_THE START FOR THE WASO NYIRO._
Some of El Hakim’s experiences with elephants—I am made a
blood-brother of Koromo’s—Departure from M’thara—A toilsome march—A
buffalo-hunt—The buffalo camp—Account of Dr. Kolb’s death—An
unsuccessful lion hunt—Apprehension and punishment of a deserter.
Early the next day the Somalis left for the Waso Nyiro. Soon after
their departure we were aroused by a sound of altercation in our camp.
On sending to inquire the cause, we found that four of the Somalis had
returned, and were busily searching the tents of our men for deserters
from their safari. Summoning them, we asked by what right they entered
our camp and searched it without even asking permission. They were so
impertinent that I lost my temper, and abused them soundly, and ended
up by kicking them out of the camp. The looks they bestowed on me, an
Infidel, who had dared to raise his foot against a follower of Mahomet,
boded ill for my personal safety, if it should ever chance that
opportunity favoured them.
We were not quite ready to march, as our loads gave us more trouble
than we had bargained for. N’Dominuki came to see us in the morning,
accompanied by a large number of his people bringing food. We purchased
about a fortnight’s rations, as we did not intend to be away more than
a month in any case, and we could easily eke out the rations with
game. We only took a month’s supply of tinned stuff, soap, candles,
etc., for ourselves, leaving two cases behind with N’Dominuki as a
reserve store to take us back to Nairobi. We also left behind twenty
loads of beads, large-bore ammunition, and odds and ends of equipment,
and all the cattle, except eight or nine head which we intended to take
with us. N’Dominuki had five young camels belonging to El Hakim, which
we also took along, as we thought they might be useful for buying ivory
from the Rendili.
I wished to go out again to look for my friend the bull elephant, but
I was unable to put my foot on the ground in consequence of my injured
instep. After our evening meal, which we had taken under the trees
outside the tent, George and I had an interesting chat with El Hakim
about elephant-hunting, upon which subject he was a veritable mine of
information. He had shot elephants persistently for the previous four
years in Somaliland, Galla-land, and the country round Lake Rudolph,
having killed over 150, on one occasion shooting twenty-one elephants
in twenty-one days—a fairly good record. Commenting on the size of
the tusks obtainable in the districts north of the Waso Nyiro River,
he mentioned that his largest pair weighed just over 218 lbs., and
measured 9 feet in length.
Naturally, exciting incidents, when in pursuit of his favourite quarry,
were numerous. Once he sighted a solitary bull feeding in the open
plain some little distance away from his camp. Snatching up an 8-bore
rifle and two or three cartridges, he started in pursuit. On proceeding
to load his weapon, he found that in his hurry he had brought away the
wrong cartridges! They were by a different maker than those usually
used in the rifle, and there was a slight difference in the turning of
the flange, which caused them to jam a little. He forced them in, and,
by an exercise of strength, closed the breech.
After a careful stalk he reached a favourable position for a shot, and,
taking aim, banged off. The rifle exploded with a terrific report,
the barrels blowing off in his hands, fortunately without doing him
any injury—the explosion of 10 drams of powder being too much for the
incompletely closed breech-locking grip. There was El Hakim with the
butt of his rifle in his hand and the barrels in the other, vaguely
wondering in what manner the beast would kill him, and, no doubt,
feeling very much _de trop_. The elephant, who was hit in the shoulder,
turned towards him, and, after regarding him with a prolonged stare,
turned away again, and moved slowly off as if a bullet in the shoulder
was of little or no consequence, leaving his discomfited assailant
considerably relieved.
Another time he took the same 8-bore—which, by the way, had not been
repaired—and started in pursuit of a herd of elephants. He loaded the
weapons, and, after closing the breech, bound it round and round very
tightly with a leather bootlace. On the first discharge, stock and
barrels again parted company; whereupon he handed the useless weapon to
one of his bearers, and, taking an old Martini in exchange, rushed off
after the herd, and bagged three more elephants.
In Somaliland, one of the favourite amusements of his party was riding
out, mounted on light Somali ponies, to bait wild elephants. Their
_shikaries_ would perhaps locate a couple of the animals in a small
clump of trees, where they were resting during the heat of the day.
One of the party would then ride up and fire a pistol at one of them.
The result, of course, would be a scream of rage, and a furious
charge by the insulted animal. Horse and rider would at once make
themselves scarce. The elephant would seldom charge more than 100
yards or so away from cover, but at that distance, or under, would
halt and then slowly return, thus giving another member of the party
a chance. With a wild shout another horse and rider would gallop at
full speed across the elephant’s path, just out of reach. Round would
come the huge beast in another attempt to put an end to what it justly
considered a nuisance—an attempt foredoomed to failure. One after
another the horsemen would gallop up to the now thoroughly infuriated
beast, shouting and firing pistols, provoking ugly rushes first at one
and then another of them—for all the world like a lot of schoolboys
playing touch. Sometimes one or other of them had a narrow escape, but
somebody would nip in at the critical moment and divert the elephant’s
attention. A slip or a fall would have meant a horrible death from the
feet and tusks of the enraged pachyderm; but the ponies were as agile
as their riders, and enjoyed the fun every whit as much.
We had no ponies, and playing with elephants in that manner would not
have been sufficiently amusing when mounted on a mule, which had a
habit of violently shying whenever it was urged faster than a moderate
trot. El Hakim once had a very unpleasant experience through this
mule’s aggravating peculiarity. He was riding ahead of the safari, when
he noticed a herd of elephants feeding a mile or so in front. Taking
his rifle from the bearer, he trotted after them. The elephants moved
slowly on, and disappeared over a ridge some distance ahead. El Hakim
urged the mule faster, but, in spite of his efforts, on gaining the top
of the ridge, he had the mortification of seeing his quarry moving off
at an ever-increasing speed. Fearing that he would lose them after all,
he jammed his spurs into the mule, and raced away down the slope for
all he was worth.
It was fairly steep, the ground being covered with loose stones, some
of which, displaced by the mule’s hoofs, rolled and clattered downhill
after him, and so frightened the animal that she incontinently bolted.
El Hakim’s whole energies were now concentrated on keeping his seat,
his rifle, and his presence of mind. Just as he felt that he was
gradually succeeding in getting his agitated steed under control, she
shied at a clump of cactus, and shot him clean out of the saddle,
and over the cactus, into the clinging embrace of a well-developed
wait-a-bit thorn which was growing on the other side. When the men
had finally cut him out, he had quite given up the idea of shooting
elephants that day, turning his attention instead to his numerous
abrasions. Besides, the elephants were by that time miles away.
After the evening meal, when we generally sat in front of the camp-fire
smoking, George and I used, figuratively speaking, to sit at the feet
of El Hakim and listen for hours to his yarns of elephant-hunting. It
was very seldom we could get him to speak about his experiences, but
when in the mood to talk, his tales were well worth listening to.
We had some hazy idea that elephants were shot at something like a
hundred yards’ range with a powerful large-bore rifle, which mortally
wounded them at the first discharge. Once I asked El Hakim, off-hand,
at what range he generally killed his elephants.
“Oh,” he replied, “anything from five to twenty yards!” and went on to
explain that it was much safer to shoot big game at short range.
“Always stalk your beast carefully,” said he, “and get close enough
to be certain of your shot; then hit him hard in the right place, and
there you are!”
It certainly sounded very simple, and I must say that El Hakim puts his
own precepts into practice with conspicuous success; but a beginner
does not find it so very easy. The temptation to fire at say eighty or
a hundred yards, is well-nigh irresistible. It seems so much safer,
though in reality it is much more dangerous—a fact which is rather
difficult of assimilation by the novice.
“Besides,” El Hakim would remark in conclusion, with the air of one
propounding an unanswerable argument, “it is more sportsmanlike.”
Another advantage of the short-range shot is this: Suppose a herd of
elephants is located. If the conditions of wind, etc., are favourable,
one can, with ordinary care, get right up to them, near enough to
pick out the finest pair of tusks, and drop their owner with a bullet
through the brain. If a ·303 is used there is no smoke, while it makes
a comparatively small report, which is most likely attributed by the
rest of the herd to the effect, and not the cause, of their comrade’s
fall. A second and even a third elephant can often be obtained under
these circumstances, before the herd realizes what is happening and
stampedes.
This rule of careful stalking till near enough to make the result of
the shot certain holds good with all big game, though there are certain
other factors to be considered, such as the angle to your line of sight
at which the beast aimed at is standing, and also light, etc. One
can go into any club or hotel billiard-room in those parts of Africa
where big game is to be found, and listen to conversation on, say,
lion-shooting. The chances are that nine out of ten men present have
“had a shot at a lion;” but only a very small percentage have actually
bagged their beast. In these days of small-bore, high-power rifles, a
man can shoot at a stray lion at six hundred yards, and he may be lucky
enough to wound it or even, perhaps, kill it; but surely that is not
“playing the game.”
On the afternoon of the day after the Somalis left for the Waso Nyiro,
N’Dominuki came into camp with a chief named “Karama,” who wished to
make “muma,” or blood-brotherhood, with me, to which I consented. It
was rather a long affair. They brought a sheep with them, which was
killed, and the liver cut out and toasted. Karama and I then squatted
on the ground facing each other, while our men on the one side, and
Karama’s friends on the other, formed a circle round us. A spear and a
rifle were then crossed over our heads, and N’Dominuki, as master of
the ceremonies, then took a knife and sharpened it alternately on the
spear-blade and the gun-barrel, reciting the oath of “muma” meanwhile.
It was a long, rambling kind of oath, amounting in fact to an offensive
and defensive alliance, with divers pains and penalties attached, which
came into operation in the event of either or both the blood-brothers
breaking the said oath. At the conclusion of N’Dominuki’s speech the
assembled spectators shouted the words “Orioi muma” three times.
Three incisions were then made in my chest, just deep enough to allow
the blood to flow, and a similar operation was performed on Karama.
N’Dominuki then ordered the toasted sheep’s liver to be brought, which,
on its arrival, was cut into small pieces, and a piece handed to both
Karama and me. A further recitation of the penalties of breaking the
oath was made by N’Dominuki, and again the spectators shouted “Orioi
muma.” Karama and I then dipped our pieces of liver in our own blood,
and amid breathless silence exchanged pieces and devoured them. This
was repeated three times to the accompaniment of renewed shouts from
the spectators. The remainder of the liver was then handed round to
the witnesses, who ate it, and the ceremony was concluded, it only
remaining for me to make my new blood-brother a present.
The next morning our final preparations were completed, and N’Dominuki
having come over early, we turned all the animals we were leaving
behind over to him. He bade us adieu, with a wish that we might return
safe and sound, and, what is more, he sincerely meant what he said.
After leaving our late camp we plunged once again into the thorn
forest, which we soon crossed, emerging into the sparsely vegetated
highland I have mentioned before as extending to the northward. The
sun was very hot, and travelling slow and laborious, not so much from
the nature of the ground, perhaps, as from the soft condition of the
men after their long rest. The ground, nevertheless, made walking a
wearisome task, as the loose pebbles and quartz blocks turned our
ankles and bruised our shins.
[Illustration: THE AUTHOR MAKING BLOOD-BROTHERHOOD WITH KARAMA.]
[Illustration: THE “GREEN CAMP.” (See page 162.)]
After two hours’ toiling we found ourselves on the edge of the
tableland looking down a sharp declivity to the plain beneath, which
stretched out in desolate barrenness as far as the eye could reach.
It was a dreary khaki-coloured landscape, with peculiarly shaped
hills in the extreme background. In the middle distance were belts of
dusty-looking thorn trees, while here and there mounds of broken lava
reared up their ugly masses to add to the general air of desolation.
Somewhere ahead of us, about four days’ march, was the Waso Nyiro;
and beyond that lay the desert again, stretching away up towards Lakes
Rudolph and Stephanie, and thence onward to the hills of Abyssinia and
Somaliland. The country we should have to cross in order to reach the
Waso Nyiro was, as far as we knew, waterless, with the exception of
one tiny brook, which flowed northward from M’thara, probably emptying
itself into the Waso Nyiro. We followed it, therefore, in all its
multitudinous windings, as, without it, we should have been in a sorry
plight indeed.
As we descended to the plain the heat appreciably increased. We met
several rhinoceros on the road, but we discreetly left them to their
meditations. Apparently there had once been grass on the plain, but it
had been burnt, and during the passage of our safari a fine, choking
black dust arose, which, in combination with the dust from the dry red
soil, formed a horrible compound that choked up our ears, eyes, noses,
and throats in a most uncomfortable manner. For four hours we marched,
and then camped on the banks of the stream.
Innumerable rhino tracks crossed in every direction, leading us to
suppose that we were camped at the place where the brutes usually
drank. George, hearing the shrill cries of some guinea-fowl from the
opposite bank, sallied forth with the shot-gun, and soon the sound
of many shots in quick succession showed that his energy was reaping
its reward. He returned presently with eight birds, which were a very
welcome addition to our larder.
We turned in early. During the night I was awakened by the sound of
torrents of rain beating down on the tent. I rose and looked cautiously
out. A noise from El Hakim’s tent at once attracted my attention,
and gazing in that direction I saw El Hakim himself, clad only in a
diminutive shirt, busily engaged in placing the ground-sheet of his
tent over the stacked loads. He was getting splashed considerably. I
did not disturb him, but retired once more to my blankets, perfectly
satisfied that the loads were being properly looked after.
In the morning the sky was as clear as crystal, while the parched earth
showed no traces of the heavy shower that had fallen during the night.
We travelled over the same kind of country as that traversed the day
before, dry brown earth, burnt grass, and loose stones being the most
noticeable features, if I except the ubiquitous rhinoceros, of which
truly there were more than “a genteel sufficiency.” In fact, they
proved a terrible nuisance, as we had sometimes to make long _détours_
in order to avoid them. They were not only capable of doing so, but
seemed only too anxious to upset our safari. The men were mortally
afraid of them, and much preferred their room to their company.
After a couple of hours on the road we saw in the distance a large
swamp, which we had not previously noticed, surrounded for a radius
of a mile or so by thorn-bush, which grew a great deal thicker than
on other parts of the plain. The quantity of game we saw on the road
was simply incredible. Vast herds of oryx, zebra, and grantei, roamed
over the landscape; ostriches and giraffes were also in sight, and, of
course, rhinoceros. It is a sportsman’s paradise, and as yet, with one
or two exceptions, untouched.
When we reached the swamp the safari was halted to allow the stragglers
to come up. While waiting I saw something sticking out of the grass a
hundred yards away, to which I called El Hakim’s attention. He observed
it attentively through the binoculars for a moment, and then turned to
me with an exclamation of satisfaction, softly observing, “Buffaloes,
lying down.” Taking his ·450 express, and motioning the few men with
us to be silent, he started to stalk them, followed by myself with the
Martini rifle. We crawled down very cautiously to leeward, and after
half an hour’s careful stalking, during which we advanced only fifty
yards, we ensconced ourselves in a favourable position in the reeds
fringing the swamp. We were considering the advisability of a further
advance, when our fools of men who had been in the rear reached the
spot where we left the others, and on learning that a whole herd of
the dreaded “mbogo” (buffalo) were in such close proximity, promptly
climbed the adjacent trees, from which safe and elevated position they
carried on an animated discourse on the merits of buffalo meat as an
article of diet. As a consequence we had the mortification of seeing
the old bull prick up his ears and listen, then slowly rise and sniff
the air. The indications were apparently unsatisfactory, for the whole
herd rose slowly to their feet, and, after a preliminary sniff, moved
slowly off over a rise in the ground, and out of range. Words would not
express our feelings!
El Hakim and I vehemently consigned our indiscreet followers to the
hottest possible place known to theology, but even that did not comfort
us. We decided not to give up, but to go on and follow the herd,
although it was extremely unlikely that they would allow us to get
within range, as the buffalo is a very keen beast, especially when
once alarmed. However, to our surprise and delight, we found, when we
had breasted the rise, that the herd (about thirty head) had halted
about two hundred yards away. We then noticed several very young calves
among them, which at once explained why they were so deliberate in
their movements. They were, however, on the look-out, and directly we
appeared they saw us. The cows with their calves took up their station
in the centre of the herd, while the bulls faced outwards, something
after the manner of soldiers forming square. Most noble and majestic
they appeared, with their huge, powerful bodies and immense frontal
development of horns. They had an air of savage grandeur and ferocity
about them that commanded my highest admiration.
There were a few stunted thorn trees standing about, and we took up a
position behind one of them. As I have said, we were about two hundred
yards away, and as they showed no disposition to run, we thought we
might venture to walk boldly to another tree some distance nearer to
them. There was a certain amount of risk of being charged in so doing,
but we chanced it, and were perfectly successful in our design, though
our quarry were manifestly uneasy. Sitting down, we waited patiently in
the scorching sun for over an hour, in order to let them settle down
again, so that we might approach still nearer. They gradually resumed
their feeding, but not without much sniffing of the air on the part of
the bulls, coupled with many suspicious glances in our direction.
El Hakim thought that the best thing to do would be for me to go to
another tree a hundred yards to the right. Once there we would both
crawl gradually within range, and then act as circumstances might
direct. I started off for the tree, and arrived without accident,
although the old bull, the guardian of the herd, sniffed severe
disapproval. They were evidently getting used to our presence, but it
was highly improbable they would tolerate our nearer approach, should
they observe it. We again waited, and then, watching El Hakim, I saw
him crawl stealthily on his stomach towards another tree fifty yards
nearer the herd. I followed suit on my side, suffering considerably in
so doing.
The vertical sun beat fiercely down, and, flattened out as I was, I
felt its full effects on my back, which was protected only by a flannel
shirt. The ground was covered with sharp pebbles and quartz crystals;
and the long sharp thorns, blown down from the trees, pricked me
cruelly, while I was tormented by a raging thirst. That fifty yards’
crawl took us twenty minutes; it seemed an age. When I arrived, panting
and gasping, at my tree, I was bleeding freely from numerous cuts and
scratches on my chest, elbows, and knees.
However, we were now within easy range of the herd, and after resting
a few minutes to steady ourselves, we prepared for action. Looking
over to my left, I saw El Hakim raise his rifle, so, taking aim at the
largest bull I could pick out, I let drive, followed a fraction of
a second later by El Hakim. My beast jumped, staggered a few paces,
with the blood streaming in showers from his mouth and nostrils, and
then toppled over dead, shot through the lungs. El Hakim’s beast also
staggered a few paces and went down, evidently mortally wounded. We had
neither of us shot at the big bull, as at the moment of firing he was
behind some of the other animals. We had then two magnificent beasts
down, and did not want more, but the herd would not move away. They
smelt the two carcases stamping and pawing the ground, but did not
budge an inch.
The big bull gazed round, seeking an assailant; but we were well under
cover. Suddenly he turned, exposing his shoulder. Two rifles spoke
simultaneously, but he did not go down. Once more we fired together,
and again he was struck, but still kept his legs. Yet again we fired,
and had the satisfaction of seeing him settle down on his hind
quarters. To our great delight, the herd then moved off, and we were
able to walk cautiously up to within ten feet of the big bull, as he
sat propped up on his fore legs, bellowing defiance. Such a spectacle
of impotent rage I had never previously witnessed. He made most
herculean efforts to rise, but being unable to do so, he rolled his
blood-shot eyes, while foam dripped from his massive jaws. He was the
very picture of helpless though majestic rage. I took pity on the noble
beast, and planted a Martini bullet in his neck, smashing the spine,
thereby finishing him for good and all. We carefully examined him, and,
an instance of the splendid vitality of an old bull buffalo, found all
our six bullets planted in his left shoulder, so close together that
they could have been covered with an ordinary-sized plate. Three were
mine and three were El Hakim’s. We could easily distinguish them, as,
though our rifles were of the same bore (·450), those from El Hakim’s
Holland and Holland were clean-cut and symmetrical, while my heavier
Martini bullets, propelled by half the charge of powder used by El
Hakim, made a more ragged hole. We tossed for the head, and I won.
Four men were required to carry it into camp, when it was severed from
the body. The horns were magnificently proportioned, and in perfect
condition. The horns of my first beast also were quite up to the
average.
As by this time it was long after midday (our stalk having lasted three
hours), we determined to camp near the edge of the swamp. We dubbed
it “Buffalo Camp,” and decided to stop there the next day in order
that the men might cut up the dead buffaloes and dry their meat into
biltong. We left their entrails where the beasts had been shot, with
men to protect them from the vultures till sundown, in the hope that
during the night they might attract lions.
Jumbi reported in the afternoon that two of the porters had deserted
on the road, and, worst of all, they were carrying, one a load of
food, and the other a load of the Venetian beads which were to buy us
food from the Rendili. We sent Jumbi with six men back to endeavour to
apprehend them.
Our camp was situated only about half a mile or so from the grave of
Dr. Kolb, whom Mr. Neumann met at M’thara. In reading Neumann’s book[7]
a pathetic paragraph (in the light of after events) met my eye; it ran
thus:—
“Here I had the honour of introducing my companion (Dr. Kolb) to
my esteemed brother N’Dominuki, and to the rhino, an animal whose
acquaintance he had not yet made. He had shot hippos in the Tana,
but felt rather desponding about his chances about bagging a ‘faro.’
However, I promised him that he should have that satisfaction, and my
pledge was fulfilled the first time he went out with me. After that
he shot many. He was, I believe, a first-rate shot, though somewhat
hampered in the bush by the necessity of wearing spectacles.”
Soon after those words were written Dr. Kolb was killed by a rhinoceros
under particularly affecting circumstances. El Hakim was travelling in
company with him at the time, but on the fatal morning he was some half
hour’s march in the rear, and arrived only in time to see the end. I
got the story from El Hakim, and can vouch for its truth as far as he
was concerned in it.
It appeared that Dr. Kolb was walking at the head of his men, when he
saw a half-grown rhinoceros in the path. He was carrying a Mannlicher
rifle, the magazine loaded with soft-nosed bullets. He immediately
fired, dropping the rhinoceros dead in its tracks. The mother rhino
then sprang up from the grass, where she had been lying until then
unobserved and probably asleep, and charged down on to Dr. Kolb and his
party. She caught his gun-bearer first, and tossed him two or three
times, her horn transfixing both the man’s thighs. Dr. Kolb meanwhile
was pouring magazine fire into her, but failed to stop her, and she
charged him in turn. He turned and fled, but was overtaken in a very
few yards, and hoisted into the air, falling behind the rhinoceros, who
passed on and disappeared. Her long sharp horn entered the lower part
of his body from behind, and penetrated upwards for some distance. His
men carried him into the shade of a bush, and there El Hakim found him
half an hour later. He was quite conscious, and in no pain. El Hakim
urged him to permit him to examine his injuries, but Dr. Kolb assured
him that he was fatally wounded, and, like a true scientist, detailed
his symptoms for El Hakim’s benefit. He was quite calm and collected,
and asked El Hakim for a stimulant, and brandy was immediately
supplied. Dr. Kolb then referred to his watch, and calmly remarked that
he had twenty minutes more of consciousness and half an hour of life,
his prognosis proving correct in every particular.
The next morning as we were occupied in superintending the manufacture
of the biltong, a shout of “Simba! simba!” (Lions! lions!) caused us
to eagerly examine the landscape. Trotting unconcernedly past our
camp, not more than four hundred yards away, were a superb lion and
lioness. El Hakim, George, and I followed at once, and discovered them
loitering about some distance from the buffalo entrails. We laid down
near the remains, hoping they would come for them, and so give us a
shot, and watched them for some time.
They were a magnificent pair. Although the lion is known to be rather
a skulking brute than otherwise, there is such a suggestion of latent
power combined with careless grace in its carriage, that it compels
one’s admiration and causes lion-shooting to appear an eminently
desirable method of passing one’s time. These two lions came gradually
nearer, evidently attracted by the buffalo meat, but when they were
about two hundred yards away, in spite of our caution, the lioness
spotted us, and she immediately growled, and so put her lord and master
on the alert. Presently, to our great disappointment, they turned and
walked slowly away, stopping now and again to look round and growl.
We followed them, and at times when they halted a little longer
than usual, we almost got within range—almost, but not quite, they
invariably moving on again when we approached closer than they judged
expedient.
This game continued until we were several miles from camp, and,
notwithstanding our ardour, we were getting tired. Eventually they
retired to a patch of bush, but just as we were making arrangements to
beat it, the lioness emerged, and laid down in the grass out of range,
being presently joined by her mate. The old game of follow-my-leader
then recommenced, and after six hours of this we got rather sick of it.
On the way they were joined by another male, a beautiful black-maned
brute, the sight of which revived our flagging energies, and we
continued the chase, but to no purpose. In spite of our efforts they
kept a long way ahead, and finally went on at a trot, leaving us far
in the rear, quite out-distanced, and extremely disgusted. We returned
to camp after a fruitless tramp of about seven hours.
Jumbi returned in the evening with one of the deserters; he had been
unable to secure the other. The captured culprit was the man who had
carried the load of food, which he had _deliberately burnt_. It was
really wicked. Food which was so hard to obtain, and which before long
would be so sorely needed by our men, had been deliberately destroyed,
and for no object, that we could ascertain, beyond sheer perversity.
The delinquent was ordered a flogging—and got it. The other deserter,
who had not been recaptured, had also burnt his load of Venetian beads,
which were particularly valuable in view of our proposed stay among the
Rendili.
I had the three buffalo heads buried in a large ant-heap against our
return, as we were unable to carry them about with us, and to have
hung them in the trees would have exposed them to theft from wandering
Wandorobbo or stragglers from the Somali caravan. The ants were very
large, being quite an inch in length, and of a bright scarlet colour;
they died on exposure to the air and light. They bit very fiercely,
drawing blood whenever they fastened their immensely powerful jaws.
The men who buried the horns suffered considerably about the legs, but
I was consoled by the thought that the horns would be safe from the
hyænas while in charge of such powerful little warriors.
FOOTNOTES:
[7] “Elephant Hunting in East Equatorial Africa,” by Arthur H. Neumann
(1898), p. 126.