An ivory trader in North Kenia

by A. Arkell-Hardwick

FOOTNOTES:

[17] “After Big Game in Central Africa,” by Edward Foa, F.R.G.S. (Translation from the French by Frederic Lees), 1899, pp. 59, 60.

CHAPTER XIX.
FIGHT AT MUNITHU AND DEPARTURE FROM M’THARA.

Attack on Bei-Munithu’s village—Poisoned arrows—The burning of the village—The return march—Determined pursuit of the A’kikuyu—Karanjui—George’s fall—Return to the M’thara Camp—Interview with Bei-Munithu—His remorse—Departure from M’thara—Rain—Hyænas—A lioness—Bad country—Whistling trees—A lion—Increasing altitude—Zebra.

An hour before sunrise we arose, and, giving the men the most precise instructions to husband their ammunition to the utmost and leave any shooting to George and myself should it become necessary, we marched on to Bei-Munithu’s village. The moment we sighted it, where it stood on the summit of a hill, we rushed forward with a cheer, and, swarming up the side of the hill, we succeeded in getting into the village before the inhabitants knew what was happening. It was captured without a shot being fired, the natives fleeing out at the other end and into the bush. Instructing the men to collect as much food as they could carry, I took three or four with me and made for the huts where our goods were stored. Breaking them open, we soon had the loads out, and I then proceeded to Bei-Munithu’s hut. Bei-Munithu himself was nowhere to be seen. On searching his hut I found a large quantity of our goods stowed away in odd corners, and I was not at all surprised to find that some of them were a portion of the goods which were supposed to have been stolen from Bei-Munithu’s charge by the Wa’gnainu, and in which that old arch-traitor had evidently gone shares. I also found and promptly confiscated an old muzzle-loading musket, which was among his most treasured possessions.

By this time, as the men had collected all our loads of trade goods and also a few loads of food, I gave the command to retire. As I did so the phwit! phwit! of poisoned arrows aroused our attention, and a few of the tiny feathered shafts fell into the village and stuck quivering in the ground. It was very evident that the A’kikuyu did not intend to let us get away without a struggle. The men had also collected a few head of cattle and a large number of sheep and goats; and as it seemed that we should have to fight, I determined to make a running fight of it, and make it a good one while we were about it, and so teach the enemy a lesson, though we were sadly handicapped for want of Snider ammunition.

When I had got my little force together, I first set fire to the village, and then formed them up outside. As the enemy would most likely harass our rear, I took the rearguard myself, putting George in command of the bulk of the men, with the loads and the captured stock. I asked him at the same time to see that the men did not fire a shot till it was absolutely necessary. Barri, the Somali, took the advance guard of our little column.

By this time the smoke of the burning village and the cries of the fugitive inhabitants had aroused the whole country-side, and from the manner in which the war-cries resounded over hill and dale on every side, we discovered that we were in for a rather rough time. Our little force therefore moved off in the order described at ten minutes to eight in the morning, on the return march to M’thara.

The first hour’s march took us through a number of scattered villages, the inhabitants of which fled on our approach and joined the ever-growing force which threatened our rear. The villages were built in the midst of extensive banana plantations, and it was here that the first symptoms of serious opposition manifested themselves. A number of warriors concealed among the bananas commenced to pepper us with poisoned arrows at very short range, though fortunately none of the men were hit. One bold warrior let fly an arrow at George at not more than thirty yards, and then, catching my eye, he subsided behind a banana tree. He did not take into account the penetrative power of a ·303, and I think he must have been a very surprised native indeed when my bullet passed through the pulpy stem of the banana. Another let fly an arrow at the mule, which was being led, and missed her by an inch. George caught him with the 20-bore, dropping him, and then, swinging round, stopped another adventurous warrior who was creeping up to him with the other barrel, to the native’s intense discomfiture.

After a little more light skirmishing of this description on the route, we reached a small clearing, and on coming out into the open were cordially greeted with a shower of arrows from a large number of the enemy concealed in the bush on the opposite side. A smart fusillade from our men put a temporary check on the proceedings of this informal reception committee, and we continued our advance. Another warrior, who recklessly exposed his person in order to make insulting remarks with greater effect, retired precipitately with a much better idea of the theory of projectiles than he had hitherto possessed; and another who received a spherical ball in the leg at 200 yards from George, ceased to take any further interest in the proceedings. After this interchange of civilities the enemy kept out of range for awhile, and allowed us to cross the remainder of the banana plantations in safety, and into the thick bush on the other side; however, they were merely gathering reinforcements and preparing to attack in earnest.

It being, I believe, an axiom of warfare that “a retreating column should resemble a scorpion and carry its sting in its tail,” I picked out Resarse ben Shokar and Asmani ben Selim as being two of the coolest men, and they, together with a boy named Koranja, who carried my cartridge-bag and binoculars, formed my rearguard. George, with the main body of the men, had his hands full in preventing them firing away their few cartridges at the scenery, and then throwing down their loads and bolting—a proceeding which would have resulted in immediate and overwhelming disaster.

When we got into the thick bush the enemy tried several times to rush us, but the bush was as much in our favour as theirs, as it was too thick for them to use their arrows, for which providential circumstance I was devoutly thankful. Once or twice some of the bolder spirits advanced openly along the rearward path in the endeavour to rush my two men and myself, and cut us off, but the Lee-Metford is a beautiful weapon under such circumstances, and they abandoned the attempt. The enemy were constantly increasing in numbers, and the noise they made with their shouting and war-cries was terrific. I think they did it to keep their courage up, but it is a terrible waste of breath. They soon afterwards concentrated in force on our flanks and rear and tried another rush, but we were able by judicious shooting to keep them from getting too close.

The bush now ended in a ravine, at the bottom of which was a small stream. On the opposite bank of the stream was the edge of the thick forest which I have previously mentioned, and which extended as far as the open space called Karanjui, an hour’s journey further on. While George superintended the crossing of the men and animals, I and my two men squatted down in the bush at a turn in the path, about a hundred yards in the rear, and prepared a surprise for the enemy. They were howling in a most unmelodious key, and between the howls they informed us that they were coming to kill us, a piece of news which seemed to me to be quite superfluous under the circumstances; they added the interesting information that they were going ahead of us into the wood, and were there going to ambush us. I had already guessed that such was their intention, but I determined that such an awkward situation should not occur if I could prevent it. Our men in their turn inquired why, if they were coming to kill us, did they not come and carry out their intention? It appears that these exchanges of repartee are part of the ceremonial of A’kikuyu warfare, though at the time it seemed to me to be very childish. The enemy then shouted, “Resarse kutire mwaka,” literally, “Your bullets have no fire;” meaning to say that they did not hurt—evidently Bei-Munithu’s teaching. They were asked to “come and see,” an invitation they accepted. My little ambush worked perfectly, and they were within twenty yards when I opened fire. Two of them were put out of action at the first discharge, and the others retreated in disorder, having learnt a wholesome lesson.

A message from George then reached me, informing me that all the men and animals were now safely across the stream, so I followed him. Just as I got across the stream in my turn, some of the enemy, who had crossed higher up, made another rush, one of the most dangerous they had so far attempted. They got close enough this time to throw spears, one of which killed an unfortunate goat. I used my revolver, and George his gun, and they once more retired. One of the A’kikuyu who threw a spear was shot with an arrow by one of our Wakamba, who carried a bow and arrows which he had found in Bei-Munithu’s village. The M’kikuyu’s arm was still uplifted in the act of throwing the spear when our man’s arrow caught him in the side of the chest, under the armpit. The light arrow went halfway through his chest as easily as if he had been made of butter. If I had not seen it myself, I should not have credited their tiny arrows with such penetrative power. After crossing the stream we were beyond the boundary of the Munithu district, and I did not think it probable that we should be followed any further, as these people do not as a rule go into the territory of another tribe; but in this case I was mistaken.

During our march through the forest they made one or two abortive attempts to close with us, but finally contented themselves with howling, and, between the howls, threatening what they would do to us when they got us to Karanjui. It was my intention to try to reach Karanjui first, so that we might have a reasonable chance of crossing it before the enemy surrounded us. This we succeeded in doing, and we were halfway across when the leading warriors, forsaking the cover of the forest, trooped out into the open about 300 yards away. Asmani and Resarse, for whose conduct I have nothing but praise, waited behind to assist me in delaying the A’kikuyu, and so enabling George with the men and cattle to get across and into the cover of the forest on the other side. One of the enemy, bolder than the others, climbed on an ant-hill 70 yards distant from me, and danced at us in derision, making obscene gestures and insulting remarks. He desisted, however, on receiving a message from the ·303 that he was unable to disregard.

The next move of the enemy was to try to work round the western edge of Karanjui, which was about 500 yards away, and so get ahead of us. I took a few long shots at them, and wounded one man (who I afterwards found out to be a nephew of Bei-Munithu) in the leg, and soon stopped that game. George and the others were by this time once more in the forest, so I retired from my place in the open, and with my two men took up a fresh position at the entrance to the path leading into the forest. The enemy could not then see me, and, supposing I had gone on, they all came out into the open. When I saw their numbers I fairly gasped. “Wow,” said Resarse, “Watu winge, bwana” (There are many people, master), while Asmani merely grunted. They poured out of the forest paths in never-ending lines, till I thought every native in North Kenia was present. The plain soon became fairly black with them, and as they shouted and danced with their gaily painted shields and glittering spears flashing in the sun, I thought that a very short time indeed would see the end of my career. If “Captain Kettle” had been present at that moment, he would have considered it a particularly appropriate time to have composed a short piece of poetry; for myself, I simply broke out into a profuse perspiration, and proceeded to count my ammunition. It was with a horrible sinking feeling in the region of the belt that I discovered that I had only twenty rifle cartridges left, with about eighteen revolver ditto, and for a moment my nerve almost failed me as I realized what a really serious position we were in. It was only for a moment, however, and shouting to George to hurry on with the men as fast as possible to Chanjai, and bidding the boy Koranja go on with them, I settled down with Asmani and Resarse in a last desperate endeavour to turn the pursuit.

My plan was to expend my twenty cartridges in long-range rifle practice, and then hurry along after George, and trust to my revolver en route. After the first shot or two I found the range, and dropped one man at 300 yards, and then, as his companions scattered, I wounded another at 500 yards. The result was extremely gratifying, as the whole body of the enemy, and there must have been at least a thousand of them, then took cover and grovelled on their faces in the grass. I breathed freely once more, as I felt that I had got the enemy in hand. Soon a few of them rose to their feet again, but I waited till most of them had done so, and once more started in with the rifle. Down they all went again as regularly as clockwork. Asmani and Resarse shook with laughter at the sight. It really was too ridiculous to see the plain, which one moment would be covered with fierce black figures, and then on the sound of a shot the whole crowd disappear as one man, and nothing would be seen but the yellow tint of the waving grass.

After an expenditure of ten cartridges in this manner the A’kikuyu seemed to come to their senses, and they shouted that they “did not know the Wasungu were present,” but they now acknowledged their mistake, and added something to the effect that they were now quite convinced that the rifles of the Wasungu were not made solely for ornament. Without replying, I and my two men hurried on in George’s wake, and soon came up with him. I found that he had forty cartridges left, so that we had still a reasonable chance of getting back to camp.

We were not attacked in the second belt of forest, and on reaching the next open space we found to our infinite relief that the pursuit had almost entirely ceased; only a few natives following us, and those taking good care to keep out of range. We crossed another bush-belt and came out into the open plains at the foot of the Chanjai hills, and there the enemy finally abandoned the chase.

After a few minutes’ halt to rest, we resumed our march to camp. George now mounted the mule, intending to ride for an hour and then give me a turn, as we were both rather tucked up. We had marched for perhaps half an hour, when the mule suddenly shied, and, the girth breaking, George was thrown heavily to the ground. He fell on the back of his head and lay still. I hurried up, but before I could get near he was picked up by a couple of the men. When I finally reached him I asked if he were hurt, and he answered in a strange hollow sort of voice that he was “not hurt, only badly shaken.” This statement he repeated several times in a most aimless manner. I shook him a bit, but could get nothing more out of him. Suddenly he asked me if he might lean on me; he appeared to keep his feet with difficulty. In a few moments he seemed to be sufficiently recovered to ride again, and as the men had now caught the mule, I readjusted the saddle and helped him up, advising him to watch the mule closely in case she shied again. “All right,” he said, still in the same strained voice, and he went on again, while I resumed my position in the rear. Ten minutes later I saw him stop and wait for me to come up. When I reached him he asked in his natural voice what had happened? He had absolutely no recollection of his fall from the mule or the events immediately following it till he came to, and found himself on the mule quite ten minutes later. I told him what had happened, though he was manifestly incredulous. Beyond a few bruises and a headache he was not much hurt, and he never felt any serious after-effects.

We reached camp at 3 o’clock in the afternoon, after a solid seven-hour march, three hours of which were spent in continuous fighting. I did the whole distance on my feet, and by the time we reached camp felt pretty well done up.

The casualties on the enemy’s side, so far as I could ascertain, amounted to about nineteen. On our side we had one goat killed; a marvellous escape, all things considered.

When we got into camp we found everything safe. El Hakim was very surprised at our account of the persistent manner in which the natives had followed us, and expressed himself in warm terms on the way in which we managed to get away without any serious mishap.

Soon after our arrival we were surprised to see old Bei-Munithu come into camp. He had come to beg our pardon, and to swear eternal friendship in future. He bore no malice, which, to my mind, is a most engaging trait in the Kikuyu character. The A’kikuyu know when they are beaten, and a few hours after a life-and-death struggle with one, in which they had been vanquished, they will come into one’s camp and talk over it with a primitive frankness which I think delightful. Of course, should matters go the other way, they would just as cheerfully dance over your dismembered corpse, and should a favourable opportunity arise they would not hesitate to attempt any underhand trick; it is all the same to them. If their traitorous intentions are discovered and frustrated, they reason among themselves, “This is a very sharp and clever M’sungu. Let us go and see him, and eat food in his camp;” and away they go on a visit to their erstwhile enemy, and, after eating and making merry at his expense, they bid him a cordial adieu and perhaps attack him again next day. It is all so delightfully childlike, and primitive, and savage, that one cannot find it in one’s heart to bear any malice.

A’KIKUYU WEAPONS.

1. A’kikuyu shield.
2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. Spears in use among the A’kikuyu.
8. Axe.
9. Knife.
10. Leather quiver for poisoned arrows.
11. Sword in leather sheath.
12. Iron club formed of two iron nuts from the railway.
13. Sword.
15. Poisoned arrow, showing leather wrapping to preserve the poison.
16. Poisoned arrow, unwrapped.
14, 17, 18. Wooden clubs.

To return to Bei-Munithu. That old savage admitted that he had been very foolish, and had only been treated as he deserved, and undertook in future to treat all white men who came into his district with the greatest consideration. In the mean time he would like to make blood-brotherhood with George and myself. He was sorry, he added naïvely, that he had not done so on our way up. I told him that I hoped it would be a lesson to him, and pointed out that N’Dominuki, who had remained faithful, was now reaping his reward in the presents we showered upon him. Bei-Munithu then returned to his village, escorted by Jumbi and half a dozen men as far as Karanjui, in order to prevent the possibility of the Wa’Chanjei waylaying and murdering him.

As we had now a moderate quantity of food, we proposed starting on the following morning on our march round Kenia. The rain, however, once more descended in torrents, and drove us to the shelter of our tents for the next two days. We occupied ourselves during that time, partly in arranging and distributing loads, and partly in dispensing ointment to the constant stream of women and children who came into camp, suffering from chiggers. We also bought a few live fowls, which we carried with us.

Apropos of fowls, and as an instance of the ignorance often displayed by natives about anything outside their own particular concerns, I give an experience which once befell, El Hakim at Nyemps, the settlement at the south of Lake Baringo. On one occasion when visiting that place El Hakim took with him a dozen or so live fowls. Leaving there on one of his periodical excursions after elephants, he placed them in the care of an old man in Nyemps. Owing to unforeseen circumstances he did not return for six months. On his arrival there at the end of that time he inquired after his fowls. The old man who had been charged with their care led the way outside and pointed them out. As El Hakim did not see any chickens he concluded that the old man had eaten the eggs, and inquired if such were the case. After a little the old man seemed to understand, and, shaking his head, beckoned El Hakim to follow him. He led him into a hut, and displacing a stone which covered a hole in the centre of the floor, he proudly exhibited to El Hakim the six months’ collection of eggs, which were stored in the hole against his return. Asked why he had not eaten them, the old fellow looked amazed; he was apparently quite ignorant of the fact that they were eatable. He immediately called some of his cronies to him, and explained the seeming wonder to them. Their eyes glistened when the name of food was mentioned, and they immediately begged El Hakim to give them the eggs, which he did. They then doubtfully proceeded to test the truth of the M’sungu’s words, a proceeding which, as the eggs were some months old, led to the most disastrous results, and they became more than ever convinced that El Hakim was a most terrible liar. Further inquiry showed that they were perfectly ignorant of the nature of eggs, and of the part they played in the economy of nature.

At eleven o’clock in the morning of the fourteenth day after our arrival at M’thara from the Waso Nyiro the rain ceased, and taking advantage of the sunshine, we made hasty preparations for a start.

A number of Wakamba who had wandered from their own country during the famine, desired to return with us, and we allowed them to do so. This necessitated a rearrangement of the loads. There was, of course, a quarrel over the ivory. Resarse seized the 75-lb. tusk, and held it against all comers, until he was allowed to carry it. His previous load weighed barely 60 lbs. This was a striking illustration of the force of training. For centuries the Arabs, for interested reasons, have instilled into the mind of the Zanzibari that it is an honour to carry the largest tusk; with the result that it is now a part and parcel of safari “dasturi” (custom), which is like unto the “laws of the Medes and Persians, which altereth not.” However, after the usual squabbling, everything was arranged more or less satisfactorily, and bidding N’Dominuki farewell, we started on our long tramp to Nairobi.

Scarcely had we been an hour on the road when down came the rain again. It was impossible to get the sheep or cattle to travel in the rain. All they would do was to turn their backs to it and stand motionless. The rain soon converted the narrow path into a gutter, and when the downpour finally ceased, just before dusk, we were splashing through water over our ankles. We only made a little more than an hour’s ordinary march, and even then some of the sheep did not get into camp until long after dark. The hyænas were very bold, and in spite of the extra men whom we sent to the assistance of the drovers, they got among the sheep in the darkness and killed several.

All night long it rained in torrents, and we awoke in the morning to find over thirty sheep stretched out lifeless on the sodden earth. It was really most disheartening.

We made a start again at ten o’clock and marched in a westerly direction, the country gradually ascending as we progressed westwards.

From our camping-place the following evening we looked down on M’thara and Embe, while the temperature was appreciably lower. On the next day’s march we crossed over country of a rocky and gravelly formation, dotted everywhere with the peculiar whistling trees, which made a very weird and mournful sound in the breeze. It was a small thorny tree from four to eight feet in height, the leafless branches of which are covered with hollow spherical seed-pods, black in colour and the size of a plum. An insect bores a small hole in this shell, which, when the wind blows, causes it to emit a musical note, similar to that produced by an Eolian harp. These whistling trees covered the country for miles, and whistled in all keys at every breath of wind; the sound now increasing in volume, and anon dying away in a mournful wail that sounded almost uncanny.

We saw a solitary lioness on the road, but as soon as she saw us she made off at top speed over the open, before we could get within reasonable range.

We camped at some water-pools which the rain had left in a depression in the rocky surface. The men informed us that they had heard in M’thara that there was no water beyond these pools for ten days’ march; but though there were no rivers marked on my map, we felt convinced that there must be some rivers on the north side.

Joseph Thompson says, “A very few streams, and those of the smallest, rise on the east and north side” (of Kenia).

On the contrary, we had found the east of Kenia exceedingly well watered, though there were certainly no very large rivers, and as events proved, Thompson was equally at fault as regards the north side. But then he never visited north or east Kenia, his knowledge of those parts having been derived from native sources.

However, we felt certain that we should find water, so we pursued the uneven tenor of our way in spite of the maps.

We were still ascending, and the air began to get very cold at night; though the sun’s rays, when it was not raining, beat down during the day with undiminished vigour. Owing to the formation of the country, walking was by no means an unmixed pleasure, sand, gravel, and loose blocks of lava, and fragments of white quartz, making travelling both tiresome and fatiguing.

There was no game, and even the vegetation was very scanty; a few stunted thorn trees, and a species of aloe with red flowers, and some isolated Euphorbias forming the sole representatives of the vegetable world. The giant-branched Euphorbias (Nyikæ pax), presented a peculiar appearance with their huge cactus-like stem and vertical branches, which gave them the appearance of an immense candelabra. Some of them were thirty feet in height, with a stem six or eight feet in diameter. Great ravines, similar to those of east Kenia, but without their luxuriant vegetation, traverse the country from south to north. They required careful negotiation. Some of them had to be followed for miles along the edge before a suitable crossing-place was discovered. They all have considerable streams of water in the bottom, which flow north, and eventually join the Waso Nyiro.

We saw another lion, and stalked him for awhile, but he retreated into a patch of bush near one of the ravines and could not be found, nor could we waste much time in looking for him.

Late in the afternoon, on October 27th, we crossed a large ravine, and on climbing the opposite slope we emerged into open green country. As far as the eye could see the grass-grown surface rolled away in undulating ridges, without a tree or a bush to relieve the eye. It reminded me very much of portions of the Downs in Sussex, from which the trees had been removed. A herd of zebra disported themselves on the plain, and after a careful stalk I secured one of them for the men, who were already growing short of food. We camped that night on the grass, the air being very much colder, the temperature being certainly not more than 55° Fahrenheit.

CHAPTER XX.
ROUND NORTH AND WEST KENIA TO THE TANA.

The primeval forests of North Kenia—Difficult country—Ravines—Ngare Moosoor—Rain—Ngare Nanuki—Cedar forests—Open country—No game—Upper waters of the Waso Nyiro—Death of “Sherlock Holmes”—Witchcraft—Zebra—Rhinoceros—Sheep dying off—More rain—The A’kikuyu once more—Attempt of the A’kikuyu to steal sheep—Difficult marches—Rain again—Maranga at last—The Tana impassable.

For the next day or two we travelled over rolling grass-land, scarred by ravines, the sides of which were clothed with magnificent forests. These forests are very beautiful, and convey a welcome sense of restfulness and peace to the tired and weary traveller who enters their dark and silent precincts. The contrast from the glare of the sun-baked lava plains, dotted with the glittering quartz blocks, which were visible to the north, was exceedingly grateful; and the easy walking over the soft yielding moss was most delightful after the loose pebbles and stones and stiff yellow grass we had stumbled over for the previous few weeks. Tall junipers and podocarpus reared their stately heads towards the sky, the masses of grey beard-like lichen, pendant from their massive boughs, giving them a hoary and venerable appearance that accorded well with the deep silence of these forest glades, whose solemn aisles are seldom, if ever, disturbed by man. Even the birds and insects seemed unwilling to break the universal silence, and the soft hum of some flying insect, or a subdued chirp from a solitary bird were only occasionally heard. That most irreverent of animals, the Zanzibari porter, hushed his speech to a soft murmur, impressed in spite of himself by the grandeur and solitude of these primeval glades. On the first day’s march over the grass plains we crossed three good-sized streams, and finally camped at some pools we discovered in the bed of a sand river, which sufficed for our own requirements, the animals having drunk all they required during the march. On that day I shot another zebra, but found they were increasingly difficult to obtain in this open country. They were very wild, and would not let me approach nearer than 600 yards. I risked a shot at that distance with the Martini, and as luck would have it, I dropped one beast with a bullet clean through the heart. On short rations we found that it required one zebra per diem to feed the men.

The next day we reached a large ravine, at the bottom of which flowed a large river, called the Ngare Moosoor (Egg River), which took us an hour and a half to cross. No game was to be seen, but luckily the men had enough food to last them for another day or two, as they still had some of the grain left which they had brought from Munithu.

MOUNT KENIA FROM THE NORTH.
(Distant about 12 miles.)

MOUNT KENIA FROM THE SOUTH WEST. (See page [349].)
(Distant about 30 miles.)

It rained hard during the night, but cleared up again at sunrise, and we resumed our march over the grass-covered downs. At midday we reached yet another ravine, the largest we had seen so far. Its sides were clothed with the same forest, but the undergrowth was thicker than usual. Not finding a place to cross the ravine, we threaded our way through the jungle in a direction parallel to it. It was extremely hard work, we having to cut our way with knives and axes for considerable distances. The simés of our Wakamba proved exceedingly useful at this work. The undergrowth was loaded with raindrops, which soon drenched us through, and at this considerable altitude (over 8000 feet) it was very cold in the shade, which rendered us still more uncomfortable in our soaked condition. Finally we found a Wandorobbo path, which led us to the bottom among some of the wildest forest scenery I ever beheld. A river flowed at the base, but we could not discover its name. It rained very hard in the afternoon, so we camped in the cedar forest on the opposite summit of the ravine.

The next morning we found many of the sheep had died during the night from the cold and exposure. After a short march we reached the Ngare Nanuki (Red water), wrongly spelled on the map as the Ngare Nyuki, and we crossed and camped on the further bank. No game was to be seen on the road, so we were compelled to kill ten of the sheep for food for ourselves and the men. The next march took us to a large river, called the Sirimon, which we crossed, though not without some difficulty, as the swift current swept the sheep away, so that the men were compelled to stand in the water and hand them across. The cedar forest on the other side was exceedingly beautiful, but the weather was very cloudy and uncertain, and this circumstance detracted somewhat from our enjoyment of the scenery.

We camped on the further bank of another stream, half an hour’s march beyond the Sirimon. We were then at an altitude of about 10,000 feet. To the south of the camp a huge cloud bank indicated the position of Kenia. Presently this cloud bank showed signs of dispersing, and I took the camera out into the open in the hope of obtaining a photograph of the peak of Kenia from its northern aspect. For over an hour I waited patiently while the cloud bank swirled hither and thither, at times disclosing a small portion of the peak in a most tantalizing manner; but just as I was beginning to despair of getting a chance before the light failed, the clouds parted for a moment, and to my great delight I secured the coveted exposure, which, though yielding a far from perfect negative, was as good as I could expect under the circumstances.

We were compelled to kill more of the sheep for food, as no game whatever was to be seen; the effect, I suppose, of the rinderpest. We saw thousands of skulls of cattle scattered over the plains of North Kenia, the remains of the vast herds of the Masai, who at one time used this stretch of country as a grazing ground. Some few of the remains were no doubt the tracks of parties of Masai elmoran, who, from their settlements at Kinangop and Naivasha, used this road on their raiding expeditions to M’thara, Munithu, and north-east Kenia generally.

On the following day, which on consulting my diary I find to be the 2nd of November, 1900, we started at eight o’clock in the morning, and an hour later reached a small stream. Crossing this without much trouble we marched for another two hours, at the end of that time reaching the upper waters of the Waso Nyiro.

The Waso Nyiro has always been supposed to rise in the Aberdare Range, and to flow in a north-easterly direction till it is joined by the Ngare Nanuki, and then to flow northward. This is a mistake, so far as it is supposed to rise in the Aberdare Range, as the Waso Nyiro really rises in the western side of Kenia itself, the comparatively small and muddy stream hitherto supposed to be Waso Nyiro being merely tributary to it.

At the spot only a few miles from its source, where we crossed the Waso Nyiro, it was already a fairly large and deep stream, with a very swift current. It lies at the bottom of a large ravine, which we were at first unable to cross, but after searching the crest for an hour we discovered a broad elephant path which took us down to the bottom, across the river, and up the other side. At the crossing-place the Waso Nyiro flows over dark coloured rock; the water was icy cold and most remarkably pellucid. Objects such as small stones, etc., in the bed of the stream, were surprisingly distinct; and but for the swiftly flowing current that distorted their outlines a little, it would have been difficult to believe that they were being viewed through from four to six feet of water. Taking this into consideration, I am in no way surprised that it is called the Waso Nyiro, literally clear water. Till that time the name had seemed to me to be somewhat of a misnomer, as the Waso Nyiro, for the 140 odd miles of its course that we had traversed, was a yellowish muddy stream, which belied its name.

The Masai from Gilgil and Naivasha, in their raids on North-east Kenia, most probably used the route we were then following—as instanced by the bones of the cattle—and would cross the river at the same spot. With their gift for appropriate nomenclature they, to my mind, could not do otherwise than name it the “Clear water,” in the same way as they named the Ngare Nanuki the “Red water,” on account of the apparent colour given to the water by the red gneiss rock over which it flows in that part of its course which lay on their route to and from North-east Kenia.

The Waso Nyiro rises on the west of Kenia; and, on reaching the base of the mountain, turns sharply north, being then joined by the stream which drains the eastern face of the Aberdare Range, and further on by the Ngare Nanuki.

We camped on the opposite side of the ravine, amid some of the loveliest scenery imaginable. The ground was covered with short green grass, resembling a well-kept meadow. Leleshwa bushes grew in clumps on every hand, forming some of the prettiest glades one would wish to see. The elephant path led through this bush belt, and out into the open ground to the westwards towards Kinangop. These elephant paths are the finest roads in Equatorial Africa. Almost human intelligence seems to have been displayed in the selection of their curves and gradients, while their solidity is beyond cavil.

Poor “Sherlock Holmes” was prostrated with tetanus at this camp. El Hakim said he could do nothing for him. When we marched the next day we were compelled to leave him behind with another man who was sick, in charge of Jumbi, who was to take care of them until we sent men back from the next camp to carry them on.

During the march another man, an M’kamba, deserted. On inquiring the reason for such an extraordinary desertion in such an inhospitable region, we were informed by the other men that they had intended to kill him because he had cast a spell on “Sherlock Holmes,” and so caused his illness; but he had got wind of their amiable intentions, and cleared out. Asked in what manner he had cast the spell, the men replied that he had gathered leaves of a certain plant and had strewn them on the path, and when his unsuspecting victim walked over them he was immediately smitten with disease. The reason for this deadly animosity appeared to be a purely domestic one, and had something to do with the deserter’s wife, to whom the sick man had paid more attention than her husband had considered desirable or necessary. We endeavoured to explain that there was no such thing as witchcraft, and their companion’s illness was more probably due to the cold and damp we were then experiencing, but without result, the men being firmly convinced that a malignant spell had been worked by the unfortunate husband upon the disturber of his domestic peace.

We were now travelling in a south-westerly direction towards N’doro, and hoped in a couple of days more to reach the inhabited districts. Game once more appeared in the shape of a solitary rhinoceros and a herd of zebra, which we saw grazing on the plains just outside our camp of the 3rd of November. I went after the zebra, while El Hakim and George tackled the rhino. I could not get nearer to the zebra than 400 yards, and I tried a shot at that range, but unfortunately missed. They never gave me another chance, and I returned empty-handed to camp.

In the meantime the others had worked down wind of the rhino, and then laid down on the plain in the brute’s path and waited until it almost walked over them. When he was quite close El Hakim put a bullet into its shoulder. The rhinoceros immediately charged, but the left barrel of the ·577 got home, and it turned and fled in a direction at right-angles to its previous course. El Hakim then took a running shot at the beast, smashing its front horn, but it continued its flight. As it was by that time quite 200 yards away, George took a shot at it with his ·303, and once more hit it, with the result that it only fled the faster, and they finally had the mortification of seeing it disappear in a belt of bush a couple of miles distant. They therefore gave up the chase and returned to camp. On their way back they were caught in a terrific thunderstorm, and got into camp half-drowned, much chagrined at their non-success.

It rained all night and until half-past nine the following morning, when we made another start. Some more of the sheep died during the night, which the men used as food. Latterly the sheep had been dying in batches of ten or twelve every night, and their numbers were now greatly reduced, with, of course, a corresponding reduction in our prospective dividends; so that, what with the weather and other things, we did not feel so cheerful as we might otherwise have done.

“Sherlock Holmes” died on the 4th, and we buried him beneath a heap of stones, in spite of the energetic protests of his companions, who desired that he should be left to the hyænas—the usual Wakamba funeral—as, strange to say, they appear to have a violent prejudice against burial.

We only travelled an hour on that day, as the rain once more descended in torrents and put a stop on our further progress. The country hereabouts was absolutely open, not a tree or a bush showing up anywhere, so that we were unable to build an enclosure for the sheep, or even, for lack of fuel, to light fires. On our right hand rose the lofty heights of the Aberdare Range, and behind them again the isolated mass of Kinangop reared its stately peak 13,120 feet above the level of the sea.

The next day or two were among some of the most miserable we had spent so far. It rained morning, noon, and night, and the poor sheep succumbed in ever increasing numbers. We were out of fresh meat. Mutton had grown distasteful to us, so we lived on beans boiled in hippo fat—a nourishing but monotonous dish.

On the 5th of November we once more reached the Tana at a place near its source. It flowed in a south-westerly direction, at the bottom of the usual deep ravine. It is here known as the Kilaluma, i.e. “fire water.” In the afternoon El Hakim was fortunate enough to knock over a Thompson’s gazelle, and we dined sumptuously. The sun also showed itself for an hour or so, and quite cheered us up. It, however, rained hard all night, killed twenty more sheep, and prevented us starting till after ten o’clock in the morning.

An hour later we crossed a small stream and found ourselves among some good native paths which led into nice-looking open bush country. Three hours later we camped, and sent men out to look for villages so that we might purchase food from the inhabitants, though as they were A’kikuyu, we were rather doubtful of our reception.

A rhinoceros charged through the camp while we were pitching the tents, scattering the men in all directions, though fortunately doing no harm, and disappeared into the bush on the opposite side of the camp.

At dusk a great crowd of A’kikuyu swaggered into camp, making a most infernal din, and waving knob kerries about in a very reckless manner. At first they seemed aggressive, but when we intimated our willingness to present sheep as payment for a few days’ supply of muhindi, they changed their tune, and the bartering then went on amicably enough, though accompanied by a terrific amount of noise, without which the A’kikuyu seem to be unable to conduct even the smallest business transaction. To the great delight of the men we secured five days’ supply of muhindi and a quantity of sugar cane, besides a little honey.

On inquiry we learnt that Maranga was four days’ journey to the eastward. The path lay through thickly populated country the whole way, and we anticipated some difficulty in traversing it without losing any of the sheep, as the A’kikuyu are expert thieves. We were on the south bank of the Tana, and consequently we should be compelled to cross it, as the country on the south bank, though comparatively uninhabited, was a mass of rugged hills, and practically pathless. We were not anxious to cross the Tana, as it would necessitate our re-crossing it at Maranga, and with the amount of rain which had recently fallen, we were very doubtful whether the ford would be practicable. We secured a guide for the following day, promising him a sheep if he took us safely to Maranga. We heard further that Mr. Hall, the Government officer, had established a station at Mbiri, a couple of hours’ journey from the south bank of the Tana opposite Maranga. This was, indeed, good news, as we were yearning to see a white face once more, and incidentally get something decent to eat. Another white man, whose name we could not ascertain, was stationed with Mr. Hall. He was the officer in charge of the Nubian troops who garrisoned the station.

At nine o’clock the following morning we broke camp and started. Half an hour later we crossed the Tana, here about six yards wide and waist deep. There was a very strong swift current, and this occasioned some difficulty when getting the sheep across. During the operation numbers of A’kikuyu volunteered to assist, but we considered it prudent to keep them at a distance. The road on the other side was very bad, consisting merely of a narrow footpath winding along the steep slope of a rounded hill, about halfway up. On each side of the path the grass was very thick and three to four feet high. Many A’kikuyu had concealed themselves in this grass, and endeavoured every now and then to quietly seize a sheep by the hind leg as it passed and then sneak away with it. This necessitated constant watchfulness on our part, as the sheep, owing to the narrowness of the track, were compelled to travel in single file, and were stretched over a quarter of a mile of path, so that it was impossible with our few men to guard the whole line at once. Small groups of natives followed us. They appeared very friendly, too friendly in fact, and they displayed quite an alarming desire to assist us in driving the sheep, though we consistently declined their kind offers, to their evident disappointment. It took us three hours to travel two miles, so we halted and camped. Luckily the rain kept off. The guide, on being questioned, promised us a better road on the morrow.

It rained a little in the night, and prevented our starting till nine o’clock. As the guide had predicted, the road was very much better. Another river, the Mogoroni, a tributary of the Tana, was crossed during the morning, and after a three-hour march, we camped once more.

On the way we passed through many villages and extensive plantations; indeed, from here to Maranga the country was very densely populated, and food was more than plentiful. At the various camps the natives brought us cow ivory for sale, but we were unable to buy it as cow ivory is confiscated by the Government. It seemed rather a shame to leave it, but under the circumstances we could not do otherwise.

At this camp we were visited by the paramount chief of the district, a Masai named Kwa-Ngombe. He was accompanied by many of his elmoru (elders) and some Wandorobbo. Kwa-Ngomba strode haughtily into camp and demanded a cow as a present. We promptly refused to accede to such a preposterous demand, and after he had repeated it, and was still met with a decided refusal, he stalked out of camp the picture of offended dignity. He himself had not brought even so much as a sweet potato, so that we were the more abrupt in our refusal. After his departure some of his elders and the Wandorobbo stayed with us for an hour or so for a chat. They gave us the general news of the district, and among other items of more or less doubtful veracity, they included an impossible yarn about some cannibal dwarfs who had visited Maranga since our stay in that place. They described them as “watu wafupi sana” (“very short men”), and indicated, by holding their hands that distance above the ground, that they were about four feet in height. They further stated that these dwarfs came to Maranga to buy people that they might eat them. We cross-examined them closely, for we did not at all believe their story. They were asked where these dwarfs came from. That question rather stumped them, but after a few moments’ cogitation they hit on the furthest place they could think of. “They came from beyond Mombasa!” said they.

On receiving this reply, we were convinced that the story was a pure fabrication, and said as much. They only smiled and changed the subject. We inquired at Maranga afterwards, and were confirmed in our opinion as to their untruthfulness. It is very strange that they should find so much amusement in such senseless and purposeless lies, though, to be sure, the practice is not wholly confined to the African native.

It rained hard all night, and the whole of the next day, so that travelling was impossible. We spent the day playing dominoes, going outside at intervals to watch the sheep die, and to grumble at our bad luck. It rained also all the next night and the greater part of the next morning; but it cleared sufficiently at midday to enable us to proceed. We therefore made a three-hour march and again camped. The clay paths were very steep and extremely slippery after the rain, causing us no small amount of trouble, while the sick and wearied sheep stumbled about in a most distressing manner.

After we had camped, I and the guide went on ahead for an hour or two in order to prospect the morrow’s road. To my great delight I saw Doenyo Sabuk, away in the distance to the south-east, and further to the south I saw the summits of the hills behind Nairobi, which lay rather less than sixty miles away. It seemed very strange to me to reflect that I was standing in the heart of Kikuyuland amid a would-be hostile people, to all intents and purposes as far away from civilization as if I was at the North Pole, and where at any moment a dispute over a stolen sheep would resolve itself into a desperate and pitiless fight for life; while there, scarcely sixty miles away, and on this side of the range of hills which seemed so near, lay Nairobi with its houses, its railway workshops, locomotives, Baboo clerks and ticket collectors, and all the varied and busy life of a modern colonial town.

During the night it rained again, and killed off some more of the sheep. We started early in the morning in the hope of reaching Maranga the same day, a hope, however, we did not realize.

The A’kikuyu made themselves rather obnoxious on the road, and one or two shots were fired by our men. A calf and sheep were stolen, the thieves getting clear away with their booty into the thick bush. If we had let the matter pass we should have had further trouble on the next march, so when we camped we sent for the chief of the district. When he appeared we informed him of the circumstance, and intimated at the same time that we should like to see him stay in our camp until the stolen property was restored. This apparently did not at all coincide with his ideas, as he immediately made a dash for liberty, meanwhile shouting to his warriors, of whom there were a great number in the camp, who disappeared into the surrounding bush like shadows. We had, however, anticipated just such a move on his part, and at a signal from us, Barri, the Somali, seized the chief and secured him, and I was under the painful necessity of handcuffing him to the tent-pole and putting a sentry over him. He then took quite a different view of the case, and despatched messengers, whom we had allowed into camp for that purpose, to the people who had stolen our animals. An hour or two afterwards the messengers returned with the missing beasts, and they were handed over to us with profuse apologies. We thereupon released the chief, telling him not to do it again, though, as a matter of fact, he did not know of the theft till we ourselves so abruptly informed him of it. We could not, however, but hold him responsible for any indiscretion committed by his people. On his release, in order to show him that we bore no malice, we presented him with a bead necklace and a coloured cloth, and asked him to bring us some sweet potatoes and yams, and anything else in the vegetable line that he might wish to present to us, which he promised to do. He accordingly returned in the evening with a supply of vegetables and a dark brown fat-tailed Kikuyu sheep as a present. In return we presented him with a couple of Rendili sheep, with which he was delighted.

The chief informed us that Maranga was only one march away and that the road was good, and, in addition, he himself would accompany us thither, in order to prevent any more of our property being stolen. He was as good as his word, and at eight o’clock the next morning we resumed our journey. Just before we started I took a photograph of Mount Kenia as it lay fully exposed to view in the half-light of the early morning of a dull day. The result is not all that could be desired, but it will give a very fair idea of the aspect of the mountain from the south-west.

We found the road as steep and slippery as on the previous day, and it tried the animals exceedingly. For that reason we made a short march and camped at half-past ten.

Soon after the tents were pitched, our old friend Manga and his son Koranja appeared. They had heard of our approach and had come to meet us. They greeted us very heartily, expressing delighted surprise at our safe return. We spent the rest of the day in discussing the news with them.

During the afternoon the chief of the surrounding district who answered to the name of Simba (lion), came into camp, and, following the example of his neighbour, our friend of yesterday, brought with him a sheep and some vegetables as a present. He received a couple of Rendili sheep in return, and we parted with mutual good wishes.

The next morning we marched straight into Maranga and camped beside a brook, which ran into the Tana about half a mile further down. Owing to the heavy rains we surmised that there would be a lot of water in the Tana; even in this small brook the water was breast high, with a current almost powerful enough to sweep one bodily away. The natives affirmed that it would be impossible to cross the Tana for at least three weeks, and perhaps longer. Accordingly after lunch I went on to the Tana accompanied by two men, in order to see for myself. My first view of the river was a revelation. It was extraordinarily high, the constant heavy rains having greatly swelled its volume; and it is not a small river at any time. The ford was under six feet of water, with a muddy brown current swirling and eddying past at a speed of between four and five miles an hour. It would have been utterly impossible to cross with our loads and animals until the flood had considerably subsided, and meanwhile the rain showed no sign of ceasing. I returned to camp thoroughly dispirited.

On the way back I passed a magnificent waterfall which I had not previously heard of. The whole volume of the river roared and tumbled in great masses of foam over the naked black rock, plunging down some twelve or fifteen feet in a yeasty smother, accompanied by a thunderous roar which effectually precluded any attempt at conversation in the immediate vicinity. At the foot of the fall the water boiled and swirled in a great pool. Waves several feet high were thrown against each other by the violence of the water, which was seemingly gathering strength for its fierce mad rush through the only outlet from the pool, a narrow channel with perpendicular sides, and about 60 feet across, cut through the solid rock. Large rugged trees hung over the falls and round the edges of the pool, their leaves dripping moisture from the hissing clouds of spray cast high in the air upon every side, the whole forming a scene of savage grandeur, wonderfully impressive, and not easily forgotten.

CHAPTER XXI.
(CONCLUSION.)
FROM THE RIVER TANA TO NAIROBI.

Arrival at the Tana river—A visit to M’biri—Crossing the Tana—Smallpox—I give Ramathani a fright—Peculiar method of transporting goods across the river practised by the Maranga—Kati drowned—The safari across—M’biri—Disposal of the sheep—We resume the march—The Maragua once more—The Thika-Thika—The swamps—Kriger’s Farm—Nairobi.

Early the next morning we sallied forth from our tents and spent an hour and a half in the water of the brook, getting the sheep across. They were unable to face the stream, and each separate animal required to be passed across from hand to hand, the labour involved being very great. We then went on to the Tana and camped beside the ford. In the afternoon we got our Alpine rope out, and with considerable trouble and some risk succeeded in getting one end of it across the river and made fast to a tree on the opposite bank, Jumbi with two or three other men and myself swimming across the river for the purpose.

It was not until I was actually in the water that I realized the tremendous power of the current. We had to go a long way up stream before plunging in, as the swift current carried us rapidly down river, and, but for this precaution, would have swept us past the only landing-place on the other side. This made rather a long swim of it. I was horribly afraid of the presence of crocodiles, but fortunately they were conspicuous by their absence.

When at last, after many failures, we had got the rope across, it was not of much assistance, as the water was too deep for the porters, and the animals would not face it alone on any consideration. Another circumstance which added to our difficulties was there being only one landing-place on the opposite bank, a little gully about four feet wide in the steep bank, made by the hippopotamus who formerly came ashore here to feed, and afterwards widened by natives using the ford. If by mischance anybody had been swept past this landing-place they would almost certainly have been drowned, as there was no other place to land for a long way down the river.

Failing a bridge, our chances of getting across the Tana for another month were very slender, and as I was anxious to reach Mr. Hall’s station at M’biri in order to get a few newspapers, some tobacco, and provisions, I sent word to the chief’s son, Koranja, that I required a couple of guides. These he had great difficulty in procuring, the natives declaring that it was impossible to cross the river. However, on the promise of a heavy reward of cloth, I prevailed upon two of the Maranga natives to accompany me. We three then swam the Tana together, with my clothing done up in small bundles on our heads. I was unable to get my rifle across, so I went without it. Once on the other side, I dressed as speedily as possible, and we set off at a good pace for M’biri.

We reached the Marathwa, another fair-sized river, an hour later, which necessitated stripping again. The crossing safely accomplished we resumed our apparel, and set off once more, reaching the station at midday, after a couple of hours’ rough tramp over the hills.

Mr. and Mrs. Hall were away shooting for a day or two, but Captain Longfield, who was in charge of the troops, made me very welcome. He invited me to stay with him until Mr. Hall’s return, an invitation I gladly accepted. I sent the two guides back to the camp with a supply of newspapers and provisions, and then sat down with Captain Longfield to one of the most satisfactory luncheons I have ever enjoyed. It was such a pleasing change to eat once more from earthenware plates, with a real white tablecloth and glass tumblers on the table, and a properly furnished cruet-stand. It is only after one has been separated for a time from the minor conveniences of civilization that one discovers how much they contribute to one’s comfort.

One of the most peculiar effects of our late experiences was noticeable when I retired to rest that night. It was the new and strange sense of security. It seemed so utterly unbelievable that I could go to sleep and sleep as soundly as I liked, without fear of being rudely disturbed by hostile natives, or by prowling beasts of prey. It was positively difficult to realize at first.

On the afternoon of the second day of my stay at the station Mr. and Mrs. Hall returned. Mr. Hall had done wonders with the station during the short time (about two months) that he had been established there. A very large and solid stone wall surrounded the various buildings and offices, and a ditch had been dug outside, making it, perched as it was on the summit of a hill, a very strong and secure position. The huts were lofty and well built, and in the centre of the compound a large and handsome flagstaff carried the flag of the East African Protectorate.

Next morning I returned to our camp on the Tana, where I found that El Hakim and George had succeeded in getting a good many of the sheep across, having employed a number of the Maranga to swim them over, two men to one sheep—a very slow process at best. The river had fallen a few inches, but it would need to fall at least another foot before the men could attempt the passage with their loads.

The day after, as the river was still falling, we got the remainder of the sheep to the other side. Almost before they were across, the river commenced to rise again, and consequently we could not attempt to move the cattle or loads.

In the afternoon about seventy Wakamba, driven northwards by famine, came to the opposite bank of the river and attempted to cross over to Maranga by means of our rope. They were extremely emaciated, and so weak that three or four of the first dozen were washed away from the rope and drowned. Suddenly the Maranga who were watching them raised a shrill cry of “Ndui! Ndui!” (small-pox), and rushing at those of the Wakamba who had already landed, they drove them into the water and across the river again. It seemed hard to repulse the poor starving wretches, but the Maranga have already suffered so heavily from the small-pox that they had no wish to repeat the experience. There were quite a dozen of the Wakamba in an advanced stage of confluent small-pox. From our camp we could hear them moaning and wailing all night, for several nights. In the daytime they used to come down to the only place at which they could reach the water, a large flat rock a little way up stream, which was just awash, where they would sit for hours laving themselves with the cool water.

Three days later, on November 22nd, we found that the river had gone down some six inches, and we made a determined effort to get the loads and cattle across.

Stripping to my shirt, I swam across the river to superintend operations at the landing-place on the opposite bank, I took four or five men, and we stood in the water up to our breasts, under the bank, where the current was a little less violent, and took the loads from the porters, who were exhausted by their struggle with the powerful current, as they brought them across. Young Koranja annoyed me by bringing my camera across under water, but then he was not very tall, and consequently received a ducking every time the rope surged. If he had not had my camera, I should have been highly amused at his predicament.

The better to shout instructions across the river, I climbed a large tree that grew on the bank, its topmost branches hanging out over the water for some yards. I found such a comfortable seat in the fork, about twelve feet above the surface of the water, that I stayed there for awhile to rest after the laborious work at the landing-place, and also to get a bird’s-eye view of all that was going on.

Presently I heard some one swimming, with much puffing and blowing, down the river, and almost underneath me. Peering through the leafy screen that surrounded me, I saw that Ramathani, though evidently in mortal terror, had at last faced the river, and was swimming slowly and cautiously down stream to the landing-place. The current was bringing him directly under my perch, though he had not observed me, and I derived much amusement from the anxious expression on his usually calm and expressionless visage. As he passed underneath something suddenly impelled me to jump out of the tree, and I did so, landing with a terrific splash right upon my unfortunate servitor. He gave a fearful shriek, which was almost instantaneously stifled in a gurgle as he disappeared beneath the surface. When he came up again his face wore such a look of terror that I half repented of the joke. The way his face changed when he found me swimming quietly by his side, smiling cheerfully, was a perfect study in expression.

“Oh, it was you, Bwana?” he gasped out. “I thought it was an afreet” (devil) “or a kiboko” (hippopotamus).

I then challenged him to a race across the river, but he declined, though ordinarily he was a good swimmer. He had had enough of the water for one day, he said.

When I got down to the landing-place, I found that most of the loads were across, our men having been reinforced by some of the Maranga. These natives disdained the rope, and, strange to say, though many of them could not swim, they could carry a 60 lb. load across a ford 6 feet deep, though their own height rarely exceeded 5 feet 6 inches, and usually a great deal less. They surmounted the difficulty in a rather ingenious manner, which at the same time required no small skill.

They held the loads over their heads the full length of their arms, and then walked into the river, some little distance up-stream. When they got out of their depth they walked on the bottom, giving a jump which brought their heads above water, when they wanted to breathe. The heavy load held above their heads enabled them to keep steady, in an upright position, in the swift current. They consequently crossed the river in a series of jumps, the current meanwhile carrying them down stream, while between the jumps they walked a step or two towards the other side. It was a very curious sight from the bank to see a large box or a rolled-up tent, clasped by two black hands, apparently crossing the river of its own accord. Our own men would not attempt this method at any price.

The loads were got across before midday, but it was extremely hard and hazardous work, one of our best men, an N’yamwezi named Kati, being unfortunately washed away and drowned.

In the afternoon, all the loads being across, George and I and a dozen of the men unshipped the rope, and taking it further up-stream, we prepared to get the cattle and donkeys across. After chasing away the small-pox patients, we took up our station on the flat rock already mentioned, as it was the most suitable place that we could find, at which to land the cattle. By means of our old device of tying a rope round the necks of the animals and hauling them bodily across, we safely accomplished the task, though the labour was enormous. Several of the cows were nearly drowned, and after we had hauled them out of the water, lay on the rock to all appearance dead. Some one suggested that perhaps artificial respiration would facilitate their recovery, but as neither George or I knew how to perform artificial respiration on a cow, we were unable to put it to the proof. They eventually recovered without such aid, and rising slowly and with difficulty they walked away, though I must confess that they were very groggy on their pins.

At nine o’clock next morning, having thus, after a delay of only eight days, safely negotiated the Tana, we started on our final march to Nairobi. We crossed the Marathwa below M’biri, where it was breast deep and very swift, camping on the opposite bank. We stopped there four days, during which time we sold the sheep to some Somalis who had a store just outside the Government station.

El Hakim went on a visit to Mr. Hall, and stayed a day or two with him. I took to my blankets on the third day with a slight touch of fever, which, considering that I had practically lived in the water for four days, was not surprising.

On the morning of November 27th, we broke camp and resumed our march, exceedingly thankful that we were no longer handicapped on the march by the presence of the sheep. I was still rather shaky after my touch of fever, so I rode the big mule for the first time since leaving the Green Camp on the Waso Nyiro. The next day we reached the Maragua, where we found a rough bridge, which had been constructed by Captain Skene, who was on his way to M’biri to relieve Captain Longfield. The latter had been ordered to Kismayu to take part in the Ogaden Somali Expedition which was to avenge Major Jenner’s murder. We crossed safely, and camped on the other side. Three cows were stolen during the afternoon by the A’kikuyu, but we sent Jumbi and half a dozen men immediately in pursuit, and they recovered them without difficulty.

Four days later we reached the river Thika-Thika. Congoni once more appeared on the scene, and we were able to shoot several for food, and I also secured a roan antelope, the first we had seen during the trip. Besides congoni there were numbers of zebras, wildebeeste, wart-hog, grantei, and thompsonei; and George and I, taking turns with the shot-gun, managed to secure some guinea-fowl, and occasionally a wild duck.

Very heavy rain the night before we reached the Thika-Thika delayed us a little. We reached the river at midday and found it full of water, but the current was comparatively sluggish. We saw a couple of hippo, and any number of crocodiles.

At a place where a fallen tree projected some way over the water we constructed a rude bridge, resting the centre of the structure upon a small island in the stream. It was not beautiful to look upon, neither was it over strong; but it sufficed, and during the afternoon the whole safari crossed by its means. The cattle were driven further down the river to a spot where the banks shelved somewhat, and they were then swum across, luckily without interference from any too inquisitive crocodiles.

The next day was George’s turn to have a touch of fever, which, though slight, made him very uncomfortable. We were now entering a very marshy piece of country, traversed by numerous rivers and streams, which drained into the Athi River.

Congoni were again numerous, and we were able to shoot sufficient meat to feed the men. The congoni is remarkably tenacious of life, one beast in particular giving me a lot of trouble. I put two ·303 soft-nosed bullets into it; and although one hind leg was broken, and it was also badly wounded in the shoulder, it made off at a good speed. Taking the Martini, I followed it, and, when it once more stopped, I put a Martini bullet into it from behind, at a hundred-yards’ range. The bullet struck it in the hind quarters, and ploughed its way through almost the whole length of the animal’s body. The beast was unable to advance, but still kept its feet; and as I was unwilling to waste another cartridge upon it, I walked up to it and threw it down by seizing its horns and jerking its head sharply sideways, but not until its throat was cut did it expire.

On December 5th we reached a papyrus swamp, about two hundred yards wide, but apparently continuing indefinitely east and west, so that we could not march round it. The men, therefore, were sent to cut a path through it, and by laying the cut reeds and a quantity of branches of trees across the roots a precarious roadway was constructed, perfectly practicable for the men and loads, but impossible for cattle. Jumbi, who was sent out prospecting for a suitable place to get the cattle across, returned in the evening, having discovered a place some miles away, which he thought they might safely negotiate. Accordingly, before sunrise next morning, he was sent with the cattle to make the attempt, while the porters and loads crossed by the temporary path we had constructed the day before. It was rather ticklish work, as in some places there was over six feet of water under the reeds, we having to depend for support on the elasticity of the cut reeds laid transversely across the roots, the weaker places having been strengthened by the addition of branches and brushwood well trodden down.

Jumbi was perfectly successful in getting the cattle across, and they were on the other side of the swamp and opposite us some time before all the men had crossed; but we were all across by ten o’clock, and, resuming our nether garments, we proceeded. In an hour we had reached a narrow river, flowing swiftly between two upright walls of rock. A mile up-stream we discovered a crossing-place at a spot just above a magnificent waterfall. This fall was quite 100 feet deep, and the water foamed and splashed into one of the most beautiful glens imaginable. We did not stop to admire the scenery. Personally, I was perfectly willing to exchange the prettiest bit of scenery thereabouts for a sight of the Nairobi Post Office.

After we had left the river a few miles behind, we were confronted by another wretched papyrus swamp. Yesterday’s experience was repeated, a road having to be constructed in precisely the same manner. It was not finished till sunset, so we camped for the night. It rained hard in the evening, and during the night the mosquitos drove us nearly frantic.

The next morning we crossed the swamp. It was rather deeper than the other, and we had to strip to the “altogether” in order to get across; the reeds often giving way under our weight, letting us down with a splash into the ice-cold, dirty water. We got across, however, without any serious mishap, and resuming our clothing we again went on.

Three quarters of an hour later we struck yet another swamp. Off came our clothes once more, and we waded it breast deep. The water was very cold, and unspeakably stagnant and filthy. It took us an hour to get across. Half an hour’s march further on, another swamp appeared. Once more we had to strip and wade. This one was not so cold, as the sun was by this time well up, and moreover the water was cleaner; but there were a lot of horrible flies, like horseflies, which bit most ferociously, and attacked every unprotected portion of our anatomy, drawing blood at every bite. However, that was the last of the swamps, and by four o’clock in the afternoon we reached our old camp near Kriger’s farm, only seven miles from Nairobi.

We camped for the night, and the following morning George and I started for Nairobi. We left El Hakim in camp, as he wished to go over and see Kriger during the morning. George and myself, with the bulk of the men, therefore started on our seven-mile tramp. On the way we critically examined each other, and a more ragged pair of scarecrows one would not wish to see. The sole of one of my boots had parted from the upper and flapped as I walked, while George lacked a sole altogether on his left boot, and was walking on his sock, which soon wore through, causing him so much inconvenience as to materially impede our progress.

Such trifles, however, were unable to damp our ardour as we tramped along in the direction of Nairobi. Each well remembered spot recalling some incident or other. Here was the place where I fell into the river the second night out. Further on was the clump of trees where I shot the guinea-fowl, and beyond that, again, was the game-pit which had bidden fair to put a summary end to my career over six months before. What hardships they seemed at the time, though subsequent events had dwarfed them into insignificance. Even our stirring experiences on the Waso Nyiro and our long weeks of anxiety in Kikuyuland seemed to suddenly recede into the limbo of the past. Everything else was forgotten in the intoxicating thought that at last we were almost home, and as we approached nearer to Nairobi a feeling of elation impossible to describe took possession of us. Pain, difficulties, anxieties—all were momentarily forgotten. Our emotions were shared by the men, and when the first galvanized roof appeared on the horizon a cheer broke forth, and we hurried forward at increased speed.

Presently the railway station hove in sight, and a locomotive shunting trucks in the goods-yard sent forth an ear-splitting whistle. Never was there such a musical sound as that erstwhile discordant speech. At length, to cut a long story short, we arrived, much to the surprise of our friends, who had heard that we had all been killed in Embe, the news of the Somali’s disaster having in some mysterious manner filtered through.

I have only once since experienced such a sense of relief as I felt on our arrival in Nairobi, and that is now, as I finish this account of our journey; and my only hope is that it will not have wearied the reader half as much as it wearied the writer.