As on the fifth day after the despatch of the men to M’thara there were still no signs of them, we began to grow anxious, and sent Jumbi and another man back to investigate, with orders to return in three days at the utmost. Our provisions were also growing short, as we had finished all our sugar; the mustard also had given out. Two days later, as neither Jumbi nor the three men first sent to M’thara had put in an appearance, we made arrangements to pay a flying visit to M’thara on the morrow, to find out what had become of them, as we were more than a little anxious about their safety. The next morning, therefore, the absentees having made no sign, we started for M’thara, leaving two or three men in charge of the camp. We took no tents or baggage—nothing but a blanket each and some food, together with a good supply of ammunition. After two hours on the road, to our great relief we met the laggards returning with two Wandorobbo guides. They explained that N’Dominuki had experienced some difficulty in procuring the guides, and they were consequently detained. We were too thankful that they had rejoined us in safety to critically examine their story, so we let it pass, and at once retraced our steps, arriving at the “Green Camp” at three o’clock in the afternoon.
The guides were typical specimens of the Wandorobbo hunter, and greatly resembled each other in appearance. They were both elderly gentlemen, with grey and grizzled hair. Though of medium height, their backs were bowed, partly by age and partly by the stooping, creeping posture they adopt when walking. They trod softly as cats, their heads thrust forward, nothing on the road escaping their observant gaze, though seemingly they were lost in abstraction. Each carried a small bow, a bundle of arrows, tipped with poison, and a walking-staff. A strip of goatskin, tied over the left shoulder, descending as far as the waist, a bead necklet, and an armlet or two completed a by no means superabundant costume. Their luggage consisted of a small skin bag, containing a knife, a couple of pieces of wood for making fire, and a few pieces of string; and in addition each carried four or five pounds of Kikuyu tobacco, wrapped up with banana leaves into spherical parcels.
From them we learnt that the Rendili were a long distance down the river—much farther down than we had been. This intelligence revived us somewhat, and next morning we set off once more on our journey down the river. The “cinder-heap” was once more crossed, but, thanks to the guides, by a much better road than the one by which we had made our toilsome march. The going was still bad enough, in all conscience, but in comparison to our first experience our progress seemed wonderfully easy. Besides, we knew the extent of the lava-belt now; before we did not know what was in front of us, and the uncertainty had contributed to no small extent to the magnifying of the horrors of our position.
We halted for breakfast on the other side of the lava-belt, and at 2 p.m. were preparing to resume the march, when Ramathani approached us in a very hesitating manner, evidently wishing to communicate something which he found unpleasant. Questioned as to what had happened, he blurted out, “Bwana, the guides have run away!” We were absolutely nonplussed. It is difficult at all times to fathom the motives that influence a savage; but whatever could have induced those guides to come three days’ journey to us, delaying us seven days meanwhile, only to run away again on the first march, we could not possibly guess, nor could we even faintly imagine.
We were now in a precisely similar position to that in which we had been placed a fortnight before, with the single exception that we now had certain information (for we saw no reason to doubt it) that the Rendili were down the river. After a consultation we decided to push on, guides or no guides, and trust to luck. We therefore resumed the march, and, after a long hot tramp, reached our old camp of July 31 and August 4, where we remained for the night. A peculiar incident, that I have never been able to understand, occurred on that day. Before we resumed the march, after the desertion of the guides, I went out of camp alone in search of game. The country was very rough, being intersected in every direction by steep “kloofs” and “dongas,” interspersed with gravelly mounds. Loose blocks of quartz were scattered everywhere, mingled with flakes of rock-crystal and smaller pieces of quartz of a greenish colour, due to the presence of epidote. Stunted and misshapen thorny acacias and a few aloes formed almost the only vegetation. I was laboriously climbing a gravelly slope, when suddenly there was a rush and a roar as of a mighty whirlwind bearing directly down upon me. I looked round in some alarm, as it is very unpleasant being caught in one of these dust-devils with nothing solid handy to hold on to. To my intense surprise I could see nothing whatever. Not a leaf or a branch stirred, and not a particle of dust or sand rose. The rushing, tearing sound increased in volume, and drew nearer and nearer, finally seeming in full blast not more than twenty feet from where I stood. But nothing stirred; the air was perfectly clear, and everything else remaining still as death. It was a most uncanny sensation. I abandoned the idea of a whirlwind, thinking perhaps there might be a blow-hole in the vicinity for escaping volcanic gases. I searched the neighbourhood carefully under that impression, but found nothing of the sort. Finally, the sound died away. Two or three times after that, during my walk, the same thing occurred. On one occasion I seemed to be standing in the very midst of the whirlwind. It rushed and roared round about me, and I involuntarily gripped a tree-trunk to steady myself against the expected shock. But nothing happened; nothing moved. I am not a nervous person, and my reason convinced me that there was a perfectly natural explanation for the phenomenon, but, nevertheless, I had a very nasty sensation in the small of my back. I was irritated, also, at being unable to discover the cause of the noise.
The next day we marched over the now familiar desert country to our old “Swamp Camp.” Remembering the midges, we did not stop there, but pushed on for another mile, and camped on the top of a cliff overlooking the river. Opposite us the cliffs of red gneiss rose to a height of over 300 feet. The face of the cliff was inhabited by thousands of monkeys and baboons, who chattered excitedly over our arrival, an excitement which was not allayed by a bullet I sent through a group of them, which flattened itself against the cliff wall with a sharp smack. They at once scattered to various places of safety behind the rocks, and from thence made rude remarks in monkey language.
We went out after lunch to make a short survey of the route ahead. The result was most discouraging; a more barren and desolate landscape I had never seen. Soft brown earth, into which we sank over our ankles, was strewn with volcanic débris in the shape of our old enemy the lava blocks. Vegetation was scarce, and game conspicuous by its absence. It seemed rather a hopeless task to attempt to cross such country without guides, but we determined to make a supreme effort.
We were now beginning to suffer a little for want of salt. I had a nasty sinking feeling in my stomach, with a tendency to vomiting, and I always felt empty inside, even immediately after a very full meat meal; but this wore off after a week or two. We were restricted to a few ounces of native meal (m’wele) per diem, which our chef de cuisine, the indispensable Ramathani, made into little flat cakes, fried with meat, which was the only other item on our menu.
For some days we ploughed over the rotten brown earth just described. It was a painful experience, as the sharp blocks of quartz and lava bruised our ill-shod feet. The sun was intensely hot, and distant objects danced and shimmered in the heat-haze.
On the morning of August the 15th we had camped for breakfast on the river-bank, when we were greatly excited by a sight of two sheep grazing peacefully further down the river. Our men immediately started in pursuit, and captured them after an exciting chase. They were of the fat-tailed variety, and were Rendili sheep beyond a doubt. All that afternoon was spent in searching the country round, but we saw no signs that led us to believe that the country was inhabited. El Hakim shot a rhinoceros while we were out. It was feeding in the open. He was carrying the ·577, and proceeded to stalk it, accompanied by George, who carried the ·450 Express. When within thirty yards of the rhino, El Hakim motioned to George to remain where he was; he himself crawled thirty yards to the left, so that hunters and hunted formed a triangle. El Hakim fired, and the rhino, on receiving the shot, charged straight down upon George. It was then that I had an opportunity of observing a wonderful exhibition of nerve and true sportsmanship on George’s part, begotten of the confidence we both placed in El Hakim’s skill. Holding his rifle at the ready, George awaited the wounded beast’s mad rush without a tremor, refraining from firing in order not to spoil El Hakim’s second barrel—a confidence which was fully justified by the result, as that individual’s left barrel spoke when the enraged rhinoceros was within a dozen yards of George, dropping it dead with a bullet through the heart. George afterwards declared that he could not have stood the strain much longer, and would have fired in a few seconds more. We had now sufficient meat for our immediate needs, and were still determined to push on, though the country seemed almost entirely devoid of game, and feeding ourselves and our men was getting to be quite a serious problem. A rhinoceros only lasted the men two days, as, in spite of its huge bulk, it cuts up very badly, there being a good deal of waste; and, in addition, the men, who even at ordinary times were tremendous meat-eaters, in the entire absence of cereals, developed a carnal appetite that can only be described as monumental.