A DAY’S WORK COLLECTING
Collecting was my constant occupation during the month that I camped
and hunted near Zinder.
Now, collecting Fauna for the scientific purposes of large Natural
History Museums is work somewhat out of the ordinary; so much so, in
fact, that I would like to show clearly what such pursuits entail,
and to do this will endeavour to describe some of the actual work
in the field.
To begin with, the climate is African: which means, in this
territory, that for at least nine months in the year the land knows
not rain, and lies like an overdone pie-crust, withering beneath a
heat that is too great. Day after day, with unchecked regularity,
from the break of dawn, a fierce sun rises rapidly high up in the
sky, and as it gains in strength, so a silence settles upon the
earth, for so great is its oppression, that at the height of its
power it subdues all living things. About 10 a.m. you may notice
that the glad sounds of morning have faded—birds are retiring to
leafy shades, the boisterous noise of natives at work in the village
has died down; before noon the land is wrapped in silent solitude,
and Old Sol alone is left in the field.
Hence the time to go hunting in this land is early in the morning
or late in the afternoon, when the creatures of the underworld
have left their hiding-places and are up and about in eager quest
of feeding. For the hunter and his native boys it is also the
favoured hour, for, as in travelling, the cool of the day allows
of the maximum of exertion without any forfeit of sheer exhaustion
which the noonday sun inexorably imposes.
Let us follow the proceedings of a morning’s hunting. I have
turned wakeful toward dawn, and lie warmly in my blankets awaiting
the sound of cock-crowing to tell me the time, for I am without
a watch since the sand has damaged both I possess. When I hear
the call I listen for, I know full well I must bestir myself if
I would go away to the fields in good time. Blankets and bed are
provokingly comfortable at that moment, but it is fatal to hesitate,
so I call “John!” and at once he answers, for he too has been
sleeping lightly; and while I am dressing he lights a camp-fire
and prepares tea. Sakari and Mona are also awakened, and sit, with
their coloured blankets over their shoulders and drawn about them,
huddled before the few embers of a fire that they have rekindled,
for there is a chill in the air and they are still half asleep and
without vigorous circulation.
When I am ready, we prepare to start. My search is for birds this
morning, so I take ·410 shot-gun for collecting small specimens,
12-bore shot-gun for anything larger, and a ·22 Winchester rifle
in case I find some wary bird that I cannot get within gun-shot
of, and yet may see it watchfully perched within the range of the
little rifle. I fill my pockets with cartridges: those for the ·410
loaded with dust for sparrow-sized birds, and with No. 8 for birds
of the size of doves; while I carry only No. 6 in the cartridges
for the 12-bore gun, which I have found will kill vulture or eagle
or bustard—in fact, any bird less than an ostrich. Also, I take
an open basket, so that I may carry the specimens I capture with
great care and without damage to the plumage, some cotton wool to
stop bleeding and fill wounds, and a notebook in which to record
the colours of the soft parts before they fade at death—viz. the
colour of the eyes, the bill, and the feet.
John stays behind to prepare breakfast and make camp clean and tidy
for the day; Sakari and Mona come with me.
I know where I will go—I keep more westerly than yesterday. We
go carefully at first over the uneven ground, for it is not yet
light, though there is now a faint brightness in the eastern sky.
We are well away from camp, and cannot see it when daylight is upon
us. I am alert now that the sky has cleared; eyes roam everywhere,
catching movement in the undergrowth, among the leaves of big
trees, or in the sky. Many birds I see: little brown ones like
the undergrowth or ground; pale ones like the sand; dark ones
like the trees; or gorgeous ones that have no shy colouring,
but are gems unto themselves, that peep out brightly revealed in
the dark background of their leafy haunts. I know them all, they
are very familiar—for am I not among them every day? I am not
concerned with these: I pass on ever observant, ever expectant,
knowing that there are others that I will find. . . . Soon I am
arrested: I have heard a note that I do not know—so often I am
guided in that way. I go forward watchfully in the direction of
the sound. . . . I have now marked down the clump of bushes whence
the call proceeds. . . . I am within range of it— when I see a
long-tailed bird dive from it and disappear in an instant. I have
seen that it is a Coly, but not of a race I know. . . . Pray do
not think I have lost this valuable quarry, though it has flown
and is out of sight. Ah, no! birds that inhabit a favoured thicket
are unlikely to fly very far, especially in the feeding hours of
morning. So I pause and listen attentively, and anon I think I hear
the tell-tale somewhat mournful single-pipe call of the bird I seek,
but it is so faint that I wonder if fancy is deluding me. There is no
time now to be lost. I hasten forward among the thorn trees that in
a belt grow numerously, and the pulse quickens as I again hear the
call for certain, and from more than one bird. . . . I feel my way
toward the sounds. . . . I am not sure of the direction at first,
but as I draw near there is no doubt. The birds are ferreting for
leaf-buds among the thick tangle in the centre of a thorn tree
(acacia). I get up in time to see them dart away, and succeed in
shooting one specimen. But that is not enough, for the species, a
long-tailed Coly, with a blue band on the back of the head (_Colins
macrourus_), is new to my collection; I must follow them up. So
I hunt on for an hour or so, with the result that I capture four;
and it has been an exciting chase, for the birds were peculiarly
wild, though they are of a kind that are often easy of approach.
I am very warm, and stand beside a tree to smoke a soothing
cigarette. I have seen a number of hawks in the air during the
morning; now that I am idling in the shade I see another. It is of a
species that I have observed before, but that I have never been able
to approach—a very large hawk, of even dark leaden-grey colour,
with mighty wings and a crested head. The bird swings slowly over
the land about a quarter of a mile away, and I give up following it,
and drop my eyes to look about nearer at hand.
I had forgotten the incident, when Sakari aroused me with: “White
man, dem shafo (hawk) live for tree—look him!” and he pointed
away to a small group of tallish trees on our right. Sure enough,
following Sakari’s directions, I could make out the outline of
a heavy bird perched near the top of one of the trees, whence it
overlooked the whole countryside. The native had watched it fly
and settle there.
Now began a stalk as exciting as one could wish for. I always look
on birds of prey, the hawks and the eagles, as royal game, and feel
about the same intense interest in hunting a wild species of them as
I do when stalking a particularly fine head of big-game. Between me
and my prey there was hardly any tree cover. I could only trust to
using the “lie” of the hollows to reach the bird unobserved or
at least unsuspected. I ordered the two natives to remain where they
were, while I took my shot-gun and started on a wide detour, so that
I might reach a little dry streamlet hollow that led in toward the
trees. Rapidly, but carefully, after I had got round into position,
I advanced, crouching and creeping, toward the bird; and always when
I dared to glance ahead I saw my coveted quarry perched in place
and unalarmed. When I drew closer I could distinguish the eyes and
hooked beak, and saw that the bird was watchful, for it turned its
head in one direction and then in another as it looked out over the
landscape. . . . Now I was crawling flatwise, bare bruised knees
and all, and before long stood breathless among the trees—the
bird somewhere overhead. As I moved to get a better view through
the branches, the bird swooped from its perch to make off; and then
crumpled up in mid-air as the report of my gun rang out. Seldom
have I been more satisfied with the sound of the fall of a heavy
bird; for many a like stalk have I made after equally rare prize,
only to find the sharp-eyed quarry depart when I was half-way on
my journey, or sometimes when almost within shooting range.
The natives soon joined me, and having now enough specimens for
the work of the day, we turned back to camp.
On the way home I had two fox-traps to visit and lift, for it is
not safe to leave them set during daylight, lest browsing goat or
village cur stumble into them. The luck of the morning continued,
for in the second trap there was a struggling captive—a beautiful
buff sand-coloured little fox known as _Vulpes pallida edwardsi_.
This capture afforded the two natives great satisfaction, and, as
is their habit, they showed fiendish glee over the downfall of this
creature of renowned wit and cunning. If they were not restrained
by my presence, I know they would poke it with sticks and jeer at
it, and in many ways act with unconscious cruelty, for they have
not an atom of pity for such things—no African has. If they were
free to kill the fox, they would secure the teeth and the eyes and
the skin to secrete the parts about their persons as charms in the
firm belief that they thus invest themselves with the high gifts
of the animal against the cunning of their opponents or enemies.
Thus finished a morning’s hunting. Sometimes, on other days, I
would meet with greater success, sometimes with less; and sometimes,
too, I would have my days of disappointment, when a rarity was seen
and lost through a missed shot or in losing all traces of it in
its flight. But the hunter does not readily forget, and naturally
memorises a place where he has once found quarry, so that again
and again he will revisit it, and often picks up on a later day
that which has escaped him at the start.
There were few big-game in the district, and, in my case, for the
present, it was not my concern to hunt them, except that I might
have fresh meat.
But in addition to ornithological research, I was interested in
collecting all kinds of small mammals, and as few indeed were ever
seen in daylight, I had to resort almost altogether to steel traps
to make my captures, and had mouse-traps, rat-traps, rabbit-traps,
and fox-traps set at nights wherever I found an inhabited burrow
or den or a frequented “run.”
Furthermore I had yet other matters to give thought to, for I was
to bring home collections of Lepidopteræ, which entailed long
excursions in the heat of the day in quest of butterflies, and
patience-trying hours of watching by a lamp-lure in the darkness
of night in quest of moths.
Altogether, I can assure you I had no time to weary for companionship
or to realise my loneliness, and that was a comforting consideration.
I have described the manner of hunting specimens, and would now
turn to the work of preserving them.
I have built a rough-framed grass hut for workshop, close to my
tent. When I return in the morning, it is here that the specimens
are taken, and work is begun at once, for the temperature is so great
that a lifeless carcass cannot be relied on to keep fresh longer than
five hours, and will certainly be beyond handling if left to the end
of the day. I usually preserve from five to ten specimens in a day,
the number depending on size or the success of hunting; while on
special occasions I have finished as many as fifteen in a day.
Sakari and Mona, the boys selected at Lagos and Kano to help in
skinning specimens, can now be trusted with certain work. The fox had
been put out of pain, and, laying it on its back, I make the opening
cut in it and start Sakari on the task of skinning. As he proceeds
to work the skin off, from the belly upwards, the limbs are drawn
inside and severed at the heel of the paws, the tail is pulled out
by the root, and in time the skin is clear of the body and drawn
off over the neck and head. The limbs are then labelled: “right
fore,” “left fore,” “right hind,” and “left hind,”
and are severed from the carcass at the hip and shoulder joints,
and, along with the skull, are scraped clean of flesh and numbered
and laid aside to go with the finished skin of the specimen. All the
scraps of flesh and fatty matter are then removed from the skin, and
I take it over from Sakari to apply a thorough coating of arsenical
soap preservative, when it is labelled and completed, and laid aside
to dry. It has taken Sakari about an hour and a half to do the work,
and when he is finished I set him to partly skin the smaller birds,
for he is light-fingered and has considerable skill.
Mona, meantime, is set to work on the large hawk, which proved to be
the Banded Gymnogene (_Gymnogenys typica_). A smaller bird may have
the wings severed at the shoulder of the carcass as the skinning
progresses and the bones drawn inside to be cleaned of flesh and
returned into position, but with a very large bird such procedure is
impossible, and the wings must be dealt with separately. So I stretch
one of the great wings to full expansion, and on the underside make
a cut along the full length of it. Mona then proceeds to part the
skin from flesh and bone, so that when the skin is fully released
above and below the limb, he can remove all flesh. When one wing
is complete, and the bones white and clean, he proceeds with the
other. Now the main body may be dealt with, and a cut is made from
the top of the breast-bone to the tail, and the work of skinning
continues, always using maize-meal as well as scalpel in removing
the skin, for the former is invaluable for absorbing all moisture,
such as saliva, blood, and grease, as the skin is parted from the
flesh, and safeguards all danger of soiling the plumage. From the
inside the legs are severed from the body at the top of the thigh,
and the tail at the base of the big quills, and Mona proceeds with
removing the skin from the body—for later the legs may be returned
to, the skin peeled down as far as it will go, and the flesh cleaned
from the bones. Soon he reaches the shoulders, and breaks off the
wing-bones close to the body, and works the skin, which is now
freed from the body carcass, slowly up the neck and over the skull;
the neck is then cut off at the base of the skull and the carcass
thrown away. The skull is carefully cleaned and remains in the skin
attached to the bill. When the limbs and skin are all thoroughly
cleaned, Mona’s work is finished, for so far can I trust him to
go, but no further. He has taken fully two hours over the work,
and he has nothing else to do for the time being, since he is not
yet sufficiently skilled to skin the smaller things. I now take
the hawk skin from Mona and thoroughly anoint the skull and neck
with preservative soap, fill the eye-sockets with globular balls of
cotton wool, to take the place of the live eye, and pass the head
back through the neck into its normal position; I then soap all the
remainder of the skin, and place a thin layer of cotton-wool over
the damp surface as I go along to keep the feathers from becoming
soiled should they turn over skinwards as they often do. When that
is done, the bird is completely preserved; but still it has to be
reformed, so that it will dry in a perfectly natural outstretched
posture. With this intention I first take needle and strong thread,
and where I see the base of the scapular feathers showing on the
inside of the skin, on either side, I pass the thread through each,
and tie it so that in doing so the shoulders are brought together—a
trick that greatly assists in bringing the wing butts back into
their normal place. Next I cut a stout straight stick or rod of
the length of the bird, and point both ends. Upon the upper length
of this I wrap sufficient wool to fill the neck, and when that is
done, it is carefully inserted in the neckskin and the point of
the stick forced up into the base of the bill, while the other end
is fixed into the root of the tail. The bird-skin is now lying,
back-downwards, with a straight firm rod running down the centre
of it; round this rod I commence to build the woollen filling,
until a form is shaped of the size of the carcass. I then see that
the base of the wing-bones and leg-bones are nicely set close into
the body, and, that done, draw the skin over the breast into its
original position, and hold it in place with a few stitches; and
the bird is ready to pick up and have the feathers rearranged with
such care that no one may suspect that it has ever been tampered
with—work that requires a distressing amount of patience if
you desire a beautiful specimen. When every feather is in place,
the specimen is laid in a coffin-shaped mould[6] of correct width
to hold the wings in place close to the body, and it is then set
aside to dry. When quite dry, the specimen is perfectly rigid,
and requires no further support, and may be handled freely.
Small birds are treated in the same way, except that there is no
difficulty with the wings, but the work is much more dainty, and
requires light fingers and a great store of patience.
Some birds, such as ducks and night-jars, cannot be skinned by
bringing the neck over the head, as the latter is too large; in
such cases an incision is made in the back of the head and the
skull worked out through it.
Meantime, while the natives have been employed with fox and hawk, I
have worked on the small birds (the Colies), so that by mid-afternoon
all are finished and laid aside to dry, with sufficient camphor
sprinkled over them to keep ants from attacking the soft parts of
the head. I am then free to set out on another search for specimens
or to employ my time in setting traps. If I collect in the cool of
the evening, I keep specimens overnight, which can be done without
fear of decay, and start skinning them at daybreak on the following
morning.
My description will, I trust, illustrate something of the process
employed with specimens collected and preserved in the field. You
may already know them if you have been “behind the scenes” in an
important museum, and have seen the wealth of research specimens
that are there, carefully stored away from the strong rays of
daylight so that their colour shall not fade. Drawer upon drawer of
different species, all uniform in shape and labelled for the purpose:
the Type specimens from the locality where the species was first
discovered, and specimens from any other part of the world where
it has since been found to exist; many rare and immensely valuable;
many the absolute proof of vastly important records that have gone
to establish the Natural History of the world, and valuable as the
parchments of the historian or the relics of the antiquarian. There
you may actually see how the collector makes up his skins in the
field, and why they are made, and how the peoples of the world come
to know all the creatures that inhabit it.