ELECTRIC LIGHTS, MOTOR-CARS AND FIFTEEN VARIETIES OF WILD GAME. CHASING
LIONS ACROSS COUNTRY IN A CARRIAGE
Nairobi is a thriving, bustling city, with motor cars, electric lights,
clubs, race meets, balls, banquets, and all the frills that constitute
an up-to-date community. Carriages and dog-carts and motorcycles rush
about, and lords and princes and earls sit upon the veranda of the
leading hotel in hunting costumes. Lying out from Nairobi are big
grazing farms, many of them fenced in with barbed wire; and the peaceful
rows of telegraph poles make exclamation points of civilization across
the landscape. It doesn't sound like good hunting in such a district,
does it? Yet this is what actually happened:
We had discharged our _safari_, packed up our tents, and were just
ready to start to Mombasa to catch a ship for Bombay. A telegram
unexpectedly arrived, saying that the boat would not sail until three
days later, so we decided to put in two or three more mornings of
shooting out beyond the limits of the city.
We got a carriage, a low-necked vehicle drawn by two little mules. It
was driven by a young black boy, and we got another boy from the hotel
to go along for general utility purposes. Into this vehicle we placed
our guns, and at seven o'clock in the morning drove out of the town. In
fifteen or twenty minutes we had passed through the streets and had
reached the pleasant roads of the open plains. Soon we passed the
race-track and then bowled merrily along between peaceful barbed-wire
fences. Occasional groups of Kikuyus were tramping along the road,
bringing in eggs or milk to Nairobi. A farm-house or two lay off to
either side, and once or twice we passed boys herding little bunches of
ostriches.
At about a quarter to eight we drove up the tree-lined avenue of a
farm-house and a pleasant-faced woman responded to our knock. We asked
for permission to shoot on the farm and were told that we were quite
welcome to shoot as much as we wished.
Five minutes later, less than an hour's drive from Nairobi, we drove
past a herd of nearly sixty impalla. They watched us gravely from a
distance of two hundred yards. At this point we left the well-traveled
road and drove into the short prairie grass that carpeted, the Athi
Plains. The carriage bumped pleasantly along, and as we reached a little
rise a few hundred feet away, the great stretch of the plains lay spread
out before us.
Mount Kenia, eighty or ninety miles north, was clear and bright with its
snow-capped peaks sparkling in the early sunlight. Off to its left rose
the Aberdare Range, with the dominating peak of Kinangop; to its right
rose the lone bald uplift of Donyo Sabuk, and to the east were the blue
Lukenia Hills. The house-tops of Nairobi waved miragically in the
valley, with a low range of blue hills beyond. Across the plains ran the
row of telegraph poles that marked the course of the railway and a
traveling column of smoke indicated the busy course of a railway train.
This was the setting within which lay the broad stretches of the Athi
Plains, billowing in waves like a grass-covered sea.
[Photograph: A Nest of Ostrich Eggs]
[Photograph: A Herd of Ostriches]
[Photograph: By courtesy of W.D. Boyce We Bumped Merrily Along]
As we drove along big herds of zebras paused in their grazing to regard
the carriage as it merrily bumped across the hills. As long as we
remained in the vehicle they showed no alarm, for they had seen many
carriages along the neighboring roads. It was only when the carriage
stopped that they showed an apprehensive interest. Great numbers of
Coke's hartebeest watched us with humorous interest. An eland grazed
peacefully upon a distant hill, and a wart-hog trotted away as we
approached. Immense numbers of Thompson's gazelle skipped away merrily
and then turned to regard us with widespread ears and alert eyes. Two
Grant's gazelles were seen, while far off upon a grassy hillside were
many wildebeest--the animal that we were seeking. It was impossible to
get close enough to shoot effectively, and after a time we gave up our
attempts in that direction.
The wildebeest, although living so near Nairobi, are most wild, and with
miles of plains stretching out upon all sides it is easy for them to
keep several hundred yards of space between themselves and danger. We
spent a couple of hours of fruitless stalking and then were obliged to
hurry back to town in order to be at the hotel when the tiffin bell
rang.
I had not yet secured a Thompson's gazelle, so we stopped and each of us
shot one on our way to the road. Then we returned to town. People along
the streets regarded us with surprised interest, for there were two
gazelles hanging out of the carriage and our four rifles gave the
vehicle an incongruously warlike aspect.
[Drawing: _Shooting Wildebeest (Cross Marks Location of Wildebeest,
Outward Bound)_]
The next morning at seven o'clock we were again in our carriage. We
drove out to the same place and at a few minutes after eight we were
amazed to see a wild dog rise from the grass and look at us. We hastily
jumped out of the carriage and walked toward him. In a moment a number
of others rose from the grass, until we saw seventeen of them. This
animal is seldom seen by sportsmen, and I believe it is considered quite
rare. In four months only one of our party had previously seen any.
Sometimes they savagely attack human beings, and when they do their
attack is fierce and hard to repel. They watched us narrowly as we
approached them and then moved slowly away. They seemed neither afraid
nor ferocious.
We each shot and missed. The pack split, and Stephenson followed one
little bunch while I followed another. My course led me toward a
shallow, rock-strewn nullah, and once or twice I fired again at the wild
dogs. But I couldn't hit them. There was nothing remarkable in my
failure to make a good shot, but Stephenson, who is a celebrated rifle
shot, seemed to be equally unfortunate in his work. He was some distance
away and his bullets would not go where he wanted them to go.
Suddenly my attention was riveted upon three forms that walked slowly
out of the nullah and climbed the slope on the other side, about three
hundred and fifty yards away. I was transfixed with amazement and could
hardly believe my eyes.
They were lions!
One was a female and the other two immense males. They were walking
slowly, and once or twice they stopped to look back at me. Then they
resumed their stately retreat.
As soon as I recovered from my astonishment I shouted to Stephenson, who
had been lured far away by the wild dogs.
"_Simba!_" I yelled, pointing to the three lions.
He seemed not to comprehend, and I saw him reluctantly turn from the
dogs and fix his glasses upon the direction I indicated. In no time he
was hurrying up to join me, and we hastily formed a plan of campaign.
The lions had now disappeared over the brow of the hill. I looked at my
watch and the hour was not yet nine o'clock. We were still in sight of
the distant house-tops of Nairobi. It seemed unbelievable.
We crossed the nullah and the carriage jolted down and across a few
minutes later. We took our seats and studied the plains with our
glasses. The lions were not in sight. Then we studied the herds of game
and saw that many of them were looking in a certain direction. We drove
in that direction and whipped up the mules to a lively trot. In a few
minutes Stephenson picked up the three lions far to the left, where they
were slowly making their way toward another ravine a mile or so beyond.
Then began one of the strangest lion hunts ever recorded in African
sporting annals.
You may have read of the practice of "riding" lions. Doctor Rainsford,
in his splendid book on lion hunting, describes this thrilling sport in
such vivid words that you shiver as you read them. Mounted men gallop
after the lion, bring it to bay, and then hold it there until the white
hunter comes up to a close range and shoots it. In the meantime the
cornered beast is charging savagely at the horsemen, who trust to the
speed and quickness of their mounts to elude the angry rushes of the
infuriated animal. It is a most spectacular method of lion hunting and
is only eclipsed in danger and daring by the native method of
surrounding a lion and spearing it to death.
[Photograph: A Kikuyu Woman Uses Her Head]
[Photograph: On the Athi Plains]
[Photograph: It Was a Rakish Craft]
To my knowledge, no one has ever "galloped" a lion in a carriage drawn
by two mules, and probably few hunters have ever galloped three lions at
one time under any conditions.
It was a memorable chase. The mules were lashed into a gallop and the
carriage rocked like a Channel steamer. We were gaining rapidly and the
distance separating us from the lions was quickly diminishing. It seemed
as if the three lions were not especially eager to escape, for they
moved away slowly, as if half-inclined to turn upon us.
[Drawing: _It Rocked Like a Channel Steamer_]
We hoped to overtake them before they reached the ravine or such uneven
ground as would compel us to abandon the carriage.
Five hundred yards! Then four hundred yards, and soon three hundred
yards. The mules were doing splendidly, and we knew that we should soon
be within good shooting distance. At two hundred and fifty yards the
largest of the two males, a great, black-maned lion, stopped and turned
toward us. His two companions continued moving away toward the ravine.
Thinking it a good moment to strike, we leaped from the carriage and
knelt to fire. Stephenson shot at the big black-mane and I at the male
that was retreating. Both shots missed. The black-mane resumed his
retreat and we got in a couple more ineffectual shots before the three
lions disappeared over the brow of the ravine.
[Drawing: _At Two Hundred and Fifty Yards_]
Once more in the carriage and another wild gallop as far as the vehicle
would go. For a few moments we lost sight of the lions, but presently we
saw them climbing up the opposite slope, four hundred yards away. It was
a long distance to shoot, but we hoped to bring them to bay at least by
wounding them into a fighting mood. The large lion turned and swung
along the brow of the hill; the others disappeared over the opposite
side, but they soon reappeared some distance farther to the right.
Little spurts of dirt showed where our bullets were striking. Once I
kicked up the ground just under him and once a shot from Stephenson
passed so close to his nose that he ducked his head angrily.
We became frantic with eagerness and continued disappointment. The
thought of losing the finest lion we had seen on the whole trip was
maddening, yet it seemed impossible to hit him.
Then he disappeared and probably rejoined his companions in a retreat
that led down into the ravine where it wound far away from us. There
were patches of reeds in the ravine and it was there that I thought they
would hide.
Sending the carriage in a wide detour, we climbed across a spur of the
ravine and tried to pick up the trail. Once I fell upon the rocks that
lined the steep sides of the gully and cut my hand so deeply that the
scar will always remain as a reminder of that eventful day. Stephenson
kept to the top of the ridge, believing that the lions would continue
across the ravine; I went into the ravine, thinking they would take
cover in the reeds and might be scared out with a shot or two.
But nothing could be seen of them, and after half an hour we rejoined on
the top of the hill, where a wide view of the whole country was
revealed.
We sat down in despair. The greatest chance of the whole trip was gone.
"That's the last we'll see of them," said I oracularly as I sat upon a
stone. My hand was covered with blood, but alas! it was mine and not the
lion's.
The carriage appeared and we held a prolonged consolation meeting.
Suddenly our general utility boy, Happy Bill, uttered a low cry of
warning. We turned, and there, in the valley ahead of us, the three
lions were again seen. They had evidently passed through the reeds
without stopping and had continued across only a few yards from where we
were now standing.
Fate seemed determined to give us plenty of chances to get these lions.
Again we opened fire on them at about four or five hundred yards. My
big-gun ammunition was gone, so I fired with my .256.
No result! The distance was too great and our bombardment was fruitless.
The black-maned lion was in a bad humor and repeatedly turned as if
intent to stop and defend his outraged dignity. In a few moments the
three lions disappeared in the tall grass that fringed a big reed bed
many acres in extent.
For an hour we raked the reed bed with shot, hoping to drive them from
cover. But that was the last we saw of the lions. A little bunch of
waterbuck does were scared up, but nothing else. The lions were now
safe, for nothing less than fifty beaters could hope to dislodge them
from the dense security of the swamp.
[Drawing: _It Would Have Been Historic_]
Talk about dejection! Our ride back to town was as mournful as a ride
could be. We thought of the glory of driving through the streets of
Nairobi with a lion or two hanging over the back of the carriage. It
would have been historic. Citizens would have talked of it for years. It
would have taken an honored place in the lion-hunting literature of
Africa, for no lion hunters have ever pursued a band of lions in a
carriage and brought back a carriage-load of them.
We almost regretted having had the chance that we so heartbreakingly
lost.
But we told about it when we struck town, and before the day was over it
was the topic in hotels and clubs throughout the whole town of Nairobi.
Everybody who had a gun was resolved to go out the next day, and
interest was at a fever pitch.
We went out again the following morning, shot at wildebeests at all
known ranges, from two hundred yards up to five hundred yards--but our
luck was against us. We came back empty-handed, and our chief reward for
the morning's work was the great privilege of seeing both Mount Kenia,
ninety miles north, and Kilima-Njaro, nearly two hundred miles
southeast, as clear as a cameo against the lovely African sky.
The lesson of this story is not so much a review of bad shooting or of
bad luck. The thing that seems most noteworthy is that within six or
seven miles from Nairobi, nearly all the time within sight of the
house-tops of that town, we had seen fifteen varieties of wild game,
some of which were present in great numbers.
Wildebeest
Hartebeest
Hyena
Jackal
Thompson's Gazelle
Lion
Rabbit
Waterbuck
Impalla
Giant Bustard
Ostrich
Wart-hog
Wild Dog
Steinbuck
Grant's Gazelle
Surely there is still some game left in Africa.