Towards evening the rest of the safari staggered in, some of the men having been twelve hours on the road. One man had fallen from exhaustion and died on that awful “cinder-heap,” his load having been brought on by Jumbi. We had made, I suppose, about six miles in a bee line from our last camp, though how much ground we had actually covered in our laborious march it is difficult to say.
At the conclusion of our breakfast-dinner-supper we turned in, thoroughly tired out; but, as it happened, we were destined not to enjoy a quiet night’s repose. First Ramathani came into the tent; he held an egg in his hand—a guinea-fowl’s egg.
“The men found this, Bwana,” said he.
Now, I fancied an egg very much, so I awakened George. “I’ll go halves with you,” said I, when I had induced sufficient wakefulness in him to understand what I was saying.
Ramathani was accordingly ordered to boil the egg. I lent him my watch, so that he should boil it for exactly three minutes, neither more nor less. Meanwhile I secured two spoons and the pepper-box, and we waited expectantly till Ramathani reappeared bearing the precious egg cooked to a turn. I took it and rapped it with my spoon. Hardly had I touched it before it exploded with a loud report, and flew to pieces. It was empty inside, at least it appeared empty; a second after it blew up George looked blankly at me, and I returned the compliment, and we were still gazing at each other when the after-effect, so to speak, struck us. Then, choking, we made a dive for the open air. Hastily summoning Ramathani, we bade him penetrate to the interior of the tent, open both ends, and then wave a blanket till the sewer gas, or whatever it was, had dispersed, a proceeding which occupied some time. We then turned in again, and slept peacefully, though odorously, till somewhere about midnight.
Suddenly a cry of “Moto! moto!” (Fire! fire!) rang out, accompanied by a terrible roaring and crackling. Out we rushed, clad only in our shirts—the night was warm—to find one portion of the camp in a blaze. We seized blankets, sacking, anything we could get hold of, and furiously attacked the flames.
The dry grass and reeds burned like paper, but the great danger lay in the palm trees. If once they caught fire, our tents, stores, and, in fact, everything, would be utterly destroyed. We fought, therefore, for our very existence. Fortunately we managed, by the most strenuous exertions, to keep the flames clear of the palms, and, after an hour’s hard work, to entirely subdue them. Our bare feet and legs were slightly burnt, and my shirt was scorched, but beyond that no serious damage was done. We turned in again at 2 a.m., and slept undisturbed till 7 a.m., when we once more resumed our march.
We intended to go only a short distance, in order to give the men a rest after their fatiguing exertions of the previous day. The country was by no means level, and here and there showed a tendency to produce more lava-blocks, but we met with nothing that seriously impeded our progress. We saw a herd of zebra in the distance, but they were very shy and wary. Our men, with that reckless improvidence which distinguishes the Swahili “pagazi” (porter), had already consumed the twelve days’ store of grain and flour which we had brought from M’thara, and had now (six days after leaving that place) only a few pieces of buffalo-meat left. It was imperative, therefore, that we should shoot some meat for them.
Smooth patches of sand, interspersed with bare rock, now became the predominant features of the landscape, and game was very hard to approach in consequence.
The river, which we sedulously followed, was distinguished by the line of palms which fringed the banks. It flowed in places at the foot of frowning cliffs of gneiss, their rugged scarps inhabited by countless monkeys and baboons which chattered incessantly, skipping from ledge to ledge, apparently the only animated creatures in the whole sun-baked, dun-coloured landscape. I successfully stalked and shot a grantei, which, in my opinion, is the very best eating of all East African gazelles. Saddle of grantei, after being hung two or three days, is a joint fit for a monarch. We were very anxious to shoot a rhinoceros for the men, which was probably the reason why we saw none, notwithstanding that they had been so indecently numerous during the previous few days.