they remained with me I feared the expedition was
likely to be broken up at any moment. After their
departure I distributed among my old followers a
large quantity of cloth. This they sorely needed, for
during the rains the air strikes these poor creatures
as cold and chilly.
One afternoon I was aroused from a siesta by the
sound of war horns and the cries of the Daitcho
warriors. They came running to my camp, and said
their territory had been entered by a party of several
hundred hostile natives, and they desired me to- repel
the invaders. I took a party of seventy-five men and
followed the Daitcho. We ran four miles; but though
we saw a broad trail beaten in the mud of the outlying
plantations, which marked the path taken by
the hostiles, we were unable to overtake them. They
had probably caught sight of some of my men, and
beat a hasty retreat. However, the fact that we
turned out so willingly pleased the natives immensely,
and upon our return they sang songs expressive of
their appreciation of our act.
During the afternoon of Tuesday, November 7, a
porter came to my tent, and said, “ Mufta is coming,
master.” Now Mufta was one of the men who had
followed George to Kibwezi, and, moreover, was the
best swimmer in the caravan. He approached me
with a sad face, and said, “ Baraka is drowned.”
Baraka was one of my tent-boys, and being a good
swimmer and an excellent walker, I had sent him in
company with three men to cross the Tana and urge
George to march rapidly, in case he was unaware of
the swollen condition of the stream. It seemed that
George had reached the Tana on November 2, and,
finding the river too much swollen to cross, and
being short of food, he decided to send me a message
to that effect. He called for volunteers from among
the men, to swim the stream and bear me a letter.
Mufta and Baraka volunteered for this work. To
each was given a small glass bottle, in which was
placed a letter.
The Tana, swollen by the recent rains, surged and
roared between its steep and rocky banks; but, undeterred
by the aspect of the stream, these two
plucky fellows plunged in, and battled with the
waters. They had swum half-way across, and appeared
to be getting on nicely, when suddenly Baraka,
who was swimming on Mufta’s right, gave a loud cry,
and sank from sight. He rose to the surface for a
moment, screaming with pain, and then disappeared
again and finally. He had undoubtedly been seized
by a crocodile or a hippopotamus. Poor bo y ! He was
one of the most faithful, efficient, and hard-working
negroes I had ever seen. A t the time of his death
he was but twenty-three years of age. His first experience
in caravan work was on the expedition of
Count Teleki and Lieutenant von Hohnel, when he
filled the place of donkey-boy. His next venture
was upon my former journey, after which he had
accompanied Mrs. French Sheldon on her journey to
Taveta. I had esteemed myself most fortunate in
securing him for this expedition, and up to the time
of his death he had well and cheerfully performed his
work. I had become attached to him, and his loss
filled me with sincere regret.