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.