An ivory trader in North Kenia

One of the most important items in the organization of a “safari” (caravan) is the judicious selection of the men. Choosing ours was a task that gave us much trouble and vexation of spirit. El Hakim said that for all-round usefulness the Wa’kamba were hard to beat, and thought that we had better form the bulk of the safari from them, and stiffen it with a backbone of Swahilis and Wa’Nyamwezi, as, though the Wa’kamba were very good men when well handled, in the unlikely event of hostilities with the natives it would be advisable to strengthen them with an addition from the lustier tribes. To that end we proposed to engage a dozen Swahili and half that number of Wa’Nyamwezi. Porters at that time were very scarce; but having secured one or two good men as a nucleus, we sent them into the bazaar at Nairobi to bring us any other men they could find who wanted employment.

The Swahilis are natives of Zanzibar and the adjacent coasts. They are of mixed—very mixed—descent, being mainly the offspring of various native slaves and their Arab masters. They were originally a race of slaves, but since the abolition of slavery they have become more and more independent, and they now consider themselves a very superior race indeed. They call themselves “Wangwana” (freemen), and allude to all other natives as “Washenzi” (savages). They are incorrigibly conceited, and at times very vicious, lazy, disobedient, and insolent. But once you have, by a judicious display of firmness, gained their respect, they, with of course some exceptions, prove to be a hardy, cheerful, and intelligent people, capable of enduring great hardships without a too ostentatious display of ill-feeling, and will even go so far as to make bad puns in the vernacular upon their empty stomachs, the latter an occurrence not at all infrequent in safari work away from the main roads.

The Wa’kamba, on the whole, are a very cheerful tribe, and though of small physique, possess wonderful powers of endurance, the women equally with the men. We calculated that some of our men, in addition to their 60-lb. load, carried another 30 lbs. weight in personal effects, rifle, and ammunition; so that altogether they carried 90 lbs. dead weight during one or sometimes two marches a day for weeks at a stretch, often on insufficient food, and sometimes on no food at all.

The Wa’Nyamwezi are, in my opinion, really more reliable than either the Swahili or Wa’kamba. They come from U’Nyamwezi, the country south and east of Lake Victoria Nyanza. We had six of them with us, and we always found them steady and willing, good porters, and less trouble than any other men in the safari. They were very clannish, keeping very much to themselves, but were quiet and orderly, and seldom complained; and if at any time they imagined they had some cause for complaint, they formed a deputation and quietly stated their case, and on receiving a reply as quietly returned to their fire—very different from the noisy, argumentative Swahili. They appear to me to possess the virtues of both the Swahilis and Wa’kamba without their vices. The Wa’kamba’s great weakness when on the march was a penchant for stealing from the native villages whatever they could lay their hands on, being encouraged thereto by the brave and noble Swahilis, who, while not wishing to risk our displeasure by openly doing likewise, urged on the simple Wa’kamba, afterwards appropriating the lion’s share of the spoil: that is, if we did not hear of the occurrence and confiscate the spoil ourselves.

We had pitched our tent just outside the town of Nairobi, and proceeded to get together our loads of camp equipment, trade goods, and provisions: no easy task on an expedition such as ours, where the number of carriers was to be strictly limited.

In the first place, we required cloth, brass wire, iron wire, and various beads, in sufficient quantities to buy food for the safari for at least six months. Provisions were also a troublesome item, as, although we expected to live a great deal upon native food, we required such things as tea, coffee, sugar, jam, condiments, and also medicines. The question was not what to take, but what not to take. However, after a great amount of discussion, lasting over several days, we settled the food question more or less satisfactorily.

During this time our recruiting officers were bringing into camp numbers of men who, they said, wanted to take service with us as porters. Judging from the specimens submitted for our approval, they seemed to have raked out the halt, the lame, and the blind. After much trouble we selected those whom we thought likely to be suitable, and gave them an advance of a few rupees as a retaining fee, with which, after the manner of their kind, they immediately repaired to the bazaar for a last long orgie.

There was also the important question of arms and ammunition to be considered, as, although we did not expect any fighting, it would have been foolish in the extreme to have entered such districts as we intended visiting without adequate means of self-defence. We concluded the twenty-five Snider rifles used by El Hakim on a previous trip would suffice. Unfortunately, we could get very little ammunition for them, as at that time Snider ammunition was very scarce in Nairobi, one reason being that it had been bought very largely by a big Somali caravan under Jamah Mahomet and Ismail Robli, which set out just before us, bound for the same districts.

We, however, eventually procured five or six hundred rounds: a ridiculously inadequate amount considering the distance we were to travel and the time we expected to be away.

With regard to our armament, El Hakim possessed by far the best battery. His weapons consisted of an 8-bore Paradox, a ·577 Express, and a single-barrelled ·450 Express, all by Holland and Holland. The 8-bore we never used, as the ·577 Express did all that was required perfectly satisfactorily. The 8-bore would have been a magnificent weapon for camp defence when loaded with slugs, but fortunately our camp was never directly attacked, and consequently the necessity for using it never arose. The ·557 was the best all-round weapon for big game such as elephant, rhinoceros, and buffalo, and never failed to do its work cleanly and perfectly. Its only disadvantage was that it burnt black powder, and consequently I should be inclined, if I ever made another expedition, to give the preference to one of the new ·450 or ·500 Expresses burning smokeless powder, though, as I have not handled one of the latter, I cannot speak with certainty. El Hakim’s ·450 Express was really a wonderful weapon, though open to the same objection as the ·557—that of burning black powder. It was certainly one of the best all-round weapons I ever saw for bringing down soft-skinned game. It was a single-barrelled, top-lever, hammer-gun, with flat top rib. The sights were set very low down on the rib, to my mind a great advantage, as it seems to me to minimize the chances of accidental canting. Its penetrative power, with hardened lead bullets, was surprising. I have seen it drop a rhinoceros with a bullet through the brain, and yet the same projectile would kill small antelope like Grant’s or Waller’s gazelles without mangling them or going right through and tearing a great hole in its egress, thereby spoiling the skin, which is the great cause of complaint against the ·303 when expanding bullets are used.

I myself carried a ·303 built by Rigby, a really magnificent weapon. I took with me a quantity of every make of ·303 expanding bullets, from copper-tubed to Jeffry’s splits. After repeated trials I found that the Dum-Dum gave the most satisfactory results, “since when I have used no other.”

I also carried a supply of ·303 solid bullets, both for elephants and for possible defensive operations. For rhinoceros, buffalo, or giraffe, I carried an ordinary Martini-Henry military rifle, which answered the purpose admirably. A 20-bore shot-gun, which proved useful in securing guinea-fowl, etc., for the pot, completed my battery. George carried a ·303 military rifle and a Martini-Henry carbine.

It was essential that we should have a good “Munipara” (head-man), and the individual we engaged to fill that important position was highly recommended to us as a man of energy and resource. His name was Jumbi ben Aloukeri. Jumbi was of medium height, with an honest, good-natured face. He possessed an unlimited capacity for work, but we discovered, too late, that he possessed no real control over the men, which fact afterwards caused us endless trouble and annoyance. He was too easy with them, and made the great mistake—for a head-man—of himself doing anything we wanted, instead of compelling his subordinates to do it, with the result that he was often openly defied, necessitating vigorous intervention on our part to uphold his authority. We usually alluded to him as “the Nobleman,” that being the literal translation of his name.

Next on the list of our Swahili porters was Sadi ben Heri, who had been up to North Kenia before with the late Dr. Kolb, who was killed by a rhinoceros a couple of marches north of M’thara, Sadi was a short, stoutly built, pugnacious little man, with a great deal to say upon most things, especially those which did not concern him. He was a good worker, but never seemed happy unless he was grumbling; and as he had a certain amount of influence among the men, they would grumble with him, to their great mutual satisfaction but ultimate disadvantage. His pugnacious disposition and lax morals soon got him into trouble, and he, together with some of his especial cronies, was killed by natives, as will be related in its proper sequence.

Hamisi ben Abdullah was a man of no marked peculiarities, except a disposition to back up Sadi in any mischief. The same description applies to Abdullah ben Asmani and Asmani ben Selim.

Coja ben Sowah was a short, thick-set man, so short as to be almost a dwarf. He was one of the most cheery and willing of our men, so much so that it was quite a pleasure to order him to do anything—a pleasure, I fear, we appreciated more than he did. On receiving an order he would run to execute it with a cheery “Ay wallah, bwana” (“Please God, master”), that did one good to hear.

Resarse ben Shokar was our “Kiongozi,” i.e. the leading porter, who sets the step on the march and carries the flag of the safari. He, also, always ran on receiving an order—ran out of sight, in fact; then, when beyond our ken, compelled a weaker man than himself to do what was wanted. I could never cure him of the habit of sleeping on sentry duty, though many a time I have chased him with a stirrup-strap, or a camp-stool, or anything handy when, while making surprise inspections of the sentries, I had found him fast asleep. He was valuable, however, in that he was the wit of the safari. He was a perfect gas-bag, and often during and after a long and probably waterless march we blessed him for causing the men to laugh by some harmless waggish remark at our expense.

Sulieman was a big, hulking, sulky brute, who gave us a great deal of trouble, and finally deserted near Lorian, forgetting to return his rifle, and also absent-mindedly cutting open my bag and abstracting a few small but necessary articles. Docere ben Ali, his chum, was also of a slow and sullen disposition, though he was careful not to exhibit it to us. When anything disturbed him he went forthwith and took it out of the unfortunate Wa’kamba.

Of the Wa’kamba I do not remember the names except of two or three who particularly impressed themselves on my memory. The head M’kamba was known as Malwa. He was a cheerful, stupid idiot who worked like a horse, though he never seemed to get any “for’arder.” Another M’kamba, named Macow, afterwards succeeded him in the headmanship of the Wa’kamba when Malwa was deposed for some offence. We nicknamed Macow “Sherlock Holmes,” as he seemed to spend most of his leisure hours prowling round the camp, peering round corners with the true melodrama-detective-Hawkshaw expression in his deep-set, thickly browed eyes. He would often creep silently and mysteriously to our tent, and in a subdued whisper communicate some trifling incident which had occurred on the march; then, without waiting for a reply, steal as silently and mysteriously away.

I must not conclude this chapter without some mention of our personal servants. First and foremost was Ramathani, our head cook and factotum. Ramathani had already been some three months in my service as cook and personal servant, and a most capable man I had found him. My acquaintance with him began one morning when I had sent my cook, before breakfast, to the sokoni (native bazaar) to buy bread, vegetables, etc. As he did not return I went outside to the cook-house in some anxiety as to whether I should get any breakfast. Several native servants were there, and they informed me my cook was still in the bazaar, very drunk, and most likely would not be back till noon. Of course, I was angry, and proceeded to show it, when a soothing voice, speaking in very fair English, fell upon my ear. Turning sharply, I was confronted by a stranger, a good-looking native, neatly dressed in khaki.

“Shall I cook breakfast for master?” he inquired softly.

“Are you able?” said I.

“Yes, master.”

“Then do so,” I said; and went back to my quarters and waited with as much patience as I could command under the circumstances.

In a quarter of an hour or so Ramathani—for it was indeed he—brought in a temptingly well-cooked breakfast, such as I was almost a stranger to, and at the same time hinted that he had permanently attached me as his employer. My own cook turned up an hour or so later, very drunk and very abusive, and he was incontinently fired out, Ramathani being established in his stead.

Ramathani had two boys as assistants, Juma and Bilali. Juma was an M’kamba. His upper teeth were filed to sharp points, forming most useful weapons of offence, as we afterwards had occasion to notice.

Bilali was an M’Kikuyu, and a very willing boy. He was always very nervous when in our presence, and used to tremble excessively when laying the table for meals. When gently reproved for putting dirty knives or cups on the table, he would grow quite ludicrous in his hurried efforts to clean the articles mentioned, and would spit on them and rub them with the hem of his dirty robe with a pathetic eagerness to please that disarmed indignation and turned away wrath.

Having finally secured our men, it only remained to pack up and distribute the loads of equipment, provisions, trade goods, etc. We did not take such a large quantity of trade goods as we should have done in the ordinary course, as El Hakim already had a large quantity in charge of a chief in North Kenia. The following is a list, compiled from memory, of what we took with us:—

Unguo (Cloth).

Uzi Wa Madini (Wire).

Ushanga (Beads).

When all the loads were packed, they were placed in a line on the ground; and falling the men in, we told off each to the load we thought best suited to him. To the Swahilis, being good marching men and not apt to straggle on the road, we apportioned our personal equipment, tents, blankets, and table utensils. To the Wa’Nyamwezi we entrusted the ammunition and provisions, and to the Wa’kamba we gave the loads of wire, beads, cloth, etc. Having settled this to our own satisfaction, we considered the matter settled, and ordered each man to take up his load.

Then the trouble began. First one man would come to us and ask if his load might be changed for “that other one,” while the man to whom “that other one” had been given would object with much excited gesticulation and forcible language to any alteration being made, and would come to us to decide the case. We would then arbitrate, though nine times out of ten they did not abide by our decision. Other men’s loads were bulky, or awkward, or heavy, or had something or other the matter with them which they wanted rectified, so that in a short time we had forty men with forty grievances clamouring for adjustment. We simplified matters by referring every one to Jumbi, and having beaten an inglorious retreat to our tents, solaced ourselves with something eatable till everything was more or less amicably settled.

Nothing is more characteristic of the difference in the races than the way in which they carry their loads. The Swahilis and Wa’Nyamwezi, being used to the open main roads, carry their loads boldly on their heads, or, in some cases, on their shoulders. The Wa’kamba, on the other hand, in the narrow jungle paths of their own district find it impossible, by reason of the overhanging vegetation, to carry a load that way. They tie it up instead with a long broad strip of hide, leaving a large loop, which is passed round the forehead from behind, thus supporting the load, which rests in the small of the back. When the strain on the neck becomes tiring they lean forward, which affords considerable relief, by allowing the load to rest still more upon the back. There were also six donkeys, the property of El Hakim, and these were loaded up as well. A donkey will carry 120 lbs., a weight equal to two men’s loads.

Finally, we had to register our porters at the Sub-Commissioner’s office, as no safaris are allowed to proceed until that important ceremony has been concluded, and the Government has pouched the attendant fees. In our case, however, there appeared to be a certain amount of difficulty. On delivering my application I was told to wait for an answer, which I should receive in the course of the day. I waited. In the afternoon a most important-looking official document was brought to me by a Nubian orderly. In fear and trembling I opened the envelope, and breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief when I found that the Government had refused to register our porters, giving as their reason that the districts we intended visiting were unsettled and, in their opinion, unsafe, and therefore we should proceed only at our own risk. We did not mind that, and we saved the registration fee anyhow. The Government had already refused to register the Somali’s porters, and they intimated, very rightly, that they could not make any difference in our case.

Jamah Mahomet, who was in command of the Somali safari, started off that day. He had with him Ismail Robli as second in command. A smaller safari, under Noor Adam, had started a week previously. Both these safaris intended visiting the same districts as ourselves. We were fated to hear a great deal more of them before the end of our trip.

In the evening I received a private note from one of the Government officers, informing me that we were likely to have a certain amount of trouble in getting across the river Thika-Thika without fighting, as the natives of that district were very turbulent, and advising us to go another way. My informant cited the case of Messrs. Finlay and Gibbons by way of a cheerful moral.

Finlay and Gibbons were two Englishmen who had been trading somewhere to the north of the Tana River. They had forty men or so, and were trading for ivory with the A’kikuyu, when they were suddenly and treacherously attacked and driven into their “boma” (thorn stockade), and there besieged by quite six thousand natives. From what I saw later, I can quite believe that their numbers were by no means exaggerated. During a night attack, Finlay was speared through the hand and again in the back, the wound in the back, however, not proving dangerous. They managed to get a message through to Nairobi, and some Nubian troops were sent to their relief, which task they successfully accomplished, though only with the greatest difficulty. It was not till six weeks after he received the wound that Finlay was able to obtain medical assistance, and by that time the tendons of his hand had united wrongly, so that it was rendered permanently useless. This was a nice enlivening story, calculated to encourage men who were setting out for the same districts.

The following day I received a telegram from George to say that he had arrived from Uganda at the Kedong Camp, at the foot of the Kikuyu Escarpment, so I went up by rail to meet him. He looked very thin and worn after his severe attack of fever. We returned to Nairobi the same evening, and proceeded to our camp. El Hakim, who was away when we arrived, turned up an hour later, and completed our party. He had been to Kriger’s Farm about seven miles out. Messrs. Kriger and Knapp were two American missionaries who had established a mission station that distance out of Nairobi, towards Doenyo Sabuk, or Chianjaw, as it is called by the Wa’kamba.

El Hakim, being anxious to get our men away from the pernicious influence of the native bazaar, arranged that he would go on to Kriger’s early on the following morning, and that George and I should follow later in the day with the safari, and camp for the night near Kriger’s place. Accordingly he started early in the forenoon on the following day.

George and I proceeded to finish the packing and make final arrangements—a much longer task than we anticipated. There were so many things that must be done, which we found only at the last minute, that at 3 p.m., as there was no prospect of getting away until an hour or so later, I sent George on with the six loaded donkeys, about thirty of El Hakim’s cattle, and a dozen men, telling him that I would follow. George rode a mule (of which we had two), which El Hakim had bought in Abyssinia two years before. They were splendid animals, and, beyond an inconvenient habit, of which we never cured them, of shying occasionally and then bolting, they had no bad points. They generally managed to pick up a living and get fat in a country where a horse would starve, and, taking them altogether, they answered admirably in every way. I would not have exchanged them for half a dozen of the best horses in the Protectorate. One mule was larger than the other, and lighter in colour, and was consequently known as n’yumbu m’kubwa, i.e. “the big mule.” It was used by George and myself as occasion required. The other, a smaller, darker animal, was known as n’yumbu m’dogo, i.e. “the little mule.” It was ridden exclusively by El Hakim.

After George’s departure I hurried the remaining men as much as possible, but it was already dusk when I finally started on my seven-mile tramp. Some of the men had to be hunted out of the bazaar, where they had lingered, with their loved ones, in a last long farewell.

There is no twilight in those latitudes (within two degrees of the equator), so that very soon after our start we were tramping along in the black darkness. I had no knowledge of the road; only a rough idea of the general direction. I steered by the aid of a pocket-compass and a box of matches. After the first hour I noticed that the men commenced to stagger and lag behind with their lately unaccustomed burdens, and I had to be continually on the alert to prevent desertions. I numbered them at intervals, to make sure that none of them had given me the slip, but an hour and a half after starting I missed three men with their loads, in spite of all my precautions. I shouted back into the darkness, and the men accompanying me did the same, and, after a slight interval we were relieved to hear an answering shout from the missing men. After waiting a few moments, we shouted again, and were amazed to find that the answering shout was much fainter than before. We continued shouting, but the answers grew gradually fainter and more faint till they died away altogether. I could not understand it at first, but the solution gradually dawned upon me. We were on a large plain, and a few hundred yards to the left of us was a huge belt of forest, which echoed our shouts to such an extent that the men who were looking for us were deceived as to our real position, and in their search were following a path at right angles to our own. I could not light a fire to guide them, as the grass was very long and dry, and I should probably have started a bush fire, the consequences of which would have been terrible. I therefore fired a gun, and was answered by another shot, seemingly far away over the plain to the right. Telling the men to sit down and rest themselves on the path, I ordered Jumbi to follow me, and, after carefully taking my bearings by compass, started to walk quickly across the plain to intercept them.

It was by no means a pleasant experience, trotting across those plains in the pitchy blackness, with the grass up to my waist, and huge boulders scattered about ready and willing to trip me up. I got very heated and quite unreasonably angry, and expressed my feelings to Jumbi very freely. I was in the midst of a violent diatribe against all natives generally, and Swahili porters in particular, which I must admit he bore with commendable patience, when the earth gave way beneath me, and I was precipitated down some apparently frightful abyss, landing in a heap at the bottom, with all the breath knocked out of my body. I laid there for a little while, and endeavoured to collect my scattered faculties. Soon I stood up, and struck a match, and discovered that I had fallen into an old game-pit, about 8 feet deep. It was shaped like a cone, with a small opening at the top, similar to the old-fashioned oubliette. I looked at the floor, and shuddered when I realized what a narrow squeak I might have had; for on the centre of the floor were the mouldering remains of a pointed stake, which had been originally fixed upright in the earth floor on the place where I had fallen.

“Is Bwana (master) hurt?” said the voice of Jumbi from somewhere in the black darkness above.

I replied that I was not hurt, but that I could not get out without assistance; whereupon Jumbi lowered his rifle, and, to the accompaniment of a vast amount of scrambling and kicking, hauled me bodily out.

We were by this time very near to the men for whom we were searching, as we could hear their voices raised in argument about the path. We stopped and called to them, and presently they joined us, and we all set off together to join my main party. We reached it without further mishap, and resumed our interrupted march.

It was very dark indeed. I could not see my hand when I held it a couple of feet from my face. One of the men happening to remark that he had been over the path some years before, I immediately placed him in the van as guide, threatening him with all sorts of pains and penalties if he did not land us at our destination some time before midnight.

I was particularly anxious to rejoin George, as I had the tents, blankets, and food, and he would have a very uninteresting time without me. We marched, therefore, with renewed vigour, as our impromptu guide stated that he thought one more hour’s march would do the business. It didn’t, though. For two solid hours we groped blindly through belts of forest, across open spaces, and up and down wooded ravines, until somewhere about eleven p.m., when we reached a very large and terribly steep ravine, thickly clothed with trees, creepers, and dense undergrowth. We could hear the rushing noise of a considerable volume of water at the bottom, and in the darkness it sounded very, very far down.

I halted at the top to consider whether to go on or not, but the thought of George waiting patiently for my appearance with supper and blankets made me so uncomfortable that I decided to push on if it took me all night. We thereupon commenced the difficult descent, but halfway down my doubts as to the advisability of the proceeding were completely set at rest by one of the men falling down in some kind of a fit from over-fatigue. The others were little better, so I reluctantly decided to wait for daylight before proceeding further. I tried to find something to eat among the multifarious loads, and fortunately discovered a piece of dry bread that had been thrown in with the cooking utensils at the last moment. I greedily devoured it, and, wrapping myself in my blankets, endeavoured to sleep as well as I was able on a slope of forty-five degrees. A thought concerning George struck me just before I dropped off to sleep, which comforted me greatly. “George knows enough to go in when it rains,” I thought. “He will leave the men with the cattle, and go over to Kriger’s place and have a hot supper and a soft bed, and all kinds of good things like that,” and I drew my blankets more closely round me and shivered, and felt quite annoyed with him when I thought of it.

At daylight we were up and off again, and, descending the ravine, crossed the river at the bottom, and continued the march. On the way I shot a guinea-fowl, called by the Swahilis “kanga,” and after an hour and a half of quick walking I came up with George.

He had passed a miserable night, without food, blankets, or fire, and, to make matters worse, it had drizzled all night, while he sat on a stone and kept watch and ward over the cattle. The men who had accompanied him were so tired that they had refused to build a boma to keep the cattle in. He seemed very glad to see me. We at once got the tent put up, a fire made, and the boma built, and soon made things much more comfortable. In fact, we got quite gay and festive on the bread and marmalade, washed down with tea, which formed our breakfast.

El Hakim was at Kriger’s place, about a mile distant. We had to wait two or three days till he was ready to start, as he had a lot of private business to transact. We left all the cattle except nine behind, under Kriger’s charge; we sent the nine back subsequently, as we found they were more trouble than they were worth.

In the evening I went out to shoot guinea-fowl; at least, I intended to shoot guinea-fowl, but unfortunately I saw none. I lost myself in the darkness, and could not find my way back to camp. After wandering about for some time, I at last spied the flare of the camp fires, halfway up a slope a mile away, opposite to that on which I stood. I made towards them, entirely forgetting the small river that flowed at the foot of the slope. It was most unpleasantly recalled to my memory as I suddenly stepped off the bank and plunged, with a splash, waist deep into the icy water. Ugh!

I scrambled up the opposite bank, and reached the camp safely, though feeling very sorry for myself. El Hakim and George thought it a good joke. I thought they had a very low sense of humour.

On the following morning George and I sallied forth on sport intent. George carried the shot-gun, and I the ·303. We saw no birds; but after an arduous stalk, creeping on all fours through long, wet grass, I secured a congoni. Congoni is the local name for the hartebeeste (Bubalis Cokei). The meat was excellent, and much appreciated. El Hakim joined us in the afternoon, accompanied by Mr. Kriger and Mr. and Mrs. Knapp, who wished to inspect our camp. We did the honours with the greatest zest, knowing it would be the last time for many months that we should see any of our own race.

The day afterwards El Hakim and I rode into Nairobi, accompanied by some of the men, and brought back twelve days’ rations of m’chele (rice) for our safari, as we intended starting the following day. Kriger and Knapp decided to come with us on a little pleasure trip as far as Doenyo Sabuk, a bold, rounded prominence, rising some 800 feet above the level of the plain, the summit being over 6000 feet above sea-level, lying about four days’ journey to the north.