I had a splendid time hunting with these people, and nearly every day, towards evening, I went out to shoot food for them, the country being like a large zoo, simply full of every kind of African game you can think of, including huge herds of zebra, giraffes, elephants, lions, hartebeest, eland, waterbuck, and occasional herds of buffalo—enough, in fact, to delight the heart of the most enthusiastic hunter. I shot several elephants, besides innumerable smaller game, and two lions—which animals the Wanderobo do not kill, since, as they cannot eat 杭州夜生活美女 the meat, they do not consider them worth the trouble of killing. During our hunting together they killed some elephants, and it was
agreed that when an elephant was killed, they should take one tusk and I the other, and I eventually used to get both by trading.
One of their methods of catching elephants and other animals was by the use of pits, which were dug wedge-shaped, so that when the animal fell in, it 杭州水疗会所是做什么 could not turn round or move, and therefore had no chance of getting out again; while, in some cases, sharp stakes were placed, point upward, at the bottom, with the object of impaling any animal that should fall in. These pits were so cleverly concealed that one had to be very careful not to fall into them oneself: the mouth being generally covered with sticks laid crosswise, with dry grass on the top. They had quite a lot of these pits, and caught a good deal of game by means of them.
While out hunting one day, I heard shots fired at a distance, and thinking it might be some white men, I sent some natives to find out, and gave them a note to carry to the strangers. They came back saying that they had seen two white men, and given them the note. As there was no answer, my own idea was that my messengers had got close up to the 杭州桑拿按摩寻欢 strangers, and then become afraid—possibly at the men themselves, but most likely on account of the note, which they regarded as some kind of fetish. I found out later that the strangers were two Germans, a Dr. Kolb and a Lieutenant, who were out
hunting. Dr. Kolb was afterwards killed by a rhinoceros, and his grave, right away on the Guasa Nyero, is marked by huge heaps of stones. I passed it on my trip to Abyssinia, at a later period of my travels.
I stayed some months hunting with the Wanderobo, and so fascinating was the wild, free life, that I could scarcely tear myself away from it; while my followers, who shared the same feeling, had become so friendly with the Wanderobo that some of them had fallen into the habit of eating meat, a thing which they had never done before. This caused a lot of chaff in the camp, and 杭州品茶微信 some of their comrades began to call them Wanderobo, which is a term of contempt among the Kikuyu, as the word means a man without anything, a wanderer without any possessions—which fairly describes the tribe in question.
The incident of the note sent to Dr. Kolb was recalled to me some days later, when Olomondo presented himself at my tent, and said that if I would give him some “medicine,” he would give me some ivory; as he believed that, if he got the medicine, it would enable him to kill more elephants, while he himself would be safe from being killed. When I asked him what sort of medicine he wanted, he said “the same as I had sent to the white men.” I gathered from him that, before I sent the note to them,
they had had bad luck, but that afterwards they had killed a lot of game: so I gave the chief a piece of paper, 杭州足浴按摩会所 but he was not satisfied until I had written something on it. Not knowing what to write, I lapsed into rhyme (?), and Olomondo departed the proud possessor of a poetical effusion, of which the following is a sample:—
“I am chief of the Wanderobo hunters.
Olomondo is my name,
Elephants I kill by the hundreds,
And thousands of smaller game.
I am up in the morning so early,
With my bow and arrows so sharp;
Over rivers I glide like a fairy,
Over mountains I fly like a lark.”
were a number of verses in this strain, but this specimen will suffice. Olomondo took the paper, and after wrapping it up carefully, put it in a skin pouch, which he tied round his neck. I may say that it must have been very good medicine, for after that Olomondo had much better luck with his hunting than before—possibly he had so much faith in its powers that he went about his hunting with greater confidence. Later on, it so happened that a Government official got hold of this production, and it created a lot of amusement. I don’t know how it came about, but doubtless the chief met
the official when out hunting, and asked him for some medicine, at the same time showing him the paper. As I had not been heard of for about twelve months at the Government station, it was reported that I had been killed; but when they saw this paper, the joke went round that I was not killed, but was living somewhere around Mount Kenia, writing poetry for the savages.
At last I absolutely had to get away, as I had bought all the ivory the natives had, and I was getting anxious to see how things were going on in the Kikuyu country; so, after many goodbyes, and promising to come back, I left my blood brother and his friends and started for Wagombi’s country.
Arriving at Wagombi’s village without any special incident on the journey, I received a very friendly welcome from the chief, and found that nothing serious had happened in my absence, while the natives all seemed to be on friendly terms. Having picked up the ivory I had buried, I was soon on the march again for Tato, and it was quite a pleasure to see my people and Wagombi’s all shaking hands like brothers instead of flying at one another’s throats. This friendship was soon to be put to the test, though we had as yet received no warning of the impending trouble.
The same friendly feeling was shown when we arrived at Tato, and it was difficult to believe that only a few months before one tribe was fighting against the other and both were the bitter enemies of my people. I had persuaded Wagombi to send a present of sheep to Karuri, and got the chief Karkerrie, at Tato, to do the same, knowing that the exchange of presents was the surest way to maintain a friendly understanding between the different chiefs. Then, collecting the other ivory we had buried there, we were soon on the march again.
Just after leaving Tato the rumour reached me that three Goanese had been murdered and all their safari wiped out. I gathered that it was a trading safari that had started out from Nairobi, headed by three Goanese, who had with them about forty Kikuyu natives from among some living near Nairobi. They had entered the Kikuyu country, and had been well treated by the natives whom I had got under control, having a really good time until they had entered the Chinga country. It will be remembered that these were the only natives I had never really got into touch with. We had passed through their country just after leaving Karuri’s, and for the most part they kept out of my way. As I mentioned previously, some of these people came into my camp, and I had intended to make blood brotherhood—or rather Pigasangi—with
them on my way back. The Goanese, having had a good time at Karuri’s, had, perhaps, not reckoned on the other natives being different, and consequently had not taken proper precautions. They were well armed—about fifteen of the natives carrying rifles, beside themselves—but in spite of this the Chinga people had for some reason attacked them and murdered the whole party. This was the disquieting rumour that reached me soon after leaving Tato, though I must confess that I did not put much faith in it, as so many similar rumours had been spread about myself having been killed, and I had learned not to trust every report that I heard. I thought, however, that the Goanese might be in some difficulty, and perhaps had some of their men killed; so I hurried up to see if I could give them any assistance; but the nearer I got to the scene of the alleged massacre the more convincing were the statements of the natives as to the truth of the stories which I had heard.
I did not call at Muga-wa-diga’s, as I had done on my outward journey, but took a shorter route to Bartier’s, and when nearing his village did a very foolish thing, which might easily have cost me my life, and, indeed, probably would have done so, but for the extraordinary instinct of my mule.
Being anxious to meet Bartier to get confirmation of the statements I had heard from
the natives, and as it was getting late in the afternoon, I left my men and hurried on ahead. I had never done such a thing before, but it must be remembered that I was carrying with me an immense quantity of ivory—practically every man being fully loaded up with it—and my anxiety about the Goanese had shaken me out of my usual caution. Taking with me only one askari, my gunbearer, an interpreter, and the boy who looked after my mule, I went on, telling the rest to follow me as quickly as possible to Bartier’s. My men knew what had happened, and I told them to be very careful; but still, being in a friendly country, I thought that there could be no harm in pushing on ahead by myself. The path ran between two hedges, which separated it on either side from the cultivated patches of the natives. Suddenly, as I galloped forward, all at once my mule showed a disinclination to proceed along the path, and seemed to want to get off the road into the cultivated patches. This curious behaviour would at any other time have roused my suspicions, but though puzzled to account for the mule’s peculiar conduct I did not attach any special reason to it; and, finding that it would not go along the path, I let it have its own way, and turned into the shamba, when it ran along without any further trouble. I galloped along in the gardens for some distance, near the footpath, and had not
gone more than a mile when the mule, of its own accord, returned to the road, and I arrived at Bartier’s without further incident about five o’clock. The whole village was in a state of excitement, and I quickly received confirmation of the murders, the natives being full of it and appearing terribly afraid that the Chinga people would attack them immediately because I was there. The Chinga people were their neighbours, and the Goanese who had been murdered being, to the native idea, white men, were said to be my brothers. Hitherto many of the natives had believed that it was impossible to kill a white man, and this idea had, to a great extent, kept me free from attack. But now they said that they had killed my brothers, and were only waiting for an opportunity to kill me as well.
Bartier and his people assured me that they were absolutely friendly to me, and that I could rely upon them. It was the Chinga people, with the natives from a part called Mahigga, together with some from a district lying more to the east of us, under the control of my old enemy, the chief rain-maker, who had joined their forces against the Goanese, and I had no doubt that the rain-maker had had as much, and more, to do with the matter than any one else. From what I could make out there must have been some thousands of natives in the business, and they had completely wiped out the traders’ safari and
taken everything they possessed—trade goods, some cattle they had with them, and everything that was worth looting.
Whilst Bartier was explaining all this to me, two of the four men who had started out with me ahead of the main body of my followers arrived in the village. I had outdistanced them on my mule, and had been feeling some anxiety for their safety. When I saw that there were only two of them, I immediately inquired what had become of the others. It was evident from the state of excitement they were in that something had happened, and they at once told me that their two companions had been killed. Their story confirmed the suspicion which had been growing in my mind that an ambush had been set for me at the place where my mule had refused to keep on the road, and it was no doubt due to the animal’s instinct that I had not been killed myself, as my men had kept to the road and so fallen into the ambush. They were going along, they said, when a number of men rushed out on them, and before they knew what was really happening two of their number had been killed. The two who had escaped could only tell me that they had been attacked by a number of Kikuyu on the war-path, who, rushing out on them, had speared the others and then cleared off, while they had picked up the rifles of the murdered men and come on to Bartier’s as fast as they could.
I saw that things were looking pretty bad, and quickly concluded that the men in ambush were some of the party who had taken part in the murder of the Goanese; but whether they were merely a scouting party, spying out my movements, who had got a bit excited and started too early, or whether they had planned to kill me and throw suspicion on Bartier, I could only guess. Bartier assured me that it had not been done by any of his people, and I was quite prepared to believe him, being fully convinced in my own mind that it was the act of some of the Chinga people.
As soon as I had gathered all the details from my two followers I asked Bartier to send out a few of his people to meet my caravan coming along, to tell them of what had happened, and to warn them to be very careful; also, if the two men who had been ambushed were not dead, to bring 杭州足浴哪家好 them in with them, and this he readily agreed to do. My men were not very far behind, and the caravan shortly afterwards arrived, bringing with them one of the men still alive. He had had two or three spears thrust right through his back. He was not yet dead, and I did all I possibly could for him, but he was past human help, and, after confirming the story which the others had already told me, he died in an hour or two.
As soon as the caravan arrived we at once
set to work to build a boma, and I realized that I was now in about the tightest corner I had ever been in. With all these men of the Goanese safari murdered, the country was in a state of ferment, and thousands of armed men on the war-path all round us, so that the prospect was not the most cheerful, and I could see that I was in for a rough time, and how I was going to get out of it I could not imagine. As I 杭州足浴店找休闲女 have already said, I had such an immense amount of ivory that I could only just get along, and it was not likely that I should be disposed to abandon it, after all the months of trouble and worry it had cost me to collect—living entirely among savages, and never seeing a white face for twelve months. At any rate, I meant to make a good fight for it, and determined, if it were at all possible, to win my way out, though I knew that these people, who had already dipped their hands in the blood of my white brothers—as they imagined them to be—would do their utmost to blot me out, if only for the sake of the quantity of loot which they would get.
The next step to building the boma was to bury the ivory, and having made this as secure as possible for the present, I cheered everybody up by telling them that we should get through all right—that we had not been travelling in the country 杭州足浴保健 for so long to be afraid now.
It was soon evident that information of our
arrival had spread through the hostile tribes, whose war-cries could be heard on every side, while bands of warriors could be seen gathering all round us, and the whole country was soon alive with armed natives, yelling their war-cries and shouting what they would do to me when they got me. They looked upon the Goanese, who wore European dress, as being the same as myself, and, having had a comparatively easy victory over them, they confidently expected to dispose of me without very much trouble, announcing that they were fully determined to kill me as, they said, they had killed my brothers. Some of the natives had dressed themselves in the clothes of the ill-fated Goanese, and proudly paraded themselves in front of my camp, while others were firing off the guns they had taken in the loot. For the time being, however, they kept at a respectful 杭州spa正规的吧 distance, and we went on strengthening our defences; but it made my blood boil when I saw that they had cut off the heads of the murdered men and stuck them on poles, which they were carrying about as trophies. I knew what my fate would be if I were unlucky enough to fall into their clutches, while my anxiety was increased by the fact that our stock of ammunition was running very low, as we had been away from headquarters so many months and hunting so much that we had used it nearly all up.