in connection with the buying of these donkeys that a remarkable feat of
foot-travelling came to my notice. A trader wished to sell to me some
donkeys—probably raided—which he had left at Mani-Mani, about 150 miles
away. He offered a Karamojan a cow as reward for bringing them down in
time for me to buy, and the boy had them there at the end of the fourth
day. As nearly as I could ascertain he had covered 300 miles in 100
hours.
We crossed the Turkwell about 102 strong, this number not including
women and camp followers. At Mani-Mani and Bukora some of our cows were
exchanged for sheep, goats and donkeys. A decent cow would bring sixty
sheep or goats. A donkey was the equivalent of ten sheep or goats. Having
now so many mouths to feed it was necessary to buy many donkeys. I raised
our donkey strength to 160. This meant that I could have constantly
loaded about eighty. They were chiefly employed in carrying grain to our
base camp in Dodose, sometimes from Mt. Elgon, where banana flour could
be got, over 200 miles away, or from the country near the Nile, 150 to
200 miles distant. Throughout all this trekking, with two donkeys to one
saddle, they never had a sore back.
On our arrival at Mani-Mani we found the Swahili village almost deserted.
Everyone was out on a raid. They had reckoned that no one in their senses
would return to the wilderness so soon as I had. They could not conceive
how I had spent the proceeds of all that ivory in so short a time. I
learnt that they were out against the Dabossans in whose country I meant
to hunt. I therefore laid out my route so as to intercept the returning
raiders.
Passing through Bukora we were greeted as old friends, a very different
reception from our first. Pyjalé immediately joined up, and after taking
a few good bull elephants from the Bukora-Kumamma neutral zone we trekked
leisurely and heavily laden northwards.
At the last village of Bukora we met commotion and wailing. The occasion
was the murder of three young Bukora girls of marriageable age at the
hands of some roving band of Jiwé bloods. These affairs were of quite
common occurrence, and the natives could never understand the disgust and
abhorrence they drew from me. I was eventually able to stop the killing
of females, at least while I was in the country.
Pitching camp late one night in the fighting zone between Bukora and
Jiwé, lions were sighted leaving the rocky hills for the game-covered
plains. Although almost dark I succeeded in killing two within a short
distance of camp. I returned and was seated by the camp-fire when I
heard alarming shouts from the direction of the dead lions. In this kind
of life something is constantly turning up, and one soon learns to be
always ready. The occurrences are so simple as to require but simple
remedies. Everything seems to demand the presence of a rifle and just an
ordinary sense of humour to transform an imminent tragedy into African
comedy. Seizing my ·275 I rushed through the darkness towards the shouts,
and what I found was that one lion had been skinned and the other half
flayed when it had suddenly come to life again. The boys said that as
they were removing its skin it suddenly and without warning stood up,
opened its mouth and rushed at them. But what I found was a half-skinned
lion with its head alive but the rest of it dead or paralysed. It could
open its mouth and growl ferociously. Its springing at them must have
been supplied by the boys’ imaginations or to excuse their headlong
flight. Some nerve must have suffered damage in the lion’s neck, leaving
the body paralysed but the head active. One of the boys had been seated
on it when it growled, and his account of the affair in camp raised
bursts of deep-chested Nyamwezi laughter.
These camps in the wonderful African nights of the dry season linger in
my memory as the most enjoyable I have ever experienced. Other nights
have been more exciting and more exhilarating, but also more harmful in
their after-effects. Poker or flying by night, sitting up for elephant or
lion, provide quicker pulse-beats between periods of intense boredom, but
for level quiet enjoyment give me the camp-chair by the camp-fire with
a crowd of happy and contented natives about and the prospect of good
hunting in front and the evidence of good hunting by your side. Looking
back on my safaris I can discern that they were quite exceptionally happy
little collections of human beings. For one reason, health was simply
splendid. Everyone was well and amply tented. All slept warm and dry.
Mosquitoes were rare and stomachs full. Fun was of poor calibre, perhaps,
but high animal spirits were there to make the most of it. The boys had
their women—wives they called them. Tobacco could be traded from the
natives or bought at cost price from the safari slop-chest.
Fighting among the men was always settled in the ring and with 4 oz.
gloves provided by me. When this was found too slow—and they sometimes
pounded each other for an hour on end, rounds being washed out—sticks
were provided and the thing brought to a head more rapidly with the
letting of a little blood. When the women bickered too persistently a
ring would be formed, permission got and the two naggers dragged in. Each
would then hitch up short her cloth about her ample hips and, after being
provided with a hippo-hide whip, at it they would go with fire almost
equal to that of the men. But with this difference. Where the men used
their heads and tried to prevent the other from injuring them, the women
waited motionless and guardless for each other’s strokes. It was the most
extraordinary form of fighting ever seen. A. would catch B. a stinging
swinger on the back and stand waiting for B. to give her a frightful cut
across the shoulders. And so on it would go—szwip! szwop!—for about ten
minutes, when B. would suddenly cast her whip on the ground and flee, A.
in hot pursuit, while shouts of laughter greeted the decision, especially
strong when either combatant lost her last shred of cloth. I must say the
women never bore malice and were always great friends afterwards. Even
during the fighting they never showed vice, for they could as easily as
not have cut the eye out of their unguarded opponent. Yet I never saw
anything approaching an injury inflicted in these affairs.
Then in the evenings there was football. When I first introduced this
game I tried to teach them rugger. They were born rugger players. Fast,
bare-footed, hard, muscular and slippery, they cared not at all for
the ant-heaps, boulders, or thorn bushes which littered their day’s
playground. After carrying a hundredweight all day, pitching camp,
building thorn bomas for the animals and bringing in firewood for the
night, they would go to rugger until dark. So bad were some of the
injuries sustained, owing to the bad terrain, that a new game had to
be evolved more suited to the ground. After various trials a game was
settled upon which seemed to suit. It was simply a kind of massed rush
in which any number could engage. Goals were marked out at distances one
from the other to suit the ground. Then the ball was placed at half-way
and the two opposing sides drawn up in line about 15 yds. from it. At a
signal both sides charged full tilt at each other, meeting about where
the ball was. Then the object was to get the ball by hook or by crook to
the goal. No off-side, no boundaries, no penalties, no referee and no
half-time. Darkness terminated the game. So hard was the ground and so
incessant the wear on the ball that it was seldom one lasted a month. How
they could kick it without breaking their toes always puzzled me.
Our reputation had preceded us, and we were welcomed by the Jiwé people.
So much so that they wished for blood-brotherhood, but I evaded it. We
hunted happily in their country for some time and learnt of an attack on
their country by a Nile tribe with numerous guns of muzzle-loading type.
The Jiwé with spears alone had not only repulsed the attackers but had
massacred most of them. Inadequate supplies of munitions had been their
downfall. The firearms which had been picked up by the Jiwé had since
been traded off to Swahilis.
While chasing elephant in the Jiwé country one day we happened to start
some ostrich running. They took the same line as the fleeing elephant
and soon overhauled them. When close up the cock bird suddenly began the
fantastic dashes here and there usually seen in the breeding season. One
of his speed efforts took him close past a lumbering bull elephant on the
outside of the little herd. These elephants had already been severely
chased and several of their number had been killed. When, therefore, the
black form of the ostrich raced up from behind him the poor old elephant
nearly fell over with fright. His trunk shot out and his ears looked
like umbrellas turned inside out by a sudden gust. But recovering almost
instantly, he settled back to his steady fast retreat.
Our next country northwards was Dodose, where I proposed to establish
the base camp. On entering it we found it high-lying country among steep
little granite hills. We were well received and soon became friendly.
Some wonderful elephant country was reached from Dodose, and it was here
that I got my heaviest ivory. Buffalo were also very numerous. It was
beautiful hunting country, as elephant could frequently be found, with
glasses, from one of the numerous hills.
It was now the dry season; there was, for that reason, only one route
to or from Dabossa, where the Swahili raid was on. I therefore put a
look-out post on this route to bring me news of anyone coming south on
this trail. This post consisted of four of my best Wanyamweze boys with
two natives. As soon as any sign of the returning raiders was seen the
boys were to send a native with the news while they remained to try to
keep any Swahilis until my arrival. I had expected the raiders to have a
fore-guard of some sort and that I would have time to arrive on the scene
between its arrival and the coming of the main body. Instead of this, up
marched the whole body of raiders, cattle and captives, all in charge
of my four stalwarts. What they had told the Swahilis lay in store for
them I never learnt, but it was evidently something dreadful, judging
by the state of panic they were in. I counted their guns and took their
captives—all women—and cattle from them, warned them that next time they
would land up in prison or be shot, and sent them packing.
After a considerable hunt in and around Dodose, it was now time, the
first rains being imminent, to be moving northwards towards Dabossa. In
entering new country for elephant it is always best to get there when the
first rains are on, as the animals then desert their dry-season thick
haunts for the open country.
[Illustration: “THE ELEPHANT NEARLY FELL OVER WITH FRIGHT: HIS TRUNK SHOT
OUT, HIS EARS LOOKED LIKE UMBRELLAS TURNED INSIDE OUT.”]
[Illustration: WATCHING THE NORTHERN TRAIL FOR THE RETURNING RAIDERS.]
Before approaching the inhabited part of Dabossa I knew that it would be
necessary somehow to get into communication with the natives. They had
just recently been raided and would be very nervous and likely to attack
any strangers approaching their country. The Dabossan cattle recently
taken from the raiders were therefore placed in the charge of some of
the Dodose notables, while I and a good little safari headed northwards,
taking with us all the captive women.
When still about forty miles from Dabossa it became evident from signs
that Dabossans were about. We therefore camped by water and built a
strong thorn boma. Everyone was warned not to leave the boma at night,
but one of my personal boys—a brainless Kavirondo—thinking perhaps that
orders were not meant for him, broke camp and was promptly speared. His
cries effectually roused the camp, but the extent of his hurt bore little
resemblance to the volume of his noise. He had a nice little spear thrust
in a tender spot.
The boy’s misfortune was promptly turned to account, for, after stilling
his cries, we got the Dabossan captives to shout into the night all our
news. Our reason for being there, our intentions, how we had their cattle
ready to return to their owners—so far had the narrative got when first
one voice from the dark and then others began asking for news of such and
such a cow or heifer, so-and-so’s bull or bullock. Later women or girl
captives were asked after. Eventually men appeared and were persuaded to
come to camp. Relations became friendly almost at once. At daybreak it
was arranged for some of the natives to go at once to Dabossa and spread
the news, while others accompanied some of my boys back to Dodose in
order to identify their cattle. This was thought necessary as we did not
know the cattle from any others, and also because it was almost certain
that the Dodose notables would try to palm off their duds in place of
the good Dabossan animals. Meanwhile I remained hunting the surrounding
country.
In a few days there arrived a runner from Dodose with the news that my
Dodose notables had held a meeting and, courage brewed by numbers and
beer, had flatly refused to give up the Dabossan cattle left in their
charge. Not knowing my native gentlemen quite as well as I ought to have,
and that courage so rapidly got was as rapidly lost, I was on the point
of rushing back to Dodose when another runner arrived saying that all
was well and that notable after notable had singly and surreptitiously
returned the full tally of cattle left with him. I was relieved to hear
this, as these constant native palavers were taking up a great deal of my
hunting time.
The cattle soon arrived, drank up our small pool of water, and we pushed
off all together for Dabossa. The captive women were now, of course,
quite free to go or stay and, without exception, they remained with us in
idleness until removed by their men folk on our arrival in Dabossa. Had I
allowed it, most of them would have remained as “wives” to my men rather
than go back to the heavy work of tilling in their home gardens.
We had a huge reception in Dabossa. There must have been close on 5,000
spears assembled in the huge open space where we camped. Pow-wows were
the order of one long weary day when the cattle were handed over and
the captives returned to their relations. Peace for us at any rate was
assured, but when I told the Dabossans that no one would attack them and
that they ought to trade peacefully, they swore they would massacre every
Swahili who might venture near their country. After I had explained my
wish to hunt elephant, an old woman got up and made a long speech to the
effect that they owed everything to me and that they ought to give me
a pair of tusks. This they did, not particularly large ones. But what
was better than tusks was guides to the Murua Akipi (Mountain of Water)
country, said to abound in elephant.
This Murua Akipi was the aim of my journey. I had heard of it from native
sources. It was a wonderful country where anything might happen. Huge
elephant lived there. Bad Abyssinians came there. Elephant cemeteries
were to be found there. Water which killed whoever drank it was there and
which looked so cold and clear. No white man had ever seen it, although
every traveller was supposed to be trying to reach it for the mysterious
“thahabu” (gold) it contained. In fact, if one asked for anything under
the sun anywhere within a radius of one hundred miles he would be
referred to that mysterious blue peak, Murua Akipi.
We trailed along through monotonous cultivated country for several days.
Then coming to the end of Dabossa we entered on an exceptionally large
deserted zone. Here hardly anyone ventured, as Habashi (Abyssinian)
prowlers might be met. For several days the large open cotton-soil
plains, with bands of thorn bush, were covered with great numbers of
ostrich and topi haartebeeste. Abyssinians had recently raided the
outskirts of Dabossa and all the boys were rather nervous, having heard
dreadful tales of the Habashi.
We were not long in coming on signs of Habashi methods. Away over the
plains some small black objects were seen. Zeiss showed them to be
people, apparently women, seated on the ground. At closer range there
were seven of them, all young women. Closer still, they appeared to
be bound in a sitting posture, and all were in a very bad state. For
one thing, their tongues all protruded and were black and fly covered.
This was thirst. Their arms were passed inside the knee and were lashed
securely to the outside of the ankle, and so used they were abandoned in
this shameless fashion to rescue on the one hand or death from thirst on
the other.
Having water with us we soon released them and gradually forced
sufficient moisture between tongue and teeth. Contrasted with those
dreadful tongues how perfectly beautiful primitive man’s teeth appeared.
Small, regular and widely set apart from each other, nothing seems to
tarnish their whiteness.
These hardy creatures soon recovered sufficiently to stand up, and we
packed each on a donkey to our next camp, where sufficient water for all
was got. The next day we sent them off to their homes, feeling pretty
certain there could be no Abyssinians between us and Dabossa, as water
was still scarce.
We now sighted Murua Akipi as a minute tooth of pale blue just cutting
the horizon. I thought we would reach it in two days, but it required
four days of long marching to reach a small kopje a few miles from its
base. That tiny tooth grew larger and larger each day until it looked
an enormous size. I daresay it is not more than 2,000 or 3,000 ft., but
being surrounded by huge plains it shows to great advantage.
One day while crossing the plains we had a smart shower which turned the
black powdery soil into very tenacious mud. Walking became a trial for
anything but naked feet, and I asked Pyjalé if the conditions were right
for running down antelope. He assured me they were, and I urged him and
the Dabossans to try it when opportunity arose. This was not long, for
as we came out of a thorn belt we surprised a herd of eland and topi.
Off went Pyjalé and the Dabossans, taking off their spear-guards as they
ran. Off went the antelope, too, and for some time Pyjalé and Co. lost
ground. Through my glasses I could see that the eland threw up much more
mud than the topi and the topi much more than the natives. These latter
hardly ever lifted a clod, whereas the galloping eland hove great masses
into the air at every lurch. Consummate runners as all the natives were,
Pyjalé was easily best. He could probably have closed with his beast
sooner than he did but for his running it in a circle for my benefit.
The heavy and fat eland were soon blown, and Pyjalé presently ranged
alongside and with a neat and lightning dart of his spear thrust it to
the heart. The movement was barely perceptible through the glass.
While on the subject of native runners I would like to tell what took
place at Kampala, the capital of Uganda, in the year when Dorando won
the marathon in England. Everyone was marathon mad, and the fever spread
to Uganda. A marathon for native runners was organised as part of the
attractions of the Show. Native chiefs were warned to seek out and train
any likely talent they might have. The training consisted of feeding the
runners largely on beef.
The course was from Enteble to Kampala show ground with one complete
circuit of the ground. The course was carefully marked and two whites
on bicycles were told off to ride with the runners. The distance, I
believe, was almost exactly the same as the English course. About thirty
runners started in the hottest part of the day, experienced heavy rain
en route, which turned the road to mud and washed out the bicycles, and
thirty runners arrived _together_ at the show ground, tore round the
ground singing and leaping in the air, fresh as paint, completed the
course still all together, and went on circling the ground, thinking they
were giving their lady friends a treat I suppose. They had to be stopped
eventually, but the most astonishing thing was that their time for the
course was almost exactly Dorando’s time, if I remember rightly. They
thought it was better fun to come in all together than by ones and twos.
Camp was pitched at the foot of the kopje, sufficient rain water being
found in the elephant baths for all our requirements. The next morning
I climbed the little hill in pouring rain. From its top I had a good
view of the Murua to the south, while to the north a river was visible
flowing northwards. On its banks were large verdant green flats which
might have been as smooth as tennis lawns but for the fact that they were
thickly speckled with black dots which the glasses and then the telescope
showed to be the backs and heads of scores of bull elephant. The grass
consequently was young swamp grass and about six or seven feet high. The
big tripod telescope showed some wonderful ivory, and I have never seen
before or since so many _old_ bull elephant in one place. Bunches of
young herd bulls were comparatively common, but here were numbers of aged
bulls.
Knowing how all naked men hate rain, I left Pyjalé in camp and took
instead a well-clad boy whose feet had worn off earlier in the
journey, and who had since been recuperating at the base camp. Nothing
takes condition off a naked African like heavy rain. Strong as their
constitutions are they wilt when constantly wet once the natural oil of
the skin is pierced.
Striking straight for the swamps through the thorny flats we came out
of some very dense wait-a-bit almost under the trunk of a single old
monster. I thought of trying a shot up through the palate for the brain,
but wisely refrained and withdrew quickly a few paces while the old bull
stared straight at us, still unsuspicious, and affording an easy frontal
shot.
Passing on, we were presently on the edge of the green swamp. And now
how different the smooth-looking lawn appeared; huge broad-leaved grass,
still young, but seven or eight feet high in places. While all the dry
country was still parched after the long dry season, here on this rich
flood-land the grass had two or three months’ start. Hence the numbers of
elephant. But why only bulls? That is known to them only. I had a grand
day among them in spite of the grass. Soaked to the skin, the temperature
just suited the white man, and I returned washed out but happy to a
comfortable tent, hot bath, dry towels and pyjamas, food ready and good
enough for keen appetite and the best of service. Off with wet and
mud-covered things, dump them on the ground-sheet; good boys are there
ready to pick them up, wash them and dry them by the huge camp-fire.
Fresh clothes every day—what real solid comfort one has in the bush! No
laundry bills to face and no clothes to be careful of. Creases in the
trousers not required below the knee, and the harder the usage the softer
the wear. Having tasted Heaven already I think I must be booked for the
other place. Ten good tails was the count for the day.