In looking back on the multitudinous pictures that the word Africa
bids rise in my memory, four stand out more distinctly than the
others. Strangely enough, these are by no means all pictures of average
country-the sort of thing one would describe as typical. Perhaps, in a
way, they symbolize more the spirit of the country to me, for certainly
they represent but a small minority of its infinitely varied aspects.
But since we must make a start somewhere, and since for some reason
these four crowd most insistently in the recollection it might be well
to begin with them.
Our camp was pitched under a single large mimosa tree near the edge of
a deep and narrow ravine down which a stream flowed. A semicircle of low
mountains hemmed us in at the distance of several miles. The other side
of the semicircle was occupied by the upthrow of a low rise blocking
off an horizon at its nearest point but a few hundred yards away. Trees
marked the course of the stream; low scattered bushes alternated with
open plain. The grass grew high. We had to cut it out to make camp.
Nothing indicated that we were otherwise situated than in a very
pleasant, rather wide grass valley in the embrace of the mountains. Only
a walk of a few hundred yards atop the upthrow of the low rise revealed
the fact that it was in reality the lip of a bench, and that beyond
it the country fell away in sheer cliffs whose ultimate drop was some
fifteen hundred feet. One could sit atop and dangle his feet over
unguessed abysses.
For a week we had been hunting for greater kudu. Each day Memba Sasa and
I went in one direction, while Mavrouki and Kongoni took another line.
We looked carefully for signs, but found none fresher than the month
before. Plenty of other game made the country interesting; but we were
after a shy and valuable prize, so dared not shoot lesser things. At
last, at the end of the week, Mavrouki came in with a tale of eight
lions seen in the low scrub across the stream. The kudu business was
about finished, as far as this place went, so we decided to take a look
for the lions.
We ate by lantern and at the first light were ready to start. But at
that moment, across the slope of the rim a few hundred yards away,
appeared a small group of sing-sing. These are a beautiful big beast,
with widespread horns, proud and wonderful, like Landseer's stags, and
I wanted one of them very much. So I took the Springfield, and dropped
behind the line of some bushes. The stalk was of the ordinary sort.
One has to remain behind cover, to keep down wind, to make no quick
movements. Sometimes this takes considerable manoeuvring; especially, as
now, in the case of a small band fairly well scattered out for feeding.
Often after one has succeeded in placing them all safely behind the
scattered cover, a straggler will step out into view. Then the hunter
must stop short, must slowly, oh very, very slowly, sink down out of
sight; so slowly, in fact, that he must not seem to move, but rather to
melt imperceptibly away. Then he must take up his progress at a lower
plane of elevation. Perhaps he needs merely to stoop; or he may crawl
on hands and knees; or he may lie flat and hitch himself forward by his
toes, pushing his gun ahead. If one of the beasts suddenly looks
very intently in his direction, he must freeze into no matter what
uncomfortable position, and so remain an indefinite time. Even a
hotel-bred child to whom you have rashly made advances stares no longer
nor more intently than a buck that cannot make you out.
I had no great difficulty with this lot, but slipped up quite
successfully to within one hundred and fifty yards. There I raised my
head behind a little bush to look. Three does grazed nearest me, their
coats rough against the chill of early morning. Up the slope were two
more does and two funny, fuzzy babies. An immature buck occupied the
extreme left with three young ladies. But the big buck, the leader, the
boss of the lot, I could not see anywhere. Of course he must be about,
and I craned my neck cautiously here and there trying to make him out.
Suddenly, with one accord, all turned and began to trot rapidly away to
the right, their heads high. In the strange manner of animals, they had
received telepathic alarm, and had instantly obeyed. Then beyond and
far to the right I at last saw the beast I had been looking for. The old
villain had been watching me all the time!
The little herd in single file made their way rapidly along the face
of the rise. They were headed in the direction of the stream. Now, I
happened to know that at this point the stream-canyon was bordered by
sheer cliffs. Therefore, the sing-sing must round the hill, and not
cross the stream. By running to the top of the hill I might catch a
glimpse of them somewhere below. So I started on a jog trot, trying to
hit the golden mean of speed that would still leave me breath to shoot.
This was an affair of some nicety in the tall grass. Just before I
reached the actual slope, however, I revised my schedule. The reason was
supplied by a rhino that came grunting to his feet about seventy yards
away. He had not seen me, and he had not smelled me, but the general
disturbance of all these events had broken into his early morning nap.
He looked to me like a person who is cross before breakfast, so I ducked
low and ran around him. The last I saw of him he was still standing
there, quite disgruntled, and evidently intending to write to the
directors about it.
Arriving at the top, I looked eagerly down. The cliff fell away at an
impossible angle, but sheer below ran out a narrow bench fifty yards
wide. Around the point of the hill to my right-where the herd had gone-a
game trail dropped steeply to this bench. I arrived just in time to see
the sing-sing, still trotting, file across the bench and over its edge,
on some other invisible game trail, to continue their descent of the
cliff. The big buck brought up the rear. At the very edge he came to a
halt, and looked back, throwing his head up and his nose out so that the
heavy fur on his neck stood forward like a ruff. It was a last glimpse
of him, so I held my little best, and pulled trigger.
This happened to be one of those shots I spoke of-which the perpetrator
accepts with a thankful and humble spirit. The sing-sing leaped high in
the air and plunged over the edge of the bench. I signalled the camp-in
plain sight-to come and get the head and meat, and sat down to wait. And
while waiting, I looked out on a scene that has since been to me one of
my four symbolizations of Africa.
The morning was dull, with gray clouds through which at wide intervals
streamed broad bands of misty light. Below me the cliff fell away clear
to a gorge in the depths of which flowed a river. Then the land began
to rise, broken, sharp, tumbled, terrible, tier after tier, gorge
after gorge, one twisted range after the other, across a breathlessly
immeasurable distance. The prospect was full of shadows thrown by the
tumult of lava. In those shadows one imagined stranger abysses. Far down
to the right a long narrow lake inaugurated a flatter, alkali-whitened
country of low cliffs in long straight lines. Across the distances
proper to a dozen horizons the tumbled chaos heaved and fell. The eye
sought rest at the bounds usual to its accustomed world-and went on.
There was no roundness to the earth, no grateful curve to drop this
great fierce country beyond a healing horizon out of sight. The
immensity of primal space was in it, and the simplicity of primal
things-rough, unfinished, full of mystery. There was no colour. The
scene was done in slate gray, darkening to the opaque where a tiny
distant rain squall started; lightening in the nearer shadows to reveal
half-guessed peaks; brightening unexpectedly into broad short bands
of misty gray light slanting from the gray heavens above to the sombre
tortured immensity beneath. It was such a thing as Gustave Dore might
have imaged to serve as an abiding place for the fierce chaotic spirit
of the African wilderness.
I sat there for some time hugging my knees, waiting for the men to come.
The tremendous landscape seemed to have been willed to immobility. The
rain squalls forty miles or more away did not appear to shift their
shadows; the rare slanting bands of light from the clouds were as
constant as though they were falling through cathedral windows. But
nearer at hand other things were forward. The birds, thousands of them,
were doing their best to cheer things up. The roucoulements of doves
rose from the bushes down the face of the cliffs; the bell bird uttered
his clear ringing note; the chime bird gave his celebrated imitation of
a really gentlemanly sixty-horse power touring car hinting you out of
the way with the mellowness of a chimed horn; the bottle bird poured
gallons of guggling essence of happiness from his silver jug. From
the direction of camp, evidently jumped by the boys, a steinbuck loped
gracefully, pausing every few minutes to look back, his dainty legs
tense, his sensitive ears pointed toward the direction of disturbance.
And now, along the face of the cliff, I make out the flashing of much
movement, half glimpsed through the bushes. Soon a fine old-man baboon,
his tail arched after the dandified fashion of the baboon aristocracy
stepped out, looked around, and bounded forward. Other old men followed
him, and then the young men, and a miscellaneous lot of half-grown
youngsters. The ladies brought up the rear, with the babies. These rode
their mothers' backs, clinging desperately while they leaped along, for
all the world like the pathetic monkey “jockeys” one sees strapped to
the backs of big dogs in circuses. When they had approached to within
fifty yards, remarked “hullo!” to them. Instantly they all stopped.
Those in front stood up on their hind legs; those behind clambered to
points of vantage on rocks and the tops of small bushes: They all took
a good long look at me. Then they told me what they thought about me
personally, the fact of my being there, and the rude way I had startled
them. Their remarks were neither complimentary nor refined. The old
men, in especial, got quite profane, and screamed excited billingsgate.
Finally they all stopped at once, dropped on all fours, and loped away,
their ridiculous long tails curved in a half arc. Then for the first
time I noticed that, under cover of the insults, the women and children
had silently retired. Once more I was left to the familiar gentle bird
calls, and the vast silence of the wilderness beyond.
The second picture, also, was a view from a height, but of a totally
different character. It was also, perhaps, more typical of a greater
part of East Equatorial Africa. Four of us were hunting lions with
natives-both wild and tame-and a scratch pack of dogs. More of that
later. We had rummaged around all the morning without any results; and
now at noon had climbed to the top of a butte to eat lunch and look
abroad.
Our butte ran up a gentle but accelerating slope to a peak of big
rounded rocks and slabs sticking out boldly from the soil of the hill.
We made ourselves comfortable each after his fashion. The gunbearers
leaned against rocks and rolled cigarettes. The savages squatted on
their heels, planting their spears ceremonially in front of them. One
of my friends lay on his back, resting a huge telescope over his crossed
feet. With this he purposed seeing any lion that moved within ten miles.
None of the rest of us could ever make out anything through the fearsome
weapon. Therefore, relieved from responsibility by the presence of this
Dreadnaught of a 'scope, we loafed and looked about us. This is what we
saw:
Mountains at our backs, of course-at some distance; then plains in long
low swells like the easy rise and fall of a tropical sea, wave after
wave, and over the edge of the world beyond a distant horizon. Here and
there on this plain, single hills lay becalmed, like ships at sea; some
peaked, some cliffed like buttes, some long and low like the hulls of
battleships. The brown plain flowed up to wash their bases, liquid as
the sea itself, its tides rising in the coves of the hills, and ebbing
in the valleys between. Near at hand, in the middle distance, far away,
these fleets of the plain sailed, until at last hull-down over the
horizon their topmasts disappeared. Above them sailed too the phantom
fleet of the clouds, shot with light, shining like silver, airy as
racing yachts, yet casting here and there exaggerated shadows below.
The sky in Africa is always very wide, greater than any other skies.
Between horizon and horizon is more space than any other world contains.
It is as though the cup of heaven had been pressed a little flatter;
so that while the boundaries have widened, the zenith, with its flaming
sun, has come nearer. And yet that is not a constant quantity either. I
have seen one edge of the sky raised straight up a few million miles, as
though some one had stuck poles under its corners, so that the western
heaven did not curve cup-wise over to the horizon at all as it did
everywhere else, but rather formed the proscenium of a gigantic stage.
On this stage they had piled great heaps of saffron yellow clouds, and
struck shafts of yellow light, and filled the spaces with the lurid
portent of a storm-while the twenty thousand foot mountains below,
crouched whipped and insignificant to the earth.
We sat atop our butte for an hour while H. looked through his 'scope.
After the soft silent immensity of the earth, running away to infinity,
with its low waves, and its scattered fleet of hills, it was with
difficulty that we brought our gaze back to details and to things near
at hand. Directly below us we could make out many different-hued specks.
Looking closely, we could see that those specks were game animals. They
fed here and there in bands of from ten to two hundred, with valleys and
hills between. Within the radius of the eye they moved, nowhere crowded
in big herds, but everywhere present. A band of zebras grazed the side
of one of the earth waves, a group of gazelles walked on the skyline,
a herd of kongoni rested in the hollow between. On the next rise was a
similar grouping; across the valley a new variation. As far as the eye
could strain its powers it could make out more and ever more beasts. I
took up my field glasses, and brought them all to within a sixth of the
distance. After amusing myself for some time in watching them, I swept
the glasses farther on. Still the same animals grazing on the hills and
in the hollows. I continued to look, and to look again, until even
the powerful prismatic glasses failed to show things big enough to
distinguish. At the limit of extreme vision I could still make out game,
and yet more game. And as I took my glasses from my eyes, and realized
how small a portion of this great land-sea I had been able to examine;
as I looked away to the ship-hills hull-down over the horizon, and
realized that over all that extent fed the Game; the ever-new wonder of
Africa for the hundredth time filled my mind-the teeming fecundity of
her bosom.
“Look here,” said H. without removing his eye from the 'scope, “just
beyond the edge of that shadow to the left of the bushes in the
donga-I've been watching them ten minutes, and I can't make 'em out yet.
They're either hyenas acting mighty queer, or else two lionesses.”
We snatched our glasses and concentrated on that important detail.
To catch the third experience you must have journeyed with us across the
“Thirst,” as the natives picturesquely name the waterless tract of two
days and a half. Our very start had been delayed by a breakage of some
Dutch-sounding essential to our ox wagon, caused by the confusion of a
night attack by lions: almost every night we had lain awake as long as
we could to enjoy the deep-breathed grumbling or the vibrating roars of
these beasts. Now at last, having pushed through the dry country to
the river in the great plain, we were able to take breath from our mad
hurry, and to give our attention to affairs beyond the limits of mere
expediency. One of these was getting Billy a shot at a lion.
Billy had never before wanted to shoot anything except a python. Why a
python we could not quite fathom. Personally, I think she had some vague
idea of getting even for that Garden of Eden affair. But lately, pythons
proving scarcer than in that favoured locality, she had switched to a
lion. She wanted, she said, to give the skin to her sister. In vain
we pointed out that a zebra hide was very decorative, that lions go to
absurd lengths in retaining possession of their own skins, and other
equally convincing facts. It must be a lion or nothing; so naturally we
had to make a try.
There are several ways of getting lions, only one of which is at all
likely to afford a steady pot shot to a very small person trying to
manipulate an over-size gun. That is to lay out a kill. The idea is to
catch the lion at it in the early morning before he has departed for
home. The best kill is a zebra: first, because lions like zebra; second,
because zebra are fairly large; third, because zebra are very numerous.
Accordingly, after we had pitched camp just within a fringe of mimosa
trees and of red-flowering aloes near the river; had eaten lunch, smoked
a pipe and issued necessary orders to the men, C. and I set about the
serious work of getting an appropriate bait in an appropriate place.
The plains stretched straight away from the river bank to some
indefinite and unknown distance to the south. A low range of mountains
lay blue to the left; and a mantle of scrub thornbush closed the view to
the right. This did not imply that we could see far straight ahead, for
the surface of the plain rose slowly to the top of a swell about two
miles away. Beyond it reared a single butte peak at four or five times
that distance.
We stepped from the fringe of red aloes and squinted through the dancing
heat shimmer. Near the limit of vision showed a very faint glimmering
whitish streak. A newcomer to Africa would not have looked at it twice:
nevertheless, it could be nothing but zebra. These gaudily marked beasts
take queer aspects even on an open plain. Most often they show pure
white; sometimes a jet black; only when within a few hundred yards does
one distinguish the stripes. Almost always they are very easily made
out. Only when very distant and in heat shimmer, or in certain half
lights of evening, does their so-called “protective colouration” seem to
be in working order, and even then they are always quite visible to the
least expert hunter's scrutiny.
It is not difficult to kill a zebra, though sometimes it has to be done
at a fairly long range. If all you want is meat for the porters, the
matter is simple enough. But when you require bait for a lion, that; is
another affair entirely. In the first place, you must be able to stalk
within a hundred yards of your kill without being seen; in the second
place, you must provide two or three good lying-down places for your
prospective trophy within fifteen yards of the carcass-and no more than
two or three; in the third place, you must judge the direction of the
probable morning wind, and must be able to approach from leeward. It is
evidently pretty good luck to find an accommodating zebra in just such
a spot. It is a matter of still greater nicety to drop him absolutely in
his tracks. In a case of porters' meat it does not make any particular
difference if he runs a hundred yards before he dies. With lion bait
even fifty yards makes all the difference in the world.
C. and I talked it over and resolved to press Scallywattamus into
service. Scallywattamus is a small white mule who is firmly convinced
that each and every bush in Africa conceals a mule-eating rhinoceros,
and who does not intend to be one of the number so eaten. But we had
noticed that at times zebra would be so struck with the strange sight of
Scallywattamus carrying a man, that they would let us get quite close.
C. was to ride Scallywattamus while I trudged along under his lee ready
to shoot.
We set out through the heat shimmer, gradually rising as the plain
slanted. Imperceptibly the camp and the trees marking the river's course
fell below us and into the heat haze. In the distance, close to the
stream, we made out a blurred, brown-red solid mass which we knew for
Masai cattle. Various little Thompson's gazelles skipped away to the
left waggling their tails vigorously and continuously as Nature long
since commanded “Tommies” to do. The heat haze steadied around the dim
white line, so we could make out the individual animals. There were
plenty of them, dozing in the sun. A single tiny treelet broke the plain
just at the skyline of the rise. C. and I talked low-voiced as we went
along. We agreed that the tree was an excellent landmark to come to,
that the little rise afforded proper cover, and that in the morning the
wind would in all likelihood blow toward the river. There were perhaps
twenty zebra near enough to the chosen spot. Any of them would do.
But the zebra did not give a hoot for Scallywattamus. At five hundred
yards three or four of them awoke with a start, stared at us a minute,
and moved slowly away. They told all the zebra they happened upon that
the three idiots approaching were at once uninteresting and dangerous.
At four hundred and fifty yards a half dozen more made off at a trot. At
three hundred and fifty yards the rest plunged away at a canter-all
but one. He remained to stare, but his tail was up, and we knew he
only stayed because he knew he could easily catch up in the next twenty
seconds.
The chance was very slim of delivering a knockout at that distance, but
we badly needed meat, anyway, after our march through the Thirst, so I
tried him. We heard the well-known plunk of the bullet, but down went
his head, up went his heels, and away went he. We watched him in vast
disgust. He cavorted out into a bare open space without cover of any
sort, and then flopped over. I thought I caught a fleeting grin of
delight on Mavrouki's face; but he knew enough instantly to conceal his
satisfaction over sure meat.
There were now no zebra anywhere near; but since nobody ever thinks
of omitting any chances in Africa, I sneaked up to the tree and took
a perfunctory look. There stood another, providentially absent-minded,
zebra!
We got that one. Everybody was now happy. The boys raced over to the
first kill, which soon took its dismembered way toward camp. C. and I
carefully organized our plan of campaign. We fixed in our memories the
exact location of each and every bush; we determined compass direction
from camp, and any other bearings likely to prove useful in finding so
small a spot in the dark. Then we left a boy to keep carrion birds off
until sunset; and returned home.
We were out in the morning before even the first sign of dawn. Billy
rode her little mule, C. and I went afoot, Memba Sasa accompanied us
because he could see whole lions where even C.'s trained eye could not
make out an ear, and the syce went along to take care of the mule. The
heavens were ablaze with the thronging stars of the tropics, so we found
we could make out the skyline of the distant butte over the rise of the
plains. The earth itself was a pool of absolute blackness. We could not
see where we were placing our feet, and we were continually bringing up
suddenly to walk around an unexpected aloe or thornbush. The night
was quite still, but every once in a while from the blackness came
rustlings, scamperings, low calls, and once or twice the startled
barking of zebra very near at hand. The latter sounded as ridiculous as
ever. It is one of the many incongruities of African life that Nature
should have given so large and so impressive a creature the petulant
yapping of an exasperated Pomeranian lap dog. At the end of three
quarters of an hour of more or less stumbling progress, we made out
against the sky the twisted treelet that served as our landmark. Billy
dismounted, turned the mule over to the syce, and we crept slowly
forward until within a guessed two or three hundred yards of our kill.
Nothing remained now but to wait for the daylight. It had already begun
to show. Over behind the distant mountains some one was kindling the
fires, and the stars were flickering out. The splendid ferocity of the
African sunrise was at hand. Long bands of slate dark clouds lay close
along the horizon, and behind them glowed a heart of fire, as on a small
scale the lamplight glows through a metal-worked shade. On either side
the sky was pale green-blue, translucent and pure, deep as infinity
itself. The earth was still black, and the top of the rise near at hand
was clear edged. On that edge, and by a strange chance accurately in
the centre of illumination, stood the uncouth massive form of a shaggy
wildebeeste, his head raised, staring to the east. He did not move;
nothing of that fire and black world moved; only instant by instant it
changed, swelling in glory toward some climax until one expected at any
moment a fanfare of trumpets, the burst of triumphant culmination.
Then very far down in the distance a lion roared. The wildebeeste,
without moving, bellowed back an answer or a defiance. Down in the
hollow an ostrich boomed. Zebra barked, and several birds chirped
strongly. The tension was breaking not in the expected fanfare and burst
of triumphal music, but in a manner instantly felt to be more fitting
to what was indeed a wonder, but a daily wonder for all that. At one and
the same instant the rim of the sun appeared and the wildebeeste, after
the sudden habit of his kind, made up his mind to go. He dropped his
head and came thundering down past us at full speed. Straight to the
west he headed, and so disappeared. We could hear the beat of his hoofs
dying into the distance. He had gone like a Warder of the Morning whose
task was finished. On the knife-edged skyline appeared the silhouette of
slim-legged little Tommies, flirting their rails, sniffing at the
dewy grass, dainty, slender, confiding, the open-day antithesis of the
tremendous and awesome lord of the darkness that had roared its way to
its lair, and to the massive shaggy herald of morning that had thundered
down to the west.