THE TSAVO RIVER.
XXV.
VOI.
Part way up the narrow-gauge railroad from the coast is a station called
Voi. On his way to the interior the traveller stops there for an evening
meal. It is served in a high, wide stone room by white-robed Swahilis
under command of a very efficient and quiet East Indian. The voyager
steps out into the darkness to look across the way upon the outlines of
two great rounded hills against an amethyst sky. That is all he ever
sees of Voi, for on the down trip he passes through it about two o'clock
in the morning.
At that particularly trying hour F. and I descended, and attempted, by
the light of lanterns, to sort out twenty safari boys strange to us, and
miscellaneous camp stores. We did not entirely succeed. Three men were
carried on down the line, and the fly to our tent was never seen again.
The train disappeared. Our boys, shivering, crept into corners. We took
possession of the dak-bungalow maintained by the railroad for just such
travellers as ourselves. It was simply a high stone room, with three
iron beds, and a corner so cemented that one could pour pails of water
over one's self without wetting the whole place. The beds were supplied
with mosquito canopies and strong wire springs. Over these we spread our
own bedding, and thankfully resumed our slumbers.
The morning discovered to us Voi as the station, the district
commissioner's house on a distant side hill, and a fairly extensive East
Indian bazaar. The keepers of the latter traded with the natives.
Immediately about the station grew some flat shady trees. All else was
dense thorn scrub pressing close about the town. Opposite were the tall,
rounded mountains.
Nevertheless, in spite of its appearance, Voi has its importance in the
scheme of things. From it, crossing the great Serengetti desert, runs
the track to Kilimanjaro and that part of German East Africa. The
Germans have as yet no railroad; so they must perforce patronize the
British line thus far, and then trek across. As the Kilimanjaro
district is one rich in natives and trade, the track is well used. Most
of the transport is done by donkeys--either in carts or under the pack
saddle. As the distance from water to water is very great, the journey
is a hard one. This fact, and the incidental consideration that from fly
and hardship the mortality in donkeys is very heavy, pushes the freight
rates high. And that fact accounts for the motor car, which has been my
point of aim from the beginning of this paragraph.
The motor car plies between Voi and the German line at exorbitant rates.
Our plan was to have it take us and some galvanized water tanks out into
the middle of the desert and dump us down there. So after breakfast we
hunted up the owner.
He proved to be a very short, thick-set, blond German youth who
justified Weber and Fields. In fact, he talked so exactly like those
comedians that my task in visualizing him to you is somewhat lightened.
If all, instead of merely a majority of my readers, had seen Weber and
Fields that task would vanish.
We explained our plan, and asked him his price.
"Sefen hundert and feefty rupees,"[11] said he uncompromisingly.
He was abrupt, blunt, and insulting. As we wanted transportation very
much--though not seven hundred and fifty rupees' worth--we persisted. He
offered an imperturbable take-it-or-leave-it stolidity. The motor truck
stood near. I said something technical about the engine; then something
more. He answered these remarks, though grudgingly. I suggested that it
took a mighty good driver to motor through this rough country. He
mentioned a particular hill. I proposed that we should try the station
restaurant for beer while he told me about it. He grunted, but headed
for the station.
For two hours we listened to the most blatant boasting. He was a great
driver; he had driven for M., the American millionaire; for the Chinese
Ambassador to France; for Grand-Duke Alexis; for the Kaiser himself! We
learned how he had been the trusted familiar of these celebrities, how
on various occasions--all detailed at length--he had been treated by
them as an equal; and he told us sundry sly, slanderous, and disgusting
anecdotes of these worthies, his forefinger laid one side his nose.
When we finally got him worked up to the point of going to get some
excessively bad photographs, "I haf daken myself!" we began to have
hopes. So we tentatively approached once more the subject of
transportation.
Then the basis of the trouble came out. One Davis, M.P. from England,
had also dealt with our friend. Davis, as we reconstructed him, was of
the blunt type, with probably very little feeling of democracy for those
in subordinate positions, and with, most certainly, a good deal of
insular and racial prejudice. Evidently a rather vague bargain had been
struck, and the motor had set forth. Then ensued financial wranglings
and disputes as to terms. It ended by useless hauteur on Davis's part,
and inexcusable but effective action by the German. For Davis found
himself dumped down on the Serengetti desert and left there.
We heard all this in excruciatingly funny Weberandfieldese, many times
repeated. The German literally beat his breast and cried aloud against
Davis. We unblushingly sacrificed a probably perfectly worthy Davis to
present need, and cried out against him too.
"Am I like one dog?" demanded the German fervently.
"Certainly not," we cried with equal fervour. We both like dogs.
Then followed wearisomely reiterated assurances that we, at least, knew
how a gentleman should be treated, and more boasting of proud
connections in the past. But the end of it was a bargain of reasonable
dimensions for ourselves, our personal boys, and our loads. Under plea
of starting our safari boys off we left him, and crept, with shattered
nerves, around the corner of the dak-bungalow. There we lurked, busy at
pretended affairs, until our friend swaggered away to the Hindu
quarters, where, it seems, he had his residence.
About ten o'clock a small safari marched in afoot. It had travelled all
of two nights across the Thirst, and was glad to get there. The single
white man in charge had been three years alone among the natives near
Kilimanjaro, and he was now out for a six months' vacation at home. Two
natives in the uniform of Sudanese troops hovered near him very
sorrowful. He splashed into the water of the dak-bungalow, and then
introduced himself. We sat in teakwood easy-chairs and talked all day.
He was a most interesting, likeable, and cordial man, at any stage of
the game. The game, by means of French vermouth--of all
drinks!--progressed steadily. We could hardly blame him for celebrating.
By the afternoon he wanted to give things away. So insistent was he that
F. finally accepted an ebony walking-stick, and I an ebony knife inset
with ivory. If we had been the least bit unscrupulous, I am afraid the
relatives at home would have missed their African souvenirs. He went out
_viâ_ freight car, all by himself, seated regally in a steamer chair
between two wide-open side doors, one native squatted on either side to
see that he did not lurch out into the landscape.
FOOTNOTES:
[11] Fifty pounds.
XXVI.
THE FRINGE-EARED ORYX.
At ten o'clock the following morning we started. On the high front seat,
under an awning, sat the German, F., and I. The body of the truck was
filled with safari loads, Memba Sasa, Simba Mohammed, and F.'s boy,
whose name I have forgotten. The arrangement on the front seat was due
to a strike on the part of F.
"Look here," said he to me, "you've got to sit next that rotter. We want
him to bring us back some water from the other side, and I'd break his
neck in ten minutes. You sit next him and give him your motor car
patter."
Therefore I took the middle seat and played chorus. The road was not a
bad one, as natural mountain roads go; I have myself driven worse in
California. Our man, however, liked to exaggerate all the difficulties,
and while doing it to point to himself with pride as a perfect wonder.
Between times he talked elementary mechanics.
"The inflammation of the sparkling plugs?" was one of his expressions
that did much to compensate.
The country mounted steadily through the densest thorn scrub I have ever
seen. It was about fifteen feet high, and so thick that its penetration,
save by made tracks, would have been an absolute impossibility. Our road
ran like a lane between two spiky jungles. Bold bright mountains cropped
up, singly and in short ranges, as far as the eye could see them.
This sort of thing for twenty miles--more than a hard day's journey on
safari. We made it in a little less than two hours; and the breeze of
our going kept us reasonably cool under our awning. We began to
appreciate the real value of our diplomacy.
At noon we came upon a series of unexpectedly green and clear small
hills just under the frown of a sheer rock cliff. This oasis in the
thorn was occupied by a few scattered native huts and the usual squalid
Indian dukka, or trading store. At this last our German friend stopped.
From under the seat he drew out a collapsible table and a basket of
provisions. These we were invited to share. Diplomacy's highest triumph!
After lunch we surmounted our first steep grade to the top of a ridge.
This we found to be the beginning of a long elevated plateau sweeping
gently downward to a distant heat mist, which later experience proved a
concealment to snowcapped Kilimanjaro. This plateau also looked to be
covered with scrub. As we penetrated it, however, we found the bushes
were more or less scattered, while in the wide, shallow dips between the
undulations were open grassy meadows. There was no water. Isolated
mountains or peaked hills showed here and there in the illimitable
spaces, some of them fairly hull down, all of them toilsomely distant.
This was the Serengetti itself.
In this great extent of country somewhere were game herds. They were
exceedingly migratory, and nobody knew very much about them. One of the
species would be the rare and localized fringe-eared oryx. This beast
was the principal zoological end of our expedition; though, of course,
as always, we hoped for a chance lion. Geographically we wished to find
the source of the Swanee River, and to follow that stream down to its
joining with the Tsavo. About half-past one we passed our safari boys.
We had intended to stop and replenish their canteens from our
water-drums; but they told us they had encountered a stray and
astonishing shower, and did not need more. We left them trudging
cheerfully across the desert. They had travelled most of the night
before, would do the same in the night to come, and should reach our
camping-place about noon of the next day.
We ourselves stopped about four o'clock. In a few hours we had come a
hard three days' march. Over the side went our goods. We bade the German
a very affectionate farewell; for he was still to fill our drums from
one of the streams out of Kilimanjaro and deliver them to us on his
return trip next day. We then all turned to and made camp. The scrub
desert here was exactly like the scrub desert for the last sixty miles.
The next morning we were up and off before sunrise. In this job time was
a very large element of the contract. We must find our fringe-eared oryx
before our water supply gave out. Therefore we had resolved not to lose
a moment.
The sunrise was most remarkable--lace work, flat clouds, with burnished
copper-coloured clouds behind glowing through the lace. We admired it
for some few moments. Then one of us happened to look higher. There,
above the sky of the horizon, apparently suspended in mid-air half-way
to the zenith, hung like delicate bubbles the double snow-cloud peaks of
Kilimanjaro. Between them and the earth we could apparently see clear
sky. It was in reality, of course, the blue-heat haze that rarely leaves
these torrid plains. I have seen many mountains in all parts of the
world, but none as fantastically insubstantial; as wonderfully lofty; as
gracefully able to yield, before clouds and storms and sunrise glows,
all the space in infinity they could possibly use, and yet to tower
above them serene in an upper space of its own. Nearly every morning of
our journey to come we enjoyed this wonderful vision for an hour or so.
Then the mists closed in. The rest of the day showed us a grayish sky
along the western horizon, with apparently nothing behind it.
In the meantime we were tramping steadily ahead over the desert;
threading the thorn scrub, crossing the wide shallow grass-grown swales;
spying about us for signs of game. At the end of three or four miles we
came across some ostrich and four hartebeeste. This encouraged us to
think we might find other game soon, for the hartebeeste is a gregarious
animal. Suddenly we saw a medium-sized squat beast that none of us
recognized, trundling along like a badger sixty yards ahead. Any
creature not easily identified is a scientific possibility in Africa.
Therefore we fired at once. One of the bullets hit his foreleg paw.
Immediately this astonishing small creature turned and charged us! If
his size had equalled his ferocity, he would have been a formidable
opponent. We had a lively few minutes. He rushed us again and again,
uttering ferocious growls. We had to step high and lively to keep out of
his way. Between charges he sat down and tore savagely at his wounded
paw. We wanted him as nearly perfect a specimen as possible, so tried to
rap him over the head with a club. Owing to remarkably long teeth and
claws, this was soon proved impracticable; so we shot him. He weighed
about fifty pounds, and we subsequently learned that he was a honey
badger, an animal very rarely captured.
We left the boys to take the whole skin and skull of this beast, and
strolled forward slowly. The brush ended abruptly in a wide valley. It
had been burnt over, and the new grass was coming up green. We gave one
look, and sank back into cover.
The sparse game of the immediate vicinity had gathered to this fresh
feed. A herd of hartebeeste and gazelle were grazing, and five giraffe
adorned the sky-line. But what interested us especially was a group of
about fifty cob-built animals with the unmistakable rapier horns of the
oryx. We recognized them as the rarity we desired.
The conditions were most unfavourable. The cover nearest them gave a
range of three hundred yards, and even this would bring them directly
between us and the rising sun. There was no help for it, however. We
made our way to the bushes nearest the herd, and I tried to align the
blurs that represented my sights. At the shot, ineffective, they raced
to the right across our front. We lay low. As they had seen nothing they
wheeled and stopped after two hundred yards of flight. This shift had
brought the light into better position. Once more I could define my
sights. From the sitting position I took careful aim at the largest
buck. He staggered twenty feet and fell dead. The distance was just 381
paces. This shot was indeed fortunate, for we saw no more fringe-eared
oryx.
XXVII.
ACROSS THE SERENGETTI.
We arrived in camp about noon, almost exhausted with the fierce heat and
a six hours' tramp, to find our German friend awaiting us. By an irony
of fate the drums of water he had brought back with him were now
unnecessary; we had our oryx. However, we wearily gave him lunch and
listened to his prattle, and finally sped him on his way, hoping never
to see him again.
About three o'clock our men came in. We doled out water rations, and
told them to rest in preparation for the morrow.
Late that night we were awakened by a creaking and snorting and the
flash of torches passing. We looked out, to see a donkey transport
toiling slowly along, travelling thus at night to avoid the terrific day
heats. The two-wheeled carts with their wild and savage drivers looked
very picturesque in the flickering lights. We envied them vaguely their
defined route that permitted night travel, and sank to sleep.
In the morning, however, we found they had left with us new
responsibilities in the shape of an elderly Somali, very sick, and down
with the fever. This was indeed a responsibility. It was manifestly
impossible for us to remain there with him; we should all die of thirst.
It was equally impossible to take him with us, for he was quite unfit to
travel under the sun. Finally, as the best solution of a bad business,
we left him five gallons of water, some food, and some quinine, together
with the advice to rest until night, and then to follow his companions
along the beaten track. What between illness and wild beasts his chances
did not look very good, but it was the best we could do for him. This
incident exemplifies well the cruelty of this singular people. They
probably abandoned the old man because his groans annoyed them, or
because one of them wanted to ride in his place on the donkey cart.[12]
We struck off as early as possible through the thorn scrub on a compass
bearing that we hoped would bring us to a reported swamp at the head of
the Swanee River. The Swanee River was one of the sources of the Tsavo.
Of course this was guesswork. We did not know certainly the location of
the swamp, its distance from us, nor what lay between us and it.
However, we loaded all our transportable vessels with water, and set
forth.
The scrub was all alike; sometimes thinner, sometimes thicker. We
marched by compass until we had raised a conical hill above the horizon,
and then we bore just to the left of that. The surface of the ground was
cut by thousands of game tracks. They were all very old, however, made
after a rain; and it was evident the game herds venture into this
country only when it contains rainwater. After two hours, however, we
did see one solitary hartebeeste, whom we greeted as an old friend in
desolation. Shortly afterwards we ran across one oribi, which I shot for
our own table.
At the end of two hours we sat down. The safari of twenty men was a very
miscellaneous lot, consisting of the rag-tag-and-bobtail of the bazaars
picked up in a hurry. They were soft and weak, and they straggled badly.
The last weakling--prodded along by one of our two askaris--limped in
only at the end of half an hour. Then we took a new start.
The sun was by now up and hot. The work was difficult enough at best,
but the weight of the tropics was now cast in the scale. Twice more
within the next two hours we stopped to let every one catch up. Each
time this required a longer interval. In the thorn it was absolutely
essential to keep in touch with every member of the party. A man once
lost would likely remain so, for we could not afford to endanger all for
the sake of one.
Time wore on until noon. Had it not been for a thin film of haze that
now overspread the sky, I think the sun would have proved too much for
some of the men. Four or five straggled so very badly that we finally
left them in charge of one of our two askaris, with instructions to
follow on as fast as they could. In order to make this possible, we were
at pains to leave a well-marked trail.
After this fashion, slowly, and with growing anxiety for some of the
men, we drew up on our landmark hill. There our difficulties increased;
the thorn brush thickened. Only by a series of short zigzags, and by
taking advantage of every rhino trail going in our direction, could we
make our way through it at all; while to men carrying burdens on their
heads the tangle aloft must have been fairly maddening. So slow did our
progress necessarily become, and so difficult was it to keep in touch
with everybody, that F. and I finally halted for consultation. It was
decided that I should push on ahead with Memba Sasa to make certain that
we were not on the wrong line, while F. and the askaris struggled with
the safari.
Therefore I took my compass bearing afresh, and plunged into the scrub.
The sensation was of hitting solid ground after a long walk through
sand. We seemed fairly to shoot ahead and out of sight. Whenever we came
upon earth we marked it deeply with our heels; we broke twigs downwards,
and laid hastily-snatched bunches of grass to help the trail we were
leaving for the others to follow. This, in spite of our compass, was a
very devious track. Besides, the thorn bushes were patches of spiky aloe
coming into red flower, and the spears of sisal.
After an hour's steady, swift walking the general trend of the country
began to slope downwards. This argued a watercourse between us and the
hills around Kilimanjaro. There could be no doubt that we would cut it;
the only question was whether it, like so many desert watercourses,
might not prove empty. We pushed on the more rapidly. Then we caught a
glimpse through a chance opening, of the tops of trees below us. After
another hour we suddenly burst from the scrub to a strip of green grass
beyond which were the great trees, the palms, and the festooned vines of
a watercourse. Two bush bucks plunged into the thicket as we approached,
and fifteen or twenty mongooses sat up as straight and stiff as so many
picket pins the better to see us.
For a moment my heart sank. The low undergrowth beneath the trees
apparently swept unbroken from where we stood to the low bank opposite.
It was exactly like the shallow, damp but waterless ravines at home,
filled with black berry vines. We pushed forward, however, and found
ourselves looking down on a smooth, swift flowing stream.
It was not over six feet wide, grown close with vines and grasses, but
so very deep and swift and quiet that an extraordinary volume of water
passed, as through an artificial aqueduct. Furthermore, unlike most
African streams, it was crystal clear. We plunged our faces and wrists
in it, and took long, thankful draughts. It was all most grateful after
the scorching desert. The fresh trees meeting in canopy overhead were
full of monkeys and bright birds; festooned vines swung their great
ropes here and there; long heavy grass carpeted underfoot.
After we had rested a few minutes we filled our empty canteens, and
prepared to start back for our companions. But while I stood there,
Memba Sasa--good, faithful Memba Sasa--seized both canteens and darted
away.
"Lie down!" he shouted back at me, "I will go back."
Without protest--which would have been futile anyway--I sank down on the
grass. I was very tired. A little breeze followed the watercourse; the
grass was soft; I would have given anything for a nap. But in wild
Africa a nap is not healthy; so I drowsily watched the mongooses that
had again come out of seclusion, and the monkeys, and the birds. At the
end of a long time, and close to sundown, I heard voices. A moment later
F., Memba Sasa, and about three-quarters of the men came in. We all,
white and black, set to work to make camp. Then we built smudges and
fired guns in the faint hope of guiding in the stragglers. As a matter
of fact we had not the slightest faith in these expedients. Unless the
men were hopelessly lost they should be able to follow our trail. They
might be almost anywhere out in that awful scrub. The only course open
to them would be to climb thorn trees for the night. Next day we would
organize a formal search for them.
In the meantime, almost dead from exhaustion, we sprawled about
everywhere. The men, too dispirited even to start their own camp-fires,
sat around resting as do boxers between rounds. Then to us came Memba
Sasa, who had already that day made a double journey, and who should
have been the most tired of all.
"Bwana," said he, "if you will lend me Winchi,[13] and a lantern, I will
bring in the men."
We lent him his requirements, and he departed. Hours later he returned,
carefully leaned "Winchi" in the corner of the tent, deposited the
lantern, and stood erect at attention.
"Well, Memba Sasa," I inquired.
"The men are here."
"They were far?"
"Very far."
"Verna, Memba Sasa, assanti sana."[14]
That was his sole--and sufficient--reward.
FOOTNOTES:
[12] I have just heard that this old man survived, and has been singing
our praises in Nairobi as the saviour of his life.
[13] His name for the.405 Winchester.
[14] "Very good, Memba Sasa, thanks very much."
XXVIII.
DOWN THE RIVER.
Relieved now of all anxiety as to water, we had merely to make our way
downstream. First, however, there remained the interesting task of
determining its source.
Accordingly next day we and our gunbearers left the boys to a
well-earned rest, and set out upstream. At first we followed the edge of
the river jungle, tramping over hard hot earth, winding in and out of
growths of thorn scrub and brilliant aloes. We saw a herd of impallas
gliding like phantoms; and as we stood in need of meat, I shot at one of
them but missed. The air was very hot and moist. At five o'clock in the
morning the thermometer had stood at 78 degrees; and by noon it had
mounted to 106 degrees. In addition the atmosphere was filled with the
humidity that later in the day was to break in extraordinary deluges.
We moved slowly, but even then our garments were literally dripping wet.
At the end of three miles the stream bed widened. We came upon
beautiful, spacious, open lawns of from eighty to one hundred acres
apiece, separated from each other by narrow strips of tall forest trees.
The grass was high, and waved in the breeze like planted grain; the
boundary trees resembled artificial wind-breaks of eucalyptus or
Normandy poplar. One might expect a white ranch house beyond some low
clump of trees, and chicken runs, and corrals.
Along these apparent boundaries of forest trees our stream divided, and
divided again, so that we were actually looking upon what we had come to
seek--the source of the Swanee branch of the Tsavo River. In these
peaceful, protected meadows was it cradled. From them it sprang full
size out into the African wilderness.
A fine impalla buck grazed in one of these fields. I crept as near him
as I could behind one of the wind-break rows of trees. It was not very
near, and for the second time I missed. Thereupon we decided two things:
that we were not really meat hungry, and that yesterday's hard work was
not conducive to to-day's good shooting.
Having thus accomplished the second object of our expedition, we
returned to camp. From that time begins a regular sequence of events on
which I look back with the keenest of pleasure. The two constant factors
were the river and the great dry country on either side. Day after day
we followed down the one, and we made brief excursions out into the
other. Each night we camped near the sound of the swift running water,
where the winds rustled in the palms, the acacias made lacework across
the skies, and the jungle crouched in velvet blackness close to earth
like a beast.
Our life in its routine was regular; in its details bizarre and full of
the unexpected. Every morning we arose an hour before day, and ate by
lantern light and the gleam of fires. At the first gray we were afoot
and on the march. F. and I, with our gunbearers, then pushed ahead down
the river, leaving the men to come along as fast or as slowly as they
pleased. After about six hours or so of marching, we picked out a good
camp site, and lay down to await the safari. By two o'clock in the
afternoon camp was made. Also it was very hot. After a light lunch we
stripped to the skin, lay on our cots underneath the mosquito canopies,
and tried to doze or read. The heat at this time of day was blighting.
About four o'clock, if we happened to be inspired by energy, one or the
other of us strolled out at right angles to the stream to see what we
could see. The evening was tepid and beautiful. Bathed and pyjama-clad
we lolled in our canvas chairs, smoking, chatting or listening to the
innumerable voices of the night.
Such was the simple and almost invariable routine of our days. But
enriching it, varying it, disguising it even--as rain-squalls, sunshine
cloud shadow, and unexpected winds modify the landscape so well known
from a study window--were the incredible incidents and petty adventures
of African travel.
The topography of the river itself might be divided very roughly into
three: the headwater country down to its junction with the Tsavo the
palm-elephant-grass stretch, and the gorge and hill district just before
it crosses the rail road.
The headwater country is most beautiful The stream is not over ten feet
wide, but very deep, swift, and clear. It flows between defined banks
and is set in a narrow strip of jungle. In places the bed widens out to
a carpet of the greenest green grass sown with flowers; at other places
it offers either mysterious thickets, spacious cathedrals, or snug
bowers. Immediately beyond the edge of this river jungle begins the
thorn scrub, more or less dense. Distant single mountains or buttes
serve as landmarks in a brush-grown, gently rising, strongly rolling
country. Occasional alluvial flats draw back to low cliffs not over
twenty feet high.
After the junction of the Tsavo, palms of various sorts replace to a
large extent the forest trees. Naturally also the stream widens and
flows more slowly. Outside the palms grow tall elephant-grass and bush.
Our marching had generally to be done in the narrow, neutral space
between these two growths. It was pleasant enough, with the river
snatching at the trailing branches, and the birds and animals rustling
away. Beyond the elephant-grass flats low ridges ran down to the river,
varying in width, but carrying always with them the dense thorn. Between
them ran recesses, sometimes three or four hundred acres in extent, high
with elephant-grass or little trees like alders. So much for the
immediate prospect on our right as we marched. Across the river to our
left were huge riven mountains, with great cliffs and cañons. As we
followed necessarily every twist and turn of the river, sometimes these
mountains were directly ahead of us, then magically behind, so that we
thought we had passed them by. But the next hour threw them again across
our trail. The ideal path would, of course, have cut across all the
bends and ridges; but the thorn of the ridges and the elephant-grass of
the flats forbade it. So we marched ten miles to gain four.
After days of struggle and deception we passed those mountains. Then we
entered a new type of country where the Tsavo ran in cañons between
hills. The high cliffs often towered far above us; we had to pick our
way along narrow river ledges; again the river ran like a trout stream
over riffles and rapids, while we sauntered along cleared banks beneath
the trees. Had we not been making a forced march under terrific heat at
just that time, this last phase of the river might have been the
pleasantest of all.
Throughout the whole course of our journey the rhinoceros was the most
abundant of the larger animals. The indications of old tracks proved
that at some time of the year, or under some different conditions, great
herds of the more gregarious plains antelope and zebra visited the
river, but at the time of our visit they were absent. The rhinoceroses,
however, in incredible numbers came regularly to water. Paradoxically,
we saw very few of them, and enjoyed comparative immunity from their
charges. This was due to the fact that their habits and ours swung in
different orbits. The rhinoceros, after drinking, took to the hot, dry
thorn scrub in the low hills; and as he drank at night, we rarely
encountered him in the river bottoms where we were marching. This was
very lucky, for the cover was so dense that a meeting must necessarily
be at close quarters. Indeed these large and truculent beasts were
rather a help than a hindrance, for we often made use of their wide,
clear paths to penetrate some particularly distressing jungle. However,
we had several small adventures with them: just enough to keep us alert
in rounding corners or approaching bushes--and nine-tenths of our travel
was bushes and corners. The big, flat footsteps, absolutely fresh in the
dust, padded methodically ahead of us down the only way until it seemed
that we could not fail to plump upon their maker around the next bend.
We crept forward foot by foot, every sense alert, finger on trigger.
Then after a time the spoor turned off to the right, towards the hills.
We straightened our backs and breathed a sigh of relief. This happened
over and over again. At certain times of year also elephants frequent
the banks of the Tsavo in considerable numbers We saw many old signs,
and once came upon the fresh path of a small herd. The great beasts had
passed by that very morning. We gazed with considerable awe on limbs
snatched bodily from trees; on flat-topped acacias a foot in diameter
pulled up by the roots and stood up side down; on tree trunks twisted
like ropes.
Of the game by far the most abundant were the beautiful red impalla. We
caught glimpses of their graceful bodies gliding in and out of sight
through the bushes; or came upon them standing in small openings, their
delicate ears pointed to us. They and the tiny dikdik furnished our
table; and an occasional water-buck satisfied the men. One day we came
on one of the latter beasts sound asleep in a tiny open space. He was
lying down, and his nose rested against the earth just like a very old
family horse in a paddock.
Besides these common species were bush-buck wart-hog, lesser kudu,
giraffe, and leopard. The bush-buck we jumped occasionally quite near at
hand. They ducked their heads low and rushed tearingly to the next
cover. The leopard was heard sighing every night, and saw their pad
marks next day; but only twice did we catch glimpses of them. One
morning we came upon the fresh-killed carcass of a female lesser kudu
from which, evidently, we had driven the slayer.
These few species practically completed the game list. They were
sufficient for our needs; and the lesser kudu was a prize much desired
for our collection. But by far the most interesting to me were the
smaller animals, the birds, and the strange, innumerable insects.
We saw no natives in the whole course of our journey.
The valley of the river harboured many monkeys. They seemed to be of two
species, blue and brown, but were equally noisy and amusing. They
retired ahead of our advance with many remarks, or slipped past us to
the rear without any comments whatever. When we made camp they retired
with indignant protests, and when we had quite settled down they
returned as near as they dared.
One very hot afternoon I lay on my canvas cot in the open, staring
straight upward into the overarching greenery of the trees. This is a
very pleasant thing to do. The beautiful up-spreading, outstretching of
the tree branches and twigs intrigue the eye; the leaves make
fascinating, hypnotically waving patterns against a very blue sky; and
in the chambers and galleries of the upper world the birds and insects
carry on varied businesses of their own. After a time the corner of my
eye caught a quick movement far to the left and in a shadow. At once I
turned my attention that way. After minute scrutiny I at length made out
a monkey. Evidently considering himself quite unobserved, he was slowly
and with great care stalking our camp. Inch by inch he moved, taking
skilful advantage of every bit of cover, flattening himself along the
limbs, hunching himself up behind bunches of leaves, until he had gained
a big limb directly overhead. There he stretched flat, staring down at
the scene that had so strongly aroused his curiosity. I lay there for
over two hours reading and dozing. My friend aloft never stirred. When
dusk fell he was still there. Some time after dark he must have regained
his band, for in the morning the limb was vacant.
Now comes the part of this story that really needs a witness, not to
veracity perhaps, but to accuracy of observations. Fortunately I have F.
About noon next day the monkey returned to his point of observation. He
used the same precautions as to concealment; he followed his route of
the day before; he proceeded directly to his old conning tower on the
big limb. It did not take him quite so long to get there, for he had
already scouted out the trail. _And close at his heels followed two
other monkeys_! They crawled where he crawled; they crouched where he
crouched; they hid where he hid; they flattened themselves out by him on
the big limb, and all three of them passed the afternoon gazing down on
the strange and fascinating things below. Whether these newcomers were
part of the first one's family out for a treat, or whether they were
Cook's Tourists of the Jungle in charge of my friend's competence as a
guide, I do not know.
Farther down the river F. and I stopped for some time to watch the
crossing of forty-odd of the little blue monkeys. The whole band
clambered to near the top of a tall tree growing by the water's edge.
There, one by one, they ran out on a straight overhanging limb and cast
themselves into space. On the opposite bank of the river, and leaning
well out, grew a small springy bush. Each monkey landed smash in the
middle of this, clasped it with all four hands, swayed alarmingly,
recovered, and scampered ashore. It was rather a nice problem in
ballistics this, for a mistake in calculation of a foot in distance or
a pound in push would land Mr. Monkey in the water. And the joke of it
was that directly beneath that bush lay two hungry-looking crocodiles!
As each tiny body hurtled through the air I'll swear a look of hope came
into the eyes of those crocs. We watched until the last had made his
leap. There were no mistakes. The joke was against the crocodiles.
We encountered quite a number of dog-faced baboons. These big apes
always retreated very slowly and noisily. Scouts in the rearguard were
continually ascending small trees or bushes for a better look at us,
then leaping down to make disparaging remarks. One lot seemed to show
such variation in colour from the usual that we shot one. The distance
was about two hundred and fifty yards. Immediately the whole band--a
hundred or so strong--dropped on all fours and started in our direction.
This was rather terrifying. However, as we stood firm, they slowly came
to a halt at about seventy yards, barked and chattered for a moment,
then hopped away to right and left.
XXIX.
THE LESSER KUDU.
About eight o'clock, the evening of our first day on the Swanee, the
heat broke in a tropical downpour. We heard it coming from a long
distance, like the roar of a great wind. The velvet blackness, star
hung, was troubled by an invisible blurring mist, evidenced only through
a subtle effect on the subconsciousness. Every leaf above us, in the
circle of our firelight, depended absolutely motionless from its stem.
The insects had ceased their shrilling; the night birds their chirping;
the animals, great and small, their callings or their stealthy rustling
to and fro. Of the world of sound there remained only the crackling of
our fires, the tiny singing of the blood in our ears, and that far-off
portentous roar. Our simple dispositions were made. Trenches had been
dug around the tents; the pegs had been driven well home; our stores had
been put in shelter. We waited silently, puffing away our pipes.
The roaring increased in volume. Beneath it we began to hear the long,
rolling crash of thunder. Overhead the stars, already dimmed, were
suddenly blotted from existence. Then came the rain, in a literal
deluge, as though the god of floods had turned over an entire reservoir
with one twist of his mighty hand. Our fire went out instantly; the
whole world went out with it. We lay on our canvas cots unable to see a
foot beyond our tent opening; unable to hear anything but the insistent,
terrible drumming over our heads; unable to think of anything through
the tumult of waters. As a man's body might struggle from behind a
waterfall through the torrents, so our imaginations, half drowned,
managed dimly to picture forth little bits--the men huddled close in
their tiny tents, their cowled blankets over their heads. All the rest
of the universe had gone.
After a time the insistent beat and rush of waters began to wear through
our patience. We willed that this wracking tumult should cease; we
willed it with all the force that was in us. Then, as this proved vain,
we too humped our spiritual backs, cowled our souls with patience, and
waited dumbly for the force of the storm to spend itself. Our faculties
were quite as effectually drowned out by the unceasing roar and crash of
the waters as our bodily comfort would have been had we lacked the
protection of our tent.
Abruptly the storm passed. It did not die away slowly in the diminuendo
of ordinary storms. It ceased as though the reservoir had been tipped
back again. The rapid _drip_, _drip_, _drip_ of waters now made the
whole of sound; all the rest of the world lay breathless. Then, inside
our tent, a cricket struck up bravely.
This homely, cheerful little sound roused us. We went forth to count
damages and to put our house in order. The men hunted out dry wood and
made another fire; the creatures of the jungle and the stars above them
ventured forth.
Next morning we marched into a world swept clean. The ground was as
smooth as though a new broom had gone over it. Every track now was
fresh, and meant an animal near at hand. The bushes and grasses were
hung with jewels. Merry little showers shook down from trees sharing a
joke with some tiny wind. White steam rose from a moist, fertile-looking
soil. The smell of greenhouses was in the air. Looking back, we were
stricken motionless by the sight of Kilimanjaro, its twin peaks
suspended a clean blue sky, fresh snow mantling its shoulders.
This day, so cheeringly opened, was destined to fulfil its promise. In
the dense scrub dwell a shy and rare animal called the lesser kudu
specimens of which we greatly desired. The beast keeps to the thickest
and driest cove where it is impossible to see fifty yards ahead but
where the slightest movement breaks the numberless dry interlacements of
which the place seems made. To move really quietly one could not cover
over a half-mile in an hour. As the countryside extends a thousand
square miles or more, and the lesser kudu is rare, it can be seen that
hunting them might have to be a slow and painful process. We had twice
seen the peculiar tracks.
On this morning, however, we caught a glimpse of the beast itself. A
flash of gray, with an impression of the characteristic harness-like
stripes--that was all. The trail, in the ground, was of course very
plain. I left the others and followed it into the brush. As usual the
thorn scrub was so thick that I had to stoop and twist to get through it
at all, and so brittle that the least false move made a crackling like a
fire. The rain of the night before had, however, softened the _débris_
lying on the ground. I moved forward as quickly as I could, half
suffocated in the steaming heat of the dense thicket. After three or
four hundred yards the beast fell into a walk, so I immediately halted.
I reasoned that after a few steps at this gait he would look back to see
whether or not he was followed. If his scouting showed him nothing he
might throw off suspicion. After ten minutes I crept forward again. The
spoor showed my surmises to be correct, for I came to where the animal
had turned, behind a small bush, and had stood for a few minutes. Taking
up the tracks from this point, I was delighted to find that the kudu had
forgotten its fear, and was browsing. At the end of five minutes more of
very careful work, I was fortunate enough to see it, feeding from the
top of a small bush thirty-five yards away. The raking shot from the
Springfield dropped it in its tracks.
It proved to be a doe, a great prize of course, but not to be compared
with the male. We skinned her carefully, and moved on, delighted to have
the species.
Our luck was not over, however. At the end of six hours we picked our
camp in a pretty grove by the swift-running stream. There we sat down
to await the safari. The tree-tops were full of both the brown and blue
monkeys, baboons barked at us from a distance, the air was musical with
many sweet birds. Big thunder-clouds were gathering around the horizon.
The safari came in. Mohammed immediately sought us out to report, in
great excitement, that he had seen five kudu across the stream. He
claimed to have watched them even after the safari had passed, and that
they had not been alarmed. The chance was slight that the kudu could be
found, but still it was a chance. Accordingly we rather reluctantly gave
up our plans for a loaf and a nap. Mohammed said the place was an hour
back; we had had six hours march already. However, about two o'clock we
set out. Before we had arrived quite at the spot we caught a glimpse of
the five kudu as they dashed across a tiny opening ahead of us. They had
moved downstream and crossed the river.
It seemed rather hopeless to follow them into that thick country once
they had been alarmed, but the prize was great. Therefore Memba Sasa and
I took up the trail. We crept forward a mile, very quiet, very
tense--very sweaty. Then simultaneously, through a chance opening and a
long distance away, we caught a patch of gray with a single transverse
white stripe. There was no chance to ascertain the sex of the beast, nor
what part of its anatomy was thus exposed. I took a bull's eye chance on
that patch of gray; had the luck to hit it in the middle. The animal
went down. Memba Sasa leapt forward like a madman; I could not begin to
keep pace with him. When I had struggled through the thorn, I found him
dancing with delight.
"Monuome, bwana! buck, master!" he cried as soon as he saw me, and made
a spiral gesture in imitation of the male's beautiful corkscrew horns.
While the men prepared the trophy, F. and I followed on after the other
four to see what they would do, and speedily came to the conclusion that
we were lucky to land two of the wily beasts. The four ran compactly
together and in a wide curve for several hundred yards. Then two faced
directly back, while the other two, one on either side, made a short
detour out and back to guard the flanks.
We did not get back to camp until after dark. A tremendous pair of
electric storms were volleying and roaring at each other across the
space of night; leopards were crying; a pack of wild dogs were barking
vociferously. The camp, as we approached it, was a globe of light in a
bower of darkness. The fire, shining and flickering on the under sides
of the leaves, lent them a strangely unreal stage-like appearance; the
porters, their half-naked bodies and red blankets catching the blaze,
roasted huge chunks of meat over little fires.
We ate a belated supper in comfort, peace, and satisfaction. Then the
storms joined forces and fell upon us.
XXX.
ADVENTURES BY THE WAY.
We journeyed slowly on down the stream. Interesting things happened to
us. The impressions of that journey are of two sorts: the little
isolated details and the general background of our day's routine, with
the gray dawn, the great heats of the day, the blessed evening and its
fireflies; the thundering of heaven's artillery, and the downpour of
torrents; the hot, high, crackling thorn scrub into which we made
excursions; the swift-flowing river with its palms and jungles;
outleaning palms trailing their fronds just within the snatch of the
flood waters; wide flats in the embrace of the river bends, or extending
into the low hills, grown thick with lush green and threaded with
rhinoceros paths; the huge sheer cliff mountains over the way; distant
single hills far down. The mild discomfort of the start before daylight
clearly revealed the thorns and stumbling blocks; the buoyant
cheerfulness of the first part of the day, with the grouse rocketing
straight up out of the elephant grass, the birds singing everywhere, and
the beasts of the jungle still a-graze at the edges; the growing weight
of the sun, as though a great pressing hand were laid upon the
shoulders; the suffocating, gasping heat of afternoon, and the;
gathering piling black and white clouds; the cool evening in pyjamas
with the fireflies flickering; among the bushes, the river singing, and
little; breezes wandering like pattering raindrops in the dry palm
leaves--all these, by repetition of main elements, blend in my memory to
form a single image. To be sure each day the rock pinnacles over the way
changed slightly their compass bearings, and little variations of
contour lent variety to the procession of days. But in essentials they
were of one kin.
But here and there certain individual scenes and incidents stand out
clearly and alone. Without reference to my notebook I could not tell you
their chronological order, nor the days of their happening. They
occurred, without correlation.
Thus one afternoon at the loafing hour, when F. was sound asleep under
his mosquito bar, and I in my canvas chair was trying to catch the
breeze from an approaching deluge, to me came a total stranger in a
large turban. He was without arms or baggage of any sort, an alien in a
strange and savage country.
"Jambo, bwana m'kubwa (greeting, great master)!" said he.
"Jambo," said I, as though his existence were not in the least
surprising, and went on reading. This showed him that I was indeed a
great master.
After a suitable interval I looked up.
"Wataka neenee (what do you want)?" I demanded.
"Nataka sema qua heri (I want to say good-bye)," said this astonishing
individual.
I had, until that moment, been quite unaware of his existence. As he had
therefore not yet said "How do you do," I failed to fathom his reasons
for wanting to say "good-bye." However, far be it from me to deny any
one innocent pleasure, so I gravely bade him good-bye, and he
disappeared into the howling wilderness whence he had come.
* * * * *
One afternoon we came upon two lemurs seated gravely side by side on a
horizontal limb ten feet up a thorn tree. They contemplated us with the
preternatural gravity of very young children, and without the slightest
sign of fear. We coveted them as pets for Billy, but soon discovered
that their apparent tameness was grounded on good, solid common sense.
The thorns of that thorn tree! We left them sitting upright, side by
side.
A little farther on, and up a dry earthy hillside, a medium-sized beast
leapt from an eroded place fairly under my feet and made off with a
singularly familiar kiyi. It was a strange-looking animal, apparently
brick red in colour. When I had collected myself I saw it was a wild
dog. It had been asleep in a warm hollow of red clay, and had not
awakened until I was fairly upon it. We had heard these beasts nearly
every night, but this was the first we had seen. Some days later we came
upon the entire pack drinking at the river. They leapt suddenly across
our front eighty yards away, their heads all turned towards us
truculently, barking at us like so many watch dogs. They made off, but
not as though particularly alarmed.
* * * * *
One afternoon I had wounded a good wart-hog across the river, and had
gone downstream to find a dry way over. F., more enthusiastic, had
plunged in and promptly attacked the wart-hog. He was armed with the
English service revolver shooting the.455 Ely cartridge. It is a very
short, stubby bit of ammunition. I had often cast doubt on its driving
power as compared to the.45 Colt, for example. F., as a loyal
Englishman, had, of course, defended his army's weapon. When I reached
the centre of disturbance I found that F. had emptied his revolver three
times--eighteen shots--into the head and forequarters of that wart-hog
without much effect. Incidentally the wart-hog had given him a good
lively time, charging again and again. The weapon has not nearly the
shock power of even our.38 service--a cartridge classified as too light
for serious business.
* * * * *
One afternoon I gave my shotgun to one of the porters to carry afield,
remarking facetiously to all and sundry that he looked like a gunbearer.
After twenty minutes we ran across a rhinoceros. I spent some time
trying to manoeuvre into position for a photograph of the beast.
However, the attempt failed. We managed to dodge his rush. Then, after
the excitement had died, we discovered the porter and the shotgun up a
tree. He descended rather shamefaced. Nobody said anything about it. A
half-hour later we came upon another rhinoceros. The beast was visible
at some distance, and downhill. Nevertheless the porter moved a little
nearer a tree. This was too much for Memba Sasa. All the rest of the
afternoon he "ragged" that porter in much the same terms we would have
employed in the same circumstances.
"That place ahead," said he, "looks like a good place for rhinoceros.
Perhaps you'd better climb a tree."
"There is a dikdik; a bush is big enough to climb for him."
"Are you afraid of jackals, too?"
* * * * *
The fireflies were our regular evening companions. We caught one or two
of them for the pleasure of watching them alternately igniting and
extinguishing their little lamps. Even when we put them in a bottle they
still kept up their performance bravely.
But besides them we had an immense variety of evening visitors. Beetles
of the most inconceivable shapes and colours, all sorts of moths, and
numberless strange things--leaf insects, walking-stick insects (exactly
like dry twigs), and the fierce, tall, praying mantis with their mock
air of meekness and devotion. Let one of the other insects stray within
reach and their piety was quickly enough abandoned! One beetle about
three-eighths of an inch across was oblong in shape and of pure
glittering gold. His wing covers, on the other hand, were round and
transparent. The effect was of a jewel under a tiny glass case. Other
beetles were of red dotted with black, or of black dotted with red; they
sported stripes, or circles of plain colours; they wore long, slender
antennae, or short knobby horns; they carried rapiers or pinchers, long
legs or short. In fact they ran the gamut of grace and horror, so that
an inebriate would find here a great rest for the imagination.
After we had gone to bed we noticed more pleasantly our cricket. He
piped up, you may remember, the night of the first great storm. That
evening he took up his abode in some fold or seam of our tent, and there
stayed throughout all the rest of the journey. Every evening he tuned up
cheerfully, and we dropped to sleep to the sound of his homelike piping.
We grew very fond of him, as one does of everything in this wild and
changing country that can represent a stable point of habitude.
Nor must I forget one evening when all of a sudden out of the darkness
came a tremendous hollow booming, like the beating of war drums or the
bellowing of some strange great beast. At length we identified the
performer as an unfamiliar kind of frog!
XXXI.
THE LOST SAFARI.
We were possessed of a map of sorts, consisting mostly of wide blank
spaces, with an occasional tentative mountain, or the probable course of
streams marked thereon. The only landmark that interested us was a
single round peak situated south of our river and at a point just before
we should cross the railroad at Tsavo Station. There came a day when,
from the top of a hill where we had climbed for the sake of the outlook,
we thought we recognized that peak. It was about five miles away as the
crow flies.
Then we returned to camp and made the fatal mistake of starting to
figure. We ought to cover the distance, even with the inevitable twists
and turns, in a day; the tri-weekly train passed through Tsavo the
following night; if we could catch that we would save a two days' wait
for the next train. You follow the thought. We arose very early the
next morning to get a good start on our forced march.
There is no use in spinning out a sad tale. We passed what we thought
must be our landmark hill just eleven times. The map showed only one
butte; as a matter of fact there were dozens. At each disappointment we
had to reconstruct our theories. It is the nature of man to do this
hopefully--Tsavo Station must be just around the _next_ bend. We marched
six hours without pause; then began to save ourselves a little. By all
the gods of logical reasoning we _proved_ Tsavo just beyond a certain
fringe of woods. When we arrived we found that there the river broke
through a range of hills by way of a deep gorge. It was a change from
the everlasting scrub, with its tumbling waters, its awful cliffs, its
luxuriant tropical growths; but it was so much the more difficult to
make our way through. Beyond the gorge we found any amount of hills,
kopjes, buttes, sugar loaves, etc., each isolated from its fellows, each
perfectly competent to serve as the map's single landmark.
We should have camped, but we were very anxious to catch that train; and
we were convinced that now, after all that work, Tsavo could not be far
away. It would be ridiculous and mortifying to find we had camped
almost within sight of our destination!
The heat was very bad and the force of the sun terrific. It seemed to
possess actual physical weight, and to press us down from above. We
filled our canteens many times at the swift-running stream, and emptied
them as often. By two o'clock F. was getting a little wobbly from the
sun. We talked of stopping, when an unexpected thunder shower rolled out
from behind the mountains, and speedily overcast the entire heavens.
This shadow relieved the stress. F., much revived, insisted that we
proceed. So we marched and passed many more hills.
In the meantime it began to rain, after the whole-hearted tropical
fashion. In two minutes we were drenched to the skin. I kept my matches
and notebook dry by placing them in the crown of my cork helmet. After
the intense heat this tepid downpour seemed to us delicious.
And then, quite unexpectedly, of course, we came around a bend to make
out through the sheets of rain the steel girders of the famous Tsavo
bridge.[15]
We clambered up a steep, slippery bank to the right-of-way, along which
we proceeded half a mile to the station. This consisted of two or three
native huts, a house for the East Indian in charge, and the station
building itself. The latter was a small frame structure with a narrow
floorless veranda. There was no platform. Drawing close on all sides was
the interminable thorn scrub. Later, when the veil of rain had been
drawn aside, we found that Tsavo, perched on a hillside, looked abroad
over a wide prospect. For the moment all we saw was a dark, dismal,
dripping station, wherein was no sign of life.
We were beginning to get chilly, and we wanted very much some tea, fire,
a chance to dry, pending the arrival of our safari. We jerked open the
door and peered into the inky interior.
"Babu!" yelled F., "Babu!"
From an inner back room came the faint answer in most precise English,--
"I can-not come; I am pray-ing."
There followed the sharp, quick tinkle of a little bell--the Indian
manner of calling upon the Lord's attention.
We both knew better than to hustle the institutions of the East; so we
waited with what patience we had, listening to the intermittent
tinkling of the little bell. At the end of fully fifteen minutes the
devotee appeared. He proved to be a mild, deprecating little man, very
eager to help, but without resources. He was a Hindu, and lived mainly
on tea and rice. The rice was all out, but he expected more on the night
train. There was no trading store here. He was the only inhabitant.
After a few more answers he disappeared, to return carrying two pieces
of letter paper on which were tea and a little coarse native sugar.
These, with a half-dozen very small potatoes, were all he had to offer.
It did not look very encouraging. We had absolutely nothing in which to
boil water. Of course we could not borrow of our host; caste stood in
the way there. If we were even to touch one of his utensils, that
utensil was for him defiled for ever. Nevertheless, as we had eaten
nothing since four o'clock that morning, and had put a hard day's work
behind us, we made an effort. After a short search we captured a savage
possessed of a surfuria, or native cooking pot. Memba Sasa scrubbed this
with sand. First we made tea in it, and drank turn about, from its wide
edge. This warmed us up somewhat. Then we dumped in our few potatoes and
a single guinea fowl that F. had decapitated earlier in the day. We
ate; and passed the pot over to Memba Sasa.
So far, so good; but we were still very wet, and the uncomfortable
thought would obtrude itself that the safari might not get in that day.
It behoved us at least to dry what we had on. I hunted up Memba Sasa,
whom I found in a native hut. A fire blazed in the middle of the floor.
I stooped low to enter, and squatted on my heels with the natives.
Slowly I steamed off the surface moisture. We had rather a good time
chatting and laughing. After a while I looked out. It had stopped
raining. Therefore I emerged and set some of the men collecting
firewood. Shortly I had a fine little blaze going under the veranda roof
of the station. F. and I hung out our breeches to dry, and spread the
tails of our shirts over the heat. F. was actually the human chimney,
for the smoke was pouring in clouds from the breast and collar of his
shirt. We were fine figures for the public platform of a railway
station!
We had just about dried off and had reassumed our thin and scanty
garments, when the babu emerged. We stared in drop-jawed astonishment.
He had muffled his head and mouth in a most brilliant scarf, as if for
zero weather; although dressed otherwise in the usual pongee. Under one
arm he carried a folded clumsy cotton umbrella; around his waist he had
belted a huge knife; in his other hand he carried his battle-axe. I mean
just that--his battle-axe. We had seen such things on tapestries or in
museums, but did not dream that they still existed out of captivity.
This was an Oriental looking battle-axe with a handle three feet long, a
spike on top, a spike out behind, and a half-moon blade in front. The
babu had with a little of his signal paint done the whole thing, blade
and all, to a brilliant window-shutter green.
As soon as we had recovered our breath, we asked him very politely the
reason for these stupendous preparations. It seemed that it was his
habit to take a daily stroll just before sunset, "for the sake of the
health," as he told us in his accurate English.
"The bush is full of bad men," he explained, "who would like to kill me;
but when they see this axe and this knife they say to each other, 'There
walks a very bad man. We dare not kill him.'"
He marched very solemnly a quarter-mile up the track and back, always in
plain view. Promptly on his return he dived into his little back room
where the periodic tinkling of his praying bell for some time marked his
gratitude for having escaped the "bad men."
The bell ceased. Several times he came to the door, eyed us timidly, and
bolted back into the darkness. Finally he approached to within ten feet,
twisted his hands and giggled in a most deprecating fashion.
"What is the use of this killing game?" he gabbled as rapidly as he
could. "Man should not destroy what man cannot first create." After
which he giggled again and fled.
His conscience, evidently, had driven him to this defiance of our high
mightinesses against his sense of politeness and his fears.
About this time my boy Mohammed and the cook drifted in. They reported
that they had left the safari not far back. Our hopes of supper and
blankets rose. They declined, however, with the gathering darkness, and
were replaced by wrath against the faithless ones. Memba Sasa, in spite
of his long day, took a gun and disappeared in the darkness. He did not
get back until nine o'clock, when he suddenly appeared in the doorway to
lean the gun in the corner, and to announce, "Hapana safari."
We stretched ourselves on a bench and a table--the floor was
impossible--and took what sleep we could. In the small hours the train
thundered through, the train we had hoped to catch!
FOOTNOTES:
[15] This is the point at which construction was stopped by man-eating
lions. See Patterson's "The Man-eaters of Tsavo."
XXXII.
THE BABU.
We stretched ourselves stiffly in the first gray of dawn, wondering
where we could get a mouthful of breakfast. On emerging from the station
a strange and gladsome sight met our eyes--namely, chop boxes and gun
cases belonging to some sportsman not yet arrived. Necessity knows no
law; so we promptly helped ourselves to food and gun-cleaning
implements. Much refreshed, we lit our pipes and settled ourselves to
wait for our delinquents.
Shortly after sunrise an Indian track inspector trundled in on a handcar
propelled by two natives. He was a suave and corpulent person with a
very large umbrella and beautiful silken garments. The natives upset the
handcar off the track, and the newcomer settled himself for an enjoyable
morning. He and the babu discussed ethics and metaphysical philosophy
for three solid hours. Evidently they came from different parts of
India, and their only common language was English. Through the thin
partition in the station building we could hear plainly every word. It
was very interesting. Especially did we chortle with delight when the
inspector began one of his arguments somewhat as follows:--
"Now the two English who are here. They possess great sums of
wealth"--F. nudged me delightedly--"and they have weapons to kill, and
much with which to do things, yet their savage minds--"
It was plain, rank, eavesdropping, but most illuminating, thus to get at
first hand the Eastern point of view as to ourselves; to hear the
bloodless, gentle shell of Indian philosophy described by believers.
They discussed the most minute and impractical points, and involved
themselves in the most uncompromising dilemmas.
Thus the gist of one argument was as follows: "All sexual intercourse is
sin, but the race must go forward by means of sexual intercourse;
therefore the race is conceived in sin and is sinful; but it is a great
sin for me, as an individual, not to carry forward the race, since the
Divine Will decrees that in some way the race is necessary to it.
_Therefore_ it would seem that man is in sin whichever way you look at
it--"
"But," interposes the inspector firmly but politely, "is it not possible
that sexual sin and the sin of opposing Divine Will may be of balance in
the spirit, so that in resisting one sort a man acquires virtue to
commit the other without harm--" And so on for hours.
At twelve-thirty the safari drifted in. Consider that fact and what it
meant. The plain duty of the headman was, of course, to have seen that
the men followed us in the day before. But allowing, for the sake of
argument, that this was impossible, and that the men had been forced by
the exhaustion of some of their number to stop and camp, if they had
arisen betimes they should have completed the journey in two hours at
most. That should have brought them in by half-past seven or eight
o'clock. But a noon arrival condemned them without the necessity of
argument. They had camped early, had risen very, very late, and had
dawdled on the road.
We ourselves gave the two responsible headmen twenty lashes apiece; then
turned over to them the job of thrashing the rest. Ten per man was the
allotment. They expected the punishment; took it gracefully. Some even
thanked us when it was over! The babu disappeared in his station.
About an hour later he approached us, very deprecating, and handed us a
telegram. It was from the district commissioner at Voi ordering us to
report for flogging "porters on the Tsavo Station platform."
"I am truly sorry, I am truly sorry," the babu was murmuring at our
elbows.
"What does this mean?" we demanded of him.
He produced a thick book.
"It is in here--the law," he explained. "You must not flog men on the
station platform. It was my duty to report."
"How did we know that? Why didn't you tell us?"
"If you had gone there"--he pointed ten feet away to a spot exactly like
all other spots--"it would have been off the platform. Then I had
nothing to say."
We tried to become angry.
"But why in blazes couldn't you have told us of that quietly and
decently? We'd have moved."
"It is the law" He tapped his thick book.
"But we cannot be supposed to know by heart every law in that book. Why
didn't you warn us before reporting?" we insisted.
"I am truly sorry," he repeated. "I hope and trust it will not prove
serious. But it is in the book."
We continued in the same purposeless fashion for a moment or so longer.
Then the babu ended the discussion thus,--
"It was my duty. I am truly sorry. Suppose I had not reported and should
die to-day, and should go to heaven, and God should ask me, 'Have you
done your duty to-day?' what should I say to Him?"
We gave it up; we were up against Revealed Religion.
So that night we took a freight train southward to Voi, leaving the babu
and his prayer-bell, and his green battle-axe and his conscience alone
in the wilderness. We had quite a respect for that babu.
The district commissioner listened appreciatively to our tale.
"Of course I shall not carry the matter further," he told us, "but
having known the babu, you must see that once he had reported to me I
was compelled to order you down here. I am sorry for the inconvenience."
And when we reflected on the cataclysmic upheaval that babu would have
undergone had we not been summoned after breaking one of The Laws in the
Book, we had to admit the district commissioner was right.