The same friendly feeling was shown when we arrived at Tato, and it was difficult to believe that only a few months before one tribe was fighting against the other and both were the bitter enemies of my people. I had persuaded Wagombi to send a present of sheep to Karuri, and got the chief Karkerrie, at Tato, to do the same, knowing that the exchange of presents was the surest way to maintain a friendly understanding between the different chiefs. Then, collecting the other ivory we had buried there, we were soon on the march again.
Just after leaving Tato the rumour reached me that three Goanese had been murdered and all their safari wiped out. I gathered that it was a trading safari that had started out from Nairobi, headed by three Goanese, who had with them about forty Kikuyu natives from among some living near Nairobi. They had entered the Kikuyu country, and had been well treated by the natives whom I had got under control, having a really good time until they had entered the Chinga country. It will be remembered that these were the only natives I had never really got into touch with. We had passed through their country just after leaving Karuri’s, and for the most part they kept out of my way. As I mentioned previously, some of these people came into my camp, and I had intended to make blood brotherhood—or rather Pigasangi—with them on my way back. The Goanese, having had a good time at Karuri’s, had, perhaps, not reckoned on the other natives being different, and consequently had not taken proper precautions. They were well armed—about fifteen of the natives carrying rifles, beside themselves—but in spite of this the Chinga people had for some reason attacked them and murdered the whole party. This was the disquieting rumour that reached me soon after leaving Tato, though I must confess that I did not put much faith in it, as so many similar rumours had been spread about myself having been killed, and I had learned not to trust every report that I heard. I thought, however, that the Goanese might be in some difficulty, and perhaps had some of their men killed; so I hurried up to see if I could give them any assistance; but the nearer I got to the scene of the alleged massacre the more convincing were the statements of the natives as to the truth of the stories which I had heard.
I did not call at Muga-wa-diga’s, as I had done on my outward journey, but took a shorter route to Bartier’s, and when nearing his village did a very foolish thing, which might easily have cost me my life, and, indeed, probably would have done so, but for the extraordinary instinct of my mule.
Being anxious to meet Bartier to get confirmation of the statements I had heard from the natives, and as it was getting late in the afternoon, I left my men and hurried on ahead. I had never done such a thing before, but it must be remembered that I was carrying with me an immense quantity of ivory—practically every man being fully loaded up with it—and my anxiety about the Goanese had shaken me out of my usual caution. Taking with me only one askari, my gunbearer, an interpreter, and the boy who looked after my mule, I went on, telling the rest to follow me as quickly as possible to Bartier’s. My men knew what had happened, and I told them to be very careful; but still, being in a friendly country, I thought that there could be no harm in pushing on ahead by myself. The path ran between two hedges, which separated it on either side from the cultivated patches of the natives. Suddenly, as I galloped forward, all at once my mule showed a disinclination to proceed along the path, and seemed to want to get off the road into the cultivated patches. This curious behaviour would at any other time have roused my suspicions, but though puzzled to account for the mule’s peculiar conduct I did not attach any special reason to it; and, finding that it would not go along the path, I let it have its own way, and turned into the shamba, when it ran along without any further trouble. I galloped along in the gardens for some distance, near the footpath, and had not gone more than a mile when the mule, of its own accord, returned to the road, and I arrived at Bartier’s without further incident about five o’clock. The whole village was in a state of excitement, and I quickly received confirmation of the murders, the natives being full of it and appearing terribly afraid that the Chinga people would attack them immediately because I was there. The Chinga people were their neighbours, and the Goanese who had been murdered being, to the native idea, white men, were said to be my brothers. Hitherto many of the natives had believed that it was impossible to kill a white man, and this idea had, to a great extent, kept me free from attack. But now they said that they had killed my brothers, and were only waiting for an opportunity to kill me as well.
Bartier and his people assured me that they were absolutely friendly to me, and that I could rely upon them. It was the Chinga people, with the natives from a part called Mahigga, together with some from a district lying more to the east of us, under the control of my old enemy, the chief rain-maker, who had joined their forces against the Goanese, and I had no doubt that the rain-maker had had as much, and more, to do with the matter than any one else. From what I could make out there must have been some thousands of natives in the business, and they had completely wiped out the traders’ safari and taken everything they possessed—trade goods, some cattle they had with them, and everything that was worth looting.
Whilst Bartier was explaining all this to me, two of the four men who had started out with me ahead of the main body of my followers arrived in the village. I had outdistanced them on my mule, and had been feeling some anxiety for their safety. When I saw that there were only two of them, I immediately inquired what had become of the others. It was evident from the state of excitement they were in that something had happened, and they at once told me that their two companions had been killed. Their story confirmed the suspicion which had been growing in my mind that an ambush had been set for me at the place where my mule had refused to keep on the road, and it was no doubt due to the animal’s instinct that I had not been killed myself, as my men had kept to the road and so fallen into the ambush. They were going along, they said, when a number of men rushed out on them, and before they knew what was really happening two of their number had been killed. The two who had escaped could only tell me that they had been attacked by a number of Kikuyu on the war-path, who, rushing out on them, had speared the others and then cleared off, while they had picked up the rifles of the murdered men and come on to Bartier’s as fast as they could.
I saw that things were looking pretty bad, and quickly concluded that the men in ambush were some of the party who had taken part in the murder of the Goanese; but whether they were merely a scouting party, spying out my movements, who had got a bit excited and started too early, or whether they had planned to kill me and throw suspicion on Bartier, I could only guess. Bartier assured me that it had not been done by any of his people, and I was quite prepared to believe him, being fully convinced in my own mind that it was the act of some of the Chinga people.
As soon as I had gathered all the details from my two followers I asked Bartier to send out a few of his people to meet my caravan coming along, to tell them of what had happened, and to warn them to be very careful; also, if the two men who had been ambushed were not dead, to bring them in with them, and this he readily agreed to do. My men were not very far behind, and the caravan shortly afterwards arrived, bringing with them one of the men still alive. He had had two or three spears thrust right through his back. He was not yet dead, and I did all I possibly could for him, but he was past human help, and, after confirming the story which the others had already told me, he died in an hour or two.
As soon as the caravan arrived we at once set to work to build a boma, and I realized that I was now in about the tightest corner I had ever been in. With all these men of the Goanese safari murdered, the country was in a state of ferment, and thousands of armed men on the war-path all round us, so that the prospect was not the most cheerful, and I could see that I was in for a rough time, and how I was going to get out of it I could not imagine. As I have already said, I had such an immense amount of ivory that I could only just get along, and it was not likely that I should be disposed to abandon it, after all the months of trouble and worry it had cost me to collect—living entirely among savages, and never seeing a white face for twelve months. At any rate, I meant to make a good fight for it, and determined, if it were at all possible, to win my way out, though I knew that these people, who had already dipped their hands in the blood of my white brothers—as they imagined them to be—would do their utmost to blot me out, if only for the sake of the quantity of loot which they would get.
The next step to building the boma was to bury the ivory, and having made this as secure as possible for the present, I cheered everybody up by telling them that we should get through all right—that we had not been travelling in the country for so long to be afraid now.