, were surprisingly distinct; and but for the swiftly
flowing current that distorted their outlines a little, it would have
been difficult to believe that they were being viewed through from four
to six feet of water. Taking this into consideration, I am in no way
surprised that it is called the Waso Nyiro, literally _clear water_.
Till that time the name had seemed to me to be somewhat of a misnomer,
as the Waso Nyiro, for the 140 odd miles of its course that we had
traversed, was a yellowish muddy stream, which belied its name.
The Masai from Gilgil and Naivasha, in their raids on North-east Kenia,
most probably used the route we were then following—as instanced by the
bones of the cattle—and would cross the river at the same spot. With
their gift for appropriate nomenclature they, to my mind, could not do
otherwise than name it the “Clear water,” in the same way as they named
the Ngare Nanuki the “Red water,” on account of the apparent colour
given to the water by the red gneiss rock over which it flows in that
part of its course which lay on their route to and from North-east
Kenia.
The Waso Nyiro rises on the west of Kenia; and, on reaching the base
of the mountain, turns sharply north, being then joined by the stream
which drains the eastern face of the Aberdare Range, and further on by
the Ngare Nanuki.
We camped on the opposite side of the ravine, amid some of the
loveliest scenery imaginable. The ground was covered with short green
grass, resembling a well-kept meadow. Leleshwa bushes grew in clumps
on every hand, forming some of the prettiest glades one would wish to
see. The elephant path led through this bush belt, and out into the
open ground to the westwards towards Kinangop. These elephant paths are
the finest roads in Equatorial Africa. Almost human intelligence seems
to have been displayed in the selection of their curves and gradients,
while their solidity is beyond cavil.
Poor “Sherlock Holmes” was prostrated with tetanus at this camp. El
Hakim said he could do nothing for him. When we marched the next day we
were compelled to leave him behind with another man who was sick, in
charge of Jumbi, who was to take care of them until we sent men back
from the next camp to carry them on.
During the march another man, an M’kamba, deserted. On inquiring the
reason for such an extraordinary desertion in such an inhospitable
region, we were informed by the other men that they had intended to
kill him because he had cast a spell on “Sherlock Holmes,” and so
caused his illness; but he had got wind of their amiable intentions,
and cleared out. Asked in what manner he had cast the spell, the men
replied that he had gathered leaves of a certain plant and had strewn
them on the path, and when his unsuspecting victim walked over them
he was immediately smitten with disease. The reason for this deadly
animosity appeared to be a purely domestic one, and had something
to do with the deserter’s wife, to whom the sick man had paid more
attention than her husband had considered desirable or necessary. We
endeavoured to explain that there was no such thing as witchcraft, and
their companion’s illness was more probably due to the cold and damp
we were then experiencing, but without result, the men being firmly
convinced that a malignant spell had been worked by the unfortunate
husband upon the disturber of his domestic peace.
We were now travelling in a south-westerly direction towards N’doro,
and hoped in a couple of days more to reach the inhabited districts.
Game once more appeared in the shape of a solitary rhinoceros and a
herd of zebra, which we saw grazing on the plains just outside our camp
of the 3rd of November. I went after the zebra, while El Hakim and
George tackled the rhino. I could not get nearer to the zebra than 400
yards, and I tried a shot at that range, but unfortunately missed. They
never gave me another chance, and I returned empty-handed to camp.
In the meantime the others had worked down wind of the rhino, and
then laid down on the plain in the brute’s path and waited until it
almost walked over them. When he was quite close El Hakim put a bullet
into its shoulder. The rhinoceros immediately charged, but the left
barrel of the ·577 got home, and it turned and fled in a direction at
right-angles to its previous course. El Hakim then took a running shot
at the beast, smashing its front horn, but it continued its flight. As
it was by that time quite 200 yards away, George took a shot at it with
his ·303, and once more hit it, with the result that it only fled the
faster, and they finally had the mortification of seeing it disappear
in a belt of bush a couple of miles distant. They therefore gave up the
chase and returned to camp. On their way back they were caught in a
terrific thunderstorm, and got into camp half-drowned, much chagrined
at their non-success.
It rained all night and until half-past nine the following morning,
when we made another start. Some more of the sheep died during the
night, which the men used as food. Latterly the sheep had been dying
in batches of ten or twelve every night, and their numbers were now
greatly reduced, with, of course, a corresponding reduction in our
prospective dividends; so that, what with the weather and other things,
we did not feel so cheerful as we might otherwise have done.
“Sherlock Holmes” died on the 4th, and we buried him beneath a heap
of stones, in spite of the energetic protests of his companions,
who desired that he should be left to the hyænas—the usual Wakamba
funeral—as, strange to say, they appear to have a violent prejudice
against burial.
We only travelled an hour on that day, as the rain once more descended
in torrents and put a stop on our further progress. The country
hereabouts was absolutely open, not a tree or a bush showing up
anywhere, so that we were unable to build an enclosure for the sheep,
or even, for lack of fuel, to light fires. On our right hand rose the
lofty heights of the Aberdare Range, and behind them again the isolated
mass of Kinangop reared its stately peak 13,120 feet above the level of
the sea.
The next day or two were among some of the most miserable we had
spent so far. It rained morning, noon, and night, and the poor sheep
succumbed in ever increasing numbers. We were out of fresh meat. Mutton
had grown distasteful to us, so we lived on beans boiled in hippo fat—a
nourishing but monotonous dish.
On the 5th of November we once more reached the Tana at a place near
its source. It flowed in a south-westerly direction, at the bottom of
the usual deep ravine. It is here known as the Kilaluma, _i.e._ “fire
water.” In the afternoon El Hakim was fortunate enough to knock over
a Thompson’s gazelle, and we dined sumptuously. The sun also showed
itself for an hour or so, and quite cheered us up. It, however, rained
hard all night, killed twenty more sheep, and prevented us starting
till after ten o’clock in the morning.
An hour later we crossed a small stream and found ourselves among some
good native paths which led into nice-looking open bush country. Three
hours later we camped, and sent men out to look for villages so that we
might purchase food from the inhabitants, though as they were A’kikuyu,
we were rather doubtful of our reception.
A rhinoceros charged through the camp while we were pitching the tents,
scattering the men in all directions, though fortunately doing no harm,
and disappeared into the bush on the opposite side of the camp.
At dusk a great crowd of A’kikuyu swaggered into camp, making a most
infernal din, and waving knob kerries about in a very reckless manner.
At first they seemed aggressive, but when we intimated our willingness
to present sheep as payment for a few days’ supply of muhindi, they
changed their tune, and the bartering then went on amicably enough,
though accompanied by a terrific amount of noise, without which the
A’kikuyu seem to be unable to conduct even the smallest business
transaction. To the great delight of the men we secured five days’
supply of muhindi and a quantity of sugar cane, besides a little honey.
On inquiry we learnt that Maranga was four days’ journey to the
eastward. The path lay through thickly populated country the whole
way, and we anticipated some difficulty in traversing it without
losing any of the sheep, as the A’kikuyu are expert thieves. We were
on the south bank of the Tana, and consequently we should be compelled
to cross it, as the country on the south bank, though comparatively
uninhabited, was a mass of rugged hills, and practically pathless.
We were not anxious to cross the Tana, as it would necessitate our
re-crossing it at Maranga, and with the amount of rain which had
recently fallen, we were very doubtful whether the ford would be
practicable. We secured a guide for the following day, promising him a
sheep if he took us safely to Maranga. We heard further that Mr. Hall,
the Government officer, had established a station at Mbiri, a couple of
hours’ journey from the south bank of the Tana opposite Maranga. This
was, indeed, good news, as we were yearning to see a white face once
more, and incidentally get something decent to eat. Another white man,
whose name we could not ascertain, was stationed with Mr. Hall. He was
the officer in charge of the Nubian troops who garrisoned the station.
At nine o’clock the following morning we broke camp and started. Half
an hour later we crossed the Tana, here about six yards wide and waist
deep. There was a very strong swift current, and this occasioned some
difficulty when getting the sheep across. During the operation numbers
of A’kikuyu volunteered to assist, but we considered it prudent to
keep them at a distance. The road on the other side was very bad,
consisting merely of a narrow footpath winding along the steep slope of
a rounded hill, about halfway up. On each side of the path the grass
was very thick and three to four feet high. Many A’kikuyu had concealed
themselves in this grass, and endeavoured every now and then to
quietly seize a sheep by the hind leg as it passed and then sneak away
with it. This necessitated constant watchfulness on our part, as the
sheep, owing to the narrowness of the track, were compelled to travel
in single file, and were stretched over a quarter of a mile of path,
so that it was impossible with our few men to guard the whole line at
once. Small groups of natives followed us. They appeared very friendly,
too friendly in fact, and they displayed quite an alarming desire to
assist us in driving the sheep, though we consistently declined their
kind offers, to their evident disappointment. It took us three hours to
travel two miles, so we halted and camped. Luckily the rain kept off.
The guide, on being questioned, promised us a better road on the morrow.
It rained a little in the night, and prevented our starting till nine
o’clock. As the guide had predicted, the road was very much better.
Another river, the Mogoroni, a tributary of the Tana, was crossed
during the morning, and after a three-hour march, we camped once more.
On the way we passed through many villages and extensive plantations;
indeed, from here to Maranga the country was very densely populated,
and food was more than plentiful. At the various camps the natives
brought us cow ivory for sale, but we were unable to buy it as cow
ivory is confiscated by the Government. It seemed rather a shame to
leave it, but under the circumstances we could not do otherwise.
At this camp we were visited by the paramount chief of the district,
a Masai named Kwa-Ngombe. He was accompanied by many of his elmoru
(elders) and some Wandorobbo. Kwa-Ngomba strode haughtily into camp and
demanded a cow as a present. We promptly refused to accede to such a
preposterous demand, and after he had repeated it, and was still met
with a decided refusal, he stalked out of camp the picture of offended
dignity. He himself had not brought even so much as a sweet potato, so
that we were the more abrupt in our refusal. After his departure some
of his elders and the Wandorobbo stayed with us for an hour or so for
a chat. They gave us the general news of the district, and among other
items of more or less doubtful veracity, they included an impossible
yarn about some cannibal dwarfs who had visited Maranga since our stay
in that place. They described them as “watu wafupi sana” (“very short
men”), and indicated, by holding their hands that distance above the
ground, that they were about four feet in height. They further stated
that these dwarfs came to Maranga to buy people that they might eat
them. We cross-examined them closely, for we did not at all believe
their story. They were asked where these dwarfs came from. That
question rather stumped them, but after a few moments’ cogitation they
hit on the furthest place they could think of. “They came from _beyond
Mombasa_!” said they.
On receiving this reply, we were convinced that the story was a pure
fabrication, and said as much. They only smiled and changed the
subject. We inquired at Maranga afterwards, and were confirmed in our
opinion as to their untruthfulness. It is very strange that they should
find so much amusement in such senseless and purposeless lies, though,
to be sure, the practice is not wholly confined to the African native.
It rained hard all night, and the whole of the next day, so that
travelling was impossible. We spent the day playing dominoes, going
outside at intervals to watch the sheep die, and to grumble at our
bad luck. It rained also all the next night and the greater part of
the next morning; but it cleared sufficiently at midday to enable us
to proceed. We therefore made a three-hour march and again camped.
The clay paths were very steep and extremely slippery after the rain,
causing us no small amount of trouble, while the sick and wearied sheep
stumbled about in a most distressing manner.
After we had camped, I and the guide went on ahead for an hour or two
in order to prospect the morrow’s road. To my great delight I saw
Doenyo Sabuk, away in the distance to the south-east, and further
to the south I saw the summits of the hills behind Nairobi, which
lay rather less than sixty miles away. It seemed very strange to me
to reflect that I was standing in the heart of Kikuyuland amid a
would-be hostile people, to all intents and purposes as far away from
civilization as if I was at the North Pole, and where at any moment a
dispute over a stolen sheep would resolve itself into a desperate and
pitiless fight for life; while there, scarcely sixty miles away, and on
this side of the range of hills which seemed so near, lay Nairobi with
its houses, its railway workshops, locomotives, Baboo clerks and ticket
collectors, and all the varied and busy life of a modern colonial town.
During the night it rained again, and killed off some more of the
sheep. We started early in the morning in the hope of reaching Maranga
the same day, a hope, however, we did not realize.
The A’kikuyu made themselves rather obnoxious on the road, and one or
two shots were fired by our men. A calf and sheep were stolen, the
thieves getting clear away with their booty into the thick bush. If we
had let the matter pass we should have had further trouble on the next
march, so when we camped we sent for the chief of the district. When he
appeared we informed him of the circumstance, and intimated at the same
time that we should like to see him stay in our camp until the stolen
property was restored. This apparently did not at all coincide with his
ideas, as he immediately made a dash for liberty, meanwhile shouting
to his warriors, of whom there were a great number in the camp, who
disappeared into the surrounding bush like shadows. We had, however,
anticipated just such a move on his part, and at a signal from us,
Barri, the Somali, seized the chief and secured him, and I was under
the painful necessity of handcuffing him to the tent-pole and putting a
sentry over him. He then took quite a different view of the case, and
despatched messengers, whom we had allowed into camp for that purpose,
to the people who had stolen our animals. An hour or two afterwards the
messengers returned with the missing beasts, and they were handed over
to us with profuse apologies. We thereupon released the chief, telling
him not to do it again, though, as a matter of fact, he did not know of
the theft till we ourselves so abruptly informed him of it. We could
not, however, but hold him responsible for any indiscretion committed
by his people. On his release, in order to show him that we bore no
malice, we presented him with a bead necklace and a coloured cloth, and
asked him to bring us some sweet potatoes and yams, and anything else
in the vegetable line that he might wish to present to us, which he
promised to do. He accordingly returned in the evening with a supply of
vegetables and a dark brown fat-tailed Kikuyu sheep as a present. In
return we presented him with a couple of Rendili sheep, with which he
was delighted.
The chief informed us that Maranga was only one march away and that the
road was good, and, in addition, he himself would accompany us thither,
in order to prevent any more of our property being stolen. He was as
good as his word, and at eight o’clock the next morning we resumed our
journey. Just before we started I took a photograph of Mount Kenia as
it lay fully exposed to view in the half-light of the early morning of
a dull day. The result is not all that could be desired, but it will
give a very fair idea of the aspect of the mountain from the south-west.
We found the road as steep and slippery as on the previous day, and it
tried the animals exceedingly. For that reason we made a short march
and camped at half-past ten.
Soon after the tents were pitched, our old friend Manga and his son
Koranja appeared. They had heard of our approach and had come to meet
us. They greeted us very heartily, expressing delighted surprise at our
safe return. We spent the rest of the day in discussing the news with
them.
During the afternoon the chief of the surrounding district who answered
to the name of Simba (lion), came into camp, and, following the example
of his neighbour, our friend of yesterday, brought with him a sheep and
some vegetables as a present. He received a couple of Rendili sheep in
return, and we parted with mutual good wishes.
The next morning we marched straight into Maranga and camped beside a
brook, which ran into the Tana about half a mile further down. Owing
to the heavy rains we surmised that there would be a lot of water in
the Tana; even in this small brook the water was breast high, with a
current almost powerful enough to sweep one bodily away. The natives
affirmed that it would be impossible to cross the Tana for at least
three weeks, and perhaps longer. Accordingly after lunch I went on to
the Tana accompanied by two men, in order to see for myself. My first
view of the river was a revelation. It was extraordinarily high, the
constant heavy rains having greatly swelled its volume; and it is not
a small river at any time. The ford was under six feet of water, with
a muddy brown current swirling and eddying past at a speed of between
four and five miles an hour. It would have been utterly impossible
to cross with our loads and animals until the flood had considerably
subsided, and meanwhile the rain showed no sign of ceasing. I returned
to camp thoroughly dispirited.
On the way back I passed a magnificent waterfall which I had not
previously heard of. The whole volume of the river roared and tumbled
in great masses of foam over the naked black rock, plunging down some
twelve or fifteen feet in a yeasty smother, accompanied by a thunderous
roar which effectually precluded any attempt at conversation in the
immediate vicinity. At the foot of the fall the water boiled and
swirled in a great pool. Waves several feet high were thrown against
each other by the violence of the water, which was seemingly gathering
strength for its fierce mad rush through the only outlet from the pool,
a narrow channel with perpendicular sides, and about 60 feet across,
cut through the solid rock. Large rugged trees hung over the falls and
round the edges of the pool, their leaves dripping moisture from the
hissing clouds of spray cast high in the air upon every side, the whole
forming a scene of savage grandeur, wonderfully impressive, and not
easily forgotten.
CHAPTER XXI.
(CONCLUSION.)
_FROM THE RIVER TANA TO NAIROBI._
Arrival at the Tana river—A visit to M’biri—Crossing the
Tana—Smallpox—I give Ramathani a fright—Peculiar method of
transporting goods across the river practised by the Maranga—Kati
drowned—The safari across—M’biri—Disposal of the sheep—We resume
the march—The Maragua once more—The Thika-Thika—The swamps—Kriger’s
Farm—Nairobi.
Early the next morning we sallied forth from our tents and spent an
hour and a half in the water of the brook, getting the sheep across.
They were unable to face the stream, and each separate animal required
to be passed across from hand to hand, the labour involved being very
great. We then went on to the Tana and camped beside the ford. In the
afternoon we got our Alpine rope out, and with considerable trouble and
some risk succeeded in getting one end of it across the river and made
fast to a tree on the opposite bank, Jumbi with two or three other men
and myself swimming across the river for the purpose.
It was not until I was actually in the water that I realized the
tremendous power of the current. We had to go a long way up stream
before plunging in, as the swift current carried us rapidly down river,
and, but for this precaution, would have swept us past the only
landing-place on the other side. This made rather a long swim of it. I
was horribly afraid of the presence of crocodiles, but fortunately they
were conspicuous by their absence.
When at last, after many failures, we had got the rope across, it was
not of much assistance, as the water was too deep for the porters,
and the animals would not face it alone on any consideration. Another
circumstance which added to our difficulties was there being only one
landing-place on the opposite bank, a little gully about four feet wide
in the steep bank, made by the hippopotamus who formerly came ashore
here to feed, and afterwards widened by natives using the ford. If by
mischance anybody had been swept past this landing-place they would
almost certainly have been drowned, as there was no other place to land
for a long way down the river.
Failing a bridge, our chances of getting across the Tana for another
month were very slender, and as I was anxious to reach Mr. Hall’s
station at M’biri in order to get a few newspapers, some tobacco, and
provisions, I sent word to the chief’s son, Koranja, that I required
a couple of guides. These he had great difficulty in procuring, the
natives declaring that it was impossible to cross the river. However,
on the promise of a heavy reward of cloth, I prevailed upon two of the
Maranga natives to accompany me. We three then swam the Tana together,
with my clothing done up in small bundles on our heads. I was unable
to get my rifle across, so I went without it. Once on the other side,
I dressed as speedily as possible, and we set off at a good pace for
M’biri.
We reached the Marathwa, another fair-sized river, an hour later, which
necessitated stripping again. The crossing safely accomplished we
resumed our apparel, and set off once more, reaching the station at
midday, after a couple of hours’ rough tramp over the hills.
Mr. and Mrs. Hall were away shooting for a day or two, but Captain
Longfield, who was in charge of the troops, made me very welcome. He
invited me to stay with him until Mr. Hall’s return, an invitation I
gladly accepted. I sent the two guides back to the camp with a supply
of newspapers and provisions, and then sat down with Captain Longfield
to one of the most satisfactory luncheons I have ever enjoyed. It was
such a pleasing change to eat once more from earthenware plates, with a
real white tablecloth and glass tumblers on the table, and a properly
furnished cruet-stand. It is only after one has been separated for a
time from the minor conveniences of civilization that one discovers how
much they contribute to one’s comfort.
One of the most peculiar effects of our late experiences was noticeable
when I retired to rest that night. It was the new and strange sense of
security. It seemed so utterly unbelievable that I could go to sleep
and sleep as soundly as I liked, without fear of being rudely disturbed
by hostile natives, or by prowling beasts of prey. It was positively
difficult to realize at first.
On the afternoon of the second day of my stay at the station Mr. and
Mrs. Hall returned. Mr. Hall had done wonders with the station during
the short time (about two months) that he had been established there.
A very large and solid stone wall surrounded the various buildings
and offices, and a ditch had been dug outside, making it, perched as
it was on the summit of a hill, a very strong and secure position.
The huts were lofty and well built, and in the centre of the compound
a large and handsome flagstaff carried the flag of the East African
Protectorate.
Next morning I returned to our camp on the Tana, where I found that
El Hakim and George had succeeded in getting a good many of the sheep
across, having employed a number of the Maranga to swim them over, two
men to one sheep—a very slow process at best. The river had fallen a
few inches, but it would need to fall at least another foot before the
men could attempt the passage with their loads.
The day after, as the river was still falling, we got the remainder of
the sheep to the other side. Almost before they were across, the river
commenced to rise again, and consequently we could not attempt to move
the cattle or loads.
In the afternoon about seventy Wakamba, driven northwards by famine,
came to the opposite bank of the river and attempted to cross over to
Maranga by means of our rope. They were extremely emaciated, and so
weak that three or four of the first dozen were washed away from the
rope and drowned. Suddenly the Maranga who were watching them raised a
shrill cry of “Ndui! Ndui!” (small-pox), and rushing at those of the
Wakamba who had already landed, they drove them into the water and
across the river again. It seemed hard to repulse the poor starving
wretches, but the Maranga have already suffered so heavily from the
small-pox that they had no wish to repeat the experience. There
were quite a dozen of the Wakamba in an advanced stage of confluent
small-pox. From our camp we could hear them moaning and wailing all
night, for several nights. In the daytime they used to come down to the
only place at which they could reach the water, a large flat rock a
little way up stream, which was just awash, where they would sit for
hours laving themselves with the cool water.
Three days later, on November 22nd, we found that the river had gone
down some six inches, and we made a determined effort to get the loads
and cattle across.
Stripping to my shirt, I swam across the river to superintend
operations at the landing-place on the opposite bank, I took four or
five men, and we stood in the water up to our breasts, under the bank,
where the current was a little less violent, and took the loads from
the porters, who were exhausted by their struggle with the powerful
current, as they brought them across. Young Koranja annoyed me by
bringing my camera across under water, but then he was not very tall,
and consequently received a ducking every time the rope surged. If
he had not had my camera, I should have been highly amused at his
predicament.
The better to shout instructions across the river, I climbed a large
tree that grew on the bank, its topmost branches hanging out over the
water for some yards. I found such a comfortable seat in the fork,
about twelve feet above the surface of the water, that I stayed there
for awhile to rest after the laborious work at the landing-place, and
also to get a bird’s-eye view of all that was going on.
Presently I heard some one swimming, with much puffing and blowing,
down the river, and almost underneath me. Peering through the leafy
screen that surrounded me, I saw that Ramathani, though evidently in
mortal terror, had at last faced the river, and was swimming slowly and
cautiously down stream to the landing-place. The current was bringing
him directly under my perch, though he had not observed me, and I
derived much amusement from the anxious expression on his usually
calm and expressionless visage. As he passed underneath something
suddenly impelled me to jump out of the tree, and I did so, landing
with a terrific splash right upon my unfortunate servitor. He gave a
fearful shriek, which was almost instantaneously stifled in a gurgle
as he disappeared beneath the surface. When he came up again his face
wore such a look of terror that I half repented of the joke. The way
his face changed when he found me swimming quietly by his side, smiling
cheerfully, was a perfect study in expression.
“Oh, it was you, Bwana?” he gasped out. “I thought it was an afreet”
(devil) “or a kiboko” (hippopotamus).
I then challenged him to a race across the river, but he declined,
though ordinarily he was a good swimmer. He had had enough of the water
for one day, he said.
When I got down to the landing-place, I found that most of the loads
were across, our men having been reinforced by some of the Maranga.
These natives disdained the rope, and, strange to say, though many of
them could not swim, they could carry a 60 lb. load across a ford 6
feet deep, though their own height rarely exceeded 5 feet 6 inches, and
usually a great deal less. They surmounted the difficulty in a rather
ingenious manner, which at the same time required no small skill.
They held the loads over their heads the full length of their arms, and
then walked into the river, some little distance up-stream. When they
got out of their depth _they walked on the bottom_, giving a jump which
brought their heads above water, when they wanted to breathe. The heavy
load held above their heads enabled them to keep steady, in an upright
position, in the swift current. They consequently crossed the river in
a series of jumps, the current meanwhile carrying them down stream,
while between the jumps they walked a step or two towards the other
side. It was a very curious sight from the bank to see a large box or
a rolled-up tent, clasped by two black hands, apparently crossing the
river of its own accord. Our own men would not attempt this method at
any price.
The loads were got across before midday, but it was extremely hard and
hazardous work, one of our best men, an N’yamwezi named Kati, being
unfortunately washed away and drowned.
In the afternoon, all the loads being across, George and I and a dozen
of the men unshipped the rope, and taking it further up-stream, we
prepared to get the cattle and donkeys across. After chasing away the
small-pox patients, we took up our station on the flat rock already
mentioned, as it was the most suitable place that we could find, at
which to land the cattle. By means of our old device of tying a rope
round the necks of the animals and hauling them bodily across, we
safely accomplished the task, though the labour was enormous. Several
of the cows were nearly drowned, and after we had hauled them out of
the water, lay on the rock to all appearance dead. Some one suggested
that perhaps artificial respiration would facilitate their recovery,
but as neither George or I knew how to perform artificial respiration
on a cow, we were unable to put it to the proof. They eventually
recovered without such aid, and rising slowly and with difficulty they
walked away, though I must confess that they were very groggy on their
pins.
At nine o’clock next morning, having thus, after a delay of only eight
days, safely negotiated the Tana, we started on our final march to
Nairobi. We crossed the Marathwa below M’biri, where it was breast deep
and very swift, camping on the opposite bank. We stopped there four
days, during which time we sold the sheep to some Somalis who had a
store just outside the Government station.
El Hakim went on a visit to Mr. Hall, and stayed a day or two with him.
I took to my blankets on the third day with a slight touch of fever,
which, considering that I had practically lived in the water for four
days, was not surprising.
On the morning of November 27th, we broke camp and resumed our march,
exceedingly thankful that we were no longer handicapped on the march
by the presence of the sheep. I was still rather shaky after my touch
of fever, so I rode the big mule for the first time since leaving the
Green Camp on the Waso Nyiro. The next day we reached the Maragua,
where we found a rough bridge, which had been constructed by Captain
Skene, who was on his way to M’biri to relieve Captain Longfield. The
latter had been ordered to Kismayu to take part in the Ogaden Somali
Expedition which was to avenge Major Jenner’s murder. We crossed
safely, and camped on the other side. Three cows were stolen during
the afternoon by the A’kikuyu, but we sent Jumbi and half a dozen men
immediately in pursuit, and they recovered them without difficulty.
Four days later we reached the river Thika-Thika. Congoni once more
appeared on the scene, and we were able to shoot several for food, and
I also secured a roan antelope, the first we had seen during the trip.
Besides congoni there were numbers of zebras, wildebeeste, wart-hog,
grantei, and thompsonei; and George and I, taking turns with the
shot-gun, managed to secure some guinea-fowl, and occasionally a wild
duck.
Very heavy rain the night before we reached the Thika-Thika delayed us
a little. We reached the river at midday and found it full of water,
but the current was comparatively sluggish. We saw a couple of hippo,
and any number of crocodiles.
At a place where a fallen tree projected some way over the water we
constructed a rude bridge, resting the centre of the structure upon a
small island in the stream. It was not beautiful to look upon, neither
was it over strong; but it sufficed, and during the afternoon the whole
safari crossed by its means. The cattle were driven further down the
river to a spot where the banks shelved somewhat, and they were then
swum across, luckily without interference from any too inquisitive
crocodiles.
The next day was George’s turn to have a touch of fever, which, though
slight, made him very uncomfortable. We were now entering a very marshy
piece of country, traversed by numerous rivers and streams, which
drained into the Athi River.
Congoni were again numerous, and we were able to shoot sufficient meat
to feed the men. The congoni is remarkably tenacious of life, one beast
in particular giving me a lot of trouble. I put two ·303 soft-nosed
bullets into it; and although one hind leg was broken, and it was also
badly wounded in the shoulder, it made off at a good speed. Taking the
Martini, I followed it, and, when it once more stopped, I put a Martini
bullet into it from behind, at a hundred-yards’ range. The bullet
struck it in the hind quarters, and ploughed its way through almost the
whole length of the animal’s body. The beast was unable to advance, but
still kept its feet; and as I was unwilling to waste another cartridge
upon it, I walked up to it and threw it down by seizing its horns and
jerking its head sharply sideways, but not until its throat was cut did
it expire.
On December 5th we reached a papyrus swamp, about two hundred yards
wide, but apparently continuing indefinitely east and west, so that we
could not march round it. The men, therefore, were sent to cut a path
through it, and by laying the cut reeds and a quantity of branches of
trees across the roots a precarious roadway was constructed, perfectly
practicable for the men and loads, but impossible for cattle. Jumbi,
who was sent out prospecting for a suitable place to get the cattle
across, returned in the evening, having discovered a place some miles
away, which he thought they might safely negotiate. Accordingly,
before sunrise next morning, he was sent with the cattle to make the
attempt, while the porters and loads crossed by the temporary path we
had constructed the day before. It was rather ticklish work, as in some
places there was over six feet of water under the reeds, we having to
depend for support on the elasticity of the cut reeds laid transversely
across the roots, the weaker places having been strengthened by the
addition of branches and brushwood well trodden down.
Jumbi was perfectly successful in getting the cattle across, and they
were on the other side of the swamp and opposite us some time before
all the men had crossed; but we were all across by ten o’clock, and,
resuming our nether garments, we proceeded. In an hour we had reached
a narrow river, flowing swiftly between two upright walls of rock. A
mile up-stream we discovered a crossing-place at a spot just above a
magnificent waterfall. This fall was quite 100 feet deep, and the water
foamed and splashed into one of the most beautiful glens imaginable.
We did not stop to admire the scenery. Personally, I was perfectly
willing to exchange the prettiest bit of scenery thereabouts for a
sight of the Nairobi Post Office.
After we had left the river a few miles behind, we were confronted by
another wretched papyrus swamp. Yesterday’s experience was repeated, a
road having to be constructed in precisely the same manner. It was not
finished till sunset, so we camped for the night. It rained hard in the
evening, and during the night the mosquitos drove us nearly frantic.
The next morning we crossed the swamp. It was rather deeper than the
other, and we had to strip to the “altogether” in order to get across;
the reeds often giving way under our weight, letting us down with a
splash into the ice-cold, dirty water. We got across, however, without
any serious mishap, and resuming our clothing we again went on.
Three quarters of an hour later we struck yet another swamp. Off came
our clothes once more, and we waded it breast deep. The water was
very cold, and unspeakably stagnant and filthy. It took us an hour to
get across. Half an hour’s march further on, another swamp appeared.
Once more we had to strip and wade. This one was not so cold, as the
sun was by this time well up, and moreover the water was cleaner; but
there were a lot of horrible flies, like horseflies, which bit most
ferociously, and attacked every unprotected portion of our anatomy,
drawing blood at every bite. However, that was the last of the swamps,
and by four o’clock in the afternoon we reached our old camp near
Kriger’s farm, only seven miles from Nairobi.
We camped for the night, and the following morning George and I started
for Nairobi. We left El Hakim in camp, as he wished to go over and
see Kriger during the morning. George and myself, with the bulk of
the men, therefore started on our seven-mile tramp. On the way we
critically examined each other, and a more ragged pair of scarecrows
one would not wish to see. The sole of one of my boots had parted
from the upper and flapped as I walked, while George lacked a sole
altogether on his left boot, and was walking on his sock, which soon
wore through, causing him so much inconvenience as to materially impede
our progress.
Such trifles, however, were unable to damp our ardour as we tramped
along in the direction of Nairobi. Each well remembered spot recalling
some incident or other. Here was the place where I fell into the river
the second night out. Further on was the clump of trees where I shot
the guinea-fowl, and beyond that, again, was the game-pit which had
bidden fair to put a summary end to my career over six months before.
What hardships they seemed at the time, though subsequent events had
dwarfed them into insignificance. Even our stirring experiences on
the Waso Nyiro and our long weeks of anxiety in Kikuyuland seemed
to suddenly recede into the limbo of the past. Everything else was
forgotten in the intoxicating thought that at last we were almost home,
and as we approached nearer to Nairobi a feeling of elation impossible
to describe took possession of us. Pain, difficulties, anxieties—all
were momentarily forgotten. Our emotions were shared by the men, and
when the first galvanized roof appeared on the horizon a cheer broke
forth, and we hurried forward at increased speed.
Presently the railway station hove in sight, and a locomotive shunting
trucks in the goods-yard sent forth an ear-splitting whistle. Never
was there such a musical sound as that erstwhile discordant speech. At
length, to cut a long story short, we arrived, much to the surprise
of our friends, who had heard that we had all been killed in Embe, the
news of the Somali’s disaster having in some mysterious manner filtered
through.
I have only once since experienced such a sense of relief as I felt
on our arrival in Nairobi, and that is now, as I finish this account
of our journey; and my only hope is that it will not have wearied the
reader half as much as it wearied the writer.
INDEX
Abdullah ben Asmani, 12
Abdallah Arahalli, 94
Abdullah ben Selim, death of, 128
Aberdare Range, 3, 338, 342
A’kikuyu, assisted by the, 50;
brawl with the, 60;
return to the, 343;
attempts at theft by the, 344;
sheep stolen by the, 347;
arrest of the chief of the, 348;
steal three cows, 359
Aloes, 135, 160, 333
Ants, attacked by, 113;
red, 158
Asmani ben Selim, 12, 324
Assala, 53
Athi river, 26;
fishing in the, 27, 33, 35;
in flood, 36;
crossing the, 37
Baazi, 53
Baboons, 197, 249, 252
Baobabs, 79
Barri leaves the Somali camp, 276;
is pursued, 277;
is attacked by his pursuers, 277;
and shoots Ismail Robli, 278
Baringo, Lake, 4, 136
Bei Munithu, 84;
treachery of, 298;
insolence of, 316;
repentance of, 329
Bhotan, 94
Bilali, 14, 176
Blood-brotherhood, 84;
ceremony of, 113, 147
Borana country, 235;
people, 235
Buffalo hunt, 151;
herd of, 192;
horns destroyed by hyænas, 296
Burkeneji, nomadic habits of, 163;
first meeting with, 208;
village of, 209;
temerity of women of, 209;
chief of, 210;
belief in their weapons, 223;
dress, 223;
donkeys, 223;
insolence of, 224;
relations of, with the Rendili, 241
Camels, loss of the, 202;
reappearance of, 300
Camp on fire, 171
Cannibals, rumour of, 346
Carl Alexander Falls, 46
Castor-oil plant, 59
Chanjei Hills, 87;
character of people of, 87
Chanler, Mr. William Astor, F.R.G.S., 4, 88, 214, 226, 258, 265, 266
Chanler Falls, 203
Chiggers, 314, 329
“Cinder Heap”, 165
Congoni, 24;
The tenacity of life of, 359
Coja ben Sowah, 12
Crane, crested, 35
Crocodiles, 50, 212, 247;
immense size of, 254
Cumming, Gordon, 308
Dasturi, 331
Date palms, 175
Desertions, 20, 155, 259
Dhurra, 52
Dirito, 82;
arrival at village of, 82;
assists us to drive animals, 132;
treachery of, 298
Docere ben Ali, 12
Doenyo Sabuk, 18, 24;
in sight of once more, 347
Doenyo lol Deika, 136
Doenyo Ebor, 66
Doenyo Egere, 66
Donkeys, 16;
troubles with, 25, 38;
eaten by Wakamba, 137
Doti, measurement of a, 53
Doum palm, description of, 162
El Hakim, meeting with, 2;
and the Tomori people, 86;
robbery of goods of, 116;
experiences with elephants, 142;
shoots a rhinoceros, 185;
bitten by a scorpion, 245;
has a bright idea, 269;
adventure with a lion, 292;
shoots an elephant, 296
Elkonono, the, 315
Elephant, awkward meeting with an, 139;
hunting, 142-146, 296, 303
Elephant’s foot, 301, 310
Elgeyo, 136;
escarpment of, 137
Embe country, description of, 95;
the retreat from, 103;
explanation of reverse in, 110
Euphorbias, 333
Falls on the Tana River, 350
Falls, Chanler, 203
Falls, Carl Alexander, 46
Falls, Nairobi, 27
Falls, Sweinfurth, 46
Finlay and Gibbons, Messrs., disaster to, 17, 18, 57
Fire, difficulties with, 31;
camp on, 171;
grass, 188
Foa, Edward, F.R.G.S., 311
Forest, belt round Kenia, 84;
acacia, 90;
of North Kenia, 335
Formosa Bay, 4
Galla-land, 3
Game very numerous, 43;
vast herds of, 150, 172, 191;
scarcity of, 179;
absence of, 201
Game-pit, adventure in a, 21
George joins the expedition, 18;
takes a bath, 26;
sickness of, 33;
narrow escape of, 100;
illness of, 115;
drives hostile Wa’m’thara from camp, 134;
adventure with a rhinoceros, 267;
shoots a rhinoceros, 293
Giraffe hunt, 280, 285
Gilgil, 339
Gnainu, fight at, 118
Grant’s gazelle, good sport with, 294
Green Camp, 162, 188, 293
Gregory, Prof. J. W., D.Sc., 4, 180
Guinea fowl, 206
Hall, Mr., 49, 344
Hamisi ben Abdullah, 12;
death of, 128
Hannington, the late Bishop, 137
Hannington, Lake, 136
Hippopotamus, 54, 255;
an anxious moment, 261, 284, 287
Hohnel, Lieut. Ludwig von, 4, 213
Honey, 53
Hyænas, 296, 331
Igani, noisy reception in, 81
Imbe, entry into, 79;
chief of, 79;
audacious proposal of people of, 80
Impala, 296
Ismail Robli, 9;
appearance of, 93;
character of, 93;
murders N’Dominuki’s nephew, 100;
terror of, 106;
refuses to return to Embe, 113;
camped among the Rendili, 212;
grief of, 217;
letter to Nairobi of, 219;
his invitation, 269;
wounded by Barri, 288
Ivory, troubles of buying, 123, 129
Jamah Mahomet, 9;
refuses to cross M’bu, 57;
visit to, at Munithu, 83;
appearance of, 93;
character of, 93;
wounded, 99;
death of, 100;
burial of, 100
Jenner, Major, murder of, 215
Jombeni Hills, 87
Jora, measurement of, 53
Jumbi ben Aloukeri, 11, 105, 155, 158, 234, 267
Juma, 14, 176
Kamasia, 136
Karanjui, camp at, 84;
fight at, 324
Karama, 147
Kenia, Mount, 34;
first sight of, 66;
again in sight of, 291;
north of, 137
Kibaba, capacity of, 53
Kibuyu, 54
Kilaluma, 43, 343
Kinangop, Mount, 338, 342
Kinuthia, 49-51
Kinyala, song of, 310
Kiongozi, 12
Kirrimar plain, 253
Kitoma, 53
Kolb, Dr., 5, 11;
account of death of, 156
Koranja, 51;
accompanies us, 59;
trepidation of, 62;
bids us farewell, 63;
meeting with, 349
Koromo, meeting with, 104;
makes blood-brotherhood with El Hakim, 113
Kota, 52
Kriger and Knapp, Messrs., 18;
decide to accompany us, 24;
return of, 35
Kriger’s farm, arrival at, 22;
departure from, 25;
return to, 361
Kundu, 53
Kwa-Ngombe, 345
Leeches, 212
Lemoro, 213
Leopard, 35
Lion, number of, 32;
hunt, 156, 279;
El Hakim’s adventure with, 292, 332, 333
Loads, method of carrying, 16
Lokomogo, 213;
present of, 270
Lolokwe, Mount, 136
Longfield, Capt., 353
Lorian, 3, 4;
news of, 246;
the start for, 246;
where is it?, 258;
dissertation on, 265
Loroghi Mountains, 5, 137
Lubo, 213;
immense possessions of, 232
Lykipia plateau, 52, 137
Mahogo, 52
Makono, measurement of, 53
Malwa, 13
Manga, 51;
indisposition of, 56;
greeted by, 349
Marabout stork, 39
Maranga, arrival at, 51;
abundance of food in, 52;
departure from, 59;
return to, 349;
peculiar method of crossing a river of people of, 356
Maragua river, 46;
bridge across the, 47;
return to the, 358
Maragua bean, 53
Marathwa river, 352
Marazuki, death of, 128
Marisi-al-lugwa-Zambo plateau, 204-245
Marlé tribe, 228
Marsabit, 222
Masai, 242, 338
Materu, camp at, 62
Mau escarpment, 137
M’biri, visit to, 352
M’bu, arrival at, 64;
hostility of natives of, 67;
an anxious journey, 71;
the guides desert, 74;
farewell to, 73
Metama, 52;
matindi, 53
Midges, attacked by, 178
Milindi, 31
Milk, method of adulteration of, 54
Mineral spring, 161;
salts, 162
Mogogodo, 181
Mogoroni river, 345
Moravi, route across, 81
Morio trees, 135, 160
“Morning Whiffs,” terrible results of, 39;
further experiences with, 55
M’thara, arrival at, 90;
purchasing food in, 91;
description of camp at, 98;
camp in danger, 104;
getting supplies of food in, 113;
departure from, 148;
bad news from, 297;
return to the camp at, 302;
farewell to, 331
Muhindi, 52
Mules, 19;
accident to one of the, 78
Mumoni Hills, 47
Mumunye, 53
Munipara, 11
Munithu, arrival at, 84;
departure from, 84;
return to, 116;
story of the pillaged goods at, 116;
departure from, 131;
attack on, 319
M’wele, 52
Nairobi, 1, 2, 6, 8, 9;
river, 27;
falls, 27;
the return to, 362
Naivasha, 338
N’dizi, 53
N’Dominuki, chief of M’thara, character of, 89;
declining influence of, 90;
is accused of treachery by the Somalis, 106;
explanation of, 108;
offers himself as guide, 111;
fidelity of, 299
N’doro, 341
Neumann, Mr. A. H., 5;
influence over N’Dominuki of, 89;
acquaintance with Dr. Kolb, 155
Ngare Mussoor, 336
Ngare Nanuki, 337
N’gombe, Mount, 178
Noor Adam, 17;
appearance and character of, 94
Nyemps, 136;
the old men of, 330
Oryx, 183
Papyrus reeds, 26;
swamps, 360, 361
Petrie, Prof. Flinders, 276
Photography under difficulties, 260, 262
Pig, 254
Porters, selecting the, 9
Provisions, selecting the, 8
Python, narrow escape from, 207
Rain, 301, 312
Ramathani, 13, 177, 309;
fright of, 356
Rats, troubled by, 117
Rendili, nomadic habits of, 163;
no signs of, 200;
encampment, 203;
arrival at village of, 211;
chiefs, 213;
flocks, 215;
trading with the, 216;
settlements of the, 221;
appearance and dress of the, 227;
ornaments, 228;
women of the, 228;
fondness for children of the, 229;
propensity to falsehood of the, 231;
small-pox among the, 232, 238;
fighting qualities of the, 235;
love of begging of, 236;
love of tobacco of, 236;
household utensils, 238;
weapons, 239;
saddlery, 239;
courage of the, 240;
dread of the Masai of the, 241;
return to the camp, 268;
fortifying the camp, 273;
burial places, 275;
departure from the, 274
Rendili sheep, 198, 234
Registration of porters, 16
Resarse ben Shokar, 12, 324, 331
Rhinoceros, Lieut, von Hohnel injured by a, 4;
a delicate situation, 28;
encounters with, 34, 45, 149;
pugnacious disposition of, 164;
hunt on mule-back, 173;
hunt, 182;
shot by El Hakim, 185;
shot by author, 186;
hunt, 198;
large numbers of, 250, 253, 257;
adventure with a, 255;
disturbed at night by, 260;
shot by George, 298;
hunt, 295, 341
Rudolph, Lake, 4, 5, 58
Sabaki river, 31
Sadi ben Heri, 11;
death of, 128
Sagana, 45
Salt, failure to procure, 179;
large plain of, 233
Sand rivers, 200, 290
Sand rats, 212
Seton-Karr, Mr., 276
Sirimon river, 337
Sheba, Mount, 164
Sheep, buying from the Rendili, 268;
death of many of the, 314;
the disposal of, 358
“Sherlock Holmes,” 13;
illness of, 340;
death of, 342
Shooting, useful hints on, 146
Skene, Captain, 358
Smallpox, 59, 232, 238, 354
Somali caravan, start of, 17;
news of the, 83;
attacked by the Wa’Embe, 84;
conference with leaders of, 93;
friction with, 141;
meeting with portion of, 201;
disaster to the, 217;
the alarm in the, 271;
the panic in the, 272
Song of Kinyala, 310
Spot, death of, 263
Sulieman, 12;
desertion of, 259
Swahili porters, character of, 7
Sweinfurth Falls, 46
Swamp Camp, 178, 291
Sycamores, 79
Tana river, 4, 45;
the source of the, 343;
flooded, 350;
attempts to cross the, 351, 355;
across the, 357
Teleki, Count Samuel, 4
Thika-Thika river, 17;
crossing the, 42;
building a bridge across the, 359
Thompson, Joseph, F.R.G.S., 3;
description of Kenia by, 66;
description of Masai by, 242, 332, 333
Thorn forest, 88;
terrible experience with thorns, 205
Ticks, abundance of, 28
Tikiti, 53
Tomori people, 85
Trade goods, list of, 15
T’savo river, 31
Turkana people, 222
Uimbe, 52
Viazi, 52
Victoria Nyanza, Lake, 1, 7
Vikwer, 52
Viseli, 132
Wa’Chanjei, visit of the, 316
Wa’Embe, decision to punish the, 94;
plan of attack, 95;
the start, 96;
ambush by the, 98;
the Burkeneji trading with the, 268
Wa’Gnainu, pillage of our goods by the, 116
Wa’Igani, desire to make blood-brotherhood with us, 81
Wa’Imbe, cordial greeting of the, 79;
conference with the, 80;
audacious proposal of the, 80
Wa’kwafi, 136
Wakamba porters, characteristics of, 7
Waller’s gazelle, 205
Wa’Mbu, bad character of the, 57;
hostility of the, 65;
renewed hostility of the, 67;
interview with the chiefs of, 69;
capture of the chiefs of, 69;
farewell to the, 73
Wandorobbo, description of the, 179;
language of the, 181;
guides, 194;
desertion of the guides, 195
Wangwana, 7
WaN’yam-wezi porters, characteristics of, 7
Wargasse, Mount, 136
Waso Nyiro, 3, 4;
tiring march to the, 160;
splendid climate of, 175;
desolate landscape on the, 249;
crossing the, 291;
the source of the, 338
Washenzi, 7
Waterbuck, 184;
capture of young, 292
Wa’Zuka, cordial reception by the, 75
Weapons, list of our, 9, 10
Whistling trees, 332
Witchcraft, 340
Wild dogs, 292
Zanzibar, 7
Zebra, 33, 43, 336, 341
Zuka, entry into, 75;
camp in, 77
Zura, welcome at, 81
THE END.
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES.
[Illustration: PART OF
BRITISH EAST AFRICA
_Longmans, Green & Co. London, New York & Bombay._]
Transcriber’s Notes
pg 223 Changed: I endeavoured to yet near enough
to: I endeavoured to get near enough
pg 316 Changed: A deputation from the Wa-Chanjei
to: A deputation from the Wa’Chanjei
pg 317 Changed: These ball cartidges contained
to: These ball cartridges contained
pg 329 Changed: an experience which once befel
to: an experience which once befell
Errata changes from page xvi have been made in text.
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