BRITISH EAST AFRICA 179 



lies about thirty miles to the north, crosses 

 the Tana, of which the Wa-Meru speak in 

 their folklore and sing in their chants. The 

 Tana was to the Wa-Meru wliat the Red Sea 

 proved to the Israelites of old. When they 

 migrated towards the setting sun in the dim 

 days of long ago, their legends have it, its broad 

 waters rolled asunder and let them pass over in 

 safety. Embu flies the lion-emblazoned flag 

 of East Africa from a lofty hill-top. Meru is 

 five days' march to the north, and a more 

 strenuous march it would be difficult to con- 

 ceive. Through dense plantain groves where 

 the unruly Suka Kikuyu peer at you, seeing but 

 unseen, and up hill and down dale, the moun- 

 tain path twists and turns — a climb as arduous as 

 the ascent of the Matterhorn — and the traveller 

 heaves a sigh of relief when the cunningly con- 

 structed winter pagoda of the Commissioner 

 has been gained. On the south-western slope 

 lies Nyeri, flanked by lofty cedar trees. Kenia 

 to the north and Kinangop to the south, weep 

 over the beauty of this hill-station, and the 

 tears of cloudland have robed Nyeri in a hue 

 of green, as rich and beautiful as the verdure 

 of an English pastureland. Farther afield are 

 Nairobi and Rumuruti, other posts in the ad- 

 ministrative network. When, a few months 

 ago, I left the capital of the East African Pro- 

 tectorate and rode northwards, thoughts of 

 Kenia filled my mind equally with thoughts of 

 big game. For days I watched for her to throw 

 off her mantle of cloud and show her snow- 

 capped glory. Through the Fort Hall hills, 

 across the Sagana River, I came nearer and 

 nearer to her, and still her virgin beauty was 

 hidden as a frightened Eastern maid hides her 



