A SECOND ASCENT.
After a most disturbed night, owing to the howling of the natives, who
were celebrating their chief’s return by vigorous dancing, I set to work
early to pack and prepare for my second ascent of the mountain. It was
very hot that morning, and what with the fatigue and worry of
distributing the loads and serving out “posho” (food allowance), I felt
quite knocked up. The Sultan made many difficulties about furnishing me
with guides, but as I showed resolutely that I intended to go either
with or without them, he gave in, and sent me four men, clamorous ravens
that they were. These latter shrieked and disputed about the amount of
cloth due to them, and at length I abruptly turned two away. About
half-past one we started, and left the precincts of the Sultan’s “court”
with little regret. After crossing one fine river and walking through a
smiling and fertile country, we began to ascend some thousand feet above
the level of Maraṅu, and passed along intricate lanes of dracæna and by
banana groves flourishing at a height of about 5500 feet. After a
further ascent of a few hundred feet, cultivation came to an end, and we
entered a heathy district, with pleasant grassy knolls and many streams
of running water, finally encamping for the night beside a lovely
fern-choked brook at 6500 feet, the whole ascent having proved very
gradual.
The following day we quitted our camping-place at about half-past seven,
and walked on, with occasional rests, for about two hours, when we found
ourselves in dense forest, at an elevation of 7000 feet. Here we stopped
and breakfasted. The scenery was pretty much the same as on the Moši
road, which was described in Chapter XI. Short, gnarled trees, uplands
thickly covered with moss and ferns, and teeming with parasitic
begonias, bearing sweet-scented white flowers; many tree-ferns and few
signs of animal life, save occasional tracks of elephants or the
scattered feathers of a touraco—dark blue with red pinions. At half-past
eleven we started again, and journeyed on till nearly three. We had then
reached an elevation of 9000 feet, and had passed for some distance
through a region clear of forest, and merely covered with open grass. At
our camping-place, however, we entered the woodland again, and here,
fortunately, found a little stream of water. Indeed, on the road between
the mountain and Maraṅu water was much more abundant than on the Moši
track. I caught a small chameleon and several beetles in this place. The
next day we left this camp at eight o’clock, and journeyed eastward for
about two hours, searching for a good site whereon to make my
settlement, which must be close to water, and not too high up, so that
my shivering followers might not suffer unreasonably from cold. I
selected an admirable spot on a grassy knoll rising above the river of
Kilema, which takes its source near the east of Kimawenzi. The altitude
of this site was nearly 10,000 feet. It was about four miles in a direct
line from Kimawenzi, and about seven from Kibô.
Directly my choice was made, so that no time might be lost, the men set
to work at once cutting down the giant ericas (heaths), and using their
trunks for building-poles and their dry heather for thatch, while the
coarse grass that here covered the ground was reaped, and also employed
for roofing the huts and making snug beds on the ground. With such
rapidity did the men work that before nightfall on the day of our
arrival some fifteen cosy huts had been nearly completed, and a rough
kind of kitchen had been made for my behoof. For my own lodging the tent
had to serve, as I was not yet confident as to the rain-proof character
of the heather huts. That night they were to be roughly tried.
I had taken to my bed early in the afternoon, having severely hurt my
knee, falling over sharp rocks in the stream-valley; but I could see
through the tent door clouds of fearful portent rolling up over the
upper slopes of the hidden mountain. In the early night growls of
thunder began to be heard, together with lurid quiverings of lightning,
which shimmered through the awful complete darkness. Big drops fell one
by one with thuds like pellets on the tightly-stretched covering of the
tent. Then, suddenly, a bellow of thunder, so deafeningly loud that
one’s ears were stunned for a moment, burst from the storm right over
our heads, seemingly, and echoed from all the ravines and hollows of the
mountain side. Flash after flash of lightning revealed the whole scene
in momentary brilliancy, and then the few desultory drops of rain
changed into a soaking downpour. I called my two personal servants and
my cook into the tent, which, happily, was watertight, and they
gratefully huddled together on the floor till the tempest ceased.
The next morning, however, by a happy contrast the scene was fair and
smiling. The sky was cloudless and serene, the two snow-peaks were in
full view, and mild as the heat of the sun was at this elevation, it was
nevertheless of some service in drying the soaked garments of the men.
All through this day succeeding the storm the men worked unremittingly
at their houses, especially thatching their roofs with increased care,
and when another downpour took place we observed with pleasure that no
wet had penetrated the interior of the dwellings.
When these were completed, the whole settlement was further surrounded
by a stout fence or “boma” as a wise precaution against possible
assault. The rushing river flowed along one side of our little village,
and the only gate of entrance and exit was so constructed that it might
easily be blocked and rendered impassable.
My own portion of the settlement was strongly railed off from the rest,
and would serve in case of attack as a citadel and last refuge from
besiegers. You see we were still doubtful as to the manner in which our
old foes of Kibôšo would behave, and thought it best to anticipate the
worst. We had scarcely finished these preparations before, one morning
early, my men came running in to announce the approach of a troop of
suspicious-looking savages. It was the Wa-kibôšo, we felt sure, and all
made silently ready to defend the settlement if these people intended to
fight. Soon their foremost men appeared on the rising slope to the west
of the settlement, planted their spears in the ground and sat down to
parley. Taking Kiongwe and one of the Maraṅu guides, I hobbled out (for
my wounded knee still pained me) to within ten yards of the Wa-kibôšo.
“Do you come as friends or foes?” I asked. “Mbuïa, mbuïa!” (Friends,
friends!), they quickly replied, and then came running down the slope to
shake hands. After this they informed us that hearing the white man, who
had lived in Moši, had now left Mandara and had come to live peacefully
high up on Kilima-njaro, the people of Kibôšo were anxious to be friends
with him and come to trade, but that, fearing he might still be bitter
in heart against them, they had sent their soldiers on in advance to
sound the white man’s feelings. I hastened to reply cordially to this
statement and begged the Kibôšo soldiers to go and tell their
fellow-citizens who were waiting in the bush that they might come and
trade fearlessly with me and receive good measure for what they sold.
The soldiers and I then exchanged presents, after which they went off to
call their countrymen on the scene. The trading Wa-kibôšo came by
midday, bringing provisions for sale, both good in quality and cheap in
price, so that now, all anxiety about provisioning my party was at an
end.
I could not but admire the enterprise which these people showed in
carrying their wares a distance of some eight or nine miles to trade
with one whom but a few days before they had considered a dangerous
magician. I soon got on excellent terms with these Wa-kibôšo whom in
past days I had looked upon as my bitterest foes, and who had been in
turns amazed and mystified by my fireworks and my theodolite. Now that
we were friends I had many a pleasant chat with them, and offered to
visit their country and chief (who is the uncle of the Prince of
Maraṅu), but this last proposal they hesitated to accept. Their Sultan
had given them permission to trade with me, and he wished to remain at
peace with the white man, but as to seeing him!—“No, he was much too
undoubted a sorcerer!” The chief of Kibôšo was an old man, and it would
be easy to bewitch him. So, on the whole, it would be better for both
parties that we should remain apart. I did not insist, as I only cared
now to collect in the chilly regions near the snow, and wished for no
more native complications after my delays and difficulties in Moši and
Maraṅu. Every day during my stay at this high elevation the Wa-kibôšo
came to trade, bringing bleating goats, magnificent clusters of ripening
bananas, sweet potatoes, honey, and tobacco; and, moreover, as soon as
they were made aware of my wishes, they captured animals for my
collections, and would bring me squeaking, wriggling hyraxes tied
securely to forked sticks. Many of these little beasts proved utterly
untamable, though I kept several young ones alive until I returned to
Taveita, but on reaching the lowlands they sickened and died.
The accident to my knee-cap compelled me to spend several days in
enforced idleness, but as soon as I was able to go about I began my
rambles up the mountain. My first excursion was to the base of
Kimawenzi, the lesser of the two peaks. The terrible hurricane of wind,
however, that raged round this jagged series of lava spurs prevented me
from continuing the ascent, although I doubt if it be possible for any
one to reach the summit, owing to the want of foothold. The snow varies
very much in quantity on Kimawenzi. Sometimes the whole peak will be
covered down to the parent ridge, with only the precipitous rocks
peeping blackly through the mantle of white. At other periods the snow
will be reduced to an insignificant patch, and the reddish sand which
fills the crevices and glissades between the lava rocks will be left
exposed to view. This change from an almost complete snow-cap to nearly
no snow at all may be effected in twelve hours.
[Illustration:
Fig. 55.—Kimawenzi.
]
During the whole of our stay in these regions, which included the
greater part of October, we were subjected constantly to the most
violent thunderstorms, and indeed the weather generally was abominable,
and its effect on my men most depressing. Although the roofs of their
hastily-built huts were fairly watertight, yet the constantly dripping
rain made the ground swampy, and the driving mist swept into every
opening and rendered everything uncomfortably damp. For hours together
we would be enveloped in dense fog, which had such a gloomy appearance
that my men often begged me to abandon my intentions of ascending any
further, and return to sunny Taveita. But, until I had made a further
attempt to reach the snows and possibly the apex of Kibô I could not
accede to their wishes. Therefore, I began to make arrangements for a
lengthened climb of the huge domed summit which marks the climax of
Kilima-njaro. To do this successfully it would be necessary, owing to
the time occupied in the ascent, to sleep on the way. Accordingly, I
could not go alone, but must induce a few followers to accompany me to
carry my necessary impedimenta. My Indian servant, Virapan, of course
volunteered; but I had to leave him behind, as he was not only disabled
with severe ulcers on the legs, but I was afraid to quit the settlement
without putting some responsible person in charge. So I selected three
of my followers who looked agile and strong, and were not more cowardly
than the majority—by cowardly I mean afraid of the unknown and the
unseen: they were brave enough in the presence of ordinary African
dangers—and providing each man with a warm blanket, and loading them
with my own coverings, and with food, and implements for collecting and
observing, I waited until the morning mists had somewhat cleared, and
then, taking an affectionate leave of the rest of my caravan, who looked
upon my companions and myself as rash men courting death, I turned my
face to that quarter of the sky where the heavy concentration of cloud
masses indicated the presence of the great Kibô.
Starting at nine, I walked upwards, with few stoppages, until 1.30. At
first we crossed grassy, undulating hillocks, the road being fairly
easy. Then we entered a heathy tract, scorched and burnt with recent
bush fires, but higher up, where the blaze had not reached, the
vegetation was fairly abundant and green. Small pink irises[25] studded
the ground in numbers, an occasional gladiolus[26] of a vivid crimson
gleamed brightly out from the tufted grass. About 12,600 feet we struck
a pretty little stream, flowing S.S.W., and lower down carving its way
through a tremendous ravine, the sides of which were clothed with thick
vegetation and gaily lit up with the brilliant red-leaf shoots of the
protea (_Protea Abyssinica_) shrub. At the place where we crossed the
stream the banks were shelving, and above the little ford the water fell
in pretty cascades through a rift in the higher ridge of rock. About
this spot the surrounding scenery had lost much of its accustomed
asperity. On the further side of the stream was a patch of level green
sward, somewhat spoilt by the buffaloes who came thither to drink and
sport, and who had rucked up and befouled much of this little natural
lawn. Strange sessile thistles grew here, nearly five feet in
circumference, belonging to the genus _Carduus_, also an extraordinary
lobelia (_Lobelia Deckeni_), three to four feet in height, with a
teazle-like crown of silvery green bracts and bright blue blossoms.
Other remarkable plants were the lovely _Cynoglossum amplifolium_, with
rich ultramarine flowers, and an extraordinary arborescent plant, since
named _Senecio Johnstoni_, looking somewhat like a banana in the
distance, but in reality consisting of a tall, black, smooth trunk,
twenty to thirty feet in height, and surmounted by a huge crown of broad
leaves interspersed or headed up with bunches of yellow blossom. This
strange composite grew abundantly in the streamlet’s bed, and its trunk
was so superficially rooted and so rotten that, in spite of its height
and girth, I could pull it down with one hand.
[Illustration:
Fig. 56.—_Senecio Johnstoni._
]
Tufts of chervil and other tall _Umbelliferæ_, with patches of vivid
green moss, overhung the water, which itself was lovely in its absolute
clearness and in the bright wavelets and streaks of foam which marked
its hurried descent. At this altitude of nearly 13,000 feet bees and
wasps were still to be seen—their very presence, too, seemed to account
for the vivid colours of the flora—and bright little sun-birds darted
from bush to bush, gleaning their repast of honey.[27]
As we ascended on the further side of the stream-valley we came to some
strange boulders or smoothed masses of rock. They had been eaten away
underneath into small caverns, large enough for a man to creep into. I
went inside several, but detected nothing whatever resembling either
past or present animal occupation. The last fern I saw on
Kilima-njaro,[28] as I went upwards, I picked from under a sheltered
shelf of one of these caverns. Beyond and about these huge slabs of rock
the ground became pappy and boggy with water, in fact some three or four
small springs issued from about the rocks, and seemed to have done their
work in carving the cavelike hollows within. Putting down my hand to
gather a small plant by the roots, I was surprised to find the water
warm. At first I fancied it an illusion, and called to one of the men to
try, when he also exclaimed at the unexpected warmth. Then getting out
my thermometer I found the temperature of the trickling mud—for it was
little else in this bog—to be 91° Fahr.
[Illustration:
Fig. 57.—Curious Rocks, marked like a Tortoise-shell.
]
Mounting high above the rivulet the scenery became much harsher.
Vegetation only grew in dwarfed patches as we passed the altitude of
13,000 feet, and the ground was covered with boulders, more or less big,
apparently lying in utter confusion, and without any definite direction.
These slabs of rock were singularly shaped, and marked like huge
tortoise-shells (_vide_ illustration), being divided by lines and seams
into a tesselated surface. They were not very difficult to climb over,
and even seemed to act as irregular stone steps upwards. In their
interstices heaths of the size of large shrubs grew with a certain
luxuriance, and bright yellow euryops flowers studded the occasional
patches of bare earth, while every now and then my eye alighted with
pleasure on lovely clusters of pink everlasting flowers growing, where
they did grow, so thickly that they presented a blushing sheet of rosy
bloom. About 13,700 feet I saw the last resident bird, a kind of
stonechat.[29] It went in little cheery flocks, and showed such absence
of fear that I had to walk away from it before shooting, to avoid
shattering my specimen. After this, with the exception of an occasional
high-soaring kite or great-billed raven, I saw no other bird.
[Illustration:
Fig. 58.—Great-billed Ravens.
]
On reaching a height a little above 14,000 feet, I stopped again to boil
the thermometer and refresh myself with a little lunch. The result of my
observations gave this altitude as 14,117 feet. Throughout this ascent,
which was easy to climb, I suffered absolutely nothing from want of
health or mountain-sickness, although my three Zanzibari followers
lagged behind, panting and exhausted, and complained much of their lungs
and head. Moreover, every gust of wind breaking the silence of the
mountain made them look round with ashy countenances, convinced that the
Bogy of Kilima-njaro was upon them, coming _in propriâ personâ_ to
chastise our presumption. I often dreaded that their panic would
overcome them, and that they would turn and flee, carrying with them my
collecting things, instruments, and provisions. Moreover, about this
time we occasionally heard distant rumblings of thunder echoing among
unseen cliffs and valleys; and although these weird sounds might be only
referable to that cause, still I confess they did resemble somewhat the
rising murmurs of an angry spirit—or, at least, they did to my men’s
imaginations, for I myself, never having heard an angry spirit murmur,
was not in a position to discriminate. However, I resolved not to try
their powers of endurance much longer, so, on arriving at the place
where I stopped to lunch—a protected hollow surrounded by huge flattened
boulders—I determined to fix on this as our sleeping-place for the
night, and accordingly directed the men to collect the dry roots of the
heaths and other fair-sized shrubs as firewood. They were further
instructed to proceed to the small stream which rose hard by and fill
our gourds there with water, and afterwards to stretch out a macintosh
in guise of a tent, so that we might have some shelter against possible
rain and wind. Other directions for rendering our instalment as
comfortable as the unfavourable circumstances would permit were also
given; and having left the men in seemingly better spirits, I hastened
to continue my ascent while the weather would permit.
Climbing up a few hundred feet higher than the last stopping-place, and
rounding an unsuspected and deep ravine, I arrived close to the base of
a small peak which had been a continual and useful point to aim at
during the whole journey from my station. I was now at an elevation of
15,150 feet, and on the central connecting ridge of Kilima-njaro, and
could see a little on both sides, though the misty state of the
atmosphere prevented my getting any good view of the country. This
ridge, which from below looks so simple and straight, is in reality
dotted with several small monticules and cut up into many minor ridges,
the general direction of which is, on the southern side, from north-east
to south-west. To the eastward I could see the greater part of Kimawenzi
rising grandly with its jagged peaks and smooth glissades of golden
sand. Westward I still looked vainly in the piled-up clouds, for the
monarch of the chain still remained obstinately hidden, and I was at a
loss how to best approach his awful crown of snow. At length, and it was
so sudden and so fleeting that I had no time to fully take in the
majesty of the snowy dome of Kibô, the clouds parted and I looked on a
blaze of snow so blinding white under the brief flicker of sunlight that
I could see little detail. Since sunrise that morning I had caught no
glimpse of Kibô, and now it was suddenly presented to me with unusual
and startling nearness. But before I could get out my sketch-book and
sharpen my chalk-pencil the clouds had once more hidden everything,
indeed had enclosed me in a kind of London fog, very depressing in
character, for the decrease in light was rather alarming to one who felt
himself alone and cut off at a point nearly as high as the summit of
Mont Blanc. However, knowing now the direction of my goal, I rose from
the clammy stones, and clutching up my sketch-book with benumbed hands,
began once more to ascend westwards. Seeing but a few yards in front of
me, choked with mist, I made but slow progress; nevertheless, I
continually mounted along a gently sloping, hummocky ridge where the
spaces in between the masses of rock were filled with fine yellowish
sand. There were also fragments of stone strewn about, and some of these
I put into my knapsack. The slabs of rock were so slippery with the
drizzling mist that I very often nearly lost my footing, and I thought
with a shudder what a sprained ankle would mean here. However, though
reflection told me it would be better to return to my followers and
recommence the climb to-morrow, I still struggled on with stupid
persistency, and at length, after a rather steeper ascent than usual up
the now smoother and sharper ridge, I suddenly encountered snow lying at
my very feet, and nearly plunged headlong into a great rift filled with
snow that here seemed to cut across the ridge and interrupt it. The
dense mist cleared a little in a partial manner, and I then saw to my
left the black rock sloping gently to an awful gulf of snow so vast and
deep that its limits were concealed by fog. Above me a line of snow was
just discernible, and altogether the prospect was such a gloomy one with
its all-surrounding curtain of sombre cloud and its uninhabited wastes
of snow and rock, that my heart sank within me at my loneliness.
Nevertheless, I thought “only a little farther and perhaps I may ascend
above the clouds and stand gazing down into the crater of Kilima-njaro
from its snowy rim.” So turning momentarily northwards I rounded the
rift of snow, and once more dragged myself, now breathless and panting,
and with aching limbs, along the slippery ridge of bare rock which went
ever mounting upwards. I continued this for nearly an hour, and then
dropped exhausted on the ground, overcome with what I suppose was an
ordinary attack of mountain-sickness.
It is not necessary to dilate on my sensations at this moment. Possibly
there are some among my readers who have scaled the giant peaks of South
America, India, and Armenia, and who would laugh at the puny
difficulties that Kilima-njaro presents—a mountain that can be climbed
without even the aid of a walking-stick, and where the most serious
obstacles arise from mist and cold which would scarcely deter a cockney
from ascending Snowdon. But the feeling that overcame me when I sat and
gasped for breath on the wet and slippery rocks at this great height was
one of overwhelming isolation. I felt as if I should never more regain
the force to move, and must remain and die amid this horrid solitude of
stones and snow. Then I took some brandy-and-water from my flask, and a
little courage came back to me. I was miserably cold, the driving mist
having wetted me to the skin. Yet the temperature recorded here was
above freezing-point, being 35° Fahr. I boiled my thermometer, and the
agreeable warmth of the spirit-lamp put life into my benumbed hands. The
mercury rose to 183·8. This observation when properly computed, and with
the correction added for the temperature of the intermediate air, gives
a height of 16,315 feet as the highest point I attained on Kilima-njaro.
I thus came within a little more than 2000 feet of the summit, which is
usually estimated to reach an altitude of 18,800 feet.
Having looked at my watch, I found it was now nearly half-past four, so
I resolved to hasten back as quickly as possible to my improvised
shelter, for the clouds were thickening, and thin showers of sleety snow
were falling. A high wind arose and whipped my face with the icy rain,
and made it very difficult to keep my footing on the slippery ridge. At
length I reached the boulders and the sand, then descending with greater
ease entered once more, at about an altitude of 15,000 feet, the region
of vegetation. Keeping in view the small hillock I have already
mentioned as such a useful landmark, I ultimately found my way back to
the spot where I had left the men. What was my agonized surprise to find
on searching the sheltered hollow, that it was deserted and abandoned! I
hesitated but little. Sooner than remain there without blankets, food,
or fire, I would endeavour to regain my station, even though I had to
wander all night on the lonely flanks of the mountain; so starting off
in the waning daylight, I hurried over the now easy descent at a pace
that soon quickened into an irregular run. I crossed the stream at the
well-remembered ford; and cheered with the sight of old landmarks, and
warmed with the violent exercise, I marched straight on in the direction
of my little village. The mists dispersed, the moon shone out brightly,
I could clearly distinguish familiar hill-tops, and on reaching once
more the banks of my own river, I then had an unfailing guide to follow
until the glimmering watch-fires of my settlement glanced out from our
bushy stockade, and the loud voices of men broke the still and frosty
air. As I stepped in through the palisade, and appeared before my almost
terror-stricken men, I saw I was at first taken for my own ghost, but
when I had spoken a few sentences in a very real and energetic tone to
the three culprits who had deserted me, the other men crowded round me
in an ecstasy of joy, kissing my hands, patting me all over to assure
themselves that I was back in the flesh, and assuring me that if I had
taken _them_, _they_ would never have left me to perish in the snowy
solitudes above—no! not if the Demon of the Mountain had appeared
visibly in all his terrors to confront them. It appeared that my three
followers had remained for about an hour in the place I had left them,
and then seeing I did not return, had been seized with an irresistible
panic, had caught up their loads, and had returned helter-skelter to the
station. Fortunately they had not lost the collections, so after a short
rebuke I was disposed to condone their fault; the more so, as I felt so
thankful to return to warmth and shelter and familiar faces, that I
little cared to pass the night in unprofitable scolding.
[Illustration:
Fig. 59.—The Dome of Kibô from an altitude of 11,000 feet.
]
The next day I was so worn out with fatigue that I could not go far
beyond the settlement, and therefore spent my time chaffering with the
men of Uru and Kibôšo, who had arrived to hold another market. On the
morrow, I once again made an attempt, this time alone, to reach the
snows of Kibô, and just managed to do so, but the weather was again
atrocious, and the bitter cold compelled me to return at an early hour,
to avoid being benighted far from camp. The rain cleared about five
o’clock, and on my homeward tramp I had one magnificent view of the dome
of Kibô, thickly and freshly powdered with snow and roseate under the
rays of the declining sun. I was struck by the numbers of great-billed
ravens which together with one hawk circled and soared high up, near the
snows of the mountain. Perhaps some adventurous buffalo had come to
grief and they were watching from the heights above his struggles in a
native’s pitfall. I saw the dung and footprints of these buffaloes up to
14,000 feet, and it is possible that they pass backwards and forwards
over the central ridge between the northern and southern slopes of
Kilima-njaro. I also saw the footmarks of a large antelope, possibly a
koodoo, to judge from the natives’ description. I might here remark that
in spite of a month’s residence in these high altitudes, not to mention
previous visits at other times, I never succeeded in seeing a specimen
of the buffalo or big antelope who penetrate in their wanderings up to
the very snow, although of their existence I have not the smallest doubt
from the distinctness and freshness of the footmarks so frequently met
with, and from the presence of droppings only a few hours old. The
natives, also, ascend the mountain to heights of 12,000 and 13,000 feet,
solely for the purpose of digging pitfalls to entrap these creatures. I
have questioned them many times and exhaustively, and they assured me
the buffalo and koodoo were identical with those inhabiting the plain
below. The natives’ shields were often made of untanned buffalo-hide,
and the horns were turned into powder-flasks. I should further mention
here that the elephant, at all times an excellent mountaineer (I have
seen him on the Chella mountains in Angola at 8000 feet), wanders up
Kilima-njaro to as great a height as the buffalo. I have not only seen
his recent traces, but at a height of 13,000 feet I actually saw three
of these animals crossing nimbly a stream-valley, and mounting with
agility the steep slopes that rose above the water. At night, too, round
our settlement we would frequently hear their loud shrill trumpeting. A
species of hyrax[30] inhabits the slopes of Kilima-njaro up to 11,000
feet. It affects always the neighbourhood of trees. During the night, in
the forest, these creatures call loudly to one another. The young
hyraxes, even in captivity, exhibit great power of modulation in their
voices, and their loud cries are almost human in tone.
During the greater part of October I remained in this lofty settlement,
and spent nearly every hour of daylight rambling about the mountain with
my collecting-portfolio and bird-gun. But in only two of my trips, as
already recorded, did I reach the snow. Owing to the length of time
involved in a climb to the snow-line (for the slope of the mountain was
very gradual) I was never able to accomplish the entire ascent of either
peak, going and returning in one day; and as I found it impossible to
induce my shivering men to follow me into the mists and hailstorms, and
could not unaided carry tent, instruments, and food, I had reluctantly
to resign my long-meditated feat, and leave the actual summit of
Kilima-njaro still virgin.
Moreover, my time for collecting at these high levels was coming to an
end. Although I had soon got inured to the climate myself, and felt
invigorated by the frosty nights, my poor followers, accustomed to the
greenhouse-atmosphere of Zanzibar, were suffering cruelly from the cold.
To clothe forty men in warm blankets was beyond my resources, and to
induce them to live for a long period lightly clad in garments of
cotton, in a temperature which was often below the freezing-point,
required, to say the least, considerable persuasion; but my chief
anxiety arose, not so much from their unwillingness to remain a few
weeks longer at an altitude of 10,000 feet, as from their unfitness to
do so. Several of the men were suffering severely from bronchial
affections; one or two had had touches of pleurisy; of chilblains and
rheumatism all complained; so that I began to fear that, unless I moved
to lower levels, I should have no men left to carry my loads. Therefore,
after deliberating with the head-men of the caravan, I prepared to
evacuate my highest station on Kilima-njaro at the end of October, and
following a new route through unexplored country, return to my
settlement at Taveita.