An ivory trader in North Kenia

by A. Arkell-Hardwick

FOOTNOTES:

[14] We found afterwards that the caravan referred to was that under Major Jenner, Governor of Kismayu. It is now a matter of history how, in November, 1900, the caravan was attacked during the night by Ogaden Somali raiders, and the camp rushed, Major Jenner and most of his followers being murdered.

CHAPTER XIII.
THE RENDILI AND BURKENEJI.

The Burkeneji—Their quarrelsome disposition—The incident of the spear—The Rendili—Their appearance—Clothing—Ornaments—Weapons—Household utensils—Morals and manners.

This chapter contains a short account of the Rendili and Burkeneji, compiled from a series of disconnected and incomplete notes taken on the spot. They will, however, serve to give the reader some idea of that peculiar people, the Rendili. Their utter dissimilarity from those tribes hitherto encountered, such as the A’kikuyu, Wa’kamba, and Masai, is very striking. Who and what they are is a problem the solution of which I leave to abler and wiser heads than mine.

The Rendili and Burkeneji are two nomad tribes, the units of which wander at will over the whole of Samburuland. They have, nevertheless, several permanent settlements. Von Hohnel speaks of Rendili inhabiting the largest of the three islands in the south end of Lake Rudolph, the other two being occupied by Burkeneji and Reshiat. He also speaks of settlements of mixed Rendili and Burkeneji in the western portion of the Reshiat country, at the north end of the lake, though very possibly the latter were only temporary settlements. The Burkeneji also inhabit the higher portions of Mount Nyiro, where they have taken refuge from the fierce attacks of the Turkana. With the single exception of Marsabit, a crater lake situated about sixty miles north of the Waso Nyiro which is always filled with pure sweet water, there is no permanent water in Samburuland. Elephants were at one time very numerous at Marsabit, but we learnt from the Rendili that they had disappeared during the last few years. The lake is the headquarters of the Rendili, from whence they move south to the Waso Nyiro only when the pasturage, through the scarcity of rain or other cause, becomes insufficient for the needs of their vast flocks and herds.

At the time of our visit there had been no rain during the previous three years, and in consequence the pasturage had almost entirely disappeared. Even on the Waso Nyiro it was very scanty.

We found the Burkeneji a very sullen people. The young men especially, very inclined to be pugnacious, and, not knowing our real strength, were haughtily contemptuous in their dealings with us. The majority were apparently unaware of the power of our rifles, though one or two of the old men had seen shots fired at game. The Burkeneji and the Rendili together had, some time before, fought with the Ogaden Somalis, many of whom were armed with old muzzle-loading guns, using very inferior powder and spherical bullets. The Rendili declared that they were able to stop or turn the bullets with their shields. The following incident shows the serio-comic side of their belief in their own native weapons.

A party of Burkeneji warriors were in our camp one day when I returned from an unsuccessful search for game. They noticed my rifle, and one of the party put out his hand as if he wished to examine it. I handed it to him, and he and his friends pawed it all over, commenting on its weight; finally it was handed back to me with a superior and contemptuous smile, while they balanced and fondled their light spears with an air of superiority that was too ludicrous to be offensive.

The Burkeneji are very like the Masai or the Wakwafi of Nyemps in appearance, wearing their hair in a pigtail in the same manner, while their clothing and ornaments are very similar. Owing probably to long residence with the Rendili, however, they are gradually adopting the dress and ornaments of the latter, a large majority of them having already taken to cloth for everyday wear. They appeared to be very fond of gaudily coloured “laissos,” quite unlike the Rendili, who will wear nothing but white. The Burkeneji speak Masai, but most of them understand the language of the Rendili.

They own large numbers of good cattle and grey donkeys, and also large flocks of sheep and goats, the latter mainly looted from the Rendili. This little failing accounts for the nickname “dthombon” (robbers) given them by the latter. Their donkeys were beautiful animals, in splendid condition, being sleek, glossy coated, and full of fight. It was risky for strangers to approach them while they were grazing. They seemed inclined to take the offensive on the one or two occasions on which I endeavoured to get near enough to examine them; and to have had to shoot one in self-defence would probably have led to serious trouble with its owner. Besides which, such a course seemed to me to savour too much of the ridiculous. They were more than half wild, and many were wearing a particularly diabolical twitch, otherwise I suppose even their owners would have had some difficulty in handling them. This cruel instrument consisted of a piece of flexible wood a foot in length thrust through the cartilage of the nostrils, the ends being drawn together with cord, so that the whole contrivance resembled a bow passed through the nose.

The Burkeneji were very unwilling to trade; in fact, they refused to have anything to do with us. On one occasion this bad feeling led to friction between some of our men and the young warriors of one of their villages. We had sent a small party of five or six men to this particular village with a supply of cloth, wire, and beads for the purpose of buying sheep. Our men were from the first badly received, and after a while the warriors commenced to hustle them. They put up with it for some time, but presently a spear was thrown, happily without fatal result, as the M’kamba at whom it was launched received it on the butt of his Snider, where it made a deep cut in the hard wood. Our men, with commendable prudence, refrained from using their rifles, and returned to camp amid the jeers of their assailants.

On their return El Hakim decided that it was absolutely necessary that the matter should be stringently dealt with, and to that end issued orders that on the following morning a party of our men were to hold themselves in readiness to accompany us to the village for the purpose of demanding a “shaurie.” These preparations, however, proved superfluous, as at sunrise we were waited upon by a deputation of elders from the village in question, who had come to try to square matters. As a sign of our displeasure, we kept them waiting for some time, and after the suspense had reduced them to a sufficiently humble frame of mind, we condescended to appear and listen to their explanation.

They prefaced their apology by a long rambling statement to the effect that “the Burkeneji were the friends of the white man.” “It was good to be friends,” said they, “and very bad not to be friends,” and so on. After they had quite exhausted their limited powers of rhetoric, we put in a few pointed questions.

“Do friends throw spears?” we asked.

“Oh, that!” said they, in tones of surprise that we should have noticed such a trivial occurrence, and they forthwith plunged into a maze of apologies and explanations to the effect that young men would be young men. It was, of course, extremely regrettable that such an unpleasant incident should have occurred to mar our friendly relations, but they trusted we would take a lenient view of the conduct of the foolish young man, the more so as he had already been driven away from the village as a punishment for his offence. “And,” they added, with a charming naïveté, “would we give them a present and say no more about it?”

El Hakim declined to take such a lenient view of the case. To have done so would have been construed into a confession of weakness, and probably have led to more serious complications. He therefore demanded that the young man should be delivered up to him for punishment, or, failing that, a fine of ten sheep should be paid by his father.

They answered solemnly that the white men had very hard hearts; furthermore, the young man, having already been driven out of the village, could not now be found, and they were in consequence quite unable to give him up.

“Then,” said El Hakim, “his papa must pay the fine.”

They protested that the wicked young man had no papa, or, indeed, any relatives whatsoever; in fact, that he was an outcast whom, from charitable motives, they had allowed to stop in their village. We declined to believe such a preposterous story, and remained firm on the subject of the fine. After a time, finding remonstrance useless, the elderly deputation sorrowfully withdrew, after promising that the fine should be paid.

The next day six sheep were driven into our camp, and the old gentleman in charge stated that they were all he could afford, and would we consider the matter settled. We were inexorable, however, so soon afterwards the balance of the fine was brought into camp and handed over.

It was the old, old story, which can be paralleled in any town in the civilized world. The story of a young man sowing his wild oats, who, for some breach of the peace or other, comes within the grasp of the law, when ensues the police court, and the fine paid by papa, anxious to redeem his erring offspring.

We were truly sorry for the good old Burkeneji gentleman, who paid the fine in order to keep the peace which his son had so recklessly endangered; but our sympathy did not prevent our sense of justice—in this case more than usually acute, as the safety of our own persons was threatened—nor did it prevent us from exacting the full penalty.

The Rendili we found to be of very different behaviour, though they have a very bad character from Mr. Chanler. He describes them as overbearing, quarrelsome, treacherous, and haughtily contemptuous towards strangers. He met them at Kome in 1893, and stayed with them two or three days. Since his visit, however, they have been, as I have already remarked, terribly decimated by small-pox, and possibly that has toned them down somewhat.

They are tall and well built, with slim and graceful figures and light, clear skins. They have an appearance of cleanliness and wholesomeness which was altogether wanting in the other natives whom we had previously met. Their distinctly Semitic features bear little resemblance to those of the typical negro, with his squat nose, prognathous jaws, and everted lips. There were many members of the tribe with good clean-cut features, well-shaped jaws and chins, and pronounced aquiline noses. They somewhat resembled high-bred Arabs in general appearance, and, if clothed in Arab dress, they, with their fine, straight, close-cut jet black hair, could not be easily distinguished from that aristocratic race.

At one time they wore a rough, coarsely woven garment of sheep’s wool, but at the time I saw them they had entirely taken to trade cloth to the exclusion of the home-made article. They then wore large mantles of this cotton cloth, made by sewing together two three-yard lengths of cloth, thus forming a large square piece. The edges of this are then unravelled to form tassels, which are further ornamented with small red and white beads. This they draped round them somewhat in the manner of a Mexican “serape.” They and their clothes were always scrupulously clean. Unlike the Burkeneji they will never wear anything but white cloth. “Coloured cloths,” they remarked contemptuously to us on one occasion, “were only fit for women and Masai.” They prefer the English drill, called “Marduf” by the Swahilis, to the lighter and commoner “Merikani” (American sheeting).

They wear a good many beads as ornaments, which are carefully worked into necklaces and armlets of artistic design, and not put on haphazard, as is the custom of the surrounding tribes, and of those south of the Waso Nyiro. The beads are usually strung on hair from the tail of the giraffe, which is as stiff as thin wire. With this they make broad collars and bands for the arms and ankles, the beads being arranged in geometrical designs, such as squares and triangles, of different colours, red and white being the favourites. The demand for seninge (iron wire) was extraordinary, though serutia (brass wire) ran it a close second. Copper wire, strange to say, they would not look at.

They are circumcized in the Mohammedan manner, and, in addition, they are mutilated in a most extraordinary fashion by having their navels cut out, leaving a deep hole. They are the only tribe mutilated in this manner with the exception of the Marle, who inhabit the district north of “Basso Ebor” (Lake Stephanie), and who are probably an offshoot of the Rendili.

The Rendili women are singularly graceful and good looking, with arch, gentle manners and soft expressive eyes. They wear a good many ornaments, principally bead necklaces and armlets of coloured beadwork. Their hair is allowed to grow in short curls. One or two I saw wore it cut very close, with the exception of a ridge of hair on the top of the head, extending from the centre of the forehead backwards over the crown to the nape of the neck, which was left uncut. Whether they were Turkana women who had intermarried with the Rendili or not, I am unable to say, it being the custom of the Turkana women to dress their hair in that manner; though, on the other hand, the fashion might have been merely copied from them by the Rendili women.

The Rendili women also wear cloth. Their garments were of much less generous proportions than those of their lords and masters; but they wore more ornaments, the Venetian beads we carried being in great demand for that purpose. They also wore armlets and leg ornaments of brass and iron wire, the iron wire especially being much sought after. They do not use skins for clothing, though they cure them and use them for sleeping-mats, and also for trading with the Reshiat and Wa’embe. The skins are cured by the women, who, after the skin is sufficiently sun-dried, fasten it by the four corners to a convenient bush, and scrape the hair from it with a broad chisel-shaped iron tool, afterwards softening it by rubbing it between the hands.

El Hakim bought several cornelian beads from the women, evidently of native manufacture. They were roughly hexahedral in shape, and were cleanly pierced, with no little skill, to admit of their being strung on a thread. We could not discover from whence they had obtained them. It is possible that they may have filtered through from Zeila or Berbera on the Somali coast, where they had been brought by Arab or Hindoo traders.

The Rendili women, unlike the Masai, are remarkably chaste, the morals of the tribe as a whole being apparently of a comparatively high standard. Polygamy is practised, but it is not very much en évidence.

A point which struck me very much was their fondness for children. For some reason, perhaps on account of the small-pox, the birth-rate by no means equalled the deaths, and children were consequently very scarce. What children they possessed they fairly worshipped. Everything was done for their comfort and pleasure that their adoring parents could devise. This love of children extended to the offspring of other tribes, and they were perfectly willing to adopt any child they could get hold of.

Both Lemoro and Lokomogo—two of the principal chiefs—asked us on several occasions to sell them two or three of the boys who acted as servants to our Swahilis, but we declined to do so, as it was, to our minds, too much like slave dealing. We gave some of the boys permission to stop with the Rendili if they felt so inclined, but only two of them tried it; and they came back a few days later, saying the life was too quiet for them.

Ismail Robli, we had good reason to believe, sold some boys to Lemoro, and we were afterwards the means of rescuing one little chap, who came into camp saying that Ismail had sold him to that chief, though he did not want to stop with the Rendili. We protected him during a somewhat stormy scene in our camp with old Lemoro, who said he had given Ismail two camels for the boy. When we taxed Ismail, he, of course, denied it, saying that the boy had deserted to the Rendili, and that the two camels were only a present from Lemoro. However, we kept the boy, who belonged to M’thara, and had left there with Ismail’s safari as a servant to one of his porters, and on our return to M’thara sent him to M’Dominuki with an account of the affair, and he was ultimately restored to his home. After this incident Ismail tried to do us what mischief he could by causing friction between ourselves and the Rendili, but was happily unsuccessful, though he nevertheless caused us some anxious moments.

The Rendili have no definite religion so far as I could ascertain. Mr. Chanler mentions a story current among them about a man and a woman who settled somewhere in the north of Samburuland a very long time ago, and from whom the Rendili are descended; very similar to the Biblical story of Adam and Eve. They show traces of contact with Mohammedans by their use of the word “Allah” as an exclamation of astonishment, though seeming not to know its meaning.

They have apparently no regard for the truth for its own sake, lying appearing to them to be a most desirable form of amusement. It is on this account rather difficult to obtain information about themselves or of their country, as in answer to questions they will say only what they think will please their questioner, whether it is right or not. When one finds them out they do not betray the slightest embarrassment, but regard the matter rather in the light of a good joke.

They will tell the most unblushing lies on all and every subject under discussion, and if, as sometimes happened, circumstances disproved their words to their very faces, they would smile an amiable self-satisfied smile as of one who says, “See what a clever fellow I am.”

On one occasion I inquired of the people of a certain village some two hours’ march from our camp if they wished to sell any sheep. I was informed that the inhabitants of the village in question were simply yearning to sell their sheep. I came down to plain figures, and inquired how many they would be likely to sell.

“Very many, quite as many as that,” said my informant, indicating a passing flock of sheep that numbered some hundreds.

Knowing the vast numbers of sheep possessed by the people of that particular village, I thought it not unlikely that I should be able to buy at least a hundred. However, when I went to the village, joyfully anticipating a good market, I found that they did not wish to sell any sheep whatever, and, moreover, never had wished to. I was eventually compelled to return disappointed—not having secured more than two or three—and very much annoyed with the elderly gentleman who had so deliberately misled me. He knew at the time that the people of the village did not wish to sell any sheep, but being unwilling to disappoint me by telling me so, he lied, with the laudable but mistaken idea of sparing my feelings.

They are probably the richest natives in Africa, calculated per head of population. Some of them own vast numbers of camels, sheep, and goats, and since the small-pox has nearly exterminated this once powerful and numerous tribe, it is not uncommon to find a village of eight or ten families, numbering not more than thirty persons all told, owning flocks of over 20,000 sheep and goats, and large numbers of camels. Old Lubo, the doyen of the Rendili chiefs, personally owned upwards of 16,000 camels, besides over 30,000 sheep and goats. The Rendili live almost entirely on the vast quantities of milk they obtain from their flocks and herds, for they milk their camels, goats, and sheep with equal impartiality. They do not hunt as a rule, but sometimes the young men spear small antelope. They are very unwilling to slaughter any of their animals for food. They must do so occasionally, however, as I have once or twice seen them eating meat. Furthermore, the old women of the tribe used occasionally to bring a grilled bone, or a bladder of mutton fat into camp, for sale to our men. Meat would seem to be quite a luxury to them, as a bone to which a few scraps of meat were adhering was offered for sale at an exorbitant price, with an air as of conferring a special favour.

We ourselves lived almost entirely on milk during our six weeks’ stay among the Rendili, with the exception of the twelve days occupied by our journey down the river in the search for Lorian. El Hakim, George, and I drank nearly two gallons per day each. It formed a pleasant and, from a dietetic point of view, a useful change from the exclusively meat diet on which we subsisted, from the time of our arrival at the “Green Camp” till our return to M’thara, a period of over two months. The camel’s milk was very salt, which to some extent compensated for the absence of that mineral in the ordinary form. El Hakim informed me that a little to the east of Maisabit a large extent of the country is under a layer of salt, two or three inches in thickness. It required one day’s journey to cross it, which represents a vast quantity of pure salt, and it was principally from this that the animals of the Rendili obtained such salt as they required.

The milk we required for our own use we bought with the Venetian beads. We, of course, boiled every drop before using it, and rendered it still more palatable by the addition of a tabloid or two of saccharin from the medicine chest, so long as they lasted. The milk often curdled in boiling, owing to the vessels it had been brought in not having been cleaned since the milking the night before, and we were compelled to eat the solid curds with a spoon. We served out an allowance of beads to the men every day, with which they bought milk, fat, and occasionally meat.

El Hakim heard that many years before, the sheep and goats of the Rendili, with the exception of Lubo’s, which were camped in another place at the time, had been swept away by a pestilence. In such cases the custom of the tribe appears to be that the owner of the surviving flocks must give the others sufficient animals to enable them to recommence breeding; but he has the right to take them back, together with their progeny, provided that his own needs require it. Old Lubo, therefore, was practically the owner of all the vast flocks of the Rendili, which could only be numbered by hundreds of thousands. The confidence between the animals and their owners was very noteworthy, even the sheep allowing themselves to be handled freely for milking, and for purposes of examination. They are of the fat-tailed variety, some of the tails weighing as much as thirty pounds. This fat tail is another object lesson of the way nature provides her creatures against all emergencies. The Rendili sheep in times of plenty develop and store a large reserve of nourishment in the fat of their ponderous tails, so that when, as often happens, their pasturage becomes exhausted through want of rain or other causes, they have a store to draw upon, sufficient for their needs for a considerable period. Another store of fat is also formed, in the case of the Rendili sheep, in a large pouch or dewlap under the throat, and also on the breast-bone, where the fat is often a couple of inches in thickness.

As an instance of the ignorance and denseness of the average Swahili, as regards anything outside his own particular sphere, I will mention a little incident which occurred one day. El Hakim sent Jumbi and three or four men with a supply of cloth and beads to buy sheep at a Rendili village. He was instructed to buy “soben,” i.e. ewes, in good condition. He returned next day with a dozen or so of the raggedest scarecrows that the Rendili had been able to rake out. El Hakim reprimanded him, and asked why he had not obtained better animals, as those he had brought had no fat tails at all, but merely shrivelled-up skin. Jumbi answered that it was true that the Rendili had brought sheep with much fatter tails to him, but he had rejected them, their tails being so large that he thought the sheep would not be able to travel!

The Rendili own donkeys, but not so many as the Burkeneji. They also own horses, which the Burkeneji do not, and which they probably procure from the Borana, who are reported to own vast numbers of them. The Borana are a very powerful and numerous tribe living in north-east Galla-land. They are fierce fighters, and it was formerly quite the correct thing for any warrior among the Rendili who yearned for distinction to lead a raiding party against the Borana, who as often returned the compliment.

The Borana fight with two short, broad-bladed spears, while for defensive purposes they carry a small round shield made from the skin of the hump of the oryx. They wear cloth—a small cloth round the loins and a larger one thrown over the shoulders completing their costume. They possess large numbers of cattle, sheep, and goats, and vast herds of half-wild horses. They are a sullen, inhospitable people, very unwilling to receive strangers. They, like the Rendili and Burkeneji, wear sandals, the thorny acacia, so plentifully distributed thereabouts, being even too much for the naked feet of savages.

The Rendili ride their horses with a saddle something like the native Somali saddle. It is made of wood, covered with sheepskin, and is fastened by a girth knotted to rings in the saddle. The stirrups are similar to those of the Somali, consisting merely of two iron rings, into which the rider thrusts his big toe, his sandals having been previously removed. A breast-plate and crupper are used to keep the saddle in place. They use a very crude iron bit, of a particularly cruel form, attached to strips of undressed leather which do duty for reins.

The Rendili are among the most persistent beggars that I have ever met with. The Egyptian beggar, with his oft-reiterated “backshish,” is hard to beat, but the average Rendili could easily give him long odds and a beating. It grew to be quite a fashionable amusement with them to come down to our camp, often some hours’ journey, and spend the day in begging for small articles. When El Hakim, who slept outside his tent, awoke in the morning, he would find a number of them squatted round his bed, and as soon as he opened his eyes a murmur of “Mate serutia?” (Is there no brass wire?) greeted him. He would answer “Mate! mate!” (No! no!) and retreat hurriedly to the interior of the tent. But it was of no use; a moment later he would be again approached by his questioners, who would softly inquire, “Mate serutia?” having apparently forgotten his emphatic negative to the same inquiry five minutes before. Again El Hakim would answer, “Mate serutia!” (There is no brass wire!). So, gazing reproachfully at him, his tormenters would leave him and come to me.

The same succession of beseeching inquiry and stony refusal would be gone through, and when they were convinced that I was as hard-hearted as El Hakim, they would leave me and try George. He also was adamant; but they were not discouraged. Back they would go to El Hakim, and repeat the whole performance.

This happened every hour of every day during the whole period of our sojourn among them; it almost drove us frantic on occasions. To do them justice, the cry was sometimes varied; sometimes it was “Mate serutia?” and other times “Mate tumbao?” (tobacco), of which they are inordinately fond, probably because they can obtain it only on the rare occasions when they come in contact with the Wa’embe, and the Reshiat at the north end of the “Basso Norok” (Lake Rudolph).

Lubo himself often sat for hours in front of the temporary hut of palm leaves we had erected as a council house, begging for a few beads or a small piece of brass wire. We ridiculed him once, saying that we were surprised that he, who was such a wealthy man, should beg for a few beads. He was amazed!

“Is it not good to give?” he said.

“Well, then, why do you not give us something?” we inquired.

“You have never asked me!” he answered simply.

If we had been a wealthy exploring caravan, rich enough to have bestowed munificent gifts on the Rendili on our arrival, doubtless their value, or near it, would have been returned to us in kind, but we could not then have been certain of getting what we needed, as the return gift might have consisted of camels or some other commodity which we did not require, and which we would be unable, from the nature of the case, to refuse. We preferred, therefore, the slower and more sordid process of bartering for what we wanted. We had, of course, bestowed presents on arrival, but nothing large enough to warrant the gift of perhaps half a dozen camels in return.

Their begging was at times particularly aggravating; for instance, after a hot and weary morning passed in trade “shauries” and discussions with the various elders respecting presents to be given and received. Having lunched on a quart of milk or so, we would retire for a smoke and a siesta. Just as we were dropping off into a delicious doze, a dusky countenance would be thrust into the hut, and a gentle voice would softly utter, “Mate serutia?” accompanied by a touching smile and insinuatingly outstretched paw. At such times language failed us, and we could only glare. But glaring did not seem to have any effect; the intruder did not mind it in the least, so the services of Ramathani had to be requisitioned, and as he led the culprit gently away, we would compose ourselves once more to sleep to the accompaniment of the plaintive murmur of “Mate serutia” sandwiched between the voluble remonstrances of our faithful henchman.

But five minutes later, the whole performance would be repeated!

The Rendili villages consist of low, flat-topped huts constructed of bush and reeds arranged in a circle a hundred yards or so in diameter. In the centre they construct a circular enclosure for their flocks. Outside the whole a strong thorn “boma” is built, with generally two gateways on opposite sides, which are closed at night. In consequence of the great reduction in their numbers by small-pox, most of the villages were very short handed. Women and little children acted as shepherds in place of the now extinct warriors, whose duty it had been before the scourge removed them. So much was this the case that in some villages the inhabitants, even when reinforced by the women and children, were still too few to be able to drive all their animals to water daily. They were therefore reduced to the expedient of driving their sheep and goats down one day, and the camels the next, and so on alternately.

Their household utensils were few, and simple in construction. Their milk-vessels were either of wood, hollowed and shaped, or of plaited string, made watertight with gum. Some of the vessels of plaited string were further strengthened by a covering of raw hide stitched with gut. They were made in all sizes, ranging from a tiny measure holding scarcely a pint to large vessels holding two or three gallons. They also construct a rude spoon from plaited string. They possess a few gourds, doubtless obtained by barter from other tribes. They use the bladders of animals for the purpose of holding fat, and for other purposes, such as satchels and bags.

The pack-saddles for their camels and donkeys are made of wickerwork. They are very light and strong, and answer the purpose admirably. The donkey pack-saddle consists of two elongated oval frames of bent wickerwork laced with strips of hide in a similar manner to the gut in a tennis racquet. These frames are then connected with two broad bands, which are fastened to their lower edges and pass over the donkey’s back. The forage or household effects, or whatever has to be carried, is packed on the donkey, being kept from slipping by the frames, which are then tied with cords on their upper edges, one to the other, thus making the package complete and snug.

Their weapons consist of spears, shields, and bows and arrows. The spears are very light, and do not look at all dangerous. The blade is of the usual laurel-leaf shape, common to the Suk, Turkana, and Kamasia tribes, though one or two of Somali pattern are occasionally seen.

Their shields are also of the shape peculiar to the Suk and Turkana. Made of buffalo-hide, they are of a very narrow oblong shape, with a peculiar curve when seen in profile. They are ornamented with a tuft of feathers at the top. They are now usually constructed of ox-hide, as, since the rinderpest, the buffalo is very scarce, and a buffalo shield is valued accordingly. There are also a few of the wickerwork shields of the Reshiat in use among them.

Their bows differ in shape from those of the A’kikuyu and Wa’kamba, in that they are turned forward at the ends, in a similar manner to the conventional Cupid’s bow. So far as I could ascertain, their arrows are not poisoned.

They do not use clubs as weapons; at least, I saw none that could be used as such. The only club they carried consisted of the kernel of the doum nut fastened on to the end of a slight stick some eighteen inches in length, a hole being bored longitudinally through the nut, and the stick inserted. The kernel was in many cases ornamented with small coloured beads, which were inlaid when it was new and comparatively soft, the whole then finished off by being covered with a thin layer of gum.

That the reports of the powers of the Rendili in warfare were not devoid of foundation was borne out in a striking manner by facts which came under our observation. Many of our visitors showed livid scars on the left forearm and breast. Inquiry revealed the fact that the warriors who wished to be accounted brave in warfare dispensed with their shields altogether, receiving on their left forearm those spear-thrusts they were unable to avoid. This is, as far as I know, a unique characteristic among African savages, though I am open to correction on that point. The fact that the Rendili, besides attacking the Borana, have also successfully raided the Wa’embe and the A’kikuyu of north-east Kenia speaks well for their courage and enterprise. Most of the elders we met showed great scars on the arms, breasts, and thighs—relics of spear-thrusts received in the sanguinary conflicts of their hot-blooded youth. The tribe now shows only the merest traces of its former greatness, depending mainly on the Burkeneji for protection from outside interference, though they are still by no means to be despised.

The Burkeneji, noting the ravages of the small-pox on their once all-powerful neighbours, were not slow in profiting by the lesson. When the scourge appeared, they sent their young men away to separate camps, and so preserved them. They were able to do so without inconvenience, as they did not own such numbers of animals as the Rendili, who would not send their youths away, as they wanted them to look after their flocks and herds—a short-sighted policy which cost them very dearly.

Now, the Burkeneji were perfectly willing to protect the Rendili, but in return they considered that they ought to be allowed the right to help themselves from the Rendili flocks whenever they felt so disposed; and to do them justice they fully acted up to this idea, without fear of reprisals. It seemed to me a very peculiar state of affairs. The two tribes lived together, that is, their villages were intermingled, and they travelled together; yet the Burkeneji constantly raided the Rendili, and though the Rendili did not seem to like it, they never openly resented the depredations.

Old Lubo once complained to us that he had been raided during the afternoon—as a matter of fact, the raid took place not five minutes’ walk from our camp—and a few score of sheep and two women had been looted from him. We inquired why he made no attempt to recapture them. He opened his eyes widely at the novelty of the idea.

“We do not fight between friends,” he said.

Notwithstanding their fighting qualities, both the Rendili and Burkeneji were very anxious about the Masai. They seemed to live in dread of them. We were frequently asked if we had seen any Masai on our march up, and whether we thought they were coming to the Waso Nyiro. Large parties of Masai “elmoran” (warriors) had occasionally attempted to raid the Rendili, but were almost always unsuccessful, the principal reason being the inaccessibility of the country and the nomadic habits of the tribe.

On the march the Masai elmoran carries next to nothing in the way of provisions, trusting to find cattle on the road, which he can use for food, after massacring the owners. Thompson describes the ceremony of the departure of a Masai war-party thus—

“For a month they devoted themselves to an indispensable, though revolting preparation. This consisted in their retiring in small parties to the forest, and there gorging themselves with beef. This they did under the belief that they were storing up a supply of muscle and ferocity of the most pronounced type. This strange process being finished and the day fixed on, the women of the krall went out before sunrise, with grass dipped in the cream of cow’s milk. Then they danced, and invoked N’gai for a favourable issue to the enterprise, after which they threw the grass in the direction of the enemy. The young men spent several hours at their devotions, howling out in the most ludicrous street-singer fashion, ‘Aman N’gai-ai! Aman M’baratien!’ (We pray to God! We pray to M’baratien!). Previous to this, however, a party had been sent to the chief ‘lybon’ of the Masai—M’baratien—to seek advice as to the time of their start, and to procure medicines to make them successful. On their return the party mustered and set off!”

MASAI ELMORAN IN WAR ARRAY.

It will be seen that under these conditions it was a very difficult matter to successfully raid a tribe like the Rendili, to reach whom they had to cross uninhabited and desolate country for ten days or more, and generally to arrive at their prospective victims’ camping-ground starved and emaciated with their rapid and difficult march, to find that the Rendili had withdrawn with all their flocks and herds still further into the depths of the wilderness. Weakened by want of food, and fatigued almost beyond endurance, there would be nothing for the war-party but to retrace their steps, it being quite hopeless to attempt to find the Rendili in the desert, in which they were quite at home. So, sadder and wiser, the crestfallen elmoran would return, many dropping by the way from hunger and exhaustion, till a pitiful remnant of the once proud and arrogant war-party would totter home, to rest and recuperate before starting on another raid on the A’kikuyu, where the prizes, if few in number, did not entail so much inconvenience in the collection.

CHAPTER XIV.
THE SEARCH FOR LORIAN.

Exchanging presents with the Rendili—El Hakim bitten by a scorpion—We start for Lorian without guides—Zebra—Desolate character of the country—Difficulties with rhinoceros—Unwillingness of our men to proceed—We reach the limit of Mr. Chanler’s journey—No signs of Lorian.

The climate was still all that could be desired. The heat in the daytime was terrific, but the air was so dry that it was quite bearable. No dew fell at night, and sleeping in the open was, in consequence, an unmixed pleasure. Our camp was about 1200 feet above sea-level, and the temperature during the day could not have been much less than 120° Fahr., which dropped at night to from 85° to 90° Fahr.

I made several short trips into the surrounding country in search of fresh meat, but except a solitary grantei or wallerei at intervals, the country was devoid of game. The flocks and herds of the Rendili roamed so far afield in search of pasture that all the game within a day’s march had been driven away. The guinea-fowl were very wild, and I found my 20-bore was unable to deal with them, as it would not kill far enough. Also we considered it unwise to do any shooting in the near vicinity of the Rendili or Burkeneji villages, as the women and children, being unaccustomed to firearms, were very much frightened by the explosions, and it might possibly have proved a cause of friction, which we of course wished to avoid.

About ten miles away to the north-east was the “Marisi-al-lugwazambo,” or Zambo Plateau. It was of a most imposing-looking formation, its sides being as steep and clean cut as if they had been shaped with a knife. The sandy plain extended right up to the base of the plateau, which rose fully 500 feet above the level of the surrounding country. The plateau was composed chiefly of gneiss rock, with large blocks of lava liberally sprinkled on its surface and sides. It is about twenty-five miles long, with an average breadth of five miles.

A few days after our arrival Lubo came into camp with a present of fifteen sheep. In return we gave him some coils of brass and iron wire and about thirty yards of marduf, with which he professed himself very pleased.

In and around our camp there were large numbers of centipedes and scorpions, and it was quite exciting sometimes when a centipede was discovered snugly ensconced in the blankets, just as one was going to turn in. El Hakim, while turning over some pieces of cloth, when making up Lubo’s present, was stung in the hand by a large scorpion. It was pure white in colour, and consequently lay unnoticed among the folds of the cloth. His arm soon became very painful, the armpit and chest being immediately affected. Before the pain became too severe, however, I injected a solution of morphia with a hypodermic syringe, which relieved him greatly. The following morning the pain had almost entirely subsided, and in a couple of days no further ill effects were noticeable.

In the course of conversation with some of the Rendili elders, we were surprised to hear that Lorian was only two days’ march distant. We were very much surprised, as Mr. Chanler made it at least forty-five miles’ march over extremely difficult country, beyond the furthest eastern spur of the Zambo Plateau, which itself lay some fifteen to twenty miles distant from our camp. We expressed our incredulity, but we were assured that the Rendili could reach it in two days. We concluded, therefore, that, making every allowance for characteristic Rendili exaggeration, Lorian was much nearer than we had thought, and we had half decided to make an attempt to reach it, when a statement by the assembled Rendili to the effect that there were “plenty of elephants down there,” clinched the matter. We asked for guides, and as Lubo promised that they should be forthcoming, we made our preparations for a journey to the mysterious Lorian.

The next day, as no guides had put in an appearance, El Hakim and George went over to Lubo’s village, to find out the reason for the delay. Lubo, excusing himself, said that he was looking for guides, but so far he had not got hold of any one who knew the way. Two more days passed, but still no guides were forthcoming. Lubo was full of excuses and promises, but as far as he was concerned the matter was allowed to drop. Eventually we determined to make the journey without guides. We could always follow the river, which of course would be a more tedious journey, but there seemed no other way out of the difficulty.

On August 30th, therefore, we made a start, taking with us only a dozen men, and leaving Jumbi and the bulk of the men in charge of our camp, with instructions to continue buying sheep. The tents were left behind with most of our other impedimenta, as we intended travelling as lightly as possible. We took with us merely a blanket or two, the necessary culinary utensils, my camera, some spare ammunition, and a change of clothing apiece.

On leaving camp we skirted the north bank of the Waso Nyiro for some miles, deviously threading our way among the palm trees. It was a glorious excursion, this tramp through the cool dark glades beneath the palms, where the remnants of the bright sunshine which filtered through the leafy canopy overhead gave the scene the appearance of the interior of a vast cathedral dimly illuminated by rays of sunshine through stained glass windows. The effect was heightened by the occasional glimpses between the palm trunks of the smooth shining surface of the river, over which numbers of brilliantly coloured kingfishers darted to and fro like the falling fragments of a shattered rainbow.

Presently we emerged on the river-bank at a likely looking spot for a crossing. As we did so, a sliding, slipping sound, followed by a dull splash, warned us of the presence of crocodiles, and an examination of the bank showed us that three or four of the loathsome reptiles had been basking in the sun at that very spot. The tracks were, however, those of comparatively small ones, probably not more than six or eight feet long. Across the river several others of about the same size, as yet unaware of our presence, were basking on the sandbanks. The noise made by the porters soon roused them, and they also disappeared, with a wriggle and a flop, beneath the swirling stream. The river not being very deep, scarcely four feet at the deepest part, we entered the water and waded across, the men shouting and splashing with great vigour, while casting many a sidelong glance at the turbid current. Once across, our search for Lorian had commenced in good earnest, and setting our faces to the eastward, we strode forward on a course parallel to the south bank of the river.

An hour later we saw a herd of zebra, and George and I, after a long and careful stalk, secured four. They were in prime condition, and very plump, yet, strange to say, the country appeared to produce nothing more nourishing than occasional clumps of coarse grass, or rather straw, as it was burnt yellow by the fierce rays of the sun. These four zebras were a veritable windfall, as they not only enabled the men who accompanied us to lay in a few days’ supply for our journey down the river, but by sending a messenger back to Jumbi he was enabled to send for the remainder, which was sufficient to feed the men remaining in camp for some days.

We camped on the river-bank, which we had some difficulty in regaining, having to cut our way with knives and axes through the densely interlaced bush and creepers which fringed the water’s edge. The weather was delightful, though the heat in the open was terrific, this camp being situated within one degree of the equator, and not more than one thousand two hundred feet above sea-level.

On starting the following morning we found that the river curved away to the northward, rounding the easterly spur of the Zambo Plateau. As we proceeded, the luxuriant tropical vegetation gave way to scattered acacias and patches of burnt-up elephant grass. The soil underfoot also changed in character, the rocky outcrops and boulders of quartz and gneiss almost entirely disappearing. In their place were vast stretches of smooth shining sand, alternated with patches of loose brown earth, as soft and crumbly as starch, which made travelling a matter of great toil and difficulty. Game was very plentiful. I shot a grantei during the morning, and when we halted for lunch I secured three water-buck.

After we had eaten and rested awhile we resumed the march. The aspect of the country grew worse and worse. The brown crumbling soil gave way under our feet; it seemed so rotten that it was unable to bear our weight, and at every step we sank into it over our knees, our passage raising a brown impalpable dust which choked our eyes, ears, and nostrils in a most uncomfortable and disconcerting manner. The mules suffered even more than ourselves. It was impossible to ride them, as at every stride they sank up to their hocks in the rotten earth, and floundered about in a most pitiful and distressing manner. The sand, which seemed so smooth and firm on the surface, was also honeycombed underneath by some agency or other. I had a nasty fall from this cause during the afternoon’s march. I was riding the big mule, when the sand suddenly collapsed under her forefeet and she went down on her chest, afterwards rolling over on my leg, pinning me to the ground. In her struggles she kicked me in the side several times, inflicting severe bruises. Ramathani secured her head, and I was pulled from under her, feeling badly shaken and very faint. The mule then broke away and raced across country, kicking her heels in the air in delighted freedom. She was not caught for over an hour, during which I had to stumble along in the burning sun as best I could, with my head spinning like a top, and my temper considerably above the boiling-point. We concluded a weary march by sundown, and again camped under the palms on the river-bank.

These palms formed a home for large troops of baboons and little monkeys, who chattered unceasingly. After our meagre meal of fried meat we retired. The moon was in the first quarter and shed a little light after the sun had set, and we laid back in our blankets and, gazing up at the palms, spent an hour or so in desultory conversation, or perhaps discussing our route for the morrow. As the sun set the night-birds appeared, and tuned up, preparatory to their usual concert, lasting from sunset to sunrise. One bird in particular went regularly up and down the scale, starting from D, and mounting by leaps and bounds over a couple of octaves, descended again. This performance was repeated with maddening insistency during the greater part of the night.

At sunrise on the morning of September 1st we were again on the road. We saw several herds of water-buck on the banks of the Waso Nyiro, but they were very shy and most difficult to approach. The river ran in a direction almost due north. The further we followed it to the north and east the scarcer became the vegetation. Rhinoceros became once more unpleasantly numerous, and during that morning’s march we dodged several who at one time bade fair to disperse our little company. I suppose that they have their uses, though they are inconvenient at times. I know of nothing better for livening up the monotony of an otherwise uninteresting march, than a crusty old rhino who has just been roused from a refreshing nap. A lion does not create half so much excitement. El Hakim and George had to bestir themselves on one occasion during the morning, in order to prevent accident. It was in this wise. I was marching ahead, and contemplating as I went the manifold beauties of nature. A few yards behind me rode in silence El Hakim and George, also contemplating the beauties of nature—or were they thinking of the approach of lunch time? Anyhow, we were some few hundred yards ahead of the men when an agonized yell from Ramathani, who was in the rear, caused us to look round. There, not forty yards away, were two rhinoceros, a mother and a half-grown young one, coming straight for us with speedy but noiseless footsteps. I instantly took up a strategic position on the opposite side of an adjacent bush, and became an interested spectator, taking the precaution, however, to slip a cartridge into my rifle in case it should be needed. El Hakim and George dismounted with such rapidity that they almost seemed to fall off. Letting go the mules, who dashed away at full speed, they also selected a bush from which to view the procession, both of them being unarmed. The rhinos were by that time hardly half a dozen yards behind them, and scarcely had they slipped behind their respective bushes when the brutes charged right between us and went on. Not twenty seconds could have elapsed from the time Ramathani’s warning shout reached us to the time the rhinos passed, but to us it seemed nearer twenty minutes. I give this instance—one of many—to show how pleasantly one is kept on the qui vive in the districts where the rhinoceros abounds, be the landscape ever so monotonous, or the march ever so weary.

After a march lasting from sunrise till ten o’clock in the forenoon we halted for breakfast, or lunch, as we variously called our first meal, according to the time of day at which we made our halt. The continuous meat diet was getting very monotonous and unpalatable, chiefly owing to the absence of sufficient fat for cooking purposes. Our tobacco, of which, owing to some inadvertence on our departure from the Rendili camp, we had brought only a very small supply, gave out on this day, and we were thus deprived of another solace in the midst of the trials and difficulties of the journey.

After we had breakfasted we made our simple preparations for resuming the march, but to our dismay we found that the mules had disappeared. The man in charge of them while they were grazing had carelessly let them wander, and they were not to be found. We eventually discovered their tracks leading back over the path we had traversed in the morning, and we immediately sent some of the men in chase. They returned in an hour with the refractory animals, and we set off once more on our journey down the river. We saw immense herds of game on the road, including giraffe, buffalo, rhinoceros, grantei, and water-buck, and now and again we passed old elephant and lion tracks.

To the south and east the shining desert extended away to the horizon, with only a few thorny acacias to relieve the general appearance of sameness. Troops of baboons squatted on the sand or skipped about like children at play, their hoarse barks being interpreted by our little puppy as a challenge, which, however, he wisely declined to accept. At sundown we camped under a clump of palms, and turned in early, thoroughly tired out. For myself, during the whole of our journey to Lorian and back, I slept in paragraphs, so to speak, waking at intervals all through the night, a result contributed to in no small degree by the up-and-down-the-scale-two-octaves bird I have already mentioned.

The following day we were on our way again at sunrise. An hour afterwards we entered the most desolate region it had so far been our ill luck to traverse. Trees and palms disappeared, and their place was taken by coarse dry elephant grass eight or ten feet in height. The country bore unmistakable signs of having been under water not so very many seasons before. It was pitted in every direction by elephant, rhinoceros, and hippopotamus tracks, which must have been made when the earth was very soft, as they averaged from a foot to eighteen inches in depth. These caused us great inconvenience, as, being hidden by the long grass, we stumbled in and out of them in a most unpleasant way, jarring our teeth and our tempers with great frequency. In our endeavours to find some sort of a path we lost the river, leaving it as we thought on our extreme left, and in searching for it, to our intense surprise, we walked nearly into it. It was flowing between perfectly perpendicular banks about six feet in height, and in a direction at right angles to its course at the commencement of the morning’s march. It was now little more than a large ditch, and required to be followed very carefully, as there were no trees on the banks to mark its position. This immense dried swamp is called by Mr. Chanler the Kirrimar Plain. Personally I am of opinion that in wet seasons, or after a series of wet seasons, that portion of it immediately adjoining the river forms part of a swamp or chain of swamps, to which the name Lorian is given. My reasons for this supposition are given in the next chapter.

We followed the river very carefully, as, in the event of its taking a sudden curve, we should have been absolutely lost, and in that case must inevitably have perished. Indeed, the men were already very frightened, and grumbled openly. They declared that we had got to the end of the world, and had much better turn back before worse befell us. The presence of numbers of rhinoceros had very much frightened them. We encountered over thirty of them on one march; and quite half a dozen times had to warily circumnavigate some ungainly member of the species who was grazing directly in our path. We paid no attention to this display of insubordination on the part of the men, but pushed on, every obstacle to our progress only serving to encourage us still more to persevere in our effort to reach the much-desired goal. The heat on this open plain was tremendous; it must have been above 120° Fahr. We were only a matter of about 800 feet above sea-level, and consequently encountered the full force of the vertical rays of the equatorial sun.

At midday we halted, and, creeping under a bush for shelter, ate our frugal meal of broiled meat, lying at full length on the ground. During the meal a whisper of “ungruwe” (pig) from Ramathani brought El Hakim to his feet. Seizing his rifle, he stepped outside and shot an old boar, who, with two or three sows, was quietly feeding about fifty yards away, utterly oblivious of our presence. His flesh was tough and tasteless, not in the least resembling pork.

Several of the men came to us during the halt, to inquire how much further we were going, as they thought that we had got into the country of the “Afreets” (devils), and it would be advisable to go no further. We assured them that two or three days at most would see us at the end of our journey. The country looked so desolate and barren that I do not wonder its appearance worked on the superstitious minds of our men. We laughed at them, but they were only half reassured. We started again, and continued to follow the river, which was now not more than ten yards wide. Large crocodiles swarmed on every mud-bank, some of them immense brutes, even El Hakim declaring that he had never seen larger. One ugly reptile which started up and plunged into the water at our approach, must have been fully twenty feet long or more. El Hakim appropriately called him “the father of all crocodiles.” This loathsome reptile, with its blunt and massive snout and immense scaly body, reminded me of the “Mugger” of the ford, in one of Kipling’s stories. The largest crocodiles were dark-brown in colour, but there were multitudes of smaller ones, some bright green and others bright yellow, two of which I shot during the afternoon. When we camped that evening we built huge fires between ourselves and the water, in order to prevent the possibility of any of our party being seized during the night by the hideous reptiles.

The following day was merely a repetition of the previous one. We advanced through the same dried-up swamp, with its innumerable pits, hidden by the same coarse grass and reeds. If anything, the landscape seemed to have acquired an added tinge of desolation. Rhino were a drug in the market, owing to the increased supply, but zebra and grantei stock advanced several points during the day. We followed the river very closely, not only because it was our only guide, but because the hippopotamus, which abound in this portion of the Waso Nyiro, had, in wandering from pool to pool, trodden a rough path on the crest of the perpendicular bank of the river, which made walking much easier than if we had forced our way across the plain in endeavouring to cut across curves in the river-bed, though it necessitated a longer walk. This path was also a favourite sleeping-place for wandering rhinoceros, and on several occasions we walked almost on to them, as they were hidden by the tall grass. A shout generally brought the sleeping brute to his feet with a snort and a stamp, and he would scurry away over the plain the picture of indignant reproach.

During the march a slight misunderstanding between El Hakim and myself came very near to landing us both in an extremely perilous position. One rhino we came up with did not wake so easily, and as he lay right across the path, we had to shift him by some means. Standing fifteen or twenty yards away, we shouted, but he did not move; so El Hakim stole softly up to within three or four yards of him, and, stooping, he broke off clods of earth from the edge of the river-bank and threw them at the sleeping beast, just as a small boy might chivvy a cat with stones. Even that did not move him, so I stole softly up to El Hakim with his ·577, which I handed to him. Instead of taking it, he seized my small-bore rifle, and I, thinking he meant me to try my luck with his, proceeded to cock it; but while I was doing so El Hakim let drive at the brute’s head with my rifle. If he had warned me of his intention, I should have told him that my ·303 shot very high at short range, but he fired before I could do so, and missed its brain altogether, only drilling a clean hole through the ear. Up jumped the rhino and faced us. I waited for El Hakim to fire again, while he, it afterwards appeared, waited for me to put in a shot with the heavier weapon. The rhino, meanwhile, made a rush at us, and we were both prepared to slip over the bank into the river and chance the crocodiles, when the brute changed its mind, and, swerving aside, galloped away across the plain. Mutual explanations ensued, and we proceeded on our momentarily interrupted journey. In cold print it would seem as if we had both betrayed some indecision, but the reader must bear in mind the fact that from the time El Hakim fired the shot from my ·303 to the time the rhino swerved and galloped away, an observer could not have counted more than four or five seconds.

The river still diminished very much in volume, as a large amount of water must of necessity be absorbed by the surrounding dry country, while the loss by evaporation must be enormous. According to our calculations we should now have been almost in sight of Lorian, having travelled quite sixty-five miles down the river from our Rendili camp.

On reaching a pool situated in a bend of the river, we came upon a school of hippopotamus wallowing in the mud at the water’s edge. We hid ourselves on the bank about ten yards away, and watched them for some time, as one very rarely has a chance of seeing them, unobserved, at such close quarters. Presently one of them rose, and, climbing the bank, walked slowly towards us, grazing as it came. El Hakim sat down—his favourite position for a shot—and dropped it dead with a bullet through the neck. At the sound of the report a terrific splash from the pool announced the alarm of the other members of the school, and with one accord they dived to the bottom, whence they reappeared at intervals to breathe, accompanied by much blowing and snorting. With shouts of joy our men instantly pounced upon the fallen hippopotamus, its meat being greatly esteemed by them as food. We also were badly in need of fat, which the dead animal supplied in great abundance. On cutting it open we found layers of rich yellow fat, a couple of inches thick, between the skin and the body. Great fires were at once lit, and for the next hour or two the spot resembled the deck of a whaler when the blubber is being boiled down. The men got a plentiful supply of fat for themselves, and, after an hour’s boiling and rendering, we also obtained two buckets of rich fat congealed to the consistency of butter, which it resembled in colour.

At this stage the men again wished to turn back, but as we could not have been very far from Lorian, we thought it would be a pity to give up the search; so we announced our intention of proceeding, a decision which they received with every sign of discontent and even terror.

At one o’clock in the afternoon, having disposed of the remains of the hippo, we once more made our way down-stream. Just before sunset we sighted the immense sycamore tree which marked the limit of Mr. Chanler’s journey, and from whence he sighted Lorian. Pushing forward with renewed vigour, we finally reached it, and looked round with eager eyes, fully expecting to get a glimpse of our long-sought-for goal.

Not a sign of the swamp could be seen! The river, scarcely half a dozen yards in width, meandered eastwards, flowing smoothly and sluggishly between its low banks. On every side stretched the silent plains, in some places perfectly bare, and in others covered by patches of dried reeds, while a few solitary thorny acacias stood like ragged sentinels amid the general desolation.

Lorian had vanished!

1. Head of old bull buffalo. The horns are very rugged, one being broken at the tip.
2. Waller’s gazelle.
3. Thompson’s gazelle.
4. Greater Koodoo.
5. Grant’s gazelle shot south of Kenia.
6. Lichtenstein hartebeeste.
7. Grant’s gazelle shot near the Waso Nyiro.

CHAPTER XV.
RETURN FROM THE LORIAN JOURNEY.

An interrupted night’s rest—Photography under difficulties—We go further down-stream—Still no signs of Lorian—Sad end of “Spot” the puppy—Our men refuse to go further—Preparations for the return journey—Reasons for our failure to reach Lorian—Return to our Rendili camp—Somalis think of going north to Marsabit—Ismail asks me to accompany him—I decline—The scare in Ismail’s camp—Departure for M’thara.

We were bitterly disappointed at this unexpected turn of affairs, but, after a short consultation, determined to proceed on the morrow still further down-stream, in the hope of reaching the tantalizing swamp. In our eagerness to reach the sycamore tree we had outstripped our half-mutinous men, and they were slowly coming into camp in twos and threes long after our arrival. Two of them had deserted during the march, an M’kamba and the ruffian Sulieman, who happened to be carrying a small black portmanteau which contained all George’s and my kit. This he had cut open and had abstracted therefrom my matches, fishing-line, and the whole of my stock of needles and thread, so that we were left without the wherewithal to repair our clothing. These desertions were the more serious in that they necessitated our sending two of our remaining men back to the Rendili camp so that Jumbi might apprehend the deserters, or, failing that, to at least prevent him being deceived by a spurious message purporting to come from us, to the effect that he was to hand over a quantity of trade goods to Sulieman on the pretence that we required them—a trick often practised by Swahili deserters from a party operating away from their main camp. Sending these men away reduced our already weak party by four men, whose loads had to be distributed among the remainder; a proceeding which still further increased their discontent.

That evening we dined on the hippopotamus tongue, which proved a right royal dish. It was wonderfully fat and tender, and, as it weighed about seven pounds, it afforded a substantial as well as a very pleasant meal. We turned in early, and as I wished to change the plates in my camera, I manufactured an extempore dark room by throwing a blanket over a bush and creeping beneath it. I could not, however, use it with safety till the moon had set, at 2 a.m., so I instructed the sentry to call me at that time, and, getting out my package of spare plates, placed them, together with my collapsible ruby lamp, beside me, and endeavoured to sleep. We had arranged our beds at the foot of the sycamore tree, and, as it turned out, right in the path used by the hippopotamus and rhinoceros in their nightly wanderings along the banks of the river.

We had slept for perhaps two hours, when a shout of alarm from the men was followed by a stampede, as the two mules broke from their picket ropes and bolted. Waking up with a start, I was surprised to see El Hakim and George, clad in the very scantiest attire, come flying across my bed as if they were practising the high jump. I glanced round, and an instant later rose hurriedly from my blankets and joined them. A rhinoceros, coming along the path, had rushed among our sleeping men and charged through, scattering them right and left. He then rushed at the fire and stamped on it, and when I awoke was coming down with the speed of an avalanche to the spot where we had been sleeping. We, however, with a sudden access of modesty, due perhaps to the knowledge of our attire, bashfully retreated to the other side of our friendly sycamore tree, where some of our men were already perched among the branches, while the rhinoceros passed on without further demonstration. Inquiries revealed the fact that none of the men were hurt, with the single exception of Docere ben Ali, who had grazed his shin. He said the rhinoceros did it, but I rather inclined to the belief that he did it himself in his haste to climb the tree at the commencement of the stampede. We retired to our blankets, thanking our lucky stars that nothing worse had happened. Not more than half an hour later, when I had just got comfortably to sleep again, I was once more aroused by El Hakim uttering my name in an intense whisper. In an instant I was wide awake, and saw him and George standing on their blankets gazing intently into the darkness. A cloud had temporarily obscured the light of the moon, and it was at first somewhat difficult to distinguish objects a few yards distant. When my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, I became aware of the presence of a herd of hippopotamus standing irresolute within a dozen yards of my bed. One, ahead of the others, was slowly advancing in a line that would bring him right across our blankets, and was at that moment not five yards away. We stood undecided; we did not wish to alarm them, as they might have stampeded over us, and in that case we might just as well have stayed at home and died an easier death beneath a steam-roller. It was too dark to use a rifle with any effect, while it was open to the same objection. Meanwhile the herd was slowly advancing and the situation was becoming more and more strained, when our dog sprang at the foremost with a snarl, while “Spot,” the puppy, yelped defiance in his shrill treble. The herd paused, turned, and disappeared like a flash in the opposite direction, with a thundering of feet which constituted an unpleasant reminder of what might have happened had they come in our direction. The puppy took all the credit of the affair to himself, and came up to be patted and stroked, wagging his diminutive tail in a manner expressive of the utmost contempt for wild beasts in general, and hippopotamus in particular. We turned in again and tried to sleep once more.

I was called when the moon had set, and proceeded to rig up my al fresco dark room. During the two alarms either El Hakim or George had trodden on my ruby lamp and had stamped it out quite flat. It took me some time to bend it back into something of its former shape, while the sentry stood by and struck matches to enable me to see. Finally the lamp was more or less satisfactorily adjusted and the blanket placed in position. In the middle of the operation an excited whisper of “Faru, bwana,” caused me to drop my apparatus and scramble hurriedly out. I took one glance round, yelled to El Hakim and George, and we all three hastily took up our position behind the tree, while the oncoming rhinoceros danced through the camp at fifteen miles an hour and disappeared.

We began to think that these visitations were becoming too much of a good thing. The men, too, manifested an anxious desire to emulate the fowls of the air and roost among the branches of our friend in need, the sycamore tree.

Returning to my dark room, I completed the operation of changing the plates, and once more sought my blankets, in the pious hope that we should not be disturbed again.

But it was not to be. On two other occasions during that eventful night we were compelled to rise hurriedly from our blankets and betake ourselves to the shelter of the friendly sycamore, while a too impetuous rhinoceros whirled past; and the dawn discovered us blear-eyed and weary from the effects of our nocturnal gymnastics.

When the usual time for starting the day’s march arrived the men flatly refused to go a step further. We argued the point with them, and finally induced them to make one more march, promising that if we did not find the “Siwa” (swamp) then we would return. With that understanding we set out, marching at a good pace, as the ground was rather firmer underfoot than hitherto.

Just before midday we passed a small herd of grantei, and I managed to secure one at long range. An hour later a couple of bull buffaloes were seen, quietly feeding on the opposite side of the river. El Hakim put in some pretty shooting at fifty yards, bringing them both down. We crossed the river and camped beside the carcases.

It was here that we sustained a loss which we all felt very deeply, and which even now I cannot recall without a sigh. “Spot,” the puppy, who had endeared himself to us all by his lovable disposition and pretty ways, had gone to sleep in the grass while El Hakim was engaged with the buffaloes. When we crossed the river he was forgotten, and not until we were making our arrangements for camping, did a shrill bark from the other side of the river call our attention to the small owner thereof. We immediately sent a couple of men across the river to bring him over, but they had to go fifty yards or so lower down to do so. The gallant little chap would not, however, wait for the men, but plunged boldly into the stream and swam towards us, wagging his tail in infinite delight at his own daring. He had scarcely got three-parts of the way across when he gave a sudden sharp yelp of pain and disappeared under the surface with a jerk, leaving us standing on the bank speechless with consternation and distress. Ramathani ran up with a rifle, but I waved him away in despair. A hundred rifles could not have restored our gallant little dog to us, the crocodile which had seized him having never shown itself above the water. There was nothing to do but to turn sorrowfully away and console ourselves as best we might.

We called the men together after we had eaten and asked them if they were willing to go on still further, but they were unanimous in their determination not to go a yard further down the river. “Takufa yote, bwana” (We shall all die, master); “Mangati tele hapa” (There are many wild beasts here); “Afreeti winge hapa” (There are plenty of devils about here); and “Tu’nataka kurudi, bwana” (We wish to return, master), were among the remarks which greeted our ears at the mere suggestion that we should go further down-stream. Finally we compromised. We asked for two volunteers who would go down the river, there and then, for some hours’ march, and see if they could see anything of Lorian. If they discovered it they were to return, and we would all go on together there, but if they saw nothing of it, we would return to our Rendili camp on the following day. This was agreed to, and two of the men, Asmani ben Selim and Kati (an M’Nyamwezi), accordingly started off.

They returned late the same evening, and reported that they had been some miles down the river and had seen no signs of the swamp. We were greatly disappointed, but in accordance with our agreement made arrangements to commence our return march on the following day. We could not have done otherwise, as if we had signified our intention of proceeding further to the eastward in defiance of our promise, the men would have deserted in a body during the night, and gone back to the Rendili camp.

It took Mr. Chanler nine days, starting from a point opposite our Rendili camp, to reach the sycamore tree under which we had slept—or rather tried to sleep—the night before, while the same distance only occupied us five days, which is easily explained by the fact that we had already a general idea of the course of the Waso Nyiro, while Mr. Chanler had to feel every mile of his way. We were now a march beyond the sycamore tree, which formed the limit of his journey, and our men had been some miles farther still down the river and had not seen the swamp. The only hypothesis I can advance which will account for our failure to find Lorian at the place where Mr. Chanler saw it on January 7th, 1893, is this.

In very wet seasons, or after a series of wet seasons, the Waso Nyiro overflows its banks and covers a portion of the Kirrimar Plain, forming a vast swamp, or more probably a chain of swamps, to which the name of Lorian has been given by the natives. That the portion of the Kirrimar Plain immediately adjoining the river is at times under water, is beyond a doubt, as I have already mentioned in the previous chapter. After a long drought, by which the supply of water brought down by the Waso Nyiro would be materially curtailed, these swamps dry up, those lying up-stream, owing to their higher level, naturally drying up first, and consequently the western edge of the swamp, or swamps, called Lorian, would gradually recede more and more to the eastward as the drought increased. At the time of our visit in September, 1900, there had been no rain in Samburuland for three years, according to the Rendili, and it is therefore quite reasonable to suppose that Lorian, for the reasons enumerated, had receded many miles to the eastward of the point at which Mr. Chanler turned back, having satisfied himself that Lorian was merely a swamp and not a lake as he had supposed. It is quite possible that the swamp seen by Mr. Chanler may not have been Lorian at all, but may have been only one of the chain of swamps to the west of it and higher up the river, and which had dried up prior to our visit. The evaporation in that terribly hot climate (scarcely one degree north of the Equator, and not more than 700 feet above sea-level) must be enormous, and would be sufficient to dry up even a large lake providing it was not well fed with water, as in the case of Lorian. A shallow body of water with a very large surface-area, such as this swamp, would be very easily dried up in one season if its river-borne water-supply was much reduced.

On the morning of September 5th we reluctantly turned our backs on the elusive Lorian, and retraced our steps. Nothing of interest occurred on the return journey beyond the usual weary marches over the desolate country already described, punctuated at intervals with a rhino charge or a hunt for meat. I remember one rhinoceros which amused us very much. We were making our way across a belt of bush which somehow managed to draw sustenance from the sand, when the familiar but subdued shout of “Faru” caused us to glance hurriedly round. Facing us ten yards away a large rhinoceros was stamping and snorting. In a few seconds he made up his mind to investigate, and charged down upon us. Something impelled George to place his fingers in his mouth and send forth a shrill ear-piercing whistle. The charging rhinoceros stopped suddenly in mid-career, so suddenly, indeed, that he almost sat on his hind quarters. Such a look of porcine surprise came over its ugly features that we involuntarily burst out into a roar of laughter, which apparently completed the ungainly brute’s discomfiture, as it turned and galloped away with every symptom of fear. We also shot every crocodile we could get at on the return journey, as a set-off against the loss of our lamented pup, but it failed to afford us any satisfaction.

On the fifth day after we started on our return journey we arrived half-starved and footsore at our Rendili camp. In the light of this experience I can quite believe that the Rendili were right when they asserted that they could reach Lorian in two days, always supposing Lorian to be in the position roughly assigned to it, viz. read 1° 5’ 0” N. lat. and 30° 30’ 0” E. long. A native perfectly acquainted with the country would abandon the Waso Nyiro altogether, and cut across the big curve which the river makes to the north and south-east, and travelling across the desert in a direction east-north-east from the Zambo Plateau, he would only have a fifty-mile march before him—by no means a difficult matter for a native, as he would only require to make two marches of twenty-five miles each in forty-eight hours. If I ever make another trip down the Waso Nyiro I shall certainly adopt that plan myself.

The moment we reached camp we ordered a sheep to be killed, and when it was cooked the three of us sat down and finished it. We were very hungry, and it was only a small sheep. While we were satisfying our material wants, we summoned Jumbi that he might give an account of his stewardship. It appeared that he had bought a couple of hundred sheep in our absence. The Somalis under Ismail Robli had moved their camp one march up the river, following the Rendili and Burkeneji, who were moving their villages up-stream, the adjacent pasture being finished. There was a recrudescence of small-pox among the Rendili, and many were dying daily. Such was the news.

On the following morning I rode over to Ismail’s camp to hear what he had to say. I found the Somalis very despondent. Business was decreasing, as, owing to the presence of two safaris, the market was glutted with trade goods. They were buying camels, which was necessarily a very slow process, as the camels could only be bought for so many sheep. These sheep had first to be purchased for cloth or wire, and Ismail was finding out that between the value of a sheep he wished to buy, and that of a sheep he wished to sell, there was a wide difference.

Ismail also informed me that a party of Wa’Embe had come to trade with the Rendili and Burkeneji, and had stayed at a Burkeneji village further up the river. When the Wa’Embe heard that the Somalis were camped among the villages of their hosts, they inquired of them why they had not attacked the Somalis and speared them. “We have beaten them twice,” they said, “and killed many of their men with our spears. Their bullets did not hurt us. Why do you not spear them?” This advice was not lost on the Burkeneji, and they would have probably acted upon it in the near future; but Ismail, hearing the news from his spies, went forth to attack the mischief-making Wa’Embe, who forthwith fled without giving battle.

The next day we also moved our camp up-stream, and pitched our tents afresh on a spot a few yards from the river-bank and 500 yards or so from Ismail’s boma. We understood from Ismail that he intended going north to Marsabit, and for some reason he was very anxious that I should leave El Hakim and George to return alone and accompany him northward. He was very pressing in his invitation, which, however, I consistently declined. If Jamah had been alive, nothing would have pleased me better than an opportunity of penetrating further northward to Marsabit and perhaps Reshiat and Marle at the north end of Lake Rudolph, but I entertained such a hearty contempt for Ismail, that the prospect of some months’ journey in his company did not offer sufficient inducement to warrant me in altering my arrangements.

After we had settled down in our fresh camp we concentrated our attention on exchanging the remainder of our cloth for sheep, so that we might start on our return journey to Nairobi. El Hakim wished to get back to Nairobi in November for personal reasons, otherwise we should have gone back to M’thara, and after buying a fresh supply of food there, and getting the forty odd loads of beads which were in N’Dominuki’s charge, we had intended journeying to Lake Baringo and thence northward into the country of the Turkana.

Business was very slack until El Hakim hit on a bright idea. He called the Rendili chiefs Lubo, Lokomogo, Lomoro, and other lesser lights together, and pointed out that although we had dwelt amongst them for almost a month, so far only one of them, Lubo to wit, had brought us a present. “It was well known,” continued El Hakim, “that when ‘friends’ visited the Rendili they were always presented with many sheep, and even camels, as a token of good-will.” He was therefore reluctantly compelled to conclude that we and the Rendili were not friends, a state of affairs which filled his heart with sorrow. But still, it was not yet too late, and if those who had not yet brought sheep as a present did so within the next few days all would be forgotten and forgiven.

The effect was magical. Early the following day Lokomogo stalked into camp, followed by a couple of men driving a small flock of thirteen sheep, which, after much circumlocution, he introduced as his present. El Hakim immediately made him a return present of a quantity of cloth, wire, and beads, of the value of something like twenty per cent. above the market price of the sheep. Lokomogo was delighted, and departed with his present with every sign of pleasure and good-will.

The other chiefs must have been waiting to see how Lokomogo’s present was received, as the next day, finding it had been satisfactory, the presents came in thick and fast, every present consisting of exactly thirteen sheep, neither more nor less than that brought by Lokomogo. Each donor received a return present over and above the market value of the sheep, and business fairly boomed, everybody being satisfied. Had we offered treble the value of the sheep in the ordinary way of business, we could not have bought any, as the market was glutted with trade goods. El Hakim, however, touched them on their weak spot when he made a ceremonial transaction of it, and the result fully justified his claim to a certain amount of insight into the working of the native mind.

About this time I was prostrated with a very severe toothache, which confined me to my tent for some days. By the time I was about again our scheme for the exchange of presents had worked so well that our cloth was almost exhausted, and we were nearly ready to take our departure for M’thara. We had now upwards of 500 sheep, and it promised to be a tedious task to transport them safely to Nairobi; more especially as we were extremely doubtful of our reception by the A’kikuyu of north-east Kenia.

Late in the evening two days before our departure from the Rendili settlement, a couple of the Somalis came into our camp exhibiting every symptom of alarm. They brought a message from Ismail to the effect that the Burkeneji warriors had killed and eaten three sheep[15] preparatory to attacking him and us. The attack was to take place during the small hours of the same night. His information emanated from some friendly Rendili.

We had already retired for the night, but we donned our clothes and went over to the Somali camp to see Ismail.

The Somali camp was in a great state of excitement. Ismail himself was serving out ammunition to his men with a lavish hand, and others of the Somalis were cutting bush and otherwise strengthening the boma. We did not quite believe their story, but as it would do no harm to take ordinary precautions, we returned to our own camp and proceeded to put it into a state of defence.

It was already well protected on two sides by a thick belt of bush, so thickly interlaced as to be impenetrable, and by a large fallen thorn tree, which, while easily seen through, formed a barrier as impassable to naked savages as a barbed wire entanglement. More thorn-bush was cut down and a strong barrier erected on the river side. On the opposite side, where the men’s tents were situated, we built another thorn fence, leaving the tents outside with the fires burning as usual, in the hope that in the event of hostilities the apparently unprotected tents would draw the first attack. We did not think that the enemy would feel inclined to make a second.

The men all slept under arms in the centre of our boma, with the exception of the sentries, whom we posted some distance outside the camp. The 8-bore, loaded with slugs, was placed handy, together with half a dozen of the blue flares, which would instantly light up the scene for a hundred yards round with an intense radiance as awe-inspiring to the enemy as it would be useful to ourselves. When our defensive preparations were completed we retired fully dressed to our blankets, and endeavoured to snatch a little sleep, with such success that we did not wake till sunrise.

We temporarily demolished the “boma” on the side on which the men’s tents stood, so that we should not give our scheme away should we be visited during the day by any of the Burkeneji, as, for all we knew, it might yet prove useful.

The Burkeneji were undoubtedly restless, as we found that they were moving their villages down the river again, some of them going as far as the eastern spur of the Zambo Plateau.

The next night we took the same precautions as on the previous evening, but still nothing happened.

On September 20th we had finally disposed of all our stock, and were now quite ready to leave for M’thara. Ismail informed us that he was going north to Marsabit, and bade us good-bye.

When we retired that night we took the same precautions against surprise. About eight o’clock in the evening we were aroused by the report of a rifle from the direction of the Somali camp. After a short interval we heard another, then another, and then a sound of rapid firing mingled with shouts and yells. We sprang up and got our men under arms and waited events. A dead silence succeeded the former pandemonium, nor did we hear another sound. We concluded that the Burkeneji had attempted to rush the Somali camp, and, finding them prepared, had abandoned the attack.

Next morning we packed up in preparation for the start. While we were thus engaged we were visited by Ismail, who came over to explain the cause of the disturbance of the preceding night.

It appeared that the Somalis, as well as their men, were still very nervous on account of the supposed hostility of the Burkeneji. After they had gone to sleep, their cattle, which were corralled in a small enclosure in the centre of their boma, were by some means stampeded. Breaking out of their enclosure, the frightened animals rushed hither and thither among the sleeping porters, who, waking up under the impression that the Burkeneji were upon them, were immediately stricken with panic, and crawling under blankets, bushes, or anything that afforded them the slightest cover, they yelled dismally for mercy, thus adding to the general confusion. Ismail and his lieutenants seized their rifles and rushed out of their tents, to find some of their men trying to break out of the boma, some crawling about on their hands and knees, crying for mercy, while others were brandishing spears and shouting defiance. They likewise jumped to the conclusion that they were being attacked, and that the enemy were actually within the boma; and under the influence of a panic, no whit less than that of their men, they without further ado raised their rifles and fired into the confused groups of men, seen dimly in the flickering light of the camp-fires. After a time order was restored, and it was found that there had been no attack at all. Two of their porters were shot dead in the confusion, and one Somali received a Snider bullet in the forearm; while a horse which Ismail had bought from the Rendili, and of which he was very proud, received a bullet in the chest and another in one of its hoofs. The cattle were probably stampeded by the scent of a lion which had been prowling round the boma, and which, some days before, had actually, in broad daylight, seized and killed a cow belonging to Ismail.

Congratulating Ismail on the state of his nerves and on the discipline of his camp, we bade him adieu once more. We then shook the dust of the Rendili settlement from our feet, and started amid the joyous shouts of our men on our journey up the river en route for M’thara.