It took Mr. Chanler nine days, starting from a point opposite our Rendili camp, to reach the sycamore tree under which we had slept—or rather tried to sleep—the night before, while the same distance only occupied us five days, which is easily explained by the fact that we had already a general idea of the course of the Waso Nyiro, while Mr. Chanler had to feel every mile of his way. We were now a march beyond the sycamore tree, which formed the limit of his journey, and our men had been some miles farther still down the river and had not seen the swamp. The only hypothesis I can advance which will account for our failure to find Lorian at the place where Mr. Chanler saw it on January 7th, 1893, is this.
In very wet seasons, or after a series of wet seasons, the Waso Nyiro overflows its banks and covers a portion of the Kirrimar Plain, forming a vast swamp, or more probably a chain of swamps, to which the name of Lorian has been given by the natives. That the portion of the Kirrimar Plain immediately adjoining the river is at times under water, is beyond a doubt, as I have already mentioned in the previous chapter. After a long drought, by which the supply of water brought down by the Waso Nyiro would be materially curtailed, these swamps dry up, those lying up-stream, owing to their higher level, naturally drying up first, and consequently the western edge of the swamp, or swamps, called Lorian, would gradually recede more and more to the eastward as the drought increased. At the time of our visit in September, 1900, there had been no rain in Samburuland for three years, according to the Rendili, and it is therefore quite reasonable to suppose that Lorian, for the reasons enumerated, had receded many miles to the eastward of the point at which Mr. Chanler turned back, having satisfied himself that Lorian was merely a swamp and not a lake as he had supposed. It is quite possible that the swamp seen by Mr. Chanler may not have been Lorian at all, but may have been only one of the chain of swamps to the west of it and higher up the river, and which had dried up prior to our visit. The evaporation in that terribly hot climate (scarcely one degree north of the Equator, and not more than 700 feet above sea-level) must be enormous, and would be sufficient to dry up even a large lake providing it was not well fed with water, as in the case of Lorian. A shallow body of water with a very large surface-area, such as this swamp, would be very easily dried up in one season if its river-borne water-supply was much reduced.
On the morning of September 5th we reluctantly turned our backs on the elusive Lorian, and retraced our steps. Nothing of interest occurred on the return journey beyond the usual weary marches over the desolate country already described, punctuated at intervals with a rhino charge or a hunt for meat. I remember one rhinoceros which amused us very much. We were making our way across a belt of bush which somehow managed to draw sustenance from the sand, when the familiar but subdued shout of “Faru” caused us to glance hurriedly round. Facing us ten yards away a large rhinoceros was stamping and snorting. In a few seconds he made up his mind to investigate, and charged down upon us. Something impelled George to place his fingers in his mouth and send forth a shrill ear-piercing whistle. The charging rhinoceros stopped suddenly in mid-career, so suddenly, indeed, that he almost sat on his hind quarters. Such a look of porcine surprise came over its ugly features that we involuntarily burst out into a roar of laughter, which apparently completed the ungainly brute’s discomfiture, as it turned and galloped away with every symptom of fear. We also shot every crocodile we could get at on the return journey, as a set-off against the loss of our lamented pup, but it failed to afford us any satisfaction.
On the fifth day after we started on our return journey we arrived half-starved and footsore at our Rendili camp. In the light of this experience I can quite believe that the Rendili were right when they asserted that they could reach Lorian in two days, always supposing Lorian to be in the position roughly assigned to it, viz. read 1° 5’ 0” N. lat. and 30° 30’ 0” E. long. A native perfectly acquainted with the country would abandon the Waso Nyiro altogether, and cut across the big curve which the river makes to the north and south-east, and travelling across the desert in a direction east-north-east from the Zambo Plateau, he would only have a fifty-mile march before him—by no means a difficult matter for a native, as he would only require to make two marches of twenty-five miles each in forty-eight hours. If I ever make another trip down the Waso Nyiro I shall certainly adopt that plan myself.
The moment we reached camp we ordered a sheep to be killed, and when it was cooked the three of us sat down and finished it. We were very hungry, and it was only a small sheep. While we were satisfying our material wants, we summoned Jumbi that he might give an account of his stewardship. It appeared that he had bought a couple of hundred sheep in our absence. The Somalis under Ismail Robli had moved their camp one march up the river, following the Rendili and Burkeneji, who were moving their villages up-stream, the adjacent pasture being finished. There was a recrudescence of small-pox among the Rendili, and many were dying daily. Such was the news.
On the following morning I rode over to Ismail’s camp to hear what he had to say. I found the Somalis very despondent. Business was decreasing, as, owing to the presence of two safaris, the market was glutted with trade goods. They were buying camels, which was necessarily a very slow process, as the camels could only be bought for so many sheep. These sheep had first to be purchased for cloth or wire, and Ismail was finding out that between the value of a sheep he wished to buy, and that of a sheep he wished to sell, there was a wide difference.
Ismail also informed me that a party of Wa’Embe had come to trade with the Rendili and Burkeneji, and had stayed at a Burkeneji village further up the river. When the Wa’Embe heard that the Somalis were camped among the villages of their hosts, they inquired of them why they had not attacked the Somalis and speared them. “We have beaten them twice,” they said, “and killed many of their men with our spears. Their bullets did not hurt us. Why do you not spear them?” This advice was not lost on the Burkeneji, and they would have probably acted upon it in the near future; but Ismail, hearing the news from his spies, went forth to attack the mischief-making Wa’Embe, who forthwith fled without giving battle.
The next day we also moved our camp up-stream, and pitched our tents afresh on a spot a few yards from the river-bank and 500 yards or so from Ismail’s boma. We understood from Ismail that he intended going north to Marsabit, and for some reason he was very anxious that I should leave El Hakim and George to return alone and accompany him northward. He was very pressing in his invitation, which, however, I consistently declined. If Jamah had been alive, nothing would have pleased me better than an opportunity of penetrating further northward to Marsabit and perhaps Reshiat and Marle at the north end of Lake Rudolph, but I entertained such a hearty contempt for Ismail, that the prospect of some months’ journey in his company did not offer sufficient inducement to warrant me in altering my arrangements.
After we had settled down in our fresh camp we concentrated our attention on exchanging the remainder of our cloth for sheep, so that we might start on our return journey to Nairobi. El Hakim wished to get back to Nairobi in November for personal reasons, otherwise we should have gone back to M’thara, and after buying a fresh supply of food there, and getting the forty odd loads of beads which were in N’Dominuki’s charge, we had intended journeying to Lake Baringo and thence northward into the country of the Turkana.
Business was very slack until El Hakim hit on a bright idea. He called the Rendili chiefs Lubo, Lokomogo, Lomoro, and other lesser lights together, and pointed out that although we had dwelt amongst them for almost a month, so far only one of them, Lubo to wit, had brought us a present. “It was well known,” continued El Hakim, “that when ‘friends’ visited the Rendili they were always presented with many sheep, and even camels, as a token of good-will.” He was therefore reluctantly compelled to conclude that we and the Rendili were not friends, a state of affairs which filled his heart with sorrow. But still, it was not yet too late, and if those who had not yet brought sheep as a present did so within the next few days all would be forgotten and forgiven.