How hot it was! September, 1897. I had not shot my first lion then, and
many, many months were to pass before my luck came. Dame Fortune doesn't
often condescend to glance my way. She smiled broadly once when, with
three tickets, I won first, second, and third prize in a sweep on the
Grand National; but then I have never drawn a prize in a sweep since.
However, to return to September, 1897. Yes, by Jingo, it was hot. Not a
breath of air; not a leaf on any tree. The rains were almost due, but
not a shower had fallen. The only shade was in the shadow of the wagon.
But it was not the blazing sun alone with which we had to contend. There
thrives in the Kalahari Desert a pestiferous little winged insect called
the Mopani bee, named after the hardwood tree in which it sets its hive.
It would seem that this creature must have moisture, moisture of any
kind--it isn't at all particular. And to think that I used to eat the
stuff they call Mopani honey until, one day, I saw a bunch of them
lapping up the moisture from a perspiring native runner. Ugh!
These bees will congregate in dozens at the corners of your eyes, try
to burrow into them and then collect the tears which the discomfort of
their burrowing produces. They will crowd at the corners of your mouth;
when you open it to blow the little plagues away, they rush in. Thank
Heaven, the Mopani bee doesn't sting.
We were struggling up to the Zambesi from Bulawayo. Our waggons were
overloaded, for the Kalahari had taken heavy toll of our cattle and our
spans were therefore many oxen short.
We had reached and covered the first ten miles of the thirty-five which
separate Makululumi from Kasibi. All those who knew the old Hunter's
road will remember that stretch. The first ten miles are not bad going,
but the next seven are the heaviest and loosest sand that oxen were ever
asked to drag a waggon through.
Between Makululumi and Kasibi there is no water, so the Major who
commanded our little party thought it wise to send the oxen back from
the ten-mile point to have the best part of a couple of days' rest at
Makululumi before calling upon them to tackle the next stage of the
journey.
During the afternoon of the second day, by following my chief's example,
I got the better of those bees. It is true I was slowly suffocating, but
that was better than being tormented. I was lying on my back under the
waggon, with my head covered with a blanket, perspiring immoderately. At
least three more hours of this before the cattle returned and we resumed
our journey.
Presently I heard a conversation going on in Dutch between the Major and
one of his boys. I looked out and saw one of the drivers who should have
been with the cattle.
"What are you doing here?" the Major asked.
"Lions, baas."
"Where? How many? When?"
"Last night at Makululumi. Yes, many of them, baas."
"Any cattle dead?"
"Four, baas."
"Tell me about it."
The driver told his story. It appeared that the night before, as soon as
it was dark, the boys had collected the cattle together and had driven
them up to the camp fires. The oxen stood about for a little while and
then settled down. Seeing this, the boys had turned in. When the moon
set, the cattle moved off to the water holes again to drink and graze.
Presently there was a great commotion at the water, oxen bellowing and
stampeding. The boys got up and ran down with lights and a rifle. There
they found three of the oxen lying dead within a hundred yards of each
other, and a fourth, also dead, some little distance on. Each ox had his
neck broken, but was otherwise unmarked. One of the boys thought he
heard a lion in the grass, so fired his rifle off.
Collecting the cattle again, they drove them up to the camp fires and
kept a strict watch for the remainder of the night.
At daylight they went back to the scene of the killing, and found that
the lions had returned to the carcasses and made a heavy meal off two of
them, the third was half eaten, the fourth untouched.
This was indeed a disaster; we simply couldn't spare these four oxen.
"Where are the cattle now?"
"At the water holes with the other boys."
"What did you tell the other boys to do?"
"Let the cattle graze until sundown, then water them and bring them
along."
"Good. Now let's get busy."
During this conversation I had got out from under the waggon and was now
listening.
"What are you going to do?" I asked.
"Go back and blot out some of those lions."
"May I come, too?"
"Have you ever shot a lion?"
"No."
"Have you ever seen one?"
"Not outside the Zoo, but I should like to."
"Well, you may come on one condition."
"What's that?"
"Don't shoot unless and until I tell you to."