_ZURA TO M’THARA, AND A VISIT TO EMBE._
The Somalis suffer a reverse in Embe—We reach Munithu—Karanjui—El
Hakim’s disagreement with the Tomori people—Arrival at
M’thara—N’Dominuki—Arrival of the Somalis—A war “shauri”—We combine to
punish the Wa’embe, but are defeated—Death of Jamah Mahomet—Murder of
N’Dominuki’s nephew by Ismail—Return to camp.
In the afternoon Dirito came over to our tent to discuss the “habari”
(news). Among other things he told us that the Somalis under Jamah
Mahomet had arrived at Munithu, an hour’s march distant; that the
smaller safari under Noor Adam had arrived some days before the big
one; that Noor Adam had been attacked in Embe, and had had many of his
men killed, and that the combined Somali safaris were now contemplating
reprisals.
As I was still very shaky and weak from my attack of fever, I remained
in camp next morning, but El Hakim and George rode over to Munithu to
interview the Somalis and verify the news we had heard. They returned
in the afternoon, having seen Jamah Mahomet and discovered the truth of
what had occurred in Embe. It appeared that the smaller safari, which
consisted of about thirty porters under Noor Adam, Bhotan, and Abdallah
Arahalli, reached Limeru a few days before the other. They bought
what food they required, and then went on to Embe. They were, by all
accounts, welcomed by the Wa’Embe, who even made blood-brotherhood
with them. The next night without warning their camp was treacherously
rushed by a large force of the Wa’Embe, some of their cattle and trade
goods being looted, and nine of their men killed outright. They managed
to make good their retreat with the remainder of their caravan, and at
Munithu met Jamah Mahomet and his party coming up. They asked their
assistance, and Jamah Mahomet, having somehow received news of our
approach, advised them that El Hakim and the other two Wasungu would
be at Munithu in a few days, and suggested that they should wait and
consult them, so they had waited. El Hakim heard their account of the
affair, and after promising to consider the matter, he and George
returned to Zura.
After breakfast the following morning we moved bag and baggage over
to Munithu, where we were well received by the chief, old grey-headed
Bei-Munithu, an old friend and ally of El Hakim’s. The Somalis had
started the same morning for M’thara, so we did not see them. We
lunched just outside Bei-Munithu’s village, conversing meanwhile with
the old rascal. He brought us some splendid thorn honey. It had a
very pleasant acid taste, which we much appreciated. Munithu is about
5000 feet above sea-level, the climate being very moist and warm,
though cold at night. Bei-Munithu had a large quantity of trade goods
belonging to El Hakim stored at his village, over forty loads in fact,
besides two or three dozen head of cattle and some donkeys.
After lunch we started for Karanjui, which is a sort of halfway camp
to M’thara. In an hour or so we reached the forest that stretches in
one unbroken belt right round Kenia. It was almost impenetrable,
but fortunately El Hakim, on a former expedition, had cut a path
through it, which we now followed. It was a weird and gloomy-looking
forest, the trees being twisted and tangled in every direction with
out-spreading branches which, growing low down, made riding impossible.
One would look in vain for a straight tree-trunk or branch. Nature had
apparently amused herself by twisting them into all sorts of curious
and fantastic shapes. The men crept through with silent footsteps, and
only the rattle of a rifle or the feeble twitter of a solitary bird
broke the intense stillness of the semi-twilight. On the way I noticed
some black-and-white hornbills. Presently we reached Karanjui, an oval
depression in the ground, perhaps 700 yards long and 500 yards wide,
and perfectly clear of trees. In the rainy season it is swampy, but at
the time of our visit it was quite dry except for a pool at one end,
and covered with coarse grass. All round it and beyond stretched the
silent forest. Here we camped for the night.
Near Karanjui live the Tomori people, with whom El Hakim had had a
difference of opinion some months before. After our evening meal we
persuaded El Hakim to tell us the yarn. Briefly it was as follows:—
Travelling from Munithu to M’thara, he was passing through the forest
belt, intending to camp at Karanjui. On his arrival there he found
that two of his porters were missing. He thereupon sent his head-man
and some other porters back into the forest to look for them. They
returned an hour or two later with the mutilated bodies of the missing
men, which were perforated all over with spear-wounds and also horribly
hacked and chopped about with “simes” (native swords). Their loads
had disappeared altogether. El Hakim gave directions for the safari
to go on with their camping arrangements, and, selecting four men,
immediately set out for the village of the Tomori chief. Arrived there,
he stood outside and summoned him. That worthy soon swaggered out,
accompanied by fifty or sixty warriors as a bodyguard, and insolently
demanded the M’sungu’s business. El Hakim, through his interpreter,
quietly stated his grievance, and asked that the young men who had
murdered his servants should be given up to him for punishment; also
that his missing trade goods should be restored. The chief laughed in
his face, and turning to his admiring followers, derisively repeated
the M’sungu’s demand, which was received by a shout of laughter,
accompanied by threatening gestures in El Hakim’s direction. The
chief again turned to him, and in a most insolent manner, shaking
his spear, bade him begone, accompanying his words with contemptuous
gestures. El Hakim never moved a hair, but quietly repeated his demand,
adding that if the murderers were not given up he would hold the
chief personally responsible and deal with him accordingly. When this
warning was interpreted to him, the chief worked himself into a rage
and proceeded to violently harangue his warriors. Suddenly he turned
and, with uplifted spear, made a rush at El Hakim, who forthwith shot
him. His four men simultaneously poured a volley into the excited
crowd of warriors, who immediately fled to the shelter of the village,
from which point of vantage they peppered El Hakim and his escort with
poisoned arrows. Walking round to the back of the village, El Hakim
discovered his missing loads at the foot of a tree, where they had been
hurriedly thrown on his appearance. He promptly recovered possession
and started for camp, but had gone barely a quarter of a mile when
the warriors, reinforced by others from a neighbouring village, made
an ugly rush from the rear upon his little force. Telling his now
frightened men to go on to camp with all speed, he sat on an ant-hill
and put in some fancy shooting at short range, which was rightly
interpreted by his assailants as a hint to keep away and not crowd him,
a hint they wisely acted upon with considerable promptitude. He then
rejoined his men, and they proceeded on their way to camp. Several
times during the next hour the natives tried to rush the little party,
but whenever they got unpleasantly near El Hakim repeated his former
tactics with continued success, until the crestfallen warriors realized
that they were getting more kicks than halfpence out of the game, and
sullenly withdrew with the loss of twelve killed and wounded; El Hakim
returning to camp, perfectly serene in the knowledge that he had come
out of a bad business in a very satisfactory manner.
We left Karanjui early next morning and re-entered the forest belt,
the second part of which we were not quite three-quarters of an hour
in crossing. The character of the country now changed considerably,
the dense bush and coarse, rank vegetation of east Kenia giving way to
open plains with small rocky hills scattered here and there. The level
of the country now descends slightly, M’thara being situated about
4500 feet above sea-level, 200 feet less than Munithu. To our right
rose the succession of rounded prominences known as Chanjai, which are
inhabited by a tribe who, though really A’kikuyu, show many marked
Masai characteristics. They are warlike and treacherous. In front, some
miles away, rose the frowning heights of the Jombeni range, inhabited
by the Wa’Embe, with whom we were shortly destined to become better
acquainted. On the slopes, at the foot of the Jombeni Mountains,
and to westward of them, reside the Wa’Mthara people, who gave Mr.
Chanler[3] so much trouble when he visited Kenia in 1893, and to whom
we were making our way.
We were now about 4500 feet above sea-level, and not more than ten
miles north of the Equator. The heat during the day was very great,
varying from 100° to 110° Fahr., but a cold north wind blew in the
evening and during the night, and the temperature dropped to about
60°, a variation which made an overcoat comfortable after sundown. The
ground was of a gravelly nature, and cultivated only in patches. We had
said good-bye at Karanjui to all the shady forest trees, _coniferæ_,
etc., which were replaced by the inhospitable thorny acacia or umbrella
thorn, and farther north, the Doum palm, which two were henceforth to
be our constant companions. The men all turned to and made themselves
sandals, it being impossible to walk barefoot where the umbrella thorn
flourishes. The thorns are white, several inches long, and wonderfully
sharp. They stick out from the branch in all directions, so that when
a twig is broken off by the wind or any other cause, the fallen twig
lying on the ground resembles a miniature _chevaux de frise_, as some
of the spines are always pointing upwards, lying in wait for the bare
foot of the unwary.
The chief of M’thara is an old man named N’Dominuki. In his youth he
had a great reputation as a warrior, and was commonly credited with
the slaughter at various times of thirty-five men with his own spear.
It is uncertain whether he joined in the attack on Mr. Chanler’s
expedition; at any rate, no mention is made of him by name in that
explorer’s book; his first appearance in print being in Neumann’s
book,[4] he being a great friend of Neumann’s, having, in fact, made
blood-brotherhood with him. Neumann had had a very large experience of
natives, and soon reckoned up Mr. N’Dominuki. At the outset of their
acquaintance, he very plainly intimated to that worthy that friendship
and fair dealing with the white man would certainly pay, and, on the
other hand, treachery and hostility would as certainly not. N’Dominuki,
being no longer in the first flush of youth, was old enough and wise
enough to take the hint, and as will be seen, he was by far the most
honest and trustworthy old savage that we ever had dealings with. He
had a very great admiration for his blood-brother Neumann. On one
occasion he told us that Neumann was “a very good white man, he always
spoke the truth, and he told me that other white men who might come
here would treat me well if I were friendly to them and gave them food
and guides; and it is even as he said. I have always spoken truly and
helped the white men, and, behold, now I am a rich man.”
El Hakim had had dealings with N’Dominuki on several occasions
previously, and was very friendly with the old chief, who had a number
of cattle belonging to him in his charge. El Hakim seemed to have
cattle and trade goods scattered all over North Kenia in charge of
various natives. He had also a score or so of loads of brass, copper,
and iron wire buried on the Waso Nyiro. I mentally likened El Hakim’s
head to Aladdin’s lamp. If we wanted cattle or cloth or wire, El Hakim
would, metaphorically speaking, rub his head, and lo! after a moment’s
cogitation, he would announce that buried in such and such a spot a few
days’ march away, or in charge of such and such chief not far distant,
were the identical articles we required.
We reached an acacia forest at 10 a.m. Inside, about half a mile from
the border, was a clearing somewhat resembling Karanjui, in which we
pitched our camp. An hour or so afterwards old N’Dominuki himself,
hearing of our arrival, came down and welcomed us warmly. The Somalis
had not yet arrived, they apparently having diverged at Karanjui to
Chanjai. N’Dominuki confirmed the news of the mishap to Noor Adam’s
safari, and was curious to know what steps we intended taking. We
did not satisfy his curiosity, not wishing to express an opinion
until we had heard all the available evidence. The old chief stayed
with us until the evening, then withdrew to his village, promising
to return on the morrow with his people and bring us food. The old
man was at one time the paramount chief of the turbulent Wa’Mthara,
but with increasing age his power had gradually weakened, so that
he now exercised complete control only over his own village and the
people living immediately around. His influence, however, was still
appreciable, and his knowledge of passing events absolute.
Our camp we found most inconveniently windy. A strong gale blew night
and day, and made things very uncomfortable. The tents had to be
fastened down very firmly and additional guy-ropes rigged, and even
then they thrashed and shook in a most alarming manner, threatening
every moment to blow bodily away. It was when we sat down to meals,
however, that the real fun began. The aluminium plates were now
and again whirled right off the table by a sudden fierce gust, and
disappeared in the grass many yards away. The cups were kept down by
the weight of the liquid in them, but one would sometimes forget the
saucer for a moment when lifting the cup to one’s lips. Away would go
the saucer on the wings of the wind, upsetting a bottle or something,
in its hasty flight. In the confusion which ensued, the half-poised cup
would be tilted a trifle and some of the contents spilt, which would be
instantly dissipated in a fine spray, drenching the unfortunate person
who happened to be to leeward. We were annoyed until the humour of the
situation struck us; but even then we got tired of it however, and put
the table inside El Hakim’s tent, and there the thrashing of the tent
prevented conversation except we shouted at the very top of our voices.
We decided to stay at M’thara for some days, as we wished to purchase
an adequate supply of food for the safari before going into the
inhospitable uninhabited wastes northward. There was also the Embe
affair to be settled one way or another. We were sadly inconvenienced
by this trouble in Embe, as we had intended going through that country
on our way to the Waso Nyiro. It is very rich in food, and we should
have been able to get a much greater quantity there than we could
hope for in M’thara; and again, the Embe route would have shortened
our journey over the desert to the Waso Nyiro by at least two days.
However, the Wa’Embe, always a sullen and treacherous people, were now
actively hostile; their hostility towards the Somalis would be extended
to us, as natives do not discriminate between one safari and another in
matters of this kind. Another factor which influenced our deliberations
was, that if no steps were taken to punish the brutal and unprovoked
attack on Noor Adam’s safari, we should be in a position of some
personal danger. With these natives, as with all others, and sometimes
even among civilized peoples, a policy of “masterly inactivity” is an
acknowledgment of weakness. These savages are civil to a safari only
in direct proportion to their idea of its power of reprisal. Once
it enters their heads that they are the stronger, that safari is in
imminent danger of attack, and would need a very resolute defence,
backed with a large quantity of ammunition, to prevent its extirpation.
If that were the worst we had to fear, we could have afforded to
let matters go, as we need not have gone near Embe; but all the
neighbouring tribes had been closely watching events. If we failed
to restore in some way our lost prestige, we should have all the
natives, even those who were at present our friends, down on us also,
and in that case we should be in a very awkward predicament. It is
not often that these natives get a chance to plunder a caravan which,
to them, seems to be laden with incalculable riches. When I say _our_
lost prestige, I say precisely what I mean, for, as I have previously
remarked, these ignorant savages do not discriminate between one safari
and another, whether it is European, Arab, or Swahili; and neither do
they wish to.
The combined Somali safaris reached M’thara at midday on the day
following our arrival. They proceeded to camp near us with much noise
of shouting and blowing of “barghums” (kudu-horn trumpets). It was
amusing to see the enthusiastic greetings between our respective
porters. Friends long separated vehemently embraced each other amid
cries of “Yambo” (greeting), with loudly shouted inquiries as to each
other’s health. For instance, Jumbi recognized a distant relative among
the crowd of the Somali porters, who, at the same instant, recognized
him. They rushed into each other’s arms, then vigorously shook hands.
“Yambo,” said Jumbi, and the other answering “Yambo!” they again shook
hands. Once more Jumbi said “Yambo,” and was again answered “Yambo.”
They embraced again; “Yambo sana,” continued Jumbi. “Yambo sana,”
answered the other once more. They embraced yet again. “Yambo sana
sana,” again said Jumbi. “Yambo sana sana,” answered the other; and so
they continued for quite five minutes, interrupted only by intervals of
embracing and handshaking. As they were only one couple out of many,
the noise may be faintly imagined.
As soon as the Somalis had built their boma and put their camp in
order, we received a message to the effect that they were coming to
visit us. Soon afterwards they came over in great state. Arrayed in
all the dignity of snow-white turbans and flowing robes, beautifully
coloured vests richly embroidered with gold, praying-beads of amber,
sandalwood or ebony in hand, and decorated with numerous watch-chains
and jewelled charms, they presented a most picturesque appearance.
Jamah Mahomet alone wore European clothes. He was in khaki serge with
puttees to match, and wore a double “Terai” hat. He had been in the
service of the Government, and had also accompanied Mr. Cavendish
on his late expedition through Somaliland to Lake Rudolph. He was
a tall, sinewy, well-set-up man with clean-cut, regular features,
extremely intelligent, thoroughly trustworthy, honourable, polite, and
hospitable—a man whom it was really a pleasure to meet. He was about
thirty years of age.
Ismail Robli was a short stout man with a shifty eye, and decidedly
prognathous jaws, very plausible, and, when he had an object in view,
very hospitable; but he hid a craven spirit under a show of bluster
and bullying. Noor Adam was a little slim man, with narrow eyes and
ferret-like features. He was reported to have shot some of his porters
on his journey across West Kenia, for attempted desertion. He somehow
provoked an instinctive feeling of dislike, and we never got on with
him. His two partners, Bhotan and Abdallah Arahalli, were much of the
same kidney. All three were Ogaden Somalis, a tribe who have not the
best of reputations. There were sundry other lesser lights who are not
of sufficient importance to deserve notice.
When they came into camp we received them with due ceremony, and asking
them to be seated, interchanged greetings in the Mohammedan manner.
For a moment the air resounded with such remarks as “Sabal Kheir”
(God bless you), “Salaam Aliekoum” (Peace be on you), and “Aliekoum
Salaam” (And on you peace), mingled with the Swahili “Uhali ghani?
Habari ghani?” (How are you? What news?), till etiquette was satisfied.
We then got to business, and discussed the Embe affair in all its
bearings. El Hakim cross-questioned Noor Adam and some of his men very
severely, but could find no discrepancy in their various accounts.
We discussed the matter very fully, and finally, for the good and
sufficient reasons I have already enumerated, we determined to punish
the Wa’Embe in co-operation with the Somalis. We instructed them to
provide thirty-five men carrying Snider rifles, while we undertook
to supply twenty-five men similarly armed, which, with ourselves,
made up a strong force of sixty-three men, a number we considered
amply sufficient for the purpose in hand. We despatched a nephew of
N’Dominuki’s to Embe as a spy, to find out a good road and the position
of the villages, etc., and he started the same evening.
On the following day we held another “shaurie” with the Somalis to
discuss the _modus operandi_ of our projected expedition. N’Dominuki’s
nephew had been instructed to return from Embe within two days, and we
decided to start on the afternoon of the next day—by which time, bar
accidents, he would have returned—and march immediately on receiving
his report. We intended to start just before dusk, pass through M’thara
in the darkness, and be over the Embe border unperceived at midnight.
A short rest and a dash on the Wa’Embe at dawn would complete the
operation. It was a good plan, and would have answered admirably but
for one of those little accidents that make “the best-laid schemes o’
mice and men gang aft agley.” As will be seen, it suited _the enemy_
admirably.
Embe on this side (the west) consists of a range of steep mountains,
where it rains nearly all the year round. It has, therefore, a very
moist climate and fertile soil, and its steep slopes and deep valleys
are covered with dense jungle interspersed with banana plantations,
making it a very nasty country to fight in, especially against natives
who know every inch of the ground and every turn of the paths. We did
not tell N’Dominuki of our plans—a very grave oversight that nearly
cost us our lives and those of the whole expedition.
On the following morning, as we really could not stand the wind any
longer, we shifted our camp to the inside of the forest, and while we
were about it we fortified it as well as we were able by felling thorn
trees, etc. We were much more sheltered in this new position, though,
to be sure, it was rather damp. This wind had a nasty cold nip with it
night and morning, which was the reverse of agreeable.
When we had our camp satisfactorily settled, we made our simple
preparations for the expedition to Embe. We took one tent with us
in case we were away more than a day or two. A loaf of bread and a
hind quarter of boiled mutton were also included; and, of course, a
plentiful supply of ammunition. The men had thirty rounds of Snider
cartridges each, which was all we could spare. The Somalis’ men had
fifty rounds each, and they, in addition, had a reserve chest of six
hundred rounds for emergencies.
At 5 p.m. we started. The natives in our immediate vicinity had, with
their usual unerring instinct in such matters, smelt a row, and about
fifty of them turned up armed with spears and shields. We did not want
them, but could not very well turn them away, and at the last moment it
occurred to us that they might prove useful as scouts, and we therefore
allowed them to remain. When our force had assembled, it made quite an
imposing array with the sixty men with rifles and the fifty others with
spears. Altogether, we commanded upwards of a hundred men, and had no
doubt but that we should teach the Wa’Embe a severe lesson.
N’Dominuki’s nephew had not returned, and we concluded that he had
been discovered and killed, and were consequently rather nonplussed
for the lack of a guide. At the last moment a Masai warrior came
forward and volunteered to guide us. On the Somalis saying that he
was known to them, we accepted his services. Soon after we started,
N’Dominuki’s nephew unexpectedly returned and joined us, and he and the
Masai took the head of the column. Darkness had fallen as we marched
through M’thara, the road continually ascending. The path at last grew
extremely difficult, and on several occasions El Hakim expressed doubt
as to whether we were going right. However, we were now committed to
whatever the Fates had in store for us; it was impossible to withdraw.
Onward we stumbled in the darkness, now up steep hillsides, and anon
down deep and gloomy valleys clothed in thick jungle where the deep
booming note of a mountain torrent growled hoarsely from somewhere out
of the pitchy blackness below. Soon the path became so narrow that we
could advance only in Indian file, which weakened us considerably, as
our fighting line was thereby stretched out for some two hundred yards,
being consequently out of our immediate control, while the jungle,
meeting overhead, blotted out what little light the stars provided.
It was impossible, on account of the denseness of the vegetation, to
place men out on our flanks, and in addition we were counting on taking
the Wa’Embe by surprise, and so did not wish to make too much noise.
At 10 p.m. we were well within the Embe border, and we then looked for
a place to rest awhile and prepare for our rush at dawn. We could not
find a suitable spot, however, and eventually decided to halt on the
path. A drizzling rain came on, which did not improve matters. One of
our men found a place a little distance from and below the path, that
did not slope at such an acute angle as the rest of the landscape, and
we as noiselessly as possible pitched the tent. El Hakim, George, and
I partook of a frugal meal, but we were without water, and naturally
we felt ever so much thirstier than we would otherwise have done. We
placed sentries, Jamah Mahomet doing the same where he had halted on
the path. We three Wasungu then dropped off to sleep.
Somewhere about midnight we awoke with a start, reaching for our rifles
as the sound of a shot floated down to us from where Jamah Mahomet’s
sentries were posted. It was followed by a second, and then a third.
Then all was silent again, except for the subdued hum of suddenly
wakened men. On sending for explanations, we found that some Wa’Embe,
coming down the path, had stumbled right on to the sentries, and were
instantly fired upon. All hope of a surprise was thus abolished,
but on consultation we decided that if we started an hour or so
earlier, possibly 3 a.m., we might take the enemy at a disadvantage.
Accordingly, at that time we once more set out.
It was dark as Erebus. As we noiselessly formed up on the path, a
sort of half sense of impending disaster seemed to have fallen on
the men. We did our best to dissipate it, and apparently succeeded.
The Masai guide and N’Dominuki’s nephew led the way; next came four
of the Somalis as advance-guard; then Jamah Mahomet, who was wearing
a waterproof coat over his khaki costume; finally George, El Hakim,
and myself. A few yards farther on we found a spear in the path,
probably dropped by one of the Wa’Embe in their flight, when fired at
by the sentries. If possible, the path grew worse as we advanced, and
presently we reached a deep ravine with a swift torrent roaring and
tumbling at the bottom. It was spanned by a single tree-trunk, which
served as a bridge. Beyond the ravine the path sloped upwards with many
twists and turns. On each side the jungle prevented anything being seen
more than a yard or two away.
We advanced slowly and cautiously in the order described, when a shot
rang out almost under our feet; another followed; and then a volley
from the advance-guard showed that something serious was toward. A
terrific howl and the long repeated _U-u-u-i_ (the A’kikuyu war-cry)
showed us that we were very skilfully ambushed, and the realization
was not pleasant. The firing at once became general all along the line.
It was a very fierce fusillade while it lasted; the reports of the
rifles and the cheers of our men, mingled with the war-cries of the
enemy, sounding weird and ghastly in the dense blackness of the early
morning (it was then 4 a.m.).
For a few moments pandemonium reigned supreme. Neither El Hakim nor I
could see a single native. George, though only a yard or so away, was
hidden from us, both by the darkness and by a turn in the path. El
Hakim clutched my arm and dragged me into a sitting position on the
ground as the whirring, hissing rush and plaintive whine of bullets in
unpleasant proximity to our ears warned us that we were in considerable
danger of being shot by our own men. Owing to the serpentine winding of
the path, they were firing towards every point of the compass, and we
were therefore much safer on the ground. In a few moments the war-cries
of the enemy died away as suddenly as they came, and the spiteful
crackle of the rifles lessened a little. As soon as we were able to
make ourselves heard, we gave the order “Cease fire,” and endeavoured
to find out what damage had been done. I called to George, and, to my
great relief, he answered me.
El Hakim and I then advanced, and turned the corner. We could then
dimly discern George amid the gloom. He came towards us saying that
Jamah Mahomet was wounded, and was lying on the path a yard or so away.
Hastening to the spot, we saw Jamah stretched upon the ground, moaning
pitifully. He had a great spear driven right through him. A native had
concealed himself in a pit dug on the side of the path and lain in
wait, letting both the guides and the advance-guard go past him in the
hope of bagging one of the Wasungu. In the darkness he mistook Jamah
Mahomet’s tall form, clad in European clothes, for George, and as
Jamah passed he thrust upwards with all his strength. Jamah instantly
fell. George, who was only a yard behind, saw the thrust, and, raising
his rifle, he shot the native through the stomach, but did not drop
him. This was the shot which gave us the first alarm.
El Hakim made a hasty examination of the stricken man, and pronounced
the wound fatal. The broad spear-blade, over two feet in length, had
entered the right side just below the ribs, and, passing through the
body, emerged just under the left arm, protruding several inches. Jamah
was semi-conscious, and apparently in great pain. Grouped round him, on
the alert, were the four Somalis who formed the advance-guard. As El
Hakim concluded his examination, Ismail Robli, Noor Adam, and others
of the Somalis, came up. When they learnt what had happened to Jamah,
such a wail of grief and dismay went up as I hope never to hear again.
Ismail behaved like one demented. He wept and cried upon “Allah” in the
most frenzied accents.
As we were crowded together in the path over the dying Jamah,
N’Dominuki’s nephew crept out of the bush, and, with shaking limbs and
horror-stricken countenance, approached El Hakim, attempting to say
something which his trembling lips refused to utter. The other guide
had disappeared. El Hakim seized him, and was trying to understand what
he was saying, when Ismail Robli caught sight of the palsied wretch.
His face changed instantly from an appearance of pious supplication to
one of demoniacal fury, and, crying “This man is a false guide; he has
caused Jamah’s death,” placed his rifle, a ·577 express, against the
other’s side, and, before I could raise a hand to interfere, pulled
both triggers, literally blowing the poor wretch to pieces.
It was a hideous and revolting exhibition of savage ferocity. Ismail
did not even put the rifle to his shoulder—we were too crowded for
that—he simply pushed the barrels past me and fired from his hip. The
murdered man collapsed in a writhing, moaning heap on the ground.
Ismail turned away and reloaded his rifle.
It was no time for recrimination, as at the report of Ismail’s rifle,
a fresh burst of firing broke from our men in the rear, which we
instantly quelled. It was a dastardly act on Ismail’s part, even though
at the time he was almost frenzied with grief at Jamah’s injury, as
we had no reason to believe that the unfortunate guide had played us
false. As we found out afterwards, the real culprit was the Masai
volunteer, who, it appeared, was a native of Embe, who had been sent
for the purpose of betraying us. At the same time, N’Dominuki’s nephew
had neglected to warn us, or point out that we were going by a bad
road. A great deal remained to be explained, but his untimely end put
further explanation out of his power for ever.
However, there we were in the dark, stuck on a path eighteen inches
wide, with a wounded man and no guides. The question now was how to get
out without further loss. We called a council of war, first posting
the Somali advance-guide a few yards up the path. We decided to wait
till daylight, as we could not move while Jamah was living, and he was
too far gone to be carried. It was a ghastly wait. After the firing
and shouting, the silence could almost be felt; it seemed absolutely
deathlike. We strained our ears to the utmost at the slightest rustle
of a leaf, as, for all we knew, the bush might be swarming with natives
waiting their opportunity for a rush.
A curious sight we should have presented to a spectator. The Somalis,
led by Ismail, were grouped, praying, round the dying Jamah, who was
sinking fast and moaning softly at intervals. El Hakim, revolver in
hand, stood bolt upright, and intensely on the alert, his face showing
faintly white through the gloom. Beside him stood George, drumming
with his fingers on his rifle—a habit of his—softly humming an air
from “Cavalleria Rusticana.” Crouched down on the path were the men,
motionless as bronze statues, conversing in low whispers now and
then, while they strained their eyes in the endeavour to pierce the
surrounding bush. A yard or so away lay the dead body of N’Dominuki’s
nephew; his dirty cotton waist-cloth smouldering where it had caught
fire from the explosion of Ismail’s rifle, nearly choking us with the
smell of singed flesh and the pungent odour of burning cloth. We tried
several times to put out the cloth, but we had no water, and it was
in vain we attempted to smother it; so it smouldered all night, and
uncommonly unpleasant we found it.
We were parched with thirst, having had no water since the previous
afternoon. Once in a while the flash of a sentry’s rifle would
momentarily light up the surrounding jungle, and the sharp report
stabbed the silence. I laid down on the path and slept—fighting
sometimes affects me that way—and woke up at dawn, just as Jamah
died. We were exceedingly sorry, as he was one of the best of his
race we ever had to do with. At the first glimmer of daylight we
dug a grave on the side of the path, and he was buried with all the
ordinances proclaimed by Mohammedan law that were possible under the
circumstances. Prayers and lamentations in Arabic resounded on all
sides from the deceased’s assembled compatriots.
There being now no signs of the enemy, El Hakim, George, and I were
for continuing the advance and pulling the fat out of the fire somehow,
but Ismail and the other Somalis would not hear of it. They said that
the enemy were now fully prepared for us, and instanced the numerous
freshly dug pits that had been found on each side of the path when
digging Jamah’s grave. Another argument they employed was that our
respective camps were almost entirely unprotected, and it was more
than likely that the Wa’M’thara or the Wa’Chanjai would attack and
loot them in our absence, more especially as they (the Somalis) had a
large number of cattle, which are particularly tempting to a native.
In addition, we were now entirely without guides, while the path ahead
seemed worse than ever.
We saw the force of this reasoning, and common prudence directed
that, for the present at any rate, we must abandon the attack;
which decision, though gall and wormwood to we Englishmen, we were
reluctantly compelled to admit was the wisest possible under the
circumstances. We made up our minds, however, that we would return
under more favourable auspices, and wipe out the disgrace of our
defeat, for defeat it was, and so with that understanding we acquiesced
in the retreat, and gave the necessary orders to retire.
It was with very mixed feelings that we travelled back over the
difficult path we had trodden a few hours before with such confidence.
We found out afterwards that our sudden retreat disconcerted the
Wa’Embe, who were massed in force further along the path at a place
where they had dug a large number of pits, in which they had kindly
placed sharpened spikes for our reception.
At eight o’clock we were met on the road by an M’thara man named
Koromo, who handed us a jar of honey as a present. When we got within
a mile or two of our camp large numbers of fully armed natives slunk
past us, going towards Chanjai. They were coming from the direction of
our camp. Hurrying on with sinking hearts, we soon arrived at the camp,
and to our great relief found all safe, though Jumbi was full of some
report or other about armed natives who had been round the camp during
the night. We said he could tell us about it afterwards, as at present
we wished to eat. It was then one o’clock in the afternoon, so we set
to and made a hearty meal, and afterwards retired to our blankets and
slept the sleep of the just until dinner-time.
FOOTNOTES:
[3] “Through Jungle and Desert,” by William Astor Chanler, A.M.
(Harv.), F.R.G.S., pp. 168-177.
[4] “Elephant Hunting in East Equatorial Africa,” by Arthur H. Neumann,
pp. 42, 43.