SAFARI HUNTERS
In 1905 Nairobi was a town of tin houses, many black people, a few
Hindus, and fewer white men. Before my departure for the Athi Plains,
where I planned to begin my collections, I wished to find a place in
Nairobi where I might store material as I sent it in from time to
time from the field. Around and around I wandered without finding
any one who was able to offer a helpful suggestion. Then one day,
as I was passing the open door of an unpromising galvanized iron
building, I heard the encouraging clatter of a typewriter and lost
no time in investigating. At the rear of a bare room about thirty
feet wide and forty feet long was a door on the other side of which
someone was plying the typewriter furiously. Finally there came forth
from behind that closed door a blue-eyed, red-haired chap, apparently
extraordinarily busy and much annoyed at being interrupted. However,
his annoyance vanished when I told him what I was looking for and he
suggested that I use a third of the front part of his building at a
rental of five rupees--about a dollar and a half--per month. This
arrangement was eminently satisfactory to me and we closed the bargain
at once.
The red-haired man was Leslie J. Tarlton. No description of British
East Africa is complete without some reference to Tarlton, the Boer War
veteran now known to hunters the world over because of the flourishing
business he has built up in Nairobi--a part of which is equipping
_safari_ hunters with everything from food to niggers.
Tarlton and his partner, Newland, were Australians who had served
in the Boer War. At its close they set out to make their fortunes
somewhere in Africa. Coming to Nairobi with none too much of this
world's goods but plenty of ambition and enthusiasm, they were casting
about for an objective when on that morning in 1905 I stumbled upon
Tarlton's iron house. The _safari_ business into which they fell that
day helped to make them prosperous men until the opening of the World
War in 1914 put an end to African hunting for a time.
Tarlton afterward confessed to me that the typewriter that first
attracted my attention would not write at all. Its only use was to
make a noise when a prospective client came in sight. It was perhaps
the first propounder in Nairobi of the modern business principle that
nothing succeeds like success and it propounded no less diligently
because Tarlton had not yet discovered what his post-war profession
was to be. Two or three weeks after our first meeting, when I came in
from the plains, my _safari_ laden with collections to be packed in
brine, Tarlton was much on the job, observing the process and assisting
whenever he saw an opportunity. Finally he asked why he could not
learn to do such work for me. His proposal was that he act as my
agent, sending food and other supplies to us in the field as they were
required and thus obviating the necessity of my coming in whenever a
consignment of skins was made. As time is precious in the field and one
does not often happen upon a helper of such ingenuity and diligence, we
soon came to terms. Newland, Tarlton, and Company had acquired their
first _safari_ client. Later on we provided poison tanks and the other
paraphernalia necessary in caring for trophies before they can be
shipped. Since that time, Newland and Tarlton have prepared skins and
packed and shipped them for innumerable _safaris_.
When in 1911 black-water fever so nearly got me, Tarlton was also
thought to be dying in the Nairobi hospital, but he, too, surprised his
friends by his unwillingness to conform to their expectations, and,
while we were both convalescing, invited me to his house to stay. Those
weeks in Nairobi were a great time for reminiscence. Tarlton told me a
story every morning before breakfast as he whistled and chirped about
his dressing. And he always ended with the assertion that some day he
was going to write a book on that particular subject. One morning he
recited an anecdote about Theodore Roosevelt, adding, "Some day I am
going to write a book on 'Ex-Presidents I Have Known'."
But the story I recall with the keenest relish recounts the adventures
of three Boer War veterans. They had reached the bottom of their
luck after the war, and making a pot, went into the Congo to poach
elephants. They had good shooting at first, then no luck at all. Their
supplies were nearly exhausted. But they took heart one evening when
they came upon elephant signs and carefully laid their plans for the
next day's hunt. A last pot of jam remained in their commissariat, and
a last pot of jam is treasured by a man in that country as one saves
a last bottle of champagne. The hunter must have fruit, and since no
wild fruit grows there, in the old days his supplies included large
quantities of preserved fruit and marmalade. The three adventurers
had saved that last pot of jam to be used to celebrate and they
agreed that the time for celebration had come provided they brought
home ivory on the morrow. Their plan was that each man should take a
different direction. On his return that night the first hunter's trail
crossed that of one of his companions. Both had their ivory and they
went into camp together ravenously hungry, their appetites whetted by
anticipation, to find that the third fellow had stayed in camp all day
and had eaten the jam alone and unabetted. His companions saw red. The
normal thing in a frontier country when a man fails to play his part is
to kill him. That was their intention, but they made up their minds not
to be rash about it. They decided to take the man into the woods some
morning and come back alone. But they thought better--or worse--of it
the next day.
The story ends in Tarlton's own words:
"Well, ladies and gentlemen, my next book will be entitled 'Murdered
from Marmalade,' or 'The Jam that Jerked him to Jesus'."
Tarlton was the best game shot I have ever known. We had gone out
together on one occasion to get meat for dinner when we sighted a
Thompson's gazelle at a distance of 225 yards.
"Let me try my new Rigby on Tommie," Tarlton said, as he drew a bead
on the centre of the gazelle's chest. When we reached the antelope and
found the bullet one inch below where he expected it, he remarked that
he had suspected that his rifle was not accurately sighted. This was no
conceit on his part. He expected to place his bullet exactly where he
wished and if his gun was accurately sighted he rarely missed.
Tarlton's first lion was shot about this time. The lion had charged his
friend and with his front paws on the man's shoulder, and his mouth
open, was reaching for the man's head when Tarlton pulled the trigger
fifty yards away. The friend escaped without a scratch.
In the conduct of his business in Nairobi, Tarlton must have come in
contact with all sorts of men, for there are sportsmen and so-called
sportsmen of all shades and degrees. There is the man who goes over
keen to get a representative head of every species of game animal. No
one can take exception to him while there is plenty of game left. On
the other hand, there is the man who hunts for record heads and with
him I have little patience. One man came into camp in Somaliland who,
although he never shot unless he believed his prey to be unusual, had
killed seventy-five aoul or Soemmerring's gazelle before he got the
record. Another class of sportsmen is made up of men who seem to think
that the end to be attained is to kill all the law will allow them. I
have seen a great many of this type. Having paid for a license which
allows them to kill a given number of animals of each species, they
are never content until they have killed the full number regardless of
their needs, the size of the horns, or anything else. In the same class
with the man who kills to his limit is the man who has made careful
preparation for a hunt in Africa and who goes there determined to kill
every available species within three months. One I know told his agents
that he would pay them for the full time if they would so arrange it
that he could get his game in three weeks. His idea is to kill and get
out of Africa. He has none of that appreciation of Africa's charm and
of that real interest in its animals which create in the true sportsman
the desire to remain as long as possible.
There are many professional hunters in British East Africa, but perhaps
R. J. Cuninghame is the most notable of the type. I met him first in
1906. I wanted elephants, and everyone at Nairobi agreed that he was
the best elephant hunter. So I went to him and asked him to teach
me to hunt elephants. We had some trouble in arranging the terms
because he did not want any remuneration for helping an expedition
bent on scientific collection. I couldn't accept his time gratis but
have always appreciated this offer. Coming from a Scotchman it was
quite unexpected, but it was typical of Cuninghame's generosity and
indicative of his interest in scientific work.
He taught me as much as one man can learn from another about the game
of hunting elephants. There are some things which one can learn only
through experience, and in elephant hunting most of the essentials
must be learned in that way. It is easy and natural to assume that
these huge beasts will always be too obvious for the unexpected to
happen. But in spite of their size they are not always easy to see,
for in their own country elephants are the colour of the shadows and
on occasion quite as silent. In a forest or rock environment one may
almost literally run on to an elephant before being aware of its
presence. The fact that Cuninghame spent so many years hunting the
great game of Africa without ever being mauled is evidence of his skill.
We went together to the Aberdare and killed one elephant--the single
tusker now in the group in the Field Museum in Chicago. Then we went
down to the government station at Fort Hall and got permission to go up
on Mt. Kenia for further elephant shooting. We spent six weeks on the
slopes of the mountain, I as an amateur under Cuninghame's tutelage.
And he was a real elephant hunter. He had killed many elephants, and
his long experience had given him a great deal of that knowledge about
elephants which would enable him to kill them without himself being
killed. On the other hand, Cuninghame hunted elephants for ivory, and
when a man approaches a herd looking for ivory, he is not likely to see
much excepting tusks. It is natural, therefore, that from the ivory
hunters we learn comparatively little of the more intimate things that
we should like to know about the every-day life of the elephant. The
world has no record of the knowledge of wild life that their experience
should have given the ivory hunters.
It is for this reason that the camera hunters appeal to me as being
so much more useful than the gun hunters. They have their pictures to
show--still pictures and moving pictures--and when their game is over
the animals are still alive to play another day. Moreover, according to
any true conception of sport--the use of skill, daring, and endurance
in overcoming difficulties--camera hunting takes twice the man that gun
hunting takes. It is fortunate for the animals that camera hunting is
becoming popular.
The first notable camera hunter in Africa was Edward North Buxton,
whose book, "Two African Trips," was published in 1902. In the preface
to this book Buxton writes that "it would better be described as a
picture-book than a volume of travels." This book paved the way for
another in 1905, "With Flashlight and Rifle," by C. G. Schillings.
Considering the state of photography at that time, Schillings' book is
a truly remarkable record of wild animal life. In 1910, A. Radclyffe
Dugmore brought out his book, "Camera Adventures in the African Wilds."
In it are several pictures of lions taken by flashlight at night from
a blind that are photographically as good as are ever likely to be
taken.
Then came the first of the moving-picture hunters. The first success
was the film called "The Water Hole" taken by Mr. Lydford, who was
temporarily the photographer of Paul Rainey's expedition. Although it
is not photographically as good as some of the later ones, it was a
remarkable achievement, as all who saw it will testify, especially when
they realize that this was Mr. Lydford's first experience in making
motion pictures and that his equipment was not as good as equipment
is now. The film had a deservedly popular run. Like all such films it
was arranged for public exhibition by piecing together parts taken on
different occasions, so that the audience gets in one crowded hour the
fruits of weeks and months of painstaking effort.
The next successful moving picture that I know of was taken on the
expedition of Lady Grace McKenzie. It has in it the very remarkable
piece of film showing a charging lion. The lion almost got the operator
and ended the picture but fortunately both escaped. This reel has never
been extensively shown.
After this came a film made by James Barnes and Cherry Kerton which
was shown with a lecture and not, as was Rainey's, by itself. That
was nearly the whole roll call until 1922 when two men came back with
films. The first to reach New York was a film made by H. A. Snow. It
was shown at the Lyric Theatre and had a great success for which I am
personally sorry. I look upon it with more disapproval than I can
well state, for I think that many of the titles on the pictures are
misleading and that some of the pictures fall into the same category.
All naturalists welcome the spread of animal lore by motion pictures
so that a knowledge of true natural history may become more general,
and there is no better way to disseminate such information. But if
in order to make a film a more hair-raising and popular picture, the
moving-picture producer puts misleading titles on the pictures and
resorts to "fake" photography, the harm they can do is just as great as
the good they would otherwise effect.
While most of us who are interested in true nature photography were
feeling somewhat blue about Mr. Snow's pictures, Martin Johnson came
back to New York. He came in to see me and I asked him what he was
going to do about his titles. He was prompt and positive. He was quite
willing to submit them all to the American Museum of Natural History.
That was a big decision, for the Museum would not agree to the kind of
titles which it was likely the moving-picture business might desire.
This might militate heavily against his chance of selling the picture,
and in Johnson's case selling the picture was a necessity, for all he
had in the world and more besides was invested in it. But he stuck to
his decision when the pressure came and his film goes forth, the first
ever endorsed by the American Museum of Natural History, a credit to
him and to the company distributing it. I feel that this is a great
step. With this precedent I believe we have begun a new era in
disseminating natural history through motion pictures--a step in which
we can count on the assistance of Mr. Will H. Hays, the president of
the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America.
But I must return to the gun hunters, for I have not mentioned the
truest sportsman of them all--Theodore Roosevelt.
I first met Theodore Roosevelt on my return from Africa in 1906.
Previously, on his visit to Chicago as Vice-President, soon after I
had finished the deer groups for the Field Museum of Natural History,
he called at the Museum and was so interested in the groups that he
asked to see me, but unfortunately I was not there. From that time on
he was interested in my endeavours and, learning that I was on my way
out of Africa, had asked Congressman Mann to bring me to Washington.
Congressman Mann's invitation was waiting for me when I reached New
York.
At a dinner at the White House during that visit the Roosevelt African
expedition was inaugurated. Among the other guests was a gentleman from
Alaska who had been describing the hunting in that region and, as we
were entering the dining room, the President remarked:
"As soon as I am through with this job, I am going to Alaska for a good
hunt."
I shall never forget that dinner at the White House. I sat through
course after course and did not eat a bite, for the President kept
me busy telling stories of Africa. There was no time to exhaust my
supply, but I believe I said quite enough, for as we were leaving the
dining room, the President turned to me and said:
"As soon as I am through with this job, I am going to Africa."
"But," interposed the hunter from the north, "what is to become of
Alaska?"
"Alaska will have to wait," Roosevelt replied with finality. Plans
for the Roosevelt African expedition went forward at once and I had
something to do with their arrangement.
At this dinner at the White House I retold to the President the story
of the sixteen lions coming out of the cave on MacMillan's estate. The
President, who had been very frank in his comments about all things,
was having difficulties with the Senate at the time. When I had
finished the story, he addressed Congressman Mann who sat beside him at
the table,
"Congressman," he said, "I wish I had those sixteen lions to turn loose
in the Senate."
Congressman Mann stammered and stumbled a bit, but finally drew himself
together to reply.
"B--but, Mr. President, aren't--aren't you afraid the lions might make
a mistake?"
"Not if they stayed long enough," was Roosevelt's rejoinder.
So he really invented the idea which they turned on him later. When
his administration was over and he finally started for Africa, the cry
of the Senate crowd was, "America expects every lion to do his duty."
A cartoon of the day that I particularly remember showed a contented
lion sitting up on his haunches with drawn and bulging stomach.
Beneath, the caption read, "He was a good President."
I was planning an expedition to collect materials for an elephant group
in behalf of the American Museum of Natural History about the time that
Roosevelt was arranging for his African hunt, and it was a fancy of
mine that he should shoot at least one of the elephants for my group.
Upon my request that he should do so, we planned to meet in Africa,
but as I was delayed in getting over, it was only by chance that his
_safari_ and mine met on the Uasin Gishu Plateau.
One day while on the march I sighted a _safari_. I was aware that the
Roosevelt outfit had gone into that region, but I assumed that he had
already left there for Uganda. Nevertheless, while we made camp on the
banks of the river, I sent a runner to see if it could be the Roosevelt
_safari_. My runner met a runner from the other outfit and returned
with a message from Roosevelt himself which said that if we were
Akeley's party he would go into camp at a near-by swamp. I mounted my
pony and went to meet him as he approached on horseback accompanied by
his son, Kermit, Edmund Heller, and their guide, Tarlton. We all went
back to our camp for luncheon, where I gave Roosevelt a bottle of very
choice brandy, a present from Mr. Oscar Strauss. Mr. Strauss had been
one of our steamer companions across the Atlantic and, learning that I
was likely to meet Roosevelt, he asked me to take this choice brandy
to him in the jungles. Roosevelt accepted it with much interest in the
accompanying message but apparently with mighty little interest in the
brandy. He passed the bottle on to Cuninghame and I felt certain it
would eventually meet with just appreciation.
We went over to Roosevelt's camp for the night, thoroughly pleased
that the hunt we had looked forward to together, but had been forced
to abandon, was to take place after all. We intended to get an early
start the next morning, for Roosevelt had seen one herd of elephants
that day. We started with Tarlton leading. Suddenly he slipped off
his horse and directed that we swing down side to get off wind. In a
clearing just ahead of us were our elephants, a band of eight cows and
calves, enjoying their midday siesta and milling about under the trees.
We stood hidden by a great ant-hill while I picked out a cow I thought
would do for my group and pointed her out to Roosevelt. Of course, I
assumed that he would shoot her from behind the ant-hill, well out
of sight and protected. Instead he went around the hill and started
straight toward the elephants, Kermit and I following one on either
side and in back of him. I had an impulse to climb on Roosevelt's
shoulder and whisper that I wanted him to shoot her, not to take her
alive. But Roosevelt's theory of meeting trouble was to meet it halfway
and he got just about halfway when the old cow started across the
open space. Then the other seven headed toward us. Roosevelt shot.
The elephant I had selected went part way down and got up again. On
they came. He shot again and got her. However, there were three dead
elephants instead of one when we stopped them, for Kermit and I had to
shoot, too, to head off the others. The rule in elephant hunting is to
get as close as you can before shooting, and in whatever Roosevelt was
doing he came out in the open and went straight to the point.
Kermit's baby elephant, now mounted in the group, was taken that day,
also. After we had turned them, I saw a calf I wanted, asked Kermit to
shoot him, and he did so.
While Tarlton and Kermit returned for the camp equipment and the
supplies required in caring for the elephants, Colonel Roosevelt and I
sat together resting in the shade of an acacia. We were alone in the
heart of Africa and he talked to me of his wife and children at home.
He had not seen any one from the United States, excepting the members
of his own party, for a good many months, while I was fresh from the
States, fresh from Oyster Bay. In those three hours I got a new vision
and a new view of Theodore Roosevelt. It was then that I learned to
love him. It was then that I realized that I could follow him anywhere;
even if I doubted, I would follow him because I knew his sincerity, his
integrity, and the bigness of the man. Since his death those qualities
that I caught a glimpse of in Africa under the acacia tree--those
qualities that made Theodore Roosevelt what he was--I have seen more
fully and completely as they are reflected in his children and his
children's children.
Our remaining days together were comparatively uneventful. A grass
fire, fortunately not one of the most persistent, came down upon our
camp that night and all hands fell to and fought it. Lions roared about
our camp all night, too. At daybreak the Colonel and I went out in our
pyjamas, hoping to find them. We saw no lions, but on our return, as we
approached the carcass of one of our elephants, a hyena stuck his head
up on the other side. The Colonel fired but the shot was unnecessary.
The hyena was trapped. In his greediness, he had rammed his head
through a wall of muscle in the elephant's stomach and could not get it
out. The hair was worn thin on his neck by his efforts to escape, but
he was literally tied up in the thing he loved best.
A day or two later Roosevelt went on to Uganda and down the Nile.