On the road I had a good time among the guinea-fowl, which here were of the Vulturine variety. They were exceedingly plentiful, and I managed to bag five in a very few minutes, all large and very handsome birds, with long tails and beautiful light blue breast feathers. They are at times most difficult birds to shoot, as they will very seldom rise, but run over the sand at a great rate, keeping just out of effective range. In the absence of a dog, the only way to shoot them is to run after them at full speed, till, by gaining on them—no easy task—they are compelled to rise. The moment they get up, one has to stop instantly and let drive at them. Even then they will not always rise together, but in groups of two or three, necessitating very accurate shooting if a bag is to be obtained; which is not always possible when one is puffed by a two hundred yards’ sprint, and consequently panting heavily.
Yellow-throated francolins were fairly plentiful. They dodged in and out of the roots of the shrubbery with great agility, and were correspondingly difficult to hit. Pigeons also were very numerous.
While following the guinea-fowl I had rather a narrow escape. I was crossing a patch of long, dry, coarse grass, which grew in a small depression. As I forced my way through, my eyes upon the birds, I heard a rustle at my feet. I instantly looked down, and, quick as a flash, jumped back three or four feet, shivering violently. A large bright yellow snake, mottled with gamboge, about ten feet in length and as thick as my arm, glided away into the tangled grass and disappeared. I supposed it was a python, though I did not see much of it, nor was I anxious to investigate.
We halted for breakfast at ten o’clock. At half-past twelve El Hakim went on ahead with four men and his tent, as we were only one march from the Rendili, and he was anxious to meet them. George and I were to stay behind with the men and animals and start later, as they were not sufficiently rested. We waited till half-past two, and then followed him.
Soon after starting we lost his tracks, but pushed on nevertheless, following the course of the river. We soon reached the point where the Waso Nyiro divided into the numerous channels we had observed from the hilltop the previous evening, and there we first met the Burkeneji. We had temporarily lost sight of the river, and, striving to regain it, we struggled through a dense belt of Doum palms, eventually emerging to find ourselves in the bed of a sand river. We followed its course, and in a few minutes reached one of the channels of the Waso Nyiro. It was not more than a foot deep at this place, flowing smoothly over a soft bed of sand. We stopped to drink, and while in the act were confronted by a few natives, who suddenly emerged from the bush on the other side. I put on my most amiable smile, and walked into the river a little way. After a moment’s hesitation one or two of the Burkeneji—for it was indeed they—did likewise, and we met in midstream. I held out my hand and said “yambo,” on the chance that it would be understood. My vis-a-vis answered immediately “serian” (peace), shaking my hand vigorously. I repeated the word after him in a very hearty manner, not at all assumed. This appeared to be precisely the right thing to do, as other natives now came across the river and fraternized with our men. They were fine, clean, wholesome-looking negroes, very much resembling the Masai in appearance, but, unlike them, were habited in cloth instead of skins. A chorus of “serian” resounded on all sides.
One of our Wakamba named Mumbo could speak a little Masai, and through him we learned that El Hakim had passed near there an hour or two before. We left our new-found friends, and departed amid another chorus of “serian,” well pleased at our first meeting with the tribes we had braved so much to find.
We went on in the direction pointed out to us by the Burkeneji as the path taken by El Hakim, but saw no traces of him. Keeping to the river as being the best possible guide, we travelled another eight or nine miles. Just before sundown we reached an acacia thicket, where I decided to camp, continuing the search for El Hakim on the morrow. The donkeys were off-loaded, and Ramathani busied himself in preparing a meal. George strolled out of camp, and while “fossicking” round discovered a Burkeneji village in the acacia forest about three hundred yards away. Taking Mumbo with us as interpreter, George and I went over to the village. No one appeared to meet us, as the men were out bringing in the cattle and sheep for the night. Two or three young women stood about with empty milk-vessels, evidently waiting for the herds to come in. They were quite fearless, and approached us, laughing merrily at the curious figures George and I must have cut in our tattered shirts and trousers and clumsy boots covered with zebra-skin. They were well built, plump, very pretty, and undeniably saucy, and were clothed with a small, very small, piece of cloth about their middles, and numerous small bead necklaces and brass wire armlets. They stood a yard or so away, and discussed our personal appearance with great freedom and animation, now and then pointing out to one another some new item in our make-up not previously noticed, and breaking into a hearty laugh. George came in for more than a fair share of their attention. He is a fine, big chap, and the girls always do pay him more attention than he deserves; both white and black, though, to do him justice, he was never conceited in consequence.
As we stood there waiting for the return of the Burkeneji men, the description of the Anglo-Saxon as the “heir of all the ages” occurred to me, and I chuckled inwardly at the spectacle of two ragged “heirs of all the ages” standing outside a little negro village, the helpless butts of the saucy tongues of a group of little negresses of a tribe who have no ambitions beyond their daily wants, and no ideas beyond supplying them; and who, as far as I know, are not yet definitely classified by ethnologists.
Presently a tall, dignified native strode up, followed by several others. He was certainly not less than six feet in height, and proved to be the chief of the village. At his approach the women ran away—not very far, however, but remaining in the background, they continued their frivolous remarks. The chief did not seem at all respectful either; in fact, he appeared rather bored than otherwise. We exchanged the usual “serian,” and then, through the medium of the interpreter, I inquired the location of the Somalis’ camp. The reply was that it was “quite near.” I suggested that the chief should guide us thither. He acquiesced, and returning to the camp we loaded up the donkeys again, much to their disgust, and followed our new-found guide.
In half an hour, when it was quite dark, the guide halted, and said that we had better camp, as the Somalis’ camp was “quite far.” I was very annoyed at this turn of affairs, and expressed my intention of going on whether it was dark or not. We started once more, but I could see that the guide was very unwilling and sulky. Presently I heard the bleating of sheep and goats in the darkness to the left, and ascertained from the guide that the sound came from a Rendili village. I resolved to camp there; but he objected. I insisted, however, and finally he reluctantly led the way. I pitched the camp just outside the village, so that I might be sure of obtaining a guide in the morning.