Early the next morning we sallied forth from our tents and spent an hour and a half in the water of the brook, getting the sheep across. They were unable to face the stream, and each separate animal required to be passed across from hand to hand, the labour involved being very great. We then went on to the Tana and camped beside the ford. In the afternoon we got our Alpine rope out, and with considerable trouble and some risk succeeded in getting one end of it across the river and made fast to a tree on the opposite bank, Jumbi with two or three other men and myself swimming across the river for the purpose.

It was not until I was actually in the water that I realized the tremendous power of the current. We had to go a long way up stream before plunging in, as the swift current carried us rapidly down river, and, but for this precaution, would have swept us past the only landing-place on the other side. This made rather a long swim of it. I was horribly afraid of the presence of crocodiles, but fortunately they were conspicuous by their absence.

When at last, after many failures, we had got the rope across, it was not of much assistance, as the water was too deep for the porters, and the animals would not face it alone on any consideration. Another circumstance which added to our difficulties was there being only one landing-place on the opposite bank, a little gully about four feet wide in the steep bank, made by the hippopotamus who formerly came ashore here to feed, and afterwards widened by natives using the ford. If by mischance anybody had been swept past this landing-place they would almost certainly have been drowned, as there was no other place to land for a long way down the river.

Failing a bridge, our chances of getting across the Tana for another month were very slender, and as I was anxious to reach Mr. Hall’s station at M’biri in order to get a few newspapers, some tobacco, and provisions, I sent word to the chief’s son, Koranja, that I required a couple of guides. These he had great difficulty in procuring, the natives declaring that it was impossible to cross the river. However, on the promise of a heavy reward of cloth, I prevailed upon two of the Maranga natives to accompany me. We three then swam the Tana together, with my clothing done up in small bundles on our heads. I was unable to get my rifle across, so I went without it. Once on the other side, I dressed as speedily as possible, and we set off at a good pace for M’biri.

We reached the Marathwa, another fair-sized river, an hour later, which necessitated stripping again. The crossing safely accomplished we resumed our apparel, and set off once more, reaching the station at midday, after a couple of hours’ rough tramp over the hills.

Mr. and Mrs. Hall were away shooting for a day or two, but Captain Longfield, who was in charge of the troops, made me very welcome. He invited me to stay with him until Mr. Hall’s return, an invitation I gladly accepted. I sent the two guides back to the camp with a supply of newspapers and provisions, and then sat down with Captain Longfield to one of the most satisfactory luncheons I have ever enjoyed. It was such a pleasing change to eat once more from earthenware plates, with a real white tablecloth and glass tumblers on the table, and a properly furnished cruet-stand. It is only after one has been separated for a time from the minor conveniences of civilization that one discovers how much they contribute to one’s comfort.

One of the most peculiar effects of our late experiences was noticeable when I retired to rest that night. It was the new and strange sense of security. It seemed so utterly unbelievable that I could go to sleep and sleep as soundly as I liked, without fear of being rudely disturbed by hostile natives, or by prowling beasts of prey. It was positively difficult to realize at first.

On the afternoon of the second day of my stay at the station Mr. and Mrs. Hall returned. Mr. Hall had done wonders with the station during the short time (about two months) that he had been established there. A very large and solid stone wall surrounded the various buildings and offices, and a ditch had been dug outside, making it, perched as it was on the summit of a hill, a very strong and secure position. The huts were lofty and well built, and in the centre of the compound a large and handsome flagstaff carried the flag of the East African Protectorate.

Next morning I returned to our camp on the Tana, where I found that El Hakim and George had succeeded in getting a good many of the sheep across, having employed a number of the Maranga to swim them over, two men to one sheep—a very slow process at best. The river had fallen a few inches, but it would need to fall at least another foot before the men could attempt the passage with their loads.

The day after, as the river was still falling, we got the remainder of the sheep to the other side. Almost before they were across, the river commenced to rise again, and consequently we could not attempt to move the cattle or loads.

In the afternoon about seventy Wakamba, driven northwards by famine, came to the opposite bank of the river and attempted to cross over to Maranga by means of our rope. They were extremely emaciated, and so weak that three or four of the first dozen were washed away from the rope and drowned. Suddenly the Maranga who were watching them raised a shrill cry of “Ndui! Ndui!” (small-pox), and rushing at those of the Wakamba who had already landed, they drove them into the water and across the river again. It seemed hard to repulse the poor starving wretches, but the Maranga have already suffered so heavily from the small-pox that they had no wish to repeat the experience. There were quite a dozen of the Wakamba in an advanced stage of confluent small-pox. From our camp we could hear them moaning and wailing all night, for several nights. In the daytime they used to come down to the only place at which they could reach the water, a large flat rock a little way up stream, which was just awash, where they would sit for hours laving themselves with the cool water.

Three days later, on November 22nd, we found that the river had gone down some six inches, and we made a determined effort to get the loads and cattle across.

Stripping to my shirt, I swam across the river to superintend operations at the landing-place on the opposite bank, I took four or five men, and we stood in the water up to our breasts, under the bank, where the current was a little less violent, and took the loads from the porters, who were exhausted by their struggle with the powerful current, as they brought them across. Young Koranja annoyed me by bringing my camera across under water, but then he was not very tall, and consequently received a ducking every time the rope surged. If he had not had my camera, I should have been highly amused at his predicament.

The better to shout instructions across the river, I climbed a large tree that grew on the bank, its topmost branches hanging out over the water for some yards. I found such a comfortable seat in the fork, about twelve feet above the surface of the water, that I stayed there for awhile to rest after the laborious work at the landing-place, and also to get a bird’s-eye view of all that was going on.

Presently I heard some one swimming, with much puffing and blowing, down the river, and almost underneath me. Peering through the leafy screen that surrounded me, I saw that Ramathani, though evidently in mortal terror, had at last faced the river, and was swimming slowly and cautiously down stream to the landing-place. The current was bringing him directly under my perch, though he had not observed me, and I derived much amusement from the anxious expression on his usually calm and expressionless visage. As he passed underneath something suddenly impelled me to jump out of the tree, and I did so, landing with a terrific splash right upon my unfortunate servitor. He gave a fearful shriek, which was almost instantaneously stifled in a gurgle as he disappeared beneath the surface. When he came up again his face wore such a look of terror that I half repented of the joke. The way his face changed when he found me swimming quietly by his side, smiling cheerfully, was a perfect study in expression.

“Oh, it was you, Bwana?” he gasped out. “I thought it was an afreet” (devil) “or a kiboko” (hippopotamus).

I then challenged him to a race across the river, but he declined, though ordinarily he was a good swimmer. He had had enough of the water for one day, he said.

When I got down to the landing-place, I found that most of the loads were across, our men having been reinforced by some of the Maranga. These natives disdained the rope, and, strange to say, though many of them could not swim, they could carry a 60 lb. load across a ford 6 feet deep, though their own height rarely exceeded 5 feet 6 inches, and usually a great deal less. They surmounted the difficulty in a rather ingenious manner, which at the same time required no small skill.

They held the loads over their heads the full length of their arms, and then walked into the river, some little distance up-stream. When they got out of their depth they walked on the bottom, giving a jump which brought their heads above water, when they wanted to breathe. The heavy load held above their heads enabled them to keep steady, in an upright position, in the swift current. They consequently crossed the river in a series of jumps, the current meanwhile carrying them down stream, while between the jumps they walked a step or two towards the other side. It was a very curious sight from the bank to see a large box or a rolled-up tent, clasped by two black hands, apparently crossing the river of its own accord. Our own men would not attempt this method at any price.

The loads were got across before midday, but it was extremely hard and hazardous work, one of our best men, an N’yamwezi named Kati, being unfortunately washed away and drowned.

In the afternoon, all the loads being across, George and I and a dozen of the men unshipped the rope, and taking it further up-stream, we prepared to get the cattle and donkeys across. After chasing away the small-pox patients, we took up our station on the flat rock already mentioned, as it was the most suitable place that we could find, at which to land the cattle. By means of our old device of tying a rope round the necks of the animals and hauling them bodily across, we safely accomplished the task, though the labour was enormous. Several of the cows were nearly drowned, and after we had hauled them out of the water, lay on the rock to all appearance dead. Some one suggested that perhaps artificial respiration would facilitate their recovery, but as neither George or I knew how to perform artificial respiration on a cow, we were unable to put it to the proof. They eventually recovered without such aid, and rising slowly and with difficulty they walked away, though I must confess that they were very groggy on their pins.

At nine o’clock next morning, having thus, after a delay of only eight days, safely negotiated the Tana, we started on our final march to Nairobi. We crossed the Marathwa below M’biri, where it was breast deep and very swift, camping on the opposite bank. We stopped there four days, during which time we sold the sheep to some Somalis who had a store just outside the Government station.

El Hakim went on a visit to Mr. Hall, and stayed a day or two with him. I took to my blankets on the third day with a slight touch of fever, which, considering that I had practically lived in the water for four days, was not surprising.

On the morning of November 27th, we broke camp and resumed our march, exceedingly thankful that we were no longer handicapped on the march by the presence of the sheep. I was still rather shaky after my touch of fever, so I rode the big mule for the first time since leaving the Green Camp on the Waso Nyiro. The next day we reached the Maragua, where we found a rough bridge, which had been constructed by Captain Skene, who was on his way to M’biri to relieve Captain Longfield. The latter had been ordered to Kismayu to take part in the Ogaden Somali Expedition which was to avenge Major Jenner’s murder. We crossed safely, and camped on the other side. Three cows were stolen during the afternoon by the A’kikuyu, but we sent Jumbi and half a dozen men immediately in pursuit, and they recovered them without difficulty.

Four days later we reached the river Thika-Thika. Congoni once more appeared on the scene, and we were able to shoot several for food, and I also secured a roan antelope, the first we had seen during the trip. Besides congoni there were numbers of zebras, wildebeeste, wart-hog, grantei, and thompsonei; and George and I, taking turns with the shot-gun, managed to secure some guinea-fowl, and occasionally a wild duck.

Very heavy rain the night before we reached the Thika-Thika delayed us a little. We reached the river at midday and found it full of water, but the current was comparatively sluggish. We saw a couple of hippo, and any number of crocodiles.

At a place where a fallen tree projected some way over the water we constructed a rude bridge, resting the centre of the structure upon a small island in the stream. It was not beautiful to look upon, neither was it over strong; but it sufficed, and during the afternoon the whole safari crossed by its means. The cattle were driven further down the river to a spot where the banks shelved somewhat, and they were then swum across, luckily without interference from any too inquisitive crocodiles.

The next day was George’s turn to have a touch of fever, which, though slight, made him very uncomfortable. We were now entering a very marshy piece of country, traversed by numerous rivers and streams, which drained into the Athi River.

Congoni were again numerous, and we were able to shoot sufficient meat to feed the men. The congoni is remarkably tenacious of life, one beast in particular giving me a lot of trouble. I put two ·303 soft-nosed bullets into it; and although one hind leg was broken, and it was also badly wounded in the shoulder, it made off at a good speed. Taking the Martini, I followed it, and, when it once more stopped, I put a Martini bullet into it from behind, at a hundred-yards’ range. The bullet struck it in the hind quarters, and ploughed its way through almost the whole length of the animal’s body. The beast was unable to advance, but still kept its feet; and as I was unwilling to waste another cartridge upon it, I walked up to it and threw it down by seizing its horns and jerking its head sharply sideways, but not until its throat was cut did it expire.

On December 5th we reached a papyrus swamp, about two hundred yards wide, but apparently continuing indefinitely east and west, so that we could not march round it. The men, therefore, were sent to cut a path through it, and by laying the cut reeds and a quantity of branches of trees across the roots a precarious roadway was constructed, perfectly practicable for the men and loads, but impossible for cattle. Jumbi, who was sent out prospecting for a suitable place to get the cattle across, returned in the evening, having discovered a place some miles away, which he thought they might safely negotiate. Accordingly, before sunrise next morning, he was sent with the cattle to make the attempt, while the porters and loads crossed by the temporary path we had constructed the day before. It was rather ticklish work, as in some places there was over six feet of water under the reeds, we having to depend for support on the elasticity of the cut reeds laid transversely across the roots, the weaker places having been strengthened by the addition of branches and brushwood well trodden down.

Jumbi was perfectly successful in getting the cattle across, and they were on the other side of the swamp and opposite us some time before all the men had crossed; but we were all across by ten o’clock, and, resuming our nether garments, we proceeded. In an hour we had reached a narrow river, flowing swiftly between two upright walls of rock. A mile up-stream we discovered a crossing-place at a spot just above a magnificent waterfall. This fall was quite 100 feet deep, and the water foamed and splashed into one of the most beautiful glens imaginable. We did not stop to admire the scenery. Personally, I was perfectly willing to exchange the prettiest bit of scenery thereabouts for a sight of the Nairobi Post Office.

After we had left the river a few miles behind, we were confronted by another wretched papyrus swamp. Yesterday’s experience was repeated, a road having to be constructed in precisely the same manner. It was not finished till sunset, so we camped for the night. It rained hard in the evening, and during the night the mosquitos drove us nearly frantic.

The next morning we crossed the swamp. It was rather deeper than the other, and we had to strip to the “altogether” in order to get across; the reeds often giving way under our weight, letting us down with a splash into the ice-cold, dirty water. We got across, however, without any serious mishap, and resuming our clothing we again went on.

Three quarters of an hour later we struck yet another swamp. Off came our clothes once more, and we waded it breast deep. The water was very cold, and unspeakably stagnant and filthy. It took us an hour to get across. Half an hour’s march further on, another swamp appeared. Once more we had to strip and wade. This one was not so cold, as the sun was by this time well up, and moreover the water was cleaner; but there were a lot of horrible flies, like horseflies, which bit most ferociously, and attacked every unprotected portion of our anatomy, drawing blood at every bite. However, that was the last of the swamps, and by four o’clock in the afternoon we reached our old camp near Kriger’s farm, only seven miles from Nairobi.

We camped for the night, and the following morning George and I started for Nairobi. We left El Hakim in camp, as he wished to go over and see Kriger during the morning. George and myself, with the bulk of the men, therefore started on our seven-mile tramp. On the way we critically examined each other, and a more ragged pair of scarecrows one would not wish to see. The sole of one of my boots had parted from the upper and flapped as I walked, while George lacked a sole altogether on his left boot, and was walking on his sock, which soon wore through, causing him so much inconvenience as to materially impede our progress.

Such trifles, however, were unable to damp our ardour as we tramped along in the direction of Nairobi. Each well remembered spot recalling some incident or other. Here was the place where I fell into the river the second night out. Further on was the clump of trees where I shot the guinea-fowl, and beyond that, again, was the game-pit which had bidden fair to put a summary end to my career over six months before. What hardships they seemed at the time, though subsequent events had dwarfed them into insignificance. Even our stirring experiences on the Waso Nyiro and our long weeks of anxiety in Kikuyuland seemed to suddenly recede into the limbo of the past. Everything else was forgotten in the intoxicating thought that at last we were almost home, and as we approached nearer to Nairobi a feeling of elation impossible to describe took possession of us. Pain, difficulties, anxieties—all were momentarily forgotten. Our emotions were shared by the men, and when the first galvanized roof appeared on the horizon a cheer broke forth, and we hurried forward at increased speed.

Presently the railway station hove in sight, and a locomotive shunting trucks in the goods-yard sent forth an ear-splitting whistle. Never was there such a musical sound as that erstwhile discordant speech. At length, to cut a long story short, we arrived, much to the surprise of our friends, who had heard that we had all been killed in Embe, the news of the Somali’s disaster having in some mysterious manner filtered through.

I have only once since experienced such a sense of relief as I felt on our arrival in Nairobi, and that is now, as I finish this account of our journey; and my only hope is that it will not have wearied the reader half as much as it wearied the writer.