```On a sudden one hath wounded me,
```That’s by me wounded
`````Romeo and Juliet=
```Truly, pleasure will be paid, one time or another
`````Twelfth Night=
|The following day we made our way to some adjacent wells, and spent the
whole of the hours in filling up everything we could lay hands on with
water. All old bottles were utilised, and I arranged that the precious
fluid should be allowanced, and any man found helping himself would find
the promised bonus at the end of the trip a myth. The camels and ponies
were watered, and we had baths! Then, in the dawn of a day of intense
heat, with the early sun a-shimmer on all the glory of green that
surrounded us again, the air yet heavy with dew, and drowsy with the hum
of myriad insects we marched, heading for the Haud. We might not again
have any opportunity of securing any water before we negotiated the
great tract, which we were to cross in a different part to our previous
journey over.
The jungle was very dense, and the caravan simply crawled. I rode ahead,
and about eight o’clock walked into, almost over, a lioness sound asleep
with two cubs. She was off almost before I realised the marvel of the
thing. Clarence dashed up, his quick eye had taken in the scene. He
handed me my rifle. I frowned at him. Surely he had learned by this time
that even a woman can be sporting. For it was not only discretion that
made me play the better part, nor the thought of the panic a fracas with
a lioness would cause in the caravan. I would have loved to take a cub
home. But--there was a big but. Nobody short of a sportsman who “browns”
a herd of buck indiscriminately--oh yes, there are such men here and
there!--would destroy such a family. They departed in peace, and not in
pieces. I spoored a little way, and in clear sandy ground came on the
tiny pugs, now quiescent, now running and claw marks showing.
Next we came on rhino spoor, but in spite of what I had said Cecily
halted the caravan, whilst she, in the very hottest part of the day, did
a stalk. It all came to nothing, thanks be. I fell asleep on a _herio_,
and awakened to find my tent over me. The men had erected it to screen
me from the sun. They were servants in a thousand.
From this thick jungle we emerged on to a great open plain, or “bun,”
and Clarence told me it was called the Dumberelli. He often told us the
names of places we came to, and sometimes I wondered why they should be
christened at all. The “bun” was a waving sea of bright green grass, and
full of game. Aoul in regiments sought the new grass, an oryx or two,
and “Sig” (Swayne’s gazelle), looking like well kept sea-side donkeys,
stood about in ones and twos. But always out of range. Time was of such
value here we could not make a really big attempt to secure a specimen
of picked hartebeest. But I managed after a wearying effort, in which
I was frustrated time and time again by alert bands of aoul, who
constantly gave the alarm, to bag a smallish sig, a female, and they
carry much lighter heads than the male. I could not afford to pick and
choose. It was my first hartebeest, and I feared the possibility of
going home minus a specimen of the genus. However, Cecily, who did a
rival shoot on her own, secured a male, whose horns topped seventeen
inches, a great improvement on the beggarly twelve of my trophy. We took
the tape measurement on the front curves.
The sunsets were superb, and heralded the most intense cold. It became
necessary to trek every hour we could, as every one dreaded a water
famine. We seemed in these days not to sleep at all, but march and march
interminably.
One early morning we found the quaintest of lizards lying in the sun.
It had an outspread tail that seemed to overbalance the horrid little
thing. Clarence prodded it gently with a small stick, and it cried every
time he did it, just like a baby. He told us it is called “asherbody,”
which translated means baby, and I noticed, not for the first time, that
the Somali mind has a nice sense in the christening of things.
We trekked right into a large Somali zareba, the largest camp we had yet
seen, and after a visit from the head-man, were let in for a “tomasho,”
or native dance, a different thing altogether to the dibaltig, and much
more boring. We arrived at the _karia_ at the time appointed, dressed
in our best clothes, which did not say much, as the best was very bad.
I would we had been fortified by the possession of spotless garments to
steel ourselves against the inquisitive looks of the Somali ladies. It
is so hard for a woman to appear at ease in rags. He was a philosopher
indeed who said, somewhere or other, “It is our clothes-thatch that,
reaching to our heart of hearts, tailorises and demoralises us.”
We were received by the usual curious crowd, who fingered our coats and
tried to look into our pockets. Clarence explained we were to sit on the
_herios_ prepared, and the show would begin. Men and women took part
in the dance, advancing from either side and then retreating. I have
attended many an Indian “potlatch” of extravagant description, but they
were dignified in the extreme to the Somali equivalent. I won’t describe
the dance in detail, because this is supposed to be a pleasant book;
besides, Mr. Stead may read it. To put the case mildly, the affair was
savage to a degree of ignorance I had not dreamed of in its unvarnished
vulgarity.
It was the first indication we had that the Somalis are uncivilised
savages. I tried to doze. And being very weary, slept. A violent push
from Cecily aroused me to a sense of politeness again, and realising
that peace reigned around we stood up, and through Clarence, thanked the
gratified “artistes,” and left them wrangling over the gifts which lay
on the ground, looking as though they were trying to apologise for the
fact that there were not enough of them to go round. We had to trench
on the water supply a little after this entertainment, for a wash was an
absolute necessity.
Next day a somewhat untoward incident occurred. Cecily and I had
detached from a herd of three a fine bull oryx, who by reason of some
infirmity was not so fleet as his fellows, and so made an easier quarry.
Such a glorious chase he gave us, and more than once we almost took a
toss as the ponies groped for a foothold in the maze of ant bear holes.
At last, to cut what promised to be a never-ending chase, I flung myself
off the pony at the nearest point I judged we should ever get to the
coveted oryx this way, and taking no sort of a sight, I was so out of
breath with the shaking of my steed, brought down the antelope in a
crumpled heap at a distance of some two hundred and ten yards. This
was not so bad, all things considered. We went up close to the fallen
creature. I had my hand through the reins of my prodigiously blowing
pony, and most injudiciously ranged alongside. Cecily was still mounted.
The splendid bull rose from the dead, erect and firm, and I was given
no sort of a chance to protect myself before he made for me with lowered
horns. It all happened in the twinkling of an eye. I jumped as clear
as I could, but the reins entangled me, and the vicious horns caught
my left arm as my foe swept along. I was brought to my knees with the
impact. As he pulled up in a great slide to turn for a return joust
Cecily dropped him, at such close quarters though that the skin was much
damaged. My arm was ripped up most ingeniously for quite three inches,
Another rent in my poor coat to be mended! However, it might all have
been much worse. It might have been my right arm. The wind was tempered
to the shorn lamb.
I rode back to camp, with a handkerchief twisted tightly round the
wound, and Cecily stayed to guard the oryx from vultures, until I could
send some one to take over, when she returned to me fired with medical
ardour and primed with medical knowledge from our book. She pronounced
the wound as of the variety to be stitched. Could I bear it being
stitched? I said certainly, if she could endure the horror of stitching
it. So we prepared for action. I told my doctor I would not have the
place washed because I was convinced that Somali water, even when
filtered, was not calculated to cleanse, rather the reverse, and I did
dread blood-poisoning. I sat outside the tent on a packing case, and
Cecily put three most workmanlike stitches into my arm. She was a brick,
never flinching until it was done, when she let off bottled-up steam by
crying about four tears, and I think four tears are allowable--I mean
without showing any sort of cowardice or lack of courage--don’t
you? Rome was not built in a day, and Cecily had never even been
hospital-nursing; but then she is the most unfashionable person in the
wide world.
I carried my arm in a sling as we marched next day. Cecily was very
anxious to halt the caravan on my account, but this I would not allow.
The wells must be reached at the earliest possible moment. Clarence had
reported that the supply was dangerously low. We traversed very ugly
country, sand and sand, with a few low scrub bushes dotted about--a
dispiriting vista enough. We shot a dik-dik for dinner, and so fared
sumptuously. There is about as much meat on the body of this tiny buck
as one gets on an English hare.
At last we came to the wells. We found a number of Somalis making a spa
out of the place, and selling the water, drop by drop. I don’t know
if the wells were some one’s birthright, or if some speculative Somali
jumped the claim, but a repellent old gentleman, who looked as though he
had not tried the precious liquid on himself for some years, gave us to
understand he owned the place. He asked such wealth for a mere dole of
water we decided to camp and think it out. He knew the value of what he
had to sell, the old sinner, for though we were but a few marches
now from the end of the Haud our caravan was a good size, and its
consumption necessarily great. We had the tents set up right there, and
prepared to improve the shining hour by seeking some sport on the Toyo
Plain.
I discarded my sling altogether, and we started from camp early,
reaching the great “bun” after a stiffish ride. We left the ponies
in charge of the hunters some way from the fringe of grass, and in a
certain amount of cover. We stood for quite a long while watching
the sea of waving green which was not yet tall enough to conceal the
numerous bands of game that were out betimes to breakfast. A somnolent
hartebeest stood up out of range behind a clump of active aoul. Then we
worked our way very gently to a spot which gave us a clearer view. We
lay down awhile, glad of the rest, and watched the little harems quarrel
and make it up. Sometimes a buck of detective-like propensities would
seem to say “I spy strangers,” and communicated his alarm to the entire
herd. A perfect note of interrogation animated every one for a few
moments, and all would gather together, until a buck skipped towards
us, and then in active graceful bounds dash back to bring a pal to help
investigation. Satisfied, they rejoined the admiring does again.
But that hartebeest! I longed to get near him, but it seemed a hopeless
task. His sleepiness had passed, and now he was all ears and eyes. The
sun lit up his glossy coat, and caught the odd twist of his horns until
they gleamed again. We stalked in vain for an hour or more. My arm was a
great drawback to me, but I would not allow it to hamper me, and played
the Christian Science dodge on myself, saying, whenever a particularly
acute shoot of agony stabbed me, “You only _think_ you have pain.” At
last we hit on a device for ensnaring the active one. He was taking no
chances, and that the best laid plans gang aft agley we know. Still
my schemes and machinations were rather disorganised for the moment,
because I suddenly realised I was sharing my small portion of the
earth’s surface with a particularly nasty looking snake! It was quite
large enough to rout us both, and we should have fled, I know, had not
the reptile manifested a dislike of its own to our presence, and made
off into the long grass.
It took us a few minutes to recover from this shock and get back to our
designs for ensnaring the hartebeest. The general idea was that Cecily
was to work her way round opposite to me so that the sig lay between us.
The coveted prize would then, at least we hoped so, break near to one
of us. Of course it might just as easily dash off in quite another
direction, altogether out of range. But it was the only thing we could
think of to dislodge our quarry from the out-of-reach area in which it
fed. I could not do any stalking myself that necessitated going on hands
and knees, so Cecily set off, wriggling along like an eel. Though I
soon lost sight of her, I could in a way judge of her whereabouts.
Aoul started here and there as they winded her, moved away, and then
contented themselves again. They are like sentinels, these creatures,
and must play a most useful part in the drama of the jungle. Not
knowing, though, the actual moment Cecily would start the hartebeest, I
began to feel quite nervous for fear I missed an easy shot. The tension
got quite irritating when up from the sea of grass rose Cecily, like
an Aphrodite in khaki. Her loud shout startled the sig, who stood an
instant in paralysed affright, then, on the wings of the wind he sailed
past me. I threw up my rifle, the pain in my supporting arm forgotten,
and fired. The animal went on at a great pace. I do not think I got him
anywhere, but Cecily, who ran through the grass to join me, says she
heard even from where she was the “phut” of the bullet, and why didn’t
I? This worried me a lot. I hate to think of half-shot creatures
dragging on in agony. We found our ponies and galloped off in the
line of country traversed by the vanished sig. We rode for a long way,
searched thoroughly, but found nothing. We saw ostrich, but at long
range, and we hadn’t the desire to try and bag one. After a lunch of
cold oryx and bread of sorts (the oryx, by the way, who gave me reason
to remember him), we decided to give up the chase, satisfied my bullet
had not found a billet. The whole way home was blank. My shot had
alarmed all the jungle folk, and they were now as shy as hawks.
Back in camp the parleying with the stingy proprietor of the wells
began. He would not reduce his charges, and we had to have water. I so
hated to be done. After due deliberation we served the old gentleman
with an ultimatum to the effect that we offered him a fair price, and
if he would not accept the amount, we should take the water by force if
necessary. Clarence translated the message, and afterwards we saw
the recipient talking to his friends, some fifteen Somalis, and
gesticulating wildly. The time arrived when the kettle demanded filling
ere tea was forthcoming, so with almost all our men carrying _harns_ and
barrels, we marched right up to the walls. The old man, backed up by his
Somalis, came close to Cecily and myself, and jabbered a great deal
in furious tones. I expect the words were cuss words all right. They
sounded like them. I signed to the men to set to work filling up. The
enraged Somali struck at me with his spear. It would have fallen heavily
upon me had not Clarence seen the danger and parried it on his rifle.
This annoyed me frightfully. I tendered the amount we considered the
water worth, and tapped my rifle significantly. The Somalis fell back,
and congregated at a little distance, one of their number presently
advancing to ask for backsheesh. The battle was over.
That night my arm was in a parlous state, swollen and inflamed, and the
pain well-nigh overwhelmed me. I was in a high fever, and to proceed
with the journey was impossible. Cecily’s kindness during the awful days
that followed was wonderful, and her patience inexhaustible. In truth, I
cannot tell how much trouble I must have caused her, for things were not
always clear to me, and time seemed nothing. One night I wakened from
this world o’ dreams, and the tent flap being open I saw the scene
around me like a clear-limned etching. A glorious moon lit up the camp.
Cecily stood just outside, and by her side--who was it? I racked my
muddled brains. Why, of course, the leader of the Opposition. I sank
back again, convinced I was dreaming. By my side, on an upturned packing
case, lay a bunch of flowers. In the dim light they looked like English
roses. They were dream flowers, I suspect, but they seemed to me most
sweet. I pondered about them for an age. Was it the marvellous Marconi?
Or did Mercury bring them? I cared not, so they came.
Next morning I wakened to sense again, and Cecily was beside me and told
me--her dear eyes filled with tears--how nearly I had been lost to her,
and how, at the very worst of things, all unexpectedly, the leader of
the Opposition and Ralph had ridden into camp; that without their help
and common sense she could never have pulled me through.
The wells were now practically in our possession, the old gentleman
having waived his claims, but we were, of course, still out on the Haud.
Camels had been sent off to Berbera to meet us a little farther on, to
return with stores, mainly for the men. The Opposition had provided us
with many necessaries, and I was so glad because I did not want to leave
the wild any the sooner because of all this wasted time.
Next afternoon I held quite a Durbar. I sat outside the tent, and most
of the men came to make their salaams. Clarence--the good fellow--even
got so far as to say, shyly, “Me glad you olri.” They _all_ seemed glad
to have me all right, and it was nice of them.
The leader of the Opposition and Ralph came to tea, and we made very
merry. The latter pretended to be not on speaking terms with Cecily,
because at their last interview she had called him “horrid pig,” but I
explained that it must be a wild pig, and then it would be a compliment;
he is so much nobler than a tame one, is fleet of foot, and courageous
of heart, and sometimes resembles a lion. Where comes the sting of being
called after such an animal? It was delightful to feel we had friends so
near, at least just now, when self-reliance was at such a low ebb with
me. Old William puts “Honour, love, obedience, troops of friends” as
making up the joys of life. I did not want troops, but after the jungle
world, _two_ did make my joy just then. I have to say the jungle first,
because it still stood first, and I longed to be out again, not in it,
and yet not of it. “He who has heard the voice of Nature in her wildest
places, who has felt the mystery of her loveliness, the glamour of her
nameless airs and graces, is one who has eaten of the bread of Faëry,
and drunken of the wine of dreams.”
And the next day they propounded a scheme to me--these three
arch-plotters--we would all join forces, and wind up the shoots
together. But I had so many objections, one being the remembrance of
the remark at Aden about our wishing to cling on. The leader, with deep
sophistry, said that was more than atoned for, and wiped out by the
humiliating fact--to them--that our trip was much the most successful,
not only in the actual results, but in the peace and quiet of the
caravan. In theirs chaos had reigned from the very outset. The head-man
had levanted early on, taking with him the two best camels and no end
of loot, far worse calamity than a butler! Not a thing had been done
willingly, only under compulsion, and grumbling was the order of every
day.
I wondered if the extra large sum of money promised to each man of our
caravan at the end of the trip, provided his conduct pleased us--quite
my own idea--had kept things straight. Was it bribery and corruption? If
so, in our case, at least, the end justified the means.
As for our trophies, we of the rival expedition had much the best of it.
The Opposition had but one rhino, and altogether we had reason to feel
quite conceited. I hope we didn’t. For if there is one thing I hate it
is this same conceit. And sometimes I fear I have it slightly. For I
judge by the fact that I am apt to feel contempt at times, and lose
sight of the motto “Make allowances.” Now, conceit and contempt are hand
in glove, and if one has the one it entails having the other. But I hate
contempt in others, and admire humility as much as any virtue, it
is perhaps the rarest of them all. So I tried to be very humble, and
thanked the warriors for their gracious words.
Another great reason against the amalgamation was the trouble that would
arise with the men. With us Clarence was all powerful. Perhaps the new
arrivals would not pay allegiance to him, and so large a number together
would surely fight. All things considered, we agreed not to join, but to
meet at Berbera and go home together. We were bound there by way of the
midst of the Golis, and the Opposition did not propose to take them so
far up. They thought the game hardly worth the candle, in more senses
than one. True, the reserved area spreads a long way, but we wanted to
see the country anyhow.
In these days of convalescence we learned we had such worth having
friends. If Cecily regretted calling Ralph a “pig,” my conscience
pricked me that I once scornfully cavilled at the “leader’s” lack of
inches. Not that he was by any means a midget. How foolish I was!
Why, the greatest men have been little. Nelson and Napoleon, Lee and
Frederick the Great, Gustavus Adolphus and Marlborough, too, were on the
small side.
How very foolish I was!
Of a night Ralph would play his violin around the twinkling fires. It
looked so unlikely an instrument in his hands, and yet he made it speak
to us like a living thing. He was the finest amateur I ever heard. Even
the Somalis loved to hear him play, and sat in charmed groups listening
intently. It shows they have receptive souls for beauty. I agree with an
old friend of mine that the man who has no music in his soul is fit for
“treasons, stratagems, and spoils.” If I haven’t mangled the Immortal
One’s words.