We had slept for perhaps two hours, when a shout of alarm from the men was followed by a stampede, as the two mules broke from their picket ropes and bolted. Waking up with a start, I was surprised to see El Hakim and George, clad in the very scantiest attire, come flying across my bed as if they were practising the high jump. I glanced round, and an instant later rose hurriedly from my blankets and joined them. A rhinoceros, coming along the path, had rushed among our sleeping men and charged through, scattering them right and left. He then rushed at the fire and stamped on it, and when I awoke was coming down with the speed of an avalanche to the spot where we had been sleeping. We, however, with a sudden access of modesty, due perhaps to the knowledge of our attire, bashfully retreated to the other side of our friendly sycamore tree, where some of our men were already perched among the branches, while the rhinoceros passed on without further demonstration. Inquiries revealed the fact that none of the men were hurt, with the single exception of Docere ben Ali, who had grazed his shin. He said the rhinoceros did it, but I rather inclined to the belief that he did it himself in his haste to climb the tree at the commencement of the stampede. We retired to our blankets, thanking our lucky stars that nothing worse had happened. Not more than half an hour later, when I had just got comfortably to sleep again, I was once more aroused by El Hakim uttering my name in an intense whisper. In an instant I was wide awake, and saw him and George standing on their blankets gazing intently into the darkness. A cloud had temporarily obscured the light of the moon, and it was at first somewhat difficult to distinguish objects a few yards distant. When my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, I became aware of the presence of a herd of hippopotamus standing irresolute within a dozen yards of my bed. One, ahead of the others, was slowly advancing in a line that would bring him right across our blankets, and was at that moment not five yards away. We stood undecided; we did not wish to alarm them, as they might have stampeded over us, and in that case we might just as well have stayed at home and died an easier death beneath a steam-roller. It was too dark to use a rifle with any effect, while it was open to the same objection. Meanwhile the herd was slowly advancing and the situation was becoming more and more strained, when our dog sprang at the foremost with a snarl, while “Spot,” the puppy, yelped defiance in his shrill treble. The herd paused, turned, and disappeared like a flash in the opposite direction, with a thundering of feet which constituted an unpleasant reminder of what might have happened had they come in our direction. The puppy took all the credit of the affair to himself, and came up to be patted and stroked, wagging his diminutive tail in a manner expressive of the utmost contempt for wild beasts in general, and hippopotamus in particular. We turned in again and tried to sleep once more.
I was called when the moon had set, and proceeded to rig up my al fresco dark room. During the two alarms either El Hakim or George had trodden on my ruby lamp and had stamped it out quite flat. It took me some time to bend it back into something of its former shape, while the sentry stood by and struck matches to enable me to see. Finally the lamp was more or less satisfactorily adjusted and the blanket placed in position. In the middle of the operation an excited whisper of “Faru, bwana,” caused me to drop my apparatus and scramble hurriedly out. I took one glance round, yelled to El Hakim and George, and we all three hastily took up our position behind the tree, while the oncoming rhinoceros danced through the camp at fifteen miles an hour and disappeared.
We began to think that these visitations were becoming too much of a good thing. The men, too, manifested an anxious desire to emulate the fowls of the air and roost among the branches of our friend in need, the sycamore tree.
Returning to my dark room, I completed the operation of changing the plates, and once more sought my blankets, in the pious hope that we should not be disturbed again.
But it was not to be. On two other occasions during that eventful night we were compelled to rise hurriedly from our blankets and betake ourselves to the shelter of the friendly sycamore, while a too impetuous rhinoceros whirled past; and the dawn discovered us blear-eyed and weary from the effects of our nocturnal gymnastics.
When the usual time for starting the day’s march arrived the men flatly refused to go a step further. We argued the point with them, and finally induced them to make one more march, promising that if we did not find the “Siwa” (swamp) then we would return. With that understanding we set out, marching at a good pace, as the ground was rather firmer underfoot than hitherto.
Just before midday we passed a small herd of grantei, and I managed to secure one at long range. An hour later a couple of bull buffaloes were seen, quietly feeding on the opposite side of the river. El Hakim put in some pretty shooting at fifty yards, bringing them both down. We crossed the river and camped beside the carcases.
It was here that we sustained a loss which we all felt very deeply, and which even now I cannot recall without a sigh. “Spot,” the puppy, who had endeared himself to us all by his lovable disposition and pretty ways, had gone to sleep in the grass while El Hakim was engaged with the buffaloes. When we crossed the river he was forgotten, and not until we were making our arrangements for camping, did a shrill bark from the other side of the river call our attention to the small owner thereof. We immediately sent a couple of men across the river to bring him over, but they had to go fifty yards or so lower down to do so. The gallant little chap would not, however, wait for the men, but plunged boldly into the stream and swam towards us, wagging his tail in infinite delight at his own daring. He had scarcely got three-parts of the way across when he gave a sudden sharp yelp of pain and disappeared under the surface with a jerk, leaving us standing on the bank speechless with consternation and distress. Ramathani ran up with a rifle, but I waved him away in despair. A hundred rifles could not have restored our gallant little dog to us, the crocodile which had seized him having never shown itself above the water. There was nothing to do but to turn sorrowfully away and console ourselves as best we might.
We called the men together after we had eaten and asked them if they were willing to go on still further, but they were unanimous in their determination not to go a yard further down the river. “Takufa yote, bwana” (We shall all die, master); “Mangati tele hapa” (There are many wild beasts here); “Afreeti winge hapa” (There are plenty of devils about here); and “Tu’nataka kurudi, bwana” (We wish to return, master), were among the remarks which greeted our ears at the mere suggestion that we should go further down-stream. Finally we compromised. We asked for two volunteers who would go down the river, there and then, for some hours’ march, and see if they could see anything of Lorian. If they discovered it they were to return, and we would all go on together there, but if they saw nothing of it, we would return to our Rendili camp on the following day. This was agreed to, and two of the men, Asmani ben Selim and Kati (an M’Nyamwezi), accordingly started off.
They returned late the same evening, and reported that they had been some miles down the river and had seen no signs of the swamp. We were greatly disappointed, but in accordance with our agreement made arrangements to commence our return march on the following day. We could not have done otherwise, as if we had signified our intention of proceeding further to the eastward in defiance of our promise, the men would have deserted in a body during the night, and gone back to the Rendili camp.