At this stage the men again wished to turn back, but as we could not have been very far from Lorian, we thought it would be a pity to give up the search; so we announced our intention of proceeding, a decision which they received with every sign of discontent and even terror.
At one o’clock in the afternoon, having disposed of the remains of the hippo, we once more made our way down-stream. Just before sunset we sighted the immense sycamore tree which marked the limit of Mr. Chanler’s journey, and from whence he sighted Lorian. Pushing forward with renewed vigour, we finally reached it, and looked round with eager eyes, fully expecting to get a glimpse of our long-sought-for goal.
Not a sign of the swamp could be seen! The river, scarcely half a dozen yards in width, meandered eastwards, flowing smoothly and sluggishly between its low banks. On every side stretched the silent plains, in some places perfectly bare, and in others covered by patches of dried reeds, while a few solitary thorny acacias stood like ragged sentinels amid the general desolation.
Lorian had vanished!
1. Head of old bull buffalo. The horns are very rugged, one being broken at the tip.
2. Waller’s gazelle.
3. Thompson’s gazelle.
4. Greater Koodoo.
5. Grant’s gazelle shot south of Kenia.
6. Lichtenstein hartebeeste.
7. Grant’s gazelle shot near the Waso Nyiro.
CHAPTER XV.
RETURN FROM THE LORIAN JOURNEY.
An interrupted night’s rest—Photography under difficulties—We go further down-stream—Still no signs of Lorian—Sad end of “Spot” the puppy—Our men refuse to go further—Preparations for the return journey—Reasons for our failure to reach Lorian—Return to our Rendili camp—Somalis think of going north to Marsabit—Ismail asks me to accompany him—I decline—The scare in Ismail’s camp—Departure for M’thara.
We were bitterly disappointed at this unexpected turn of affairs, but, after a short consultation, determined to proceed on the morrow still further down-stream, in the hope of reaching the tantalizing swamp. In our eagerness to reach the sycamore tree we had outstripped our half-mutinous men, and they were slowly coming into camp in twos and threes long after our arrival. Two of them had deserted during the march, an M’kamba and the ruffian Sulieman, who happened to be carrying a small black portmanteau which contained all George’s and my kit. This he had cut open and had abstracted therefrom my matches, fishing-line, and the whole of my stock of needles and thread, so that we were left without the wherewithal to repair our clothing. These desertions were the more serious in that they necessitated our sending two of our remaining men back to the Rendili camp so that Jumbi might apprehend the deserters, or, failing that, to at least prevent him being deceived by a spurious message purporting to come from us, to the effect that he was to hand over a quantity of trade goods to Sulieman on the pretence that we required them—a trick often practised by Swahili deserters from a party operating away from their main camp. Sending these men away reduced our already weak party by four men, whose loads had to be distributed among the remainder; a proceeding which still further increased their discontent.
That evening we dined on the hippopotamus tongue, which proved a right royal dish. It was wonderfully fat and tender, and, as it weighed about seven pounds, it afforded a substantial as well as a very pleasant meal. We turned in early, and as I wished to change the plates in my camera, I manufactured an extempore dark room by throwing a blanket over a bush and creeping beneath it. I could not, however, use it with safety till the moon had set, at 2 a.m., so I instructed the sentry to call me at that time, and, getting out my package of spare plates, placed them, together with my collapsible ruby lamp, beside me, and endeavoured to sleep. We had arranged our beds at the foot of the sycamore tree, and, as it turned out, right in the path used by the hippopotamus and rhinoceros in their nightly wanderings along the banks of the river.