In the month of July, 1889, I was encamped in the Taveta forest, 250
miles from the east coast, and at the eastern foot of Mt. Kilimanjaro. I
was accompanied by my servant, George Galvin, an American lad seventeen
years old, and had a following of 130 Zanzibaris. My battery consisted
of the following weapons: one 8-bore smooth, using a cartridge loaded
with 10 drams of powder and a 2-ounce spherical ball; one .577 and one
.450 Express rifle, and one 12-bore Paradox. All these were made by
Messrs. Holland & Holland. My servant carried an old 12-bore rifle made
by Lang (intended to shoot 4-1/2 drams of powder, but whose cartridges
he recklessly loaded with more than 7) and a .45-90 Winchester of the
model of 1886.
Taveta forest has been often described by pens far abler than mine, so I
will not attempt to do this. It is inhabited by a most friendly tribe of
savages, who at the time of my visit to them possessed sufficient food
to be able to supply the wants of my caravan. I therefore made it a base
at which I could leave the major part of my following, and from which I
could with comfort and safety venture forth on shooting trips,
accompanied by only a few men.
The first of these excursions was made to the shores of Lake Jipe, six
hours' march from Taveta, for the purpose of shooting hippos. I took
with me my whole battery and thirteen men. This unlucky number perhaps
influenced my fortunes, for I returned to Taveta empty handed and fever
stricken, after a stay on the shores of the lake lasting some days.
However, my experiences were interesting, if only because they were in
great measure the result of ignorance. Up to this time my sporting
experience had dealt only with snipe and turkey shooting in Florida, for
on my road from the coast, the little game seen was too wary to give me
a chance of putting a rifle to my shoulder.
The shores of Lake Jipe, where I pitched my tent, were quite flat and
separated from the open water of the lake by a wide belt of swamp
growth. I had brought with me, for the purpose of constructing a raft,
several bundles of the stems of a large palm growing in Taveta. These
were dry and as light as cork. In a few hours' time my men constructed a
raft, fifteen feet in length and five feet in width. On trial, it was
found capable of supporting two men, but even with this light load it
sank some inches below the surface of the water. I fastened a deal box
on the forward end as seat, and instructed one of the men, who said he
understood boatman's work, to stand in the stern and punt the craft
along with a pole. During the night my slumbers were constantly
disturbed by the deep, ominous grunting of hippopotami, which, as if to
show their contempt for my prowess, chose a path to their feeding
grounds which led them within a few yards of my camp. The night, though
starlit, was too dark for a shot, so I curbed my impatience till the
morning.
As most people are aware, the day begins in the tropics as nearly as
possible at 6 o'clock and lasts twelve hours. Two hours before dawn I
was up and fortifying myself against the damp morning air with a good
breakfast of roast chicken, rice and coffee. My men, wrapped in their
thin cotton shirts, lay about the fires on the damp ground, seemingly
unmindful of rheumatism and fever, and only desirous to sleep as long
as possible. I awoke my crew at a little after 5, and he, unassisted,
launched the raft. The swamp grass buoyed it up manfully, so that it
looked as if it disdained to touch the yellow waters of the lake. When
it had been pushed along till the water was found to be two feet deep, I
had myself carried to the raft and seated myself on the box. I was clad
only in a flannel shirt, and carried my .577 with ten rounds of
ammunition. As we slowly started on our way, my men woke up one by one,
and shouted cheering words to us, such as, "Look out for the
crocodiles!" "If master dies, who'll pay us!" These cries, added to the
dismal chill of the air and my boatman's only too apparent dislike of
his job, almost caused me to turn back; but, of course, that was out of
the question.
Half an hour from the shore found me on the edge of the open water, and,
as if to endorse my undertaking, day began to break. That sunrise!
Opposite me the rough outlines of the Ugucno Mountains, rising several
thousand feet, lost their shadows one by one, and far to the right
towered Mt. Kilimanjaro, nearly four miles high, its snowy rounded top
roseate with the soft light of dawn. But in Africa at least one's
higher sensibilities are dulled by the animal side of his nature, and I
fear I welcomed the sun more for the warmth of its rays than for the
beautiful and fleeting vision it produced. Then the hippos! While the
sun was rising my raft was not at rest, but was being propelled by slow
strong strokes toward the center of the lake, and as the darkness
lessened I saw the surface of the lake dotted here and there by spots,
which soon resolved themselves into the black, box-like heads of my
game. They were to all appearance motionless and appeared quite
unconscious or indifferent to the presence, in their particular domain,
of our strange craft and its burden.
I approached them steadily, going more slowly as the water grew deeper,
and more time was needed for the pulling out and dipping in of the pole.
When, however, I had reached a position some 150 yards from the nearest
group, five in number, they all with a loud snort faced me. I kept on,
despite the ardent prayer of the boatman, and when within 100 yards, and
upon seeing three of the hippos disappear beneath the surface, I took
careful aim and fired at the nearest of the remaining two. I could see
the splash of my bullet as it skipped harmlessly along the surface of
the lake, and knew I had missed. At once all heads in sight disappeared.
There must have been fifty in view when the sun rose. Presently, one by
one, they reappeared, and this time, as if impelled by curiosity, came
much closer than before. I took aim at one not fifty yards away, and
could hear the thud of the bullet as it struck. I thought, as the hippo
at once disappeared, that it was done for. I had not yet learned that
the brain of these animals is very small, and that the only fatal shot
is under the ear.
After this shot, as after my first, all heads vanished, but this time I
had to wait much longer ere they ventured to show themselves. When they
did reappear, however, it was too close for comfort. One great head,
blinking its small eyes and holding its little horselike ears at
attention, was not twenty feet away, and another was still closer on my
other side. While hesitating at which to shoot I lost my opportunity,
for they both ducked simultaneously.
I was riveted to my uncomfortable seat, and I could hear my boatman
murmuring "Allah!" with fright, when slowly, but steadily, I felt the
raft rise under my feet. Instinctively I remembered I had but one .577
rifle, and hastened, my hands trembling, to fasten it with a loose
rope's end to the raft. My boatman yelled with terror, and at that
fearful cry the raft splashed back in the water and all was again still.
One of the hippos, either with his back or head, must have come in
contact with the bottom of the raft as he rose to the surface. How far
he would have gone had not the negro screamed I do not know, but as it
was it seemed as if we were being held in mid air for many minutes. I
fancy the poor brute was almost as frightened as we were, for he did not
reappear near the raft.
I now thought discretion the better part of valor, and satisfied myself
with shooting at the animal from a somewhat greater distance. I hit two
more in the head and two--who showed a good foot of their fat bodies
above the water--in the sides. None floated on the surface, legs up, as
I had been led to expect they would do; but the men assured me that they
never come to the surface till sundown, no matter what time of day they
may have been shot. This, needless to state, I afterward found, is not
true. My ammunition being exhausted, and the sun blazing hot, I
returned to camp. I awoke the next day feeling anything but energetic;
nevertheless, I set out to see what game the land held ready for the
hunter, dissatisfied with his experiences on water. The country on the
eastern side of Lake Jipe is almost flat, but is dotted here and there
with low steep gneiss hills, stretching in an indefinite line parallel
to the lake and some three miles distant from it. I made my way toward
these hills. On the way I put up some very small antelope, which ran in
such an irregular manner that they presented no mark to my unskilled
arm.
We reached the hills, and I climbed one and scanned the horizon with my
glasses. Far to the northwest I spied two black spots in a grassy plain.
I gave the glasses to my gun-bearer and he at once said, "Rhinoceros!" I
had never seen these beasts except in a menagerie, and the mention of
the name brought me to my feet eager to come to a closer acquaintance
with them. The wind blew toward me and the game was too far for the need
of caution, so I walked rapidly in their direction. When I got to within
250 yards, I could quite easily distinguish the appearance of my quarry.
They were lying down and apparently oblivious to my approach--perhaps
asleep. My gun-bearer (a Swahili) now began to show an anxiety to turn
back. This desire is, in many cases, the distinguishing trait of this
race. On we went, but now cautiously and silently. The grass was about
two feet high, so that by crawling on hands and knees, one could conceal
most of his body. But this position is not a pleasant one with a blazing
sun on the back, rough soil under the knees and a thirteen-pound rifle
in the hand.
We got to within fifty yards. I looked back for the negro with my .577.
He was lying flat on his stomach fifty yards to the rear. I stood up to
beckon him, but he did not move. The rhinos did, and my attention was
recalled to them by hearing loud snorts, and, turning my head, I saw the
two beasts on their feet facing me. I had never shot an 8-bore in my
life before, so it is not to be wondered at that the shock of the recoil
placed me on my back. The animals were off before I could recover my
feet, and my second barrel was not discharged. I ran after them, but the
pace of a rhino is much faster than it looks, and I soon found pursuit
useless. I returned to the place where they had lain, and on looking
about found traces of fresh blood. My gun-bearer, as an explanation for
his behavior, said that rhinos were devils, and were not to be
approached closely. He said I must be possessed of miraculous power, or
they would have charged and slain me. The next day, fever laid me low,
and, though the attack was slight, some days elapsed before I could
muster strength to take me back to Taveta.
After a few days' rest in camp--strengthened by good food and spurred to
fresh exertion by the barren result of my first effort--I set out again,
accompanied by more men and in a different direction.
My faith in myself received a pleasant encouragement the day before my
departure. My head man came to me and said trade was at a standstill,
and that the natives could not be induced to bring food to sell. On
asking him why, I learned that the Taveta people had found three dead
hippos in Lake Jipe and one rhino near its shores. Meat--a rare treat to
them, even when not quite fresh--filled their minds and bodies, and they
were proof even against the most tempting beads and the brightest
cloths. I cannot say that I shared my head man's anxiety. The fact that
I had not labored altogether in vain, even though others reaped the
benefit of my efforts, filled me with a certain satisfaction.
A day's march from Taveta brought me to the banks of an almost stagnant
brook, where I made camp. The country round about was a plain studded
with low hills, here thinly thatched with short grass, and there
shrouded with thick bush, above which every now and then rose a giant
acacia. The morning after my arrival, I set out from camp with my 8-bore
in my hands and hope in my heart. Not 200 yards from my tent, I was
startled by a snort and then by the sight of two rhinos dashing across
my path some fifty yards away. This time I did not succumb to my gun's
recoil, but had the doubtful satisfaction of seeing, from a standing
position, the animals disappear in the bush. I made after them and
found, to my delight, a clear trail of fresh blood. Eagerly pressing on,
I was somewhat suddenly checked in my career by almost stumbling over a
rhino apparently asleep on its side, with its head toward me. Bang! went
the 8-bore and down I went. I was the only creature disturbed by the
shot, as the rhino had been dead some minutes--slain by my first shot;
and my satisfaction was complete when I found the hole made by my
bullet. My men shouted and sang over this, the first fruits of my
expedition, and even at this late day I forgive myself for the feeling
of pride I then experienced. I have a table at home made of a piece of
this animal's hide, and supported in part by one of its horns.
The next day I made an early start and worked till 4 o'clock P. M., with
no result. Then, being some eight miles from camp, I turned my face
toward home. I had not gone far, and had reached the outskirts of an
almost treeless savanna, when my gun-bearer brought me to a halt by the
word _mbogo_. This I knew meant buffalo. I adjusted my glass and
followed the direction of my man's finger. There, 500 yards away, I saw
a solitary buffalo feeding slowly along toward two low bushes, but on
the further side of them. I did not think what rifle I held (it was a
.450), but dashed forward at once. My gun-bearer was more thoughtful and
brought with him my .577. We actually ran. When within eighty or ninety
yards of the two bushes behind which the beast was now hidden. I
slackened pace and approached more cautiously. My heart was beating and
my hands trembling with the exertion of running when I reached the
nearest bush, and my nerves were not exactly steadied by meeting the
vicious gaze of a large buffalo, who stood not thirty feet on the other
side. My gun-bearer in an instant forced the .577 into my hands, and I
took aim at the shoulder of the brute and fired, without knowing exactly
what I was doing. The smoke cleared, and there, almost in his tracks,
lay my first buffalo. His ignorance of my noisy and careless approach
was apparently accounted for by his great age. His hide was almost
hairless and his horns worn blunt with many encounters. He must have
been quite deaf and almost blind, or his behavior cannot be accounted
for. The noise made by our approach, even with the favorable wind, was
sufficient to frighten any animal, or at least put it on its guard.
My men, who were dreadfully afraid of big game of all sorts, when they
saw the buffalo lying dead, danced with joy and exultation. They kicked
the dead body and shouted curses at it. Camp was distant a good two
hours' march, and the day was drawing to a close. The hungry howl of the
hyenas warned me that my prize would soon be taken from me were it left
unguarded. So piles of firewood were made and the carcass surrounded by
a low wall of flames. I left three men in charge and set out for camp.
There was but little light and my way lay through bits of forest and
much bush. Our progress was slow, and my watch read 10:30 P. M. before I
reached my tent and bed.
The following day I set out for a shooting ground distant two days'
march from where I had been camped. Several rivers lay in my path and
two tribes of natives. These natives inhabit thick forest and are in
terror of strangers, as they are continually harassed by their
neighbors. When they saw the smallness of my force, however, they
endeavored to turn me aside, but without success. Quiet and
determination generally win with these people. The rivers gave me more
trouble, as they were deep and swift of current, and my friends, the
natives, had removed all bridges. But none of the streams exceeded
thirty feet in width, and an hour's hard work with our axes always
provided us with a bridge.
The second day from my former camp brought me to the outskirts of the
forest and the beginning of open country. I had hardly made camp before
three Swahili traders came to me, and after the usual greetings began to
weep in chorus. Their story was a common one. They had set out from
Mombasa with twelve others to trade for slaves and ivory with the
natives who inhabit the slopes of Kilimanjaro. Fortune had favored them,
and after four months they were on their way homeward with eighteen
slaves and five good sized tusks. The first day's journey was just over
when they were attacked by natives, three of their number slain and all
their property stolen. In the darkness they could not distinguish what
natives attacked them; but their suspicions rested on the very tribe
among whom they had spent the four months, and from whom they had
purchased the ivory and slaves. I gave them a little cloth and some
food, and a note to my people at Taveta to help them on their way. Of
course, they were slave traders, and as such ought possibly to have been
beaten from my camp. But it is undoubtedly a fact that Mahomedans look
on slave trading as a perfectly legitimate occupation; and if people are
not breaking their own laws, I cannot see that a stranger should treat
them as brigands and refuse them the least aid when in distress. I know
that my point of view in this matter has few supporters in civilization.
The next day, after a short march, I pitched my tent on the banks of a
small stream, and then set out to prospect for game. I found nothing,
but that night my slumbers were disturbed by the splashing and grunting
of a herd of buffalo drinking.
These sounds kept me awake, so that I was enabled to make a very early
start--setting out with four men at 4:45. The natives had assured me
that the buffalo came to drink about midnight, and then fed slowly back
to their favorite sleeping-places in the thick bush, reaching there just
about sunrise. By making such an early start I hoped to come up with my
quarry in the open places on the edge of the thick bush just before
dawn, when the light is sufficiently bright to enable one to see the
foresight of a rifle. Dew falls like rain in this part of the world, and
we had not gone fifty paces in the long grass before we were soaking
wet, and dismally cold to boot. My guide, cheered by the prospect of a
good present, led us confidently along the most intricate paths and
through the thickest bush. The moon overhead, which was in its
fifteenth day, gave excellent light. Every now and then some creature
would dash across our path, or stand snorting fearfully till we had
passed. These were probably waterbuck and bushbuck. Toward half past
five the light of the moon paled before the first glow of dawn, and we
found ourselves on the outskirts of a treeless prairie, dotted here and
there with bushes and covered with short dry grass. Across this plain
lay the bush where my guide assured me the buffalo slept during the day,
and according to him at that moment somewhere between me and this bush
wandered at least 100 buffalo. There was little wind, and what there was
came in gentle puffs against our right cheeks. I made a sharp detour to
the left, walking quickly for some twenty minutes. Then, believing
ourselves to be below the line of the buffalo, and therefore free to
advance in their direction, we did so.
Just as the sun rose we had traversed the plain and stood at the edge of
what my men called the _nyumba ya mbogo_ (the buffalo's home). We were
too late. Fresh signs everywhere showed that my guide had spoken the
truth. Now I questioned him as to the bush; how thick it was, etc. At
that my men fidgeted uneasily and murmured "Mr. Dawnay." This young
Englishman had been killed by buffalo in the bush but four months
before. However, two of my men volunteered to follow me, so I set out on
the track of the herd.
This bush in which the buffalo live is not more than ten feet high, is
composed of a network of branches and is covered with shiny green
leaves; it has no thorns. Here and there one will meet with a stunted
acacia, which, as if to show its spite against its more attractive
neighbors, is clothed with nothing but the sharpest thorns. The buffalo,
from constant wandering among the bush, have formed a perfect maze of
paths. These trails are wide enough under foot, but meet just over one's
shoulders, so that it is impossible to maintain an upright position. The
paths run in all directions, and therefore one cannot see far ahead.
Were it not for the fact that here and there--often 200 feet apart,
however--are small open patches, it would be almost useless to enter
such a fastness. These open places lure one on, as from their edges it
is often possible to get a good shot. Once started, we took up the path
which showed the most and freshest spoor, and, stooping low, pressed on
as swiftly and noiselessly as possible. We had not gone far before we
came upon a small opening, from the center of which rose an acacia not
more than eight inches in thickness of trunk and perhaps eighteen feet
high. It was forked at the height of a man's shoulder. I carried the
8-bore, and was glad of an opportunity to rest it in the convenient fork
before me. I had just done so, when crash! snort! bellow! came several
animals (presumably buffalo) in our direction. One gun-bearer literally
flew up the tree against which I rested my rifle; the other, regardless
of consequences, hurled his naked skin against another but smaller tree,
also thorny; both dropped their rifles. I stood sheltered behind eight
inches of acacia wood, with my rifle pointed in front of me and still
resting in the fork of the tree. The noise of the herd approached nearer
and nearer, and my nerves did not assume that steelly quality I had
imagined always resulted from a sudden danger. Fly I could not, and the
only tree climbable was already occupied; so I stood still.
Just as I looked for the appearance of the beasts in the little opening
in which I stood, the crashing noise separated in two portions--each
passing under cover on either side of the opening. I could see nothing,
but my ears were filled with the noise. The uproar ceased, and I asked
the negro in the tree what had happened. He said, when he first climbed
the tree he could see the bushes in our front move like the waves of the
sea, and then, _Ham del illah_--praise be to God--the buffalo turned on
either side and left our little opening safe. Had they not turned, but
charged straight at us, I fancy I should have had a disagreeable moment.
As it was, I began to understand why buffalo shooting in the bush has
been always considered unsafe, and began to regret that the road back to
the open plain was not a shorter one. We reached it in safety, however,
and, after a short rest, set out up wind.
I got a hartbeest and an mpallah before noon, and then, satisfied with
my day, returned to camp. By 4 P. M. my men had brought in all the meat,
and soon the little camp was filled with strips of fresh meat hanging on
ropes of twisted bark. The next day we exchanged the meat for flour,
beans, pumpkins and Indian corn. I remained in this camp three more days
and then returned to Taveta. Each one of these days I attempted to get a
shot at buffalo, but never managed it. On one occasion I caught a
glimpse of two of these animals in the open, but they were too wary to
allow me to approach them.
When I reached Taveta, I found a capital camp had been built during my
absence, and that a food supply had been laid in sufficient for several
weeks. Shortly after my arrival I was startled by the reports of many
rifles, and soon was delighted to grasp the hands of two
compatriots--Dr. Abbott and Mr. Stevens. They had just returned from a
shooting journey in Masai land, and reported game plenty and natives not
troublesome. My intention was then formed to circumnavigate Mt.
Kilimanjaro, pass over the yet untried shooting grounds and then to
return to the coast.
I left five men in camp at Taveta in charge of most of my goods, and,
taking 118 men with me, set out into Masai land. Even at this late date
(1895) the Masai are reckoned dangerous customers. Up to 1889 but five
European caravans had entered their territory, and all but the
last--that of Dr. Abbott--had reported difficulties with the natives. My
head man, a capital fellow, had had no experience with these people, and
did not look forward with pleasure to making their acquaintance; but he
received orders to prepare for a start with apparent cheerfulness. We
carried with us one ton of beans and dried bananas as food supply. This
was sufficient for a few weeks, but laid me under the necessity of doing
some successful shooting, should I carry out my plan of campaign. Just
on the borders of Masai land live the Useri people, who inhabit the
northeast slopes of Kilimanjaro. We stopped a day or two with them to
increase our food supply, and while the trading was going on I descended
to the plain in search of sport.
I left camp at dawn and it was not till noon that I saw game. Then I
discovered three rhinos; two together lying down, and one solitary,
nearly 500 yards away from the others. The two lying down were nearest
me, but were apparently unapproachable, owing to absolute lack of cover.
The little plain they had chosen for their nap was as flat as a billiard
table and quite bare of grass. The wind blew steadily from them and
whispered me to try my luck, so I crawled cautiously toward them. When I
got to within 150 yards, one of the beasts rose and sniffed anxiously
about and then lay down again. The rhinoceros is nearly blind when in
the bright sun--at night it can see like an owl. I kept on, and when
within 100 yards rose to my knees and fired one barrel of my .577. The
rhinos leapt to their feet and charged straight at me. "Shall I load the
other barrel or trust to only one?" This thought ran through my mind,
but the speed of the animals' approach gave me no time to reply to it.
My gun-bearer was making excellent time across the plain toward a group
of trees, so I could make no use of the 8-bore. The beasts came on side
by side, increasing their speed and snorting like steam engines as they
ran. They were disagreeably close when I fired my second barrel and rose
to my feet to bolt to one side. As I rose they swerved to the left and
passed not twenty feet from me, apparently blind to my whereabouts. I
must have hit one with my second shot, for they were too close to permit
a miss. Perhaps that shot turned them. Be that as it may, I felt that I
had had a narrow escape.
When these rhinos had quite disappeared, my faithful gun-bearer
returned, and smilingly congratulated me on what he considered my good
fortune. He then called my attention to the fact that rhinoceros number
three was still in sight, and apparently undisturbed by what had
happened to his friends. Between the beast and me, stretched an open
plain for some 350 yards, then came three or four small trees, and then
from these trees rose a semi-circular hill or rather ridge, on the crest
of which stood the rhino. I made for the trees, and, distrusting my
gun-bearer, took from him the .577 and placed it near one of them. Then,
telling him to retire to a comfortable spot, I advanced with my 8-bore
up the hill toward my game. The soil was soft as powder, so my footsteps
made no noise. Cover, with the exception of a small skeleton bush, but
fifty yards below the rhino, there was none. I reached the bush and
knelt down behind it. The rhino was standing broadside on, motionless
and apparently asleep. I rose and fired, and saw that I had aimed true,
when the animal wheeled round and round in his track. I fired again, and
he then stood still, facing me. I had one cartridge in my pocket and
slipped it in the gun. As I raised the weapon to my shoulder, down the
hill came my enemy. His pace was slow and I could see that he limped.
The impetus given him by the descent kept him going, and his speed
seemed to increase. I fired straight at him and then dropped behind the
bush. He still came on and in my direction; so I leapt to my feet, and,
losing my head, ran straight away in front of him. I should have run to
one side and then up the hill. What was my horror, when pounding away at
a good gait, not more than fifty feet in front of the snorting rhino, to
find myself hurled to the ground, having twisted my ankle. I thought all
was over, when I had the instinct to roll to one side and then scramble
to my feet. The beast passed on. When he reached the bottom of the hill
his pace slackened to a walk, and I returned to where I had left my .577
and killed him at my leisure. I found the 8-bore bullet had shattered
his off hind leg, and that my second shot had penetrated his lungs. I
had left the few men I had brought with me on a neighboring hill when I
had first caught sight of the rhinos, and now sent for them. Not liking
to waste the meat, I sent to camp for twenty porters to carry it back. I
reached camp that night at 12:30 A. M., feeling quite worn out.
After a day's rest we marched to Tok-i-Tok, the frontier of Masai land.
This place is at certain seasons of the year the pasture ground of one
of the worst bands of Masai. I found it nearly deserted. The Masai I met
said their brethren were all gone on a war raid, and that this was the
only reason why I was permitted to enter the country. I told them that I
had come for the purpose of sport, and hoped to kill much game in their
country. This, however, did not appear to interest them, as the Masai
never eat the flesh of game. Nor do they hunt any, with the exception of
buffalo, whose hide they use for shields. I told them I was their friend
and hoped for peace; but, on the other hand, was prepared for war should
they attack me.
From Tok-i-Tok we marched in a leisurely manner to a place whose name
means in English "guinea fowl camp." In this case it was a misnomer, for
we were not so fortunate as to see one of these birds during our stay of
several days. At this place we were visited by some fifty Masai
warriors, who on the receipt of a small present danced and went away.
The water at guinea fowl camp consisted of a spring which rises from the
sandy soil and flows a few hundred yards, and then disappears into the
earth. This is the only drinking-place for several miles, so it is
frequented by large numbers and many varieties of game. At one time I
have seen hartbeest, wildbeest, grantii, mpallah, Thomson's oryx,
giraffes and rhinoceros. We supported the caravan on meat. I used only
the .450 Express; but my servant, George Galvin, who used the
Winchester, did better execution with his weapon than I with mine.
Here, for the first and last time in my African experiences, we had a
drive. Our camp was pitched on a low escarpment, at the bottom of which,
and some 300 feet away, lay the water. The escarpment ran east and west,
and extended beyond the camp some 500 yards, where it ended abruptly in
a cliff forty or fifty feet high. Some of my men, who were at the end of
the escarpment gathering wood, came running into camp and said that
great numbers of game were coming toward the water. I took my servant
and we ran to the end of the escarpment, where a sight thrilling indeed
to the sportsman met our eyes. First came two or three hundred wildbeest
in a solid mass; then four or five smaller herds, numbering perhaps
forty each, of hartbeest; then two herds, one of mpallah and one of
grantii. There must have been 500 head in the lot. They were approaching
in a slow, hesitating manner, as these antelope always do approach
water, especially when going down wind.
Our cover was perfect and the wind blowing steadily in our direction. I
decided, knowing that they were making for the water, and to reach it
must pass close under where we lay concealed, to allow a certain number
of them to pass before we opened fire. This plan worked perfectly. The
animals in front slackened pace when they came to within fifty yards of
us, and those behind pressed on and mingled with those in front. The
effect to the eye was charming. The bright tan-colored skins of the
hartbeest shone out in pleasing contrast to the dark gray wildbeest. Had
I not been so young, and filled with youth's thirst for blood, I should
have been a harmless spectator of this beautiful procession. But this
was not to be. On catching sight of the water, the animals quickened
their pace, and in a moment nearly half of the mass had passed our
hiding-place. A silent signal, and the .450 and the Winchester, fired in
quick succession, changed this peaceful scene into one of consternation
and slaughter. Startled out of their senses, the beasts at first halted
in their tracks, and then wheeling, as if at word of command, they
dashed rapidly up wind--those in the rear receiving a second volley as
they galloped by. When the dust cleared away, we saw lying on the
ground below us four animals--two hartbeest and two wildbeest. I am
afraid that many of those who escaped carried away with them proofs of
their temerity and our bad marksmanship.
Ngiri, our next camp, is a large swamp, surrounded first by masses of
tall cane and then by a beautiful though narrow strip of forest composed
of tall acacias. It was at this place, in the thick bush which stretches
from the swamp almost to the base of Kilimanjaro, that the Hon. Guy
Dawnay, an English sportsman, had met his death by the horns of a
buffalo but four months before. My tent was pitched within twenty paces
of his grave and just under a large acacia, which serves as his
monument, upon whose bark is cut in deep characters the name of the
victim and the date of his mishap.
Here we made a strong zariba of thorns, as we had heard we should meet a
large force of Masai in this neighborhood. I stopped ten days at Ngiri,
and, with the exception of one adventure hardly worth relating, had no
difficulty with the Masai. Undoubtedly I was very fortunate in finding
the large majority of the Masai warriors, inhabiting the country
through which I passed, absent from their homes. But at the same time I
venture to think that the ferocity of these people has been much
overrated, especially in regard to Europeans; for the force at my
disposal was not numerous enough to overawe them had they been evilly
disposed.
One morning, after I had been some days at Ngiri, I set out with twenty
men to procure meat for the camp. The sun had not yet risen, and I was
pursuing my way close to the belt of reeds which surrounds the swamp,
when I saw in the dim light a black object standing close to the reeds.
My men said it was a hippo, but as I drew nearer I could distinguish the
outlines of a gigantic buffalo, broadside on and facing from the swamp.
When I got to within what I afterwards found by pacing it off to be 103
paces, I raised my .577 to my shoulder, and, taking careful aim at the
brute's shoulder, fired. When the smoke cleared away there was nothing
in sight. Knowing the danger of approaching these animals when wounded,
I waited until the sun rose, and then cautiously approached the spot.
The early rays of the sun witnessed the last breathings of one of the
biggest buffaloes ever shot in Africa. Its head is now in the
Smithsonian Institute at Washington, and, according to the measurement
made by Mr. Rowland Ward, Piccadilly, London, it ranks among the first
five heads ever set up by him.
After sending the head, skin and meat back to camp, I continued my way
along the shore of the swamp. The day had begun well and I hardly hoped
for any further sport, but I was pleasantly disappointed.
Toward 11 o'clock I entered a tall acacia forest, and had not proceeded
far in it before my steps were arrested by the sight of three elephants,
lying down not 100 yards from me. They got our wind at once, and were up
and off before I could get a shot. I left all my men but one gun-bearer
on the outskirts of the forest and followed upon the trail of the
elephant. I had not gone fifteen minutes before I had traversed the
forest, and entered the thick and almost impenetrable bush beyond it.
And hardly had I forced my way a few paces into this bush, when a sight
met my eyes which made me stop and think. Sixty yards away, his head
towering above the surrounding bush, stood a monstrous tusker. His trunk
was curled over his back in the act of sprinkling dust over his
shoulders. His tusks gleamed white and beautiful. He lowered his head,
and I could but just see the outline of his skull and the tips of his
ears. This time my gun-bearer did not run. The sight of the ivory
stirred in him a feeling, which, in a Swahili, often conquers
fear--cupidity. I raised some dust in my hand and threw it in the air,
to see which way the wind blew. It was favorable. Then beckoning my
gun-bearer, I moved forward at a slight angle, so as to come opposite
the brute's shoulder. I had gone but a few steps when the bush opened
and I got a good sight of his head and shoulder. He was apparently
unconscious of our presence and was lazily flapping his ears against his
sides. Each time he did this, a cloud of dust arose, and a sound like
the tap of a bass drum broke the stillness. I fired my .577 at the outer
edge of his ear while it was lying for an instant against his side. A
crash of bush, then silence, and no elephant in sight. I began to think
that I had been successful, but the sharper senses of the negro enabled
him to know the contrary. His teeth chattered, and for a moment he was
motionless with terror. Then he pointed silently to his left. I stooped
and looked under the bush. Not twenty feet away was a sight which made
me share the feelings of my gun-bearer. The elephant was the picture of
rage; his forelegs stretched out in front of him, his trunk curled high
in the air, and his ears lying back along his neck. I seized my 8-bore
and took aim at his foreward knee, but before I could fire, he was at
us. I jumped to one side and gave him a two-ounce ball in the shoulder,
which apparently decided him on retreat. The bush was so thick that in a
moment he was out of sight. I followed him for some time, but saw no
more of him. His trail mingled with that of a large herd, which, after
remaining together for some time, apparently separated in several
directions. The day was blazing hot, and I was in the midst of a
pathless bush, far away from my twenty men.
By 2 P. M., I had come up with them again and turned my face toward
camp. On the way thither, I killed two zebras, a waterbuck and a
Thomsonii. By the time the meat was cut up and packed on my men's heads
the sun had set. The moon was magnificently bright and served to light
our road. For one mile our way led across a perfectly level plain. This
plain was covered with a kind of salt as white as snow, and with the
bright moon every object was as easily distinguished as by day. The
fresh meat proved an awkward load for my men, and we frequently were
forced to stop while one or the other re-arranged the mass he carried.
They were very cheery about it, however, and kept shouting to one
another how much they would enjoy the morrow's feast. Their shouts were
answered by the mocking wails of many hyenas, who hovered on our flanks
and rear like a pursuing enemy. I shot two of these beasts, which kept
their friends busy for a while, and enabled us to pursue our way in
peace.
This white plain reaches nearly to the shores of Ngiri Swamp on the
north, and to the east it is bounded by a wall of densely thick bush. We
had approached to within 400 yards of the point where the line of bush
joins the swamp, when I noticed a small herd of wildbeest walking slowly
toward us, coming from the edge of the swamp. A few moments later, a cry
escaped from my gun-bearer, who grasped my arm and whispered eagerly,
_simba_. This means lion. He pointed to the wall of bush, and near it,
crawling on its belly toward the wildbeest, was the form of a lion. I
knelt down and raised the night sight of my .450, and fired at the
moving form. The white soil and the bright moon actually enabled me to
distinguish the yellow color of its skin. A loud growl answered the
report of my rifle, and I could see the white salt of the plain fly as
the lion ran round and round in a circle, like a kitten after its tail.
I fired my second barrel and the lion disappeared. The wildbeest had
made off at the first shot. I tried, in the eagerness of youth, to
follow the lion in the bush; but soon common sense came to my rescue,
and warned me that in this dark growth the chances were decidedly in
favor of the lion's getting me, and so gave up the chase. Now, if I had
only waited till the great cat had got one of the wildbeest, I feel
pretty sure I should have been able to dispose of it at my leisure. When
I returned to camp, I ungratefully lost sight of the good luck I had
had, and gnashed my teeth at the thought that I had missed bringing home
a lion and an elephant. I was not destined to see a lion again on this
journey, but my annoyance at my ill fortune was often whetted by hearing
them roar.
However, by good luck and by George's help, I succeeded in securing one
elephant. The story of how this happened shall be the last hunting
adventure recorded in this article. We had left Ngiri and were camped at
the next water, some ten miles to the west. I had been out after
giraffes and had not been unsuccessful, and therefore had reached camp
in high good humor, when George came to me and said things were going
badly in camp--that the men had decided to desert me should I try to
push further on into the country; and that both head men seemed to think
further progress was useless with the men in such temper. I was puzzled
what to do, but wasted no time about making up my mind to do something.
I went into the tent and called the two head men to me. After a little
delay, they came, greeted me solemnly and at a motion from me crouched
on their hams. There is but little use in allowing a negro to state a
grievance, particularly if you know it is an imaginary one. The mere act
of putting their fancied wrongs into words magnifies them in their own
minds, and renders them less likely to listen to reason. My knowledge of
Swahili at this time did not permit me to address them in their own
language, so I spoke to them in English, knowing that they understood at
least a few words of that tongue. I told them that I was determined to
push on; that I knew that porters were like sheep and were perfectly
under the control of the head men; consequently, should anything happen,
I would know on whom to fix the blame. I repeated this several times,
and emphasized it with dreadful threats, then motioned for them to leave
the tent. I cannot say that I passed a comfortable night. Instead of
songs and laughter, an ominous stillness reigned in the camp, and,
though my words had been brave, I knew that I was entirely at the mercy
of the men.
Before dawn we were under way, keeping a strict watch for any signs of
mutiny. But, though the men were sullen, they showed no signs of turning
back. Our road lay over a wide plain, everywhere covered thickly with
lava, the aspect of which was arid in the extreme.
No more green buffalo bush, no more acacias, tall and beautiful, but in
their place rose columns of dust, whirled hither and thither by the
vagrant wind. Two of my men had been over this part of the road before,
but they professed to be ignorant of the whereabouts of the next water
place. Any hesitation on my part would have been the signal for a
general retreat, so there was nothing for it but to assume a look of the
utmost indifference, and to assure them calmly that we should find
water. At noon the appearance of the country had not changed. My men,
who had incautiously neglected to fill their water bottles in the
morning, were beginning to show signs of distress.
Suddenly my gun-bearer, pointing to the left, showed me two herds of
elephants approaching us. The larger herd, composed principally of
bulls, was nearer to us, and probably got our wind; for they at once
turned sharply to their right and increased their pace. The other herd
moved on undisturbed. I halted the caravan, told the men to sit down and
went forward to meet the elephants, with my servant and two gun-bearers.
I carried a .577, my servant carried the old 12-bore by Lang, his
cartridges crammed to the muzzle with powder. We were careful to avoid
giving the elephants our wind, so we advanced parallel to them, but in a
direction opposite to that in which they were going. As they passed us
we crouched, and they seemed unconscious of our presence. They went
about 400 yards past us, and then halted at right angles to the route
they had been pursuing. There were five elephants in this herd--four
large, and one small one, bringing up the rear. Some 60 yards on their
right flank was a small skeleton bush, and, making a slight detour, we
directed our course toward that. The leading animal was the largest, so
I decided to devote our attention to that one. I told George to fire at
the leg and I would try for the heart. We fired simultaneously, George
missing and my shot taking effect altogether too high.
Two things resulted from the discharge of our rifles: the gun-bearers
bolted with their weapons and the elephants charged toward us in line of
battle. As far as I can calculate, an elephant at full speed moves 100
yards in about ten seconds, so my readers can judge how much time
elapsed before the elephants were upon us. We fired again. My shot did
no execution, but George, who had remained in a kneeling position, broke
the off foreleg of the leading animal at the knee. It fell, and the
others at once stopped. We then made off, and watched from a little
distance a most interesting sight.
The condition of the wounded elephant seemed to be known to the others,
for they crowded about her and apparently offered her assistance. She
placed her trunk on the back of one standing in front of her and raised
herself to her feet, assisted by those standing around. They actually
moved her for some distance, but soon got tired of their kindly efforts.
We fired several shots at them, which only had the effect of making two
of the band charge in our direction and then return to their stricken
comrade. Cover there was none, and with our bad marksmanship it would
have been (to say the least) brutal to blaze away at the gallant little
herd. Besides, cries of "water!" "water!" were heard coming from my
thirsty caravan. So there was nothing for it but to leave the elephant,
take the people to water, if we could find it, and then return and put
the wounded animal out of its misery.
An hour and a half later we reached water, beautiful and clear, welling
up from the side of a small hill. This is called Masimani. On reaching
the water, all signs of discontent among my people vanished, and those
among them who were not Mahomedans, and therefore had no scruples about
eating elephant meat, raised a cheerful cry of _tembo tamu_--elephant
is sweet. I did not need a second hint, but returned, and, finding the
poor elephant deserted by its companions, put it out of its misery. It
was a cow with a fine pair of tusks. The sun was setting, and my men,
knowing that activity was the only means of saving their beloved
elephant meat from hyenas, attacked the body with fury--some with axes,
others with knives and one or two with sword bayonets. It was a terrible
sight, and I was glad to leave them at it and return to camp, well
satisfied with my day's work.
From Masimani, for the next four days, the road had never been trodden
by even an Arab caravan. I had no idea of the whereabouts of water, nor
had my men; but, having made a success of the first day's march, the men
followed me cheerfully, believing me possessed of magic power and
certain to lead them over a well-watered path. A kind providence did
actually bring us to water each night. The country was so dry that it
was absolutely deserted by the inhabitants, the Masai, and great was the
surprise of the Kibonoto people when we reached there on the fourth day.
They thought that we had dropped from the clouds, and said there could
not have been any water over the road we had just come. These Kibonoto
people had never been visited by an European, but received us kindly.
The people of Kibonoto are the westernmost inhabitants on the slopes of
Kilimanjaro.
From there to Taveta our road was an easy one, lying through friendly
peoples. After a brief rest at Taveta, I returned to the coast, reaching
Zanzibar a little over six months after I had set out from it.
Perhaps a word about the climate of the part of the country through
which I passed will not be amiss. Both my servant and myself suffered
from fever, but not to any serious extent. If a sedentary life is
avoided--and this is an easy matter while on a journey--if one avoids
morning dews and evening damps, and protects his head and the back of
his neck from the sun, I do not think the climate of East Africa would
be hurtful to any ordinarily healthy person. For my part, I do not think
either my servant or myself have suffered any permanent ill effects from
our venture; and yet the ages of twenty-one and seventeen are not those
best suited for travels in the tropics.
_W. A. Chanler._
[Illustration: A MOUNTAIN SHEEP.]