ALONG THE TRAIL
"The land teems with the beasts of the chase, infinite in number and
incredible in variety. It holds the fiercest beasts of ravin, and the
fleetest and most timid of those beings that live in undying fear
of talon and fang. It holds the largest and the smallest of hoofed
animals. It holds the mightiest creatures that tread the earth or swim
in its rivers; it also holds distant kinsfolk of these same creatures,
no bigger than woodchucks, which dwell in crannies of the rocks and in
tree tops. There are antelope smaller than hares and antelope larger
than oxen. There are creatures which are the embodiments of grace, and
others whose huge ungainliness is like that of a shape in a nightmare.
The plains are alive with droves of strange and beautiful animals whose
like is not known elsewhere; and with others even stranger that show
both in form and temper something of the fantastic and the grotesque."
So Theodore Roosevelt, in that vivid word picture of jungle sights
and sounds, the foreword of "African Game Trails," suggests the vast
variety of animal acquaintances the hunter may make in Africa. I have
sought out or happened upon many others besides my particular friends,
the elephants and gorillas.
One of those whose "huge ungainliness is like that of a shape in a
nightmare" is the hippopotamus. The small dugout in which the native
makes his way up and down the Tana River is just a nice mouthful for
him. He can splinter one between his great jaws in no time if he is
sufficiently stirred up, but fortunately for the natives he is not
easily enraged. He is more or less like the rhinoceros except that,
while he is equally stupid, he rarely gets mad and so is not often
dangerous.
Along the Tana River in 1906 the hippos were still very abundant, and I
presume that a hunter passing along that stream to-day might shoot all
he could possibly want. Although I saw probably only a small proportion
of all I actually passed, I counted more than two hundred in a ten-mile
march along the Tana. Sheltered by the rather high and precipitous
banks of the river, the hippopotami if undisturbed bask quietly on the
sand-bars during the day. If one is disturbed, he takes to the water,
leaving exposed only the top of his head, his eyes, and nostrils, so
that if he remains motionless one usually has to spend some time to
determine whether the object protruding from the water is a hippo's
head or a slate-coloured rock. If really frightened, he submerges
entirely, exposing only his nostrils and those just long enough to blow
and take in a fresh supply of air. Then down he goes, not to appear
again for several minutes, frequently in quite a different place.
Cuninghame and I had a good opportunity to test his disposition one
day as we were crossing Lake Naivasha. I was sitting at the tiller in
the stern of the boat about half asleep in the hot sun of midday when
there was a sudden explosion and our boat was lifted well out of the
water. The keel had struck the back of a submerged hippopotamus. He
came up thirty yards away with his mouth open, but he made no attempt
to attack. We had the good luck to come down right side up, shipping
only a little water. I hope he was as badly frightened as I was.
Because he is so little sport, even the pot hunters have left the hippo
alone. However, most of the African tribes consider hippopotamus meat
good eating and he is frequently killed by the natives for food. The
fact is that in times of famine this animal is a valuable source of
supply. In 1906, when we were on the Tana River, I found a bone yard
with the bones of a great number of hippopotami along with various
human bones. In a famine some fifteen or twenty years earlier, so the
story goes, the natives had gravitated toward the Tana River to kill
hippopotami to keep from starving and there had fought over this last
source of food.
Double rows of tracks with grass growing between them, like those made
by a wagon, trail along the Tana and are cut deep into the river's
banks, where through long years the hippos have come up at night to
graze and browse. His is a double track, because in travelling he does
not place one foot before the other. He finds no food in the water, but
he is at home there, and sometimes travels long distances overland
from one pool or stream to another. How far he treks in this way I do
not know, and the question is much disputed. I am certain that it is
sometimes as much as fifty miles.
While I have found but little enjoyment in shooting any kind of animal,
I confess that in hunting elephants and lions under certain conditions
I have always felt that the animal had sufficient chance in the game to
make it something like a sporting proposition. On the other hand, much
of the shooting that I have had to do in order to obtain specimens for
museum collections has had none of this aspect at all and has made me
feel a great deal like a murderer. One of the worst of my experiences
was with the wild ass of Somaliland on my first trip to Africa. These
animals are rare, and as they are the only members of the horse family
in that part of Africa, the Field Museum of Natural History was anxious
to get specimens of them.
After several heart-breaking days' work my companion, Dodson, and I had
secured but one specimen and several were needed for a group. One day
under guidance of natives who promised to take us to a country where
they abounded, we started out at three o'clock in the morning, with
a couple of camels to bring back the skins if we got them. At about
eight, as we were crossing a sandy plain where here and there a dwarfed
shrub or tuft of grass had managed to find sustenance, one of the
gun-bearers pointed out in the distance an object which he declared
to be an ass. We advanced slowly. As there was no cover, there was no
possibility of a stalk, and the chance of a shot at reasonable range
seemed remote, for we had found in our previous experience that the
wild ass is extremely shy and when once alarmed travels rapidly and for
long distances. We approached to within two hundred yards and had begun
to think that it was a native's tame donkey and expected to see its
owner appear in the neighbourhood, when it became uneasy and started to
bolt; but its curiosity brought it about for a last look and we took
advantage of the opportunity and fired. It was hard hit, apparently,
but recovered and stood facing us. We approached closer, and thinking
it best to take no chances fired again--and then he merely walked
about a little, making no apparent effort to go away. We approached
carefully. He showed no signs of fear, and although "hard hit" stood
stolidly until at last I put one hand on his withers and, tripping him,
pushed him over. I began to feel that if this was sport I should never
be a sportsman.
We now discovered that our scant supply of water was exhausted and
although we wished to continue the hunt we realized that to get farther
from camp without water would be risky indeed. The guide had assured us
that there would be plenty of opportunity to get water on our route but
we knew that it was five hours back to water, the way we had come, and
five hours without water in the middle of the day would mean torture.
It is said that in that region thirty hours without water means death
to the native and twelve hours is the white man's limit. The guide
assured us that if we would continue on an hour longer we would find
water. After four hours of hard, hot marching we arrived at a hole
in the ground where some time there had been water but not a drop
remained. After a little digging at the bottom of the hole the natives
declared there was no hope. Our trail for the last hour had been under
a pitiless noonday sun along a narrow valley shut in on either side by
steep, rocky hills, while we faced a veritable sand storm, a strong,
hot wind that drove the burning sand into our faces and hands. The dry
well was the last straw.
The guides said there was one more hole about an hour away and they
would go and see if there was water there. They with the gun-bearers
started out, while we off-saddled the mules and using the saddles for
pillows and the saddle blankets to protect our faces from the driving
sand, dozed in the scant shade of a leafless thorn tree.
At four o'clock the boys returned--no water. Dodson and I received the
report, looked at one another, and returned to our pillows beneath
the saddle blankets. A little later a continued prodding in the ribs
from my gun-bearer brought me to attention again as he pointed out
an approaching caravan consisting of several camels and a couple of
natives. Each of the natives carried a well-filled goatskin from his
shoulders, and realizing that these goatskins probably contained milk,
I knew that our troubles were nearly over. I instructed the gun-bearer
to make a bargain for part of the milk and covered my head again to
escape the pelting of the sand and waited.
We were both in a semi-comatose state and I paid no further attention
to proceedings until I was again prodded by the gun-bearer who was now
greatly excited. He pointed to the receding camels while he jabbered
away to the effect that the natives would not part with any of the
plentiful supply of milk. The white men might die for all they cared.
When I had come to a realization of the situation, there seemed
to be only one solution to the affair--a perfectly natural
solution--precisely the same as if they had stood over us with their
spears poised at our hearts. I grabbed my rifle and drew a bead on
one of the departing men and called to Dodson to get up and cover the
other. I waited while Dodson was getting to an understanding of the
game and then when he was ready and I was about to give the word the
natives stopped, gesticulating wildly. The gun-bearer who had been
shouting to them told us not to shoot, that the milk would come, and it
did. Milk! Originally milked into a dung-lined smoked _chattie_, soured
and carried in a filthy old goatskin for hours in the hot sun. But it
was good. I have never had a finer drink.
An hour before sundown, greatly refreshed, we started back to camp.
Just at dusk the shadowy forms of five asses dashed across our path
fifty yards away and we heard a bullet strike as we took a snap at
them. One began to lag behind as the others ran wildly away. The
one soon stopped and we approached, keeping him covered in case he
attempted to bolt. As we got near he turned and faced us with great,
gentle eyes. Without the least sign of fear or anger he seemed to
wonder why we had harmed him.
The only wound was from a small bullet high in the neck, merely a
flesh wound which would have caused him no serious trouble had he
continued with the herd. We walked around him within six feet and I
almost believe we could have put a halter on him. Certainly it would
have been child's play to have thrown a rope over his head. We reached
camp about midnight and I announced that if any more wild asses
were wanted, someone else would have to shoot them. I had had quite
enough. Normally, the ass is one of the wildest of creatures and it is
difficult to explain the actions of these two. They appeared not to
realize that we were the cause of their injuries but rather seemed to
expect relief as we approached--and yet one English "sportsman" boasted
of having killed twenty-eight.
While I have never had a zebra stand after being wounded, in all other
respects his habits resemble very closely those of his kin, the wild
ass of Somaliland. Occasionally, man has captured and domesticated
zebras so that he may use them in a four-horse team. But this is done
only for the amusement it affords, because the zebra, like all wild
animals, has never quite enough of the endurance that is bred into
a domesticated horse to make him useful in harness. In wild life he
requires only sufficient stamina to outrun a lion for a short distance.
There is no fun in shooting zebras and wild asses. It makes one
uncomfortable. Probably we are particularly thin-skinned when it comes
to shooting the members of the horse family because we are used to
them, or at least to their kindred, as domesticated friends, but as a
matter of fact that is quite as reasonable as to think of killing deer
or antelope as a sport. With most deer there is no danger. The only
problem is to get close enough for a shot. While an approach may be
difficult in some parts of the world--and this is true with certain
species of antelope in Africa--most of the plains antelope cannot be
shot on the ground of sport. For food and scientific purposes, however,
the case is different.
One of the hardest to shoot among the so-called bovine antelopes is the
koodoo. He is a beautiful, high-bred animal with clean-cut head and
long spiral horns. While almost as large as an elk, he is gracefully
built and stylish in action. His coat is gray, delicately marked with
white stripes. As the animal matures, the hair becomes short and thin
and the stripes fade. All in all, the koodoo is one of the finest big
antelope. On that score he has no competitors except the sable and the
roan.
A group of greater koodoos was a particular desideratum of the Field
Museum and therefore one of the special objectives of my first African
trip. As a matter of fact, we succeeded in collecting the material
necessary and the group is on exhibition in the Field Museum in Chicago
now. The old bull standing with lifted head on top of the rock in the
present group was the second koodoo that I ever saw. The first one
was his mate whom I was about to shoot, totally unconscious of the
presence of the old bull. He stood beside her, his outline broken up by
surrounding rocks and bushes, and I overlooked him entirely until he
began to move. As he started to run I fired a shot. He bounded into the
air, and as he struck the ground I fired again. The first shot had gone
through his heart and the second broke his back.
When talking to people about shooting, I like to recall my koodoo
experiences, because, while I am not a good shot as shooting goes in
Africa, my two experiences with koodoos compare pretty favourably with
the best. On the first occasion, one of my two shots landed in the
heart and the other broke the koodoo's back. In my next koodoo hunt,
my shooting was even more remarkable and for me more unusual. I came
in sight of this second koodoo when he was too far away to shoot at
and he rapidly ran out of sight through a country of little hills and
ravines and scrub growth. I tracked him until I lost his trail. Then I
decided to try to follow him by instinct and, constituting myself an
escaping koodoo, I went where I thought such an animal should. I knew
I was not exactly on his route because I could see no tracks. Then,
too, something cord-like, weaving together the bushes on either side
of my path, for a moment impeded my progress. It was a strand of web,
the colour of gold, spun by a handsome yellow spider with black legs.
Twisted together, it was substantial enough to be wound around and
around my watch chain where I wore it for several years. Had my koodoo
passed between those bushes, the web would, I knew, have been his
necklace instead of my watch charm.
After following instinctively for two or three miles, I came to the
top of a ridge which looked down across a ravine 500 to 600 yards
wide. I crawled to the edge and looked over carefully, hoping to see
my prey, but as I saw nothing I decided to get up and either scare
him or give up the chase. As I stood up I saw him halfway across the
ravine a little more than 300 yards away. When I rose, he began to
run in the opposite direction. I had little chance of hitting him and
so I fired at the rocks on the other side of the ravine. The wind was
blowing from him to me and I did not know how distinctly he could hear
the rifle, but there was no doubt about his hearing the rocks clatter
down where the bullets struck. He stopped abruptly, listening, and as
he did so I lay down and rested my rifle on the rocks. He was pausing
behind a candelabra euphorbia so that I could see nothing but his
head. I took careful aim and fired. A fraction of a second after the
shot, when I had recovered from the kick of the rifle and had focussed
my eyes on the spot, the koodoo was nowhere in sight. When I reached
the euphorbia, he lay there dead. I looked him over to find where the
bullet had hit him but found no sign of it. I turned him over and
looked at his other side with no better results except that I found a
few drops of blood. On further search I discovered that the bullet had
gone in behind his ear. As he listened to the falling rocks, the ear
had been thrown forward; as he fell, the ear had swung back to normal
position and covered the tiny hole made by the full mantled bullet.
The bullet had come out of his eye, but when I got there the eye was
closed, so that the point of exit had been concealed also.
One day as I approached the hills, while I was still hunting koodoo for
my group, I saw in the distance four animals which I took to be koodoo.
They stood on a rock-strewn slope beneath an acacia tree and, as there
were no horns visible, I assumed that they were cows and calves. I
required one of each to complete my group. I made a careful stalk along
the same ravine from which I had approached my first koodoo and, when
I thought that I was at about the right point, I peered out and found
the animals standing where I had seen them first, apparently about 200
yards away. I fired, and one dropped in his tracks. They were startled
but had not located my direction and ran about confusedly. My second
shot dropped another and the third shot wounded one which ran almost
directly toward us. He covered the distance in an amazingly short time
and went down beneath the bush only a little way from me. It was then
that I came to a realization of what was happening. Instead of being
koodoo 200 yards away, these were antelope pygmies less than 50 yards
away and not more than twenty-three inches high at the shoulder. I had
been completely fooled, but by what? That was the question.
I went over to the bush where the wounded animal had gone down near me,
and stood for a moment looking at him open-mouthed and wondering what
he was. Never had I heard of such an antelope. He had sharp straight
horns four inches long and was a beautiful French gray in colour.
Before I could observe anything else, he sprang to his feet and darted
away on three legs faster, it seemed to me, than anything I had ever
seen travel. I shot several times but never touched him. I followed for
hours but did not overtake him. Later I learned that he was one of the
little beira antelope. The species had been described some time before
from fragments of skin obtained from natives. As far as records show,
these specimens, an adult female and a half-grown one, were the first
specimens taken by a white man.
This is a good example of a mistake that a hunter may easily make where
there is nothing about of known size to give scale. The outline of
the beira, characterized by the large ears, is almost a miniature of
that of the koodoo. These tiny antelope had stood against a background
of acacias on a pebbly slope. Acacias grow both large and small and
a pebble among pebbles on a distant hillside may appear as a large
boulder.
I continued hunting the little devils in a desperate effort to get
a male at least. Several times I spent the day working about the
two cone-shaped hills, now and then catching glimpses of the beira,
only to have them disappear before I could shoot or get near enough
to shoot. Several times when leaving the hills at dusk I turned
around to see just on the skyline the heads and necks of three little
antelope watching me as I went away discouraged. I believe they are the
cunningest little beasties in all Africa.
As my beira antelope was the first specimen ever taken--or at least
recorded--by a white man, it was a record. Another record head which I
took came equally by chance. One evening as I came out of the forest,
after some rather troublesome experiences with elephants, I caught
sight of a bush buck. He caught sight of me also, and instead of making
off he seemed to glare at me and stood stamping his foot. I may have
imagined his emotions, but it seemed to me that all the animals were
angry with me that day. I remember that it went through my mind, "I
believe this fellow is going to charge, too." Then it occurred to me
that we needed meat in camp, so I shot him and told the boys to cut him
up and bring him in. As soon as they reached him, they called to me and
I went over to see what was the matter. They showed me an unusually
fine head. So I saved it. It turned out to be the record bush buck head
at that time and I am not sure that it is not still.
The lesser koodoo, which is to be found in Somaliland in the aloe
country at the base of the Golis range, is likewise a truly sporting
animal, keen of sight and scent and fleet of foot. My first lesser
koodoo stood looking at me through a bush no more than twenty-five
yards away. My gun boy tried to point him out to me but I saw nothing
until something bit the koodoo's ear and he flicked it. Realizing
that he had given himself away, he jumped before I could shoot and I
tracked him for an hour before I again came upon him. Then I saw him
first. There is no finer sight in Africa than a lesser koodoo bull
bounding over the spiny aloes with all of the grace of a porpoise in
the water.
One of the most interesting antelope of Somaliland is the dibitag or
Clark's gazelle. The dibitag live in the waterless bush country of the
Haud and are shy and difficult to stalk. With their long legs and long
necks they resemble and are closely related to the gerenuks (Waller's
gazelle), but are less well known as they are confined to a limited
range. In following an old male who had been travelling at full speed I
found that its stride averaged twenty-eight feet, but at the same time
he kept so close to the ground that midway of the stride, when one foot
was carried forward, it scraped the sand. The animal weighs no more
than seventy-five pounds. It is the most beautifully developed antelope
I have ever handled, with muscles and loins rounded out like those
of a prize fighter. These gazelle never have any fat and never drink
any water. In fact, there is no water to be had except that in the
vegetation, which is very little in a country where it has not rained
for two years.
Unlike these sporting animals, the gazelle of the plains remind one
of great herds of sheep, so gentle where they have not been hunted
that one may come close enough to throw stones at them. On the other
hand, where they have been shot, they grow wild and very difficult to
approach. Here again is evidence that the thing that makes animals
wild is man. In the antarctics and other places where man has not
previously come and where the animals know no fear, the explorer can
fairly tickle the seals under the chin. Animals in their natural state
are not instinctively afraid of man, but they have learned from sad
experience that man is bad medicine.
In direct contrast to the camp in Somaliland where we had been forced
to quench our thirst with soured goat's milk taken from a passing
caravan at the point of a rifle, was our camp on Lake Hannington, the
home of the flamingos. The caravan route from Nakuru on the Uganda
Railway to Lake Baringo swings in close to the Laikipia Escarpment
at the east side of the Rift Valley and just at the north end of
Hannington. Therefore, travellers usually get their first view of the
lake at this northern point where few flamingos are to be seen except
in breeding season and where the water is shallow, bordered by low mud
flats crusted with a deposit of salts mingled with feathers, bones, and
the droppings of the great colony. If the unattractiveness of the place
were not sufficient to discourage a disposition to explore the lake,
the sickening stench from the green waters must dishearten any one who
has not a definite object in further investigation. Being unfamiliar
with the region, we ignored the trail which would have given us this
forbidding northern approach. As we neared the escarpment from the
south, we found a small stream of crystal-clear water, and although it
was too warm to be palatable, we were delighted with the discovery
since the porters and horses were sadly in need of water. We decided
to make camp here, and while selecting a place for the tents, the cook
discovered a spring of boiling water which he appropriated for his
uses. A little farther on a spring of ice-cold water was located so
that we had all modern improvements as far at least as water supply was
concerned.
After making camp, an hour's walk brought us to the top of a rocky
hill from which we had an excellent view of nearly the entire length
of the lake, an irregular sheet of water eight or ten miles long by
perhaps two miles at the widest point. It lay before us, a shimmering
blue-green mirror with occasional strips of snow-white beach. At the
south end, that part nearest us, the water was much darker in colour
owing to its greater depth, and the steep slopes of the escarpment
were mirrored in its surface. Here and there along the shores jets and
clouds of steam spurted forth from the numerous boiling springs and
miniature geysers. Far away toward the centre of the lake what seemed
great peninsulas and islands of rosy pink broke the placid surface of
the lake--these were the flamingos that we had come to see.
A two hours' journey up the tortuous rock-strewn western shore brought
us to the region which seems to be their favourite haunt. On our
approach, the great flocks rose from the water and flew across toward
the opposite shore, many alighting in mid-lake. As the birds arose,
the splashing of water made by their running over the surface to get
a start, the beating of wings, and the "kronk-kronk" of their calls
created an indescribable din, while the charm of the marvellously
beautiful sight was tempered by the odours that arose from the putrid
waters churned by the activity of the birds.
The flamingos that had settled in mid-lake soon began to drift back
in our direction and we hurriedly constructed a rude blind of green
boughs on the shore. Here I awaited their return, camera in position,
and within half an hour was surrounded by acres of the beautiful
creatures. The greater number of the birds proved to be of the small,
more brilliantly coloured species of African flamingo (_Phoenicopterus
minor_), although a few of the larger species (_Phoenicopterus roseus_)
were in small isolated flocks or scattered here and there among their
smaller relatives. Evidently flamingos spend the entire year at Lake
Hannington. So greatly did they interest us on this January visit that
we returned in May hoping to find them nesting, but we were some six
weeks too late. The young birds in their gray plumage were abundant and
traces of the nests were to be seen at the north end of the lake.
One soon forgets about snakes in Africa although there are many
poisonous species. In my experience of more than five years in the
jungles, wandering about with from one hundred to two hundred and fifty
semi-naked, barefoot men, I have never had to deal with a snake bite.
On my last journey to the Kivu I had glimpses of two snakes all told.
Nor have I been pestered by mosquitoes. In all my African experience I
have never had as many mosquitoes to contend with as I have had in a
single night in my apartment on Central Park West. However, one avoids
a single African mosquito as one would avoid the pest, because that is
just what he may turn out to be. For six months at a time my mosquito
nets have remained in the duffle bags.
In the game country there are millions of ticks, but as a rule their
worst offence is simply to crawl over one. The spirillum tick must
be avoided. I have never seen one but I have been incapacitated and
brought near the door of death as a result of his work. And when the
jigger decides to establish a colony under one's toenails he cannot be
too quickly nor too carefully dispossessed.
There are other pests besides insects, snakes, and drouth to be guarded
against in Africa. One of these is fire. In making a camp, it is always
wise to burn off the ground about the tents for the sake of protection.
The most strenuous fight I ever had to make against a grass fire took
place in Uganda the day that I killed the big bull elephant now in the
Milwaukee Public Museum. We had been working hard from eleven o'clock
in the morning until early evening. Meanwhile, camp had been made
close to our work in a country of bush and high grass. Immediately
surrounding our camp the grass was five feet high and very dense and
dry. To the east of us was a great jungle of elephant grass, a sort
of cane growing to a height of ten or fifteen feet. For two or three
hours I was conscious of a great fire to the east, but there was little
wind and it travelled slowly. Whenever it came to one of the fields of
elephant grass the roaring and crackling was quite appalling, and when
it finally reached the clump of grass nearest our camp we realized that
we would probably have to make a fight. There was no time to backfire
and so we tried the next best thing. About twenty-five yards from the
tents we started to make a trail stretching for a hundred yards across
the path of the fire. This was done by bending the grass down on both
sides, leaving a path along which we could move freely. Then the job
was to stop the fire at the parting of the grass. A hundred men, each
provided with an armful of green branches, scattered along this thin
line to beat the fire out as it reached the division. We had a terrific
fight. In several places the fire jumped across the trail, but each
time enough men concentrated at that point to kill it before it got an
overpowering foothold. It was hot, smoky, desperate work. When it was
ended, the tents were safe although the men were thoroughly done up.
It was one of these grass fires, although by no means such a persistent
one, that threatened Roosevelt's camp the night after our elephant hunt
on the Uasin Gishu Plateau.