I Had Clamped My Refilling Machine To
My Rough-Hewn Table, And Was Stamping The
Double Charge Of Powder Well Down Into The
Cartridge, When Suddenly, For Some Unknown
Reason, The Whole Charge Exploded Right Into
My Face.
Everything became pitch dark to
me, and I groped my way about the little hut
in agony of mind as well as of body, for I thought
I had been blinded.
I am thankful to say,
however, that gleams of light soon began to
return to my eyes, and in a few hours' time I
was almost all right again and able to go on with
my cartridge making.
All my preparations having been made, I set
out for the Sabaki, taking with me my Indian
gun-bearer Mahina, my cook Mabruki, a bhisti
(water-carrier), and a couple of natives to carry
our odds and ends. On these occasions I usually
took no tent, but bivouacked in the open. We
took some bread and a few tinned provisions
with us, but I could always depend upon getting
a paa, guinea-fowl, partridge or rock-rabbit for
the larder on the march. These rock-rabbits
are more like big rats than rabbits, and are found
in great numbers among the rocks along the banks
of the rivers. They are not at all bad eating, but
the Swahili will not touch them. They call them
tupu (shameless, naked things), owing to their
lack of a tail, of which indeed they possess not
even a vestige.
Our route lay by the always interesting Tsavo
River. Along the banks everything within reach
of its moisture is delightfully fresh and green.
Palms and other trees, festooned with brilliant
flowering creepers, flourish along its course;
all kinds of monkeys chatter and jabber in the
shade overhead as they swing themselves from
branch to branch, while birds of the most
gorgeous plumage flutter about, giving a very
tropical aspect to the scene. On the other hand,
if one is tempted to stray away from the river, be
it only for a few yards, one comes immediately
into the parched, thorny wilderness of stunted,
leafless trees. Here the sun beats down pitilessly,
and makes the nyika of the Tsavo valley almost
intolerable. The river has its source at the foot
of snow-crowned Kilima N'jaro, whence it flows
for about eighty miles in a northerly direction
until it joins the Athi River, about seven miles
below Tsavo Station. From this point the united
streams take the name of Sabaki and flow more
or less eastwards until they reach the Indian Ocean
at Malindi, some seventy miles north of Mombasa.
A narrow and tortuous Masai warpath winds
along its whole length, but although we followed
this trail our journey was nevertheless a very slow
one, owing to the overhanging branches and
creepers, from which we had constantly to be
disengaged. The march was full of interest,
however, for it was not long before we came upon
fresh tracks both of hippo and rhino. Every
now and again, also, we caught glimpses of
startled bush-buck and water-buck, while
occasionally the sound of a splash in the water told of a
wary crocodile. We had gone about half the
distance to the Sabaki when we came upon an
unexpected obstacle in the shape of a great ridge
of barren, rugged rock, about a hundred feet high,
which extended for about a mile or so on both
banks of the river. The sides of this gorge went
sheer down into the water, and were quite
impossible to scale. I therefore determined to
make a detour round it, but Mahina was confident
that he could walk along in the river itself. I
hinted mildly at the possibility of there being
crocodiles under the rocky ledges. Mahina
declared, however, that there was no danger,
and making a bundle of his lower garments, he
tied it to his back and stepped into the water.
For a few minutes all went well. Then, in an
instant, he was lifted right off his feet by the
rush of the water and whirled away. The river
took a sharp bend in this gorge, and he was round
it and out of our sight in no time, the last glimpse
we caught of him showing him vainly trying to
catch hold of an overhanging branch. Although
we at once made all the haste we could to get
round the ridge of rocks, it took us nearly half an
hour to do it. I had almost given up hope of
ever seeing Mahina again, and was much relieved,
therefore, when we reached the river-side once
more, to find him safe and sound, and little
the worse for his adventure. Luckily he had
been dashed up against a rushy bank, and had
managed to scramble out with no more serious
damage than a bruised shin.
Eventually we arrived at the junction of the
rivers and proceeded some way down the Sabaki,
beside which the Tsavo looks very insignificant.
Several islands are dotted about in mid-stream
and are overgrown with tall reeds and rushes,
in which hippo find capital covert all the year
round. As with the Tsavo, the banks of the
Sabaki are lined with trees of various kinds,
affording most welcome shade from the heat of
the sun: and skirting the river is a caravan road
from the interior - still used, I believe, for
smuggling slaves and ivory to the coast, where
dhows are in readiness to convey them to Persia
or Arabia.
After an early dinner, which Mabruki soon got
ready, I left my followers encamped in a safe
boma a mile away from the river, and started
out with Mahina to find a suitable tree, near
a hippo "run", in which to spend the night.
Having some difficulty in finding a likely spot,
we crossed to the other side of the river -
rather a risky thing to do on account of the
number of crocodiles in it:
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