_ARRIVAL AT M’THARA._
In sight of Kenia once more—El Hakim and the lion—The “Green Camp”
again—The baby water-buck—El Hakim shoots an elephant—The buried
buffalo horns destroyed by hyænas—Bad news from M’thara—Plot to attack
and massacre us hatched by Bei-Munithu—N’Dominuki’s fidelity—Baked
elephant’s foot—Rain—Arrival at our old camp at M’thara.
On resuming the march up-river next morning, we found the road much
better than on our journey down the opposite bank. It lay over firm
gravelly ridges, littered with quartz _débris_ dotted here and there
with scattered thorn bushes. Now and again we crossed patches of
mineral salts, some of which we boiled down in the endeavour to
obtain some table salt, but the resulting compound tasted more like
the nauseous mixtures administered by the family physician in our
childhood’s happy days than anything, and was in consequence utterly
useless for table purposes.
During the next few days we did not keep rigidly to the Waso Nyiro, but
cut across many of the curves, occasionally camping miles away from
the river, obtaining the necessary water by digging in the beds of the
numerous sand rivers, when it was generally found not far below the
surface, in small quantities it is true, but sufficient for our needs
if we dispensed with washing. This was the easier as we were quite
without soap, and a wash without soap is an unsatisfactory performance
anyhow.
Once or twice we caught a glimpse of Kenia far away to the southward.
It seemed like an old friend, and its appearance was always greeted
with a cheer from the men, followed by a spasmodic burst of energy,
for, resettling their loads on their shoulders, they would step out
with renewed vigour, as if anxious to reach it at once, but after a few
minutes their suddenly awakened enthusiasm would vanish, and they would
relapse once more into the listless but steady gait of men wearied by
continuous travel.
The appearance of Kenia at that distance was grand beyond the power of
expression. The wonderful peak, crowned with patches of purest white
snow, sparkled like an immense diamond in the brilliant sunshine, an
effect further accentuated by the perfect background afforded by the
deep clear blue of a cloudless sky. Even were I gifted with the pen
of a poet or the brush of an artist, I should hesitate in the attempt
to adequately depict that magnificent temple of nature, rearing its
stately head heavenwards, and bearing a silent and convincing testimony
to the glory of the Creator.
On October 3rd we crossed the Waso Nyiro once more. Game was still
scarce, an occasional water-buck or rhinoceros forming our only
sustenance. Even that limited selection failed us at times, and we
were compelled to kill some of our cattle for meat. We yearned for
vegetable food, as only those who have lived for the best part of two
months exclusively on meat, without salt, can yearn. The monotony of
boiled meat, roast meat, fried meat, and boiled meat again, must be
experienced to be fully understood.
Two days after crossing the river we passed our old “Swamp Camp,” where
the midges so annoyed us. We made a “telekesa” march on that day,
however, and our second march took us beyond the swamp. We camped at
sundown on a spot very close to the river—only a few yards from the
water’s edge, in fact. We disturbed a pack of wild dogs in so doing,
and they dashed off with the speed of greyhounds. George banged at them
and wounded one, but it got away, though it was very probably devoured
by the rest of the pack soon afterwards. They were jet black in colour,
with long bushy tails tipped with white. They appeared to be very
well-formed, speedy animals, and in the pink of condition.
As usual we built a boma for the sheep, and George and I had our tent
pitched, but El Hakim preferred to sleep in the open, so his bed was
placed a yard or so away from our tent. After we had eaten we retired
to rest, posting a sentry a few yards away. At about 2 a.m. George and
I were aroused from sleep, and considerably startled, by a yell from El
Hakim, followed by a rushing sound as the sheep broke down their boma
and stampeded, amid the excited shouts of the awakened men. Rushing out
of our tent, we saw El Hakim, rifle in hand, peering into the darkness
on the left, the tails of his shirt, his only garment, fluttering in
the breeze. It appeared that he was peacefully sleeping and doubtless
dreaming of home and beauty, or maybe of the two boxes of provisions
we had left at M’thara, when an agonized whisper from the sentry smote
upon his ear. He awoke instantly, and opening his eyes ... gazed full
into the face of a full-grown lion which was standing by the side of
his bed critically examining him, probably from a gastronomical point
of view. El Hakim, with a rapidity born of long experience, rolled out
of bed on the opposite side and groped for his rifle, at the same time
uttering the startled cry which had aroused the camp. When George and I
appeared, the lion had already fled, and we found El Hakim bemoaning
his luck at not getting a shot, instead of being profoundly grateful
that the lion had not taken him with him when he departed.
It took the men a couple of hours to get the startled sheep together
again. On examining the lion’s spoor, we found that it had walked right
through the camp, having apparently carefully threaded its way among
the recumbent bodies of the sleeping porters.
On the next march the sheep showed signs of fatigue, so we camped
early. We sent a couple of men on to M’thara to report on the attitude
of the natives, and also to come back and meet us with the two
provision boxes. On the following day we once more negotiated the
“cinder-heap,” and just before sundown reached the “Green Camp,” after
a rather forced march. Ramathani surprised a baby water-buck asleep
in the grass, and after a smart chase ran it down and captured it. He
proudly brought it to El Hakim, who determined to make an effort to
rear it. He therefore extemporized a feeding-bottle from a tumbler and
a piece of rubber tubing from his surgical case, while the ink-filler
of his fountain pen provided both a piece of glass tube and a teat. The
stupid little beast did not appreciate his well-meant efforts, however,
and absolutely refused to suck. It was eventually provided with a meal
by the combined efforts of the three of us. I held it still, George
forced its mouth open, while El Hakim poured the milk drop by drop down
its throat with a teaspoon, though during the operation it did not seem
at all grateful for the care so lavishly bestowed upon it.
During the afternoon George shot a rhinoceros. I also wished to shoot
another rhino or two, and determined to stay in the “Green Camp” for
another day for that purpose, while El Hakim and George went on with
the bulk of the safari and the animals. By making a forced march I
could overtake them on the second day at our old “Buffalo Camp.” In
addition, I was anxious to shoot a few grantei, and so lay in a stock
of meat for the use of the men until we were able to purchase food in
M’thara.
Accordingly, the following morning El Hakim and George went on, while
I sallied out on sport intent. Crossing the little stream which flowed
round two sides of the camp, I made my way towards the Waso Nyiro. Five
hundred yards away from camp I reached the path usually taken by the
game when going down to drink at the river. The grantei, as I knew from
previous observation, usually came down at ten o’clock in the morning;
so at a quarter to ten I concealed myself behind the trunk of a thorn
tree, stretching myself out at full length upon the ground, a most
uncomfortable position, as the ground was strewn with little knobs of
rock firmly embedded in the soil. When I did venture to remove some
loose pieces that inconvenienced my elbows and knees, I disturbed a few
colonies of tiny ants, which, although they did not bite, crawled all
over me in a most uncomfortable manner. I had lain there about half an
hour, when my patience was rewarded by the sight of the advance guard
of the grantei army advancing steadily in my direction. They were led
by a noble-looking buck, who displayed a magnificent pair of horns.
He was a little suspicious, and hesitated whether to come on or not.
I was very carefully concealed, and as I kept perfectly still, he
finally conquered his distrust, and once more advanced, followed by
the remainder of the herd. Waiting my opportunity, I banged at him at
forty yards, and dropped him with a dum-dum bullet through the heart.
The others ran this way and that, not knowing from which quarter
the danger had come, as I still kept carefully out of sight. The
consequence was that I secured two others, as handsome as the first,
with the expenditure of only two more cartridges. As I now had enough
meat, I stayed my hand, and did no further execution, though, had I
been so disposed, I might have secured at least a dozen from the herd
before they finally recovered from their confusion and took to flight.
[Illustration: MR. G. H. WEST (“GEORGE”).]
[Illustration: RHINOCEROS SHOT BY GEORGE. (See page 293.)]
Of course, as I particularly wished to secure a couple of rhinoceros,
there were none to be seen, though at the “Green Camp” they were
usually as plentiful as could be desired. After a fruitless search,
I returned to camp at midday, and then despatched half a dozen men
in as many directions to look for one. The afternoon passed without
result, but just as the declining sun approached the horizon two of
the Wanyamwezi came in and reported a rhinoceros feeding about a mile
away. Taking Barri with me, I started off in pursuit. In a quarter of
an hour we got the beast’s spoor, and followed it till it led us into
a belt of trees and out the other side into an open space in the bush.
In the centre of this open space was a small eminence, and on the top
of the eminence stood our rhino, who had evidently heard or scented us,
and now stood snorting and stamping in preparation for the opening of
hostilities. Taking the Martini from Barri, I worked round to one side
of my quarry and took up a position in the open within forty yards. A
couple of seconds later a bullet caught her—it was a female—fairly in
the shoulder, but a little too far forward. Round she came and charged
me, but another shot in the face caused her to change her mind. As
she swerved a third bullet took her in the ribs, and she set off at
a gallop, squealing like a gigantic pig. She ran for a matter of a
couple of hundred yards, and then stood quite still in an attitude
of profound thought; finally, she laid down as if she had resolved to
sleep, as the result of her cogitation, and when I got up to her she
was dead. The horns were fairly long, but badly scratched and chipped,
she being evidently a very old beast. Her body was covered with the
scars of numerous conflicts with others of her kind. After a struggle
I succeeded in hacking off the horns with my hunting-knife, El Hakim
having taken our only remaining axe away with him in the morning.
When I got back to camp, I found five men who had been sent back by El
Hakim to carry any meat I might have shot. They told me that El Hakim
had shot a solitary elephant they had met on the road in the morning.
The next morning I started early, and, after a stiff march, reached
the place at which the others had camped on the previous evening.
The remains of their fires were still hot. I passed the body of the
elephant on the way. It appeared to be a young bull, and the hyænas and
vultures between them were making short work of the carcase. After a
couple of hours’ halt I resumed the march, and after another hard tramp
lasting three hours I reached the “Buffalo Camp,” tired out. George had
had a slice of luck, as he had secured a very fine impalla (_Æpyceros
melampus_) on the road. The horns were slightly over twenty-eight
inches, which is, I believe, as good as it is possible to obtain.
A great disappointment awaited us here. On going to the ant-hill in
which I had buried the buffalo horns, we found that, in spite of the
ants, the hyænas had disinterred and utterly destroyed them. My large
pair were gone, and also the other two pairs buried with them, there
being nothing left beyond a few splinters of bone. The baby water-buck
died in the evening, having steadfastly refused to feed since its
capture, and resisting to the utmost of its power our well-meant
efforts to help it.
During the next day’s march we met the men whom we had sent to M’thara
four days before. To our immense satisfaction, they bore the two
boxes of provisions which had occupied our thoughts for so many weary
days. They were about to tell us something concerning hostile natives
at M’thara, but we had motioned them away, desiring that nothing,
especially bad news, should interfere with our first civilized meal,
and so detract from our enjoyment. Ordering a halt, we got to work with
a screw-driver while the tents were being erected. Ramathani exerted
himself, and in an incredibly short time a steaming pot of oatmeal
porridge awaited our attention. After two months of meat, that oatmeal
tasted as never oatmeal tasted before. When it was finished, Ramathani
brought us some broiled zebra collops, and with mustard, pepper, and a
bottle of Worcester sauce, they made a dish fit for a monarch. There
were also biscuits, jam, and a couple of tins of butter, and as a wind
up, we opened a pound tin of mincemeat, and, passing the tin round, ate
it with a spoon. To crown our enjoyment, a box of cigars and a bottle
of vermouth were discovered, and as we inhaled the first smoke for
weeks we would not have changed places with anybody.
At the conclusion of the banquet we felt sufficiently fortified to hear
the news brought by our men from M’thara. They were therefore summoned
and cross-questioned for over an hour. The result of the examination
was even worse than we had anticipated, and sufficed to change our
thoughts from the optimistic attitude they had assumed to one of most
anxious and gloomy foreboding. Summed up, the situation was this. We
required a large quantity of food for our journey round North and
West Kenia, which is uninhabited. There was, we discovered, a famine
in M’thara, as, unfortunately, the bean-crop had utterly failed for
want of rain. There was, on the other hand, plenty of food in Munithu
and Zura, as the famine did not extend to those districts. In the
ordinary course of events we should have bought food there, but to our
amazement and indignation we heard that during our absence on the Waso
Nyiro both Dirito and Bei-Munithu had turned traitors, and were now
bitterly hostile to us, absolutely refusing to supply us with food.
Their change of front had the effect of bringing together all the other
chiefs in North-East Kenia, with the single exception of N’Dominuki,
and they had, in solemn conclave assembled, formed an offensive and
defensive alliance against us. The reasons for this attitude were not
hard to find. Our reverse in Embe, and Jamah Mahomet’s death, followed
by the death of Sadi ben Heri and his companions and the capture of
their guns in N’Dakura, and, lastly, the terrible massacre of the bulk
of Ismail’s men on the road to Dhaicho, had occasioned a great loss
of prestige, and prepared the native mind for what was to follow.
During the deliberations, and while matters hung in the balance, one
of our men who had deserted on the Waso Nyiro turned up, and when
taxed by Bei-Munithu with being a deserter he denied it, and declared
that the Wasungu were all dead, having been killed in a fight with
the Burkeneji, and only a few porters had got away with their guns
and some of the trade goods, and were now returning to M’thara. Some
colour was lent to his story by the reappearance in Embe of the three
camels belonging to El Hakim, whither they had wandered after straying
from us nearly six weeks before. This was considered by Bei-Munithu
to be a capital opportunity to annex the numerous loads deposited in
N’Dominuki’s charge. That true friend, however, refused to entertain
the suggestion, saying that he did not believe the Wasungu were dead,
in spite of the deserter’s story, and the circumstantial evidence of
the camels. He stated, furthermore, that he did not intend to give
them up, even if the Wasungu were dead, as other white men would
soon come into the country and demand an account of the loads in his
charge. Bei-Munithu then formed a coalition of all the petty chiefs
of North-East Kenia, for the purpose of waylaying and massacring any
safaris who should in the future endeavour to enter the country, a plan
to which N’Dominuki steadfastly refused to lend his aid.
From an agreement to attack our supposed surviving porters, to another
agreement to attack the Wasungu themselves, should they be alive, was
but a step, and an easy step at that. Bei-Munithu was evidently the
moving spirit of the combination. He was reported to have said that
the Wasungu’s bullets did not hurt, and as he had formerly been the
friend of the Wasungu, he was supposed to speak with some authority
on the subject. “Even if the Wasungu are not dead,” said this wily
old reprobate, “we can just as easily take their goods when they do
return. If they are dead, so much the better; and if they are not,
they soon will be,” he continued; and in that case the question of the
annexation of our goods would have been speedily solved. It seemed that
this course was eventually decided upon by the A’kikuyu. Without a
doubt things all round looked uncommonly gloomy, the only bright spot
in the whole murky aspect being N’Dominuki’s unswerving fidelity. The
situation required great firmness and tact in handling, as we wished to
get out without further fighting, the Snider ammunition being almost
exhausted. On consideration, we determined that if we were compelled
to fight, we would make a good fight of it, and punish the enemy as
heavily as we knew how, otherwise the next unfortunate safari coming
into the district would stand a very poor chance.
An incident in connection with the strayed camels occurred at M’thara,
which, while it amused us at the time, had its serious side also. When
we left M’thara for the Waso Nyiro, we had left an M’Kamba porter,
who had injured his leg and was unable to walk, with N’Dominuki. He
retained his gun and half a dozen cartridges for protection. When the
camels strayed into Embe, some of the inhabitants brought them down
to N’Dominuki and offered them for sale. He recognized them as ours,
and refused to have anything to do with them. Our gallant M’Kamba,
however, demanded that they should be given up to him, as the Wasungu’s
representative, which proposal the Wa’Embe treated with scorn. The
M’Kamba thereupon brought out his rifle and fired into them, shooting
one man through the thigh. The serious side of the question now
obtruded itself, inasmuch as it was not an Embe man whom he had so
rashly wounded, but a native of M’thara who happened to be standing
near; and old N’Dominuki had to pay one of our cows and two of our
sheep in order to square the injured man and his indignant friends and
relatives!
As we had heard and also read much about the excellence of baked
elephant’s foot, we thought we would give it a trial. To that end
El Hakim had preserved one of the feet of the elephant he had shot
two days previously. To the best of our knowledge, the proper way to
cook this alleged delicacy was to dig a hole in the earth and build a
fire in it. When there was a sufficient quantity of hot ashes, the
foot was placed in the hole among them, covered up with earth, and
left for a few hours. Ramathani was therefore instructed to dig a
hole and build a fire, which he accordingly did, and when the ashes
were ready the foot was placed inside. It was disinterred in time for
supper, after it had been cooking some eight hours, but to our intense
disgust and disappointment it was quite uneatable. It was of the most
indiarubber-like consistency, and after blunting my hunting-knife
on the knuckle-bones in our efforts to carve it, we gave it up as a
bad job. I tried to cut it afterwards with an axe, but could make no
impression on it worth mentioning, as the axe bounced off. We concluded
that it was not sufficiently cooked, and determined that there should
be no such mistake in our next attempt—always supposing that we caught
another elephant.
Some smart showers of rain made their appearance during the evening,
which did not tend to improve the condition of the sheep. They had
experienced no rain for three years, and we were very doubtful of the
effect of the wet and the attendant cold on their constitutions.
Our next march, we calculated, would take us right on to our old camp
at M’thara. On the following morning, after two and a half hours’
tramp, we halted for breakfast. As we were preparing for another move
a terrific thunderstorm came on, and in a very short space of time
drenched everybody and everything. We took shelter under the trees
from the blinding torrents of rain, hoping that it would soon cease.
It did nothing of the kind, however, and after we had endured it for
over an hour we decided to put up the tents and camp for the remainder
of the day. Getting the tents erected was a terrible task. They were
soaking wet and heavy as lead, and the violent gale which accompanied
the storm caused them to thrash and flap about in a most aggravating
way. The rain poured harder than ever, and soon converted the surface
of the ground into a filthy bog. The water dribbled down the backs
of our necks and up the sleeves of our coats in a manner we found
most exasperating. After an hour’s hard work we got both tents up and
trenches dug round them; and then, of course, the rain ceased, the
wind dropped, and the sun appeared from behind the clouds and shone
brilliantly. It was, however, too late to think of making another
start, so we stopped where we were. It rained hard again during the
night, and several of the sheep died. At daylight we made another
attempt to reach our old M’thara camp, and after an hour’s tramp
through the thorn forest we had the satisfaction of once more emerging
upon our old camping-ground. It was just as windy, and rather more
swampy than before, but it was surrounded by masses of restful green
vegetation most grateful to the senses after the blinding deserts and
arid wastes of the Waso Nyiro.