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.