We were on
the Likipia Escarpment. We looked across to the Mau Escarpment, where
the country over which our train had been travelling continued after its
interruption by the valley. And below us were mountains, streams,
plains. The westering sun threw strong slants of light down and across.
The engine shut off its power, and we slid silently down the rather
complicated grades and curves of the descent. A noble forest threw its
shadows over us. Through the chance openings we caught glimpses of the
pale country far below. Across high trestle bridges we rattled, and
craned over to see the rushing white water of the mountain torrents a
hundred feet down. The shriek of our engine echoed and re-echoed
weirdly from the serried trunks of trees and from the great cliffs that
seemed to lift themselves as we descended.
We debarked at Kijabe[17] well after dark. It is situated on a ledge in
the escarpment, is perhaps a quarter-mile wide, and includes nothing
more elaborate than the station, a row of Indian dukkas, and two houses
of South Africans set back towards the rise in the cliffs. A mile or so
away, and on a little higher level, stand the extensive buildings of an
American mission. It is, I believe, educational as well as sectarian, is
situated in one of the most healthful climates of East Africa, and is
prosperous.
At the moment we saw none of these things. We were too busy getting men,
mules, and equipment out of the train.
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