_JOURNEY DOWN THE WASO NYIRO._
Arrival at the Waso Nyiro—The “Green Camp”—The “cinder-heap”—The camp
on fire—Scarcity of game—Hunting a rhino on mule-back.
Next morning we continued to follow the course of the little stream
which issued, greatly diminished in size, from the opposite side of
the swamp. The country grew more barren as we advanced. Great gravelly
areas alternated with brown earth, and now and again an outcrop of
quartz or lava occurred. The universal thorn tree was the only member
of the vegetable world that seemed to be able to draw any sustenance
from the arid soil, with the exception of a few cacti and small aloes.
Rhinoceros there were in plenty, and several giraffe loomed on the
horizon. We were also greatly excited to observe elephant tracks, two
or three days old, trending north-eastward towards the Waso Nyiro.
In the distance we could see frowning cliffs of pink gneiss, and due
north, some peculiarly shaped hills, one in particular being an almost
exact replica of the Great Pyramid of Cheops at Ghizeh. Another to the
left of it consisted of a pyramidal base, surmounted by a columnar
peak that by some agency or other had been split vertically into two
unequal portions, which remained sticking boldly upwards like a couple
of gigantic teeth. Standing out prominently to the north-north-west was
the massive outline of Mount Lololokwe, 3000 feet above the level of
the surrounding plain, while behind it, one point more to the westward,
Mount Gwarguess reared its stately head 2000 feet higher.
To our great annoyance and dismay, the little stream we were following,
which had been dwindling in size for some miles, now disappeared
completely into a subterranean passage. It was eleven o’clock in the
forenoon, so we crept into the scanty shade afforded by some thorn
trees, and rested in preparation for a long march to the Waso Nyiro in
the afternoon.
The heat was intense, and the atmosphere most remarkably dry and clear.
Small objects at long distances stood out with remarkable distinctness.
The hills, at the foot of which flowed the Waso Nyiro, seemed not more
than an hour’s march distant.
About two o’clock, having rested sufficiently, we once more forged
ahead, bearing more to the north-east than in the direction we had
hitherto followed. We encountered the same soft crumbling brown earth,
with loose stones on the surface. Aloes, morio trees, and thorn
trees were the only vegetation, and even they were only sparsely
distributed. The country was formed of long rolling ridges, which we
traversed at right angles. It was a weary and tiresome march. Each
time we climbed a ridge we looked eagerly forward for a sight of the
longed-for Waso Nyiro. Again and again we were disappointed, each
ridge exactly resembling the last. At four o’clock in the afternoon we
entered a small belt of thorn trees and dodged a couple of rhinos who
were love-making just inside, and would no doubt have resented being
disturbed. When we once more emerged from the thorn belt we gazed over
a broad plain which sloped gently down to a range of dun-coloured hills
some miles away. The Waso Nyiro, we knew, flowed at the foot of these
hills, and once more we pressed forward, momentarily forgetting our
fatigue in our eagerness to reach the desired goal.
I was walking with my Martini over my shoulder, when I was considerably
startled by a noise from my left, which caused me to hurriedly bring my
rifle to the ready. It was a long-drawn growling grunt, and my first
thought was of lions. Closer attention, however, solved the mystery.
It was the cry of a zebra, one of a herd of Grevy’s beautiful zebra
which were congregated over half a mile away. The cry of the zebra is
very like a long-drawn growling whistle, and in the distance, when too
far off to hear the whistle, the growl very much resembles that of a
lion. There were large herds of oryx in sight, and a few rhinoceros and
water-buck.
The sun sank gradually lower in the western heavens, and we were
still apparently no nearer the range of hills we were making for, so
deceptive are the apparent distances in the clear atmosphere. But just
as dusk had fallen, our eyes were gladdened by the sight of a large
clump of Doum palms growing in the centre of an open green space a mile
away. We made towards them, and feasted our weary eyes on the beautiful
green expanse stretching out before us.
A spring emerged from the earth here, perhaps the same stream we had
followed in the morning, and which had so disappointed us by suddenly
disappearing. The water was quite warm, and impregnated with mineral
salts; so much so as to be almost undrinkable. It welled up into a
hole in the rocks about 20 feet long and 12 feet wide by 4 feet deep,
forming a lovely natural bath, overgrown with varicoloured mosses and
ferns. The overflow meandered through the grass for 100 yards or so
in a little stream a foot deep with a pebbly bottom fringed by dark
green rushes, and then spread out into a swamp overgrown with tall
papyrus reeds 10 or 12 feet high. There were two or three acres of good
green grass on one side of the swamp, to which our animals rushed with
whinnies of delight the instant they caught sight of it, and ate and
ate as if they would never stop. We crossed this little stream, and
pitched the tents under some large thorn trees. We christened the place
“Green Camp.” It was about 3500 feet above sea-level, and over 1000
feet lower than M’thara.
There was a splendid specimen of the Doum palm on the other side of
the camp, which can be seen in the photograph of the Green camp. The
Doum palm (_Hyphæne Thebaica_) is called m’lala by the Swahilis. It is
a very graceful palm, and grows to a great height on the Waso Nyiro,
and was to be found everywhere along the banks of the river. The stem
divides into two branches a few feet from the ground, each branch again
and again dividing and being crowned with its canopy of broad, flat,
fan-shaped leaves. The fruit, about the size of a potato, is mostly
hard uneatable kernel, with a layer of moist fibre, about half an inch
thick, contained in a reddish bitter rind. It reminds one of eating
chopped cocoanut fibre, with a sweetish, slightly astringent flavour.
George and I ate quantities of it later on, as also did the men, when
we were without other vegetables.
While we were pitching the tents a rhinoceros emerged from among the
papyrus, where he had been wallowing in the swamp, and trotted towards
us. A shout soon caused him to change his mind, and off he went full
gallop for the Waso Nyiro, which, I should have remarked, was about
half a mile distant.
The country outside the camp was covered in places with large white
patches of mineral salts, principally carbonate of soda and sulphate
of magnesia; but we searched in vain for any common salt. There was
very little soil, and the men who were driving in the tent-pegs struck
rock three or four inches below the surface. A violent gale of wind
came on at sundown, and it needed the most extraordinary precautions,
in the way of extra guy-ropes to the tents, to prevent them being blown
bodily away.
After supper we held a consultation to decide what form our plans
should take. First and foremost, we wished to find the Burkeneji and
Rendili peoples, in order to trade for ivory. These people are nomads,
and wander at will over the immense tract of desert country bounded,
roughly, on the north by Southern Somaliland, on the south by the Waso
Nyiro, on the west by Lake Rudolph, and on the east by the fortieth
degree of longitude. They have one or two permanent settlements,
notably Marsabit, some eight or ten days’ journey to the north of the
Waso Nyiro, and at Mount Nyiro, situated some two or three marches
south of Lake Rudolph. There was every sign that there had been a long
drought (we found afterwards that no rain had fallen for three years),
and it was more than likely that they had come south to the Waso Nyiro,
as was their habit when water was scarce in the arid country to the
north.
After a little deliberation, therefore, we determined to follow the
course of the Waso Nyiro down-stream—that being, of course, to the
eastward—in order to try to discover the Rendili, whom we were very
anxious to find.
We started soon after daybreak the following morning. The weather was
perfect, being dry, warm, and clear; we felt it a pleasure to be alive.
We followed the river, as there was, of course, no other water. The
course of the Waso Nyiro is always clearly defined by the belts of
Doum palms that fringe the banks, and by the greater greenness of the
vegetation in its immediate vicinity. At first we thought that if we
followed the general direction of the river, viz. eastward, we should
never be far from the water, whether it was in sight at the moment or
not. Two or three days’ journey, however, undeceived us on that point.
The river, as a matter of fact, winds about in a most extraordinary
manner, and on several occasions when, thinking we were near the river,
we halted for the purpose of camping, we found, owing to an utterly
unexpected turn, that it was really miles away. Consequently we adopted
the more fatiguing but safer course of following it in all its windings.
Just such an experience befell us on the morning we left “Green Camp.”
Away to the eastward of that place, and about ten miles distant, was a
mass of gneiss rock known as Mount Sheba, towering 500 feet above the
plain, and 3500 feet above sea-level. We knew the river flowed within
a mile or two of it, but on which side, whether to the north or south,
we were uncertain. We therefore made for the north end of the mountain,
as, if the river flowed to the south, we should necessarily meet it,
while if it went to the north we should still be going right.
The first hour’s march was fairly easy. Level stretches of sand covered
with patches of mineral salts, and dotted with stunted thorn trees,
offered no great impediment to our progress. Several rhinoceros were
browsing about, one brute being right in our path. We cautiously
approached and shouted at him, but he did not seem disposed to move.
On approaching nearer we saw that he was wounded, a great hole in his
ribs showing that he had been fighting his brother rhinoceros, and
had, apparently, considerably the worst of the argument. Rhinoceros
are inveterate fighters amongst themselves; and of all the animals
shot during the expedition there was not one who did not show healed or
partially healed wounds somewhere in the region of the ribs. As this
particular beast would not move, I started forward with the intention
of shooting him, but he suddenly awoke to the exigencies of the
situation, and quietly trotted out of harm’s way.
As we proceeded, smooth patches of black lava showed themselves above
the surface of the sand, and quartzose rocks occurred here and there.
Half a mile further on rose a plateau about 25 feet high, apparently
composed of some black substance. It lay right in our path, and we
pushed forward towards it in order to more closely examine it. When we
arrived at the foot, we found, to our dismay, that it was composed of
blocks of black vesicular lava, varying in size from a football to an
ordinary trunk. It stretched in either direction, left and right, as
far as the eye could see, and there was no alternative but to attempt
to cross over the top, which we were very loth to do, although we
consoled ourselves with the thought that it would only be for a few
hundred yards. We therefore scrambled to the summit, and only then got
a faint idea of what was before us.
The whole country round was covered with loose blocks of lava to a
depth of 30 to 50 feet. The surface was not even fairly level, but
was irregularly disposed in heaps, forming little hills and valleys
of loose and often insecurely poised stones. There was a great and
ever-present risk of a careless movement bringing two or three tons of
stuff rolling down, and obliterating the unfortunate individual who had
disturbed the _status quo_. The hard slag-like blocks were perforated
by innumerable holes caused by air-bubbles when the lava was fluid,
giving them the structure and appearance of a dark brown, or black,
petrified sponge, the ragged edges of which soon reduced our boots to
ribbons. The men who were wearing sandals suffered severely, as did
the animals. It was, of course, impossible to ride, the mules having
painfully hard work even to get along alone.
Imagine a tiny ant endeavouring to clamber across a newly laid,
unrolled cinder-track, and you will have our position precisely. There
was, however, no help for it; the cinder-heap, as we dubbed it, had to
be crossed. We advanced slowly and painfully for over two hours, but,
to our inexpressible disappointment, saw no signs of nearing the other
side. The heat of the sun was terrific. Its rays, beating vertically
down, were readily absorbed by the lava, seemingly almost causing it to
glow in the intense heat, which, radiating afresh from under our feet,
gave us the feeling of being slowly baked in an immense oven.
At the end of the second hour we halted for a space, dead beat. Sitting
still in the sun we found was much worse than walking, so we resumed
our painful march, climbing slowly and wearily over the interminable
lava-heaps, following a faint track made by wandering rhinoceros.
Here and there a few stunted thorn bushes made a pitiful struggle for
existence, though how they managed to live we could not imagine, seeing
that the closest scrutiny failed to show any traces of soil, their
roots seemingly going straight down between the blocks of lava. As we
walked, El Hakim suddenly jogged me in the ribs with his elbow, thus
calling my attention to a couple of giraffe which were standing about
fifty yards ahead watching us. Strange to say, they did not exhibit the
least alarm, but watched us till we had approached to within twenty
yards, when they turned and shambled off, with their ungainly heads
swaying to and fro like the masthead of a ship in a seaway.
A few minutes later we walked round a corner right on to a rhinoceros.
He faced round, and we instantly scattered. I made for the lee side
of a convenient lava-heap, and loaded my ·303; El Hakim and George
following suit. The slight noise we made in doing so scared the brute,
for he suddenly turned and trotted away over the loose lava as if it
were a lawn, and, notwithstanding his bulk, without a sound.
We toiled onwards for another couple of hours, when our hearts were
gladdened by an appearance of smoothness underfoot. It was only
temporary, however, and soon we were again continuing our unequal
struggle with nature. Slowly and mechanically we toiled along, El
Hakim, George and I, and our personal servants; the rest of the safari
had long since tailed off, and were scattered in twos and threes along
the path in our rear.
The sun rose higher and higher as the morning advanced, and scorched us
till it seemed as if we had not a single drop of moisture left in our
bruised and wearied bodies. I feebly wondered if we were doomed to be a
sort of modern edition of the “Wandering Jew,” with Dante’s “Inferno”
as the sphere of operations. When I suggested the idea to my companions
in a vain attempt at a joke, it did not provoke even a smile. Our boots
were ruined, and our feet sore and cramped from springing from one
piece of loose rock to another. The lava rolled and slipped from under
us, bruising our ankles; we were parched with thirst, hot, dog-tired,
and altogether in a most miserable plight.
Suddenly George gave vent to a feeble hurrah! El Hakim and I gazed
wonderingly at him, trying to grasp the reason for such a singular
demonstration. He indicated by a gesture that we should look ahead.
We did so, and immediately endeavoured, as well as our parched and
swollen tongues would permit, to follow his example, though the attempt
was more or less a failure. There before us was a sharp dip; at the
foot stretched one of the familiar, gravelly, sandy plains covered
with thorn trees. We had grumbled enough at them heretofore, but after
that terrific “cinder-heap” the thorn-covered plain seemed a veritable
paradise.
As if to make amends for our sufferings, we at that moment caught sight
of Mount Sheba, which was our objective on leaving camp that morning.
It was, alas! still some miles distant, but it meant water.
Away we went at a quick walk, animated by only one desire—the desire
for water. There were no signs of our safari, but we knew that they
could easily follow our tracks, so we hurried on. Hour after hour we
pushed on, now walking and anon half running, in our eagerness to reach
the river. We met several rhinoceros, but such was our hurry we did
not stop to speak. Suddenly a group of the thrice-blessed Doum palms
appeared at the bottom of a valley. We raced down the slope, and there
at the bottom lay a pool of beautiful, cool, clear, sparkling water. Ye
gods! what pen can hope to adequately describe the supreme delight of a
long, long draught of cool, pure water, after hours of such a sun as we
had been exposed to on the “cinder-heap?” We lay down on our stomachs,
and, plunging our faces beneath the surface, drank our fill of the
life-preserving fluid. When we were satisfied, we laved our chests,
and, playing with the water, watched the sparkling crystal drops drip
from our fingers and fall with a musical splash into the parent pool.
It was not such a long time, after all, that we had been without
water, but the sun was terribly fierce on the heaps of lava, and, in
addition, the horrible uncertainty as to whether we were not going
further and further away from water, increased our thirst to quite an
abnormal degree.
Afterwards we despatched the two or three men who had accompanied us
on the backward track, to communicate the joyful news to the rest of
the safari, and to relieve of their burdens those on whom the long and
arduous march had had most effect. In the course of an hour or so some
of the men began to arrive in twos and threes. The others, we found,
were not far behind, so we went on, and in another half-hour reached
the river.
Whether it was the contrast to what we had just undergone or not, the
river appeared to us to be as near an approach to Paradise as it is
possible to get in this world. The swift water rushing past, here over
rocks in miniature cataracts, and there over smooth gravel beds, gave
forth a musical murmur in the highest degree conducive to slumber.
As our tents, eatables, and, indeed, all our personal equipment were
somewhere behind, halfway between the river and the “cinder-heap,” we
slumbered accordingly under the grateful shade of the palms.
A curious fact which I have often noticed on a long and fatiguing march
is that, as in this instance, when the first of one’s men get into
camp, they are invariably the men who are carrying the loads of trade
goods, the cloth, or, unkindest cut of all, the cooking utensils!
Towards evening the rest of the safari staggered in, some of the
men having been twelve hours on the road. One man had fallen from
exhaustion and died on that awful “cinder-heap,” his load having been
brought on by Jumbi. We had made, I suppose, about six miles in a
bee line from our last camp, though how much ground we had actually
covered in our laborious march it is difficult to say.
At the conclusion of our breakfast-dinner-supper we turned in,
thoroughly tired out; but, as it happened, we were destined not to
enjoy a quiet night’s repose. First Ramathani came into the tent; he
held an egg in his hand—a guinea-fowl’s egg.
“The men found this, Bwana,” said he.
Now, I fancied an egg very much, so I awakened George. “I’ll go halves
with you,” said I, when I had induced sufficient wakefulness in him to
understand what I was saying.
Ramathani was accordingly ordered to boil the egg. I lent him my watch,
so that he should boil it for exactly three minutes, neither more nor
less. Meanwhile I secured two spoons and the pepper-box, and we waited
expectantly till Ramathani reappeared bearing the precious egg cooked
to a turn. I took it and rapped it with my spoon. Hardly had I touched
it before it exploded with a loud report, and flew to pieces. It was
empty inside, at least it appeared empty; a second after it blew up
George looked blankly at me, and I returned the compliment, and we were
still gazing at each other when the after-effect, so to speak, struck
us. Then, choking, we made a dive for the open air. Hastily summoning
Ramathani, we bade him penetrate to the interior of the tent, open both
ends, and then wave a blanket till the sewer gas, or whatever it was,
had dispersed, a proceeding which occupied some time. We then turned
in again, and slept peacefully, though odorously, till somewhere about
midnight.
Suddenly a cry of “Moto! moto!” (Fire! fire!) rang out, accompanied
by a terrible roaring and crackling. Out we rushed, clad only in
our shirts—the night was warm—to find one portion of the camp in a
blaze. We seized blankets, sacking, anything we could get hold of, and
furiously attacked the flames.
The dry grass and reeds burned like paper, but the great danger lay in
the palm trees. If once they caught fire, our tents, stores, and, in
fact, everything, would be utterly destroyed. We fought, therefore,
for our very existence. Fortunately we managed, by the most strenuous
exertions, to keep the flames clear of the palms, and, after an hour’s
hard work, to entirely subdue them. Our bare feet and legs were
slightly burnt, and my shirt was scorched, but beyond that no serious
damage was done. We turned in again at 2 a.m., and slept undisturbed
till 7 a.m., when we once more resumed our march.
We intended to go only a short distance, in order to give the men a
rest after their fatiguing exertions of the previous day. The country
was by no means level, and here and there showed a tendency to produce
more lava-blocks, but we met with nothing that seriously impeded
our progress. We saw a herd of zebra in the distance, but they were
very shy and wary. Our men, with that reckless improvidence which
distinguishes the Swahili “pagazi” (porter), had already consumed
the twelve days’ store of grain and flour which we had brought from
M’thara, and had now (six days after leaving that place) only a few
pieces of buffalo-meat left. It was imperative, therefore, that we
should shoot some meat for them.
Smooth patches of sand, interspersed with bare rock, now became the
predominant features of the landscape, and game was very hard to
approach in consequence.
The river, which we sedulously followed, was distinguished by the line
of palms which fringed the banks. It flowed in places at the foot of
frowning cliffs of gneiss, their rugged scarps inhabited by countless
monkeys and baboons which chattered incessantly, skipping from ledge to
ledge, apparently the only animated creatures in the whole sun-baked,
dun-coloured landscape. I successfully stalked and shot a grantei,
which, in my opinion, is the very best eating of all East African
gazelles. Saddle of grantei, after being hung two or three days, is a
joint fit for a monarch. We were very anxious to shoot a rhinoceros for
the men, which was probably the reason why we saw none, notwithstanding
that they had been so indecently numerous during the previous few days.
We camped at ten o’clock in the forenoon on the bank of the river,
which here flows over gigantic boulders of gneiss, and sometimes white
sandstone or granite. In the afternoon we saw large herds of game
a mile or so from camp, principally oryx, zebra, and grantei. They
were strangely shy, and, the country being perfectly open, I found it
impossible to get nearer than 800 yards to them.
The following day we were off again soon after sunrise. El Hakim shot
a small grantei soon after starting. We also saw a herd of buffalo,
but could not get within range, as they took alarm, plunged into the
river, and, swimming across, retired to the safety of the country on
the other side. We also saw some giraffe on the opposite bank, but
this portion of the river was unfordable. El Hakim went out in the
afternoon to try to shoot meat for the men, but could not get within
range of two rhinoceros, the only animals he saw. Food for the men was
getting rather a pressing question, and when we resumed the march on
the following morning, George and I took a different path from that of
the safari, but parallel to it, in the hope that we might see game.
During the whole march we never saw a single head, and we arrived at
the place where the safari had halted, thoroughly tired and disgusted.
As we got in, El Hakim had just sighted a rhinoceros, and, seizing his
rifle, he mounted the mule and gave chase. The rhinoceros, however,
retreated, followed at full speed by El Hakim, while George and I had
an opportunity of enjoying the unique sight of a mounted rhinoceros
hunt. When it came to speed, however, the rhino was an easy first, and
El Hakim returned, hot, weary, and, worse still, unsuccessful.