IN MASAILAND.
XXXIII.
OVER THE LIKIPIA ESCARPMENT.
Owing to an outbreak of bubonic plague, and consequent quarantine, we
had recruited our men outside Nairobi, and had sent them, in charge of
C., to a little station up the line.
Billy and I saw to the loading of our equipment on the train, and at two
o'clock, in solitary state, set forth. Our only attendants were Mohammed
and Memba Sasa, who had been fumigated and inoculated and generally
Red-Crossed for the purpose.
The little narrow-gauge train doubled and twisted in its climb up the
range overlooking Nairobi and the Athi Plains. Fields of corn grew so
tall as partially to conceal villages of round, grass-thatched huts with
conical roofs; we looked down into deep ravines where grew the
broad-leaved bananas; the steep hillsides had all been carefully
cultivated. Savages leaning on spears watched us puff heavily by.
Women, richly ornamented with copper wire or beads, toiled along bent
under loads carried by means of a band across the top of the head.[16]
Naked children rushed out to wave at us. We were steaming quite
comfortably through Africa as it had been for thousands of years before
the white man came.
At Kikuyu Station we came to a halt. Kikuyu Station ordinarily embarks
about two passengers a month, I suppose. Now it was utterly swamped with
business, for on it had descended all our safari of thirty-nine men and
three mules. Thirty of the thirty-nine yelled and shrieked and got in
the wrong place, as usual. C. and the train men and the stationmaster
and our responsible boys heaved and tugged and directed, ordered,
commanded. At length the human element was loaded to its places and
locked in. Then the mules had to be urged up a very narrow gang-lank
into a dangerous-looking car. Quite sensibly they declined to take
chances. We persuaded them. The process was quite simple. Two of the men
holding the ends at a safe distance stretched a light strong cord across
the beasts' hind legs, and sawed it back and forth.
We clanged the doors shut, climbed aboard, and the train at last
steamed on. Now bits of forest came across our way, deep, shaded, with
trailing curtain vines, and wide leaves as big as table tops, and high,
lush, impenetrable undergrowth full of flashing birds, fathomless
shadows, and inquisitive monkeys. Occasionally we emerged to the edge of
a long oval meadow, set in depressions among hills, like our Sierra
meadows. Indeed so like were these openings to those in our own wooded
mountains that we always experienced a distinct shock of surprise as the
familiar woods parted to disclose a dark solemn savage with flashing
spear.
We stopped at various stations, and descended and walked about in the
gathering shadows of the forest. It was getting cool. Many little things
attracted our attention, to remain in our memories as isolated pictures.
Thus I remember one grave savage squatted by the track playing on a sort
of mandoline-shaped instrument. It had two strings, and he twanged these
alternately, without the slightest effort to change their pitch by
stopping with his fingers. He bent his head sidewise, and listened with
the meticulous attention of a connoisseur. We stopped at that place for
fully ten minutes, but not for a second did he leave off twanging his
two strings, nor did he even momentarily relax his attention.
It was now near sundown. We had been climbing steadily. The train
shrieked twice, and unexpectedly slid out to the edge of the Likipia
Escarpment. We looked down once more into the great Rift Valley.
The Rift Valley is as though a strip of Africa--extending half the
length of the continent--had in time past sunk bodily some thousands of
feet, leaving a more or less sheer escarpment on either side, and
preserving intact its own variegated landscape in the bottom. We were on
the Likipia Escarpment. We looked across to the Mau Escarpment, where
the country over which our train had been travelling continued after its
interruption by the valley. And below us were mountains, streams,
plains. The westering sun threw strong slants of light down and across.
The engine shut off its power, and we slid silently down the rather
complicated grades and curves of the descent. A noble forest threw its
shadows over us. Through the chance openings we caught glimpses of the
pale country far below. Across high trestle bridges we rattled, and
craned over to see the rushing white water of the mountain torrents a
hundred feet down. The shriek of our engine echoed and re-echoed
weirdly from the serried trunks of trees and from the great cliffs that
seemed to lift themselves as we descended.
We debarked at Kijabe[17] well after dark. It is situated on a ledge in
the escarpment, is perhaps a quarter-mile wide, and includes nothing
more elaborate than the station, a row of Indian dukkas, and two houses
of South Africans set back towards the rise in the cliffs. A mile or so
away, and on a little higher level, stand the extensive buildings of an
American mission. It is, I believe, educational as well as sectarian, is
situated in one of the most healthful climates of East Africa, and is
prosperous.
At the moment we saw none of these things. We were too busy getting men,
mules, and equipment out of the train. Our lanterns flared in the great
wind that swept down the defile; and across the track little fires
flared too. Shortly we made the acquaintance of the South Africander who
furnished us our ox teams and wagon; and of a lank, drawling youth who
was to be our "rider." The latter was very anxious to get started, so we
piled all our stores and equipment but those immediately necessary for
the night aboard the great wagon. Then we returned to the dak-bungalow
for a very belated supper. While eating this we discussed our plans.
These were in essence very simple. Somewhere south of the Great Thirst
of the Sotik a river called the Narossara. Back of the river were high
mountains, and down the river were benches dropping off by thousands of
feet to the barren country of Lake Magahdi. Over some of this country
ranged the Greater Kudu, easily the prize buck of East Africa. We
intended to try for a Greater Kudu.
People laughed at us. The beast is extremely rare; it ranges over a wide
area; it inhabits the thickest sort of cover in a sheer mountainous
country; its senses are wonderfully acute; and it is very wary. A man
_might_, once in a blue moon, get one by happening upon it accidentally,
but deliberately to go after it was sheer lunacy. So we were told. As a
matter of fact, we thought so ourselves, but Greater Kudu was as good an
excuse as another.
The most immediate of our physical difficulties was the Thirst. Six
miles from Kijabe we would leave the Kedong River. After that was no
more water for two days and nights. During that time we should be forced
to travel and rest in alternation day and night, with a great deal of
travel and very little rest. We should be able to carry for the men a
limited amount of water on the ox wagon, but the cattle could not drink.
It was a hard, anxious grind. A day's journey beyond the first water
after the Thirst we should cross the Southern Guaso Nyero River.[18]
Then two days should land us at the Narossara. There we must leave our
ox wagon and push on with our tiny safari. We planned to relay back for
porters from our different camps.
That was our whole plan. Our transport rider's object in starting this
night was to reach the Kedong River, and there to outspan until our
arrival next day. The cattle would thus get a good feed and rest. Then
at four in the afternoon we would set out to conquer the Thirst. After
that it would be a question of travelling to suit the oxen.
Next morning, when we arose, we found one of the wagon Kikuyus awaiting
us. His tale ran that after going four miles, the oxen had been
stampeded by lions. In the mix-up the dusselboom had been broken. He
demanded a new dusselboom. I looked as wise as though I knew just what
that meant; and told him largely, to help himself. Shortly he departed
carrying what looked to be the greater part of a forest tree.
We were in no hurry, so we did not try to get our safari under way
before eight o'clock. It consisted of twenty-nine porters, the
gunbearers, three personal boys, three syces, and the cook. Of this lot
some few stand out from the rest, and deserve particular attention.
Of course I had my veterans, Memba Sasa and Mohammed. There was also
Kongoni, gunbearer, elsewhere described. The third gunbearer was
Marrouki, a Wakamba. He was the personal gunbearer of a Mr. Twigg, who
very courteously loaned him for this trip as possessing some knowledge
of the country. He was a small person, with stripes about his eyes;
dressed in a Scotch highland cap, khaki breeches, and a shooting coat
miles too big for him. His soul was earnest, his courage great, his
training good, his intelligence none too brilliant. Timothy, our cook,
was pure Swahili. He was a thin, elderly individual, with a wrinkled
brow of care. This represented a conscientious soul. He tried hard to
please, but he never could quite forget that he had cooked for the
Governor's safari. His air was always one of silent disapproval of our
modest outfit. So well did he do, however, often under trying
circumstances, that at the close of the expedition Billy presented him
with a very fancy knife. To her vast astonishment he burst into violent
sobs.
"Why, what is it?" she asked.
"Oh, memsahib," he wailed, "I wanted a watch!"
As personal boy Billy had a Masai named Geyeye.[19] The members of this
proud and aristocratic tribe rarely condescend to work for the white
man; but when they do, they are very fine servants, for they are highly
intelligent. Geyeye was short and very, very ugly. Perhaps this may
partly explain his leaving tribal life, for the Masai generally are over
six feet.
C.'s man was an educated Coast Swahili named Abba Ali. This individual
was very smart. He wore a neatly-trimmed Vandyke beard, a flannel
boating hat, smart tailored khakis, and carried a rattan cane. He was
alert, quick, and intelligent. His position was midway between that of
personal boy and headman.
Of the rank and file we began with twenty-nine. Two changed their minds
before we were fairly started, and departed in the night. There was no
time to get regular porters; but fortunately a Kikuyu chief detailed two
wild savages from his tribe to act as carriers. These two children of
nature drifted in with pleasant smiles and little else save
knick-knacks. From our supplies we gave them two thin jerseys, reaching
nearly to the knees. Next day they appeared with broad tucks sewed
around the middle! They looked like "My Mama didn't use wool soap." We
then gave it up, and left them free and untrammelled.
They differed radically. One was past the first enthusiasms and vanities
of youth. He was small, unobtrusive, unornamented. He had no possessions
save the jersey, the water-bottle, and the blanket we ourselves
supplied. The blanket he crossed bandolier fashion on one shoulder. It
hung down behind like a tasselled sash. His face was little and wizened
and old. He was quiet and uncomplaining, and the "easy mark" for all the
rest. We had constantly to be interfering to save him from imposition as
to too heavy loads, too many jobs, and the like. Nearing the close of
the long expedition, when our loads were lighter and fewer, one day C.
spoke up.
"I'm going to give the old man a good time," said he. "I doubt if he's
ever had one before, or if he ever will again. He's that sort of a meek
damnfool."
So it was decreed that Kimau[20] should carry nothing for the rest of
the trip, was to do no more work, was to have all he wanted to eat. It
was a treat to see him. He accepted these things without surprise,
without spoken thanks; just as he would have accepted an increased
supply of work and kicks. Before his little fire he squatted all day,
gazing vacantly off into space, or gnawing on a piece of the meat he
always kept roasting on sticks. He spoke to no one; he never smiled or
displayed any obvious signs of enjoyment; but from him radiated a
feeling of deep content.
His companion savage was a young blood, and still affected by the
vanities of life. His hair he wore in short tight curls, resembling the
rope hair of a French poodle, liberally anointed with castor-oil and
coloured with red-paint clay. His body, too, was turned to bronze by the
same method, so that he looked like a beautiful smooth metal statue come
to life. To set this quality off he wore glittering collars, bracelets,
and ear ornaments of polished copper and brass. When he joined us his
sole costume was a negligent two-foot strip of cotton cloth. After he
had received his official jersey, he carefully tied the cloth over his
wonderful head; nor as far as we knew did he again remove it until the
end of the expedition. All his movements were inexpressibly graceful.
They reminded one somehow of Flaxman's drawings of the Greek gods. His
face, too, was good-natured and likeable. A certain half feminine, wild
grace, combined with the queer effect of his headgear, caused us to name
him Daphne. At home he was called Kingangui. At first he carried his
burden after the fashion of savages--on the back; and kept to the rear
of the procession; and at evening consorted only with old Lightfoot. As
soon as opportunity offered, he built himself a marvellous iridescent
ball of marabout feathers. Each of these he split along the quill, so
that they curled and writhed in the wind. This picturesque charm he
suspended from a short pole in front of his tent. Also, he belonged to
the Kikuyu tribe; he ate no game meat, but confined his diet to cornmeal
porridge. We were much interested in watching Daphne's gradual
conversion from savage ways to those of the regular porter. Within two
weeks he was carrying his load on his head or shoulder, and trying to
keep up near the head of the safari. The charm of feathers disappeared
shortly after, I am sorry to say. He took his share of the meat. Within
two months Daphne was imitating as closely as possible the manners and
customs of his safari mates. But he never really succeeded in looking
anything but the wild and graceful savage he was.
FOOTNOTES:
[16] After the fashion of the Canadian tump line.
[17] Pronounce all the syllables.
[18] An entirely different stream from that flowing north of Mt. Kenia.
[19] Pronounce _every_ syllable.
[20] His official name was Lightfoot, Queen of the Fairies, because of
his ballet-like costume.
XXXIV.
TO THE KEDONG.
For four hours we descended the valley through high thorn scrub or the
occasional grassy openings. We were now in the floor of the Rift Valley,
and both along the escarpments and in the floor of the great blue valley
itself mountains were all about us. Most of the large ones were
evidently craters; and everywhere were smaller kopjes or buttes, that in
their day had also served as blow holes for subterranean fires.
At the end of this time we arrived at the place where we were supposed
to find the wagon. No wagon was there.
The spot was in the middle of a level plain on which grew very scattered
bushes, a great deal like the sparser mesquite growths of Arizona.
Towards the Likipia Escarpment, and about half-way to its base, a line
of trees marked the course of the Kedong River. Beyond that, fairly
against the mountain, we made out a settler's house.
Leaving Billy and the safari, C. and I set out for this house. The
distance was long, and we had not made half of it before thunder clouds
began to gather. They came up thick and black behind the escarpment, and
rapidly spread over the entire heavens. We found the wagon shortly,
still mending its dusselboom, or whatever the thing was. Leaving
instructions for it to proceed to a certain point on the Kedong River,
we started back for our safari.
It rained. In ten minutes the dusty plains, as far as the eye could
reach, were covered with water two or three inches deep, from which the
sparse bunches of grasses grew like reeds in a great marshy lake. We
splashed along with the water over our ankles. The channels made by the
game trails offered natural conduits, and wherever there was the least
grade they had become rushing brooks. We found the safari very
bedraggled. Billy had made a mound of valuables, atop which she perched,
her waterproof cape spread as wide as possible, a good deal like a
brooding hen. We set out for the meeting-point on the Kedong. In half an
hour we had there found a bit of higher ground and had made camp.
As suddenly as they had gathered the storm clouds broke away. The
expiring sun sent across the valley a flood of golden light, that gilded
the rugged old mountain of Suswa over the way.
"Directly on the other side of Suswa," C. told me, "there is a 'pan' of
hard clay. This rain will fill it, and we shall find water there. We can
take a night's rest, and set off comfortably in the morning."
So the rain that had soaked us so thoroughly was a blessing after all.
While we were cooking supper the wagon passed us, its wheels and frame
creaking, its great whip cracking like a rifle, its men shrieking at the
imperturbable team of eighteen oxen. It would travel until the oxen
wanted to graze, or sleep, or scratch an ear, or meditate on why is a
Kikuyu. Thereupon they would be outspanned and allowed to do it,
whatever it was, until they were ready to go on again. Then they would
go on. These sequences might take place at any time of the day or night,
and for greater or lesser intervals of time. That was distinctly up to
the oxen; the human beings had mighty little to say in the matter. But
transport riding, from the point of view of the rank outsider, really
deserves a chapter of its own.
XXXV.
THE TRANSPORT RIDER.
The wagon is one evolved in South Africa--a long, heavily-constructed
affair, with ingenious braces and timbers so arranged as to furnish the
maximum clearance with the greatest facility for substitution in case
the necessity for repairs might arise. The whole vehicle can be
dismounted and reassembled in a few hours; so that unfordable streams or
impossible bits of country can be crossed piecemeal. Its enormous wheels
are set wide apart. The brake is worked by a crank at the rear, like a
reversal of the starting mechanism of a motor car. Bolted to the frame
on either side between the front and rear wheels are capacious
cupboards, and two stout water kegs swing to and fro when the craft is
under way. The net carrying capacity of such a wagon is from three to
four thousand pounds.
This formidable vehicle, in our own case, was drawn by a team of
eighteen oxen. The biggest brutes, the wheelers, were attached to a
tongue, all the others pulled on a long chain. The only harness was the
pronged yoke that fitted just forward of the hump. Over rough country
the wheelers were banged and jerked about savagely by the tongue; they
did not seem to mind it but exhibited a certain amount of intelligence
in manipulation.
To drive these oxen we had one white man named Brown, and two small
Kikuyu savages. One of these worked the brake crank in the rear while
the other preceded the lead cattle. Brown exercised general supervision,
a long-lashed whip and Boer-Dutch expletives and admonitions.
In transport riding, as this game is called, there is required a great
amount of especial skill though not necessarily a high degree of
intelligence. Along the flats all goes well enough, but once in the
unbelievable rough country of a hill trek the situation alters. A man
must know cattle and their symptoms. It is no light feat to wake up
eighteen sluggish bovine minds to the necessity for effort, and then to
throw so much dynamic energy into the situation that the whole eighteen
will begin to pull at once. That is the secret, unanimity; an ox is the
most easily discouraged working animal on earth. If the first three
couples begin to haul before the others have aroused to their effort,
they will not succeed in budging the wagon an inch, but after a moment's
struggle will give up completely. By that time the leaders respond to
the command and throw themselves forward in the yoke. In vain. They
cannot pull the wagon and their wheel comrades too. Therefore they give
up. By this time, perhaps, the lash has aroused the first lot to another
effort. And so they go, pulling and hauling against each other, getting
nowhere, until the end is an exhausted team, a driver half insane, and a
great necessity for unloading.
A good driver, on the other hand, shrieks a few premonitory Dutch
words--and then! I suppose inside those bovine heads the effect is
somewhat that of a violent electric explosion. At any rate it hits them
all at once, and all together, in response, they surge against their
yokes. The heavily laden wagon creaks, groans, moves forward. The
hurricane of Dutch and the volleys of whip crackings rise to a
crescendo. We are off!
To perform just this little simple trick of getting the thing started
requires not only a peculiar skill or gift, but also lungs of brass and
a throat of iron. A transport rider without a voice is as a tenor in the
same fix. He may--and does--get so hoarse that it is a pain to hear him;
but as long as he can croak in good volume he is all right. Mere
shouting will not do. He must shriek, until to the sympathetic bystander
it seems that his throat must split wide open. Furthermore, he must
shriek the proper things. It all sounds alike to every one but transport
riders and oxen; but as a matter of fact it is Boer-Dutch, nicely
assorted to suit different occasions. It is incredible that oxen should
distinguish; but, then, it is also incredible that trout should
distinguish the nice differences in artificial flies.
After the start has been made successfully, the craft must be kept under
way. To an unbiassed bystander the whole affair looks insane. The wagon
creaks and sways and groans and cries aloud as it bumps over great
boulders in the way; the leading Kikuyu dances nimbly and shrills
remarks at the nearest cattle; the tail Kikuyu winds energetically back
and forth on his little handle, and tries to keep his feet. And Brown!
he is magnificent! His long lash sends out a volley of rifle reports,
down, up, ahead, back; his cracked voice roars out an unending stream
of apparent gibberish. Back and forth along the line of the team he
skips nimbly, the sweat streaming from his face. And the oxen plod
along, unhasting, unexcited, their eyes dreamy, chewing the cud of
yesterday's philosophic reflections. The situation conveys the general
impression of a peevish little stream breaking against great calm
cliffs. All this frantic excitement and expenditure of energy is so
apparently purposeless and futile, the calm cattle seem so aloof and
superior to it all, so absolutely unaffected by it. They are going
slowly, to be sure; their gait may be maddeningly deliberate, but
evidently they do not intend to be hurried. Why not let them take their
own speed?
But all this hullabaloo means something after all. It does its business,
and the top of the boulder-strewn hill is gained. Without it the whole
concern would have stopped, and then the wagon would have to be unloaded
before a fresh start could have been made. Results with cattle are not
shown by facial expression nor by increased speed, but simply by
continuance. They will plod up steep hills or along the level at the
same placid gait. Only in the former case they require especial
treatment.
In case the wagon gets stuck on a hill, as will occasionally happen, so
that all the oxen are discouraged at once, we would see one of the
Kikuyus leading the team back and forth, back and forth, on the side
hill just ahead of the wagon. This is to confuse their minds, cause them
to forget their failure, and thus to make another attempt.
At one stretch we had three days of real mountains. N'gombe[21] Brown
shrieked like a steam calliope all the way through. He lasted the
distance, but had little camp-fire conversation even with his beloved
Kikuyus.
When the team is outspanned, which in the waterless country of forced
marches is likely to be almost any time of the day or night, N'gombe
Brown sought a little rest. For this purpose he had a sort of bunk that
let down underneath the wagon. If it were daytime, the cattle were
allowed to graze under supervision of one of the Kikuyus. If it was
night time they were tethered to the long chain, where they lay in a
somnolent double row. A lantern at the head of the file and one at the
wagon's tail were supposed to discourage lions. In a bad lion country
fires were added to these defences.
N'gombe Brown thus worked hard through varied and long hours in strict
intimacy with stupid and exasperating beasts. After working hours he
liked to wander out to watch those same beasts grazing! His mind was as
full of cattle as that! Although we offered him reading matter, he never
seemed to care for it, nor for long-continued conversation with white
people not of his trade. In fact the only gleam of interest I could get
out of him was by commenting on the qualities or peculiarities of the
oxen. He had a small mouth-organ on which he occasionally performed, and
would hold forth for hours with his childlike Kikuyus. In the
intelligence to follow ordinary directions he was an infant. We had to
iterate and reiterate in words of one syllable our directions as to
routes and meeting-points, and then he was quite as apt to go wrong as
right. Yet, I must repeat, he knew thoroughly all the ins and outs of a
very difficult trade, and understood, as well, how to keep his cattle
always fit and in good condition. In fact he was a little hipped on what
the "dear n'gombes" should or should not be called upon to do.
One incident will illustrate all this better than I could explain it.
When we reached the Narossara River we left the wagon and pushed on
afoot. We were to be gone an indefinite time, and we left N'gombe Brown
and his outfit very well fixed. Along the Narossara ran a pleasant shady
strip of high jungle; the country about was clear and open; but most
important of all, a white man of education and personal charm occupied a
trading boma, or enclosure, near at hand. An accident changed our plans
and brought us back unexpectedly at the end of a few weeks. We found
that N'gombe Brown had trekked back a long day's journey, and was
encamped alone at the end of a spur of mountains. We sent native runners
after him. He explained his change of base by saying that the cattle
feed was a little better at his new camp! Mind you this: at the
Narossara the feed was quite good enough, the oxen were doing no work,
there was companionship, books, papers, and even a phonograph to while
away the long weeks until our return. N'gombe Brown quite cheerfully
deserted all this to live in solitude where he imagined the feed to be
microscopically better!
FOOTNOTES:
[21] N'gombe = oxen.
XXXVI.
ACROSS THE THIRST.
We were off, a bright, clear day after the rains. Suswa hung grayish
pink against the bluest of skies. Our way slanted across the Rift Valley
to her base, turned the corner, and continued on the other side of the
great peak until we had reached the rainwater "pan" on her farther side.
It was a long march.
The plains were very wide and roomy. Here and there on them rose many
small cones and craters, lava flows and other varied evidences of recent
volcanic activity. Geologically recent, I mean. The grasses of the
flowing plains were very brown, and the molehill craters very dark; the
larger craters blasted and austere; the higher escarpment in the
background blue with a solemn distance. The sizes of things were not
originally fitted out for little tiny people like human beings. We
walked hours to reach landmarks apparently only a few miles away.
In this manner we crept along industriously until noon, by which time we
had nearly reached the shoulder of Suswa, around which we had to double.
The sun was strong, and the men not yet hardened to the work. We had
many stragglers. After lunch Memba Sasa and I strolled along on a route
flanking that of the safari, looking for the first of our meat supply.
Within a short time I had killed a Thompson's gazelle. Some solemn
giraffes looked on at the performance, and then moved off like
mechanical toys.
The day lengthened. We were in the midst of wonderful scenery. Our
objection grew to be that it took so long to put any of it behind us.
Insensibly, however, we made progress. Suddenly, as it seemed, we found
ourselves looking at the other side of Suswa, and various brand-new
little craters had moved up to take the places of our old friends. At
last, about half-past four, we topped the swell of one of the numerous
and interminable land billows that undulate across all plains countries
here, and saw a few miles away the wagon outspanned. We reached it about
sunset, to be greeted by the welcome news that there was indeed water in
the pan.
We unsaddled just before dark, and I immediately started towards the
game herds, many of which were grazing a half-mile away. The gazelle
would supply our own larder, but meat for hard-worked man was very
desirable. I shot a hartebeeste, made the prearranged signal for men to
carry meat, and returned to camp.
Even yet the men were not all in. We took lanterns and returned along
the road, for the long marches under a desert sun are no joke. At last
we had accounted for all but two. These we had to abandon. Next day we
found their loads, but never laid eyes on them again. Thus early our
twenty-nine became twenty-seven.
About nine o'clock, just as we were turning, a number of lions began to
roar. Usually a lion roars once or twice by way of satisfaction after
leaving a kill. These, however, were engaged in driving game, and hence
trying to make as much noise as possible. We distinguished plainly seven
individuals, perhaps more. The air trembled with the sound as to the
deepest tones of a big organ, only the organ is near and enclosed, while
these vibrations were in the open air and remote. For a few moments the
great salvos would boom across the veld, roll after roll of thunder;
then would ensue a momentary dead silence; then a single voice would
open, to be joined immediately by the others.
We awoke next day to an unexpected cold drizzle. This was a bit
uncomfortable, from one point of view, and most unusual, but it robbed
the thirst of its terrors. We were enabled to proceed leisurely, and to
get a good sleep near water every night. The wagon had, as usual, pulled
out some time during the night.
Our way led over a succession of low rolling ridges each higher than its
predecessor. Game herds fed in the shallow valleys between. At about ten
o'clock we came to the foot of the Mau Escarpment, and also to the
unexpected sight of the wagon outspanned. N'gombe Brown explained to us
that the oxen had refused to proceed farther in face of a number of
lions that came around to sniff at them. Then the rain had come on, and
he had been unwilling to attempt the Mau while the footing was slippery.
This sounded reasonable; in fact, it was still reasonable. The grass was
here fairly neck high, and we found a rain-filled water-hole. Therefore
we decided to make camp. C. and I wandered out in search of game. We
tramped a great deal of bold, rugged country, both in cañon bottoms and
along the open ridges, but found only a rhinoceros, one bush-buck and a
dozen hartebeeste. African game, as a general rule, avoids a country
where the grass grows very high. We enjoyed, however, some bold and
wonderful mountain scenery, and obtained glimpses through the flying
murk of the vast plains and the base of Suswa. On a precipitous cañon
cliff we found a hanging garden of cactus and of looped cactus-like
vines that was a marvel to behold. We ran across the hartebeeste on our
way home. Our men were already out of meat; the hartebeeste of yesterday
had disappeared. These porters are a good deal like the old-fashioned
Michigan lumberjacks--they take a good deal of feeding for the first few
days. When we came upon the little herd in the neck-high grass, I took a
shot. At the report the animal went down flat. We wandered over slowly.
Memba Sasa whetted his knife and walked up. Thereupon Mr. Hartebeeste
jumped to his feet, flirted his tail gaily, and departed. We followed
him a mile or so, but he got stronger and gayer every moment, until at
last he frisked out of the landscape quite strong and hearty. In all my
African experience I lost only six animals hit by bullets, as I took
infinite pains and any amount of time to hunt down wounded beasts. This
animal was, I think, "creased" by too high a shot. Certainly he was not
much injured; but certainly he got a big shock to start with.
The little herd had gone on. I got down and crawled on hands and knees
in the thick grass. It was slow work, and I had to travel by landmarks.
When I finally reckoned I had about reached the proper place, I stood up
suddenly, my rifle at ready. So dense was the cover and so still the air
that I had actually crawled right into the middle of the band! While we
were cutting up the meat the sun broke through strongly.
Therefore the wagon started on up the Mau at six o'clock. Twelve hours
later we followed. The fine drizzle had set in again. We were very glad
the wagon had taken advantage of the brief dry time.
From the top of the sheer rise we looked back for the last time over the
wonderful panorama of the Rift Valley. Before us were wide rounded hills
covered with a scattered small growth that in general appearance
resembled scrub oak. It sloped away gently until it was lost in mists.
Later, when these cleared, we saw distant blue mountains across a
tremendous shallow basin. We were nearly on a level with the summit of
Suswa itself, nor did we again drop much below that altitude. After
five or six miles we overtook the wagon outspanned. The projected
all-night journey had again been frustrated by the lions. These beasts
had proved so bold and menacing that finally the team had been forced to
stop in sheer self-defence. However, the day was cool and overcast, so
nothing was lost.
After topping the Mau we saw a few gazelle, zebra, and hartebeeste, but
soon plunged into a bush country quite destitute of game. We were
paralleling the highest ridge of the escarpment, and so alternated
between the crossing of cañons and the travelling along broad ridges
between them. In lack of other amusement for a long time I rode with the
wagon. The country was very rough and rocky. Everybody was excited to
the point of frenzy, except the wagon. It had a certain Dutch stolidity
in its manner of calmly and bumpily surmounting such portions of the
landscape as happened in its way.
After a very long, tiresome march we camped above a little stream.
Barring our lucky rain this would have been the first water since
leaving the Kedong River. Here were hundreds of big blue pigeons
swooping in to their evening drink.
For two days more we repeated this sort of travel, but always with good
camps at fair-sized streams. Gradually we slanted away from the main
ridge, though we still continued cross-cutting the swells and ravines
thrown off its flanks. Only the ravines hour by hour became shallower,
and the swells lower and broader. On their tops the scrub sometimes gave
way to openings of short grass. On these fed a few gazelle of both
sorts, and an occasional zebra or so. We saw also four topi, a beast
about the size of our wapiti, built on the general specifications of a
hartebeeste, but with the most beautiful iridescent plum-coloured coat.
This quartette was very wild. I made three separate stalks on them, but
the best I could do was 360 paces, at which range I missed.
Finally we surmounted the last low swell to look down a wide and sloping
plain to the depression in which flowed the principal river of these
parts, the Southern Guaso Nyero. Beyond it stretched the immense
oceanlike plains of the Loieta, from which here and there rose isolated
hills, very distant, like lonesome ships at sea. A little to the left,
also very distant, we could make out an unbroken blue range of
mountains. These were our ultimate destination.
XXXVII.
THE SOUTHERN GUASO NYERO.
The Southern Guaso Nyero, unlike its northern namesake, is a sluggish,
muddy stream, rather small, flowing between abrupt clay banks. Farther
down it drops into great cañons and eroded abysses, and acquires a
certain grandeur. But here, at the ford of Agate's Drift, it is
decidedly unimpressive. Scant greenery ornaments its banks. In fact, at
most places they run hard and baked to a sheer drop-off of ten or
fifteen feet. Scattered mimosa trees and aloes mark its course. The
earth for a mile or so is trampled by thousands of Masai cattle that at
certain seasons pass through the funnel of this, the only ford for
miles. Apparently insignificant, it is given to sudden, tremendous
rises. These originate in the rainfalls of the upper Mau Escarpment,
many miles away. It behooves the safari to cross promptly if it can,
and to camp always on the farther bank.
This we did, pitching our tents in a little opening, between clumps of
pretty flowering aloes and the mimosas. Here, as everywhere in this
country, until we had passed the barrier of the Narossara mountains, the
common horseflies were a plague. They follow the Masai cattle. I can
give you no better idea of their numbers than to tell you two isolated
facts: I killed twenty-one at one blow; and in the morning, before
sunrise, the apex of our tent held a solid black mass of the creatures
running the length of the ridge pole, and from half an inch to two
inches deep! Every pack was black with them on the march, and the wagon
carried its millions. When the shadow of a branch would cross that
slowly lumbering vehicle, the swarm would rise and bumble around
distractedly for a moment before settling down again. They fairly made a
nimbus of darkness.
After we had made camp we saw a number of Masai warriors hovering about
the opposite bank, but they did not venture across. Some of their women
did, however, and came cheerily into camp. These most interesting people
are worth more than a casual word, so I shall reserve my observations
on them until a later chapter. One of our porters, a big Baganda named
Sabakaki, was suffering severely from pains in the chest that
subsequently developed into pleurisy. From the Masai women we tried to
buy some of the milk they carried in gourds; at first they seemed not
averse, but as soon as they realized the milk was not for our own
consumption, they turned their backs on poor Sabakaki and refused to
have anything more to do with us.
These Masai are very difficult to trade with. Their only willing barter
is done in sheep. These they seem to consider legitimate objects of
commerce. A short distance from our camp stood three whitewashed round
houses with thatched, conical roofs, the property of a trader named
Agate. He was away at the time of our visit.
After an early morning, but vain, attempt to get Billy a shot at a
lion[22] we set out for our distant blue mountains. The day was a
journey over plains of great variegation. At times they were covered
with thin scrub; at others with small groves; or again, they were open
and grassy. Always they undulated gently, so from their tops one never
saw as far as he thought he was going to see. As landmark we steered by
a good-sized butte named Donga Rasha.
Memba Sasa and I marched ahead on foot. In this thin scrub we got
glimpses of many beasts. At one time we were within fifty yards of a
band of magnificent eland. By fleeting glimpses we saw also many
wildebeeste and zebra, with occasionally one of the smaller grass
antelope. Finally, in an open glade we caught sight of something tawny
showing in the middle of a bush. It was too high off the ground to be a
buck. We sneaked nearer. At fifty yards we came to a halt, still
puzzled. Judging by its height and colour, it should be a lion, but try
as we would we could not make out what part of his anatomy was thus
visible. At last I made up my mind to give him a shot from the
Springfield, with the ·405 handy. At the shot the tawny patch heaved and
lay still. We manoeuvred cautiously, and found we had killed stone dead
not a lion, but a Bohur reed-buck lying atop an ant hill concealed in
the middle of the bush. This accounted for its height above the ground.
As it happened, I very much wanted one of these animals as a specimen,
so everybody was satisfied.
Shortly after, attracted by a great concourse of carrion birds, both on
trees and in the air, we penetrated a thicket to come upon a full-grown
giraffe killed by lions. The claw marks and other indications were
indubitable. The carcass had been partly eaten, but was rapidly
vanishing under the attacks of the birds.
Just before noon we passed Donga Rasha and emerged on the open plains.
Here I caught sight of some Roberts' gazelle, a new species to me, and
started alone in pursuit. They, as usual, trotted over the nearest rise,
so with due precautions I followed after. At the top of that rise I lay
still in astonishment. Before me marched solemnly an unbroken single
file of game, reaching literally to my limit of vision in both
directions. They came over the land swell a mile to my left, and they
were disappearing over another land swell a mile and a half to my right.
It was rigidly single file, except for the young; the nose of one beast
fairly touching the tail of the one ahead, and it plodded along at a
businesslike walk. There were but three species represented--the gnu,
the zebra, and the hartebeeste. I did not see the head of the
procession, for it had gone from sight before I arrived; nor did I ever
see the tail of it either, for the safari appearing inopportunely broke
its continuance. But I saw two miles and a half, solid, of big game. It
was a great and formal trek, probably to new pastures.
Then I turned my attention to the Roberts' gazelle, and my good luck
downed a specimen at 273 yards. This, with the Bohur reed-buck, made the
second new species for the day. Our luck was not yet over, however. We
had proceeded but a few miles when Kongoni discovered a herd of topi.
The safari immediately lay down, while I went ahead. There was little
cover, and I had a very hard time to get within range, especially as a
dozen zebras kept grazing across the line of my stalks. The topi
themselves were very uneasy, crossing and recrossing and looking
doubtfully in my direction. I had a number of chances at small bucks,
but refused them in my desire to get a shot at the big leader of the
herd. Finally he separated from the rest and faced in my direction at
just 268 yards. At the shot he fell dead.
For the first time we had an opportunity to admire the wonderful pelt.
It is beautiful in quality, plum colour, with iridescent lights and wavy
"water marks" changing to pearl colour on the four quarters, with black
legs. We were both struck with the gorgeousness of a topi motor-rug made
of three skins, with these pearl spots as accents in the corners. To
our ambitions and hopes we added more topi.
Our journey to the Narossara River lasted three days in all. We gained
an outlying spur of the blue mountains, and skirted their base. The
usual varied foothill country led us through defiles, over ridges, and
by charming groves. We began to see Masai cattle in great herds. The
gentle humpbacked beasts were held in close formation by herders afoot,
tall, lithe young savages with spears. In the distance and through the
heat haze the beasts shimmered strangely, their glossy reds and whites
and blacks blending together. In this country of wide expanses and clear
air we could thus often make out a very far-off herd simply as a speck
of rich colour against the boundless rolling plains.
Here we saw a good variety of game. Zebras, of course, and hartebeeste;
the Roberts' gazelle, a few topi, a good many of the gnu or wildebeeste
discovered and named by Roosevelt; a few giraffes, klipspringer on the
rocky buttes, cheetah, and the usual jackals, hyenas, etc. I killed one
very old zebra. So ancient was he that his teeth had worn down to the
level of the gums, which seemed fairly on the point of closing over.
Nevertheless he was still fat and sleek. He could not much longer have
continued to crop the grass. Such extreme age in wild animals is, in
Africa at least, most remarkable, for generally they meet violent deaths
while still in their prime.
About three o'clock of the third afternoon we came in sight of a long
line of forest trees running down parallel with the nearest mountain
ranges. These marked the course of the Narossara, and by four o'clock we
were descending the last slope.
FOOTNOTES:
[22] See "The Land of Footprints."
XXXVIII.
THE LOWER BENCHES.
The Narossara is really only about creek size, but as it flows the whole
year round it merits the title of river. It rises in the junction of a
long spur with the main ranges, cuts straight across a wide inward bend
of the mountains, joins them again, plunges down a deep and tremendous
cañon to the level of a second bench below great cliffs, meanders
peacefully in flowery meadows and delightful glades for some miles, and
then once more, and most unexpectedly, drops eighteen hundred feet by
waterfall and precipitous cascade to join the Southern Guaso Nyero. The
country around this junction is some of the roughest I saw in Africa.
We camped at the spot where the river ran at about its maximum distance
from the mountains. Our tents were pitched beneath the shade of tall and
refreshing trees.
A number of Masai women visited us, laughing and joking with Billy in
their quizzically humorous fashion. Just as we were sitting down at
table an Englishman wandered out of the greenery and approached. He was
a small man with a tremendous red beard, wore loose garments and tennis
shoes, and strolled up, his hands in his pockets and smoking a
cigarette. This was V., a man of whom we had heard. A member of a
historical family, officer in a crack English regiment, he had resigned
everything to come into this wild country. Here he had built a boma, or
enclosed compound, and engaged himself in acquiring Masai sheep in
exchange for beads, wire, and cloth. Obviously the profits of such
transactions could not be the temptation. He liked the life, and he
liked his position of influence with these proud and savage people.
Strangely enough, he cared little for the sporting possibilities of the
country, though of course he did a little occasional shooting; but was
quite content with his trading, his growing knowledge of and intimacy
with the Masai, and his occasional tremendous journeys. To the casual
and infrequent stranger his attitude was reported most uncertain.
We invited him to tea, which he accepted, and we fell into
conversation. He and C. were already old acquaintances. The man, I
found, was shy about talking of the things that interested him; but as
they most decidedly interested us also we managed to convey an
impression of our sincerity. Thereafter he was most friendly. His
helpfulness, kindness, and courtesy could not have been bettered. He
lent us his own boy as guide down through the cañons of the Narossara to
the Lower Benches, where we hoped to find kudu; he offered store-room to
such of our supplies as we intended holding in reserve; he sent us sheep
and eggs as a welcome variety to our game diet; and in addition he gave
us Masai implements and ornaments we could not possibly have acquired in
any other way. It is impossible to buy the personal belongings of this
proud and independent people at any price. The price of a spear
ordinarily runs about two rupees' worth, when one trades with any other
tribe. I know of a case where a Masai was offered fifty rupees for his
weapon, but refused scornfully. V. acquired these things through
friendship; and after we had gained his, he was most generous with them.
Thus he presented us with a thing almost impossible to get and seen
rarely outside of museums--the Masai war bonnet, made of the mane of a
lion. It is in shape and appearance, though not in colour, almost
exactly like the grenadier's shako of the last century. In addition to
this priceless trophy, V. also gave us samples of the cattle bells, both
wooden and metal, ivory ear ornaments, bead bracelets, steel collars,
circumcision knives, sword belts, and other affairs of like value. But I
think that the _apogée_ of his kindliness was reached when much later he
heard from the native tribes that we were engaged in penetrating the
defiles of the higher mountains. Then he sent after us a swift Masai
runner bearing to us a bottle of whisky and a message to the effect that
V. was afraid we would find it very cold up there! Think of what that
meant; turn it well over in your mind, with all the circumstances of
distance from supplies, difficulty of transportation and all! We none of
us used whisky in the tropics, so we later returned it with a suitable
explanation and thanks as being too good to waste.
Next morning, under guidance of our friend's boy, we set out for the
Lower Benches, leaving N'gombe Brown and his outfit to camp indefinitely
until we needed him for the return journey.
The whole lie of the land hereabout is, roughly speaking, in a series of
shelves. Behind us were the high mountains--the Fourth Bench; we had
been travelling on the plateau of the Loieta--the Third Bench; now we
were to penetrate some apparently low hills down an unexpected thousand
feet to the Second Bench. This was smaller, perhaps only five miles at
its widest. Its outer rim consisted also of low hills concealing a drop
of precipitous cliffs. There were no passes nor cañons here--the streams
dropped over in waterfalls--and precarious game trails offered the only
chance for descent. The First Bench was a mere ledge, a mile or so wide.
From it one looked down into the deep gorge of the Southern Guaso Nyero,
and across to a tangle of eroded mountains and malpais that filled the
eye. Only far off in an incredible distance were other blue mountains
that marked the other side of the great Rift Valley.
Our present task was to drop from the Third Bench to the Second. For
some distance we followed the Narossara; then, when it began to drop
into its tremendous gorge, we continued along the hillsides above it
until, by means of various "hogs' backs" and tributary cañons, we were
able to regain its level far below. The going was rough and stony, and
hard on the porters, but the scenery was very wild and fine. We met the
river bottom again in the pleasantest oval meadow with fine big trees.
The mountains quite surrounded us, towering imminent above our heads.
Ahead of us the stream broke through between portals that rose the full
height of the ranges. We followed it, and found ourselves on the Second
Bench.
Here was grass, high grass in which the boys were almost lost to sight.
Behind us the ramparts rose sheer and high, and over across the way were
some low fifty-foot cliffs that marked a plateau land. Between the
plateau and the ranges from which we had descended was a sort of slight
flat valley through which meandered the forest trees that marked the
stream.
We turned to the right and marched an hour. The river gradually
approached the plateau, thus leaving between it and the ramparts a
considerable plain, and some low foothills. These latter were reported
to be one of the feeding grounds of the greater kudu.
We made a most delightful camp at the edge of great trees by the stream.
The water flowed at the bottom of a little ravine, precipitous in most
places, but with gently sloping banks at the spot we had chosen. It
flowed rapidly over clean gravel, with a hurrying, tinkling sound. A
broad gravel beach was spread on the hither side of it, like a spacious
secret room in the jungle. Here too was a clear little slope on which to
sit, with the thicket all about, the clean, swift little stream below,
the high forest arches above, and the inquisitive smaller creatures
hovering near. Others had been here before us, the wild things, taking
advantage of the easy descent to drinking water--eland, buffalo,
leopard, and small bucks. The air was almost cloyingly sweet with a
perfume like sage-brush honey.
Our first task was to set our boys to work clearing a space; the grass
was so high and rank that mere trampling had little effect on it. The
Baganda, Sabakaki, we had been compelled to leave with the ox team. So
our twenty-seven had become twenty-six.
Next morning C. and I started out very early with one gunbearer. The
direction of the wind compelled us to a two hours' walk before we could
begin to hunt. The high grass was soaked with a very heavy dew, and
shortly we were as wet as though we had fallen into the river. A number
of hornbills and parrots followed us for some distance, but soon left us
in peace. We saw the Roberts' gazelle and some hartebeeste.
When we had gained a point of vantage, we turned back and began to work
slowly along the base of the mountains. We kept on a general level a
hundred feet or so up their slope, just high enough to give us a point
of overlook for anything that might stir either in the flat plateau
foothills or the plains. We also kept a sharp lookout for signs.
We had proceeded in this manner for an hour when in an opening between
two bushes below us, and perhaps five hundred yards away, we saw a
leopard standing like a statue, head up, a most beautiful spectacle.
While we watched her through the glasses, she suddenly dropped flat out
of sight. The cause we discovered to be three hartebeeste strolling
sociably along, stopping occasionally to snatch a mouthful, but headed
always in the direction of the bushes behind which lay the great cat.
Much interested, we watched them. They disappeared behind the screen. A
sudden flash marked the leopard's spring. Two badly demoralized
hartebeeste stamped out into the open and away; two only. The kill had
been made.
We had only the one rifle with us, for we were supposed to be out after
kudu only, and were travelling as light as possible. No doubt the
Springfield would kill a leopard, if the bullet landed in the right
place. We discussed the matter. It ended, of course, in our sneaking
down there; I with the Springfield, and C. with his knife unsheathed.
Our precautions and trepidations were wasted. The leopard had carried
the hartebeeste bodily some distance, had thrust it under a bush, and
had departed. C. surmised it would return towards evening.
Therefore we continued after kudu. We found old signs, proving that the
beasts visited this country, but nothing fresh. We saw, however, the
first sing-sing, some impalla, some klipspringer, and Chanler's
reed-buck.
At evening we made a crafty stalk atop the mesa-like foothills to a
point overlooking the leopard's kill. We lay here looking the place over
inch by inch through our glasses, when an ejaculation of disgust from
Kongoni called our attention. There at another spot that confounded
beast sat like a house cat watching us cynically. Either we had come too
soon, or she had heard us and retired to what she considered a safe
distance. There was of course no chance of getting nearer; so I sat
down, for a steadier hold, and tried her anyway. At the shot she leaped
high in the air, rolled over once, then recovered her feet and streaked
off at full speed. Just before disappearing over a slight rise, she
stopped to look back. I tried her again. We concluded this shot a miss,
as the distance and light were such that only sheer luck could have
landed the bullet. However, that luck was with us. Later developments
showed that both shots had hit. One cut a foreleg, but without breaking
a bone, and the other had hit the paunch. One was at 380 paces and the
other at 490.
We found blood on the trail, and followed it a hundred yards and over a
small ridge to a wide patch of high grass. It was now dark, the grass
was very high, and the animal probably desperate. The situation did not
look good to us, badly armed as we were. So we returned to camp,
resolved to take up the trail again in the morning.
Every man in camp turned out next day to help beat the grass. C., with
the ·405, stayed to direct and protect the men; while I, with the
Springfield, sat down at the head of the ravine. Soon I could hear the
shrieks, rattles, shouts, and whistles of the line of men as they beat
through the grass. Small grass bucks and hares bounded past me; birds
came whirring by. I sat on a little ant hill spying as hard as I could
in all directions. Suddenly the beaters fell to dead silence. Guessing
this as a signal to me that the beast had been seen, I ran to climb a
higher ant hill to the left. From there I discerned the animal plainly,
sneaking along belly to earth, exactly in the manner of a cat after a
sparrow. It was not a woods-leopard, but the plains-leopard, or cheetah,
supposed to be a comparatively harmless beast.
At my shot she gave one spring forward and rolled over into the grass.
The nearest porters yelled, and rushed in. I ran, too, as fast as I
could, but was not able to make myself heard above the row. An instant
later the beast came to its feet with a savage growl and charged the
nearest of the men. She was crippled, and could not move as quickly as
usual, but could hobble along faster than her intended victim could run.
This was a tall and very conceited Kavirondo. He fled, but ran around in
circles in and out of his excited companions. The cheetah followed him,
and him only, with most single-minded purpose.
I dared not shoot while men were in the line of fire even on the other
side of the cheetah, for I knew the high-power bullet would at that
range go right on through, and I fairly split my throat trying to clear
the way. It seemed five minutes, though it was probably only as many
seconds, before I got my chance. It was high time. The cheetah had
reared to strike the man down.[23] My shot bowled her over. She jumped
to her feet again, made another dash at the thoroughly scared Kavirondo,
and I killed her just at his coat-tails.
The cheetahs ordinarily are supposed to be cowards, although their size
and power are equal to that of other leopards. Nobody is afraid of them.
Yet this particular animal charged with all the ferocity and
determination of the lion, and would certainly have killed or badly
mauled my man.[24] To be sure it had been wounded, and had had all night
to think about it.
In the relief from the tension we all burst into shrieks of laughter;
all except the near-victim of the scrimmage, who managed only a sickly
smile. Our mirth was short. Out from a thicket over a hundred yards away
walked one of the men, who had been in no way involved in the fight,
calmly announcing that he had been shot. We were sceptical, but he
turned his back and showed us the bullet hole at the lower edge of the
ribs. One of my bullets, after passing through the cheetah, had
ricocheted and picked this poor fellow out from the whole of an empty
landscape. And this after I had delayed my rescue fairly to the point of
danger in order to avoid all chance of hurting some one!
We had no means of telling how deeply the bullet had penetrated; so we
reassured the man, and detailed two men to assist him back to camp by
easy stages. He did not seem to be suffering much pain, and he had lost
little strength.
At camp, however, we found that the wound was deep. C. generously
offered to make a forced march in order to get the boy out to a
hospital. By hitting directly across the rough country below the benches
it was possible to shorten the journey somewhat, provided V. could
persuade the Masai to furnish a guide. The country was a desert, and the
water scarce. We lined up our remaining twenty-six men and selected the
twelve best and strongest. These we offered a month and a half's extra
wages for the trip. We then made a hammock out of one of the ground
cloths, and the same afternoon C. started. I sent with him four of my
own men as far as the ox-wagon for the purpose of bringing back more
supplies. They returned the next afternoon bringing also a report from
C. that all was well so far, and that he had seen a lion. He made the
desert trip without other casualty than the lost of his riding mule, and
landed the wounded man in the hospital all right. In spite of C.'s
expert care on the journey out, and the best of treatment later, the
boy, to my great distress, died eleven days after reaching the hospital.
C. was gone just two weeks.
In the meantime I sent out my best trackers in all directions to look
for kudu signs, conceiving this the best method of covering the country
rapidly. In this manner I shortly determined that chances were small
here, and made up my mind to move down to the edge of the bench where
the Narossara makes its plunge. Before doing so, however, I hunted for
and killed a very large eland bull reported by Mavrouki. This beast was
not only one of the largest I ever saw, but was in especially fine coat.
He stood five feet six inches high at the shoulder; was nine feet eight
inches long, without the tail; and would weigh twenty-five hundred
pounds. The men were delighted with this acquisition. I now had fourteen
porters, the three gunbearers, the cook, and the two boys. They
surrounded each tiny fire with switches full of roasting meat; they cut
off great hunks for a stew; they made quantities of biltong, or jerky.
Next day I left Kongoni and one porter at the old camp, loaded my men
with what they could carry, and started out. We marched a little over
two hours; then found ourselves beneath a lone mimosa tree about a
quarter-mile from the edge of the bench. At this point the stream drops
into a little cañon preparatory to its plunge; and the plateau rises
ever so gently in tremendous cliffs. I immediately dispatched the
porters back for another load. A fine sing-sing lured me across the
river. I did not get the sing-sing, but had a good fight with two lions,
as narrated elsewhere.[A]
In this spot we camped a number of days; did a heap of hard climbing and
spying; killed another lion out of a band of eight;[25] thoroughly
determined that we had come at the wrong time for kudu, and decided on
another move.
This time our journey lasted five hours, so that our relaying consumed
three days. We broke back through the ramparts, by means of another
pass we had discovered when looking for kudu, to the Third Bench again.
Here we camped in the valley of Lengeetoto.
This valley is one of the most beautiful and secluded in this part of
Africa. It is shaped like an ellipse, five or six miles long by about
three miles wide, and is completely surrounded by mountains. The
ramparts of the western side--those forming the walls of the Fourth
Bench--rise in sheer rock cliffs, forest crowned. To the east, from
which direction we had just come, were high, rounded mountains. At
sunrise they cut clear in an outline of milky slate against the sky.
The floor of this ellipse was surfaced in gentle undulations, like the
low swells of a summer sea. Between each swell a singing, clear-watered
brook leapt and dashed or loitered through its jungle. Into the
mountains ran broad upward-flung valleys of green grass; and groves of
great forest trees marched down cañons and out a short distance into the
plains. Everything was fresh and green and cool. We needed blankets at
night, and each morning the dew was cool and sparkling, and the sky very
blue. Underneath the forest trees of the stream beds and the cañon were
leafy rooms as small as a closet, or great as cathedral aisles. And in
the short brush dwelt rhinoceros and impalla; in the jungles were
buffalo and elephant; on the plains we saw giraffe, hartebeeste, zebra,
duiker; and in the bases of the hills we heard at evening and early
morning the roaring of lions.
In this charming spot we lingered eight days. Memba Sasa and I spent
most of our time trying to get one of the jungle-dwelling buffalo
without his getting us. In this we were finally successful.[26] Then, as
it was about time for C. to return, we moved back to V.'s boma on the
Narossara; relaying, as usual, the carrying of our effects. At this time
I had had to lay off three more men on account of various sorts of
illness, so was still more cramped for transportation facilities. As we
were breaking camp a lioness leaped to her feet from where she had been
lying under a bush. So near was it to camp that I had not my rifle
ready. She must have been lying there within two hundred yards of our
tents, watching all our activities.
We drew into V.'s boma a little after two o'clock. The man in charge of
our tent did not put in an appearance until next day. Fortunately V. had
an extra tent, which he lent us. We camped near the river, just outside
the edge of the river forest. The big trees sent their branches out over
us very far above, while a winding path led us to the banks of the river
where was a dingle like an inner room. After dark we sat with V. at our
little camp fire. It was all very beautiful--the skyful of tropical
stars, the silhouette of the forest shutting them out, the velvet
blackness of the jungle flickering with fireflies, the purer outlines of
the hilltops and distant mountains to the left, the porters' tiny fires
before the little white tents; and in the distance, from the direction
of V.'s boma, the irregular throb of the dance drum and the occasional
snatch of barbaric singing borne down on the night wind from where his
Wakambas were holding an n'goma. A pair of ibis that had been ejected
when we made camp contributed intermittent outraged and raucous squawks
from the tiptop of some neighbouring tree.
FOOTNOTES:
[23] This is an interesting fact--that she reared to strike instead of
springing.
[24] It must be remembered that this beast had the evening before killed
a 350-pound hartebeeste with ease.
[25] "The Land of Footprints."
[26] "The Land of Footprints."
XXXIX.
NOTES ON THE MASAI.
It is in no way my intention to attempt a comprehensive description of
this unique people. My personal observation is, of course, inadequate to
that task, and the numerous careful works on the subject are available
to the interested reader.
The southern branch of the race, among whom we were now travelling, are
very fine physically. Men close to seven feet in height are not at all
uncommon, and the average is well above six. They are strongly and
lithely made. Their skins are a red-brown or bronze, generally brought
to a high state of polish by liberal anointing. In feature they resemble
more the Egyptian or Abyssinian than the negro cast of countenance. The
women are tall and well formed, with proud, quaintly quizzical faces.
Their expressions and demeanour seem to indicate more independence and
initiative than is usual with most savage women, but whether this is
actually so or not I cannot say.
On this imposing and pleasing physical foundation your true Masai is
content to build a very slight superstructure of ornament. His ear-lobes
are always stretched to hang down in long loops, in which small medals,
ornaments, decorated blocks of wood, or the like, are inserted. Long,
heavy ovals of ivory, grooved to accommodate the flesh loop, very finely
etched in decorative designs, are occasionally worn as "stretchers."
Around the neck is a slender iron collar, and on the arms are one or two
glittering bracelets. The sword belt is of leather heavily beaded, with
a short dangling fringe of steel beads. Through this the short blade is
thrust. When in full dress the warrior further sports a hollow iron knee
bell, connected with the belt by a string of cowrie shells or beads.
Often is added a curious triangular strip of skin fitting over the
chest, and reaching about to the waist. A robe or short cloak of
short-haired sheepskin is sometimes carried for warmth, but not at all
for modesty. The weapons are a long, narrow-bladed heavy spear, the
buffalo hide shield, the short sword, and the war club or rungs. The
women are always shaven-headed, wear voluminous robes of soft leather,
and carry a great weight of heavy wire wound into anklets and stockings,
and brought to a high state of polish. So extensive are these
decorations that they really form a sort of armour, with breaks only for
the elbow and the knee joints. The married women wear also a great
outstanding collar.
The Masai are pastoral, and keep immense herds and flocks. Therefore
they inhabit the grazing countries, and are nomadic. Their villages are
invariably arranged in a wide circle, the low huts of mud and wattles
facing inwards. The spaces between the huts are filled in with thick
dense thorn brush, thus enclosing a strong corral, or boma. These
villages are called manyattas. They are built by the women in an
incredibly brief space of time. Indeed, an overchief stopping two days
at one place has been known to cause the construction of a complete
village, to serve only for that period. He then moved on, and the
manyatta was never used again! Nevertheless these low rounded huts, in
shape like a loaf of bread, give a fictitious impression of great
strength and permanency. The smooth and hardened mud resembles masonry
or concrete work. As a matter of fact it is the thinnest sort of a shell
over plaited withies. The single entrance to this compound may be
closed by thorn bush, so that at night, when the lions are abroad, the
Masai and all his herds dwell quite peaceably and safely inside the
boma. Twelve to twenty huts constitute a village.
When the grass is fed down, the village moves to a new location. There
is some regulation about this, determined by the overchiefs, so that one
village does not interfere with another. Beside the few articles of
value or of domestic use, the only things carried away from an old
village are the strongly-woven shield-shaped doors. These are strapped
along the flanks of the donkeys, while the other goods rest between. A
donkey pack, Masai fashion, is a marvellous affair that would not stay
on ten minutes for a white man.
The Masai perform no agriculture whatever, nor will they eat game meat.
They have no desire whatever for any of the white man's provisions
except sugar. In fact; their sole habitual diet is mixed cow's blood and
milk--no fruits, no vegetables, no grains, rarely flesh; a striking
commentary on extreme vegetarian claims. The blood they obtain by
shooting a very sharp-pointed arrow into the neck vein of the cow. After
the requisite amount has been drained, the wound is closed and the
animal turned into the herd to recuperate. The blood and milk are then
shaken together in long gourds. Certainly the race seems to thrive on
this strange diet. Only rarely, on ceremonial occasions or when
transportation is difficult, do they eat mutton or goat flesh, but never
beef.
Of labour, then, about a Masai village, it follows that there is
practically none. The women build the manyattas; there is no cooking, no
tilling of the soil, no searching for wild fruits. The herd have to be
watched by day, and driven in at the fall of night; that is the task of
the boys and the youths who have not gone through with the quadriennial
circumcision ceremonies and become El-morani, or warriors. Therefore the
grown men are absolutely and completely gentlemen of leisure. In
civilization, the less men do the more important they are inclined to
think themselves. It is so here. Socially the Masai consider themselves
several cuts above anybody else in the country. As social superiority
lies mostly in thinking so hard enough--so that the inner belief
expresses itself in the outward attitude and manner--the Masai carry it
off. Their haughtiness is magnificent. Also they can look as unsmiling
and bored as anybody anywhere. Consequently they are either greatly
admired, or greatly hated and feared, as the case happens to be, by all
the other tribes. The Kikuyu young men frankly ape the customs and
ornaments of their powerful neighbours. Even the British Government
treats them very gingerly indeed, and allows these economically useless
savages a latitude the more agricultural tribes do not enjoy. Yet I
submit that any people whose property is in immense herds can more
easily be brought to terms than those who have nothing so valuable to
lose.
As a matter of fact the white man and the Masai have never had it out.
When the English, a few years since, were engaged in opening the country
they carried on quite a stoutly contested little war with the Wakamba.
These people put up so good a fight that the English anticipated a most
bitter struggle with the Masai, whose territory lay next beyond. To
their surprise the Masai made peace.
"We have watched the war with the Wakamba," they said, in effect, "and
we have seen the Wakamba kill a great many of your men. But more of your
men came in always, and there were no more Wakamba to come in and take
the places of those who were killed. We are not afraid. If we should war
with you, we would undoubtedly kill a great many of you, and you would
undoubtedly kill a great many of us. But there can be no use in that. We
want the ranges for our cattle; you want a road. Let us then agree."
The result is that to-day the Masai look upon themselves as an
unconquered people, and bear themselves--_towards the other
tribes_--accordingly. The shrewd common sense and observation evidenced
above must have convinced them that war now would be hopeless.
This acute intelligence is not at all incompatible with the rather
bigoted and narrow outlook on life inevitable to a people whose ideals
are made up of fancied superiorities over the rest of mankind. Witness,
the feudal aristocracies of the Middle Ages.
With this type the underlying theory of masculine activity is the
military. Some outlet for energy was needed, and in war it was found.
Even the ordinary necessities of primitive agriculture and of the chase
were lacking. The Masai ate neither vegetable, grain, nor wild game. His
whole young manhood, then, could be spent in no better occupation than
the pursuit of warlike glory--and cows.
On this rested the peculiar social structure of the people. In perusing
the following fragmentary account the reader must first of all divest
his mind of what he would, according to white man's standards, consider
moral or immoral. Such things must be viewed from the standpoint of the
people believing in them. The Masai are moral in the sense that they
very rigorously live up to their own customs and creeds. Their women are
strictly chaste in the sense that they conduct no affairs outside those
permitted within the tribe. No doubt, from the Masai point of view, we
are ourselves immoral.
The small boy, as soon as he is big enough to be responsible--and that
is very early in life--is given, in company with others, charge of a
flock of sheep. Thence he graduates to the precious herds of cows. He
wears little or nothing; is armed with a throwing club (a long stick),
or perhaps later a broad-bladed, short-headed spear of a pattern
peculiar to boys and young men. His life is thus over the free open
hills and veld until, somewhere between the ages of eighteen and
twenty-one, the year of the circumcision comes. Then he enters on the
long ceremonies that initiate him into the warrior class. My knowledge
of the details of this subject is limited; for while I had the luck to
be in Masailand on the fourth year, such things are not exhibited
freely. The curious reader can find more on the subject in other books;
but as this is confined to personal experiences I will tell only what I
have myself elicited.
The youth's shaved head is allowed to grow its hair. He hangs around his
brow a dangling string of bright-coloured bird skins stuffed out in the
shape of little cylinders, so that at a short distance they look like
curls. For something like a month of probation he wears these, then
undergoes the rite. For ten days thereafter he and his companions, their
heads daubed with clay and ashes, clad in long black robes, live out in
the brush. They have no provision, but are privileged to steal what they
need. At the end of the ten days they return to the manyattas. A
three-day n'goma, or dance, now completes their transformation to the
El-morani class. It finishes by an obscene night dance, in the course of
which the new warriors select their partners.
For ten or twelve years these young men are El-morani. They dwell in a
separate manyatta. With them dwell promiscuously all the young unmarried
women of the tribe. There is no permanent pairing off, no individual
property, no marriage. Nor does this constitute flagrant immorality,
difficult as it may be for us to see that fact. The institution, like
all national institutions, must have had its origin in a very real need
and a very practical expediency. The fighting strength of the tribe must
be kept up, and by the young and vigorous stock. On the other hand,
every man of military age must be foot free to serve in the constant
wars and forays. This institution is the means. And, mind you,
unchastity in the form of illicit intercourse outside the manyatta of
the El-morani, whether with her own or another tribe, subjects the women
to instant death.