One day we all set out to make our discoveries: F., B., and I with our
gunbearers, Memba Sasa, Mavrouki, and Simba, and ten porters to bring
in the trophies, which we wanted very much, and the meat, which the men
wanted still more. We rode our horses, and the syces followed. This made
quite a field force-nineteen men all told. Nineteen white men would be
exceedingly unlikely to get within a liberal half mile of anything; but
the native has sneaky ways.
At first we followed between the river and the low hills, but when the
latter drew back to leave open a broad flat, we followed their line. At
this point they rose to a clifflike headland a hundred and fifty feet
high, flat on top. We decided to investigate that mesa, both for the
possibilities of game, and for the chance of a view abroad.
The footing was exceedingly noisy and treacherous, for it was composed
of flat, tinkling little stones. Dried-up, skimpy bushes just higher
than our heads made a thin but regular cover. There seemed not to be a
spear of anything edible, yet we caught the flash of red as a herd of
impalla melted away at our rather noisy approach. Near the foot of the
hill we dismounted, with orders to all the men but the gunbearers to
sit down and make themselves comfortable. Should we need them we could
easily either signal or send word. Then we set ourselves toilsomely to
clamber up that volcanic hill.
It was not particularly easy going, especially as we were trying to walk
quietly. You see, we were about to surmount a skyline. Surmounting a
skyline is always most exciting anywhere, for what lies beyond is at
once revealed as a whole and contains the very essence of the unknown;
but most decidedly is this true in Africa. That mesa looked flat, and
almost anything might be grazing or browsing there. So we proceeded
gingerly, with due regard to the rolling of the loose rocks or the
tinkling of the little pebbles.
But long before we had reached that alluring skyline we were halted by
the gentle snapping of Mavrouki's fingers. That, strangely enough, is a
sound to which wild animals seem to pay no attention, and is therefore
most useful as a signal. We looked back. The three gunbearers were
staring to the right of our course. About a hundred yards away, on
the steep side hill, and partly concealed by the brush, stood two
rhinoceroses.
They were side by side, apparently dozing. We squatted on our heels for
a consultation.
The obvious thing, as the wind was from them, was to sneak quietly by,
saying nuffin' to nobody. But although we wanted no more rhino, we very
much wanted rhino pictures. A discussion developed no really good reason
why we should not kodak these especial rhinos-except that there were two
of them. So we began to worm our way quietly through the bushes in their
direction.
F. and B. deployed on the flanks, their double-barrelled rifles ready
for instant action. I occupied the middle with that dangerous weapon the
3A kodak. Memba Sasa followed at my elbow, holding my big gun.
Now the trouble with modern photography is that it is altogether too
lavish in its depiction of distances. If you do not believe it, take a
picture of a horse at as short a range as twenty-five yards. That equine
will, in the development, have receded to a respectable middle distance.
Therefore it had been agreed that the advance of the battle line was
to cease only when those rhinoceroses loomed up reasonably large in
the finder. I kept looking into the finder, you may be sure. Nearer and
nearer we crept. The great beasts were evidently basking in the sun.
Their little pig eyes alone gave any sign of life. Otherwise they
exhibited the complete immobility of something done in granite. Probably
no other beast impresses one with quite this quality. I suppose it is
because even the little motions peculiar to other animals are with
the rhinoceros entirely lacking. He is not in the least of a nervous
disposition, so he does not stamp his feet nor change his position. It
is useless for him to wag his tail; for, in the first place, the tail is
absurdly inadequate; and, in the second place, flies are not among his
troubles. Flies wouldn't bother you either, if you had a skin two inches
thick. So there they stood, inert and solid as two huge brown rocks,
save for the deep, wicked twinkle of their little eyes.
Yes, we were close enough to “see the whites of their eyes,” if they
had had any: and also to be within the range of their limited vision. Of
course we were now stalking, and taking advantage of all the cover.
Those rhinoceroses looked to me like two Dreadnaughts. The African
two-horned rhinoceros is a bigger animal anyway than our circus friend,
who generally comes from India. One of these brutes I measured went five
feet nine inches at the shoulder, and was thirteen feet six inches from
bow to stern. Compare these dimensions with your own height and with the
length of your motor car. It is one thing to take on such beasts in the
hurry of surprise, the excitement of a charge, or to stalk up to within
a respectable range of them with a gun at ready. But this deliberate
sneaking up with the hope of being able to sneak away again was a little
too slow and cold-blooded. It made me nervous. I liked it, but I knew
at the time I was going to like it a whole lot better when it was
triumphantly over.
We were now within twenty yards (they were standing starboard side on),
and I prepared to get my picture. To do so I would either have to step
quietly out into sight, trusting to the shadow and the slowness of my
movements to escape observation, or hold the camera above the bush,
directing it by guess work. It was a little difficult to decide. I knew
what I OUGHT to do--
Without the slightest premonitory warning those two brutes snorted and
whirled in their tracks to stand facing in our direction. After the dead
stillness they made a tremendous row, what with the jerky suddenness of
their movements, their loud snorts, and the avalanche of echoing stones
and boulders they started down the hill.
This was the magnificent opportunity. At this point I should boldly
have stepped out from behind my bush, levelled my trusty 3A, and coolly
snapped the beasts, “charging at fifteen yards.” Then, if B.'s and F.'s
shots went absolutely true, or if the brutes didn't happen to smash the
camera as well as me, I, or my executors as the case might be, would
have had a fine picture.
But I didn't. I dropped that expensive 3A Special on some hard rocks,
and grabbed my rifle from Memba Sasa. If you want really to know why, go
confront your motor car at fifteen or twenty paces, multiply him by two,
and endow him with an eagerly malicious disposition.
They advanced several yards, halted, faced us for perhaps five or
six seconds, uttered snort, whirled with the agility of polo ponies,
departed at a swinging trot and with surprising agility along the steep
side hill.