to examine the respective positions of the heart, lungs and brain in
relation to the conspicuous points of the animal’s exterior, such as the
eye, the ear, the line of the fore leg and the point of the shoulder. In
order to fix the position of the heart and lungs I made some boys get
the stomach and intestines out. This was a terrific job, but we were
ably assisted by the powerful native women. The “innards” of elephant
are very greatly prized by all natives who eat elephant. The contents
of the stomach must have weighed a ton, I should think, and I saw the
intestine or sack which contains the clear pure water so readily drunk by
the hunter during the dry season when he finds himself far from water.
It is from this internal tank that the elephant can produce water for
the purpose of treating himself to a shower bath when there is no water.
He brings it up into his throat, whence it is sucked into the trunk and
then delivered where required. The first time I saw an elephant doing
this I thought he must be standing by a pool of water from which he was
drawing it. I was many weary miles from water and the sun was scorching,
and I and the boy with me were very thirsty, so we hastened towards the
elephant, which moved on slowly through the bush. Very soon we arrived at
the spot where we had seen him at his shower bath, but no spring or pool
could I find. I asked the Karamojan about it and he then told me, with a
smile at my ignorance, that the nearest water was at our camp and that
all elephant carried water inside them and need not replenish their stock
for three days. Coming up with the elephant I killed him and got Pyjalé
(my Karamojan tracker) to pierce its water tank, and sure enough water,
perfectly clear barring a little blood, gushed out, which we both drank
greedily. It was warm certainly, but quite tasteless and odourless and
very wholesome and grateful.
When everything had been got out, except the lungs and heart, I had
spears thrust through from the direction from which a bullet would come.
I meanwhile peered into the huge cavity formed by the massive ribs and
when a spear pierced a lung or the heart, I immediately examined its
situation and tried to commit it to my memory. One thing I noticed was
that with the animal lying on its side the heart did not occupy the
cavity which was obviously intended for it when upright, therefore an
allowance had to be made. Another thing I was impressed with was the
size of the arteries about the heart. It extended the killing area a
considerable distance above the heart, and I have often since killed
elephant with a shot above the heart. About the situation of the brain
I also learned a lot. I thought I had its position fixed to a nicety in
my mind, but I subsequently found that all I had learned was one of the
many positions the brain does not occupy. And it was by a series of these
misplacings that I finally came to know where the brain really does lie.
It is a small object contained in a very large head. It lies so far from
the exterior that a very slight and almost unnoticeable change of angle
causes the bullet to miss it completely.
[Illustration: ELEPHANT SNARE NET SET, BUT NOT YET COVERED.]
[Illustration: KARAMOJAN WARRIOR.
_After a warrior has killed anyone he is entitled to wear a white ostrich
feather dipped blood-red, and tattoo himself on the right side if the
slain was a man and the left if a woman._]
From this my first dealing with Karamojans it began to be borne in on me
that they were not so bad as the Swahili traders had tried to make out.
And my subsequent dealings with them confirmed this impression. As far
as I was concerned I had hardly any trouble with them. But at the same
time some terrible massacres took place while I was in their country.
These affairs were the most completely successful operations I have ever
heard of from the native point of view. On three occasions massacres of
well armed trading caravans were attempted, and on two there were no
survivors among the traders and no casualties among the natives, while
on the third there was one trader survivor who escaped. I will describe
later on the methods employed by the natives so successfully, for it was
not until my Karamojan friend Pyjalé came to me that I heard the inside
of the thing. For the next few days nothing of note happened except that
we passed the remains of two black men by the roadside—stragglers from
some trading caravan probably, judging by the bits of cloth lying about.
Now here was a state of things requiring explanation. We were now close
to Mani-Mani, the up-country base for all trading caravans. Mani-Mani
was also a populous centre for Karamojans, with whom the traders were
perforce at peace. And yet here on the roads were two murdered men
obviously belonging to the traders. On my arrival at Mani-Mani I found
the explanation. It was thus: Among Karamojans, as among Masai, Somals
and other tribes, a young man is of no consideration, has no standing
with the girls, until he has killed someone. It does not matter how he
kills him, he may be asleep or unarmed. When he has “done someone in,”
either man or woman, other than Karamojan of course, he has the right to
tattoo the right side of his body for a man victim and the left side for
a woman. Moreover, at the dances he mounts a very tall ostrich feather
dipped blood red, and then he is looked upon as a man. He may and does
now demand anything from the unmarried girls. He may flog them should
they resist. And this atrocious incitement to murder is the cause of
death to any leg-weary straggler from caravans. That the Swahili leaders
never made these way side murders a _casus belli_ shows them to be what
they are, callous snivellers. That they could have put down this custom
was shown when some of my boys lost their way among the villages. As soon
as it was reported to me I at once got together five of my askaris and
raced off among the herds of Karamojan cattle. We rounded up a huge mob
and held them more or less in one place. Spearmen rushed about, women
holloaed, and shields were produced from every hut. I was so hot and
angry—thinking that the missing boys had been murdered—that I was eager
to begin by attacking straightaway. It looked as if about 400 spear-men
were assembled and I meant to give them a genuine shaking up with my
10-shot ·303, followed by my 10-shot Mauser pistol. I felt confident that
as soon as I let loose on them and killed one or two the others would run
like rabbits. It never came to a fight, for some old unarmed men and
women came tottering up, picking grass at every step, biting it in two
and casting the bits to the winds. This meant peace; peace at any price.
Where were my porters? They did not know, really they did not. But they
would be all right. Nobody would harm them. I told them to go and produce
every one of them unharmed or I would take and kill all their cattle and
a lot of them besides. Moreover, if any armed man approached anywhere
near to the cattle I would shoot him dead. The cattle would remain
there—between ourselves we could not have handled them—until the porters
were produced.
And produced they were, very quickly. They had merely lost their way
among the villages and had been guided back.
I did not regret having had this opportunity of showing the natives that
as far as my people were concerned we were prepared to fight savagely for
any member of the safari and not—as did the traders—let stragglers be
murdered without even a protest. The noise of this affair travelled far
and probably saved us a lot of trouble in our after dealings.
Another reason for this apathy on the part of the Swahili leaders was, I
think, that the certainty of murder awaiting anyone on the road prevented
desertion. They were enabled by this means to keep their boys for years
without payment of wages. So long as they could prevent the boys from
reaching Mumias alive there was no redress. Hence it was difficult for
the Government representative at Mumias to get reliable information of
the internal state of Karamojo.
On our arrival at Mani-Mani we were met by one Shundi—a remarkable man.
Kavirondo by birth, he had been captured early in life, taken to the
coast and sold as a slave. Being a man of great force of character he
had soon freed himself by turning Mohammedan. Thence onward fortune had
smiled upon him until at last here he was, the recognised chief _Tajir_
(rich man) of all the traders. Having naturally the intelligence to
recognise the value of bluff and from his primitive ancestors the nerve
to carry it off, he was at this time the greatest of all the traders.
Just as he had been a leader while slave-raiding was the order of the
day, so now he led when ivory had given place to slaves as a commodity.
One other thing makes him conspicuous, at any rate, in my mind, and that
was the fact that he had owned the slave who had laid low the elephant
which bore the enormous tusks, one of which now reposes in the South
Kensington Museum. These tusks are still, as far as I know, the record.
The one which we have in London scales 234 lb. or thereabouts. According
to Shundi his slave killed it with a muzzle-loader on the slopes of
Kilimandjaro.
Shundi was accompanied by a large body of traders of all sorts. There
were Arabs, Swahilis, one or two Persians and a few African born
Baluchis, and a pretty tough lot they looked. Beside their mean and
cunning air Shundi—the great coal-black Bantu—appeared like a lion among
hyenas. What an extraordinary calm and dignity some of these outstanding
black men have. Here was a kin spirit to Buba Gida.
They hated my appearing in their country, but did not show it. Shundi
took it in the spirit that what had to be had to be, but some of the
lesser villains were obviously nervous. They pretended to wish me to
camp inside the town, but I preferred to remain outside. The town was
of very considerable size, although the buildings were of a temporary
construction. I remarked an extraordinary number of women about and
thought that I recognised Masai types among them. This was so, as I
afterwards learnt that Shundi alone had over eighty women, many of whom
were Masai from Kilimandjaro.
With native politeness gifts of food, etc., were offered and presently
all withdrew, intimating that they would return when I had rested.
They must have been feeling rather uncomfortable about the appearance
in their midst of a white man, possibly an agent of that detestable
Government so troublesome about raiding. I did not actually know at the
time, but learnt afterwards that at the very moment of my arrival in
their midst they had an enormous raid on the Turkana underway.
In the afternoon they came again and we had the usual ceremonial palaver.
Every one was strictly guarded, but they made a distinct effort to
embroil me with the natives in the hope, I suppose, of getting me so
mixed up in some shooting affair that I would become more or less one
of themselves. I refused to have anything to do with their intrigues. I
got little information regarding elephant from these people. In fact,
neither side could quite overcome a severely suppressed but quite strong
hostility to the other.
I stayed a few days at Mani-Mani as there were repairs to be attended
to and man and beast required a rest. The first sign of trouble soon
appeared, caused, I feel certain, by Swahili intrigue. It was the dry
season and all animals were watered once a day at the wells dug in the
otherwise dry river-bed. My animals were being watered as usual. That is,
water was drawn from the well in buckets and emptied into a watertight
ground sheet laid over a suitable depression in the sand. Word was
suddenly brought to me that the natives refused to allow my animals
to be watered. I went at once to the scene and asked the natives what
all the trouble was about. There were about forty young bloods leaning
against their spears and they laughed in the most insolent manner without
giving me any answer. I turned to my herds and beckoned them to bring
up the animals. As they began to do so three of the bloods strode over
and began flogging the thirsty bullocks in the face and driving them
off. It was now or never, first impression and so on. I seized from the
nearest Karamojan his cutting-edged club, sprang over to one of the
bullock obstructors and dealt him the hardest blow on the head I possibly
could. I was fairly hefty, in good training, and meant all I knew. To
my astonishment the native turned on me a smile instead of dropping
dead or at least stunned, while the club flew to atoms. I had hit his
shock-absorbing periwig, previously described. I might as well have hit a
Dunlop Magnum.
I must confess it was rather a set-back. However, one good effect it
had was that everyone, except myself, roared with laughter, and then
when even I began to see the humour of it I spotted a mischievous devil
calmly jabbing his spear through our priceless waterproof ground sheet.
This would not do, so I drew my Mauser pistol. Now these natives were
then at a most dangerous stage of ignorance with regard to firearms.
Their experience of them had been gathered on raids with the Swahilis,
and they all firmly held the conviction that all you had to do to avoid
being struck by the bullet was to _duck when you saw the smoke_. While I
was fitting the wooden holster to the Mauser they watched me carefully.
They had probably never seen such a gun before if they even recognised it
as such. When therefore I had it fitted up and was covering them no one
moved. They were waiting, I suspect, for the smoke. And when they heard
the particularly vicious bang of the little Mauser and saw no smoke, the
laugh this time was rather on them, and especially on the gentleman who
had been so busy with his spear and my ground sheet; for he now stood
looking at a half severed and completely spoilt spear in his hand with a
ridiculous air of surprised injury. In a few seconds the humour of this
phase struck all concerned, although the natives began to edge nervously
away. All their swagger was gone now. I had been approaching the fellow
with the damaged spear, and now suddenly set upon him, relying upon my
herds to help me. Never have I felt anything like the sinewy strength of
that greasy native; he was all but off when the boys secured him just
in time. Seeing some flourishing of spears going on among the others, I
began pasting dust about them with the little Mauser. Seeing no smoke
again, yet getting whing whang right and left of them, they turned and
bolted. I got in another clip of ten and kept them dodging dust-bursts
for 400 or 500 yds.
On returning I put it out among the natives that our prisoner would be
released when ten goats and sheep had been paid by his family as a fine.
They were soon forthcoming.
Up till now I had been looked upon by the natives as a sort of poor Arab.
In this idea they were no doubt helped by the traders. They had never
seen white men, and they saw my mean little safari and drew their own
conclusions from appearances. But after the affair at the water hole I
was treated with much greater respect, and with a kind of good-humoured
indulgence, much as a very persistent headstrong child might be looked
upon. And eventually, after a few more “incidents,” we became fast
friends and they would do almost anything for me or for my people. One
instance of this I may as well here record, although it happened long
afterwards.
Away down in civilised parts I had left two aged Wanyamwezi boys in
charge of my cattle ranch. This was situated a few miles from Nandi Boma
(Government Post). At the Boma post office I had left directions for my
letters to be forwarded to another Boma on the slopes of Elgon, where
I used to send every six months or so to get them. All my letters went
as directed until there occurred a change of District Commissioner. Now
one of my old pensioners looking after the ranch had orders to report
every fortnight to the D.C. that all was well or otherwise. In pursuit
of these instructions the old boy appeared one day before the new D.C.,
who asked him who he was. He said he belonged to me, naming me. The
D.C. said he had some letters for me, and told the boy to _take them
to me_, thinking that I was at the ranch a few miles off, instead of
which I was actually over 600 miles away. That dear old man took the
letters without a word, went straight back to the ranch and prepared to
follow me into what was much of it quite unknown country. He told the
other boy, who was also about sixty-five years of age, that he would
have to look after everything himself as he was going after the Bwana
(master). Being a thrifty old soul, he had by him much stock of dry
smoked beef from cows which had died. His preparations were, therefore,
almost complete. An inveterate snuff-taker, he had only to grind up a
good quantity for the journey and he was ready. Shouldering his Snider
and with the packet of letters cunningly guarded against wet, off he
set through the wilderness, steering due north. Sleeping by night alone
by his camp fire and travelling the whole of the day, he came wandering
through what would have been to anyone else hostile tribe after hostile
tribe. Countries where if I sent at all I sent at least five guns as
escort he came through without trouble. How often he must have been
looked upon by the lecherous eyes of would-be bloods as fair game for
their spears and as means of gaining the coveted tattoo marks and the
blood red ostrich feather. But so sublimely unconscious was he of any
feeling of nervousness and so bold and confident his bearing that nothing
happened. Being old and wise, he courted the routes which led through the
most populous centres instead of dodging along the neutral zones between
tribes as a nervous man would have done. Had he done this he would to
a certainty have been killed. Wherever he went he slept in the largest
village, demanded _and got_ the best of everything, and eventually
reached me intact. It was a splendid effort. He walked into camp as if
he had left it five minutes before, and he still had smoked beef and
snuff when he arrived. The dear old hoarder had lived to some purpose on
the natives as he passed through. He arrived, if you please, escorted by
a number of Karamojan big-men, this dingy and, I have to say it, very
dirty old man. The letters, alas! proved to be most uninteresting in
themselves, but, nevertheless, they formed a link with civilisation. They
were chiefly bills from unscrupulous Coast merchants being rendered for
the third and fourth time although already paid at least once.
The newspapers were, of course, very old, but produced an extraordinary
feeling of uneasiness or disquietude. Leading the life I then was,
with its freedom from financial care—money was valueless and never
handled—from responsibility—there was no law in the land except that of
force—it had rather the effect of a sudden chill to read of strikes,
famines, railway accidents, unemployment, lawsuits, and the other
thousand and one unhappinesses usually contained in newspapers. Although
I read them, every word, including the advertisements—here again remedies
for ills—I felt distinctly perturbed for two or three days after. The
happiest literature I ever had in the bush was “Pickwick Papers,” and the
happiest newspaper the dear old _Field_.
III.—THE COMING OF PYJALÉ
From Mani-Mani we moved on to Bukora, another section of Karamojans.
I was warned by the Swahilis that Bukora was a very bad country. The
people were very rich in cattle and correspondingly insolent. Everyone
who passed through Bukora had trouble. Either stock was stolen or porters
murdered.
I cannot say that I believed all this, or perhaps I would not have been
so ready to go there. But that there was some truth in their statements I
soon found. In fact, there were moments when it was touch and go. Looking
back on it calmly I can see that nothing but chance luck saved us. It
was thus: We pushed our way smartly right into the middle of Bukora,
intending to camp near some large village. But to our disappointment the
catchments of water were nearly dry. What remained in them was merely
mud. We were obliged therefore to move on to some wells on the outskirts
of the villages. This is always a bad place to be attacked in. Natives
are much more willing to attack people outside than when they are right
in their midst. When you are close alongside a village and there is any
question of hostilities, the people of that particular village feel that
they will probably come in for more than their share of the trouble when
it begins. They have their goods and chattels there, their corn, cows,
babies, fowls, etc. For these reasons they are against hostilities.
Another advantage to the travellers when close to stockaded villages—as
these were—is that such a village can be rushed and then held against the
rest of the tribe.
[Illustration: THAT LUNATIC PYJALÉ SPEARS AN ELEPHANT AND MAKES TROUBLE
FOR EVERYONE.]
However, I was young and without much thought of anything in those days,
and camp by the wells I would. We accordingly did so. And presently the
camp began to fill with apparently friendly natives. They dropped in by
twos and threes and stood around, each man with two spears. I thought
they seemed a nice friendly, sociable crowd, and took little further heed
of them. Then comes my headman, a Swahili, to me. “Bwana, there is no
good brewing. These people mean trouble. Look around, do you see a single
woman anywhere?” I laughed and asked him what he thought they would do.
He said that at a given pre-arranged signal they would start spearing
everyone. And then it dawned on me how absurdly easy it would be for them
to do so. When you came to look around with this thought in your mind it
became apparent that every man was being marked by several spear-men. If
he moved they also lounged about until they were again close to him. I
must say they appeared to me to act the indifference part very well. When
I had convinced myself that something of this nature really was afoot, I
naturally got close to my shooting irons, ready to take a hand when the
fun started. In those days I always wore fifty rounds in my belt.
Now I thought that if I could only supply something sufficiently
distracting the affair might never begin. There over the plains were
plenty of game. I took my rifle and got the interpreter to tell the
Karamojans to come as I was going killing meat. They came at once in fair
numbers. They had already heard of my wonderful rifles, and wherever I
went I always had an audience eager to see them or the Bom-bom (Mauser
pistol) at work.
Hardly had we gone a few hundred yards, and while we were still in full
view of the camp, when a herd of zebra came galloping across our front.
They had been alarmed by some abnormal movement of natives and had
somehow got mixed up and lost.
They came well spaced apart and just right for my purpose. I shot one
after the other as hard as I could fire. I was using a 10 shot ·303, and
when I had fired the ten shots the survivors of the herd were too far
off. I was careful not to reload in the ordinary way, for I carried
another charged magazine. Consequently the natives thought I might have
any number of shots left in this quite new and terrifying weapon. No
smoke and such a rapid fire of death—they had never seen the like. Bing!
bing! bing! bing! bing! they kept saying to themselves, only much more
rapidly than the actual rate of fire. And the zebras, strong brutes,
knocked right down one after the other. No! this was something new. They
had better be careful about fooling around with this _red_ man. He was
different from those red men among the Swahilis, who used to fire great
clouds of smoke and hit nothing.
After an episode of this kind one _feels_ somehow that a complete mental
transformation has taken place. One is established right above these, in
some ways, finer but less scientific people. But this knowledge comes
to both at the same time. I now ordered these previously truculent, now
almost servile, savages to flay, cut up and carry to camp every bit of
meat and skin. When I saw anyone sneaking a bit of fat or what-not I
blackguarded him soundly. I rushed the whole regiment back to camp loaded
with several tons of meat, many of them forgetting their spears in their
hurry. But had I ventured to bullyrag them like this before the zebra
incident I would have had a spear thrust for answer and right quickly too.