The bush now ended in a ravine, at the bottom of which was a small stream. On the opposite bank of the stream was the edge of the thick forest which I have previously mentioned, and which extended as far as the open space called Karanjui, an hour’s journey further on. While George superintended the crossing of the men and animals, I and my two men squatted down in the bush at a turn in the path, about a hundred yards in the rear, and prepared a surprise for the enemy. They were howling in a most unmelodious key, and between the howls they informed us that they were coming to kill us, a piece of news which seemed to me to be quite superfluous under the circumstances; they added the interesting information that they were going ahead of us into the wood, and were there going to ambush us. I had already guessed that such was their intention, but I determined that such an awkward situation should not occur if I could prevent it. Our men in their turn inquired why, if they were coming to kill us, did they not come and carry out their intention? It appears that these exchanges of repartee are part of the ceremonial of A’kikuyu warfare, though at the time it seemed to me to be very childish. The enemy then shouted, “Resarse kutire mwaka,” literally, “Your bullets have no fire;” meaning to say that they did not hurt—evidently Bei-Munithu’s teaching. They were asked to “come and see,” an invitation they accepted. My little ambush worked perfectly, and they were within twenty yards when I opened fire. Two of them were put out of action at the first discharge, and the others retreated in disorder, having learnt a wholesome lesson.
A message from George then reached me, informing me that all the men and animals were now safely across the stream, so I followed him. Just as I got across the stream in my turn, some of the enemy, who had crossed higher up, made another rush, one of the most dangerous they had so far attempted. They got close enough this time to throw spears, one of which killed an unfortunate goat. I used my revolver, and George his gun, and they once more retired. One of the A’kikuyu who threw a spear was shot with an arrow by one of our Wakamba, who carried a bow and arrows which he had found in Bei-Munithu’s village. The M’kikuyu’s arm was still uplifted in the act of throwing the spear when our man’s arrow caught him in the side of the chest, under the armpit. The light arrow went halfway through his chest as easily as if he had been made of butter. If I had not seen it myself, I should not have credited their tiny arrows with such penetrative power. After crossing the stream we were beyond the boundary of the Munithu district, and I did not think it probable that we should be followed any further, as these people do not as a rule go into the territory of another tribe; but in this case I was mistaken.
During our march through the forest they made one or two abortive attempts to close with us, but finally contented themselves with howling, and, between the howls, threatening what they would do to us when they got us to Karanjui. It was my intention to try to reach Karanjui first, so that we might have a reasonable chance of crossing it before the enemy surrounded us. This we succeeded in doing, and we were halfway across when the leading warriors, forsaking the cover of the forest, trooped out into the open about 300 yards away. Asmani and Resarse, for whose conduct I have nothing but praise, waited behind to assist me in delaying the A’kikuyu, and so enabling George with the men and cattle to get across and into the cover of the forest on the other side. One of the enemy, bolder than the others, climbed on an ant-hill 70 yards distant from me, and danced at us in derision, making obscene gestures and insulting remarks. He desisted, however, on receiving a message from the ·303 that he was unable to disregard.
The next move of the enemy was to try to work round the western edge of Karanjui, which was about 500 yards away, and so get ahead of us. I took a few long shots at them, and wounded one man (who I afterwards found out to be a nephew of Bei-Munithu) in the leg, and soon stopped that game. George and the others were by this time once more in the forest, so I retired from my place in the open, and with my two men took up a fresh position at the entrance to the path leading into the forest. The enemy could not then see me, and, supposing I had gone on, they all came out into the open. When I saw their numbers I fairly gasped. “Wow,” said Resarse, “Watu winge, bwana” (There are many people, master), while Asmani merely grunted. They poured out of the forest paths in never-ending lines, till I thought every native in North Kenia was present. The plain soon became fairly black with them, and as they shouted and danced with their gaily painted shields and glittering spears flashing in the sun, I thought that a very short time indeed would see the end of my career. If “Captain Kettle” had been present at that moment, he would have considered it a particularly appropriate time to have composed a short piece of poetry; for myself, I simply broke out into a profuse perspiration, and proceeded to count my ammunition. It was with a horrible sinking feeling in the region of the belt that I discovered that I had only twenty rifle cartridges left, with about eighteen revolver ditto, and for a moment my nerve almost failed me as I realized what a really serious position we were in. It was only for a moment, however, and shouting to George to hurry on with the men as fast as possible to Chanjai, and bidding the boy Koranja go on with them, I settled down with Asmani and Resarse in a last desperate endeavour to turn the pursuit.
My plan was to expend my twenty cartridges in long-range rifle practice, and then hurry along after George, and trust to my revolver en route. After the first shot or two I found the range, and dropped one man at 300 yards, and then, as his companions scattered, I wounded another at 500 yards. The result was extremely gratifying, as the whole body of the enemy, and there must have been at least a thousand of them, then took cover and grovelled on their faces in the grass. I breathed freely once more, as I felt that I had got the enemy in hand. Soon a few of them rose to their feet again, but I waited till most of them had done so, and once more started in with the rifle. Down they all went again as regularly as clockwork. Asmani and Resarse shook with laughter at the sight. It really was too ridiculous to see the plain, which one moment would be covered with fierce black figures, and then on the sound of a shot the whole crowd disappear as one man, and nothing would be seen but the yellow tint of the waving grass.
After an expenditure of ten cartridges in this manner the A’kikuyu seemed to come to their senses, and they shouted that they “did not know the Wasungu were present,” but they now acknowledged their mistake, and added something to the effect that they were now quite convinced that the rifles of the Wasungu were not made solely for ornament. Without replying, I and my two men hurried on in George’s wake, and soon came up with him. I found that he had forty cartridges left, so that we had still a reasonable chance of getting back to camp.
We were not attacked in the second belt of forest, and on reaching the next open space we found to our infinite relief that the pursuit had almost entirely ceased; only a few natives following us, and those taking good care to keep out of range. We crossed another bush-belt and came out into the open plains at the foot of the Chanjai hills, and there the enemy finally abandoned the chase.
After a few minutes’ halt to rest, we resumed our march to camp. George now mounted the mule, intending to ride for an hour and then give me a turn, as we were both rather tucked up. We had marched for perhaps half an hour, when the mule suddenly shied, and, the girth breaking, George was thrown heavily to the ground. He fell on the back of his head and lay still. I hurried up, but before I could get near he was picked up by a couple of the men. When I finally reached him I asked if he were hurt, and he answered in a strange hollow sort of voice that he was “not hurt, only badly shaken.” This statement he repeated several times in a most aimless manner. I shook him a bit, but could get nothing more out of him. Suddenly he asked me if he might lean on me; he appeared to keep his feet with difficulty. In a few moments he seemed to be sufficiently recovered to ride again, and as the men had now caught the mule, I readjusted the saddle and helped him up, advising him to watch the mule closely in case she shied again. “All right,” he said, still in the same strained voice, and he went on again, while I resumed my position in the rear. Ten minutes later I saw him stop and wait for me to come up. When I reached him he asked in his natural voice what had happened? He had absolutely no recollection of his fall from the mule or the events immediately following it till he came to, and found himself on the mule quite ten minutes later. I told him what had happened, though he was manifestly incredulous. Beyond a few bruises and a headache he was not much hurt, and he never felt any serious after-effects.
We reached camp at 3 o’clock in the afternoon, after a solid seven-hour march, three hours of which were spent in continuous fighting. I did the whole distance on my feet, and by the time we reached camp felt pretty well done up.
The casualties on the enemy’s side, so far as I could ascertain, amounted to about nineteen. On our side we had one goat killed; a marvellous escape, all things considered.