AN IVORY TRADER IN NORTH KENIA

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

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

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

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).

Uzi Wa Madini (Wire).

Ushanga (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.

THE ATHI RIVER NEAR DOENYO SABUK.

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.

THE CAMP AT MARANGA.

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.

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.

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.