June 27, 1SS5 
THE GRAPHIC 
Mounting up a few hundred feet higher than the last stopping 
place, and rounding an unsuspected ravine, I arrive close to the base 
of a small peak which has been a continual and useful point to aim 
at during the whole journey from my station. I am now at an 
elevation of 15,150 feet, and on the central connecting ridge of 
Kilima-njaro, and can see a little on both sides, though the misty 
state of the atmosphere prevents my getting any good view of the 
country. This ridge, which from below looks so simple and 
straight, is in reality dotted with several small monticules and cut 
up into many minor ridges, the general direction of them being, on 
the southern side, from north-east to south-west. 10 the eastward 
I can see the greater part of Kimawenzi rising grandly with its 
jagged peaks and smooth glissades of golden sand. Westward 
I still look vainly in the piled-up clouds, for the monarch of the 
chain yet remains obstinately hidden, and I am at a loss how best to 
approach his crown of virgin snow. At length—and it is so sudden 
or so fleeting that I have no time to fully take in the majesty of the 
snowy dome of Kibo—the clouds part, and I look on a blaze of 
snow so blinding white under the brief flicker of sunlight that I can 
see little detail. Since sunrise this morning I have caught no 
glimpse of Kibo, and now it is suddenly presented to me with 
unusual and startling nearness. I begin to notice that the out¬ 
line of the eastern face of the summit is much less convex or 
rounded than it has appeared from a point lower down, and more 
under the peak, and that now its square craterous form becomes 
more evident, as when seen from a distance in the plains below. 
But before I can get out my sketch-book and sharpen my chalk 
CURIOUS ROCKS, “ MARKED LIKE A TORTOISE-SHELL 
pencil the clouds have once more hidden everything—indeed, have 
enclosed me in a kin 1 of London fog, very depressing in character, 
for the decrease in light is rather alarming to one who feels him¬ 
self alone and cut off at a point nearly as high as the summit of 
Mont Blanc. However, knowing now the direction of my goal, I 
rise from the clammy stones, and, clutching up my sketch-book 
with benumbed hands, begin once more to ascend westwards. 
Seeing but a few yards in front of me, choked with mist, I make 
but slow progress. Nevertheless, I continually mount along a 
gently-sloping, hummocky ridge, where the spaces between the 
masses of rock are filled with fine yellowish sand. There are also 
fragments of stone strewn about, and some of these I put into my 
knapsack. The slabs of lock are so slippery with the drizzling mist 
that I very often nearly lose my footing, and I think with a shudder 
what a sprained ankle would mean here. However, though reflec¬ 
tion tells me it would be better to return to my followers, and 
recommence the climb next day, I still struggle on with 
stupid persistency, and, at length, after a rather steeper ascent than 
usual up the now smoother and sharper ridge, I suddenly encounter 
snow lying at my very feet, and nearly plunge headlong into a great 
rift filled with snow that here seemed to cut across the ridge and 
interrupt it. The dense mist clears a little in a partial manner, and 
I then see to my left the black rock sloping gently to an awful gulf 
of snow, so vast and deep that its limits are concealed by fog. 
Above me a line of snow is just discernible, and altogether the 
prospect is such a bleak and gloomy one, with its all-surrounding 
curtain of sombre cloud and its uninhabited wastes of snow and 
rock, that my heart sinks within me at my loneliness. But just as 
I am imagining myself the sole living being at this elevation, and the 
only spectator of this vast solitude, a something sweeps over me, 
driving a Wave of cold, misty air against my face, and making my 
heart thump with a sudden inexplicable terror. There is nothing 
supernatural, however, in the visitation. Only a huge black-and- 
white raven which, emerging from the mist, alights on a ledge of 
rock in front of me, and contemplates my appearance with evident 
s urpriss. 
I could easily slay this creature which so boldly regards me, but 
the idea of doing so never enters my head. It almost seems the 
embodiment of the mountain spirit, whom to fire on would be 
sacrilege punishable by being hurled down the abyss of snow and 
rock which yawns on one side of the ridge along which I climb. So 
I leave the raven' still perched quietly on the stone until the mist 
screens him from my backward look, and meantime go plodding 
along upwards, till at length, utterly exhausted and numbed with 
cold, I throw myself on the snow-bespattered ground, and feel that I 
shall never regain the force to quit this horrid solitude of stones and 
snow. However, a few minutes’ immobility and a sip from my flask 
somewhat restore my courage, and feeling convinced of the impossi¬ 
bility of ascending any higher on this occasion, I proceed to boil 
my thermometer, to ascertain the altitude. The mercury rises to 
iS3'S, an observation which, when computed, gives an altitude of 
16,315 ft. This is the highest point (within a little more than 
2,000 ft. of the summit) which I ever attain on Kilima-njaro. 
Fearing to be benighted in these Alpine solitudes, I now resolve to 
hasten back as quickly as possible to my improvised shelter, for the 
clouds are thickening, and thin showers of sleety snow are falling. 
A high wind arises and whips my face with the icy rain, and makes 
it very difficult to keep my footing on the slippery ridge. At length 
I reach the boulders and the sand, then descending with greater 
ease enter once more, at about an altitude of 15,000ft., the region of 
MY SETTLEMENT AT TAVEITA 
vegetation. Keeping in view the small hillock I have already 
mentioned as such a useful landmark, I ultimately find my way 
back to the spot where I have left my men. What is my agonised 
surprise t <5 discover, on searching the sheltered hollow, that it is 
deserted and abandoned. I hesitate but little. Sooner than 
663 
remain here without blankets, food, or fire, I will endeavour to 
regain my station, even though I have to wander all night on the 
lonely flanks of the mountain ; so, starting off in the waning day¬ 
light, I hurry over the now easy descent at a pace which soon 
quickens into an irregular run. I cross the stream at the well- 
remembered ford, and, cheered by the sight of old landmarks, and 
warmed by the violent exercise, I march on straight in the direction 
of my little village. The mists disperse, the moon shines out 
brightly, I can clearly distinguish familiar hill-tops, and, on reaching 
once more the banks of my own river, I then have an unfailing 
guide to follow until the glimmering watch-fires of my settlement 
glance out from its bushy stockade, and the loud voices of men 
break the still and frosty air. As I step in through the palisade, 
and appear before my almost terror-stricken men, I see I am at first 
taken for my own ghost, and not till I have spoken a few sentences 
in a very real and energetic tone to the three culprits who have 
deserted me is the impression removed. It transpires that my three 
followers had remained for about an hour in the place I had left 
them, and then, seeing I did not return, had been seized with an 
irresistible panic, had caught up their loads, and had returned 
helter-skelter to the station. Fortunately they have not lost the 
collections ; so, after a short rebuke, I am disposed to condone 
their fault, the more so as I feel too thankful to return to warmth, 
and shelter, and familiar faces to pass unnecessary time in unprofit¬ 
able scolding. 
I remain some little while longer in this elevated settlement, and, 
although I am much hindered by the bad and tempestuous weather, 
LAKE CHALA 
I make excursions in all directions for the purpose of collecting. 
In one of these trips I once more reach the snow, but owing to the 
length of time involved in a climb to the snow-line (for the slope of 
the mountain is very gradual), I am never able to accomplish the 
entire ascent of either peak, going and returning in one day ; and 
as I find it impossible to induce my shivering followers to accom¬ 
pany me into the mists and hailstorms, and cannot unaided carry 
instruments and food, I have reluctantly to resign my long- 
meditated feat, and leave the actual summit of Kilima-njaro still 
virgin. 
Moreover, my time for collecting at these high levels is coming to 
an end. Although I have soon got inured to the climate myself, 
and feel invigorated by the frosty nights, my poor fellows, accus¬ 
tomed to the greenhouse atmosphere of Zanzibar, are suffering cruelly 
from the cold. To clothe forty men in warm blankets is beyond my 
resources, and to induce them to live for a long period lightly clad in 
garments of cotton, in a temperature which was often below the 
freezing point, requires, to say the least, considerable persuasion ; 
but my chief anxiety arises, not so much from their unwillingness to 
remain a few weeks longer at an altitude of 10,000 feet, as from 
their unfitness to do so. Several of the men are suffering severely 
from bronchial affections ; one or two have had touches of pleurisy ; 
all complain of chilblains and rheumatism ; so that I begin to fear 
that, unless I move to lower levels, I shall have no men-left to carry 
my loads. Therefore, after deliberating with the head men of the 
caravan, I prepare to evacuate my highest station on Kilima-njaro, 
at the end of October, and following a new route through an 
unexplored country return to Taveita and the coast. 
Leaving our alpine settlement, with its grassy slopes and forests of 
arboreal heaths, we take the path runnning eastwards round the 
upper slopes of the mountain. For a day and a half we wander 
through the dense forests that clothe the southern flank of 
Kimawenzi, with no guide but the compass, and no track but the 
paths just trodden before us by wandering herds of elephants. At 
length we emerge on tire cultivated country, and, at a height of 6,ood 
