of my boys launched and loaded with ivory a leaky dug-out. The leaks they
stopped in the usual manner with clay, and shoved off. The Nile at this
place was about a mile broad, and when about half way the entire end of
the canoe fell out; it had been stuck in with clay. Down went everything.
Now, here is a curious thing. Out of the three occupants two could swim.
These two struck out for the shore and were drawn under by “crocs.,”
while the one who could not swim clung to the barely floating canoe, and
was presently saved. He kept trying to climb into it from the side, which
resulted, of course, in rolling it over and over. It may well be that
to this unusual form of canoe manœuvring he owed his life. At any rate,
the crocs. never touched him. A gloom settled on the camp that night
certainly; but in Africa, death in, to us, strange forms produces but
little impression on the native mind, and all was jolly again in a day or
two.
After about two months’ hunting it became necessary to bury ivory. The
safari could no longer carry it, so a site was chosen close to the
river bank and a huge pit dug. Large as it was, it barely took all our
beautiful elephant teeth. Ivory has awkward shapes and different curves,
and cannot be stowed closely. Consequently there was much earth left over
after filling the pit, to show all and sundry where excavating had taken
place. Where cattle or donkeys are available, the spot is enclosed by a
fence of bushes, and the animals soon obliterate all traces, but here
we had nothing. So to guard our precious hoard I erected a symbol which
might have been mistaken by a white man for a cross made in a hurry,
while its objectless appearance conveyed to the African mind the sure
impress of “medicine.” I remember that to one rickety arm I suspended an
empty cartridge and the tip of a hippo’s tail. That the medicine was good
was shown three or four months later when I sent some boys for the ivory.
They found that the soil had been washed away from the top, exposing
completely one tusk and parts of the others, but that otherwise the cache
was untouched. In spite of my giving to the boy in charge of this party
one length of stick for each tusk contained in the pit, he returned with
one short of the proper number. To convince him of this fact it was
necessary to line out the ivory and then to cover each tusk with one bit
of stick, when, of course, there remained one stick over. Straightway
that party had a good feed and set off for the pit again, well over a
hundred miles away. It never occurred to them that one tusk might have
been stolen. They were right. Through just feeling that they themselves
would not have touched anything, guarded as our pit was guarded, they
judged correctly that no other native man would do so. At the bottom of
the open pit and now exposed by the rains was found the missing tusk.
After the hot work of the dry season in the swamps the open bush country,
with still short grass, was ideal for the foot-hunter. The country was
literally swarming with game of all sorts. I remember in one day seeing
six white rhino besides elephant, buffalo and buck of various kinds.
Then happened a thing that will sound incredible to most ears. I ran
to a standstill, or rather to a walking pace, a herd of elephant. It
happened thus. Early one morning I met with a white rhino, carrying a
magnificent horn. I killed him for the horn. At the shot I heard the
alarm rumble of elephant. Soon I was up to a large herd of bulls, cows,
half-growns and calves. They were not yet properly alarmed, and were
travelling slowly along. Giving hasty instructions to my boy to find the
safari and to then camp it at the water nearest to the white rhino, I
tailed on to that elephant herd. The sun then indicated about 8 a.m.,
and at sundown (6 p.m.) there we were passing the carcase of the dead
rhino at a footpace. By pure luck we had described a huge circle, and it
was only by finding the dead rhino that I knew where I was. Throughout
that broiling day I had run and run, sweating out the moisture I took in
at occasional puddles in the bush, sucking it through closed teeth to
keep out the wriggling things. At that time I was not familiar with the
oblique shot at the brain from behind, and I worked hard for each shot
by racing up to a position more or less at right angles to the beast to
be shot. Consequently I gave myself a great deal of unnecessary trouble.
That I earned each shot will become apparent when I state that although
I had the herd well in hand by about 2 p.m., the total bag for the day
was but fifteen bulls. To keep behind them was easy, the difficulty was
that extra burst of speed necessary to overtake and range alongside them.
The curious thing was that they appeared to be genuinely distressed by
the sun and the pace. In the latter part of the day, whenever I fired I
produced no quickening of the herd’s speed whatever. No heads turned, no
flourishing of trunks, and no attempted rushes by cows as in the morning.
Just a dull plodding of thoroughly beaten animals. This day’s hunting
has always puzzled me. I have attempted the same thing often since, but
have never been able to live with them for more than a short distance.
Although a large herd, it was not so large but that every individual
of it was thoroughly alarmed by each shot. I think that perhaps they
committed a fatal mistake in not killing me with a burst of speed at the
start. I left them when I recognised the dead rhino, and found camp soon
afterwards. The next two days I rested in camp, while the cutting-out
gang worked back along the trail of the herd, finding and de-tusking the
widely separated bodies of the dead elephants.
Shortly after leaving this camp four bull elephants were seen in the
distance. As I went for them, and in passing through some thick bush,
we came suddenly on two white rhino. They came confusedly barging about
at very close range, and then headed straight for the safari. Now, it
is usual for all porters familiar with the black rhino to throw down
their loads crash bang whenever a rhino appears to be heading in their
direction. Much damage then ensues to ivory if the ground be hard, and
to crockery and bottles in any case. To prevent this happening I quickly
killed the rhino, hoping that the shots would not alarm the elephants. We
soon saw that they were still feeding slowly along, but before reaching
them we came upon a lion lying down. I did not wish to disturb the
elephants, but I did want his skin, which had a nice dark mane. While I
hesitated he jumped up and stood broadside on. I fired a careful shot and
got him. He humped his back and subsided with a little cough, while the
bullet whined away in the distance. At the shot a lioness jumped up and
could have been shot, but I let her go. Then on to our main objective.
This morning’s work shows what a perfect game paradise I was then in.
Presently King Leopold of Belgium died, and the evacuation of the Lado
began. As I mentioned before, the Belgians had six months in which to
carry this out. Instead of six months they were pretty well out of it
in six weeks, and now there started a kind of “rush” for the abandoned
country. All sorts of men came. Government employees threw up their jobs.
Masons, contractors, marine engineers, army men, hotel keepers and others
came, attracted by the tales of fabulous quantities of ivory. More than
one party was fired with the resolve to find Emin Pasha’s buried store.
It might almost have been a gold “rush.”
Into the Enclave then came this horde. At first they were for the most
part orderly law-abiding citizens, but soon this restraint was thrown
off. Finding themselves in a country where even murder went unpunished,
every man became a law unto himself. Uganda could not touch him, the
Sudan had no jurisdiction for six months, and the Belgians had gone. Some
of the men went utterly bad and behaved atrociously to the natives, but
the majority were too decent to do anything but hunt elephants. But the
few bad men made it uncommonly uncomfortable for the decent ones. The
natives became disturbed, suspicious, shy and treacherous. The game was
shot at, missed, wounded or killed by all sorts of people who had not the
rudiments of hunter-craft or rifle shooting. The Belgian posts on the new
frontier saw with alarm this invasion of heavily armed safaris; in some
cases I believe they thought we might be trying some kind of Jameson raid
on the Kilo goldfields, or something of that sort. Whatever they thought,
I know that in one case their representative was in a highly dangerous
state of nerves. He was at Mahagi on Lake Albert Edward. I happened to
be passing down the lake in my steel canoe. My boys and gear followed
in a large dug-out. With the rising of the sun a breeze sprang up, and
with it a lop on the water sufficient to alarm the boys in the dug-out.
They happened to be passing Mahagi Port at the moment. I was miles ahead
and out of sight. They decided to wait in the sheltered waters of Port
Mahagi until the breeze should die down. They did so, and on landing were
promptly seized by Belgian soldiery, made to unload my gear, and to carry
it up to the fort.
Some hours later I came paddling along shore searching every bay for my
lost safari. Crossing the mouth of Mahagi Port, and never dreaming that
they would have put in there, what should I see through my glasses but my
large dug-out lying on the beach, abandoned. I entered to investigate,
but could see none of my boys about. Some natives told me they had been
marched up to the fort.
Now, it was my habit when canoeing in those waters to do so with bare
feet. It suddenly dawned on me that I had left my shoes with my safari.
I thought it would be devilish awkward walking up to a strange frontier
post in bare feet, to say nothing of the discomfort of climbing four
or five hundred yards of stony path. I sat down and wrote a note on a
scrap of paper to the officer in charge of the post, explaining what had
happened, and asking him to send my safari on to the English side, only
a few miles away. I also mentioned that I was on my way there. I wrote
this note in English, as the Belgians usually have an English-speaking
officer in their frontier posts. Beckoning a native, I sent my note up to
the fort and paddled off. As I was clearing the bay I saw some soldiers
issue from the fort, one of them waving a letter. I returned to the beach
and waited for them to arrive, much against the advice of my boy, who
said there was bad “medicine” about. I took the precaution to remain out
a yard or two from the shore. Soon black soldiers were approaching. When
a few yards from the canoe the corporal who was carrying the letter, or
piece of paper, shoved it quickly into his pouch, slung his rifle to his
shoulder, rushed to the bow of my canoe, saying to the others “Kamata
M’zungu” in Kiswahili. This means “Catch or seize the white man.”
I had been watching the whole manœuvre carefully, paddle in hand. When
he said those words I knew there was dirty work afoot. When, therefore,
the leader laid hold of the canoe I hit him a terrific blow on the head
with my stout ash steering paddle. At the same time my boy shoved off,
and there we were almost at once 10 yds. from the shore gang. Their
leader was not stunned by my blow—it seems almost impossible to stun
black men—and he had hurriedly unslung his rifle and was feverishly
loading it. His companions were likewise occupied. The first ready raised
and levelled his rifle, and before he could fire I shot him, aiming
for the arm. He yelled and dropped his arm, while the others let fly a
volley as they ducked and ran. I fired no other shot, but was sorely
tempted. My boy and I now paddled vigorously for the open water, bullets
raining around us, but not very close. I could distinguish a small-bore
among the reports of the soldiers’ guns; it was the white man of the
fort taking a hand. I drew a bead on him and was again tempted, but
managed to withstand it. Presently they got their cannon—a Nordenfelt, I
believe—into action, but what they fired at I cannot conceive, for the
shots came nowhere nearer than 100 yds. to us. I feel that one or two
good rifle shots might have taken that post without any great trouble or
danger to themselves.
I wondered now what to do about it. The whole thing was an infernal
nuisance. I thought the best thing I could do was to go to the nearest
English port and report the matter to the authorities, which I did; and
in a day or two all my boys turned up except one. They said that when the
row started down on the beach all the soldiers and the white man seized
their rifles and rushed out to the heights overlooking the bay. With them
went the guards detailed to look after the prisoners. When the road was
clear these latter simply walked out of the deserted post, spread out,
and were quickly lost in the bush. All except one, who foolishly ran down
to the beach. He was shot. The others soon made their way overland and
arrived safely at the English port.
After reorganising my safari I found myself heading for a new region, the
country lying around Mt. Schweinfurth. Native information said elephant
were numerous and the ivory large. This time I took all my sporting
rifles. This meant that, besides my two personal rifles, I had five smart
boys armed with good rifles. We all felt ready to take on anything at any
time.
A few miles back from the Nile we found an exceptionally dense and
isolated patch of forest. There was no other forest for miles around,
and into this stronghold were crowded all kinds of elephant. They could
not be dislodged or driven out as we very soon found on trying it. I
never saw such vicious brutes. When you had killed a bull you could not
approach it for furious elephant. I devoted some time to this patch,
getting a few hard-earned bulls from it. Right in its centre there was
a clear space of an acre or two in extent. Here, one day, I found a few
cows and one bull sunning themselves. I had an easy shot at the bull
and fired, killing him. At the shot there arose the most appalling din
from the surrounding forest. Elephant in great numbers appeared from all
sides crowding into the little clearing until it was packed with deeply
agitated animals. Those that could, shoved their way up to the dead bull,
alternately throwing their heads high in the air, then lowering them
as if butting at the prostrate bull. They did not know my whereabouts,
but they knew that the danger lay in the forest, for they presented a
united front of angry heads all along the side within my view. They
seemed to regard this clear spot as their citadel, to be defended at all
cost. Short intimidating rushes out from the line were frequently made,
sometimes in my direction, but more often not. But when I got a chance
at another bull and fired, I really thought I had done it this time, and
that the whole lot were coming. So vicious was their appearance, and so
determined did they seem as they advanced, that I hurriedly withdrew more
deeply into the forest. Looking back, however, I saw that, as usual, it
was mostly bluff, and that they had stopped at the edge of the clearing.
Presently they withdrew again, leaving, perhaps, 20 yds. between them
and the forest edge. I approached again to try for another bull. Clumsy
white-man fashion I made some noise, which they heard. A lightning rush
by a tall and haggard looking cow right into the stuff, from which I was
peeping at them, sent me off again. I now began to wonder how I was to
reach the two bulls I had shot. I did not want to kill any of the cows,
but thought that it might become necessary, especially as they seemed
to be turning very nasty indeed. The annoying part was that I had seen
several bulls right out in the sea of cows. Fitting cartridges between
my left hand fingers and with full magazine I approached as quietly
as possible, fully prepared to give anything heading my way a sound
lesson. Looking into the brilliantly lit open space from the twilight
of the forest, I saw over the backs and heads of the cows between us
the towering body of a large bull well out in the centre of the herd.
His tusks were hidden by the cows, but it was almost certain from his
general mass that they would be satisfactory. Just the little dark slot
above the earhole was intermittently uncovered by the heads, ears or
trunks of the intervening cows, which were still much agitated. At last I
got a clear slant and fired. The image was instantly blocked out by the
thrown-up heads of several cows as they launched themselves furiously
towards the shot. I was immediately engaged with three of the nearest,
and sufficiently angry with them to stand my ground. I hoped also to
hustle the herd out of their fighting mood. I had spent days of trouble
in this patch of forest. My boys had been chased out and demoralised
when they attempted to drive them. I myself had been badly scared once
or twice with their barging about, and it was now time to see about it.
My shot caught the leading cow in the brain and dropped her slithering
on her knees right in the track of two advancing close to her. One kept
on towards me, offering no decent chance at her brain, so I gave her
a bullet in a non-vital place to turn her. With a shriek she stopped,
slewed half round and backed a few steps. Then round came her head again
facing towards me. I was on the point of making an end of her when a mass
of advancing heads, trunks and ears appeared on both sides of her. From
that moment onwards I can give no coherent description of what followed,
because the images appeared, disappeared and changed with such rapidity
as to leave no permanent impressions. In time the space was clear of
living elephant. So far as that goes, it was my victory; but as for
clearing that patch of forest—No. That was their victory. I had merely
taught them not to use the clear space as their citadel.
[Illustration: LOOKING INTO THE BRILLIANTLY LIT OPEN SPACE FROM THE
TWILIGHT OF THE FOREST.]
Passing on, and climbing all the time, we reached a truly wonderful
country. High, cool and with rolling hills. Running streams of clear cold
water in every hollow, the sole bush a few forest trees lining their
banks. In the wet season covered with high, strong grass, it was now
burned off and the fresh young green stuff was just coming away. In the
far distance could be seen from some of the higher places a dark line. It
was the edge of “Darkest Africa,” the great primeval forest spreading for
thousands of square miles. Out of that forest, and elsewhere, had come
hundreds upon hundreds of elephants to feed upon the young green stuff.
They stood around on that landscape as if made of wood and stuck there.
Hunting there was too easy. Beyond a few reed buck there was no other
game. Soon natives flocked to our camps, and at one time there must have
been 3,000 of them. They were noisy and disturbed the game, no doubt, but
when it came to moving our ivory they were indispensable. Without them we
could not have budged.
At a camp close to the edge of the great forest I was sitting on a little
hill one evening. Along one of the innumerable elephant paths I saw a
small bull coming. Suliemani, my faithful servant and cook, had for years
boasted of how he would kill elephant if he were given the chance. Here
it was, and I should be able to see the fun. I came down to camp, called
for Suliemani, gave him a rifle and thirty rounds, pointed out to him the
direction of the elephant and sent him off. Then I re-climbed the hill
from which I could see both Suliemani and the elephant. The bull, having,
perhaps, caught a whiff of our camp, had turned, and was now leisurely
making towards the forest. Soon Suliemani got his tracks and went racing
along behind him. The elephant now entered some long dry grass which had
escaped the fires, and this stuff evidently hid him from Suliemani’s
view. At the same time it was not sufficiently high to prevent my seeing
what happened through my glasses. In the high grass the elephant halted
and Suliemani came slap into him. With two frightful starts Suliemani
turned and fled in one direction, the elephant in the other. After half
a hundred yards Suliemani pulled himself together and once more took up
the trail, disappearing into the forest. Soon shot after shot was heard.
There was no lack of friends in camp to carefully count the number poor
Suliemani fired. When twenty-seven had been heard there was silence
for a long time. Darkness fell, everyone supped. Then came Suliemani
stalking empty-handed into camp. A successful hunter always cuts off the
tail and brings it home. Suliemani had failed after all his blowing.
The camp was filled with jeers and jibes. Not a word from Suliemani as
he prepared to eat his supper. Having eaten it in silence, the whole
time being ragged to death by all his mates, he quietly stepped across
the camp, disappeared a moment into the darkness, and reappeared with
the elephant’s tail. He had killed it after all! There was a shout of
laughter, but all Suliemani said was, “Of course.”
[Illustration: SULIEMANI BUMPS INTO HIS BULL.]
[Illustration: THE ARRIVAL IN WEST AFRICA.
_If the natives were not very expert watermen a great portion of the
coast trade would cease for lack of harbours and landing facilities.
White sailors are of no use for this work. It will be noticed that the
natives use paddles, which they prefer to oars, except the steersman, who
uses a long sweep._]
IX
HUNTING IN LIBERIA
In the year 1911 the search for new hunting grounds took me to Liberia,
the Black Republic. I secured a passage by tramp steamer to Sinoe Town,
Greenwood County, some few hundred miles south of the capital Monrovia.
Here I landed with my little camp outfit and a decent battery, comprising
a ·318 Mauser and a ·22 rook rifle.
Right on the threshold I was met by conditions which are unique in
Africa, with possibly the exception of Abyssinia; for here the white
man comes under the rule of the black, and any attempt at evasion
or disregard of it is quickly and forcibly resented, as I witnessed
immediately on stepping ashore. Among a crowd of blacks was a white man
held powerless. His appearance seeming familiar, I had a nearer look, and
was astonished to recognise one of the officers of the tramp steamer from
which I had just landed. I asked him what the trouble was about, but he
could only curse incoherently. Just then a very polite black man, in blue
uniform and badge-cap, informed me that the officer had struck a native,
and that the officer would have to answer for it to the magistrate. He
was then promptly taken before the beak, who fined him 25 dollars _and
the ship’s captain 50 dollars_, although the latter had not even been on
shore.
After this episode I began to wonder what I had let myself in for. I
found, however, that my informant in uniform was the Customs officer,
and extremely polite and anxious to help me to pass my gear through. He
seemed to have absolute power in his department, and let me off very
lightly indeed. In all my dealings I invariably treated the Liberians
with the greatest politeness, and I was invariably received in the same
way.
As soon as I had got clear of the Customs I looked out for a lodging of
some sort. There were no hotels, of course, but eventually I found an
Englishman who represented a rubber company. He very kindly put me up.
I found that my host was the only Englishman, he, with a German trader,
comprising the white community.
My host, whom I will call B., was much interested in my expedition into
the interior. He told me frankly that I would have a devil of a time. He
said that the jurisdiction of the Liberians extended inland for about ten
miles only, and beyond that the country was in the hands of the original
natives. These were all armed with guns and a few rifles, and were
constantly at war with each other. This I found to be true.
As I was determined to penetrate and see for myself, he advised me to
call on the Governor; also that I should take suitable presents to him.
I resolved to do so. On my friend’s advice I bought a case of beer and a
case of Kola wine, the Governor, it appeared, being very partial to these
beverages mixed. He told me that if I pressed a golden sovereign into his
hand I should get what I wanted, _i.e._, a permit to hunt elephant.
I had to engage servants, and B. said I could either buy them or hire
them. He explained that slavery was rampant. Whenever a tribe in the
interior brought off a successful raid on their neighbours the captives
were generally brought to the coast and there sold to the Liberians,
themselves liberated slaves from the United States of America. Alcoholism
was so prevalent and widespread and had reached such a pitch that
scarcely any children are born to the Liberians proper, in which case
they buy bush children and adopt them as their own.