An ivory trader in North Kenia

We were bitterly disappointed at this unexpected turn of affairs, but, after a short consultation, determined to proceed on the morrow still further down-stream, in the hope of reaching the tantalizing swamp. In our eagerness to reach the sycamore tree we had outstripped our half-mutinous men, and they were slowly coming into camp in twos and threes long after our arrival. Two of them had deserted during the march, an M’kamba and the ruffian Sulieman, who happened to be carrying a small black portmanteau which contained all George’s and my kit. This he had cut open and had abstracted therefrom my matches, fishing-line, and the whole of my stock of needles and thread, so that we were left without the wherewithal to repair our clothing. These desertions were the more serious in that they necessitated our sending two of our remaining men back to the Rendili camp so that Jumbi might apprehend the deserters, or, failing that, to at least prevent him being deceived by a spurious message purporting to come from us, to the effect that he was to hand over a quantity of trade goods to Sulieman on the pretence that we required them—a trick often practised by Swahili deserters from a party operating away from their main camp. Sending these men away reduced our already weak party by four men, whose loads had to be distributed among the remainder; a proceeding which still further increased their discontent.

That evening we dined on the hippopotamus tongue, which proved a right royal dish. It was wonderfully fat and tender, and, as it weighed about seven pounds, it afforded a substantial as well as a very pleasant meal. We turned in early, and as I wished to change the plates in my camera, I manufactured an extempore dark room by throwing a blanket over a bush and creeping beneath it. I could not, however, use it with safety till the moon had set, at 2 a.m., so I instructed the sentry to call me at that time, and, getting out my package of spare plates, placed them, together with my collapsible ruby lamp, beside me, and endeavoured to sleep. We had arranged our beds at the foot of the sycamore tree, and, as it turned out, right in the path used by the hippopotamus and rhinoceros in their nightly wanderings along the banks of the river.

We had slept for perhaps two hours, when a shout of alarm from the men was followed by a stampede, as the two mules broke from their picket ropes and bolted. Waking up with a start, I was surprised to see El Hakim and George, clad in the very scantiest attire, come flying across my bed as if they were practising the high jump. I glanced round, and an instant later rose hurriedly from my blankets and joined them. A rhinoceros, coming along the path, had rushed among our sleeping men and charged through, scattering them right and left. He then rushed at the fire and stamped on it, and when I awoke was coming down with the speed of an avalanche to the spot where we had been sleeping. We, however, with a sudden access of modesty, due perhaps to the knowledge of our attire, bashfully retreated to the other side of our friendly sycamore tree, where some of our men were already perched among the branches, while the rhinoceros passed on without further demonstration. Inquiries revealed the fact that none of the men were hurt, with the single exception of Docere ben Ali, who had grazed his shin. He said the rhinoceros did it, but I rather inclined to the belief that he did it himself in his haste to climb the tree at the commencement of the stampede. We retired to our blankets, thanking our lucky stars that nothing worse had happened. Not more than half an hour later, when I had just got comfortably to sleep again, I was once more aroused by El Hakim uttering my name in an intense whisper. In an instant I was wide awake, and saw him and George standing on their blankets gazing intently into the darkness. A cloud had temporarily obscured the light of the moon, and it was at first somewhat difficult to distinguish objects a few yards distant. When my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, I became aware of the presence of a herd of hippopotamus standing irresolute within a dozen yards of my bed. One, ahead of the others, was slowly advancing in a line that would bring him right across our blankets, and was at that moment not five yards away. We stood undecided; we did not wish to alarm them, as they might have stampeded over us, and in that case we might just as well have stayed at home and died an easier death beneath a steam-roller. It was too dark to use a rifle with any effect, while it was open to the same objection. Meanwhile the herd was slowly advancing and the situation was becoming more and more strained, when our dog sprang at the foremost with a snarl, while “Spot,” the puppy, yelped defiance in his shrill treble. The herd paused, turned, and disappeared like a flash in the opposite direction, with a thundering of feet which constituted an unpleasant reminder of what might have happened had they come in our direction. The puppy took all the credit of the affair to himself, and came up to be patted and stroked, wagging his diminutive tail in a manner expressive of the utmost contempt for wild beasts in general, and hippopotamus in particular. We turned in again and tried to sleep once more.

I was called when the moon had set, and proceeded to rig up my al fresco dark room. During the two alarms either El Hakim or George had trodden on my ruby lamp and had stamped it out quite flat. It took me some time to bend it back into something of its former shape, while the sentry stood by and struck matches to enable me to see. Finally the lamp was more or less satisfactorily adjusted and the blanket placed in position. In the middle of the operation an excited whisper of “Faru, bwana,” caused me to drop my apparatus and scramble hurriedly out. I took one glance round, yelled to El Hakim and George, and we all three hastily took up our position behind the tree, while the oncoming rhinoceros danced through the camp at fifteen miles an hour and disappeared.

We began to think that these visitations were becoming too much of a good thing. The men, too, manifested an anxious desire to emulate the fowls of the air and roost among the branches of our friend in need, the sycamore tree.

Returning to my dark room, I completed the operation of changing the plates, and once more sought my blankets, in the pious hope that we should not be disturbed again.

But it was not to be. On two other occasions during that eventful night we were compelled to rise hurriedly from our blankets and betake ourselves to the shelter of the friendly sycamore, while a too impetuous rhinoceros whirled past; and the dawn discovered us blear-eyed and weary from the effects of our nocturnal gymnastics.

When the usual time for starting the day’s march arrived the men flatly refused to go a step further. We argued the point with them, and finally induced them to make one more march, promising that if we did not find the “Siwa” (swamp) then we would return. With that understanding we set out, marching at a good pace, as the ground was rather firmer underfoot than hitherto.

Just before midday we passed a small herd of grantei, and I managed to secure one at long range. An hour later a couple of bull buffaloes were seen, quietly feeding on the opposite side of the river. El Hakim put in some pretty shooting at fifty yards, bringing them both down. We crossed the river and camped beside the carcases.

It was here that we sustained a loss which we all felt very deeply, and which even now I cannot recall without a sigh. “Spot,” the puppy, who had endeared himself to us all by his lovable disposition and pretty ways, had gone to sleep in the grass while El Hakim was engaged with the buffaloes. When we crossed the river he was forgotten, and not until we were making our arrangements for camping, did a shrill bark from the other side of the river call our attention to the small owner thereof. We immediately sent a couple of men across the river to bring him over, but they had to go fifty yards or so lower down to do so. The gallant little chap would not, however, wait for the men, but plunged boldly into the stream and swam towards us, wagging his tail in infinite delight at his own daring. He had scarcely got three-parts of the way across when he gave a sudden sharp yelp of pain and disappeared under the surface with a jerk, leaving us standing on the bank speechless with consternation and distress. Ramathani ran up with a rifle, but I waved him away in despair. A hundred rifles could not have restored our gallant little dog to us, the crocodile which had seized him having never shown itself above the water. There was nothing to do but to turn sorrowfully away and console ourselves as best we might.

We called the men together after we had eaten and asked them if they were willing to go on still further, but they were unanimous in their determination not to go a yard further down the river. “Takufa yote, bwana” (We shall all die, master); “Mangati tele hapa” (There are many wild beasts here); “Afreeti winge hapa” (There are plenty of devils about here); and “Tu’nataka kurudi, bwana” (We wish to return, master), were among the remarks which greeted our ears at the mere suggestion that we should go further down-stream. Finally we compromised. We asked for two volunteers who would go down the river, there and then, for some hours’ march, and see if they could see anything of Lorian. If they discovered it they were to return, and we would all go on together there, but if they saw nothing of it, we would return to our Rendili camp on the following day. This was agreed to, and two of the men, Asmani ben Selim and Kati (an M’Nyamwezi), accordingly started off.

They returned late the same evening, and reported that they had been some miles down the river and had seen no signs of the swamp. We were greatly disappointed, but in accordance with our agreement made arrangements to commence our return march on the following day. We could not have done otherwise, as if we had signified our intention of proceeding further to the eastward in defiance of our promise, the men would have deserted in a body during the night, and gone back to the Rendili camp.

It took Mr. Chanler nine days, starting from a point opposite our Rendili camp, to reach the sycamore tree under which we had slept—or rather tried to sleep—the night before, while the same distance only occupied us five days, which is easily explained by the fact that we had already a general idea of the course of the Waso Nyiro, while Mr. Chanler had to feel every mile of his way. We were now a march beyond the sycamore tree, which formed the limit of his journey, and our men had been some miles farther still down the river and had not seen the swamp. The only hypothesis I can advance which will account for our failure to find Lorian at the place where Mr. Chanler saw it on January 7th, 1893, is this.

In very wet seasons, or after a series of wet seasons, the Waso Nyiro overflows its banks and covers a portion of the Kirrimar Plain, forming a vast swamp, or more probably a chain of swamps, to which the name of Lorian has been given by the natives. That the portion of the Kirrimar Plain immediately adjoining the river is at times under water, is beyond a doubt, as I have already mentioned in the previous chapter. After a long drought, by which the supply of water brought down by the Waso Nyiro would be materially curtailed, these swamps dry up, those lying up-stream, owing to their higher level, naturally drying up first, and consequently the western edge of the swamp, or swamps, called Lorian, would gradually recede more and more to the eastward as the drought increased. At the time of our visit in September, 1900, there had been no rain in Samburuland for three years, according to the Rendili, and it is therefore quite reasonable to suppose that Lorian, for the reasons enumerated, had receded many miles to the eastward of the point at which Mr. Chanler turned back, having satisfied himself that Lorian was merely a swamp and not a lake as he had supposed. It is quite possible that the swamp seen by Mr. Chanler may not have been Lorian at all, but may have been only one of the chain of swamps to the west of it and higher up the river, and which had dried up prior to our visit. The evaporation in that terribly hot climate (scarcely one degree north of the Equator, and not more than 700 feet above sea-level) must be enormous, and would be sufficient to dry up even a large lake providing it was not well fed with water, as in the case of Lorian. A shallow body of water with a very large surface-area, such as this swamp, would be very easily dried up in one season if its river-borne water-supply was much reduced.

On the morning of September 5th we reluctantly turned our backs on the elusive Lorian, and retraced our steps. Nothing of interest occurred on the return journey beyond the usual weary marches over the desolate country already described, punctuated at intervals with a rhino charge or a hunt for meat. I remember one rhinoceros which amused us very much. We were making our way across a belt of bush which somehow managed to draw sustenance from the sand, when the familiar but subdued shout of “Faru” caused us to glance hurriedly round. Facing us ten yards away a large rhinoceros was stamping and snorting. In a few seconds he made up his mind to investigate, and charged down upon us. Something impelled George to place his fingers in his mouth and send forth a shrill ear-piercing whistle. The charging rhinoceros stopped suddenly in mid-career, so suddenly, indeed, that he almost sat on his hind quarters. Such a look of porcine surprise came over its ugly features that we involuntarily burst out into a roar of laughter, which apparently completed the ungainly brute’s discomfiture, as it turned and galloped away with every symptom of fear. We also shot every crocodile we could get at on the return journey, as a set-off against the loss of our lamented pup, but it failed to afford us any satisfaction.

On the fifth day after we started on our return journey we arrived half-starved and footsore at our Rendili camp. In the light of this experience I can quite believe that the Rendili were right when they asserted that they could reach Lorian in two days, always supposing Lorian to be in the position roughly assigned to it, viz. read 1° 5’ 0” N. lat. and 30° 30’ 0” E. long. A native perfectly acquainted with the country would abandon the Waso Nyiro altogether, and cut across the big curve which the river makes to the north and south-east, and travelling across the desert in a direction east-north-east from the Zambo Plateau, he would only have a fifty-mile march before him—by no means a difficult matter for a native, as he would only require to make two marches of twenty-five miles each in forty-eight hours. If I ever make another trip down the Waso Nyiro I shall certainly adopt that plan myself.

The moment we reached camp we ordered a sheep to be killed, and when it was cooked the three of us sat down and finished it. We were very hungry, and it was only a small sheep. While we were satisfying our material wants, we summoned Jumbi that he might give an account of his stewardship. It appeared that he had bought a couple of hundred sheep in our absence. The Somalis under Ismail Robli had moved their camp one march up the river, following the Rendili and Burkeneji, who were moving their villages up-stream, the adjacent pasture being finished. There was a recrudescence of small-pox among the Rendili, and many were dying daily. Such was the news.

On the following morning I rode over to Ismail’s camp to hear what he had to say. I found the Somalis very despondent. Business was decreasing, as, owing to the presence of two safaris, the market was glutted with trade goods. They were buying camels, which was necessarily a very slow process, as the camels could only be bought for so many sheep. These sheep had first to be purchased for cloth or wire, and Ismail was finding out that between the value of a sheep he wished to buy, and that of a sheep he wished to sell, there was a wide difference.

Ismail also informed me that a party of Wa’Embe had come to trade with the Rendili and Burkeneji, and had stayed at a Burkeneji village further up the river. When the Wa’Embe heard that the Somalis were camped among the villages of their hosts, they inquired of them why they had not attacked the Somalis and speared them. “We have beaten them twice,” they said, “and killed many of their men with our spears. Their bullets did not hurt us. Why do you not spear them?” This advice was not lost on the Burkeneji, and they would have probably acted upon it in the near future; but Ismail, hearing the news from his spies, went forth to attack the mischief-making Wa’Embe, who forthwith fled without giving battle.

The next day we also moved our camp up-stream, and pitched our tents afresh on a spot a few yards from the river-bank and 500 yards or so from Ismail’s boma. We understood from Ismail that he intended going north to Marsabit, and for some reason he was very anxious that I should leave El Hakim and George to return alone and accompany him northward. He was very pressing in his invitation, which, however, I consistently declined. If Jamah had been alive, nothing would have pleased me better than an opportunity of penetrating further northward to Marsabit and perhaps Reshiat and Marle at the north end of Lake Rudolph, but I entertained such a hearty contempt for Ismail, that the prospect of some months’ journey in his company did not offer sufficient inducement to warrant me in altering my arrangements.

After we had settled down in our fresh camp we concentrated our attention on exchanging the remainder of our cloth for sheep, so that we might start on our return journey to Nairobi. El Hakim wished to get back to Nairobi in November for personal reasons, otherwise we should have gone back to M’thara, and after buying a fresh supply of food there, and getting the forty odd loads of beads which were in N’Dominuki’s charge, we had intended journeying to Lake Baringo and thence northward into the country of the Turkana.

Business was very slack until El Hakim hit on a bright idea. He called the Rendili chiefs Lubo, Lokomogo, Lomoro, and other lesser lights together, and pointed out that although we had dwelt amongst them for almost a month, so far only one of them, Lubo to wit, had brought us a present. “It was well known,” continued El Hakim, “that when ‘friends’ visited the Rendili they were always presented with many sheep, and even camels, as a token of good-will.” He was therefore reluctantly compelled to conclude that we and the Rendili were not friends, a state of affairs which filled his heart with sorrow. But still, it was not yet too late, and if those who had not yet brought sheep as a present did so within the next few days all would be forgotten and forgiven.

The effect was magical. Early the following day Lokomogo stalked into camp, followed by a couple of men driving a small flock of thirteen sheep, which, after much circumlocution, he introduced as his present. El Hakim immediately made him a return present of a quantity of cloth, wire, and beads, of the value of something like twenty per cent. above the market price of the sheep. Lokomogo was delighted, and departed with his present with every sign of pleasure and good-will.

The other chiefs must have been waiting to see how Lokomogo’s present was received, as the next day, finding it had been satisfactory, the presents came in thick and fast, every present consisting of exactly thirteen sheep, neither more nor less than that brought by Lokomogo. Each donor received a return present over and above the market value of the sheep, and business fairly boomed, everybody being satisfied. Had we offered treble the value of the sheep in the ordinary way of business, we could not have bought any, as the market was glutted with trade goods. El Hakim, however, touched them on their weak spot when he made a ceremonial transaction of it, and the result fully justified his claim to a certain amount of insight into the working of the native mind.

About this time I was prostrated with a very severe toothache, which confined me to my tent for some days. By the time I was about again our scheme for the exchange of presents had worked so well that our cloth was almost exhausted, and we were nearly ready to take our departure for M’thara. We had now upwards of 500 sheep, and it promised to be a tedious task to transport them safely to Nairobi; more especially as we were extremely doubtful of our reception by the A’kikuyu of north-east Kenia.

Late in the evening two days before our departure from the Rendili settlement, a couple of the Somalis came into our camp exhibiting every symptom of alarm. They brought a message from Ismail to the effect that the Burkeneji warriors had killed and eaten three sheep[15] preparatory to attacking him and us. The attack was to take place during the small hours of the same night. His information emanated from some friendly Rendili.

We had already retired for the night, but we donned our clothes and went over to the Somali camp to see Ismail.

The Somali camp was in a great state of excitement. Ismail himself was serving out ammunition to his men with a lavish hand, and others of the Somalis were cutting bush and otherwise strengthening the boma. We did not quite believe their story, but as it would do no harm to take ordinary precautions, we returned to our own camp and proceeded to put it into a state of defence.

It was already well protected on two sides by a thick belt of bush, so thickly interlaced as to be impenetrable, and by a large fallen thorn tree, which, while easily seen through, formed a barrier as impassable to naked savages as a barbed wire entanglement. More thorn-bush was cut down and a strong barrier erected on the river side. On the opposite side, where the men’s tents were situated, we built another thorn fence, leaving the tents outside with the fires burning as usual, in the hope that in the event of hostilities the apparently unprotected tents would draw the first attack. We did not think that the enemy would feel inclined to make a second.

The men all slept under arms in the centre of our boma, with the exception of the sentries, whom we posted some distance outside the camp. The 8-bore, loaded with slugs, was placed handy, together with half a dozen of the blue flares, which would instantly light up the scene for a hundred yards round with an intense radiance as awe-inspiring to the enemy as it would be useful to ourselves. When our defensive preparations were completed we retired fully dressed to our blankets, and endeavoured to snatch a little sleep, with such success that we did not wake till sunrise.

We temporarily demolished the “boma” on the side on which the men’s tents stood, so that we should not give our scheme away should we be visited during the day by any of the Burkeneji, as, for all we knew, it might yet prove useful.

The Burkeneji were undoubtedly restless, as we found that they were moving their villages down the river again, some of them going as far as the eastern spur of the Zambo Plateau.

The next night we took the same precautions as on the previous evening, but still nothing happened.

On September 20th we had finally disposed of all our stock, and were now quite ready to leave for M’thara. Ismail informed us that he was going north to Marsabit, and bade us good-bye.

When we retired that night we took the same precautions against surprise. About eight o’clock in the evening we were aroused by the report of a rifle from the direction of the Somali camp. After a short interval we heard another, then another, and then a sound of rapid firing mingled with shouts and yells. We sprang up and got our men under arms and waited events. A dead silence succeeded the former pandemonium, nor did we hear another sound. We concluded that the Burkeneji had attempted to rush the Somali camp, and, finding them prepared, had abandoned the attack.

Next morning we packed up in preparation for the start. While we were thus engaged we were visited by Ismail, who came over to explain the cause of the disturbance of the preceding night.

It appeared that the Somalis, as well as their men, were still very nervous on account of the supposed hostility of the Burkeneji. After they had gone to sleep, their cattle, which were corralled in a small enclosure in the centre of their boma, were by some means stampeded. Breaking out of their enclosure, the frightened animals rushed hither and thither among the sleeping porters, who, waking up under the impression that the Burkeneji were upon them, were immediately stricken with panic, and crawling under blankets, bushes, or anything that afforded them the slightest cover, they yelled dismally for mercy, thus adding to the general confusion. Ismail and his lieutenants seized their rifles and rushed out of their tents, to find some of their men trying to break out of the boma, some crawling about on their hands and knees, crying for mercy, while others were brandishing spears and shouting defiance. They likewise jumped to the conclusion that they were being attacked, and that the enemy were actually within the boma; and under the influence of a panic, no whit less than that of their men, they without further ado raised their rifles and fired into the confused groups of men, seen dimly in the flickering light of the camp-fires. After a time order was restored, and it was found that there had been no attack at all. Two of their porters were shot dead in the confusion, and one Somali received a Snider bullet in the forearm; while a horse which Ismail had bought from the Rendili, and of which he was very proud, received a bullet in the chest and another in one of its hoofs. The cattle were probably stampeded by the scent of a lion which had been prowling round the boma, and which, some days before, had actually, in broad daylight, seized and killed a cow belonging to Ismail.

Congratulating Ismail on the state of his nerves and on the discipline of his camp, we bade him adieu once more. We then shook the dust of the Rendili settlement from our feet, and started amid the joyous shouts of our men on our journey up the river en route for M’thara.