Produced by Al Haines.
*[Frontispiece: I advanced with outstretched Hand (missing from book)]*
From the
Cape to Cairo
The First Traverse of
Africa from South to North
BY
EWART S. GROGAN
AND
ARTHUR H. SHARP
T. Nelson & Sons, Ltd.
copyright info
extra publisher info
TO
THE MEMORY OF
THE GREATEST AND MOST FAR-SEEING
OF
BRITISH IMPERIAL STATESMEN,
THE RT. HON. CECIL JOHN RHODES,
THIS VOLUME
IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED
BY
EWART SCOTT GROGAN
AND
ARTHUR HENRY SHARP.
Government House,
Buluwayo,
7th Sept., 1900.
My Dear Grogan,
You ask me to write you a short introduction for your book, but I am
sorry to say that literary composition is not one of my gifts, my
correspondence and replies being conducted by telegrams.
I must say I envy you, for you have done that which has been for
centuries the ambition of every explorer, namely, to walk through Africa
from South to North. The amusement of the whole thing is that a youth
from Cambridge during his vacation should have succeeded in doing that
which the ponderous explorers of the world have failed to accomplish.
There is a distinct humour in the whole thing. It makes me the more
certain that we shall complete the telegraph and railway, for surely I
am not going to be beaten by the legs of a Cambridge undergraduate.
Your success the more confirms one's belief. The schemes described by
Sir William Harcourt as "wild cat" you have proved are capable of being
completed, even in that excellent gentleman's lifetime.
As to the commercial aspect, every one supposes that the railway is
being built with the only object that a human being may be able to get
in at Cairo and get out at Cape Town.
This is, of course, ridiculous. The object is to cut Africa through the
centre, and the railway will pick up trade all along the route. The
junctions to the East and West coasts, which will occur in the future,
will be outlets for the traffic obtained along the route of the line as
it passes through the centre of Africa. At any rate, up to Buluwayo,
where I am now, it has been a payable undertaking, and I still think it
will continue to be so as we advance into the far interior. We propose
now to go on and cross the Zambesi just below the Victoria Falls. I
should like to have the spray of the water over the carriages.
I can but finish by again congratulating you, and by saying that your
success has given me great encouragement in the work that I have still
to accomplish.
Yours,
C. J. RHODES.
*PREFACE TO NEW EDITION.*
Since bringing out the first edition of this book, I have revisited the
United States, Australasia, and Argentina in order that I might again
compare the difficulties before us in Africa with the difficulties which
these new countries have already overcome. I am now more than ever
satisfied that its possibilities are infinitely great. Of the fertility
and natural resources of the country I had no doubt. But two great
stumbling-blocks loomed ahead: they were the prevalence of malaria and
the difficulty of initial development owing to the dearth of navigable
waterways. The epoch-making studies by Major Ross and other scientists
of the influence of the mosquito on the distribution of malaria have
shewn that we are within measurable distance of largely minimising its
ravages, if not of completely removing it from the necessary risks of
African life. A comparison of the death-rates in Calcutta, Hong-Kong,
and other malarious regions with the present rates has also proved how
immense is the influence of settlement on climate. As to the other
obstacle, the question of access, I was amazed to find that in the
United States the railways practically have absorbed all the carrying
trade of the magnificent waterways, which intersect the whole country
east of the Rockies. Naturally, these waterways were of immense
assistance in the original opening up of the country, but now that the
railways are constructed, they are of little importance.
I would also point out to those who still profess mistrust of the
practical objects of railway construction in Africa, the object-lesson
which the trans-American lines afford. They were pushed ahead of all
settlement into the great unknown exactly as the Cape to Cairo line is
being pushed ahead to-day. But there is this difference: in America
they penetrated silent wastes tenanted by naught else than the
irreconcilable Redskin, the prairie marmot, and the bison; while in
Africa they pass through lands rich in Nature's products and teeming
with peoples who do not recede before the white man's march.
Another point: when the main railway system of Africa, as sketched out
by Mr. Rhodes, is complete, there will be no single point as remote from
a port as are some of the districts in America which are to-day pouring
out their food-stuffs along hundreds of miles of rail.
In the words of the old Greek, "History is Philosophy teaching by
examples." The world writhes with the quickening life of change. The
tide of our supreme ascendancy is on the ebb. Nations, like men, are
subject to disease. Let us beware of fatty degeneration of the heart.
Luxury is sweeping away the influences which formed our character. It is
as though our climate has been changed from the bleak northern winds to
the tropic's indolent ease. Yet we have still a chance. While we
sleep, broad tracks have been cut for us by those whom we revile. Far
and wide our outposts are awake, beckoning to the great army to sweep
along the tracks. Let each man with means and muscles for the fray go
forth at least to see what empire is. Clive, Hastings, Rhodes, a
thousand lesser men whose tombs are known only to the forest breeze,
have left us legacies of which we barely dream. Millions of miles of
timber, metals, coal, lie waiting for the breath of life, "pegged out"
for Britain's sons. In these our destiny lies. We live but once: let
us be able, when the last summons comes, to say with the greatest of us
all, "Tread me down. Pass on. I have done my work."
_*CONTENTS.*_
CHAP.
I. The Cape to Beira and the Sabi
II. The Pungwe and Gorongoza's Plain--Second Expedition
III. The Zambezi and Shire Rivers
IV. Chiperoni
V. British Central Africa and Lake Nyassa
VI. Karonga to Kituta across the Tanganyika Plateau
VII. The Chambesi
VIII. Tanganyika
IX. The Rusisi Valley
X. Lake Kivu
XI. The Volcanoes
XII. Mushari and its Cannibals
XIII. The Rutchuru Valley and the Albert Edward Lake
XIV. Katwe to Toro
XV. Toro to Mboga
XVI. Semliki Valley and Kavalli's Country
XVII. Albert Lake and Upper Nile to Wadelai
XVIII. Wadelai to Kero
XIX. Kero to Abu-Kuka and back to Bohr
XX. In Dinka-land
XXI. In Nuerland
XXII. The Sobat to Cairo
XXIII. The Trans-Continental Railway
XXIV. Native Questions
_*LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS*_
I advanced with outstretched Hand (missing from book) . . .
_Frontispiece_
It was a gruesome Sight
And I was compelled to stoop down and grope
One or more of the neighbouring Chiefs came to pay his Respects
On the Track of the Cannibals
Balegga waiting for Elephant
There were numbers of Dinkas fishing here
Map of the Route
*FROM THE CAPE TO CAIRO.*
*CHAPTER I.*
*THE CAPE TO BEIRA AND THE SABI.*
To describe the first stage of the route from the Cape to Cairo, that is
to say, as far as the Zambesi, which I accomplished four years ago,
would, if time be counted by progress, be reverting to the Middle Ages.
The journey to Buluwayo, which meant four dismal days and three yet more
dismal nights, in a most dismal train, whose engine occasionally went
off on its own account to get a drink, and nine awful days and nine
reckless nights in a Gladstone bag on wheels, labelled coach, can now be
accomplished in, I believe, two and a half days in trains that rival in
comfort the best efforts of our American cousins. When I think of those
awful hundreds of miles through dreary wastes of sand and putrefying
carcases, the seemingly impossible country that the Buluwayo road passed
through, the water-courses, the hills, the waterless stages, and the
final oasis, where one could buy a bottle of beer for 10s. 6d., and a
cauliflower for 363., and that now men sit down to their fresh fish or
pheasant for breakfast, where the old scramble daily took place for a
portion of bully beef and rice; and when I think that the fish and
pheasant epoch is already old history, then I know that the hand of a
mighty wizard is on the country, and that yet one more name will go down
to the coming ages which will loom big midst the giants that have built
up an Empire such as the world has never seen. When I think, too, of my
numerous friends in the country who have given their heave, some a great
heave, some a little heave, yet a heave all together, and who toil on
unaware of their own heroism, turning aside as a jest the vituperation
of their countrymen; and when I think how I have seen the old Viking
blood, long time frozen in Piccadilly and the clubs, burst forth in the
old irresistible stream, then I know that it is good to be an
Englishman, and a great pity fills me for those whose lives are cast in
narrow ways, and who never realise the true significance of _Civis
Britannicus sum_.
My first experience of Africa was gained in the second Matabele war,
when Rhodesia was yet young. The railway had only reached Mafeking, and
my experiences were not such as to make me desire a second visit. But
the spirit of the veldt was upon me, and in comfortable England these
trials sank into the misty oblivion of the past, and a short twelve
months after I again started for those inhospitable shores.
However, I will not weary the reader with what he has had dinned into
his ears for the last four years, by describing Rhodesia; nor will I
dilate on how, at Lisbon, through a Bucellas-induced haze, I noticed
that all the men had a patch in their trousers, all the women were ugly,
all the food was dirty, and all the friendly-disposed were thieves, nor
will I hurt the feelings of the Deutsch Ost Afrika Cie. by telling how
badly managed their boats are; how they are perambulating beershops,
disguised as liners; how conducive to sleep is a ten-strong brass band
at five yards, seized with religious enthusiasm at 7 a.m. on Sunday
morning--all these I will pass over, knowing that a _Cicero redivivus_
alone could do justice to the theme.
Beyond this, suffice it to say, that on February 28th of the year of our
Lord 1898, Arthur Henry Sharp and Ewart Scott Grogan, in company of
sundry German officers and beer enthusiasts, took part in the usual
D.O.A.'s Liner manoeuvre of violently charging a sandbank in the bay of
Beira on a flood-tide, to the ear-smashing accompaniment of the German
National Anthem. In the intervals of waiting to be floated, and finding
out how many of our loads had been lost, we amused ourselves by catching
sharks, which swarmed round the stern of the vessel. Beira, as every
one knows, is mainly composed of galvanized iron, sun-baked sand,
drinks, and Portuguese ruffians, and is inhabited by a mixed society of
railway employes, excellent fellows, Ohio wags, and German Jews. The
Government consists of a triumvirate composed of a "king," who also at
odd times imports railways, the British Consul, and the _Beira Post_,
and sundry minor Portuguese officials, who provide entertainment for the
town, such as volley-firing down the main streets, dredging operations
in the lagoon at the back of the town, bugle-blowing, etc., etc. The
dredging operations and the subsequent depositing of the mud on the
highways were undertaken, I believe, in a friendly spirit of rivalry as
to the death-rate with Fontesvilla (a salubrious riverside resort about
thirty miles inland); a consequent rise to thirty in one day established
a record that, I believe, is still unbeaten. There was a Portuguese
corvette in the bay, and I had the pleasure of dining on board; the
doctor, a most charming specimen of the Portuguese gentleman (and a
Portuguese gentleman is a gentleman), helped me to pass my things
through the Custom House, and those who know Beira will understand what
that means. At Beira I met many old friends, amongst them the
ever-green Mr. Lawley, indefatigable as of yore, and was surprised to
see the immense strides that the town had made in fourteen months. If
it is not washed away some day, it should become second only in
importance to Delagoa Bay. Before starting north, we determined to have
a few months' shooting, and with this end in view took train to Umtali
with the necessary kit. The new site of Umtali township is a more
commanding position than the old one, and already a large number of fine
buildings had been put up, but now that the temporary activity
consequent on its being the railway terminus has passed away, I cannot
foresee much future for the place, as the pick of the mines appear to be
over the new Anglo-Portuguese boundary, and will be worked from
Macequece.
We decided to try the Sabi, a river running parallel to, and south of,
the Pungwe, having heard great accounts of the lions in that part; and
with this end in view, hired a wagon, which after many days landed us
and ours at Mtambara's Kraal on the Umvumvumvu, a nice stream running
into the Udzi, which is a tributary of the Sabi. Mtambara was formerly
a chief of considerable importance, but the advent of the white man has
reduced him to the position of a mere figurehead; he is a phthisical old
gentleman of no physique, decked out in a dirty patch of cloth and a
bandolier of leather and white beads; he squats and takes snuff, takes
snuff and squats, and had not yet joined the Blue Ribbon Army. There
being no road to the Udzi, we had to send the wagon back and collect
carriers for our loads. Two days' hard walking brought us to the edge
of the high veldt, whence the path dived down the most fantastic
limestone valley, between high cliffs thickly clothed with foliage, and
topped by rows of square rock pillars, splashed with the warm tints of
the moss and lichens that festooned their sides. At our feet lay the
bush-clad plain of the Udzi, a carpet of green picked out with the
occasional silver of the river itself, and in the hazy distance
stretched an unbroken range of purple hills, backed by the silvery green
and dull smoke-red of sunset. On the third day we camped on the Udzi,
about six miles above its junction with the Sabi. The whole country is
covered with low black scrub, and though there are many impala[#] and
small buck, there are very few large antelopes, so after a few days'
inspection we came to the conclusion that it was not good enough, and
decided to return to Umtali and risk the climate of my old shooting
grounds on the Pungwe.
[#] A small antelope (_AEpyceros melampus_).
Sharp went back by the road to pick up the loads and sick men at
Mtambara's, while I followed up the Udzi for about twenty miles, and
then struck across country to reach Umtali quickly in order to send out
a wagon. After leaving the river-basin, I camped on a kopje about 1,000
ft. high, where I had one of the finest views it has ever been my
fortune to see.
Beyond the valley lay range upon range of hills, stretching far as the
eye could reach; fleecy clouds covered the sun, bursting with every
conceivable shade, from delicate rose to deepest purple, backed by that
wondrous green (or is it blue?) that so often in the tropics accompanies
Phoebus to his rest; rarely one may see it at home in summer-time, as
intangible as it is delicate, and, permeating the whole landscape, a
sinuous mesh of molten red, a ghostly sea from which the peaks reared
their purple silhouettes, until they faded into the uncertainty of lilac
mists, like some billowy sea nestling to the bosom of the storm-cloud.
From here I walked to Umtali, a distance of sixty miles, in nineteen
hours, as I was anxious about the sick men at Mtambara's, and long will
the ripple of the ensuing brandy-and-soda linger in my memory. After
securing the services of a wagon, I had to lay up for a couple of days
with fever and a bad foot, but turned out for a concert given as a
house-warming by the latest hotel. It was a typical South African
orgie, in a long, low, wooden room, plainly furnished with deal tables,
packed to overflowing with the most cosmopolitan crowd imaginable,
well-bred 'Varsity men rubbing shoulders with animal-faced Boers,
leavened with Jews, parasites, bummers, nondescripts, and every type of
civilized savage. Faces yellow with fever, faces coppered by the sun,
faces roseate with drink, and faces scarred, keen, money-lustful, and
stamped with every vice and some of the virtues; a substratum of bluff,
business advertisement, pat-on-the-back-kick-you-when-you're-not-looking
air permeated everything, and keen appreciation of both musical garbage
and real talent.
Starting for Salisbury, where I wanted to look up some old friends, I
was made the victim of one of those subtle little jests so much
appreciated by many of the petty officials in South Africa, who are for
ever reminding one of their importance. I turned up at three, the
advertised time for the coach's departure, and, finding no mules or
signs of activity, learned that (being an official case) three meant
three Cape time, or four Umtali time. So I went back to my hotel, and
again turning up at ten to four, found that the coach had left at a
quarter to four without blowing the bugle, and knowing that there was
one passenger short; this necessitated a nine-mile walk to old Umtali in
the rain, which, after three days' fever, was very enjoyable. The
company, a pleasant one, was somewhat marred by the presence of a fat
Jew of the most revolting type; unkempt curly black hair, lobster-like,
bloodshot eyes with the glazed expression peculiar to tipplers and stale
fish, a vast nose pronouncedly Bacchanalian, the hues of which varied
from yellow through green to livid purple, and lips that would shame any
negro, purple as the extremity of the nose, a small, straggling
moustache and a runaway chin, the whole plentifully smeared with an
unpleasant exudation, kept perpetually simmering by his anxiety lest
some one should steal a march on him, made a loathsome _tout ensemble_
that is by no means rare in South Africa. The way that creature fought
for food! Well! I have seen hyaenas and negroes fighting for food, but
never such hopelessly abandoned coarseness as he displayed at every meal
on the road, and for no apparent reason, as there was plenty for all,
and by general consent he had the monopoly of any dish that he touched.
Salisbury, which is quite the aristocratic resort of Rhodesia, had made
very little progress during my eighteen months' absence, though there
had been some activity in the mining districts. The business of
ferreting out the murderers in the late rebellion was still proceeding,
and I saw about thirty condemned negroes in the gaol, and more were
daily added. I went to one of the sittings and saw so many gruesome
relics, burnt pipes, charred bones, skulls, etc., that I did not repeat
my visit. I was forcibly struck by the absolute justice meted out: the
merest technicality of law or the faintest shade of doubt sufficing for
acquittal. Many of the natives in custody thus escaped, although their
guilt was certain and well known. My return journey to Umtali was
enlivened by the company of one of the civic dignitaries of Salisbury,
who was going to "give it hot to Rhodes," shake him up a bit, and
generally put things straight. In one day I had the whole future policy
of Rhodesia and all outstanding difficulties like labour, etc., disposed
of as though they were the merest bagatelles. So struck was I with the
masterly grasp of gigantic questions that I fell into a profound
slumber, whereupon, realizing that after all I was but an ordinary
mortal, and consequently possessed of but ordinary intelligence, he
roused me, and in five minutes sketched out a plan that would make my
intended trip north a certain success; this, with more personal advice
on a score of points, lasted till Umtali, where we found so-called
celebrations in full swing. These celebrations (or barmen's benefits,
as they should more appropriately be called) are of common occurrence,
and are invariably got up on any sort of excuse; they take the outward
form of a few pieces of bunting, and result in every one but the
licensed few finding themselves next morning considerably poorer, and in
an abnormal demand for Seidlitz powders. Society at Umtali groups
itself into two classes, those who have liquor and those who have not,
and each class into three divisions: first, a small number who have
killed lions and say very little about it; secondly, a large number of
persons who have not killed lions, but tell you they have, and say much
about it; and thirdly, a very large number who have not killed lions,
but think it necessary to apologize for the fact by telling you that
they have not lost any.
*CHAPTER II.*
*THE PUNGWE AND GORONGOZA'S PLAIN.*
"The bulky, good-natured lion, whose only means of defence are the
natural ones of tooth and claw, has no chance against the jumping little
rascal, who pops behind a bush and pokes a gun straight at the bigger
brute's heart."--MARIE CORELLI.
Instead of following the Urema as on a previous trip, we marched up the
Pungwe almost as far as Sarmento, an old Portuguese settlement, and then
struck off north to a long lagoon that lies on the western extremity of
Gorongoza's plain. Here we found enormous quantities of game, thousands
of wildebeeste and zebra, and many impala, waterbuck, and hartebeeste.
At night a hyaena came and woke us up by drinking the soapy water in our
indiarubber bath, which was lying just outside our tent. We turned out
and drove him away, but had no sooner climbed into our beds again than
he returned and bolted with the bath, and, before we could make him drop
it, had mauled it to such an extent that it was of no further use.
As after the first night we heard no lions, we decided to move across to
the Urema. On the way we sighted three eland, but though Sharp and I
chased them for about eight miles we were unsuccessful.
Towards the Urema the plain opens out to a great width and becomes very
swampy, and as the water had just subsided, it was covered with short
sweet grass. Here we saw between 40,000 and 50,000 head of game, mostly
wildebeeste, which opened out to let us pass and then closed in again
behind. It was a wonderful sight; vast moving masses of life, as far as
the eye could reach. A fortnight later they had eaten up the grass, and
most of them were scattered about the surrounding country. Some of the
swamps were very bad, and we were finally compelled to camp in the
middle far from any wood.
The next day we struck camp and marched up the Urema to a belt of trees
which we could see in the distance. Several good streams, the most
important being the Umkulumadzi, flow down from the mountains, and
meandering across the plain, empty themselves into the Urema. Sharp and
I went on ahead of our caravan, and keeping well to the south-west to
avoid swamps, came on a nice herd of buffalo which we stalked. At our
shots a few turned off into some long tufts of grass, while the main
body went straight away. One, evidently sick, came edging towards us,
and I gave him two barrels, Sharp doing likewise; I then gave him two
more and dropped him. I kept my eye on where he lay as we advanced to
get a shot at the others, who had again stood about 100 yards farther
on, and he suddenly rose at thirty yards and charged hard, nose in air,
foaming with blood, and looking very nasty. I put both barrels in his
chest without the slightest effect, and then started for the river,
doing level time and shouting to Sharp to do likewise; all the
crocodiles in the universe seemed preferable to that incarnation of
hell. But Sharp had not yet learnt his buffalo, and waited for him. I
heard a shot, and stopped in time to see the beast stagger for a second
with a broken jaw, then come on in irresistible frenzy; but still Sharp
stood as though to receive a cavalry charge, crack rang out the rifle,
and the great brute came pitching forward on to its nose, and rolled
within three yards of Sharp's feet with a broken fetlock. It was a
magnificent sight, and the odd chance in a hundred turned up. Now Sharp
knows his buffalo, and is prepared to back himself, when one turns
nasty, to do his hundred in 9-4/5 seconds.
Except an elephant, there is nothing harder to stop than a charging
buffalo, as, when once he has made up his mind, he means business; there
is no turning him, and if he misses he will round and come again and
hunt a man down like a dog. Holding his head in the air as he does in
practice, and not low down as in the picture-books, he gives no mark
except the chest, which is rarely a dropping shot. Having hacked off
his head (the buffalo's), we went in pursuit of our caravan, and found
that Mahony had pitched camp in the most perfect spot imaginable. A
strip of open park-like bush ran down from the mountains, cutting the
vast Gorongoza plain into two portions, and abutting on the river, where
it had spread into a small lagoon with banks 20 ft. high. Beyond lay
another plain stretching away to the bush that lies at the foot of the
ridge which runs north and south, and is the watershed of the Urema and
the coast. In all directions from our camp we could see herds of game
grazing. Flocks of fowl flighted up and down the watercourse, huge
crocodiles leered evilly at us as they floated like logs on the oily
water, broken only by the plomp-plomp of the numerous fish, and now and
then the head of a mud-turtle rose like a ghost from below, without even
a ripple, drew a long hissing breath, and as silently vanished. As
there was lions' spoor by the water, we strolled out after tea and
dropped a brace of zebra by the edge of the bush. After an eventful
night, during which leopards coughed, lions roared, hyaenas dashed into
camp and bolted with my best waterbuck head, we all turned out early.
Sharp went down the river, while Mahony and I went to our baits. The
first had completely vanished, and the second had been dragged some
three hundred yards under the shade of a palm-tree. Here we picked up
the spoor of a big lion, who had evidently got our wind as we left camp.
We followed for about a mile along the bush, when Mahony saw him
watching us round the corner of an ant-hill. The lion, seeing that he
was observed, doubled like a flash, and before Mahony could fire, had
dashed into a small patch of thick jungle. We lost no time in
following, and were carefully picking our way through the undergrowth,
when I heard a deep grunt about twenty yards to my right, and saw him,
tail straight in the air, vanishing through the bush. Mahony rushed
along the jungle; while I made a desperate burst through the thorn into
the open. I just caught a glimpse of the lion going through the
scattered palms towards the open plain. When I reached the end of the
palms, he was going hard about two hundred yards away. Using the double
.500 magnum, I removed his tooth with the first barrel, and with the
second pulled him up short with a shot in the hind leg. Mahony then
arrived on the scene and gave him a .500, while I finished him off with
two shots from the .303. He was a very old lion with his teeth much
broken, but had a good mane, and measured as he lay from tip to tip 9
ft. 10-1/2 in.
As the moon was now full, I determined to sit up, and having killed a
zebra close to two small palms, I built a screen of palm-leaves and
awaited events. The first two nights nothing came but mosquitoes, and
the third night two hunting dogs turned up, but I didn't fire for fear
of disturbing some lions which I could hear in the distance. These dogs
are very beautiful animals with long bushy tails. They hunt in large
packs, and must destroy an immense quantity of game. Shortly after the
dogs had vanished a lion came to the jungle which was about four hundred
yards away, and apparently detecting my scent, in spite of the
competition of the zebra, which was three days old, vented his
disapproval in three stupendous roars. This is one of the few occasions
on which I heard a lion really roar, though every night for months I
have heard packs of them in all directions. The usual cry is a sort of
vast sigh taken up by the chorus with a deep sob, sob, sob, or a curious
rumbling noise. The true roar is indescribable. It is so deceptive as
to distance, and seems to permeate the whole universe, thundering,
rumbling, majestic. There is no music in the world so sweet. Let me
recommend it to the Wagner school! Thousands of German devotees, backed
by thousands of beers, could never approach the soul-stirring glory of
one _Felis leo_ at home. I then heard him going away to the north,
rumbling to himself at intervals, and at 5 a.m. left my scherm[#] and
started in pursuit, hoping to come up with him at daybreak in the plain.
I could still hear his occasional rumblings, and, taking a line by the
moon, made terrific pace. After leaving the ridge, I plunged into a
dense bank of fog that lay on the plain, but still managed to keep my
line, as the moon showed a lurid red and remained visible till sunrise.
The lion had stopped his meditations for some time, and imperceptibly
the light of day had eaten into the fog, when suddenly my gun-boy
"Rhoda" gripped me by the arm, his teeth chattering like castanets, and
said that he saw the lion in front. At the same instant I thought that
I saw a body moving in the mist about seventy yards away, now looking
like an elephant, now like a jackal. Then the mist swirled round,
wrapping it in obscurity once more. I followed carefully, when suddenly
an eddy in the fog disclosed a male lion thirty yards away, wandering
along as if the whole world belonged to him. He rolled his head from
side to side, swished his tail, poked his nose into every bunch of
grass, then stopped and stood broadside on. I raised the .500, but
found that I had forgotten to remove the bunch of cloth which served for
a night sight, and, before this was remedied, the chance was gone.
Again I followed and again he turned, when I dropped him with a high
shoulder shot. As the grass was only 3 in. high and the lion not more
than thirty yards distant, we lay flat and awaited the turn of events.
He lashed out, tearing up the ground with his paws, then stood up and
looked like going away. I fired again. This gave him my whereabouts.
He swung round and began stalking towards me to investigate matters, so
I snatched my .500 and knocked him over with one in the chest. We then
retired to a more respectful distance. But he rose again, and once more
I fired. Still he fought on, rolling about, rumbling, groaning, and
making frantic efforts to rise, till I crept up close and administered a
.303 forward shot in the stomach, which settled him. He died
reluctantly even then. It is astonishing how difficult lions are to
kill, if the first shot is not very well placed. I attribute it to the
fact that after the first shot there is practically no subsequent shock
to the system. This is especially remarkable in the larger brutes, such
as the elephant, rhino, or buffalo. If the first shot is misplaced, one
can fire shot after shot, even through the heart, without immediate
effect. He was a good lion, in the prime of life, with mane, teeth, and
claws perfect.
[#] Fence or screen.
Sharp meanwhile had been making his first acquaintance with that
ingenious device of the devil's, the jigger,[#] which confined him to
the camp for a week with a very ugly foot.
[#] _The jigger_, the "pulex penetrans."
Mahony, who had gone down-river, saw a male lion, but failed to stop him
with a long shot, but the next day in the same place came unexpectedly
on two lionesses, both of which he wounded. As they took refuge in the
grass, which was very extensive and thick, and he saw a cub, he sent
into camp for another gun. Sharp turned out in spite of his foot, and I
followed immediately when I returned to camp and found the note. After
a hard spurt of six miles, I met them coming back in triumph with the
pelt of one lioness and five small rolls of fur and ferocity slung on
poles. The cubs had been captured with difficulty. One only succumbed
after being bowled over with a sun helmet. They were great fun in camp,
and throve amazingly on cooked liver, of which they devoured enormous
quantities. Two of them were males, and three of them (one male and two
females[#]) are now disporting themselves in the Society's Gardens in
Regent's Park.
[#] One female has since died.
Hoping to see something of the other lioness or the lion I returned to
the same place next day, and after examining the neighbourhood of the
grass, pushed on still farther to the centre of the swamp. In this
swamp the river spreads out into a vast network of channels, with a
small central lagoon. Owing to the dryness of the season, it was
possible to cross most of the channels, which were then merely
mud-troughs, and to reach the lagoon, which was about four hundred yards
wide. Here I witnessed a most extraordinary sight. About fifty hippo
were lying about in the water, and on the banks. As the water was not
in most parts deep enough to cover them, they presented the appearance
of so many huge seals basking in the sun. They climbed in and out,
strolled about, rolled in, splashing, shouting, blowing, and entirely
ignoring my presence. After watching them for some time, I sent my boys
to the far end to drive them past. The boys yelled and threw stones at
them. Suddenly the hippo took alarm and rushed _en masse_ for the
narrow channel of the waterway. Down this they swarmed, kicking the
water 30 ft. in the air, throwing their heads back, roaring, thundering,
and crashing along, while I stood on the bank at twenty yards and took
photographs, all of which unfortunately failed.
[Illustration: It was a gruesome Sight.]
The banks of every channel and mud-hole were lined with huge yellow
masses of crocodiles; thousands and thousands of wildfowl (mainly
Egyptian and spur-wing geese), which were nesting in the hippo holes,
kept up a ceaseless din; herds and herds of game appeared as though
dancing in the mirage, and the whole scene was one to delight the heart
of a lover of nature. There indeed one felt one was far from the madding
crowd.
During the night we were awakened by the most terrific yells, and found
that some crocodiles had gone into the boys' quarters. Fortunately they
contented themselves with removing about two hundredweight of meat.
As the lions appeared to have left the country, we moved up the river to
our original camp for a week to give the plain a rest, and bagged an
eland. Sharp secured a good lioness in the lion donga.
On our return I shot a zebra for bait in the strip of bush. Turning out
somewhat reluctantly at 5.30 a.m. with no hopes of success, as the lions
had been very quiet all night, I was cutting the wind rather fine when I
saw a number of birds sitting at a respectful distance from the carcase.
Approaching cautiously, I saw some brute apparently pulling at
something, but could not see clearly what it was, as it was still more
or less dark. I knew it must be a lion from its bulk, yet dared not
think so. I retraced my steps for the wind and crept up to within sixty
yards under cover of a stunted palm. Peering cautiously round, I saw,
in the middle of a circle of some two hundred vultures, a grand old
lion, leisurely gnawing the ribs. Behind him were four little jackals
sitting in a row. It would be difficult to imagine a more perfect
picture. In the background stretched the limitless plain, streaked with
mists shimmering in the growing light of the rising sun. Clumps of
graceful palms fenced in a sandy arena where the zebra had fallen.
Round its attenuated remains, just out of reach of the swish of the
monarch's tail, was a solid circle of waiting vultures, craning their
bald necks, chattering and hustling one another. The more daring
quartette sat within the magic circle like four little images of
patience, while the lion in all his might and matchless grandeur of
form, leisurely chewed and scrunched the tit-bits, magnificently
regardless of the watchful eyes of the encircling _canaille_. Loath to
break the spell, I watched the scene for fully ten minutes, then, as he
showed signs of moving, I took the chance afforded of a broadside shot
and bowled him over with the .500 magnum. I tried to reload but the gun
jammed. The lion rose, and after looking round for the cause of the
interruption, without success, started off at a gallop. With a
desperate effort I closed the gun and knocked him over again. He was a
fine black-maned lion, and measured as he lay in a straight line from
tip to tip 10 ft. 4 in.--a very unusual length.
Another morning, taking an early stroll, I met an old cow hippo and a
calf, wandering about far from the river. I accompanied them for some
time watching them, but when I caught the youngster by the tail the old
lady turned round in answer to its squeals, and opening her mouth to its
fullest extent, some 6 ft., gave vent to a terrific roar, which reminded
me that it was breakfast-time. On another occasion presumably the same
pair strolled past within one hundred yards of our breakfast-table, but
they out-distanced the boys who went in pursuit, and plunged into the
river, easy winners.
As Sharp had shot a brace of hippo in our pool, we had them dragged out
on to the sandbank opposite, and built a grass screen at the lower end
of the hippo tunnel which led down through the bush from the high ground
above the river. Fortunately, as it afterwards transpired, we took the
precaution to block up the top entrance with stones. Here Sharp and I
posted ourselves for the night in hopes of lions. When all was quiet,
scores of vast crocodiles came out of the pool, and so successfully did
they rend and tear the huge carcases that in the morning nothing
remained but a few bones. It was a gruesome sight, the great loathsome
reptiles tearing vast blocks of hide like brown paper, then crawling
away to digest their morsel, then again advancing to the attack, while a
row of hyaenas sat silhouetted against the sky on the high bank
opposite, or trotted uneasily to and fro, moaning and howling
unceasingly, yet fearing to approach the evil mass of reptiles. Crowds
of mosquitoes and sandflies added their plaintive song. Suddenly with a
mighty rush five hippo dashed down the bank, then, recovering from their
alarm, strolled quietly by at five yards, the moonlight gleaming white
on their wet backs.
Having heard some lions at sunrise to the east I started in pursuit,
and, following along an extensive dry donga that cut through the plain,
found some fresh spoor which I lost in the endless sea of dry long grass
that covered the greater part of the plain. This I fired, and then came
round by the river, hoping to see some of them if they were driven from
their cover. When nearly home I saw a lion stand up in the low scrub
about a thousand yards away. He had our wind, and started across the
bare plain at a gallop, making for the long grass. I set off in hot
pursuit with my gun-boy. When the lion stopped to look I stopped, hoping
that he would think I was not following him. Whereupon my boy, who
would never learn the trick, sailed gracefully over my shoulder. The
lion, apparently taking us for some harmless mountebanks, slackened his
pace, and only reached the grass about five hundred yards ahead of me.
Rushing in on his tracks, I was fortunate enough to catch a glimpse of
his mane above the grass, as he crossed a place where the grass was
rather shorter than elsewhere. He had turned at right angles from his
course, and had ceased to worry himself about me. Following hard, I got
a chance at sixty yards, and knocked him over with a shot from the .500
magnum high on the shoulder. Owing to the smoke, the lack of landmarks,
and the height of the grass (about 4 ft. 6 in.), I lost his exact
whereabouts, and after slipping in another cartridge, walked past him.
He suddenly rose at twenty-five yards and charged straight. The
incredible rapidity of his onslaught and the cover afforded by the grass
rendered aiming impossible. I merely swung the gun on him and dropped
him at four yards with a shot in the neck, then hastily retired. After
waiting for some time and hearing no sound, I again advanced, this time
with the greatest caution. I could soon distinguish his shoulder at ten
yards between the grass. Not wishing to damage his skin unnecessarily,
I took my small rifle and fired at his shoulder. The shot had hardly
struck when he again rose and charged like lightning. Another lucky
shot from the second barrel, which entered the old wound, laid him out.
His head was within three yards of my feet. Even then he would not die,
although unable to rise, and it needed three more shots to finish him.
This was the first time I had been charged by a lion, and I was amazed
at the incredible rapidity of their movements. My respect for friend
lion increased a thousandfold.
The following day was evidently a lion's holiday, for Mahony and I,
following the river to where I had dropped a zebra, put up two lionesses
out of some scrub. I hit them both with a right and left. Mahony also
hit one, which we secured. But the other one crossed the river, making
a clean jump of 34 ft., and reached a large patch of long grass where we
lost her. The wind dropped, and consequently the grass would not burn.
Nor could we follow her spoor. Sharp, crossing the plain to the
Umkulumadzi, met a lion and a lioness, and killed the lion with a shot
in the neck. On his way home he met another lion, and with a shot at
ten yards from the 10-bore removed a bunch of the mane. The lion jumped
into a small patch of impassable reed from which he could not be induced
to move, so was wisely allowed to stay, as handling a gun inside would
have been impossible. This was our grand finale at lion camp, and we
again moved to our old spot by the water-hole in the jungle, but without
success.
The variation in the Lichtenstein hartebeeste was very remarkable, the
type in this jungle being a heavy beast without face markings, the
frontal bone very prominent and the white rump indistinct, while near
Gorongoza's hills they were smaller, had a white blaze on the forehead,
and were without the peculiar frontal prominence, the rump, too, being
very white. The nocturnal attentions of the hyaenas were most annoying,
diabolical peals of laughter in rapid succession making sleep almost
impossible. Failing to find buffalo, we again marched up the Pungwe,
and to the lagoon where we had started proceedings.
The first morning after losing a splendid eland, in company with Mahony,
I met a fretful porcupine taking his morning constitutional. We waited
till he walked within five yards and then gave chase. For a time the
pace was hot, till I headed him off, and grabbed him, by the long hair
on his neck, which promptly gave way (I mean the hair). I was again
closing on him, when he suddenly backed, driving one quill through my
boot, 1-1/2 in. through my little toe, and a dozen others into my leg,
one through the tendon. One of my boys was badly mangled in a similar
manner, and it was only after giving the fretful one a playful tap on
the skull that we made him fast. I regret to say that two days
afterwards he died.
As the officials of a so-called Gorongoza Development Co., with its
headquarters on the Dingi-Dingi, had seized our boys on their way to
Fontesvilla with trophies, and ill-used them, we marched to the Pungwe,
where I branched off to arrange matters, the others following the river
towards Sarmento. I found seven or eight yellow-visaged creatures, a
Portuguese-French mixture, who in three years had disposed of a capital
of, I believe, some hundreds of thousands of francs, with the stupendous
result of an asset comprising about fifty acres of castor oil (one of
the most ineradicable weeds of the country). The Governor, who was very
polite, told me that he was entitled to levy shooting licences, and
after some talk we closed the matter with a payment of L10, which I
should advise the shareholders of the Gorongoza Development Co. to keep
an eye on, as it is the only return they are ever likely to see. He
also told me that he should like a lion hunt, and had even sat up by his
fowl-house for that purpose. Not long after we met him, vinously
inclined, in Beira--the cheque had been cashed. On the Pungwe we
watched some native blacksmiths at work. Several of their tools were
very ingenious.
Again we marched north, and striking the Pungwe by Tiga's Kraal, crossed
the island and the Dingi-Dingi, and eventually camped at the junction of
a broad sandy river with the Urema. Sharp bagged a good buffalo with a
42-inch head the first night; and the following morning we found that a
male lion had visited the carcase, but retired before our arrival. We
tossed up as to who should sit up that night, and I was unlucky enough
to win; unlucky, in that I spent one of the most awful nights it has
ever been my lot to endure. Having built a small platform, 6 ft. from
the ground, I repaired thither with a thick blanket at sunset. Soon
about thirty hyaenas appeared, and continued fighting, snarling, and
uttering diabolical yells all night; while battalions of mosquitoes
refreshed themselves at my expense, biting my knees, even through a
camel's-hair blanket and flannel trousers.
At last, about an hour before dawn, I fell asleep, and was awakened at
sunrise by a scuffling noise behind me. I turned round, on murder
intent, expecting to find a belated hyaena, and beheld, ten yards away,
a grand old lion slowly dragging the carcase under the shade of a tree.
Still half asleep, I reached for the 10-bore, and killed him with a shot
high on the shoulder, and went back to breakfast, feeling thoroughly
ashamed of myself. I consider sitting up over a bait an unpardonable
form of murder, if there is the remotest possibility of shooting a beast
in fair hunt.
A few days later, when on the way to our camp in the jungle, I overshot
the track in some long grass, and spent a terrible day in consequence.
I could not be certain that I had crossed it, or if I had crossed, of
not doing so again if I returned. The only safe course was to follow
some definite direction. I judged the whereabouts of the junction of
the Gorongoza plain and the Urema, and went straight ahead through thick
and thin. Some of the bush was terrible, and the only way to pass was
by climbing along the boughs of the trees above. The experience gave me
a clear idea of how people lose themselves irretrievably, as I found it
needed a tremendous effort of will to compel myself to go on and on.
The temptation to try another direction is almost invincible, and
nothing is easier than to lose one's nerves on these occasions.
However, I at length emerged, torn and bleeding from head to foot, and
throwing myself into the river, regardless of crocodiles, lay there,
drinking in the water through every pore. Much refreshed, but with the
unpleasant prospect of spending the night there, I climbed up on to the
path that runs along the river-bank, and saw to my amazement the spoor
of two horses; this I followed up; and half an hour later, as it was
getting too dark to see, I caught the glimmer of a fire in the distance.
Here I found Mr. H. S. H. Cavendish of Lake Rudolph fame, and Mr. Dodson
of the British Museum, who had just arrived on a shooting trip.