An ivory trader in North Kenia

by A. Arkell-Hardwick

Then we began to see daylight. We inquired where the boy was. N’Dominuki replied that as far as he knew he was still in the Somali camp, so we ordered Ismail to produce him. In a few minutes he was delivered, bound, at our feet. A cross-examination of the Somalis elicited the fact that the boy had deserted from their camp, taking with him one of their sheep. On being again questioned, N’Dominuki stated that the boy had come to him for shelter. He had told the boy that he would not allow him to stop there, but would send him back to his masters, but the artful little boy said, “I have done it for your sake, N’Dominuki. I wished to warn you that the Wasungu and the Wa’Somali are about to attack you.” N’Dominuki believed him, and fled forthwith.

In a little while the boy, not liking the life with the natives, and yearning for the flesh-pots of the camp, returned to the Somalis, after having concocted a satisfactory explanation of his absence. He made out to the Somalis that he had gone as a spy on N’Dominuki, who was an “el moruo torono” (a wicked old man), as he had heard that he was hostile to his dear masters, and that at great risk and personal inconvenience he had carried out his plan successfully. He then solemnly warned them that N’Dominuki was preparing to attack them. He counted on the gravity of his announcement averting any unpleasant inquiries about the stolen sheep—a ruse which was completely successful.

Now we had got hold of the truth. Small boys will be small boys all the world over, whether white or black, and this little untutored specimen of his genus had kept a hundred and fifty armed men, in two camps, in a state of intense anxiety for two days, and had driven a tribe with all its cattle and goods in mortal terror into the hills for the same period, in order to cover his impish escapade. He was treated in the same way as from time immemorial other small boys have been—for equally reprehensible escapades, and forthwith received the thrashing he so richly deserved.

We gently chided N’Dominuki for believing “that little vulgar boy,” and asked him why he had not come into camp and found out the truth for himself. He was afraid, he said, that we should bind him and kill him at our leisure! El Hakim represented that it was very unkind to think that of him, who was such an old and proved friend. N’Dominuki’s only reply was “The boy told me so!” That is a savage all over! They believe the first story that comes to hand, even against their better judgment. In N’Dominuki’s case, although his experience of white men had always been of the best and pleasantest, he had met them late in life, and had never quite lost the savage’s innate distrust of strangers.

We dismissed the crestfallen Somalis, and advised them to give less credence to casual reports in future. They seemed very sulky, and were, we were beginning to believe, rather sorry that N’Dominuki had successfully vindicated himself.

From that old savage we afterwards gathered a great deal of information, which threw considerable light on the recent events in Embe. It was now shown beyond the shadow of a doubt that the Masai volunteer guide was an Embe native who, while spying round, had seized the opportunity offered him of serving us to our disadvantage. The Somalis were greatly to blame for saying that they knew him. So they did, but in the hurry of the moment they had neglected to tell us that they had merely seen him knocking about their camp for a day or two.

When we passed through M’thara in the darkness we were observed by some of the Wa’M’thara, who were friendly to the Wa’Embe, and who immediately sent off a runner with the news of our advance, thus giving the enemy time to skilfully prepare the nice little trap into which we all walked. Our escape throughout was due more to good luck than good management, as the party who ambushed us and killed Jamah Mahomet were only an advanced post of the Wa’Embe, the main body being posted a mile further on, where they had dug numbers of pits in the path, in which they, with great forethought, had placed sharp-pointed stakes. It was their intention to attack us when we were floundering about in these pits.

We had sadly underrated the skill and courage of the enemy, and altogether had had a very narrow escape from irretrievable disaster. If we had underestimated their capabilities, however, they had also paid us the same compliment. The terrific fire which instantly greeted their first onslaught must have surprised them greatly. It certainly daunted them, and probably considerably disarranged their plans, preventing them from bringing their main body up and surrounding us. Before they had formed any fresh plan we had made good our retreat, which, in the light of subsequent knowledge, proved to be a wise, if somewhat humiliating step.

N’Dominuki said we should have told him of our plans. He only heard of our intention to attack Embe after we had passed his village, and it was then too late to warn us. He offered, if we wished to renew the attack, to personally guide us into Embe by a much better path, with open country on either side; the road we had followed being the very worst one we could have chosen. His proffered assistance was gladly accepted, and we communicated with the Somalis, expecting they would jump at this opportunity of avenging the death of their leader. To our intense surprise, they did nothing of the kind, but replied that they only wished to buy food peaceably, and go their way northward. We were simply astounded, and could not at first believe that Somalis, above all people, could be so craven-spirited; besides, a successful punitive expedition had now become a vital necessity if we were to preserve the lives of our party, and render the country safe for those travellers who might come after us.

Already there were ominous mutterings among the surrounding tribes, begotten of our reverse in Embe, but we could not get Ismail to see the matter in the same light, argue as we would. Jamah’s death seemed to have thoroughly discouraged him. We reasoned, we begged, but to no purpose. George and I went over to his camp in the evening in order to make a final effort to rouse a little spirit in him. George has a wonderful knowledge of Arabic, and he used it then with vigour and fluency. I also possess a rudimentary knowledge of vituperation in that language, and employed it to the utmost; but in vain. We argued, threatened, cajoled, and insulted, but could get no response, beyond the statement from Ismail that he was a man of peace, and wished to go his way and trade. I pointed out to him with some emphasis that it was not because he was a “man of peace” that he did not fall in with our views, as I had had ocular demonstration of the fact that he was the very reverse when he felt inclined. The reason, I told him, that he did not wish to avenge the blood of Jamah, which was crying aloud for vengeance, was a cowardly fear of a few naked savages, who were not even Mohammedans. I called Allah to witness that he was a traitor to his blood and his religion, and that Jamah, from among the “houris” in Paradise would look down and curse him for “an unclean dog without religion.”[5] He smiled a sickly smile, and repeated that he was a peaceful trader, not a man of war. I then spat upon the ground to show my utter contempt for him, and left him.