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.