Early one morning-we were still on the Isiola-we set forth on our horses
to ride across the rolling, brush-grown plain. Our intention was to
proceed at right angles to our own little stream until we had reached
the forest growth of another, which we could dimly make out eight or
ten miles distant. Billy went with us, so there were four a-horseback.
Behind us trudged the gunbearers, and the syces, and after them
straggled a dozen or fifteen porters.
The sun was just up, and the air was only tepid as yet. From patches of
high grass whirred and rocketed grouse of two sorts. They were so much
like our own ruffed grouse and prairie chicken that I could with no
effort imagine myself once more a boy in the coverts of the Middle West.
Only before us we could see the stripes of trotting zebra disappearing;
and catch the glint of light on the bayonets of the oryx. Two giraffes
galumphed away to the right. Little grass antelope darted from clump
to clump of grass. Once we saw gerenuk-oh, far away in an impossible
distance. Of course we tried to stalk them; and as usual we failed. The
gerenuk we had come to look upon as our Lesser Hoodoo.
The beast is a gazelle about as big as a black-tailed deer. His
peculiarity is his excessively long neck, a good deal on the giraffe
order. With it he crops browse above high tide mark of other animals,
especially when as often happens he balances cleverly on his hind legs.
By means of it also he can, with his body completely concealed, look
over the top of ordinary cover and see you long before you have made
out his inconspicuous little head. Then he departs. He seems to have
a lamentable lack of healthy curiosity about you. In that respect he
should take lessons from the kongoni. After that you can follow him as
far as you please; you will get only glimpses at three or four hundred
yards.
We remounted sadly and rode on. The surface of the ground was rather
soft, scattered with round rocks the size of a man's head, and full of
pig holes.
“Cheerful country to ride over at speed,” remarked Billy. Later in the
day we had occasion to remember that statement.
The plains led us ever on. First would be a band of scattered brush
growing singly and in small clumps: then a little open prairie; then
a narrow, long grass swale; then perhaps a low, long hill with small
single trees and rough, volcanic footing. Ten thousand things kept us
interested. Game was everywhere, feeding singly, in groups, in herds,
game of all sizes and descriptions. The rounded ears of jackals pointed
at us from the grass. Hundreds of birds balanced or fluttered about us,
birds of all sizes from the big ground hornbill to the littlest hummers
and sun birds. Overhead, across the wonderful variegated sky of Africa
the broad-winged carrion hunters and birds of prey wheeled. In all our
stay on the Isiola we had not seen a single rhino track, so we rode
quite care free and happy.
Finally, across a glade, not over a hundred and fifty yards away, we
saw a solitary bull oryx standing under a bush. B. wanted an oryx. We
discussed this one idly. He looked to be a decent oryx, but nothing
especial. However, he offered a very good shot; so B., after some
hesitation, decided to take it. It proved to be by far the best specimen
we shot, the horns measuring thirty-six and three fourths inches! Almost
immediately after, two of the rather rare striped hyenas leaped from the
grass and departed rapidly over the top of a hill. We opened fire, and
F. dropped one of them. By the time these trophies were prepared, the
sun had mounted high in the heavens, and it was getting hot.
Accordingly we abandoned that still distant river and swung away in a
wide circle to return to camp.
Several minor adventures brought us to high noon and the heat of the
day. B. had succeeded in drawing a prize, one of the Grevy's or mountain
zebra. He and the gunbearers engaged themselves with that, while we sat
under the rather scanty shade of a small thorn tree and had lunch.
Here we had a favourable chance to observe that very common, but always
wonderful phenomenon, the gathering of the carrion birds. Within five
minutes after the stoop of the first vulture above the carcass, the sky
immediately over that one spot was fairly darkened with them. They were
as thick as midges-or as ducks used to be in California. All sizes were
there from the little carrion crows to the great dignified vultures and
marabouts and eagles. The small fry flopped and scolded, and rose and
fell in a dense mass; the marabouts walked with dignified pace to and
fro through the grass all about. As far as the eye could penetrate the
blue, it could make out more and yet more of the great soarers stooping
with half bent wings. Below we could see uncertainly through the shimmer
of the mirage the bent forms of the men.
We ate and waited; and after a little we dozed. I was awakened suddenly
by a tremendous rushing roar, like the sound of a not too distant
waterfall. The group of men were plodding toward us carrying burdens.
And like plummets the birds were dropping straight down from the
heavens, spreading wide their wings at the last moment to check their
speed. This made the roaring sound that had awakened me.
A wide spot in the shimmer showed black and struggling against the
ground. I arose and walked over, meeting halfway B. and the men carrying
the meat. It took me probably about two minutes to reach the place where
the zebra had been killed. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of the great
birds were standing idly about; a dozen or so were flapping and
scrambling in the centre. I stepped into view. With a mighty commotion
they all took wing clumsily, awkwardly, reluctantly. A trampled, bloody
space and the larger bones, picked absolutely clean, was all that
remained! In less than two minutes the job had been done!
“You're certainly good workmen!” I exclaimed, “but I wonder how you all
make a living!”
We started the men on to camp with the meat, and ourselves rested
under the shade. The day had been a full and interesting one; but we
considered it as finished. Remained only the hot journey back to camp.
After a half hour we mounted again and rode on slowly. The sun was very
strong and a heavy shimmer clothed the plain. Through this shimmer we
caught sight of something large and black and flapping. It looked like a
crow-or, better, a scare-crow-crippled, half flying, half running, with
waving wings or arms, now dwindling, now gigantic as the mirage caught
it up or let it drop. As we watched, it developed, and we made it out
to be a porter, clad in a long, ragged black overcoat, running zigzag
through the bushes in our direction.
The moment we identified it we spurred our horses forward. As my horse
leaped, Memba Sasa snatched the Springfield from my left hand and forced
the 405 Winchester upon me. Clever Memba Sasa! He no more than we knew
what was up, but shrewdly concluded that whatever it was it needed a
heavy gun.
As we galloped to meet him, the porter stopped. We saw him to be a very
long-legged, raggedy youth whom we had nicknamed the Marabout because of
his exceedingly long, lean legs, the fact that his breeches were white,
short and baggy, and because he kept his entire head shaved close. He
called himself Fundi, which means The Expert, a sufficient indication of
his confidence in himself.
He awaited us leaning on his safari stick, panting heavily, the sweat
running off his face in splashes. “Simba!”* said he, and immediately
set off on a long, easy lope ahead of us. We pulled down to a trot and
followed him.
* Lion
At the end of a half mile we made out a man up a tree. Fundi, out of
breath, stopped short and pointed to this man. The latter, as soon as he
had seen us, commenced to scramble down. We spurred forward to find out
where the lions had been last seen.
Then Billy covered herself with glory by seeing them first. She apprised
us of that fact with some excitement. We saw the long, yellow bodies of
two of them disappearing in the edge of the brush about three hundred
yards away. With a wild whoop we tore after them at a dead run.
Then began a wild ride. Do you remember Billy's remark about the nature
of the footing? Before long we closed in near enough to catch occasional
glimpses of the beasts, bounding easily along. At that moment B.'s horse
went down in a heap. None of us thought for a moment of pulling up. I
looked back to see B. getting up again, and thought I caught fragments
of encouraging-sounding language. Then my horse went down. I managed to
hold my rifle clear, and to cling to the reins. Did you ever try to
get on a somewhat demoralized horse in a frantic hurry, when all your
friends were getting farther away every minute, and so lessening your
chances of being in the fun? I began to understand perfectly B.'s
remarks of a moment before. However, on I scrambled, and soon overtook
the hunt.
We dodged in and out of bushes, and around and over holes. Every few
moments we would catch a glimpse of one of those silently bounding
lions, and then we would let out a yell. Also every few moments one
or the other of us would go down in a heap, and would scramble up and
curse, and remount hastily. Billy had better luck. She had no gun, and
belonged a little in the rear anyway, but was coming along game as a
badger for all that.
My own horse had the legs of the others quite easily, and for that
reason I was ahead far enough to see the magnificent sight of five lions
sideways on, all in a row, standing in the grass gazing at me with a
sort of calm and impersonal dignity. I wheeled my horse immediately so
as to be ready in case of a charge, and yelled to the others to hurry
up. While I sat there, they moved slowly off one after the other, so
that by the time the men had come, the lions had gone. We now had
no difficulty in running into them again. Once more my better animal
brought me to the lead, so that for the second time I drew up facing the
lions, and at about one hundred yards range. One by one they began to
leave as before, very leisurely and haughtily, until a single old maned
fellow remained. He, however, sat there, his great round head peering
over the top of the grass.
“Well,” he seemed to say, “here I am, what do you intend to do about
it?”
The others arrived, and we all dismounted. B. had not yet killed his
lion, so the shot was his. Billy very coolly came up behind and held
his horse. I should like here to remark that Billy is very terrified of
spiders. F. and I stood at the ready, and B. sat down.
Riding fast an exciting mile or so, getting chucked on your head two or
three times, and facing your first lion are none of them conducive to
steady shooting. The first shot therefore went high, but the second hit
the lion square in the chest, and he rolled over dead.
We all danced a little war dance, and congratulated B. and turned to get
the meaning of a queer little gurgling gasp behind us. There was Fundi!
That long-legged scarecrow, not content with running to get us and then
back again, had trailed us the whole distance of our mad chase over
broken ground at terrific speed in order to be in at the death. And he
was just about all in at the death. He could barely gasp his breath, his
eyes stuck out; he looked close to apoplexy.
“Bwana! bwana!” was all he could say. “Master! master!”
We shook hands with Fundi.
“My son,” said I, “you're a true sport, and you'll surely get yours
later.”
He did not understand me, but he grinned. The gunbearers began to drift
in, also completely pumped. They set up a feeble shout when they saw
the dead lion. It was a good maned beast, three feet six inches at the
shoulder, and nine feet long.
We left Fundi with the lion, instructing him to stay there until some
of the other men came up. We remounted and pushed on slowly in hopes of
coming on one of the others.
Here and there we rode, our courses interweaving, looking eagerly. And
lo! through a tiny opening in the brush we espied one of those elusive
gerenuk standing not over one hundred yards away. Whereupon I dismounted
and did some of the worst shooting I perpetrated in Africa, for I let
loose three times at him before I landed. But land I did, and there was
one Lesser Hoodoo broken. Truly this was our day.
We measured him and started to prepare the trophy, when to us came
Mavrouki and a porter, quite out of breath, but able to tell us that
they had been scouting around and had seen two of the lions. Then,
instead of leaving one up a tree to watch, both had come pell-mell to
tell us all about it. We pointed this out to them, and called their
attention to the fact that the brush was wide, that lions are not
stationary objects, and that, unlike the leopard, they can change their
spots quite readily. However, we remounted and went to take a look.
Of course there was nothing. So we rode on, rather aimlessly, weaving
in and out of the bushes and open spaces. I think we were all a little
tired from the long day and the excitement, and hence a bit listless.
Suddenly we were fairly shaken out of our saddles by an angry roar just
ahead. Usually a lion growls, low and thunderous, when he wants, to
warn you that you have gone about far enough; but this one was angry all
through at being followed about so much, and he just plain yelled at us.
He crouched near a bush forty yards away, and was switching his tail. I
had heard that this was a sure premonition of an instant charge, but I
had not before realized exactly what “switching the tail” meant. I had
thought of it as a slow sweeping from side to side, after the manner
of the domestic cat. This lion's tail was whirling perpendicularly from
right to left, and from left to right with the speed and energy of a
flail actuated by a particularly instantaneous kind of machinery. I
could see only the outline of the head and this vigorous tail; but I
took instant aim and let drive. The whole affair sank out of sight.
We made a detour around the dead lion without stopping to examine him,
shouting to one of the men to stay and watch the carcass. Billy alone
seemed uninfected with the now prevalent idea that we were likely to
find lions almost anywhere. Her skepticism was justified. We found no
more lions; but another miracle took place for all that. We ran across
the second imbecile gerenuk, and B. collected it! These two were
the only ones we ever got within decent shot of, and they sandwiched
themselves neatly with lions. Truly, it WAS our day.
After a time we gave it up, and went back to measure and photograph our
latest prize. It proved to be a male, maneless, two inches shorter than
that killed by B., and three feet five and one half inches tall at the
shoulder. My bullet had reached the brain just over the left eye.
Now, toward sunset, we headed definitely toward camp. The long shadows
and beautiful lights of evening were falling across the hills far the
other side the Isiola. A little breeze with a touch of coolness breathed
down from distant unseen Kenia. We plodded on through the grass quite
happily, noting the different animals coming out to the cool of the
evening. The line of brush that marked the course of the Isiola came
imperceptibly nearer until we could make out the white gleam of the
porters' tents and wisps of smoke curling upward.
Then a small black mass disengaged itself from the camp and came slowly
across the prairie in our direction. As it approached we made it out
to be our Monumwezis, twenty strong. The news of the lions had reached
them, and they were coming to meet us. They were huddled in a close
knot, their heads inclined toward the centre. Each man carried upright
a peeled white wand. They moved in absolute unison and rhythm, on a
slanting zigzag in our direction: first three steps to the right, then
three to the left, with a strong stamp of the foot between. Their bodies
swayed together. Sulimani led them, dancing backward, his wand upheld.
“Sheeka!” he enunciated in a piercing half whistle.
And the swaying men responded in chorus, half hushed, rumbling, with
strong aspiration.
“Goom zoop! goom zoop!”
When fifty yards from us, however, the formation broke and they rushed
us with a yell. Our horses plunged in astonishment, and we had hard work
to prevent their bolting, small blame to 'em! The men surrounded us,
shaking our hands frantically. At once they appropriated everything we
or our gunbearers carried. One who got left otherwise insisted on having
Billy's parasol. Then we all broke for camp at full speed, yelling like
fiends, firing our revolvers in the air. It was a grand entry, and a
grand reception. The rest of the camp poured out with wild shouts. The
dark forms thronged about us, teeth flashing, arms waving. And in the
background, under the shadows of the trees were the Monumwezis, their
formation regained, close gathered, heads bent, two steps swaying to
the right-stamp! two steps swaying to the left-stamp!-the white wands
gleaming, and the rumble of their lion song rolling in an undertone:
“Goom zoop! goom zoop!”