THE COLONEL READS MACAULAY'S "ESSAYS," DISCOURSES ON MANY SUBJECTS WITH
GREAT FRANKNESS, DECLINES A DRINK OF SCOTCH WHISKY, AND KILLS THREE
ELEPHANTS
On the afternoon of November fourteenth, a little cavalcade of horsemen
might have been seen riding slowly away from our camp on the Nzoia
River. One of them, evidently the leader, was a well-built man of about
fifty-one years, tanned by many months of African hunting and wearing a
pair of large spectacles. His teeth flashed in the warm sunlight. A
rough hunting shirt encased his well-knit body and a pair of rougher
trousers, reinforced with leather knee caps and jointly sustained by
suspenders and a belt, fitted in loose folds around his stocky legs. On
his head was a big sun helmet, and around his waist, less generous in
amplitude than formerly, was a partly filled belt of Winchester
cartridges. His horse was a stout little Abyssinian shooting pony, gray
of color and lean in build, and in the blood-stained saddle-bag was a
well-worn copy of Macaulay's _Essays_, bound in pigskin. Our hero--for
it was he--was none other than Bwana Tumbo, the hunter-naturalist,
exponent of the strenuous life, and ex-president of the United States.
[Drawing: _Improving Each Shining Hour_]
If I were writing a thrilling story of adventure that is the way this
story would begin. But as this is designed to be a simple chronicle of
events, it is just as well at once to get down to basic facts and tell
about the Roosevelt elephant hunt, the hyena episode, and the pigskin
library, together with other more or less extraneous matter.
[Photograph: A Flag Flew Over the Colonel's Tent]
[Photograph: Kermit and Mr. Stephenson Diagnosing the Case]
Colonel Roosevelt, his son Kermit, Leslie Tarlton, who is managing the
Roosevelt expedition, and Edmund Heller, the taxidermist of the
expedition, came to our camp on the fourteenth of November to have
luncheon and to talk over plans whereby Colonel Roosevelt was to kill
one or more elephants for Mr. Akeley's American museum group of five or
six elephants. The details were all arranged and later in the afternoon
the colonel and his party left for their own camp, only a short distance
from ours.
Mr. Akeley, with one of our tents and about forty porters, followed
later in the evening and spent the night at the Roosevelt camp. The
following morning Colonel Roosevelt, Mr. Akeley, Mr. Tarlton and Kermit,
with two tents and forty porters and gunbearers, started early in the
hope of again finding the trail of the small herd of elephants that had
been seen the day before. The trail was picked up after a short time and
the party of hunters expected that it would be a long and wearisome
pursuit, for it was evident that the elephants had become nervous and
were moving steadily along without stopping to feed. In such cases they
frequently travel forty or fifty miles before settling down to quiet
feeding again.
The country was hilly, deep with dry grass, and badly cut up with small
gullies and jagged out-croppings of rock on the low ridges. At all times
the ears of the hunting party were alert for any sound that would
indicate the proximity of the herd, but for several hours no trumpeting,
nor intestinal rumbling, nor crash of tusks against small trees were
heard. Finally, at about eleven o'clock, Tarlton, who, strangely enough,
is partly deaf, heard a sound that caused the hunting party to stop
short. He heard elephants. They were undoubtedly only a short distance
ahead, but as the wind was from their direction there was little
likelihood that they had heard the approach of the hunters. So Tarlton,
who has had much experience in elephant hunting, led the party off at a
right angle from the elephant trail and then, turning, paralleled the
trail a few hundred feet away. They had gone only a short distance when
it became evident that they had passed the herd, which was hidden by the
tall grass and the thickly-growing scrub trees that grew on all sides.
The wooded character of the country rendered it easy to stalk the
elephant herd, and with careful attention to the wind, the four hunters
and their gunbearers advanced under cover until the elephants could be
seen and studied. Each of the four hunters carried a large
double-barreled cordite rifle that fires a five-hundred-grain bullet,
backed up by nearly a hundred grains of cordite.
As was expected, the herd consisted solely of cows and calves. There
were eight cow elephants and two _totos_, or calves, a circumstance that
was particularly fortunate, as Colonel Roosevelt was expected to secure
one or two cows for the group, while some one else was to get the calf.
For some moments the hunting party studied the group of animals and
finally decided which ones were the best for the group.
Two of the largest cows and the calf of one of them were selected. It is
always the desire of collectors who kill groups of animals for museums
to kill the calf and the mother at the same time whenever practicable,
so that neither one is left to mourn the loss of the other. It is one of
the unpleasant features of group collecting that calves must be killed,
but the collector justifies himself in the thought that many thousands
of people will be instructed and interested in the group when it is
finished.
Elephant hunting is considered by many African hunters as being the most
dangerous of all hunting. When a man is wounded by an elephant he is
pretty likely to die, whereas the wounds inflicted by lions are often
not necessarily mortal ones. Also, in fighting a wounded lion one may
sometimes take refuge in the low branches of a tree, but with a wounded
elephant there is rarely time to climb high enough and quick enough to
escape the frenzied animal. In elephant shooting, also, the hunter
endeavors to approach within twenty or thirty yards, so that the bullets
may be placed exactly where their penetration will be the most
instantaneously deadly. Consequently, a badly placed bullet may merely
infuriate the elephant without giving the hunter time to gain a place of
safety, and thus be much worse than if the hunter had entirely missed
his mark.
Among elephant hunters it is considered more dangerous to attack a cow
elephant than a bull, for the cow is always ready and eager to defend
its calf, hence when Colonel Roosevelt prepared to open fire on a cow
elephant, accompanied by a calf, at a range of thirty yards, in a
district where the highest tree was within reach of an elephant's trunk,
the situation was one fraught with tense uncertainty.
Colonel Roosevelt is undoubtedly a brave man. The men who have hunted
with him in Africa say that he has never shown the slightest sign of
fear in all the months of big game hunting that they have done together.
He "holds straight," as they say in shooting parlance, and at short
range, where his eyesight is most effective, he shoots accurately.
This, then, was the dramatic situation at about twelve o'clock noon on
November fifteenth, eight miles east of the Nzoia River, near Mount
Elgon: Eight cow elephants, two _totos_, one ex-president with a
double-barreled cordite rifle thirty yards away, supported by three
other hunters similarly armed, with native gunbearers held in the rear
as a supporting column.
The colonel opened fire; the biggest cow dropped to her knees and in an
instant the air was thunderous with the excited "milling" of the herd of
elephants. For several anxious minutes the spot was the scene of much
confusion, and when quiet was once more restored Colonel Roosevelt had
killed three elephants and Kermit had killed one of the calves. It had
not been intended or desired to kill more than two of the cows, but with
a herd of angry elephants threatening to annihilate an attacking party,
sometimes the prearranged plans do not work out according to
specifications.
Kermit was hastily despatched to notify our camp and the work of
preparing the skins of the elephants was at once begun.
In the meantime, we at our camp, eight miles away from the scene of
battle, were waiting eagerly for news of the hunting party, although
expecting nothing for a day of so. It seemed too much to expect that the
hunt should have such a quick and successful termination. So when Kermit
rode in with the news late in the afternoon it was a time for
felicitation. We all solemnly took a drink, which in itself was an
event, for our camp was a "dry" camp when in the field. Only the killing
of a lion had been sufficient provocation for taking off the "lid," but
on the strength of three elephants for the group the "lid" was
momentarily raised with much ceremony and circumstance.
The burden of Kermit's message was "salt, salt, salt!" and porters and
second gunbearers to help with the skinning. So James L. Clark, who has
been connected with the American Museum of History for some time and who
was with us on the Mount Elgon trip to help Mr. Akeley with the
preparation of the group, started off with a lot of porters laden with
salt for preserving the skins. It was his plan to go direct to the main
Roosevelt camp, get a guide, and then push on to the elephant camp,
where he hoped to arrive by ten o'clock at night. He would then be in
time to help with the skinning, which we expected would be continued
throughout the entire night. Kermit stopped at his own camp and gave
Clark a guide for the rest of the journey, after which he went to bed.
At eleven o'clock the sound of firing was heard some place off in the
darkness. The night guard of the Roosevelt camp, rightly construing it
to be a signal, answered it with a shot, and, guided by the latter,
Clark and his party of salt-laden porters once more appeared. They had
traveled in a circle for three hours and were hopelessly lost. Kermit
was routed out and again supplied more guides--also a compass and also
the direction to follow. Unfortunately he made a mistake and said
northwest instead of southeast--otherwise his directions were perfect.
For three hours more Clark and his porters went bumping through the
night, stumbling through the long grass and falling into hidden holes.
The porters began to be mutinous and the guides were thoroughly and
hopelessly lost. It was then that they one and all laid down in the tall
grass, made a fire to keep the lions and leopards away, and slept
soundly until daylight. Even then the situation was little better, for
the guides were still at sea. About the time that Clark decided, to
return to the river, miles away, and take a fresh start, he fired a shot
in the forlorn hope of getting a response from some section of the
compass. A distant shot came in answer and he pushed on and soon came up
with the colonel and Tarlton returning home after a night in the
temporary elephant camp. The colonel gave him full directions and at
nine o'clock the relief party arrived at their destination.
In the meantime we, Mrs. Akeley, Stephenson and myself, had left our
camp on the river at six-fifteen, gone to the Roosevelt camp, and with
Kermit guiding us proceeded on across country toward the elephant camp.
On our way we also met the colonel and Tarlton, the former immensely
pleased with the outcome of the hunt and full of enthusiasm about the
adventure with the elephants. But the most remarkable thing of all, he
said, was the hyena incident. He told us the story, and it is surely one
that will make all nature fakers sit up in an incredulous and dissenting
mood.
During the night, the story goes, many hyenas had come from far and near
to gorge on the carcasses of the elephants. Their howls filled the night
with weird sounds. Lions also journeyed to the feast, and between the
two they mumbled the bones of the slain with many a howl and snarl.
Early in the morning the colonel went out in the hope of surprising a
lion at the spread. Instead, to his great amazement, he saw the head of
a hyena protruding from the distended side of the largest elephant. It
was inside the elephant and was looking out, as through a window. A
single shot finished the hyena, after which a more careful examination
was made.
There are two theories as to what really happened. One is that the hyena
ate its way into the inside of the elephant, then gorged itself so that
its stomach was distended to such proportions that it couldn't get
through the hole by which it had entered the carcass.
[Drawing: _The Hyena Episode_]
The other theory is that, after eating its way into the elephant, it
started to eat its way out by a different route. When its head emerged
the heavy muscles of the elephant's side inclosed about its neck like a
vise, entrapping the hyena as effectively as though it had its head in a
steel trap. In the animal's despairing efforts to escape it had kicked
one leg out through the thick walls of the elephant's side.
[Photograph: Kermit Roosevelt]
[Photograph: "Peeling" an elephant]
The colonel, in parting, asked us to stop with him for lunch on our way
back and he would tell us all about the elephant hunt and show us his
pigskin library. In return we promised to photograph the hyena and thus
be prepared to render expert testimony in case, some time in the future,
he might get into a controversy with the nature fakers as to the truth
of the incident.
We then resumed our journey and arrived at the elephant camp at
nine-thirty. It was a scene of industry. The skins of the two largest
elephants and that of the calf had been removed the afternoon before and
were spread out under a cluster of trees. Twenty or thirty porters were
squatted around the various ears and strips of hide and massive feet,
paring off all the little particles of flesh or tissue that remained. As
fast as a section of hide was stripped it was thickly covered with salt
and rolled up. This is the preliminary step. Afterwards the skin, in
many places an inch in thickness, is pared down to a condition of
pliable thinness. This work requires hours or even days of hard labor by
many skilful wielders of the paring knife. The skulls and many of the
bones are saved when an animal is being preserved for a museum, but when
we arrived they had not yet been removed from the carcasses.
Our first object was to visit the hyena, which we found still protruding
from the side of his tomb. We photographed him from all angles, after
which he was disinterred and exposed to full view. He had certainly died
happy. He had literally eaten himself to death, and his body was so
distended from gorging that it was as round as a ball. Colonel Roosevelt
also photographed it, so that there will be no lack of evidence if the
incident ever reaches the controversial stage.
The third cow killed by Colonel Roosevelt was too small for the group,
so the skin was divided up as souvenirs of the day. We each got a foot,
fifteen square feet of skin, and one of the ears was saved for the
colonel.
We then started on the long two hours' ride back to the Roosevelt camp,
arriving there at a few minutes before one o'clock. We had not been in
camp ten minutes before a whirlwind came along, blew down a tent, and in
another minute was gone.
A big American flag was flying from the colonel's tent, and he came out
and, greeted us with the utmost cordiality and warmth. In honor of the
occasion he had put on his coat and a green knit tie. He was beaming
with pleasure at the result of the elephant hunt and seemed proud that
he was to have elephants in the American Museum group to be done by Mr.
Akeley. Heller was stuffing some birds and mice and was as slouchy,
deliberate and as full of dry humor as any one I've ever seen. He is a
character of a most likable type. Tarlton, small, with short cropped red
hair--a sort of Scotchman in appearance--is also a remarkable type. He
has a quiet voice, never raised in tone, and talks like the university
man that he is. He is a famous lion hunter and has killed numbers of
lions and elephants, but now he says he is through with dangerous game.
"I've had enough of it," he says.
The colonel, Tarlton, Heller, and Kermit were the only members of the
expedition present, Mearns and Loring having been engaged in a separate
mission up in the Kenia country for several weeks, while Cuninghame had
gone to Uganda to make preparations for the future operations of the
party in that country.
Mrs. Akeley washed up in the colonel's tent, while Stephenson and I used
Kermit's tent, and as we washed and scrubbed away the memories of the
elephant carcasses the colonel stood in the door and talked to us.
We told him that each of us had taken a drink of Scotch whisky the
evening before in honor of the elephants--the first drinks we had taken
for weeks.
"I'd do the same," said the colonel, "but I don't like Scotch whisky. As
a matter of fact, I have taken only three drinks of brandy since I've
been in Africa, twice when I was exhausted and once when I was feeling a
little feverish. Before I left Washington there were lots of people
saying that I was a drunkard, and that I could never do any work until I
had emptied a bottle or two of liquor."
We told him that we had heard these rumors frequently during the closing
months of his administration, and he laughed.
"I never drank whisky," he said; "not from principle, but because I
don't like it. I seldom drink wine, because I'm rather particular about
the kind of wine I drink. We have some champagne with us, but the
thought of drinking hot champagne in this country is unpleasant.
Sometimes, when I can get wines that just suit my taste, I drink a
little, but never much. The three drinks of brandy are all I've had in
Africa, and I'm sure that I've not taken one in the last four months.
They had all sorts of stories out about me before I left
Washington--that I was drinking hard and that I was crazy. I may be
crazy," he said, laughing, "but I most certainly haven't been drinking
hard."
The luncheon was a merry affair. Heller had been out in the swamp in
front of the camp and had shot some ducks for luncheon.
"On my way in," said the colonel, "I shot an oribi, but when I heard
that Heller had shot some ducks I knew that my oribi would not be
served."
It was evident that the most thorough good fellowship existed among the
members of the colonel's party. His fondness for all of them was in
constant evidence--in the way he joked with them and in the complete
absence of restraint in their attitude toward him.
"They were told that I would be a hard man to get along with in the
field," Colonel Roosevelt said, "but we've had a perfectly splendid time
together."
I asked him whether he had been receiving newspapers, and, if not,
whether he would like to see some that I had received from home. He
answered that he had not seen any and really didn't want to see any.
"I don't believe in clinging to the tattered shreds of former
greatness," he said, laughing.
He had not heard that Governor Johnson, of Minnesota, had died, and when
we told him he said that Johnson would undoubtedly have been the
strongest presidential candidate the Democrats could have nominated the
next time. He wanted to know where he could address a note of sympathy
to Mrs. Johnson.
Later, in speaking of a prominent public man who loudly disclaimed
responsibility for an act committed by a subordinate, he said:
"It would have been far better to have said nothing about it, but let
people think he himself had given the order. Very often subordinates say
and do things that are credited to their superiors, and it is never good
policy to try to shift the blame. Do you remember the time Root was in
South America? Well, some president down there sent me a congratulatory
telegram which reached Washington when I was away. Mr. ---- of the state
department answered it in my name and said that I and 'my people' were
pleased with the reception they were giving Mr. Root. Well, the New York
_Sun_ took the matter up and when the fleet went around the world they
referred to it as 'my fleet,' and that 'my fleet' had crossed 'my
equator' four times and 'my ocean' a couple of times. It was very
cleverly done and some people began to call for a Brutus to curb my
imperialistic tendencies."
[Drawing: _Writing His Adventures While They're Hot_]
He told a funny story about John L. Sullivan, who came to the White
House to intercede for a nephew who had got into trouble in the navy.
John L. told what a nice woman the boy's mother was and what a terrible
disgrace it would be for himself and his family if the boy was dropped
from the navy. "Why, if he hadn't gone into the navy he might have
turned out very bad," said John L.; "taken up music or something like
that."
We also told him that some of the American papers were keeping score on
the game he had killed, and that whenever the cable reported a new
victim the score up to date would be published like a base-ball
percentage table. In the last report he was quoted as having killed
seven lions, while Kermit had killed ten. This seemed to amuse him very
much, although the figures were not strictly accurate. His score was
nine and Kermit's eight up to date. He was also amused by the habit the
American papers have of calling him "Bwana Tumbo," which means "The
Master with the Stomach," a title that did not fit him nearly so
appropriately then as it might have done before he began his active days
in the hunting field. He said, so far as he knew, the porters called him
"Bwana Mkubwa," which means "Great Master," and is applied to the chief
man of a _safari_, regardless of who or what he is. It is merely a title
that is always used to designate the boss. We told him that many natives
we had met would invariably refer to him as the Sultana Mkubwa, or Great
Sultan, because they had heard that he was a big chief from America.
He also laughingly quoted the attitude of Wall Street as expressed in
the statement that they "hoped every lion would do his duty."
Later, in speaking generally of the odd experiences he had had in
Africa, he spoke of one that will surely be regarded as a nature fake
when he tells it. It was an experience that he and Cuninghame had with a
big bull giraffe which they approached as it slept. When they were
within ten feet of it it opened its eyes and stared at them. A slight
movement on their part caused it to strike out with its front foot, but
without rising. Then, as they made no offensive moves, it continued to
regard them sleepily and without fear. Even when they threw sticks at it
it refused to budge, and it was only after some time that it was chased
away, where it came to a stop only fifty yards off.
"I suppose W.J. Long will call that a nature fake," he said, "and I wish
that I had had a camera with me so that I could have photographed it.
I'm afraid they won't believe Cuninghame, because they don't know him."
In the course of the luncheon the conversation ranged from politics,
public men, his magazine work, some phases of Illinois politics, as
involved in the recent senatorial election, his future plans of the
present African trip and many of the little experiences he had had since
arriving in the country. Much that was said was of such frankness,
particularly as to public men, as to be obviously confidential.
[Photograph: Kermit Led the Way to the Elephant Camp]
[Photograph: The Elephants' Skulls Were Saved]
[Photograph: Removing an Elephant's Skin]
He was asked whether he had secured, among his trophies, any new species
of animal that might be named after him. In Africa there is a custom
of giving the discoverer's name to any new kind or class of animal
that is killed. For instance, the name "granti" is applied to the
gazelle first discovered by the explorer Grant. "Thompsoni" is applied
to the gazelle discovered by Thompson. "Cokei" is the name given the
hartebeest discovered by Coke, and so on. If Colonel Roosevelt had
discovered a new variation of any of the species it would be called the
"Roosevelti ----."
The colonel said that he had not discovered any new animals, but that
Heller, he thought, had found some new variety of mouse or mole on Mount
Kenia. He supposed that it would be called the Mole Helleri.
He then told about an exciting adventure they had with a hippo two
nights before. Away in the night the camp was aroused by screams coming
from the big swamp in front. Kongoni, his gunbearer, rushed in and
shouted: "Lion eat porter!" The colonel grabbed his gun and dashed out
in the darkness. Kermit and one or two others, hastily armed, also
appeared, and they charged down the swamp, where a hippo had made its
appearance in the neighborhood of a terrified porter. Kermit dimly made
out the hippo and shot at it, but it disappeared and could not be found
again.
After luncheon the colonel said, "Now, I want to inflict my pigskin
library on you," and together we went into his tent and he opened an
oilcloth-covered, aluminum-lined case that was closely packed with
books, nearly all of which were bound in pigskin. It was a present from
his sister, Mrs. Douglas Robinson. The tent was lined with red,
evidently Kermit's darkroom when he was developing pictures. A little
table stood at the open flaps of the entrance and upon it were writing
materials, with which Mr. Roosevelt already had started to write up the
elephant hunt of the day before. His motto seems to be, "Do it now, if
not sooner."
[Drawing: _The Pigskin Library_]
I sat on his cot, Mrs. Akeley on a small tin trunk, and Stephenson on
another. The colonel squatted down on the floor cloth of the tent and
began to show us one by one the various literary treasures from his
pigskin library. The whole box of books was so designed that it weighed
only sixty pounds, and was thus within the limit of a porter's load.
Some of the books were well stained from frequent use and from contact
with the contents of his saddle-bags. Whenever he went on a hunt he
carried one or more of these little volumes, which he would take out and
read from time to time when there was nothing else to do. He never
seemed to waste a moment.
His pride in the library was evident, and the fondness with which he
brought forth the books was the fondness of an honest enthusiast.
"Some people don't consider Longfellow a great poet, but I do," he said,
as he showed a little volume of the poet's works. "Lowell is represented
here, but I think, toward the end of his life, he became too much
Bostonian. The best American," he said later, "is a Bostonian who has
lived ten years west of the Mississippi."
He then showed us his work-box, a compact leather case containing pads
of paper, pens, lead pencils, and other requirements of the writer. I
did not see a type-writing machine such as we cartoonists have so often
represented in our cartoons of Mr. Roosevelt in Africa. But, then,
cartoonists are not always strictly accurate.
Later on he spoke of the lectures he was to deliver in Berlin, at the
Sorbonne in Paris, and in Oxford the following spring. I told him how
surprised I had been to hear that he had prepared these lectures during
the rush of the last few weeks of his administration. He said that he
probably would be regarded as a representative American in those
lectures and that he wanted to do them just as well as he possibly
could. He knew that there would be no time nor library references in
Africa, and so he had prepared them in Washington before leaving
America.
In regard to his future movements he seemed sorry that he was obliged to
take the Nile trip, and that he was only doing it as a matter of
business--that he had to get a white rhino, which is found only along
certain parts of the Nile.
"Going back by the Nile is a long and hard trip. For the first twelve
days we will not fire a shot, probably. It will mean getting started
every morning at three o'clock, marching until ten, then sweating under
mosquito bars during the heat of the day, with spirillum ticks,
sleeping-sickness flies, and all sorts of pests to bother one; then long
days on the Nile, with nothing to see but papyrus reeds on each side."
And speaking of "rhinos" suggests a little incident that the colonel
told and which he considers amusing.
"One day one of the party was stalking a buffalo, when a rhino suddenly
appeared some distance away and threatened to charge or do something
that would alarm the buffalo and scare it away. So they told me to hurry
down and shoo the rhino off while they finished their stalk and got the
buffalo. So, you see, there's an occupation. That settles the question
as to what shall we do with our ex-presidents. They can be used to scare
rhinos away."
On hearing this story I remembered that the thick-skinned rhino is
sometimes used by cartoonists as a symbol for "the trusts," and the
story seemed doubly appropriate as applied to this particular
ex-president.
Some member of our party then modestly advanced the suggestion that the
colonel might some day be back in the White House again. He laughed and
said that the kaleidoscope never repeats.
"They needn't worry about what to do with this ex-president," he said.
"I have work laid out for a long time ahead."
Another member of our party then told about the Roosevelt act in _The
Follies of 1909_, in one part of which some one asks Kermit (in the
play) where the "ex-president" is. "You mean the 'next president,' don't
you?" says Kermit. When Colonel Roosevelt heard this he was immensely
interested, not so much in the words of the play, but in the fact that
Kermit had been represented on the stage--dramatized, as it were.
And as we left for our own camp the colonel called out: "Now, don't
forget. Just as soon as we all get back to America we'll have a lion
dinner together at my house."