The Land of Footprints
by Stewart Edward White
Hypertext Meanings and Commentaries
from the Encyclopedia of the Self
by Mark Zimmerman

by Stewart Edward White

1913

I. ON BOOKS OF ADVENTURE

Books of sporting, travel, and adventure in countries little
known to the average reader naturally fall in two
classes-neither, with a very few exceptions, of great value. One
class is perhaps the logical result of the other.

Of the first type is the book that is written to make the most of
far travels, to extract from adventure the last thrill, to
impress the awestricken reader with a full sense of the danger
and hardship the writer has undergone. Thus, if the latter takes
out quite an ordinary routine permit to go into certain
districts, he makes the most of travelling in "closed territory,"
implying that he has obtained an especial privilege, and has
penetrated where few have gone before him. As a matter of fact,
the permit is issued merely that the authorities may keep track
of who is where. Anybody can get one. This class of writer tells
of shooting beasts at customary ranges of four and five hundred
yards. I remember one in especial who airily and as a matter of
fact killed all his antelope at such ranges. Most men have shot
occasional beasts at a quarter mile or so, but not airily nor as
a matter of fact: rather with thanksgiving and a certain amount
of surprise. The gentleman of whom I speak mentioned getting an
eland at seven hundred and fifty yards. By chance I happened to
mention this to a native Africander.

"Yes," said he, "I remember that; I was there."

This interested me-and I said so.

"He made a long shot," said I.

"A GOOD long shot," replied the Africander.

"Did you pace the distance?"

He laughed. "No," said he, "the old chap was immensely delighted.
'Eight hundred yards if it was an inch!' he cried."

"How far was it?"

"About three hundred and fifty. But it was a long shot, all
right."

And it was! Three hundred and fifty yards is a very long shot. It
is over four city blocks-New York size. But if you talk often
enough and glibly enough of "four and five hundred yards," it
does not sound like much, does it?

The same class of writer always gets all the thrills. He speaks
of "blanched cheeks," of the "thrilling suspense," and so on down
the gamut of the shilling shocker. His stuff makes good reading;
there is no doubt of that. The spellbound public likes it, and to
that extent it has fulfilled its mission. Also, the reader
believes it to the letter-why should he not? Only there is this
curious result: he carries away in his mind the impression of
unreality, of a country impossible to be understood and gauged
and savoured by the ordinary human mental equipment. It is
interesting, just as are historical novels, or the copper-riveted
heroes of modern fiction, but it has no real relation with human
life. In the last analysis the inherent untruth of the thing
forces itself on him. He believes, but he does not apprehend; he
acknowledges the fact, but he cannot grasp its human quality. The
affair is interesting, but it is more or less concocted of
pasteboard for his amusement. Thus essential truth asserts its
right.

All this, you must understand, is probably not a deliberate
attempt to deceive. It is merely the recrudescence under the
stimulus of a brand-new environment of the boyish desire to be a
hero. When a man jumps back into the Pleistocene he digs up some
of his ancestors' cave-qualities. Among these is the desire for
personal adornment. His modern development of taste precludes
skewers in the ears and polished wire around the neck; so he
adorns himself in qualities instead. It is quite an engaging and
diverting trait of character. The attitude of mind it both
presupposes and helps to bring about is too complicated for my
brief analysis. In itself it is no more blameworthy than the
small boy's pretence at Indians in the back yard; and no more
praiseworthy than infantile decoration with feathers.

In its results, however, we are more concerned. Probably each of
us has his mental picture that passes as a symbol rather than an
idea of the different continents. This is usually a single
picture-a deep river, with forest, hanging snaky vines,
anacondas and monkeys for the east coast of South America, for
example. It is built up in youth by chance reading and chance
pictures, and does as well as a pink place on the map to stand
for a part of the world concerning which we know nothing at all.
As time goes on we extend, expand, and modify this picture in the
light of what knowledge we may acquire. So the reading of many
books modifies and expands our first crude notions of Equatorial
Africa. And the result is, if we read enough of the sort I
describe above, we build the idea of an exciting, dangerous,
extra-human continent, visited by half-real people of the texture
of the historical-fiction hero, who have strange and interesting
adventures which we could not possibly imagine happening to
ourselves.

This type of book is directly responsible for the second sort.
The author of this is deadly afraid of being thought to brag of
his adventures. He feels constantly on him the amusedly critical
eye of the old-timer. When he comes to describe the first time a
rhino dashed in his direction, he remembers that old hunters, who
have been so charged hundreds of times, may read the book.
Suddenly, in that light, the adventure becomes pitifully
unimportant. He sets down the fact that "we met a rhino that
turned a bit nasty, but after a shot in the shoulder decided to
leave us alone." Throughout he keeps before his mind's eye the
imaginary audience of those who have done. He writes for them, to
please them, to convince them that he is not "swelled head," nor
"cocky," nor "fancies himself," nor thinks he has done, been, or
seen anything wonderful. It is a good, healthy frame of mind to
be in; but it, no more than the other type, can produce books
that leave on the minds of the general public any impression of a
country in relation to a real human being.

As a matter of fact, the same trouble is at the bottom of both
failures. The adventure writer, half unconsciously perhaps, has
been too much occupied play-acting himself into half-forgotten
boyhood heroics. The more modest man, with even more
self-consciousness, has been thinking of how he is going to
appear in the eyes of the expert. Both have thought of themselves
before their work. This aspect of the matter would probably
vastly astonish the modest writer.

If, then, one is to formulate an ideal toward which to write, he
might express it exactly in terms of man and environment. Those
readers desiring sheer exploration can get it in any library:
those in search of sheer romantic adventure can purchase plenty
of it at any book-stall. But the majority want something
different from either of these. They want, first of all, to know
what the country is like-not in vague and grandiose "word
paintings," nor in strange and foreign sounding words and
phrases, but in comparison with something they know. What is it
nearest like-Arizona? Surrey? Upper New York? Canada? Mexico? Or
is it totally different from anything, as is the Grand Canyon?
When you look out from your camp-any one camp-how far do you
see, and what do you see?-mountains in the distance, or a screen
of vines or bamboo near hand, or what? When you get up in the
morning, what is the first thing to do? What does a rhino look
like, where he lives, and what did you do the first time one came
at you? I don't want you to tell me as though I were either an
old hunter or an admiring audience, or as though you were afraid
somebody might think you were making too much of the matter. I
want to know how you REALLY felt. Were you scared or nervous? or
did you become cool? Tell me frankly just how it was, so I can
see the thing as happening to a common everyday human being.
Then, even at second-hand and at ten thousand miles distance, I
can enjoy it actually, humanly, even though vicariously,
speculating a bit over my pipe as to how I would have liked it
myself.

Obviously, to write such a book the author must at the same time
sink his ego and exhibit frankly his personality. The paradox in
this is only apparent. He must forget either to strut or to blush
with diffidence. Neither audience should be forgotten, and neither
should be exclusively addressed. Never should he lose sight of
the wholesome fact that old hunters are to read and to weigh;
never should he for a moment slip into the belief that he is
justified in addressing the expert alone. His attitude should be
that many men know more and have done more than he, but that for
one reason or another these men are not ready to transmit their
knowledge and experience.

To set down the formulation of an ideal is one thing: to fulfil
it is another. In the following pages I cannot claim a
fulfilment, but only an attempt. The foregoing dissertation must
be considered not as a promise, but as an explanation. No one
knows better than I how limited my African experience is, both in
time and extent, bounded as it is by East Equatorial Africa and a
year. Hundreds of men are better qualified than myself to write
just this book; but unfortunately they will not do it.

II. AFRICA

In looking back on the multitudinous pictures that the word
Africa bids rise in my memory, four stand out more distinctly
than the others. Strangely enough, these are by no means all
pictures of average country-the sort of thing one would describe
as typical. Perhaps, in a way, they symbolize more the spirit of
the country to me, for certainly they represent but a small
minority of its infinitely varied aspects. But since we must make
a start somewhere, and since for some reason these four crowd
most insistently in the recollection it might be well to begin
with them.

Our camp was pitched under a single large mimosa tree near the
edge of a deep and narrow ravine down which a stream flowed. A
semicircle of low mountains hemmed us in at the distance of
several miles. The other side of the semicircle was occupied by
the upthrow of a low rise blocking off an horizon at its nearest
point but a few hundred yards away. Trees marked the course of the
stream; low scattered bushes alternated with open plain. The
grass grew high. We had to cut it out to make camp.

Nothing indicated that we were otherwise situated than in a very
pleasant, rather wide grass valley in the embrace of the
mountains. Only a walk of a few hundred yards atop the upthrow of
the low rise revealed the fact that it was in reality the lip of
a bench, and that beyond it the country fell away in sheer cliffs
whose ultimate drop was some fifteen hundred feet. One could sit
atop and dangle his feet over unguessed abysses.

For a week we had been hunting for greater kudu. Each day Memba
Sasa and I went in one direction, while Mavrouki and Kongoni took
another line. We looked carefully for signs, but found none
fresher than the month before. Plenty of other game made the
country interesting; but we were after a shy and valuable prize,
so dared not shoot lesser things. At last, at the end of the
week, Mavrouki came in with a tale of eight lions seen in the low
scrub across the stream. The kudu business was about finished, as
far as this place went, so we decided to take a look for the
lions.

We ate by lantern and at the first light were ready to start. But
at that moment, across the slope of the rim a few hundred yards
away, appeared a small group of sing-sing. These are a beautiful
big beast, with widespread horns, proud and wonderful, like
Landseer's stags, and I wanted one of them very much. So I took
the Springfield, and dropped behind the line of some bushes. The
stalk was of the ordinary sort. One has to remain behind cover,
to keep down wind, to make no quick movements. Sometimes this
takes considerable manoeuvring; especially, as now, in the case
of a small band fairly well scattered out for feeding. Often
after one has succeeded in placing them all safely behind the
scattered cover, a straggler will step out into view. Then the
hunter must stop short, must slowly, oh very, very slowly, sink
down out of sight; so slowly, in fact, that he must not seem to
move, but rather to melt imperceptibly away. Then he must take up
his progress at a lower plane of elevation. Perhaps he needs
merely to stoop; or he may crawl on hands and knees; or he may
lie flat and hitch himself forward by his toes, pushing his gun
ahead. If one of the beasts suddenly looks very intently in his
direction, he must freeze into no matter what uncomfortable
position, and so remain an indefinite time. Even a hotel-bred
child to whom you have rashly made advances stares no longer nor
more intently than a buck that cannot make you out.

I had no great difficulty with this lot, but slipped up quite
successfully to within one hundred and fifty yards. There I
raised my head behind a little bush to look. Three does grazed
nearest me, their coats rough against the chill of early morning.
Up the slope were two more does and two funny, fuzzy babies. An
immature buck occupied the extreme left with three young ladies.
But the big buck, the leader, the boss of the lot, I could not
see anywhere. Of course he must be about, and I craned my neck
cautiously here and there trying to make him out.

Suddenly, with one accord, all turned and began to trot rapidly
away to the right, their heads high. In the strange manner of
animals, they had received telepathic alarm, and had instantly
obeyed. Then beyond and far to the right I at last saw the beast
I had been looking for. The old villain had been watching me all
the time!

The little herd in single file made their way rapidly along the
face of the rise. They were headed in the direction of the
stream. Now, I happened to know that at this point the
stream-canyon was bordered by sheer cliffs. Therefore, the
sing-sing must round the hill, and not cross the stream. By
running to the top of the hill I might catch a glimpse of them
somewhere below. So I started on a jog trot, trying to hit the
golden mean of speed that would still leave me breath to shoot.
This was an affair of some nicety in the tall grass. Just before
I reached the actual slope, however, I revised my schedule. The
reason was supplied by a rhino that came grunting to his feet
about seventy yards away. He had not seen me, and he had not
smelled me, but the general disturbance of all these events had
broken into his early morning nap. He looked to me like a person
who is cross before breakfast, so I ducked low and ran around
him. The last I saw of him he was still standing there, quite
disgruntled, and evidently intending to write to the directors
about it.

Arriving at the top, I looked eagerly down. The cliff fell away
at an impossible angle, but sheer below ran out a narrow bench
fifty yards wide. Around the point of the hill to my right-where
the herd had gone-a game trail dropped steeply to this bench. I
arrived just in time to see the sing-sing, still trotting, file
across the bench and over its edge, on some other invisible game
trail, to continue their descent of the cliff. The big buck
brought up the rear. At the very edge he came to a halt, and
looked back, throwing his head up and his nose out so that the
heavy fur on his neck stood forward like a ruff. It was a last
glimpse of him, so I held my little best, and pulled trigger.

This happened to be one of those shots I spoke of-which the
perpetrator accepts with a thankful and humble spirit. The
sing-sing leaped high in the air and plunged over the edge of the
bench. I signalled the camp-in plain sight-to come and get the
head and meat, and sat down to wait. And while waiting, I looked
out on a scene that has since been to me one of my four
symbolizations of Africa.

The morning was dull, with gray clouds through which at wide
intervals streamed broad bands of misty light. Below me the cliff
fell away clear to a gorge in the depths of which flowed a river.
Then the land began to rise, broken, sharp, tumbled, terrible,
tier after tier, gorge after gorge, one twisted range after the
other, across a breathlessly immeasurable distance. The prospect
was full of shadows thrown by the tumult of lava. In those
shadows one imagined stranger abysses. Far down to the right a
long narrow lake inaugurated a flatter, alkali-whitened country
of low cliffs in long straight lines. Across the distances proper
to a dozen horizons the tumbled chaos heaved and fell. The eye
sought rest at the bounds usual to its accustomed world-and went
on. There was no roundness to the earth, no grateful curve to
drop this great fierce country beyond a healing horizon out of
sight. The immensity of primal space was in it, and the
simplicity of primal things-rough, unfinished, full of mystery.
There was no colour. The scene was done in slate gray, darkening
to the opaque where a tiny distant rain squall started;
lightening in the nearer shadows to reveal half-guessed peaks;
brightening unexpectedly into broad short bands of misty gray
light slanting from the gray heavens above to the sombre tortured
immensity beneath. It was such a thing as Gustave Dore might have
imaged to serve as an abiding place for the fierce chaotic spirit of
the African wilderness.

I sat there for some time hugging my knees, waiting for the men
to come. The tremendous landscape seemed to have been willed to
immobility. The rain squalls forty miles or more away did not
appear to shift their shadows; the rare slanting bands of light
from the clouds were as constant as though they were falling
through cathedral windows. But nearer at hand other things were
forward. The birds, thousands of them, were doing their best to
cheer things up. The roucoulements of doves rose from the bushes
down the face of the cliffs; the bell bird uttered his clear
ringing note; the chime bird gave his celebrated imitation of a
really gentlemanly sixty-horse power touring car hinting you out
of the way with the mellowness of a chimed horn; the bottle bird
poured gallons of guggling essence of happiness from his silver
jug. From the direction of camp, evidently jumped by the boys, a
steinbuck loped gracefully, pausing every few minutes to look
back, his dainty legs tense, his sensitive ears pointed toward
the direction of disturbance.

And now, along the face of the cliff, I make out the flashing of
much movement, half glimpsed through the bushes. Soon a fine
old-man baboon, his tail arched after the dandified fashion of
the baboon aristocracy stepped out, looked around, and bounded
forward. Other old men followed him, and then the young men, and
a miscellaneous lot of half-grown youngsters. The ladies brought
up the rear, with the babies. These rode their mothers' backs,
clinging desperately while they leaped along, for all the world
like the pathetic monkey "jockeys" one sees strapped to the backs
of big dogs in circuses. When they had approached to within fifty
yards, remarked "hullo!" to them. Instantly they all stopped.
Those in front stood up on their hind legs; those behind
clambered to points of vantage on rocks and the tops of small
bushes: They all took a good long look at me. Then they told me
what they thought about me personally, the fact of my being
there, and the rude way I had startled them. Their remarks were
neither complimentary nor refined. The old men, in especial, got
quite profane, and screamed excited billingsgate. Finally they
all stopped at once, dropped on all fours, and loped away, their
ridiculous long tails curved in a half arc. Then for the first
time I noticed that, under cover of the insults, the women and
children had silently retired. Once more I was left to the
familiar gentle bird calls, and the vast silence of the
wilderness beyond.

The second picture, also, was a view from a height, but of a
totally different character. It was also, perhaps, more typical
of a greater part of East Equatorial Africa. Four of us were
hunting lions with natives-both wild and tame-and a scratch
pack of dogs. More of that later. We had rummaged around all the
morning without any results; and now at noon had climbed to the
top of a butte to eat lunch and look abroad.

Our butte ran up a gentle but accelerating slope to a peak of big
rounded rocks and slabs sticking out boldly from the soil of the
hill. We made ourselves comfortable each after his fashion. The
gunbearers leaned against rocks and rolled cigarettes. The
savages squatted on their heels, planting their spears
ceremonially in front of them. One of my friends lay on his back,
resting a huge telescope over his crossed feet. With this he
purposed seeing any lion that moved within ten miles. None of the
rest of us could ever make out anything through the fearsome
weapon. Therefore, relieved from responsibility by the presence
of this Dreadnaught of a 'scope, we loafed and looked about us.
This is what we saw:

Mountains at our backs, of course-at some distance; then plains
in long low swells like the easy rise and fall of a tropical sea,
wave after wave, and over the edge of the world beyond a distant
horizon. Here and there on this plain, single hills lay becalmed,
like ships at sea; some peaked, some cliffed like buttes, some
long and low like the hulls of battleships. The brown plain
flowed up to wash their bases, liquid as the sea itself, its
tides rising in the coves of the hills, and ebbing in the valleys
between. Near at hand, in the middle distance, far away, these
fleets of the plain sailed, until at last hull-down over the
horizon their topmasts disappeared. Above them sailed too the
phantom fleet of the clouds, shot with light, shining like
silver, airy as racing yachts, yet casting here and there
exaggerated shadows below.

The sky in Africa is always very wide, greater than any other
skies. Between horizon and horizon is more space than any other
world contains. It is as though the cup of heaven had been
pressed a little flatter; so that while the boundaries have
widened, the zenith, with its flaming sun, has come nearer. And
yet that is not a constant quantity either. I have seen one edge
of the sky raised straight up a few million miles, as though some
one had stuck poles under its corners, so that the western heaven
did not curve cup-wise over to the horizon at all as it did
everywhere else, but rather formed the proscenium of a gigantic
stage. On this stage they had piled great heaps of saffron yellow
clouds, and struck shafts of yellow light, and filled the spaces
with the lurid portent of a storm-while the twenty thousand foot
mountains below, crouched whipped and insignificant to the earth.

We sat atop our butte for an hour while H. looked through his
'scope. After the soft silent immensity of the earth, running
away to infinity, with its low waves, and its scattered fleet of
hills, it was with difficulty that we brought our gaze back to
details and to things near at hand. Directly below us we could
make out many different-hued specks. Looking closely, we could
see that those specks were game animals. They fed here and there
in bands of from ten to two hundred, with valleys and hills
between. Within the radius of the eye they moved, nowhere crowded
in big herds, but everywhere present. A band of zebras grazed the
side of one of the earth waves, a group of gazelles walked on the
skyline, a herd of kongoni rested in the hollow between. On the
next rise was a similar grouping; across the valley a new
variation. As far as the eye could strain its powers it could
make out more and ever more beasts. I took up my field glasses,
and brought them all to within a sixth of the distance. After
amusing myself for some time in watching them, I swept the
glasses farther on. Still the same animals grazing on the hills
and in the hollows. I continued to look, and to look again, until
even the powerful prismatic glasses failed to show things big
enough to distinguish. At the limit of extreme vision I could
still make out game, and yet more game. And as I took my glasses
from my eyes, and realized how small a portion of this great
land-sea I had been able to examine; as I looked away to the
ship-hills hull-down over the horizon, and realized that over all
that extent fed the Game; the ever-new wonder of Africa for the
hundredth time filled my mind-the teeming fecundity of her bosom.

"Look here," said H. without removing his eye from the 'scope,
"just beyond the edge of that shadow to the left of the bushes in
the donga-I've been watching them ten minutes, and I can't make
'em out yet. They're either hyenas acting mighty queer, or else
two lionesses."

We snatched our glasses and concentrated on that important
detail.

To catch the third experience you must have journeyed with us
across the "Thirst," as the natives picturesquely name the
waterless tract of two days and a half. Our very start had been
delayed by a breakage of some Dutch-sounding essential to our ox
wagon, caused by the confusion of a night attack by lions: almost
every night we had lain awake as long as we could to enjoy the
deep-breathed grumbling or the vibrating roars of these beasts.
Now at last, having pushed through the dry country to the river
in the great plain, we were able to take breath from our mad
hurry, and to give our attention to affairs beyond the limits of
mere expediency. One of these was getting Billy a shot at a lion.

Billy had never before wanted to shoot anything except a python.
Why a python we could not quite fathom. Personally, I think she
had some vague idea of getting even for that Garden of Eden
affair. But lately, pythons proving scarcer than in that favoured
locality, she had switched to a lion. She wanted, she said, to
give the skin to her sister. In vain we pointed out that a zebra
hide was very decorative, that lions go to absurd lengths in
retaining possession of their own skins, and other equally
convincing facts. It must be a lion or nothing; so naturally we
had to make a try.

There are several ways of getting lions, only one of which is at
all likely to afford a steady pot shot to a very small person
trying to manipulate an over-size gun. That is to lay out a kill.
The idea is to catch the lion at it in the early morning before
he has departed for home. The best kill is a zebra: first,
because lions like zebra; second, because zebra are fairly large;
third, because zebra are very numerous.

Accordingly, after we had pitched camp just within a fringe of
mimosa trees and of red-flowering aloes near the river; had eaten
lunch, smoked a pipe and issued necessary orders to the men, C.
and I set about the serious work of getting an appropriate bait
in an appropriate place.

The plains stretched straight away from the river bank to some
indefinite and unknown distance to the south. A low range of
mountains lay blue to the left; and a mantle of scrub thornbush
closed the view to the right. This did not imply that we could
see far straight ahead, for the surface of the plain rose slowly
to the top of a swell about two miles away. Beyond it reared a
single butte peak at four or five times that distance.

We stepped from the fringe of red aloes and squinted through the
dancing heat shimmer. Near the limit of vision showed a very
faint glimmering whitish streak. A newcomer to Africa would not
have looked at it twice: nevertheless, it could be nothing but
zebra. These gaudily marked beasts take queer aspects even on an
open plain. Most often they show pure white; sometimes a jet
black; only when within a few hundred yards does one distinguish
the stripes. Almost always they are very easily made out. Only
when very distant and in heat shimmer, or in certain half lights
of evening, does their so-called "protective colouration" seem to
be in working order, and even then they are always quite visible
to the least expert hunter's scrutiny.

It is not difficult to kill a zebra, though sometimes it has to
be done at a fairly long range. If all you want is meat for the
porters, the matter is simple enough. But when you require bait
for a lion, that; is another affair entirely. In the first place,
you must be able to stalk within a hundred yards of your kill
without being seen; in the second place, you must provide two or
three good lying-down places for your prospective trophy within
fifteen yards of the carcass-and no more than two or three; in
the third place, you must judge the direction of the probable
morning wind, and must be able to approach from leeward. It is
evidently pretty good luck to find an accommodating zebra in just
such a spot. It is a matter of still greater nicety to drop him
absolutely in his tracks. In a case of porters' meat it does not
make any particular difference if he runs a hundred yards before
he dies. With lion bait even fifty yards makes all the difference
in the world.

C. and I talked it over and resolved to press Scallywattamus into
service. Scallywattamus is a small white mule who is firmly
convinced that each and every bush in Africa conceals a
mule-eating rhinoceros, and who does not intend to be one of the
number so eaten. But we had noticed that at times zebra would be
so struck with the strange sight of Scallywattamus carrying a
man, that they would let us get quite close. C. was to ride
Scallywattamus while I trudged along under his lee ready to
shoot.

We set out through the heat shimmer, gradually rising as the
plain slanted. Imperceptibly the camp and the trees marking the
river's course fell below us and into the heat haze. In the
distance, close to the stream, we made out a blurred, brown-red
solid mass which we knew for Masai cattle. Various little
Thompson's gazelles skipped away to the left waggling their tails
vigorously and continuously as Nature long since commanded
"Tommies" to do. The heat haze steadied around the dim white
line, so we could make out the individual animals. There were
plenty of them, dozing in the sun. A single tiny treelet broke
the plain just at the skyline of the rise. C. and I talked
low-voiced as we went along. We agreed that the tree was an
excellent landmark to come to, that the little rise afforded
proper cover, and that in the morning the wind would in all
likelihood blow toward the river. There were perhaps twenty zebra
near enough to the chosen spot. Any of them would do.

But the zebra did not give a hoot for Scallywattamus. At five
hundred yards three or four of them awoke with a start, stared at
us a minute, and moved slowly away. They told all the zebra they
happened upon that the three idiots approaching were at once
uninteresting and dangerous. At four hundred and fifty yards a
half dozen more made off at a trot. At three hundred and fifty
yards the rest plunged away at a canter-all but one. He remained
to stare, but his tail was up, and we knew he only stayed because
he knew he could easily catch up in the next twenty seconds.

The chance was very slim of delivering a knockout at that
distance, but we badly needed meat, anyway, after our march
through the Thirst, so I tried him. We heard the well-known plunk
of the bullet, but down went his head, up went his heels, and
away went he. We watched him in vast disgust. He cavorted out
into a bare open space without cover of any sort, and then
flopped over. I thought I caught a fleeting grin of delight on
Mavrouki's face; but he knew enough instantly to conceal his
satisfaction over sure meat.

There were now no zebra anywhere near; but since nobody ever
thinks of omitting any chances in Africa, I sneaked up to the
tree and took a perfunctory look. There stood another,
providentially absent-minded, zebra!

We got that one. Everybody was now happy. The boys raced over to
the first kill, which soon took its dismembered way toward camp.
C. and I carefully organized our plan of campaign. We fixed in
our memories the exact location of each and every bush; we
determined compass direction from camp, and any other bearings
likely to prove useful in finding so small a spot in the dark.
Then we left a boy to keep carrion birds off until sunset; and
returned home.

We were out in the morning before even the first sign of dawn.
Billy rode her little mule, C. and I went afoot, Memba Sasa
accompanied us because he could see whole lions where even C.'s
trained eye could not make out an ear, and the syce went along to
take care of the mule. The heavens were ablaze with the thronging
stars of the tropics, so we found we could make out the skyline
of the distant butte over the rise of the plains. The earth
itself was a pool of absolute blackness. We could not see where
we were placing our feet, and we were continually bringing up
suddenly to walk around an unexpected aloe or thornbush. The
night was quite still, but every once in a while from the
blackness came rustlings, scamperings, low calls, and once or
twice the startled barking of zebra very near at hand. The latter
sounded as ridiculous as ever. It is one of the many
incongruities of African life that Nature should have given so
large and so impressive a creature the petulant yapping of an
exasperated Pomeranian lap dog. At the end of three quarters of
an hour of more or less stumbling progress, we made out against
the sky the twisted treelet that served as our landmark. Billy
dismounted, turned the mule over to the syce, and we crept slowly
forward until within a guessed two or three hundred yards of our
kill.

Nothing remained now but to wait for the daylight. It had already
begun to show. Over behind the distant mountains some one was
kindling the fires, and the stars were flickering out. The
splendid ferocity of the African sunrise was at hand. Long bands
of slate dark clouds lay close along the horizon, and behind them
glowed a heart of fire, as on a small scale the lamplight glows
through a metal-worked shade. On either side the sky was pale
green-blue, translucent and pure, deep as infinity itself. The
earth was still black, and the top of the rise near at hand was
clear edged. On that edge, and by a strange chance accurately in
the centre of illumination, stood the uncouth massive form of a
shaggy wildebeeste, his head raised, staring to the east. He did
not move; nothing of that fire and black world moved; only
instant by instant it changed, swelling in glory toward some
climax until one expected at any moment a fanfare of trumpets,
the burst of triumphant culmination.

Then very far down in the distance a lion roared. The
wildebeeste, without moving, bellowed back an answer or a
defiance. Down in the hollow an ostrich boomed. Zebra barked, and
several birds chirped strongly. The tension was breaking not in
the expected fanfare and burst of triumphal music, but in a
manner instantly felt to be more fitting to what was indeed a
wonder, but a daily wonder for all that. At one and the same
instant the rim of the sun appeared and the wildebeeste, after
the sudden habit of his kind, made up his mind to go. He dropped
his head and came thundering down past us at full speed. Straight
to the west he headed, and so disappeared. We could hear the beat
of his hoofs dying into the distance. He had gone like a Warder
of the Morning whose task was finished. On the knife-edged
skyline appeared the silhouette of slim-legged little Tommies,
flirting their rails, sniffing at the dewy grass, dainty,
slender, confiding, the open-day antithesis of the tremendous and
awesome lord of the darkness that had roared its way to its lair,
and to the massive shaggy herald of morning that had thundered
down to the west.

III. THE CENTRAL PLATEAU

Now is required a special quality of the imagination, not in
myself, but in my readers, for it becomes necessary for them to
grasp the logic of a whole country in one mental effort. The
difficulties to me are very real. If I am to tell you it all in
detail, your mind becomes confused to the point of mingling the
ingredients of the description. The resultant mental picture is a
composite; it mixes localities wide apart; it comes out, like the
snake-creeper-swamp-forest thing of grammar-school South America,
an unreal and deceitful impression. If, on the other hand, I try
to give you a bird's-eye view-saying, here is plain, and there
follows upland, and yonder succeed mountains and hills-you lose
the sense of breadth and space and the toil of many days. The
feeling of onward outward extending distance is gone; and that
impression so indispensable to finite understanding-"here am I,
and what is beyond is to be measured by the length of my legs and
the toil of my days." You will not stop long enough on my plains
to realize their physical extent nor their influence on the human
soul. If I mention them in a sentence, you dismiss them in a
thought. And that is something the plains themselves refuse to
permit you to do. Yet sometimes one must become a guide-book, and
bespeak his reader's imagination.

The country, then, wherein we travelled begins at the sea. Along
the coast stretches a low rolling country of steaming tropics,
grown with cocoanuts, bananas, mangoes, and populated by a happy,
half-naked race of the Swahilis. Leaving the coast, the country
rises through hills. These hills are at first fertile and green
and wooded. Later they turn into an almost unbroken plateau of
thorn scrub, cruel, monotonous, almost impenetrable. Fix thorn
scrub in your mind, with rhino trails, and occasional openings
for game, and a few rivers flowing through palms and narrow
jungle strips; fix it in your mind until your mind is filled with
it, until you are convinced that nothing else can exist in the
world but more and more of the monotonous, terrible, dry,
onstretching desert of thorn.

Then pass through this to the top of the hills inland, and
journey over these hills to the highland plains.

Now sense and appreciate these wide seas of and the hills and
ranges of mountains rising from them, and their infinite
diversity of country-their rivers marked by ribbons of jungle,
their scattered-bush and their thick-bush areas, their grass
expanses, and their great distances extending far over
exceedingly wide horizons. Realize how many weary hours you must
travel to gain the nearest butte, what days of toil the view from
its top will disclose. Savour the fact that you can spend months
in its veriest corner without exhausting its possibilities. Then,
and not until then, raise your eyes to the low rising transverse
range that bands it to the west as the thorn desert bands it to
the east.

And on these ranges are the forests, the great bewildering
forests. In what looks like a grove lying athwart a little hill
you can lose yourself for days. Here dwell millions of savages in
an apparently untouched wilderness. Here rises a snow mountain on
the equator. Here are tangles and labyrinths, great bamboo
forests lost in folds of the mightiest hills. Here are the
elephants. Here are the swinging vines, the jungle itself.

Yet finally it breaks. We come out on the edge of things and look
down on a great gash in the earth. It is like a sunken kingdom in
itself, miles wide, with its own mountain ranges, its own rivers,
its own landscape features. Only on either side of it rise the
escarpments which are the true level of the plateau. One can
spend two months in this valley, too, and in the countries south
to which it leads. And on its farther side are the high plateau
plains again, or the forests, or the desert, or the great lakes
that lie at the source of the Nile.

So now, perhaps, we are a little prepared to go ahead. The
guide-book work is finished for good and all. There is the
steaming hot low coast belt, and the hot dry thorn desert belt,
and the varied immense plains, and the high mountain belt of the
forests, and again the variegated wide country of the Rift Valley
and the high plateau. To attempt to tell you seriatim and in
detail just what they are like is the task of an encyclopaedist.
Perhaps more indirectly you may be able to fill in the picture of
the country, the people, and the beasts.

IV. THE FIRST CAMP

Our very first start into the new country was made when we piled
out from the little train standing patiently awaiting the good
pleasure of our descent. That feature strikes me with ever new
wonder-the accommodating way trains of the Uganda Railway have
of waiting for you. One day, at a little wayside station, C. and
I were idly exchanging remarks with the only white man in sight,
killing time until the engine should whistle to a resumption of
the journey. The guard lingered about just out of earshot. At the
end of five minutes C. happened to catch his eye, whereupon he
ventured to approach.

"When you have finished your conversation," said he politely, "we
are all ready to go on."

On the morning in question there were a lot of us to
disembark-one hundred and twenty-two, to be exact-of which four
were white. We were not yet acquainted with our men, nor yet with
our stores, nor with the methods of our travel. The train went
off and left us in the middle of a high plateau, with low ridges
running across it, and mountains in the distance. Men were
squabbling earnestly for the most convenient loads to carry, and
as fast as they had gained undisputed possession, they marked the
loads with some private sign of their own. M'ganga, the headman,
tall, fierce, big-framed and bony, clad in fez, a long black
overcoat, blue puttees and boots, stood stiff as a ramrod,
extended a rigid right arm and rattled off orders in a high
dynamic voice. In his left hand he clasped a bulgy umbrella, the
badge of his dignity and the symbol of his authority. The four
askaris, big men too, with masterful high-cheekboned
countenances, rushed here and there seeing that the orders were
carried out. Expostulations, laughter, the sound of quarrelling
rose and fell. Never could the combined volume of it all override
the firecracker stream of M'ganga's eloquence.

We had nothing to do with it all, but stood a little dazed,
staring at the novel scene. Our men were of many tribes, each
with its own cast of features, its own notions of what befitted
man's performance of his duties here below. They stuck together
each in its clan. A fine free individualism of personal adornment
characterized them. Every man dressed for his own satisfaction
solely. They hung all sorts of things in the distended lobes of
their ears. One had succeeded in inserting a fine big glittering
tobacco tin. Others had invented elaborate topiary designs in
their hair, shaving their heads so as to leave strange tufts,
patches, crescents on the most unexpected places. Of the
intricacy of these designs they seemed absurdly proud. Various
sorts of treasure trove hung from them-a bunch of keys to which
there were no locks, discarded hunting knives, tips of antelope
horns, discharged brass cartridges, a hundred and one valueless
trifles plucked proudly from the rubbish heap. They were all
clothed. We had supplied each with a red blanket, a blue jersey,
and a water bottle. The blankets they were twisting most
ingeniously into turbans. Beside these they sported a great
variety of garments. Shooting coats that had seen better days, a
dozen shabby overcoats-worn proudly through the hottest
noons-raggety breeches and trousers made by some London tailor,
queer baggy homemades of the same persuasion, or quite simply the
square of cotton cloth arranged somewhat like a short tight
skirt, or nothing at all as the man's taste ran. They were many
of them amusing enough; but somehow they did not look entirely
farcical and ridiculous, like our negroes putting on airs. All
these things were worn with a simplicity of quiet confidence in
their entire fitness. And beneath the red blanket turbans the
half-wild savage faces peered out.

Now Mahomet approached. Mahomet was my personal boy. He was a
Somali from the Northwest coast, dusky brown, with the regular
clear-cut features of a Greek marble god. His dress was of neat
khaki, and he looked down on savages; but, also, as with all the
dark-skinned races, up to his white master. Mahomet was with me
during all my African stay, and tested out nobly. As yet, of
course, I did not know him.

"Chakula taiari," said he.

That is Swahili. It means literally "food is ready." After one
has hunted in Africa for a few months, it means also "paradise is
opened," "grief is at an end," "joy and thanksgiving are now in
order," and similar affairs. Those two words are never forgotten,
and the veriest beginner in Swahili can recognize them without
the slightest effort.

We followed Mahomet. Somehow, without orders, in all this
confusion, the personal staff had been quietly and efficiently
busy. Drawn a little to one side stood a table with four chairs.
The table was covered with a white cloth, and was set with a
beautiful white enamel service. We took our places. Behind each
chair straight as a ramrod stood a neat khaki-clad boy. They
brought us food, and presented it properly on the left side,
waiting like well-trained butlers. We might have been in a London
restaurant. As three of us were Americans, we felt a trifle
dazed. The porters, having finished the distribution of their
loads, squatted on their heels and watched us respectfully.

And then, not two hundred yards away, four ostriches paced slowly
across the track, paying not the slightest attention to us-our
first real wild ostriches, scornful of oranges, careless of
tourists, and rightful guardians of their own snowy plumes. The
passage of these four solemn birds seemed somehow to lend this
strange open-air meal an exotic flavour. We were indeed in
Africa; and the ostriches helped us to realize it.

We finished breakfast and arose from our chairs. Instantly a half
dozen men sprang forward. Before our amazed eyes the table
service, the chairs and the table itself disappeared into neat
packages. M'ganga arose to his feet.

"Bandika!" he cried.

The askaris rushed here and there actively.

"Bandika! bandika! bandika!" they cried repeatedly.

The men sprang into activity. A struggle heaved the varicoloured
multitude-and, lo! each man stood upright, his load balanced on
his head. At the same moment the syces led up our horses, mounted
and headed across the little plain whence had come the four
ostriches. Our African journey had definitely begun.

Behind us, all abreast marched the four gunbearers; then the four
syces; then the safari single file, an askari at the head bearing
proudly his ancient musket and our banner, other askaris
flanking, M'ganga bringing up the rear with his mighty umbrella
and an unsuspected rhinoceros-hide whip. The tent boys and the
cook scattered along the flank anywhere, as befitted the free and
independent who had nothing to do with the serious business of
marching. A measured sound of drumming followed the beating of
loads with a hundred sticks; a wild, weird chanting burst from
the ranks and died down again as one or another individual or
group felt moved to song. One lot had a formal chant and response.
Their leader, in a high falsetto, said something like

"Kuna koma kuno,"

and all his tribesmen would follow with a single word in a deep
gruff tone

"Za-la-nee!"

All of which undoubtedly helped immensely.

The country was a bully country, but somehow it did not look like
Africa. That is to say, it looked altogether too much like any
amount of country at home. There was nothing strange and exotic
about it. We crossed a little plain, and up over a small hill,
down into a shallow canyon that seemed to be wooded with live
oaks, across a grass valley or so, and around a grass hill. Then
we went into camp at the edge of another grass valley, by a
stream across which rose some ordinary low cliffs.

That is the disconcerting thing about a whole lot of this
country-it is so much like home. Of course, there are many wide
districts exotic enough in all conscience-the jungle beds of the
rivers, the bamboo forests, the great tangled forests themselves,
the banana groves down the aisles of which dance savages with
shields-but so very much of it is familiar. One needs only
church spires and a red-roofed village or so to imagine one's
self in Surrey. There is any amount of country like Arizona, and
more like the uplands of Wyoming, and a lot of it resembling the
smaller landscapes of New England. The prospects of the whole
world are there, so that somewhere every wanderer can find the
countryside of his own home repeated. And, by the same token,
that is exactly what makes a good deal of it so startling. When a
man sees a file of spear-armed savages, or a pair of snorty old
rhinos, step out into what has seemed practically his own back
yard home, he is even more startled than if he had encountered
them in quite strange surroundings.

We rode into the grass meadow and picked camp site. The men
trailed in and dumped down their loads in a row.

At a signal they set to work. A dozen to each tent got them up in
a jiffy. A long file brought firewood from the stream bed. Others
carried water, stones for the cook, a dozen other matters. The
tent boys rescued our boxes; they put together the cots and made
the beds, even before the tents were raised from the ground.
Within an incredibly short space of time the three green tents
were up and arranged, each with its bed made, its mosquito bar
hung, its personal box open, its folding washstand ready with
towels and soap, the table and chairs unlimbered. At a discreet
distance flickered the cook campfire, and at a still discreeter
distance the little tents of the men gleamed pure white against
the green of the high grass.

V. MEMBA SASA

I wish I could plunge you at once into the excitements of big
game in Africa, but I cannot truthfully do so. To be sure, we
went hunting that afternoon, up over the low cliffs, and we saw
several of a very lively little animal known as the Chandler's
reedbuck. This was not supposed to be a game country, and that
was all we did see. At these we shot several
times-disgracefully. In fact, for several days we could not
shoot at all, at any range, nor at anything. It was very sad, and
very aggravating. Afterward we found that this is an invariable
experience to the newcomer. The light is new, the air is
different, the sizes of the game are deceiving. Nobody can at
first hit anything. At the end of five days we suddenly began to
shoot our normal gait. Why, I do not know.

But in this afternoon tramp around the low cliffs after the
elusive reedbuck, I for the first time became acquainted with a
man who developed into a real friend.

His name is Memba Sasa. Memba Sasa are two Swahili words meaning
"now a crocodile." Subsequently, after I had learned to talk
Swahili, I tried to find out what he was formerly, before he was
a crocodile, but did not succeed.

He was of the tribe of the Monumwezi, of medium height, compactly
and sturdily built, carried himself very erect, and moved with a
concentrated and vigorous purposefulness. His countenance might
be described as pleasing but not handsome, of a dark chocolate
brown, with the broad nose of the negro, but with a firm mouth,
high cheekbones, and a frowning intentness of brow that was very
fine. When you talked to him he looked you straight in the eye.
His own eyes were shaded by long, soft, curling lashes behind
which they looked steadily and gravely-sometimes fiercely-on
the world. He rarely smiled-never merely in understanding or for
politeness' sake-and never laughed unless there was something
really amusing. Then he chuckled from deep in his chest, the most
contagious laughter you can imagine. Often we, at the other end
of the camp, have laughed in sympathy, just at the sound of that
deep and hearty ho! ho! ho! of Memba Sasa. Even at something
genuinely amusing he never laughed much, nor without a very
definite restraint. In fact, about him was no slackness, no
sprawling abandon of the native in relaxation; but always a taut
efficiency and a never-failing self-respect.

Naturally, behind such a fixed moral fibre must always be some
moral idea. When a man lives up to a real, not a pompous, dignity
some ideal must inform it. Memba Sasa's ideal was that of the
Hunter.

He was a gunbearer; and he considered that a good gunbearer stood
quite a few notches above any other human being, save always the
white man, of course. And even among the latter Memba Sasa made
great differences. These differences he kept to himself, and
treated all with equal respect. Nevertheless, they existed, and
Memba Sasa very well knew that fact. In the white world were two
classes of masters: those who hunted well, and those who were
considered by them as their friends and equals. Why they should
be so considered Memba Sasa did not know, but he trusted the
Hunter's judgment. These were the bwanas, or masters. All the
rest were merely mazungos, or, "white men." To their faces he
called them bwana, but in his heart he considered them not.

Observe, I say those who hunted well. Memba Sasa, in his
profession as gunbearer, had to accompany those who hunted badly.
In them he took no pride; from them he held aloof in spirit; but
for them he did his conscientious best, upheld by the dignity of
his profession.

For to Mamba Sasa that profession was the proudest to which a
black man could aspire. He prided himself on mastering its every
detail, in accomplishing its every duty minutely and exactly. The
major virtues of a gunbearer are not to be despised by anybody;
for they comprise great physical courage, endurance, and loyalty:
the accomplishments of a gunbearer are worthy of a man's best
faculties, for they include the ability to see and track game, to
take and prepare properly any sort of a trophy, field taxidermy,
butchering game meat, wood and plainscraft, the knowledge of how
properly to care for firearms in all sorts of circumstances, and
a half hundred other like minutiae. Memba Sasa knew these things,
and he performed them with the artist's love for details; and his
keen eyes were always spying for new ways.

At a certain time I shot an egret, and prepared to take the skin.
Memba Sasa asked if he might watch me do it. Two months later,
having killed a really gaudy peacocklike member of the guinea
fowl tribe, I handed it over to him with instructions to take off
the breast feathers before giving it to the cook. In a half hour
he brought me the complete skin, I examined it carefully, and
found it to be well done in every respect. Now in skinning a bird
there are a number of delicate and unusual operations, such as
stripping the primary quills from the bone, cutting the ear
cover, and the like. I had explained none of them; and yet Memba
Sasa, unassisted, had grasped their method from a single
demonstration and had remembered them all two months later! C.
had a trick in making the second skin incision of a trophy head
that had the effect of giving a better purchase to the knife. Its
exact description would be out of place here, but it actually
consisted merely in inserting the point of the knife two inches
away from the place it is ordinarily inserted. One day we noticed
that Memba Sasa was making his incisions in that manner. I went
to Africa fully determined to care for my own rifle. The modern
high-velocity gun needs rather especial treatment; mere wiping
out will not do. I found that Memba Sasa already knew all about
boiling water, and the necessity for having it really boiling,
about subsequent metal sweating, and all the rest. After watching
him at work I concluded, rightly, that he would do a lot better
job than I.

To the new employer Memba Sasa maintained an attitude of strict
professional loyalty. His personal respect was upheld by the
necessity of every man to do his job in the world. Memba Sasa did
his. He cleaned the rifles; he saw that everything was in order
for the day's march; he was at my elbow all ways with more
cartridges and the spare rifle; he trailed and looked
conscientiously. In his attitude was the stolidity of the wooden
Indian. No action of mine, no joke on the part of his companions,
no circumstance in the varying fortunes of the field gained from
him the faintest flicker of either approval, disapproval, or
interest. When we returned to camp he deposited my water bottle
and camera, seized the cleaning implements, and departed to his
own campfire. In the field he pointed out game that I did not
see, and waited imperturbably the result of my shot.

As I before stated, the result of that shot for the first five
days was very apt to be nil. This, at the time, puzzled and
grieved me a lot. Occasionally I looked at Memba Sasa to catch
some sign of sympathy, disgust, contempt, or-rarely-triumph at a
lucky shot. Nothing. He gently but firmly took away my rifle,
reloaded it, and handed it back; then waited respectfully for my
next move. He knew no English, and I no Swahili.

But as time went on this attitude changed. I was armed with the
new Springfield rifle, a weapon with 2,700 feet velocity, and
with a marvellously flat trajectory. This commanding advantage,
combined with a very long familiarity with firearms, enabled me
to do some fairish shooting, after the strangeness of these new
conditions had been mastered. Memba Sasa began to take a dawning
interest in me as a possible source of pride. We began to develop
between us a means of communication. I set myself deliberately to
learn his language, and after he had cautiously determined that I
really meant it, he took the greatest pains-always gravely-to
teach me. A more human feeling sprang up between us.

But we had still the final test to undergo-that of danger and
the tight corner.

In close quarters the gunbearer has the hardest job in the world.
I have the most profound respect for his absolute courage. Even
to a man armed and privileged to shoot and defend himself, a
charging lion is an awesome thing, requiring a certain amount of
coolness and resolution to face effectively. Think of the
gunbearer at his elbow, depending not on himself but on the
courage and coolness of another. He cannot do one solitary thing
to defend himself. To bolt for the safety of a tree is to beg the
question completely, to brand himself as a shenzi forever; to
fire a gun in any circumstances is to beg the question also, for
the white man must be able to depend absolutely on his second gun
in an emergency. Those things are outside consideration, even,
of any respectable gunbearer. In addition, he must keep cool. He
must see clearly in the thickest excitement; must be ready
unobtrusively to pass up the second gun in the position most
convenient for immediate use, to seize the other and to perform
the finicky task of reloading correctly while some rampageous
beast is raising particular thunder a few yards away. All this in
absolute dependence on the ability of his bwana to deal with the
situation. I can confess very truly that once or twice that
little unobtrusive touch of Memba Sasa crouched close to my elbow
steadied me with the thought of how little right I-with a rifle
in my hand-had to be scared. And the best compliment I ever
received I overheard by chance. I had wounded a lion when out by
myself, and had returned to camp for a heavier rifle and for
Memba Sasa to do the trailing. From my tent I overheard the
following conversation between Memba Sasa and the cook:

"The grass is high," said the cook. "Are you not afraid to go
after a wounded lion with only one white man?"

"My one white man is enough," replied Memba Sasa.

It is a quality of courage that I must confess would be quite
beyond me-to depend entirely on the other fellow, and not at all
on myself. This courage is always remarkable to me, even in the
case of the gunbearer who knows all about the man whose heels he
follows. But consider that of the gunbearer's first experience
with a stranger. The former has no idea of how the white man will
act; whether he will get nervous, get actually panicky, lose his
shooting ability, and generally mess things up. Nevertheless, he
follows his master in, and he stands by. If the hunter fails, the
gunbearer will probably die. To me it is rather fine: for he does
it, not from the personal affection and loyalty which will carry
men far, but from a sheer sense of duty and pride of caste. The
quiet pride of the really good men, like Memba Sasa, is easy to
understand.

And the records are full of stories of the white man who has not
made good: of the coward who bolts, leaving his black man to take
the brunt of it, or who sticks but loses his head. Each new
employer must be very closely and interestedly scrutinized. In
the light of subsequent experience, I can no longer wonder at
Memba Sasa's first detached and impersonal attitude.

As time went on, however, and we grew to know each other better,
this attitude entirely changed. At first the change consisted
merely in dropping the disinterested pose as respects game. For
it was a pose. Memba Sasa was most keenly interested in game
whenever it was an object of pursuit. It did not matter how
common the particular species might be: if we wanted it, Memba
Sasa would look upon it with eager ferocity; and if we did not
want it, he paid no attention to it at all. When we started in
the morning, or in the relaxation of our return at night, I would
mention casually a few of the things that might prove acceptable.

"To-morrow we want kongoni for boys' meat, or zebra; and some
meat for masters-Tommy, impala, oribi," and Memba Sasa knew as
well as I did what we needed to fill out our trophy collection.
When he caught sight of one of these animals his whole
countenance changed. The lines of his face set, his lips drew
back from his teeth, his eyes fairly darted fire in the fixity of
their gaze. He was like a fine pointer dog on birds, or like the
splendid savage he was at heart.

"M'palla!" he hissed; and then after a second, in a restrained
fierce voice, "Na-ona? Do you see?"

If I did not see he pointed cautiously. His own eyes never left
the beast. Rarely he stayed put while I made the stalk. More
often he glided like a snake at my heels. If the bullet hit,
Memba Sasa always exhaled a grunt of satisfaction-"hah!"-in
which triumph and satisfaction mingled with a faint derision at
the unfortunate beast. In case of a trophy he squatted anxiously
at the animal's head while I took my measurements, assisting very
intelligently with the tape line. When I had finished, he always
looked up at me with wrinkled brow.

"Footie n'gapi?" he inquired. This means literally, "How many
feet?", footie being his euphemistic invention of a word for the
tape. I would tell him how many "footie" and how many "inchie"
the measurement proved to be. From the depths of his wonderful
memory he would dig up the measurements of another beast of the
same sort I had killed months back, but which he had remembered
accurately from a single hearing.

The shooting of a beast he always detailed to his few cronies in
camp: the other gunbearers, and one or two from his own tribe. He
always used the first person plural, "we" did so and so; and took
an inordinate pride in making out his bwana as being an
altogether superior person to any of the other gunbearer's
bwanas. Over a miss he always looked sad; but with a dignified
sadness as though we had met with undeserved misfortune sent by
malignant gods. If there were any possible alleviating
explanation, Memba Sasa made the most of it, provided our fiasco
was witnessed. If we were alone in our disgrace, he buried the
incident fathoms deep. He took an inordinate pride in our using
the minimum number of cartridges, and would explain to me in a
loud tone of voice that we had cartridges enough in the belt.
When we had not cartridges enough, he would sneak around after
dark to get some more. At times he would even surreptitiously
"lift" a few from B.'s gunbearer!

When in camp, with his "cazi" finished, Memba Sasa did fancy
work! The picture of this powerful half-savage, his fierce brows
bent over a tiny piece of linen, his strong fingers fussing with
little stitches, will always appeal to my sense of the
incongruous. Through a piece of linen he punched holes with a
porcupine quill. Then he "buttonhole" stitched the holes, and
embroidered patterns between them with fine white thread. The
result was an openwork pattern heavily encrusted with beautiful
fine embroidery. It was most astounding stuff, such as you would
expect from a French convent, perhaps, but never from an African
savage. He did a circular piece and a long narrow piece. They
took him three months to finish, and then he sewed them together
to form a skull cap. Billy, entranced with the lacelike delicacy
of the work, promptly captured it; whereupon Memba Sasa
philosophically started another.

By this time he had identified himself with my fortunes. We had
become a firm whose business it was to carry out the affairs of a
single personality-me. Memba Sasa, among other things, undertook
the dignity. When I walked through a crowd, Memba Sasa zealously
kicked everybody out of my royal path. When I started to issue a
command, Memba Sasa finished it and amplified it and put a
snapper on it. When I came into camp, Memba Sasa saw to it
personally that my tent went up promptly and properly, although
that was really not part of his "cazi" at all. And when somewhere
beyond my ken some miserable boy had committed a crime, I never
remained long in ignorance of that fact.

Perhaps I happened to be sitting in my folding chair idly smoking
a pipe and reading a book. Across the open places of the camp
would stride Memba Sasa, very erect, very rigid, moving in short
indignant jerks, his eye flashing fire. Behind him would sneak a
very hang-dog boy. Memba Sasa marched straight up to me, faced
right, and drew one side, his silence sparkling with honest
indignation.

"Just look at THAT!" his attitude seemed to say, "Could you
believe such human depravity possible? And against OUR authority?"

He always stood, quite rigid, waiting for me to speak.

"Well, Memba Sasa?" I would inquire, after I had enjoyed the show
a little.

In a few restrained words he put the case before me, always
briefly, always with a scornful dignity. This shenzi has done
so-and-so.

We will suppose the case fairly serious. I listened to the man's
story, if necessary called a few witnesses, delivered judgment.
All the while Memba Sasa stood at rigid attention, fairly
bristling virtue, like the good dog standing by at the punishment
of the bad dogs. And in his attitude was a subtle triumph, as one
would say: "You see! Fool with my bwana, will you! Just let
anybody try to get funny with US!" Judgment pronounced-we have
supposed the case serious, you remember-Memba Sasa himself
applied the lash. I think he really enjoyed that; but it was a
restrained joy. The whip descended deliberately, without
excitement.

The man's devotion in unusual circumstances was beyond praise.
Danger or excitement incite a sort of loyalty in any good man;
but humdrum, disagreeable difficulty is a different matter.

One day we marched over a country of thorn-scrub desert. Since
two days we had been cut loose from water, and had been depending
on a small amount carried in zinc drums. Now our only reasons for
faring were a conical hill, over the horizon, and the knowledge
of a river somewhere beyond. How far beyond, or in what
direction, we did not know. We had thirty men with us, a more or
less ragtag lot, picked up anyhow in the bazaars. They were soft,
ill-disciplined and uncertain. For five or six hours they marched
well enough. Then the sun began to get very hot, and some of them
began to straggle. They had, of course, no intention of
deserting, for their only hope of surviving lay in staying with
us; but their loads had become heavy, and they took too many
rests. We put a good man behind, but without much avail. In open
country a safari can be permitted to straggle over miles, for
always it can keep in touch by sight; but in this thorn-scrub
desert, that looks all alike, a man fifty yards out of sight is
fifty yards lost. We would march fifteen or twenty minutes, then
sit down to wait until the rearmost men had straggled in, perhaps
a half hour later. And we did not dare move on until the tale of
our thirty was complete. At this rate progress was very slow, and
as the fierce equatorial sun increased in strength, became always
slower still. The situation became alarming. We were quite out of
water, and we had no idea where water was to be found. To
complicate matters, the thornbrush thickened to a jungle.

My single companion and I consulted. It was agreed that I was to
push on as rapidly as possible to locate the water, while he was
to try to hold the caravan together. Accordingly, Memba Sasa and
I marched ahead. We tried to leave a trail to follow; and we
hoped fervently that our guess as to the stream's course would
prove to be a good one. At the end of two hours and a half we
found the water-a beautiful jungle-shaded stream-and filled
ourselves up therewith. Our duty was accomplished, for we had
left a trail to be followed. Nevertheless, I felt I should like
to take back our full canteens to relieve the worst cases. Memba
Sasa would not hear of it, and even while I was talking to him
seized the canteens and disappeared.

At the end of two hours more camp was made, after a fashion; but
still four men had failed to come in. We built a smudge in the
hope of guiding them; and gave them up. If they had followed our
trail, they should have been in long ago; if they had missed that
trail, heaven knows where they were, or where we should go to
find them. Dusk was falling, and, to tell the truth, we were both
very much done up by a long day at 115 degrees in the shade under
an equatorial sun. The missing men would climb trees away from
the beasts, and we would organize a search next day. As we
debated these things, to us came Memba Sasa.

"I want to take 'Winchi,'" said he. "Winchi" is his name for my
Winchester 405.

"Why?" we asked.

"If I can take Winchi, I will find the men," said he.

This was entirely voluntary on his part. He, as well as we, had
had a hard day, and he had made a double journey for part of it.
We gave him Winchi and he departed. Sometime after midnight he
returned with the missing men.

Perhaps a dozen times all told he volunteered for these special
services; once in particular, after a fourteen-hour day, he set
off at nine o'clock at night in a soaking rainstorm, wandered
until two o'clock, and returned unsuccessful, to rouse me and
report gravely that he could not find them. For these services he
neither received nor expected special reward. And catch him doing
anything outside his strict "cazi" except for US.

We were always very ceremonious and dignified in our relations on
such occasions. Memba Sasa would suddenly appear, deposit the
rifle in its place, and stand at attention.

"Well, Memba Sasa?" I would inquire.

"I have found the men; they are in camp."

Then I would give him his reward. It was either the word
"assanti," or the two words "assanti sana," according to the
difficulty and importance of the task accomplished. They mean
simply "thank you" and "thank you very much."

Once or twice, after a particularly long and difficult month or
so, when Memba Sasa has been almost literally my alter ego, I
have called him up for special praise. "I am very pleased with
you, Memba Sasa," said I. "You have done your cazi well. You are
a good man."

He accepted this with dignity, without deprecation, and without
the idiocy of spoken gratitude. He agreed perfectly with
everything I said! "Yes" was his only comment. I liked it.

On our ultimate success in a difficult enterprise Memba Sasa set
great store; and his delight in ultimate success was apparently
quite apart from personal considerations. We had been hunting
greater kudu for five weeks before we finally landed one. The
greater kudu is, with the bongo, easily the prize beast in East
Africa, and very few are shot. By a piece of bad luck, for him, I
had sent Memba Sasa out in a different direction to look for
signs the afternoon we finally got one. The kill was made just at
dusk. C. and I, with Mavrouki, built a fire and stayed, while
Kongoni went to camp after men. There he broke the news to Memba
Sasa that the great prize had been captured, and he absent. Memba
Sasa was hugely delighted, nor did he in any way show what must
have been a great disappointment to him. After repeating the news
triumphantly to every one in camp, he came out to where we were
waiting, arrived quite out of breath, and grabbed me by the hand
in heartiest congratulation.

Memba Sasa went in not at all for personal ornamentation, any
more than he allowed his dignity to be broken by anything
resembling emotionalism. No tattoo marks, no ear ornaments, no
rings nor bracelets. He never even picked up an ostrich feather
for his head. On the latter he sometimes wore an old felt hat;
sometimes, more picturesquely, an orange-coloured fillet. Khaki
shirt, khaki "shorts," blue puttees, besides his knife and my own
accoutrements: that was all. In town he was all white clad, a
long fine linen robe reaching to his feet; and one of the
lacelike skull caps he was so very skilful at making.

That will do for a preliminary sketch. If you follow these pages,
you will hear more of him; he is worth it.

VI. THE FIRST GAME CAMP

In the review of "first" impressions with which we are concerned,
we must now skip a week or ten days to stop at what is known in
our diaries as the First Ford of the Guaso Nyero River.

These ten days were not uneventful. We had crossed the wide and
undulating plains, had paused at some tall beautiful falls
plunging several hundred feet into the mysteriousness of a dense
forest on which we looked down. There we had enjoyed some duck,
goose and snipe shooting; had made the acquaintance of a few of
the Masai, and had looked with awe on our first hippo tracks in
the mud beside a tiny ditchlike stream. Here and there were small
game herds. In the light of later experience we now realize that
these were nothing at all; but at the time the sight of
full-grown wild animals out in plain sight was quite wonderful.
At the close of the day's march we always wandered out with our
rifles to see what we could find. Everything was new to us, and
we had our men to feed. Our shooting gradually improved until we
had overcome the difficulties peculiar to this new country and
were doing as well as we could do anywhere.

Now, at the end of a hard day through scrub, over rolling bold
hills, and down a scrub brush slope, we had reached the banks of
the Guaso Nyero.

At this point, above the junction of its principal tributary
rivers, it was a stream about sixty or seventy feet wide, flowing
swift between high banks. A few trees marked its course, but
nothing like a jungle. The ford was in swift water just above a
deep still pool suspected of crocodiles. We found the water about
waist deep, stretched a rope across, and forcibly persuaded our
eager boys that one at a time was about what the situation
required. On the other side we made camp on an open flat. Having
marched so far continuously, we resolved to settle down for a
while. The men had been without sufficient meat; and we desired
very much to look over the country closely, and to collect a few
heads as trophies.

Perhaps a word might not come amiss as to the killing of game.
The case is here quite different from the condition of affairs at
home. Here animal life is most extraordinarily abundant; it
furnishes the main food supply to the traveller; and at present
is probably increasing slightly, certainly holding its own.
Whatever toll the sportsman or traveller take is as nothing
compared to what he might take if he were an unscrupulous game
hog. If his cartridges and his shoulder held out, he could easily
kill a hundred animals a day instead of the few he requires. In
that sense, then, no man slaughters indiscriminately. During the
course of a year he probably shoots from two hundred to two
hundred and fifty beasts, provided he is travelling with an
ordinary sized caravan. This, the experts say, is about the
annual toll of one lion. If the traveller gets his lion, he plays
even with the fauna of the country; if he gets two or more lions,
he has something to his credit. This probably explains why the
game is still so remarkably abundant near the road and on the
very outskirts of the town.

We were now much in need of a fair quantity of meat, both for
immediate consumption of our safari, and to make biltong or
jerky. Later, in like circumstances, we should have sallied forth
in a businesslike fashion, dropped the requisite number of zebra
and hartebeeste as near camp as possible, and called it a job.
Now, however, being new to the game, we much desired good
trophies in variety. Therefore, we scoured the country far and
wide for desirable heads; and the meat waited upon the
acquisition of the trophy.

This, then, might be called our first Shooting Camp. Heretofore
we had travelled every day. Now the boys settled down to what the
native porter considers the height of bliss: a permanent camp
with plenty to eat. Each morning we were off before daylight,
riding our horses, and followed by the gunbearers, the syces, and
fifteen or twenty porters. The country rose from the river in a
long gentle slope grown with low brush and scattered candlestick
euphorbias. This slope ended in a scattered range of low rocky
buttes. Through any one of the various openings between them, we
rode to find ourselves on the borders of an undulating grass
country of low rounded hills with wide valleys winding between
them. In these valleys and on these hills was the game.

Daylight of the day I would tell about found us just at the edge
of the little buttes. Down one of the slopes the growing half
light revealed two oryx feeding, magnificent big creatures, with
straight rapier horns three feet in length. These were most
exciting and desirable, so off my horse I got and began to sneak
up on them through the low tufts of grass. They fed quite calmly.
I congratulated myself, and slipped nearer. Without even looking
in my direction, they trotted away. Somewhat chagrined, I
returned to my companions, and we rode on.

Then across a mile-wide valley we saw two dark objects in the
tall grass; and almost immediately identified these as
rhinoceroses, the first we had seen. They stood there side by
side, gazing off into space, doing nothing in a busy morning
world. After staring at them through our glasses for some time,
we organized a raid. At the bottom of the valley we left the
horses and porters; lined up, each with his gunbearer at his
elbow; and advanced on the enemy. B. was to have the shot
According to all the books we should have been able, provided we
were downwind and made no noise, to have approached within fifty
or sixty yards undiscovered. However, at a little over a hundred
yards they both turned tail and departed at a swift trot, their
heads held well up and their tails sticking up straight and stiff
in the most ridiculous fashion. No good shooting at them in such
circumstances, so we watched them go, still keeping up their
slashing trot, growing smaller and smaller in the distance until
finally they disappeared over the top of a swell.

We set ourselves methodically to following them. It took us over
an hour of steady plodding before we again came in sight of them.
They were this time nearer the top of a hill, and we saw
instantly that the curve of the slope was such that we could
approach within fifty yards before coming in sight at all.
Therefore, once more we dismounted, lined up in battle array, and
advanced.

Sensations? Distinctly nervous, decidedly alert, and somewhat
self-congratulatory that I was not more scared. No man can
predicate how efficient he is going to be in the presence of
really dangerous game. Only the actual trial will show. This is
not a question of courage at all, but of purely involuntary
reaction of the nerves. Very few men are physical cowards. They
will and do face anything. But a great many men are rendered
inefficient by the way their nervous systems act under stress. It
is not a matter for control by will power in the slightest
degree. So the big game hunter must determine by actual trial
whether it so happens that the great excitement of danger renders
his hand shaky or steady. The excitement in either case is the
same. No man is ever "cool" in the sense that personal danger is of
the same kind of indifference to him as clambering aboard a
street car. He must always be lifted above himself, must enter an
extra normal condition to meet extra normal circumstances. He can
always control his conduct; but he can by no means always
determine the way the inevitable excitement will affect his
coordinations. And unfortunately, in the final result it does not
matter how brave a man is, but how closely he can hold. If he
finds that his nervous excitement renders him unsteady, he has no
business ever to tackle dangerous game alone. If, on the other
hand, he discovers that IDENTICALLY THE SAME nervous excitement
happens to steady his front sight to rocklike rigidity-a
rigidity he could not possibly attain in normal conditions-then
he will probably keep out of trouble.

To amplify this further by a specific instance: I hunted for a
short time in Africa with a man who was always eager for exciting
encounters, whose pluck was admirable in every way, but whose
nervous reaction so manifested itself that he was utterly unable
to do even decent shooting at any range. Furthermore, his very
judgment and power of observation were so obscured that he could
not remember afterward with any accuracy what had happened-which
way the beast was pointing, how many there were of them, in which
direction they went, how many shots were fired, in short all the
smaller details of the affair. He thought he remembered. After
the show was over it was quite amusing to get his version of the
incident. It was almost always so wide of the fact as to be
little recognizable. And, mind you, he was perfectly sincere in
his belief, and absolutely courageous. Only he was quite unfitted
by physical make-up for a big game hunter; and I was relieved
when, after a short time, his route and mine separated.

Well, we clambered up that slope with a fine compound of tension,
expectation, and latent uneasiness as to just what was going to
happen, anyway. Finally, we raised the backs of the beasts,
stooped, sneaked a little nearer, and finally at a signal stood
upright perhaps forty yards from the brutes.

For the first time I experienced a sensation I was destined many
times to repeat-that of the sheer size of the animals. Menagerie
rhinoceroses had been of the smaller Indian variety; and in any
case most menagerie beasts are more or less stunted. These two,
facing us, their little eyes blinking, looked like full-grown
ironclads on dry land. The moment we stood erect B. fired at the
larger of the two. Instantly they turned and were off at a
tearing run. I opened fire, and B. let loose his second barrel.
At about two hundred and fifty yards the big rhinoceros suddenly
fell on his side, while the other continued his flight. It was
all over-very exciting because we got excited, but not in the
least dangerous.

The boys were delighted, for here was meat in plenty for
everybody. We measured the beast, photographed him, marvelled at
his immense size, and turned him over to the gunbearers for
treatment. In half an hour or so a long string of porters headed
across the hills in the direction of camp, many miles distant,
each carrying his load either of meat, or the trophies.
Rhinoceros hide, properly treated, becomes as transparent as
amber, and so from it can be made many very beautiful souvenirs,
such as bowls, trays, paper knives, table tops, whips, canes, and
the like. And, of course, the feet of one's first rhino are
always saved for cigar boxes or inkstands.

Already we had an admiring and impatient audience. From all
directions came the carrion birds. They circled far up in the
heavens; they shot downward like plummets from a great height
with an inspiring roar of wings; they stood thick in a solemn
circle all around the scene of the kill; they rose with a heavy
flapping when we moved in their direction. Skulking forms flashed
in the grass, and occasionally the pointed ears of a jackal would
rise inquiringly.

It was by now nearly noon. The sun shone clear and hot; the heat
shimmer rose in clouds from the brown surface of the hills. In
all directions we could make out small gameherds resting
motionless in the heat of the day, the mirage throwing them into
fantastic shapes. While the final disposition was being made of
the defunct rhinoceros I wandered over the edge of the hill to
see what I could see, and fairly blundered on a herd of oryx at
about a hundred and fifty yards range. They looked at me a
startled instant, then leaped away to the left at a tremendous
speed. By a lucky shot, I bowled one over. He was a beautiful
beast, with his black and white face and his straight rapierlike
horns nearly three feet long, and I was most pleased to get him.
Memba Sasa came running at the sound of the shot. We set about
preparing the head.

Then through a gap in the hills far to the left we saw a little
black speck moving rapidly in our direction. At the end of a
minute we could make it out as the second rhinoceros. He had run
heaven knows how many miles away, and now he was returning;
whether with some idea of rejoining his companion or from sheer
chance, I do not know. At any rate, here he was, still ploughing
along at his swinging trot. His course led him along a side hill
about four hundred yards from where the oryx lay. When he was
directly opposite I took the Springfield and fired, not at him,
but at a spot five or six feet in front of his nose. The bullet
threw up a column of dust. Rhino brought up short with
astonishment, wheeled to the left, and made off at a gallop. I
dropped another bullet in front of him. Again he stopped, changed
direction, and made off. For the third time I hit the ground in
front of him. Then he got angry, put his head down and charged
the spot.

Five more shots I expended on the amusement of that rhinoceros;
and at the last had run furiously charging back and forth in a
twenty-yard space, very angry at the little puffing, screeching
bullets, but quite unable to catch one. Then he made up his mind
and departed the way he had come, finally disappearing as a
little rapidly moving black speck through the gap in the hills
where we had first caught sight of him.

We finished caring for the oryx, and returned to camp. To our
surprise we found we were at least seven or eight miles out.

In this fashion days passed very quickly. The early dewy start in
the cool of the morning, the gradual grateful warming up of
sunrise, and immediately after, the rest during the midday heats
under a shady tree, the long trek back to camp at sunset, the hot
bath after the toilsome day-all these were very pleasant. Then
the swift falling night, and the gleam of many tiny fires
springing up out of the darkness; with each its sticks full of
meat roasting, and its little circle of men, their skins gleaming
in the light. As we sat smoking, we would become aware that
M'ganga, the headman, was standing silent awaiting orders. Some
one would happen to see the white of his eyes, or perhaps he
might smile so that his teeth would become visible. Otherwise he
might stand there an hour, and no one the wiser, for he was
respectfully silent, and exactly the colour of the night.

We would indicate to him our plans for the morrow, and he would
disappear. Then at a distance of twenty or thirty feet from the
front of our tents a tiny tongue of flame would lick up. Dark
figures could be seen manipulating wood. A blazing fire sprang
up, against which we could see the motionless and picturesque
figure of Saa-sita (Six o'Clock), the askari of the first night
watch, leaning on his musket. He was a most picturesque figure,
for his fancy ran to original headdresses, and at the moment he
affected a wonderful upstanding structure made of marabout wings.

At this sign that the night had begun, we turned in. A few hyenas
moaned, a few jackals barked: otherwise the first part of the
night was silent, for the hunters were at their silent business,
and the hunted were "layin' low and sayin' nuffin'."

Day after day we rode out, exploring the country in different
directions. The great uncertainty as to what of interest we would
find filled the hours with charm. Sometimes we clambered about
the cliffs of the buttes trying to find klipspringers; again we
ran miles pursuing the gigantic eland. I in turn got my first
rhinoceros, with no more danger than had attended the killing of
B.'s. On this occasion, however, I had my first experience of the
lightning skill of the first-class gunbearer. Having fired both
barrels, and staggered the beast, I threw open the breech and
withdrew the empty cartridges, intending, of course, as my next
move to fish two more out of my belt. The empty shells were
hardly away from the chambers, however, when a long brown arm
shot over my right shoulder and popped two fresh cartridges in
the breech. So astonished was I at this unexpected apparition,
that for a second or so I actually forgot to close the gun.

VII. ON THE MARCH

After leaving the First Game Camp, we travelled many hours and
miles over rolling hills piling ever higher and higher until they
broke through a pass to illimitable plains. These plains were
mantled with the dense scrub, looking from a distance and from
above like the nap of soft green velvet. Here and there this
scrub broke in round or oval patches of grass plain. Great
mountain ranges peered over the edge of a horizon. Lesser
mountain peaks of fantastic shapes-sheer Yosemite cliffs, single
buttes, castles-had ventured singly from behind that same
horizon barricade. The course of a river was marked by a
meandering line of green jungle.

It took us two days to get to that river. Our intermediate camp
was halfway down the pass. We ousted a hundred indignant
straw-coloured monkeys and twice as many baboons from the tiny
flat above the water hole. They bobbed away cursing over their
shoulders at us. Next day we debouched on the plains. They were
rolling, densely grown, covered with volcanic stones, swarming
with game of various sorts. The men marched well. They were
happy, for they had had a week of meat; and each carried a light
lunch of sun-dried biltong or jerky. Some mistaken individuals
had attempted to bring along some "fresh" meat. We found it
advisable to pass to windward of these; but they themselves did
not seem to mind.

It became very hot; for we were now descending to the lower
elevations. The marching through long grass and over volcanic
stones was not easy. Shortly we came out on stumbly hills, mostly
rock, very dry, grown with cactus and discouraged desiccated
thorn scrub. Here the sun reflected powerfully and the bearers
began to flag.

Then suddenly, without warning, we pitched over a little rise to
the river.

No more marvellous contrast could have been devised. From the
blasted barren scrub country we plunged into the lush jungle. It
was not a very wide jungle, but it was sufficient. The trees were
large and variegated, reaching to a high and spacious upper story
above the ground tangle. From the massive limbs hung vines,
festooned and looped like great serpents. Through this upper
corridor flitted birds of bright hue or striking variegation. We
did not know many of them by name, nor did we desire to; but were
content with the impression of vivid flashing movement and
colour. Various monkeys swung, leaped and galloped slowly away
before our advance; pausing to look back at us curiously, the
ruffs of fur standing out all around their little black faces.
The lower half of the forest jungle, however, had no spaciousness
at all, but a certain breathless intimacy. Great leaved plants as
tall as little trees, and trees as small as big plants, bound
together by vines, made up the "deep impenetrable jungle" of our
childhood imagining. Here were rustlings, sudden scurryings,
half-caught glimpses, once or twice a crash as some greater
animal made off. Here and there through the thicket wandered well
beaten trails, wide, but low, so that to follow them one would
have to bend double. These were the paths of rhinoceroses. The
air smelt warm and moist and earthy, like the odour of a
greenhouse.

We skirted this jungle until it gave way to let the plain down to
the river. Then, in an open grove of acacias, and fairly on the
river's bank, we pitched our tents.

These acacia trees were very noble big chaps, with many branches
and a thick shade. In their season they are wonderfully blossomed
with white, with yellow, sometimes even with vivid red flowers.
Beneath them was only a small matter of ferns to clear away.

Before us the sodded bank rounded off ten feet the river itself.
At this point far up in its youth it was a friendly river. Its
noble width ran over shallows of yellow sand or of small pebbles.
Save for unexpected deep holes one could wade across it anywhere.
Yet it was very wide, with still reaches of water, with islands
of gigantic papyrus, with sand bars dividing the current, and
with always the vista for a greater or lesser distance down
through the jungle along its banks. From our canvas chairs we
could look through on one side to the arid country, and on the
other to this tropical wonderland.

Yes, at this point in its youth it was indeed a friendly river in
every sense of the word. There are three reasons, ordinarily, why
one cannot bathe in the African rivers. In the first place, they
are nearly all disagreeably muddy; in the second place, cold
water in a tropical climate causes horrible congestions; in the
third place they swarm with crocodiles and hippos. But this river
was as yet unpolluted by the alluvial soil of the lower
countries; the sun on its shallows had warmed its waters almost
to blood heat; and the beasts found no congenial haunts in these
clear shoals. Almost before our tents were up the men were
splashing. And always my mental image of that river's beautiful
expanse must include round black heads floating like gourds where
the water ran smoothest.

Our tents stood all in a row facing the stream, the great trees
at their backs. Down in the grove the men had pitched their
little white shelters. Happily they settled down to ease.
Settling down to ease, in the case of the African porter,
consists in discarding as many clothes as possible. While on the
march he wears everything he owns; whether from pride or a desire
to simplify transportation I am unable to say. He is supplied by
his employer with a blanket and jersey. As supplementals he can
generally produce a half dozen white man's ill-assorted garments:
an old shooting coat, a ragged pair of khaki breeches, a kitchen
tablecloth for a skirt, or something of the sort. If he can raise
an overcoat he is happy, especially if it happen to be a long,
thick WINTER overcoat. The possessor of such a garment will wear
it conscientiously throughout the longest journey and during the
hottest noons. But when he relaxes in camp, he puts away all
these prideful possessions and turns out in the savage simplicity
of his red blanket. Draped negligently, sometimes very
negligently, in what may be termed semi-toga fashion, he stalks
about or squats before his little fire in all the glory of a
regained savagery. The contrast of the red with his red bronze or
black skin, the freedom and grace of his movements, the upright
carriage of his fine figure, and the flickering savagery playing
in his eyes are very effective.

Our men occupied their leisure variously and happily. A great
deal of time they spent before their tiny fires roasting meat and
talking. This talk was almost invariably of specific personal
experiences. They bathed frequently and with pleasure. They
slept. Between times they fashioned ingenious affairs of ornament
or use: bows and arrows, throwing clubs, snuff-boxes of the tips
of antelope horns, bound prettily with bright wire, wooden swords
beautifully carved in exact imitation of the white man's service
weapon, and a hundred other such affairs. At this particular time
also they were much occupied in making sandals against the
thorns. These were flat soles of rawhide, the edges pounded to
make them curl up a trifle over the foot, fastened by thongs;
very ingenious, and very useful. To their task they brought song.
The labour of Africa is done to song; weird minor chanting
starting high in the falsetto to trickle unevenly down to the
lower registers, or where the matter is one of serious effort, an
antiphony of solo and chorus. From all parts of the camp come
these softly modulated chantings, low and sweet, occasionally
breaking into full voice as the inner occasion swells, then
almost immediately falling again to the murmuring undertone of
more concentrated attention.

The red blanket was generally worn knotted from one shoulder or
bound around the waist Malay fashion. When it turned into a cowl,
with a miserable and humpbacked expression, it became the
Official Badge of Illness. No matter what was the matter that was
the proper thing to do-to throw the blanket over the head and to
assume as miserable a demeanour as possible. A sore toe demanded
just as much concentrated woe as a case of pneumonia. Sick call
was cried after the day's work was finished. Then M'ganga or one
of the askaris lifted up his voice.

"N'gonjwa! n'gonjwa!" he shouted; and at the shout the red cowls
gathered in front of the tent. Three things were likely to be the
matter: too much meat, fever, or pus infection from slight
wounds. To these in the rainy season would be added the various
sorts of colds. That meant either Epsom salts, quinine, or a
little excursion with the lancet and permanganate. The African
traveller gets to be heap big medicine man within these narrow
limits.

All the red cowls squatted miserably, oh, very miserably, in a
row. The headman stood over them rather fiercely. We surveyed the
lot contemplatively, hoping to heaven that nothing complicated
was going to turn up. One of the tent boys hovered in the
background as dispensing chemist.

"Well," said F. at last, "what's the matter with you?"

The man indicated pointed to his head and the back of his neck
and groaned. If he had a slight headache he groaned just as much
as though his head were splitting. F. asked a few questions, and
took his temperature. The clinical thermometer is in itself
considered big medicine, and often does much good.

"Too much meat, my friend," remarked F. in English, and to his
boy in Swahili, "bring the cup."

He put in this cup a triple dose of Epsom salts. The African
requires three times a white man's dose. This, pathologically,
was all that was required: but psychologically the job was just
begun. Your African can do wonderful things with his imagination.
If he thinks he is going to die, die he will, and very promptly,
even though he is ailing of the most trivial complaint. If he
thinks he is going to get well, he is very apt to do so in face
of extraordinary odds. Therefore the white man desires not only
to start his patient's internal economy with Epsom salts, but
also to stir his faith. To this end F. added to that triple dose
of medicine a spoonful of Chutney, one of Worcestershire sauce, a
few grains of quinine, Sparklets water and a crystal or so of
permanganate to turn the mixture a beautiful pink. This
assortment the patient drank with gratitude-and the tears
running down his cheeks.

"He will carry a load to-morrow," F. told the attentive M'ganga.

The next patient had fever. This one got twenty grains of quinine
in water.

"This man carries no load to-morrow," was the direction, "but he
must not drop behind."

Two or three surgical cases followed. Then a big Kavirondo rose
to his feet.

"Nini?" demanded F.

"Homa-fever," whined the man.

F. clapped his hand on the back of the other's neck.

"I think," he remarked contemplatively in English, "that you're a
liar, and want to get out of carrying your load."

The clinical thermometer showed no evidence of temperature.

"I'm pretty near sure you're a liar," observed F. in the
pleasantest conversational tone and still in English, "but you
may be merely a poor diagnostician. Perhaps your poor insides
couldn't get away with that rotten meat I saw you lugging
around. We'll see."

So he mixed a pint of medicine.

"There's Epsom salts for the real part of trouble," observed F.,
still talking to himself, "and here's a few things for the fake."

He then proceeded to concoct a mixture whose recoil was the exact
measure of his imagination. The imagination was only limited by
the necessity of keeping the mixture harmless. Every hot, biting,
nauseous horror in camp went into that pint measure.

"There," concluded F., "if you drink that and come back again
to-morrow for treatment, I'll believe you ARE sick."

Without undue pride I would like to record that I was the first
to think of putting in a peculiarly nauseous gun oil, and thereby
acquired a reputation of making tremendous medicine.

So implicit is this faith in white man's medicine that at one of
the Government posts we were approached by one of the secondary
chiefs of the district. He was a very nifty savage, dressed for
calling, with his hair done in ropes like a French poodle's, his
skin carefully oiled and reddened, his armlets and necklets
polished, and with the ceremonial ball of black feathers on the
end of his long spear. His gait was the peculiar mincing teeter
of savage conventional society. According to custom, he
approached unsmiling, spat carefully in his palm, and shook
hands. Then he squatted and waited.

"What is it?" we asked after it became evident he really wanted
something besides the pleasure of our company.

"N'dowa-medicine," said he.

"Why do you not go the Government dispensary?" we demanded.

"The doctor there is an Indian; I want REAL medicine, white man's
medicine," he explained.

Immensely flattered, of course, we wanted further to know what
ailed him.

"Nothing," said he blandly, "nothing at all; but it seemed an
excellent chance to get good medicine."

After the clinic was all attended to, we retired to our tents and
the screeching-hot bath so grateful in the tropics. When we
emerged, in our mosquito boots and pajamas, the daylight was
gone. Scores of little blazes licked and leaped in the velvet
blackness round about, casting the undergrowth and the lower
branches of the trees into flat planes like the cardboard of a
stage setting. Cheerful, squatted figures sat in silhouette or in
the relief of chance high light. Long switches of meat roasted
before the fires. A hum of talk, bursts of laughter, the crooning
of minor chants mingled with the crackling of thorns. Before our
tents stood the table set for supper. Beyond it lay the pile of
firewood, later to be burned on the altar of our safety against
beasts. The moonlight was casting milky shadows over the river
and under the trees opposite. In those shadows gleamed many
fireflies. Overhead were millions of stars, and a little breeze
that wandered through upper branches.

But in Equatorial Africa the simple bands of velvet black, against
the spangled brightnesses that make up the visual night world,
must give way in interest to the other world of sound. The air
hums with an undertone of insects; the plain and hill and jungle
are populous with voices furtive or bold. In daytime one sees
animals enough, in all conscience, but only at night does he
sense the almost oppressive feeling of the teeming life about
him. The darkness is peopled. Zebra bark, bucks blow or snort or
make the weird noises of their respective species; hyenas howl;
out of an immense simian silence a group of monkeys suddenly
break into chatterings; ostriches utter their deep hollow boom;
small things scurry and squeak; a certain weird bird of the
curlew or plover sort wails like a lonesome soul. Especially by
the river, as here, are the boomings of the weirdest of weird
bullfrogs, and the splashings and swishings of crocodile and
hippopotamus. One is impressed with the busyness of the world
surrounding him; every bird or beast, the hunter and the hunted,
is the centre of many important affairs. The world swarms.

And then, some miles away a lion roars, the earth and air
vibrating to the sheer power of the sound. The world falls to a
blank dead silence. For a full minute every living creature of
the jungle or of the veldt holds its breath. Their lord has
spoken.

After dinner we sat in our canvas chairs, smoking. The guard fire
in front of our tent had been lit. On the other side of it stood
one of our askaris leaning on his musket. He and his three
companions, turn about, keep the flames bright against the
fiercer creatures.

After a time we grew sleepy. I called Saa-sita and entrusted to
him my watch. On the crystal of this I had pasted a small piece
of surgeon's plaster. When the hour hand reached the surgeon's
plaster, he must wake us up. Saa-sita was a very conscientious
and careful man. One day I took some time hitching my pedometer
properly to his belt: I could not wear it effectively myself
because I was on horseback. At the end of the ten-hour march it
registered a mile and a fraction. Saa-sita explained that he
wished to take especial care of it, so he had wrapped it in a
cloth and carried it all day in his hand!

We turned in. As I reached over to extinguish the lantern I
issued my last command for the day.

"Watcha kalele, Saa-sita," I told the askari; at once he lifted
up his voice to repeat my words. "Watcha kalele!" Immediately
from the Responsible all over camp the word came back-from
gunbearers, from M'ganga, from tent boys-"kalele! kalele!
kalele!"

Thus commanded, the boisterous fun, the croon of intimate talk,
the gently rising and falling tide of melody fell to complete
silence. Only remained the crackling of the fire and the
innumerable voices of the tropical night.

VIII. THE RIVER JUNGLE

We camped along this river for several weeks, poking indefinitely
and happily around the country in all directions to see what we
could see. Generally we went together, for neither B. nor myself
had been tried out as yet on dangerous game-those easy rhinos
hardly counted-and I think we both preferred to feel that we had
backing until we knew what our nerves were going to do with us.
Nevertheless, occasionally, I would take Memba Sasa and go out
for a little purposeless stroll a few miles up or down river.
Sometimes we skirted the jungle, sometimes we held as near as
possible to the river's bank, sometimes we cut loose and rambled
through the dry, crackling scrub over the low volcanic hills of
the arid country outside.

Nothing can equal the intense interest of the most ordinary walk
in Africa. It is the only country I know of where a man is
thoroughly and continuously alive. Often when riding horseback
with the dogs in my California home I have watched them in envy
of the keen, alert interest they took in every stone, stick, and
bush, in every sight, sound, and smell. With equal frequency I
have expressed that envy, but as something unattainable to a
human being's more phlegmatic make-up. In Africa one actually
rises to continuous alertness. There are dozy moments-except you
curl up in a safe place for the PURPOSE of dozing; again just
like the dog! Every bush, every hollow, every high tuft of grass,
every deep shadow must be scrutinized for danger. It will not do
to pass carelessly any possible lurking place. At the same time
the sense of hearing must be on guard; so that no break of twig
or crash of bough can go unremarked. Rhinoceroses conceal
themselves most cannily, and have a deceitful habit of leaping
from a nap into their swiftest stride. Cobras and puff adders are
scarce, to be sure, but very deadly. Lions will generally give
way, if not shot at or too closely pressed; nevertheless there is
always the chance of cubs or too close a surprise. Buffalo lurk
daytimes in the deep thickets, but occasionally a rogue bull
lives where your trail will lead. These things do not happen
often, but in the long run they surely do happen, and once is
quite enough provided the beast gets in.

At first this continual alertness and tension is rather
exhausting; but after a very short time it becomes second nature.
A sudden rustle the other side a bush no longer brings you up all
standing with your heart in your throat; but you are aware of it,
and you are facing the possible danger almost before your slower
brain has issued any orders to that effect.

In rereading the above, I am afraid that I am conveying the idea
that one here walks under the shadow of continual uneasiness.
This is not in the least so. One enjoys the sun, and the birds
and the little things. He cultivates the great leisure of mind
that shall fill the breadth of his outlook abroad over a newly
wonderful world. But underneath it all is the alertness, the
responsiveness to quick reflexes of judgment and action, the
intimate correlations to immediate environment which must
characterize the instincts of the higher animals. And it is good
to live these things.

Along the edge of that river jungle were many strange and
beautiful affairs. I could slip along among the high clumps of
the thicker bushes in such a manner as to be continually coming
around unexpected bends. Of such maneouvres are surprises made.
The graceful red impalla were here very abundant. I would come on
them, their heads up, their great ears flung forward, their noses
twitching in inquiry of something they suspected but could not
fully sense. When slightly alarmed or suspicious the does always
stood compactly in a herd, while the bucks remained discreetly in
the background, their beautiful, branching, widespread horns
showing over the backs of their harems. The impalla is, in my
opinion, one of the most beautiful and graceful of the African
bucks, a perpetual delight to watch either standing or running.
These beasts are extraordinarily agile, and have a habit of
breaking their ordinary fast run by unexpectedly leaping high in
the air. At a distance they give somewhat the effect of dolphins
at sea, only their leaps are higher and more nearly
perpendicular. Once or twice I have even seen one jump over the
back of another. On another occasion we saw a herd of twenty-five
or thirty cross a road of which, evidently, they were a little
suspicious. We could not find a single hoof mark in the dust!
Generally these beasts frequent thin brush country; but I have
three or four times seen them quite out in the open flat plains,
feeding with the hartebeeste and zebra. They are about the size
of our ordinary deer, are delicately fashioned, and can utter the
most incongruously grotesque of noises by way of calls or
ordinary conversation.

The lack of curiosity, or the lack of gallantry, of the impalla
bucks was, in my experience, quite characteristic. They were
almost always the farthest in the background and the first away
when danger threatened. The ladies could look out for themselves.
They had no horns to save; and what do the fool women mean by
showing so little sense, anyway! They deserve what they get! It
used to amuse me a lot to observe the utter abandonment of all
responsibility by these handsome gentlemen. When it came time to
depart, they departed. Hang the girls! They trailed along after
as fast as they could.

The waterbuck-a fine large beast about the size of our caribou,
a well-conditioned buck resembling in form and attitude the
finest of Landseer's stags-on the other hand, had a little more
sense of responsibility, when he had anything to do with the sex
at all. He was hardly what you might call a strictly domestic
character. I have hunted through a country for several days at a
time without seeing a single mature buck of this species,
although there were plenty of does, in herds of ten to fifty,
with a few infants among them just sprouting horns. Then finally,
in some small grassy valley, I would come on the Men's Club.
There they were, ten, twenty, three dozen of them, having the
finest kind of an untramelled masculine time all by themselves.
Generally, however, I will say for them, they took care of their
own peoples. There would quite likely be one big old fellow, his
harem of varying numbers, and the younger subordinate bucks all
together in a happy family. When some one of the lot announced
that something was about, and they had all lined up to stare in
the suspected direction, the big buck was there in the foreground
of inquiry. When finally they made me out, it was generally the
big buck who gave the signal. He went first, to be sure, but his
going first was evidently an act of leadership, and not merely a
disgraceful desire to get away before the rest did.

But the waterbuck had to yield in turn to the plains gazelles;
especially to the Thompson's gazelle, familiarly-and
affectionately-known as the "Tommy." He is a quaint little chap,
standing only a foot and a half tall at the shoulder, fawn colour
on top, white beneath, with a black, horizontal stripe on his
side, like a chipmunk, most lightly and gracefully built. When he
was first made, somebody told him that unless he did something
characteristic, like waggling his little tail, he was likely to
be mistaken by the undiscriminating for his bigger cousin, the
Grant's gazelle. He has waggled his tail ever since, and so is
almost never mistaken for a Grant's gazelle, even by the
undiscriminating. Evidently his religion is Mohammedan, for he
always has a great many wives. He takes good care of them,
however. When danger appears, even when danger threatens, he is
the last to leave the field. Here and there he dashes
frantically, seeing that the women and children get off. And when
the herd tops the hill, Tommy's little horns bring up the rear of
the procession. I like Tommy. He is a cheerful, gallant, quaint
little person, with the air of being quite satisfied with his own
solution of this complicated world.

Among the low brush at the edge of the river jungle dwelt also
the dik-dik, the tiniest miniature of a deer you could possibly
imagine. His legs are lead pencil size, he stands only about nine
inches tall, he weighs from five to ten pounds; and yet he is a
perfect little antelope, horns and all. I used to see him singly
or in pairs standing quite motionless and all but invisible in
the shade of bushes; or leaping suddenly to his feet and
scurrying away like mad through the dry grass. His personal
opinion of me was generally expressed in a loud clear whistle.
But then nobody in this strange country talks the language you
would naturally expect him to talk! Zebra bark, hyenas laugh,
impallas grunt, ostriches boom like drums, leopards utter a
plaintive sigh, hornbills cry like a stage child, bushbucks sound
like a cross between a dog and a squawky toy-and so on. There is
only one safe rule of the novice in Africa: NEVER BELIEVE A WORD
THE JUNGLE AND VELDT PEOPLE TELL YOU.

These two-the impalla and the waterbuck-were the principal buck
we would see close to the river. Occasionally, however, we came
on a few oryx, down for a drink, beautiful big antelope, with
white and black faces, roached manes, and straight, nearly
parallel, rapier horns upward of three feet long. A herd of these
creatures, the light gleaming on their weapons, held all at the
same slant, was like a regiment of bayonets in the sun. And there
were also the rhinoceroses to be carefully espied and avoided.
They lay obliterated beneath the shade of bushes, and arose with
a mighty blow-off of steam. Whereupon we withdrew silently, for
we wanted to shoot no more rhinos, unless we had to.

Beneath all these obvious and startling things, a thousand other
interesting matters were afoot. In the mass and texture of the
jungle grew many strange trees and shrubs. One most scrubby, fat
and leafless tree, looking as though it were just about to give
up a discouraged existence, surprised us by putting forth,
apparently directly from its bloated wood, the most wonderful red
blossoms. Another otherwise self-respecting tree hung itself all
over with plump bologna sausages about two feet long and five
inches thick. A curious vine hung like a rope, with Turk's-head
knots about a foot apart on its whole length, like the
hand-over-hand ropes of gymnasiums. Other ropes were studded all
over with thick blunt bosses, resembling much the outbreak on one
sort of Arts-and-Crafts door: the sort intended to repel
Mail-clad Hosts.

The monkeys undoubtedly used such obvious highways through the
trees. These little people were very common. As we walked along,
they withdrew before us. We could make out their figures
galloping hastily across the open places, mounting bushes and
stubs to take a satisfying backward look, clambering to treetops,
and launching themselves across the abysses between limbs. If we
went slowly, they retired in silence. If we hurried at all, they
protested in direct ratio to the speed of our advance. And when
later the whole safari, loads on heads, marched inconsiderately
through their jungle! We happened to be hunting on a parallel
course a half mile away, and we could trace accurately the
progress of our men by the outraged shrieks, chatterings, appeals
to high heaven for at least elemental justice to the monkey
people.

Often, too, we would come on concourses of the big baboons. They
certainly carried on weighty affairs of their own according to a
fixed polity. I never got well enough acquainted with them to
master the details of their government, but it was indubitably built
on patriarchal lines. When we succeeded in approaching without
being discovered, we would frequently find the old men baboons
squatting on their heels in a perfect circle, evidently
discussing matters of weight and portent. Seen from a distance,
their group so much resembled the council circles of native
warriors that sometimes, in a native country, we made that
mistake. Outside this solemn council, the women, young men and
children went about their daily business, whatever that was. Up
convenient low trees or bushes roosted sentinels.

We never remained long undiscovered. One of the sentinels barked
sharply. At once the whole lot loped away, speedily but with a
curious effect of deliberation. The men folks held their tails in
a proud high sideways arch; the curious youngsters clambered up
bushes to take a hasty look; the babies clung desperately with
all four feet to the thick fur on their mothers' backs; the
mothers galloped along imperturbably unheeding of infantile
troubles aloft. The side hill was bewildering with the big
bobbing black forms.

In this lower country the weather was hot, and the sun very
strong. The heated air was full of the sounds of insects; some of
them comfortable, like the buzzing of bees, some of them strange
and unusual to us. One cicada had a sustained note, in quality
about like that of our own August-day's friend, but in quantity
and duration as the roar of a train to the gentle hum of a good
motor car. Like all cicada noises it did not usurp the sound
world, but constituted itself an underlying basis, so to speak.
And when it stopped the silence seemed to rush in as into a
vacuum!

We had likewise the aeroplane beetle. He was so big that he would
have made good wing-shooting. His manner of flight was the
straight-ahead, heap-of-buzz, plenty-busy,
don't-stop-a-minute-or-you'll-come-down method of the aeroplane;
and he made the same sort of a hum. His first-cousin,
mechanically, was what we called the wind-up-the-watch insect.
This specimen possessed a watch-an old-fashioned Waterbury,
evidently-that he was continually winding. It must have been
hard work for the poor chap, for it sounded like a very big
watch.

All these things were amusing. So were the birds. The African
bird is quite inclined to be didactic. He believes you need
advice, and he means to give it. To this end he repeats the same
thing over and over until he thinks you surely cannot
misunderstand. One chap especially whom we called the lawyer
bird, and who lived in the treetops, had four phrases to impart.
He said them very deliberately, with due pause between each; then
he repeated them rapidly; finally he said them all over again
with an exasperated bearing-down emphasis. The joke of it is I
cannot now remember just how they went! Another feathered
pedagogue was continually warning us to go slow; very good advice
near an African jungle. "Poley-poley! Poley-poley!" he warned
again and again; which is good Swahili for "slowly! slowly!" We
always minded him. There were many others, equally impressed with
their own wisdom, but the one I remember with most amusement was
a dilatory person who apparently never got around to his job
until near sunset. Evidently he had contracted to deliver just so
many warnings per diem; and invariably he got so busy chasing
insects, enjoying the sun, gossiping with a friend and generally
footling about that the late afternoon caught him unawares with
never a chirp accomplished. So he sat in a bush and said his say
over and over just as fast as he could without pause for breath
or recreation. It was really quite a feat. Just at dusk, after
two hours of gabbling, he would reach the end of his contracted
number. With final relieved chirp he ended.

It has been said that African birds are "songless." This is a
careless statement that can easily be read to mean that African
birds are silent. The writer evidently must have had in mind as a
criterion some of our own or the English great feathered
soloists. Certainly the African jungle seems to produce no
individual performers as sustained as our own bob-o-link, our
hermit thrush, or even our common robin. But the African birds
are vocal enough, for all that. Some of them have a richness and
depth of timbre perhaps unequalled elsewhere. Of such is the
chime-bird with his deep double note; or the bell-bird tolling
like a cathedral in the blackness of the forest; or the bottle
bird that apparently pours gurgling liquid gold from a silver
jug. As the jungle is exceedingly populous of these feathered
specialists, it follows that the early morning chorus is
wonderful. Africa may not possess the soloists, but its full
orchestrial effects are superb.

Naturally under the equator one expects and demands the "gorgeous
tropical plumage" of the books. He is not disappointed. The
sun-birds of fifty odd species, the brilliant blue starlings, the
various parrots, the variegated hornbills, the widower-birds, and
dozens of others whose names would mean nothing flash here and
there in the shadow and in the open. With them are hundreds of
quiet little bodies just as interesting to one who likes birds.
>From the trees and bushes hang pear-shaped nests plaited
beautifully of long grasses, hard and smooth as hand-made
baskets, the work of the various sorts of weaver-birds. In the
tops of the trees roosted tall marabout storks like dissipated,
hairless old club-men in well-groomed, correct evening dress.

And around camp gathered the swift brown kites. They were robbers
and villains, but we could not hate them. All day long they
sailed back and forth spying sharply. When they thought they saw
their chance, they stooped with incredible swiftness to seize a
piece of meat. Sometimes they would snatch their prize almost
from the hands of its rightful owner, and would swoop
triumphantly upward again pursued by polyglot maledictions and a
throwing stick. They were very skilful on their wings. I have
many times seen them, while flying, tear up and devour large
chunks of meat. It seems to my inexperience as an aviator rather
a nice feat to keep your balance while tearing with your beak at
meat held in your talons. Regardless of other landmarks, we
always knew when we were nearing camp, after one of our strolls,
by the gracefully wheeling figures of our kites.

IX. THE FIRST LION

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.

I recovered the camera, undamaged, and we continued our climb.

The top of the mesa was disappointing as far as game was
concerned. It was covered all over with red stones, round, and as
large as a man's head. Thornbushes found some sort of sustenance
in the interstices.

But we had gained to a magnificent view. Below us lay the narrow
flat, then the winding jungle of our river, then long rolling
desert country, gray with thorn scrub, sweeping upward to the
base of castellated buttes and one tremendous riven cliff
mountain, dropping over the horizon to a very distant blue range.
Behind us eight or ten miles away was the low ridge through which
our journey had come. The mesa on which we stood broke back at
right angles to admit another stream flowing into our own. Beyond
this stream were rolling hills, and scrub country, the hint of
blue peaks and illimitable distances falling away to the unknown
Tara Desert and the sea.

There seemed to be nothing much to be gained here, so we made up
our minds to cut across the mesa, and from the other edge of it
to overlook the valley of the tributary river. This we would
descend until we came to our horses.

Accordingly we stumbled across a mile or so of those round and
rolling stones. Then we found ourselves overlooking a wide flat
or pocket where the stream valley widened. It extended even as
far as the upward fling of the barrier ranges. Thick scrub
covered it, but erratically, so that here and there were little
openings or thin places. We sat down, manned our trusty prism
glasses, and gave ourselves to the pleasing occupation of looking
the country over inch by inch.

This is great fun. It is a game a good deal like puzzle pictures.
Re-examination generally develops new and unexpected beasts. We
repeated to each other aloud the results of our scrutiny, always
without removing the glasses from our eyes.

"Oryx, one," said F.; "oryx, two."

"Giraffe," reported B., "and a herd of impalla."

I saw another giraffe, and another oryx, then two rhinoceroses.

The three bearers squatted on their heels behind us, their fierce
eyes staring straight ahead, seeing with the naked eye what we
were finding with six-power glasses.

We turned to descend the hill. In the very centre of the deep
shade of a clump of trees, I saw the gleam of a waterbuck's
horns. While I was telling of this, the beast stepped from his
concealment, trotted a short distance upstream and turned to
climb a little ridge parallel to that by which we were
descending. About halfway up he stopped, staring in our
direction, his head erect, the slight ruff under his neck
standing forward. He was a good four hundred yards away. B., who
wanted him, decided the shot too chancy. He and F. slipped
backward until they had gained the cover of the little ridge,
then hastened down the bed of the ravine. Their purpose was to
follow the course already taken by the waterbuck until they
should have sneaked within better range. In the meantime I and
the gunbearers sat down in full view of the buck. This was to
keep his attention distracted.

We sat there a long time. The buck never moved but continued to
stare at what evidently puzzled him. Time passes very slowly in
such circumstances, and it seemed incredible that the beast
should continue much longer to hold his fixed attitude.
Nevertheless B. and F. were working hard. We caught glimpses of
them occasionally slipping from bush to bush. Finally B. knelt
and levelled his rifle. At once I turned my glasses on the buck.
Before the sound of the rifle had reached me, I saw him start
convulsively, then make off at the tearing run that indicates a
heart hit. A moment later the crack of the rifle and the dull
plunk of the hitting bullet struck my ear.

We tracked him fifty yards to where he lay dead. He was a fine
trophy, and we at once set the boys to preparing it and taking
the meat. In the meantime we sauntered down to look at the
stream. It was a small rapid affair, but in heavy papyrus, with
sparse trees, and occasional thickets, and dry hard banks. The
papyrus should make a good lurking place for almost anything; but
the few points of access to the water failed to show many
interesting tracks. Nevertheless we decided to explore a short
distance.

For an hour we walked among high thornbushes, over baking hot
earth. We saw two or three dik-dik and one of the giraffes. At
that time it had become very hot, and the sun was bearing down on
us as with the weight of a heavy hand. The air had the scorching,
blasting quality of an opened furnace door. Our mouths were
getting dry and sticky in that peculiar stage of thirst on which
no luke-warm canteen water in necessarily limited quantity has
any effect. So we turned back, picked up the men with the
waterbuck, and plodded on down the little stream, or, rather, on
the red-hot dry valley bottom outside the stream's course, to
where the syces were waiting with our horses. We mounted with
great thankfulness. It was now eleven o'clock, and we considered
our day as finished.

The best way for a distance seemed to follow the course of the
tributary stream to its point of junction with our river. We rode
along, rather relaxed in the suffocating heat. F. was nearest the
stream. At one point it freed itself of trees and brush and ran
clear, save for low papyrus, ten feet down below a steep eroded
bank. F. looked over and uttered a startled exclamation. I
spurred my horse forward to see.

Below us, about fifteen yards away, was the carcass of a
waterbuck half hidden in the foot-high grass. A lion and two
lionesses stood upon it, staring up at us with great yellow eyes.
That picture is a very vivid one in my memory, for those were the
first wild lions I had ever seen. My most lively impression was
of their unexpected size. They seemed to bulk fully a third
larger than my expectation.

The magnificent beasts stood only long enough to see clearly what
had disturbed them, then turned, and in two bounds had gained the
shelter of the thicket.

Now the habit in Africa is to let your gunbearers carry all your
guns. You yourself stride along hand free. It is an English idea,
and is pretty generally adopted out there by every one, of
whatever nationality. They will explain it to you by saying that
in such a climate a man should do only necessary physical work,
and that a good gunbearer will get a weapon into your hand so
quickly and in so convenient a position that you will lose no
time. I acknowledge the gunbearers are sometimes very skilful at
this, but I do deny that there is no loss of time. The instant of
distracted attention while receiving a weapon, the necessity of
recollecting the nervous correlations after the transfer, very
often mark just the difference between a sure instinctive
snapshot and a lost opportunity. It reasons that the man with the
rifle in his hand reacts instinctively, in one motion, to get his
weapon into play. If the gunbearer has the gun, HE must first
react to pass it up, the master must receive it properly, and
THEN, and not until then, may go on from where the other man
began. As for physical labour in the tropics: if a grown man
cannot without discomfort or evil effects carry an eight-pound
rifle, he is too feeble to go out at all. In a long Western
experience I have learned never to be separated from my weapon;
and I believe the continuance of this habit in Africa saved me a
good number of chances.

At any rate, we all flung ourselves off our horses. I, having my
rifle in my hand, managed to throw a shot after the biggest lion
as he vanished. It was a snap at nothing, and missed. Then in an
opening on the edge a hundred yards away appeared one of the
lionesses. She was trotting slowly, and on her I had time to draw
a hasty aim. At the shot she bounded high in the air, fell,
rolled over, and was up and into the thicket before I had much
more than time to pump up another shell from the magazine. Memba
Sasa in his eagerness got in the way-the first and last time he
ever made a mistake in the field.

By this time the others had got hold of their weapons. We fronted
the blank face of the thicket.

The wounded animal would stand a little waiting. We made a wide
circle to the other side of the stream. There we quickly picked
up the trail of the two uninjured beasts. They had headed
directly over the hill, where we speedily lost all trace of them
on the flint-like surface of the ground. We saw a big pack of
baboons in the only likely direction for a lion to go. Being thus
thrown back on a choice of a hundred other unlikely directions,
we gave up that slim chance and returned to the thicket.

This proved to be a very dense piece of cover. Above the height
of the waist the interlocking branches would absolutely prevent
any progress, but by stooping low we could see dimly among the
simpler main stems to a distance of perhaps fifteen or twenty
feet. This combination at once afforded the wounded lioness
plenty of cover in which to hide, plenty of room in which to
charge home, and placed us under the disadvantage of a crouched
or crawling attitude with limited vision. We talked the matter
over very thoroughly. There was only one way to get that lioness
out; and that was to go after her. The job of going after her
needed some planning. The lion is cunning and exceeding fierce. A
flank attack, once we were in the thicket, was as much to be
expected as a frontal charge.

We advanced to the thicket's edge with many precautions. To our
relief we found she had left us a definite trail. B. and I
kneeling took up positions on either side, our rifles ready. F.
and Simba crawled by inches eight or ten feet inside the thicket.
Then, having executed this manoeuvre safely, B. moved up to
protect our rear while I, with Memba Sasa, slid down to join F.

>From this point we moved forward alternately. I would crouch, all
alert, my rifle ready, while F. slipped by me and a few feet
ahead. Then he get organized for battle while I passed him. Memba
Sasa and Simba, game as badgers, their fine eyes gleaming with
excitement, their faces shining, crept along at the rear. B. knelt
outside the thicket, straining his eyes for the slightest
movement either side of the line of our advance. Often these wily
animals will sneak back in a half circle to attack their pursuers
from behind. Two or three of the bolder porters crouched
alongside B., peering eagerly. The rest had quite properly
retired to the safe distance where the horses stood.

We progressed very, very slowly. Every splash of light or mottled
shadow, every clump of bush stems, every fallen log had to be
examined, and then examined again. And how we did strain our eyes
in a vain attempt to penetrate the half lights, the duskinesses
of the closed-in thicket not over fifteen feet away! And then the
movement forward of two feet would bring into our field of vision
an entirely new set of tiny vistas and possible lurking places.

Speaking for myself, I was keyed up to a tremendous tension. I
stared until my eyes ached; every muscle and nerve was taut.
Everything depended on seeing the beast promptly, and firing
quickly. With the manifest advantage of being able to see us, she
would spring to battle fully prepared. A yellow flash and a quick
shot seemed about to size up that situation. Every few moments, I
remember, I surreptitiously held out my hand to see if the
constantly growing excitement and the long-continued strain had
affected its steadiness.

The combination of heat and nervous strain was very exhausting.
The sweat poured from me; and as F. passed me I saw the great
drops standing out on his face. My tongue got dry, my breath came
laboriously. Finally I began to wonder whether physically I
should be able to hold out. We had been crawling, it seemed, for
hours. I dared not look back, but we must have come a good
quarter mile. Finally F. stopped.

"I'm all in for water," he gasped in a whisper.

Somehow that confession made me feel a lot better. I had thought
that I was the only one. Cautiously we settled back on our heels.
Memba Sasa and Simba wiped the sweat from their faces. It seemed
that they too had found the work severe. That cheered me up still
more.

Simba grinned at us, and, worming his way backward with the
sinuousity of a snake, he disappeared in the direction from which
we had come. F. cursed after him in a whisper both for departing
and for taking the risk. But in a moment he had returned carrying
two canteens of blessed water. We took a drink most gratefully.

I glanced at my watch. It was just under two hours since I had
fired my shot. I looked back. My supposed quarter mile had shrunk
to not over fifty feet!

After resting a few moments longer, we again took up our
systematic advance. We made perhaps another fifty feet. We were
ascending a very gentle slope. F. was for the moment ahead. Right
before us the lion growled; a deep rumbling like the end of a
great thunder roll, fathoms and fathoms deep, with the inner
subterranean vibrations of a heavy train of cars passing a man
inside a sealed building. At the same moment over F.'s shoulder I
saw a huge yellow head rise up, the round eyes flashing anger,
the small black-tipped ears laid back, the great fangs snarling.
The beast was not over twelve feet distant. F. immediately fired.
His shot, hitting an intervening twig, went wild. With the utmost
coolness he immediately pulled the other trigger of his double
barrel. The cartridge snapped.

"If you will kindly stoop down-" said I, in what I now remember
to be rather an exaggeratedly polite tone. As F.'s head
disappeared, I placed the little gold bead of my 405 Winchester
where I thought it would do the most good, and pulled trigger.
She rolled over dead.

The whole affair had begun and finished with unbelievable
swiftness. From the growl to the fatal shot I don't suppose four
seconds elapsed, for our various actions had followed one another
with the speed of the instinctive. The lioness had growled at our
approach, had raised her head to charge, and had received her
deathblow before she had released her muscles in the spring.
There had been no time to get frightened.

We sat back for a second. A brown hand reached over my shoulder.

"Mizouri-mizouri sana!" cried Memba Sasa joyously. I shook the
hand.

"Good business!" said F. "Congratulate you on your first lion."

We then remembered B., and shouted to him that all was over. He
and the other men wriggled in to where we were lying. He made
this distance in about fifteen seconds. It had taken us nearly an
hour.

We had the lioness dragged out into the open. She was not an
especially large beast, as compared to most of the others I
killed later, but at that time she looked to me about as big as
they made them. As a matter of fact she was quite big enough, for
she stood three feet two inches at the shoulder-measure that
against the wall-and was seven feet and six inches in length. My
first bullet had hit her leg, and the last had reached her heart.

Every one shook me by the hand. The gunbearers squatted about
the carcass, skilfully removing the skin to an undertone of
curious crooning that every few moments broke out into one or two
bars of a chant. As the body was uncovered, the men crouched
about to cut off little pieces of fat. These they rubbed on their
foreheads and over their chests, to make them brave, they said,
and cunning, like the lion.

We remounted and took up our interrupted journey to camp. It was
a little after two, and the heat was at its worst. We rode rather
sleepily, for the reaction from the high tension of excitement
had set in. Behind us marched the three gunbearers, all abreast,
very military and proud. Then came the porters in single file,
the one carrying the folded lion skin leading the way; those
bearing the waterbuck trophy and meat bringing up the rear. They
kept up an undertone of humming in a minor key; occasionally
breaking into a short musical phrase in full voice.

We rode an hour. The camp looked very cool and inviting under its
wide high trees, with the river slipping by around the islands of
papyrus. A number of black heads bobbed about in the shallows.
The small fires sent up little wisps of smoke. Around them our
boys sprawled, playing simple games, mending, talking, roasting
meat. Their tiny white tents gleamed pleasantly among the cool
shadows.

I had thought of riding nonchalantly up to our own tents, of
dismounting with a careless word of greeting-

"Oh, yes," I would say, "we did have a good enough day. Pretty
hot. Roy got a fine waterbuck. Yes, I got a lion." (Tableau on
part of Billy.)

But Memba Sasa used up all the nonchalance there was. As we
entered camp he remarked casually to the nearest man.

"Bwana na piga simba-the master has killed a lion."

The man leaped to his feet.

"Simba! simba! simba!" he yelled. "Na piga simba!"

Every one in camp also leaped to his feet, taking up the cry.
>From the water it was echoed as the bathers scrambled ashore. The
camp broke into pandemonium. We were surrounded by a dense
struggling mass of men. They reached up scores of black hands to
grasp my own; they seized from me everything portable and bore it
in triumph before me-my water bottle, my rifle, my camera, my
whip, my field glasses, even my hat, everything that was
detachable. Those on the outside danced and lifted up their
voices in song, improvised for the most part, and in honor of the
day's work. In a vast swirling, laughing, shouting, triumphant
mob we swept through the camp to where Billy-by now not very
much surprised-was waiting to get the official news. By the
measure of this extravagant joy could we gauge what the killing
of a lion means to these people who have always lived under the
dread of his rule.

X. LIONS

A very large lion I killed stood three feet and nine inches at
the withers, and of course carried his head higher than that. The
top of the table at which I sit is only two feet three inches
from the floor. Coming through the door at my back that lion's
head would stand over a foot higher than halfway up. Look at your
own writing desk; your own door. Furthermore, he was nine feet
and eleven inches in a straight line from nose to end of tail, or
over eleven feet along the contour of the back. If he were to
rise on his hind feet to strike a man down, he would stand
somewhere between seven and eight feet tall, depending on how
nearly he straightened up. He weighed just under six hundred
pounds, or as much as four well-grown specimens of our own
"mountain lion." I tell you this that you may realize, as I did
not, the size to which a wild lion grows. Either menagerie
specimens are stunted in growth, or their position and
surroundings tend to belittle them, for certainly until a man
sees old Leo in the wilderness he has not understood what a fine
old chap he is.

This tremendous weight is sheer strength. A lion's carcass when
the skin is removed is a really beautiful sight. The great
muscles lie in ropes and bands; the forearm thicker than a man's
leg, the lithe barrel banded with brawn; the flanks overlaid by
the long thick muscles. And this power is instinct with the
nervous force of a highly organized being. The lion is quick and
intelligent and purposeful; so that he brings to his intenser
activities the concentration of vivid passion, whether of anger,
of hunger or of desire.

So far the opinions of varied experience will jog along together.
At this point they diverge.

Just as the lion is one of the most interesting and fascinating
of beasts, so concerning him one may hear the most diverse
opinions. This man will tell you that any lion is always
dangerous. Another will hold the king of beasts in the most utter
contempt as a coward and a skulker.

In the first place, generalization about any species of animal is
an exceedingly dangerous thing. I believe that, in the case of
the higher animals at least, the differences in individual
temperament are quite likely to be more numerous than the
specific likenesses. Just as individual men are bright or dull,
nervous or phlegmatic, cowardly or brave, so individual animals
vary in like respect. Our own hunters will recall from their
personal experiences how the big bear may have sat down and
bawled harmlessly for mercy, while the little unconsidered fellow
did his best until finished off: how one buck dropped instantly
to a wound that another would carry five miles: how of two
equally matched warriors of the herd one will give way in the
fight, while still uninjured, before his perhaps badly wounded
antagonist. The casual observer might-and often does-say that
all bears are cowardly, all bucks are easily killed, or the
reverse, according as the god of chance has treated him to one
spectacle or the other. As well try to generalize on the human
race-as is a certain ecclesiastical habit-that all men are vile
or noble, dishonest or upright, wise or foolish.

The higher we go in the scale the truer this individualism holds.
We are forced to reason not from the bulk of observations, but
from their averages. If we find ten bucks who will go a mile
wounded to two who succumb in their tracks from similar hurts, we
are justified in saying tentatively that the species is tenacious
of life. But as experience broadens we may modify that statement;
for strange indeed are runs of luck.

For this reason a good deal of the wise conclusion we read in
sportsmen's narratives is worth very little. Few men have
experience enough with lions to rise to averages through the
possibilities of luck. ESPECIALLY is this true of lions. No beast
that roams seems to go more by luck than felis leo. Good hunters
may search for years without seeing hide nor hair of one of the
beasts. Selous, one of the greatest, went to East Africa for the
express purpose of getting some of the fine beasts there, hunted
six weeks and saw none. Holmes of the Escarpment has lived in the
country six years, has hunted a great deal and has yet to kill
his first. One of the railroad officials has for years gone up
and down the Uganda Railway on his handcar, his rifle ready in
hopes of the lion that never appeared; though many are there seen
by those with better fortune. Bronson hunted desperately for this
great prize, but failed. Rainsford shot no lions his first trip,
and ran into them only three years later. Read Abel Chapman's
description of his continued bad luck at even seeing the beasts.
MacMillan, after five years' unbroken good fortune, has in the
last two years failed to kill a lion, although he has made many
trips for the purpose. F. told me he followed every rumour of a
lion for two years before he got one. Again, one may hear the
most marvellous of yarns the other way about-of the German who
shot one from the train on the way up from Mombasa; of the young
English tenderfoot who, the first day out, came on three asleep,
across a river, and potted the lot; and so on. The point is, that
in the case of lions the element of sheer chance seems to begin
earlier and last longer than is the case with any other beast.
And, you must remember, experience must thrust through the luck
element to the solid ground of averages before it can have much
value in the way of generalization. Before he has reached that
solid ground, a man's opinions depend entirely on what kind of
lions he chances to meet, in what circumstances, and on how
matters happen to shape in the crowded moments.

But though lack of sufficiently extended experience has much to
do with these decided differences of opinion, I believe that
misapprehension has also its part. The sportsman sees lions on
the plains. Likewise the lions see him, and promptly depart to
thick cover or rocky butte. He comes on them in the scrub; they
bound hastily out of sight. He may even meet them face to face,
but instead of attacking him, they turn to right and left and
make off in the long grass. When he follows them, they sneak
cunningly away. If, added to this, he has the good luck to kill
one or two stone dead at a single shot each, he begins to think
there is not much in lion shooting after all, and goes home
proclaiming the king of beasts a skulking coward.

After all, on what grounds does he base this conclusion? In what
way have circumstances been a test of courage at all? The lion
did not stand and fight, to be sure; but why should he? What was
there in it for lions? Behind any action must a motive exist.
Where is the possible motive for any lion to attack on sight? He
does not-except in unusual cases-eat men; nothing has occurred
to make him angry. The obvious thing is to avoid trouble, unless
there is a good reason to seek it. In that one evidences the
lion's good sense, but not his lack of courage. That quality has
not been called upon at all.

But if the sportsman had done one of two or three things, I am
quite sure he would have had a taste of our friend's mettle. If
he had shot at and even grazed the beast; if he had happened upon
him where an exit was not obvious; or IF HE HAD EVEN FOLLOWED THE
LION UNTIL THE LATTER HAD BECOME TIRED OF THE ANNOYANCE,
he would very soon have discovered that Leo is not all good nature,
and that once on his courage will take him in against any odds.
Furthermore, he may be astonished and dismayed to discover that
of a group of several lions, two or three besides the wounded
animal are quite likely to take up the quarrel and charge too. In
other words, in my opinion, the lion avoids trouble when he can,
not from cowardice but from essential indolence or good nature;
but does not need to be cornered* to fight to the death when in
his mind his dignity is sufficiently assailed.

*This is an important distinction in estimating the inherent
courage of man or beast. Even a mouse will fight when cornered.

For of all dangerous beasts the lion, when once aroused, will
alone face odds to the end. The rhinoceros, the elephant, and
even the buffalo can often be turned aside by a shot. A lion
almost always charges home.* Slower and slower he comes, as the
bullets strike; but he comes, until at last he may be just
hitching himself along, his face to the enemy, his fierce spirit
undaunted. When finally he rolls over, he bites the earth in
great mouthfuls; and so passes fighting to the last. The death of
a lion is a fine sight.

*I seem to be generalizing here, but all these conclusions must
be understood to take into consideration the liability of
individual variation.

No, I must confess, to me the lion is an object of great respect;
and so, I gather, he is to all who have had really extensive
experience. Those like Leslie Tarleton, Lord Delamere, W. N.
MacMillan, Baron von Bronsart, the Hills, Sir Alfred Pease, who
are great lion men, all concede to the lion a courage and
tenacity unequalled by any other living beast. My own experience
is of course nothing as compared to that of these men. Yet I saw
in my nine months afield seventy-one lions. None of these offered
to attack when unwounded or not annoyed. On the other hand, only
one turned tail once the battle was on, and she proved to be a
three quarters grown lioness, sick and out of condition.

It is of course indubitable that where lions have been much shot
they become warier in the matter of keeping out of trouble. They
retire to cover earlier in the morning, and they keep more than
a perfunctory outlook for the casual human being. When hunters
first began to go into the Sotik the lions there would stand
imperturbable, staring at the intruder with curiosity or
indifference. Now they have learned that such performances are
not healthy-and they have probably satisfied their curiosity.
But neither in the Sotik, nor even in the plains around Nairobi
itself, does the lion refuse the challenge once it has been put
up to him squarely. Nor does he need to be cornered. He charges
in quite blithely from the open plain, once convinced that you
are really an annoyance.

As to habits! The only sure thing about a lion is his
originality. He has more exceptions to his rules than the German
language. Men who have been mighty lion hunters for many years,
and who have brought to their hunting close observation, can only
tell you what a lion MAY do in certain circumstances. Following
very broad principles, they may even predict what he is APT to
do, but never what he certainly WILL do. That is one thing that
makes lion hunting interesting.

In general, then, the lion frequents that part of the country
where feed the great game herds. From them he takes his toll by
night, retiring during the day into the shallow ravines, the
brush patches, or the rocky little buttes. I have, however, seen
lions miles from game, slumbering peacefully atop an ant hill.
Indeed, occasionally, a pack of lions likes to live high in the
tall-grass ridges where every hunt will mean for them a four- or
five-mile jaunt out and back again. He needs water, after
feeding, and so rarely gets farther than eight or ten miles from
that necessity.

He hunts at night. This is as nearly invariable a rule as can be
formulated in regard to lions. Yet once, and perhaps twice, I saw
lionesses stalking through tall grass as early as three o'clock
in the afternoon. This eagerness may, or may not, have had to do
with the possession of hungry cubs. The lion's customary
harmlessness in the daytime is best evidenced, however, by the
comparative indifference of the game to his presence then. From a
hill we watched three of these beasts wandering leisurely across
the plains below. A herd of kongonis feeding directly in their
path, merely moved aside right and left, quite deliberately, to
leave a passage fifty yards or so wide, but otherwise paid not
the slightest attention. I have several times seen this
incident, or a modification of it. And yet, conversely, on a
number of occasions we have received our first intimation of the
presence of lions by the wild stampeding of the game away from a
certain spot.

However, the most of his hunting is done by dark. Between the
hours of sundown and nine o'clock he and his comrades may be
heard uttering the deep coughing grunt typical of this time of
night. These curious, short, far-sounding calls may be mere
evidences of intention, or they may be a sort of signal by means
of which the various hunters keep in touch. After a little they
cease. Then one is quite likely to hear the petulant, alarmed
barking of zebra, or to feel the vibrations of many hoofs. There
is a sense of hurried, flurried uneasiness abroad on the veldt.

The lion generally springs on his prey from behind or a little
off the quarter. By the impetus his own weight he hurls his
victim forward, doubling its head under, and very neatly breaking
its neck. I have never seen this done, but the process has been
well observed and attested; and certainly, of the many hundreds
of lion kills I have taken the pains to inspect, the majority had
had their necks broken. Sometimes, but apparently more rarely,
the lion kills its prey by a bite in the back of the neck. I have
seen zebra killed in this fashion, but never any of the buck. It
may be possible that the lack of horns makes it more difficult to
break a zebra's neck because of the corresponding lack of
leverage when its head hits the ground sidewise; the instances I
have noted may have been those in which the lion's spring landed
too far back to throw the victim properly; or perhaps they were
merely examples of the great variability in the habits of felis
leo.

Once the kill is made, the lion disembowels the beast very neatly
indeed, and drags the entrails a few feet out of the way. He then
eats what he wants, and, curiously enough, seems often to be very
fond of the skin. In fact, lacking other evidence, it is
occasionally possible to identify a kill as being that of a lion
by noticing whether any considerable portion of the hide has been
devoured. After eating he drinks. Then he is likely to do one of
two things: either he returns to cover near the carcass and lies
down, or he wanders slowly and with satisfaction toward his happy
home. In the latter case the hyenas, jackals, and carrion birds
seize their chance. The astute hunter can often diagnose the
case by the general actions and demeanour of these camp
followers. A half dozen sour and disgusted looking hyenas seated
on their haunches at scattered intervals, and treefuls of
mournfully humpbacked vultures sunk in sadness, indicate that the
lion has decided to save the rest of his zebra until to-morrow
and is not far away. On the other hand, a grand flapping,
snarling Kilkenny-fair of an aggregation swirling about one spot
in the grass means that the principal actor has gone home.

It is ordinarily useless to expect to see the lion actually on
his prey. The feeding is done before dawn, after which the lion
enjoys stretching out in the open until the sun is well up, and
then retiring to the nearest available cover. Still, at the risk
of seeming to be perpetually qualifying, I must instance finding
three lions actually on the stale carcass of a waterbuck at
eleven o'clock in the morning of a piping hot day! In an
undisturbed country, or one not much hunted, the early morning
hours up to say nine o'clock are quite likely to show you lions
sauntering leisurely across the open plains toward their lairs.
They go a little, stop a little, yawn, sit down a while, and
gradually work their way home. At those times you come upon them
unexpectedly face to face, or, seeing them from afar, ride them
down in a glorious gallop. Where the country has been much
hunted, however, the lion learns to abandon his kill and seek
shelter before daylight, and is almost never seen abroad. Then
one must depend on happening upon him in his cover.

In the actual hunting of his game the lion is apparently very
clever. He understands the value of cooperation. Two or more will
manoeuvre very skilfully to give a third the chance to make an
effective spring; whereupon the three will share the kill. In a
rough country, or one otherwise favourable to the method, a pack
of lions will often deliberately drive game into narrow ravines
or cul de sacs where the killers are waiting.

At such times the man favoured by the chance of an encampment
within five miles or so can hear a lion's roar.

Otherwise I doubt if he is apt often to get the full-voiced,
genuine article. The peculiar questioning cough of early evening
is resonant and deep in vibration, but it is a call rather than a
roar. No lion is fool enough to make a noise when he is stalking.
Then afterward, when full fed, individuals may open up a few
times, but only a few times, in sheer satisfaction, apparently,
at being well fed. The menagerie row at feeding time, formidable
as it sounds within the echoing walls, is only a mild and gentle
hint. But when seven or eight lions roar merely to see how much
noise they can make, as when driving game, or trying to stampede
your oxen on a wagon trip, the effect is something tremendous.
The very substance of the ground vibrates; the air shakes. I can
only compare it to the effect of a very large deep organ in a
very small church. There is something genuinely awe-inspiring
about it; and when the repeated volleys rumble into silence, one
can imagine the veldt crouched in a rigid terror that shall
endure.

XI. LIONS AGAIN

As to the dangers of lion hunting it is also difficult to write.
There is no question that a cool man, using good judgment as to
just what he can or cannot do, should be able to cope with lion
situations. The modern rifle is capable of stopping the beast,
provided the bullet goes to the right spot. The right spot is
large enough to be easy to hit, if the shooter keeps cool. Our
definition of a cool man must comprise the elements of steady
nerves under super-excitement, the ability to think quickly and
clearly, and the mildly strategic quality of being able to make
the best use of awkward circumstances. Such a man, barring sheer
accidents, should be able to hunt lions with absolute certainty
for just as long as he does not get careless, slipshod or
over-confident. Accidents-real accidents, not merely unexpected
happenings-are hardly to be counted. They can occur in your own
house.

But to the man not temperamentally qualified, lion shooting is
dangerous enough. The lion, when he takes the offensive, intends
to get his antagonist. Having made up his mind to that, he
charges home, generally at great speed. The realization that it
is the man's life or the beast's is disconcerting. Also the
charging lion is a spectacle much more awe-inspiring in reality
than the most vivid imagination can predict. He looks very large,
very determined, and has uttered certain rumbling, blood-curdling
threats as to what he is going to do about it. It suddenly seems
most undesirable to allow that lion to come any closer, not even
an inch! A hasty, nervous shot misses-

An unwounded lion charging from a distance is said to start
rather slowly, and to increase his pace only as he closes.
Personally I have never been charged by an unwounded beast, but I
can testify that the wounded animal comes very fast. Cuninghame
puts the rate at about seven seconds to the hundred yards.
Certainly I should say that a man charged from fifty yards or so
would have little chance for a second shot, provided he missed
the first. A hit seemed, in my experience, to the animal, by
sheer force of impact, long enough to permit me to throw in
another cartridge. A lioness thus took four frontal bullets
starting at about sixty yards. An initial miss would probably
have permitted her to close.

Here, as can be seen, is a great source of danger to a flurried
or nervous beginner. He does not want that lion to get an inch
nearer; he fires at too long a range, misses, and is killed or
mauled before he can reload. This happened precisely so to two
young friends of MacMillan. They were armed with double-rifles,
let them off hastily as the beast started at them from two
hundred yards, and never got another chance. If they had
possessed the experience to have waited until the lion had come
within fifty yards they would have had the almost certainty of
four barrels at close range. Though I have seen a lion missed
clean well inside those limits.

>From such performances are so-called lion accidents built. During
my stay in Africa I heard of six white men being killed by lions,
and a number of others mauled. As far as possible I tried to
determine the facts of each case. In every instance the trouble
followed either foolishness or loss of nerve. I believe I should
be quite safe in saying that from identically the same
circumstances any of the good lion men-Tarleton, Lord Delamere,
the Hills, and others-would have extricated themselves unharmed.

This does not mean that accidents may not happen. Rifles jam, but
generally because of flurried manipulation! One may unexpectedly
meet the lion at too close quarters; a foot may slip, or a
cartridge prove defective. So may one fall downstairs or bump
one's head in the dark. Sufficient forethought and alertness and
readiness would go far in either case to prevent bad results.

The wounded beast, of course, offers the most interesting problem
to the lion hunter. If it sees the hunter, it is likely to charge
him at once. If hit while making off, however, it is more apt to
take cover. Then one must summon all his good sense and nerve to
get it out. No rules can be given for this; nor am I trying to
write a text book for lion hunters. Any good lion hunter knows a
lot more about it than I do. But always a man must keep in mind
three things: that a lion can hide in cover so short that it
seems to the novice as though a jack-rabbit would find scant
concealment there; that he charges like lightning, and that he
can spring about fifteen feet. This spring, coming unexpectedly
from an unseen beast, is about impossible to avoid. Sheer luck
may land a fatal shot; but even then the lion will probably do
his damage before he dies. The rush from a short distance a good
quick shot ought to be able to cope with.

Therefore the wise hunter assures himself of at least twenty
feet-preferably more-of neutral zone all about him. No matter
how long it takes, he determines absolutely that the lion is not
within that distance. The rest is alertness and quickness.

As I have said, the amount of cover necessary to conceal a lion
is astonishingly small. He can flatten himself out surprisingly;
and his tawny colour blends so well with the brown grasses that
he is practically invisible. A practised man does not, of course,
look for lions at all. He is after unusual small patches,
especially the black ear tips or the black of the mane. Once
guessed at, it is interesting to see how quickly the hitherto
unsuspected animal sketches itself out in the cover.

I should, before passing on to another aspect of the matter,
mention the dangerous poisons carried by the lion's claws. Often
men have died from the most trivial surface wounds. The grooves
of the claws carry putrefying meat from the kills. Every sensible
man in a lion country carries a small syringe, and either
permanganate or carbolic. And those mild little remedies he uses
full strength!

The great and overwhelming advantage is of course with the
hunter. He possesses as deadly a weapon: and that weapon will
kill at a distance. This is proper, I think. There are more lions
than hunters; and, from our point of view, the man is more
important than the beast. The game is not too hazardous. By that
I mean that, barring sheer accident, a man is sure to come out
all right provided he does accurately the right thing. In other
words, it is a dangerous game of skill, but it does not possess
the blind danger of a forest in a hurricane, say. Furthermore, it
is a game that no man need play unless he wants to. In the lion
country he may go about his business-daytime business-as though
he were home at the farm.

Such being the case, may I be pardoned for intruding one of my
own small ethical ideas at this point, with the full realization
that it depends upon an entirely personal point of view. As far
as my own case goes, I consider it poor sportsmanship ever to
refuse a lion-chance merely because the advantages are not all in
my favour. After all, lion hunting is on a different plane from
ordinary shooting: it is a challenge to war, a deliberate seeking
for mortal combat. Is it not just a little shameful to pot old
felis leo at long range, in the open, near his kill, and wherever
we have him at an advantage-nine times, and then to back out
because that advantage is for once not so marked? I have so often
heard the phrase, "I let him (or them) alone. It was not good
enough," meaning that the game looked a little risky.

Do not misunderstand. I am not advising that you bull ahead into
the long grass, or that alone you open fire on a half dozen lions
in easy range. Kind providence endowed you with strategy, and
certainly you should never go in where there is no show for you
to use your weapon effectively. But occasionally the odds will be
against you and you will be called upon to take more or less of a
chance. I do not think it is quite square to quit playing merely
because for once your opponent has been dealt the better cards.
If here are too many of them see if you cannot manoeuvre them; if
the grass is long, try every means in your power to get them out.
Stay with them. If finally you fail, you will at least have the
satisfaction of knowing that circumstances alone have defeated
you. If you do not like that sort of a game, stay out of it
entirely.

XII. MORE LIONS

Nor do the last remarks of the preceding chapter mean that you
shall not have your trophy in peace. Perhaps excitement and a
slight doubt as to whether or not you are going to survive do not
appeal to you; but nevertheless you would like a lion skin or so.
By all means shoot one lion, or two, or three in the safest
fashion you can. But after that you ought to play the game.

The surest way to get a lion is to kill a zebra, cut holes in
him, fill the holes with strychnine, and come back next morning.
This method is absolutely safe.

The next safest way is to follow the quarry with a pack of
especially trained dogs. The lion is so busy and nervous over
those dogs that you can walk up and shoot him in the ear. This
method has the excitement of riding and following, the joy of a
grand and noisy row, and the fun of seeing a good dog-fight. The
same effect can be got chasing wart-hogs, hyenas, jackals-or
jack-rabbits. The objection is that it wastes a noble beast in an
inferior game. My personal opinion is that no man is justified in
following with dogs any large animal that can be captured with
reasonable certainty without them. The sport of coursing is
another matter; but that is quite the same in essence whatever
the size of the quarry. If you want to kill a lion or so quite
safely, and at the same time enjoy a glorious and exciting gallop
with lots of accompanying row, by all means follow the sport with
hounds. But having killed one or two by that method, quit. Do not
go on and clean up the country. You can do it. Poison and hounds
are the SURE methods of finding any lion there may be about; and
AFTER THE FIRST FEW, one is about as justifiable as the other. If
you want the undoubtedly great joy of cross country pursuit, send
your hounds in after less noble game.

The third safe method of killing a lion is nocturnal. You lay out
a kill beneath a tree, and climb the tree. Or better, you hitch
out a pig or donkey as live bait. When the lion comes to this
free lunch, you try to see him; and, if you succeed in that, you
try to shoot him. It is not easy to shoot at night; nor is it
easy to see in the dark. Furthermore, lions only occasionally
bother to come to bait. You may roost up that tree many nights
before you get a chance. Once up, you have to stay up; for it is
most decidedly not safe to go home after dark. The tropical night
in the highlands is quite chilly. Branches seem to be quite as
cramping and abrasive under the equator as in the temperate
zones. Still, it is one method.

Another is to lay out a kill and visit it in the early morning.
There is more to this, for you are afoot, must generally search
out your beast in nearby cover, and can easily find any amount of
excitement in the process.

The fourth way is to ride the lion. The hunter sees his quarry
returning home across the plains, perhaps; or jumps it from some
small bushy ravine. At once he spurs his horse in pursuit. The
lion will run but a short distance before coming to a stop, for
he is not particularly long either of wind or of patience. From
this stand he almost invariably charges. The astute hunter, still
mounted, turns and flees. When the lion gets tired of chasing,
which he does in a very short time, the hunter faces about. At
last the lion sits down in the grass, waiting for the game to
develop. This is the time for the hunter to dismount and to take
his shot. Quite likely he must now stand a charge afoot, and drop
his beast before it gets to him.

This is real fun. It has many elements of safety, and many of
danger.

To begin with, the hunter at this game generally has companions
to back him: often he employs mounted Somalis to round the lion
up and get it to stand. The charging lion is quite apt to make
for the conspicuous mounted men-who can easily escape-ignoring
the hunter afoot. As the game is largely played in the open, the
movements of the beast are easily followed.

On the other hand, there is room for mistake. The hunter, for
example, should never follow directly in the rear of his lion,
but rather at a parallel course off the beast's flank. Then, if
the lion stops suddenly, the man does not overrun before he can
check his mount. He should never dismount nearer than a hundred
and fifty yards from the embayed animal; and should never try to
get off while the lion is moving in his direction. Then, too, a
hard gallop is not conducive to the best of shooting. It is
difficult to hold the front bead steady; and it is still more
difficult to remember to wait, once the lion charges, until he
has come near enough for a sure shot. A neglect in the inevitable
excitement of the moment to remember these and a dozen other
small matters may quite possibly cause trouble.

Two or three men together can make this one of the most exciting
mounted games on earth; with enough of the give and take of real
danger and battle to make it worth while. The hunter, however,
who employs a dozen Somalis to ride the beast to a standstill,
after which he goes to the front, has eliminated much of the
thrill. Nor need that man's stay-at-home family feel any
excessive uneasiness over Father Killing Lions in Africa.

The method that interested me more than any other is one
exceedingly difficult to follow except under favourable
circumstances. I refer to tracking them down afoot. This requires
that your gunbearer should be an expert trailer, for, outside
the fact that following a soft-padded animal over all sorts of
ground is a very difficult thing to do, the hunter should be free
to spy ahead. It is necessary also to possess much patience and
to endure under many disappointments. But on the other hand there
is in this sport a continuous keen thrill to be enjoyed in no
other; and he who single handed tracks down and kills his lion
thus, has well earned the title of shikari-the Hunter.

And the last method of all is to trust to the God of Chance. The
secret of success is to be always ready to take instant advantage
of what the moment offers.

An occasional hunting story is good in itself: and the following
will also serve to illustrate what I have just been saying.

We were after that prize, the greater kudu, and in his pursuit
had penetrated into some very rough country. Our hunting for the
time being was over broad bench, perhaps four or five miles wide,
below a range of mountains. The bench itself broke down in sheer
cliffs some fifteen hundred feet, but one did not appreciate that
fact unless he stood fairly on the edge of the precipice. To all
intents and purposes we were on a rolling grassy plain, with low
hills and cliffs, and a most beautiful little stream running down
it beneath fine trees.

Up to now our hunting had gained us little beside information:
that kudu had occasionally visited the region, that they had not
been there for a month, and that the direction of their departure
had been obscure. So we worked our way down the stream, trying
out the possibilities. Of other game there seemed to be a fair
supply: impalla, hartebeeste, zebra, eland, buffalo, wart-hog,
sing-sing, and giraffe we had seen. I had secured a wonderful
eland and a very fine impalla, and we had had a gorgeous
close-quarters fight with a cheetah.* Now C. had gone out, a
three weeks' journey, carrying to medical attendance a porter
injured in the cheetah fracas. Billy and I were continuing the
hunt alone.

*This animal quite disproved the assertion that cheetahs never
assume the aggressive. He charged repeatedly.

We had marched two hours, and were pitching camp under a single
tree near the edge of the bench. After seeing everything well
under way, I took the Springfield and crossed the stream, which
here ran in a deep canyon. My object was to see if I could get a
sing-sing that had bounded away at our approach. I did not bother
to take a gunbearer, because I did not expect to be gone five
minutes.

The canyon proved unexpectedly deep and rough, and the stream up
to my waist. When I had gained the top, I found grass growing
patchily from six inches to two feet high; and small, scrubby
trees from four to ten feet tall, spaced regularly, but very
scattered. These little trees hardly formed cover, but their
aggregation at sufficient distance limited the view.

The sing-sing had evidently found his way over the edge of the
bench. I turned to go back to camp. A duiker-a small grass
antelope-broke from a little patch of the taller grass, rushed,
head down headlong after their fashion, suddenly changed his
mind, and dashed back again. I stepped forward to see why he had
changed his mind-and ran into two lions!

They were about thirty yards away, and sat there on their
haunches, side by side, staring at me with expressionless yellow
eyes. I stared back. The Springfield is a good little gun, and
three times before I had been forced to shoot lions with it, but
my real "lion gun" with which I had done best work was the 405
Winchester. The Springfield is too light for such game. Also
there were two lions, very close. Also I was quite alone.

As the game stood, it hardly looked like my move; so I held still
and waited. Presently one yawned, they looked at each other,
turned quite leisurely, and began to move away at a walk.

This was a different matter. If I had fired while the two were
facing me, I should probably have had them both to deal with. But
now that their tails were turned toward me, I should very likely
have to do with only the one: at the crack of the rifle the other
would run the way he was headed. So I took a careful bead at the
lioness and let drive.

My aim was to cripple the pelvic bone, but, unfortunately, just
as I fired, the beast wriggled lithely sidewise to pass around a
tuft of grass, so that the bullet inflicted merely a slight flesh
wound on the rump. She whirled like a flash, and as she raised
her head high to locate me, I had time to wish that the
Springfield hit a trifle harder blow. Also I had time to throw
another cartridge in the barrel.

The moment she saw me she dropped her head and charged. She was
thoroughly angry and came very fast. I had just enough time to
steady the gold bead on her chest and to pull trigger.

At the shot, to my great relief, she turned bottom up, and I saw
her tail for an instant above the grass-an almost sure
indication of a bad hit. She thrashed around, and made a
tremendous hullabaloo of snarls and growls. I backed out slowly,
my rifle ready. It was no place for me, for the grass was over
knee high.

Once at a safe distance I blazed a tree with my hunting knife and
departed for camp, well pleased to be out of it. At camp I ate
lunch and had a smoke; then with Memba Sasa and Mavrouki returned
to the scene of trouble. I had now the 405 Winchester, a light
and handy weapon delivering a tremendous blow.

We found the place readily enough. My lioness had recovered from
the first shock and had gone. I was very glad I had gone first.

The trail was not very plain, but it could be followed a foot or
so at a time, with many faults and casts back. I walked a yard to
one side while the men followed the spoor. Owing to the abundance
of cover it was very nervous work, for the beast might be almost
anywhere, and would certainly charge. We tried to keep a neutral
zone around ourselves by tossing stones ahead of and on both
sides of our line of advance. My own position was not bad, for I
had the rifle ready in my hand, but the men were in danger. Of
course I was protecting them as well as I could, but there was
always a chance that the lioness might spring on them in such a
manner that I would be unable to use my weapon. Once I suggested
that as the work was dangerous, they could quit if they wanted
to.

"Hapana!" they both refused indignantly.

We had proceeded thus for half a mile when to our relief, right
ahead of us, sounded the commanding, rumbling half-roar,
half-growl of the lion at bay.

Instantly Memba Sasa and Mavrouki dropped back to me. We all
peered ahead. One of the boys made her out first, crouched under
a bush thirty-two yards away. Even as I raised the rifle she saw
us and charged. I caught her in the chest before she had come ten
feet. The heavy bullet stopped her dead. Then she recovered and
started forward slowly, very weak, but game to the last. Another
shot finished her.

The remarkable point of this incident was the action of the
little Springfield bullet. Evidently the very high velocity of
this bullet from its shock to the nervous system had delivered a
paralyzing blow sufficient to knock out the lioness for the time
being. Its damage to tissue, however, was slight. Inasmuch as the
initial shock did not cause immediate death, the lioness
recovered sufficiently to be able, two hours later, to take the
offensive. This point is of the greatest interest to the student
of ballistics; but it is curious to even the ordinary reader.

That is a very typical example of finding lions by sheer chance.
Generally a man is out looking for the smallest kind of game when
he runs up against them. Now happened to follow an equally
typical example of tracking.

The next day after the killing of the lioness Memba Sasa, Kongoni
and I dropped off the bench, and hunted greater kudu on a series
of terraces fifteen hundred feet below. All we found were two
rhino, some sing-sing, a heard of impalla, and a tremendous
thirst. In the meantime, Mavrouki had, under orders, scouted the
foothills of the mountain range at the back. He reported none but
old tracks of kudu, but said he had seen eight lions not far from
our encounter of the day before.

Therefore, as soon next morning as we could see plainly, we again
crossed the canyon and the waist-deep stream. I had with me all
three of the gun men, and in addition two of the most courageous
porters to help with the tracking and the looking.

About eight o'clock we found the first fresh pad mark plainly
outlined in an isolated piece of soft earth. Immediately we began
that most fascinating of games-trailing over difficult ground.
In this we could all take part, for the tracks were some hours
old, and the cover scanty. Very rarely could we make out more
than three successive marks. Then we had to spy carefully for the
slightest indication of direction. Kongoni in especial was
wonderful at this, and time and again picked up a broken grass
blade or the minutest inch-fraction of disturbed earth. We moved
slowly, in long hesitations and castings about, and in swift
little dashes forward of a few feet; and often we went astray on
false scents, only to return finally to the last certain spot. In
this manner we crossed the little plain with the scattered shrub
trees and arrived at the edge of the low bluff above the stream
bottom.

This bottom was well wooded along the immediate bank of the
stream itself, fringed with low thick brush, and in the open
spaces grown to the edges with high, green, coarse grass.

As soon as we had managed to follow without fault to this grass,
our difficulties of trailing were at an end. The lions' heavy
bodies had made distinct paths through the tangle. These paths
went forward sinuously, sometimes separating one from the other,
sometimes intertwining, sometimes combining into one for a short
distance. We could not determine accurately the number of beasts
that had made them.

"They have gone to drink water," said Memba Sasa.

We slipped along the twisting paths, alert for indications; came
to the edge of the thicket, stooped through the fringe, and
descended to the stream under the tall trees. The soft earth at
the water's edge was covered with tracks, thickly overlaid one
over the other. The boys felt of the earth, examined, even
smelled, and came to the conclusion that the beasts must have
watered about five o'clock. If so, they might be ten miles away,
or as many rods.

We had difficulty in determining just where the party left this
place, until finally Kongoni caught sight of suspicious
indications over the way. The lions had crossed the stream. We
did likewise, followed the trail out of the thicket, into the
grass, below the little cliffs parallel to the stream, back into
the thicket, across the river once more, up the other side, in
the thicket for a quarter mile, then out into the grass on that
side, and so on. They were evidently wandering, rather idly, up
the general course of the stream. Certainly, unlike most cats,
they did not mind getting their feet wet, for they crossed the
stream four times.

At last the twining paths in the shoulder-high grass fanned out
separately. We counted.

"You were right, Mavrouki," said I, "there were eight."

At the end of each path was a beaten-down little space where
evidently the beasts had been lying down. With an exclamation the
three gunbearers darted forward to investigate. The lairs were
still warm! Their occupants had evidently made off only at our
approach!

Not five minutes later we were halted by a low warning growl
right ahead. We stopped. The boys squatted on their heels close
to me, and we consulted in whispers.

Of course it would be sheer madness to attack eight lions in
grass so high we could not see five feet in front of us. That
went without saying. On the other hand, Mavrouki swore that he
had yesterday seen no small cubs with the band, and our
examination of the tracks made in soft earth seemed to bear him
out. The chances were therefore that, unless themselves attacked
or too close pressed, the lions would not attack us. By keeping
just in their rear we might be able to urge them gently along
until they should enter more open cover. Then we could see.

Therefore we gave the owner of that growl about five minutes to
forget it, and then advanced very cautiously. We soon found where
the objector had halted, and plainly read by the indications
where he had stood for a moment or so, and then moved on. We
slipped along after.

For five hours we hung at the heels of that band of lions, moving
very slowly, perfectly willing to halt whenever they told us to,
and going forward again only when we became convinced that they
too had gone on. Except for the first half hour, we were never
more than twenty or thirty yards from the nearest lion, and often
much closer. Three or four times I saw slowly gliding yellow
bodies just ahead of me, but in the circumstances it would have
been sheer stark lunacy to have fired. Probably six or eight
times-I did not count-we were commanded to stop, and we did
stop.

It was very exciting work, but the men never faltered. Of course
I went first, in case one of the beasts had the toothache or
otherwise did not play up to our calculations on good nature. One
or the other of the gunbearers was always just behind me. Only
once was any comment made. Kongoni looked very closely into my
face.

"There are very many lions," he remarked doubtfully.

"Very many lions," I agreed, as though assenting to a mere
statement of fact.

Although I am convinced there was no real danger, as long as we
stuck to our plan of campaign, nevertheless it was quite
interesting to be for so long a period so near these great
brutes. They led us for a mile or so along the course of the
stream, sometimes on one side, sometimes on the other. Several
times they emerged into better cover, and even into the open, but
always ducked back into the thick again before we ourselves had
followed their trail to the clear.

At noon we were halted by the usual growl just as we had reached
the edge of the river. So we sat down on the banks and had lunch.

Finally our chance came. The trail led us, for the dozenth time,
from the high grass into the thicket along the river. We ducked
our heads to enter. Memba Sasa, next my shoulder, snapped his
fingers violently. Following the direction of the brown arm that
shot over my shoulder, I strained my eyes into the dimness of the
thicket. At first I could see nothing at all, but at length a
slight motion drew my eye. Then I made out the silhouette of a
lion's head, facing us steadily. One of the rear guard had again
turned to halt us, but this time where he and his surroundings
could be seen.

Luckily I always use a Sheard gold bead sight, and even in the
dimness of the tree-shaded thicket it showed up well. The beast
was only forty yards away, so I fired at his head. He rolled over
without a sound.

We took the usual great precautions in determining the
genuineness of his demise, then carried him into the open.
Strangely enough the bullet had gone so cleanly into his left eye
that it had not even broken the edge of the eyelid; so that when
skinned he did not show a mark. He was a very decent maned lion,
three feet four inches at the shoulder, and nine feet long as he
lay. We found that he had indeed been the rear guard, and that
the rest, on the other side of the thicket, had made off at the
shot. So in spite of the APPARENT danger of the situation, our
calculations had worked out perfectly. Also we had enjoyed a half
day's sport of an intensity quite impossible to be extracted from
any other method of following the lion.

In trying to guess how any particular lions may act, however, you
will find yourself often at fault. The lion is a very intelligent
and crafty beast, and addicted to tricks. If you follow a lion to
a small hill, it is well to go around that hill on the side
opposite to that taken by your quarry. You are quite likely to
meet him for he is clever enough thus to try to get in your rear.
He will lie until you have actually passed him before breaking
off. He will circle ahead, then back to confuse his trail. And
when you catch sight of him in the distance, you would never
suspect that he knew of your presence at all. He saunters slowly,
apparently aimlessly, along pausing often, evidently too bored to
take any interest in life. You wait quite breathlessly for him to
pass behind cover. Then you are going to make a very rapid
advance, and catch his leisurely retreat. But the moment old Leo
does pass behind the cover, his appearance of idle stroller
vanishes. In a dozen bounds he is gone.

That is what makes lion hunting delightful. There are some
regions, very near settlements, where it is perhaps justifiable
to poison these beasts. If you are a true sportsman you will
confine your hound-hunting to those districts. Elsewhere, as far
as playing fair with a noble beast is concerned, you may as well
toss a coin to see which you shall take-your pack or a
strychnine bottle.

XIII. ON THE MANAGING OF A SAFARI

We made our way slowly down the river. As the elevation dropped,
the temperature rose. It was very hot indeed during the day, and
in the evening the air was tepid and caressing, and musical with
the hum of insects. We sat about quite comfortably in our
pajamas, and took our fifteen grains of quinine per week against
the fever.

The character of the jungle along the river changed
imperceptibly, the dhum palms crowding out the other trees;
until, at our last camp, were nothing but palms. The wind in them
sounded variously like the patter or the gathering onrush of
rain. On either side the country remained unchanged, however. The
volcanic hills rolled away to the distant ranges. Everywhere grew
sparsely the low thornbrush, opening sometimes into clear plains,
closing sometimes into dense thickets. One morning we awoke to
find that many supposedly sober-minded trees had burst into
blossom fairly over night. They were red, and yellow and white
that before were green, a truly gorgeous sight.

Then we turned sharp to the right and began to ascend a little
tributary brook coming down the wide flats from a cleft in the
hills. This was prettily named the Isiola, and, after the first
mile or so, was not big enough to afford the luxury of a jungle
of its own. Its banks were generally grassy and steep, its
thickets few, and its little trees isolated in parklike spaces.
To either side of it, and almost at its level, stretched plains,
but plains grown with scattered brush and shrubs so that at a
mile or two one's vista was closed. But for all its scant ten
feet of width the Isiola stood upon its dignity as a stream. We
discovered that when we tried to cross. The men floundered
waist-deep on uncertain bottom; the syces received much
unsympathetic comment for their handling of the animals, and we
had to get Billy over by a melodramatic "bridge of life" with B.,
F., myself, and Memba Sasa in the title roles.

Then we pitched camp in the open on the other side, sent the
horses back from the stream until after dark, in fear of the
deadly tsetse fly, and prepared to enjoy a good exploration of
the neighbourhood. Whereupon M'ganga rose up to his gaunt and
terrific height of authority, stretched forth his bony arm at
right angles, and uttered between eight and nine thousand
commands in a high dynamic monotone without a single pause for
breath. These, supplemented by about as many more, resulted in
(a) a bridge across the stream, and (b) a banda.

A banda is a delightful African institution. It springs from
nothing in about two hours, but it takes twenty boys with a
vitriolic M'ganga back of them to bring it about. Some of them
carry huge backloads of grass, or papyrus, or cat-tail rushes, as
the case may be; others lug in poles of various lengths from
where their comrades are cutting them by means of their panga. A
panga, parenthetically, is the safari man's substitute for axe,
shovel, pick, knife, sickle, lawn-mower, hammer, gatling gun,
world's library of classics, higher mathematics, grand opera, and
toothpicks. It looks rather like a machete with a very broad end
and a slight curved back. A good man can do extraordinary things
with it. Indeed, at this moment, two boys are with this
apparently clumsy implement delicately peeling some of the small
thorn trees, from the bared trunks of which they are stripping
long bands of tough inner bark.

With these three raw materials-poles, withes, and grass-M'ganga
and his men set to work. They planted their corner and end poles,
they laid their rafters, they completed their framework, binding
all with the tough withes; then deftly they thatched it with the
grass. Almost before we had settled our own affairs, M'ganga was
standing before us smiling. Gone now was his mien of high
indignation and swirling energy.

"Banda naquisha," he informed us.

And we moved in our table and our canvas chairs; hung up our
water bottles; Billy got out her fancy work. Nothing could be
pleasanter nor more appropriate to the climate than this wide low
arbour, open at either end to the breezes, thatched so thickly
that the fierce sun could nowhere strike through.

The men had now settled down to a knowledge of what we were like;
and things were going smoothly. At first the African porter will
try it on to see just how easy you are likely to prove. If he
makes up his mind that you really are easy, then you are in for
infinite petty annoyance, and possibly open mutiny. Therefore,
for a little while, it is necessary to be extremely vigilant, to
insist on minute performance in all circumstances where later you
might condone an omission. For the same reason punishment must be
more frequent and more severe at the outset. It is all a matter
of watching the temper of the men. If they are cheerful and
willing, you are not nearly as particular as you would be were
their spirit becoming sullen. Then the infraction is not so
important in itself as an excuse for the punishment. For when
your men get sulky, you watch vigilantly for the first and
faintest EXCUSE to inflict punishment.

This game always seemed to me very fascinating, when played
right. It is often played wrong. People do not look far enough.
Because they see that punishment has a most salutary effect on
morale, and is sometimes efficacious in getting things done that
otherwise would lag, they jump to the conclusion that the only
effective way to handle a safari is by penalties. By this I do
not at all mean that they act savagely, or punish to brutal
excess. Merely they hold rigidly to the letter of the work and
the day's discipline. Because it is sometimes necessary to punish
severely slight infractions when the men's tempers need
sweetening, they ALWAYS punish slight infractions severely.

And in ordinary circumstances this method undoubtedly results in
a very efficient safari. Things are done smartly, on time, with a
snap. The day's march begins without delay; there is a minimum of
straggling; on arrival the tents are immediately got up and the
wood and water fetched. But in a tight place, men so handled by
invariable rule are very apt to sit down apathetically, and put
the whole thing up to the white man. When it comes time to help
out they are not there. The contrast with a well-disposed safari
cannot be appreciated by one who has not seen both.

The safari-man loves a master. He does not for a moment
understand any well-meant but misplaced efforts on your part to
lighten his work below the requirements of custom. Always he will
beg you to ease up on him, to accord him favour; and always he
will despise you if you yield. The relations of man to man, of
man to work, are all long since established by immemorial
distauri-custom-and it is not for you or him to change them
lightly. If you know what he should or can do, and hold him
rigidly to it, he will respect and follow you.

But in order to keep him up to the mark, it is not always
advisable to light into him with a whip, necessary as the whip
often is. If he is sullen, or inclined to make mischief, then
that is the crying requirement. But if he is merely careless, or
a little slow, or tired, you can handle him in other ways.
Ridicule before his comrades is very effective: a sort of
good-natured guying, I mean. "Ah! very tired!" uttered in the
right tone of voice has brought many a loiterer to his feet as
effectively as the kick some men feel must always be bestowed,
and quite without anger, mind you! For days at a time we have
kept our men travelling at good speed by commenting, as though by
the way, after we had arrived in camp, on which tribe happened to
come in at the head.

"Ah! Kavirondos came in first to-night," we would remark. "Last
night the Monumwezis were ahead."

And once, actually, by this method we succeeded in working up
such a feeling of rivalry that the Kikuyus, the unambitious, weak
and despised Kikuyus, led the van!

But the first hint of insubordination, of intended insolence, of
willful shirking must be met by instant authority. Occasionally,
when the situation is of the quick and sharp variety, the white
man may have to mix in the row himself. He must never hesitate an
instant; for the only reason he alone can control so many is that
he has always controlled them. F. had a very effective blow, or
shove, which I found well worth adopting. It is delivered with
the heel of the palm to the man's chin, and is more of a lifting,
heaving shove than an actual blow. Its effect is immediately
upsetting. Impertinence is best dealt with in this manner on the
spot. Evidently intended slowness in coming when called is also
best treated by a flick of the whip-and forgetfulness. And so
with a half dozen others. But any more serious matter should be
decided from the throne of the canvas chair, witness should be
heard, judgment formally pronounced, and execution intrusted to
the askaris or gunbearers.

It is, as I have said, a most interesting game. It demands three
sorts of knowledge: first what a safari man is capable of doing;
second, what he customarily should or should not do; third, an
ability to read the actual intention or motive back of his
actions. When you are able to punish or hold your hand on these
principles, and not merely because things have or have not gone
smoothly or right, then you are a good safari manager. There are
mighty few of them.

As for punishment, that is quite simply the whip. The average
writer on the country speaks of this with hushed voice and
averted face as a necessity but as something to be deprecated and
passed over as quickly as possible. He does this because he
thinks he ought to. As a matter of fact, such an attitude is all
poppycock. In the flogging of a white man, or a black who suffers
from such a punishment in his soul as well as his body, this is
all very well. But the safari man expects it, it doesn't hurt his
feelings in the least, it is ancient custom. As well
sentimentalize over necessary schoolboy punishment, or over
father paddy-whacking little Willie when little Willie has been a
bad boy. The chances are your porter will leap to his feet, crack
his heels together and depart with a whoop of joy, grinning from
ear to ear. Or he may draw himself up and salute you, military
fashion, again with a grin. In any case his "soul" is not
"scared" a little bit, and there is no sense in yourself feeling
about it as though it were.

At another slant the justice you will dispense to your men
differs from our own. Again this is because of the teaching long
tradition has made part of their mental make-up. Our own belief
is that it is better to let two guilty men go than to punish one
innocent. With natives it is the other way about. If a crime is
committed the guilty MUST be punished. Preferably he alone is to
be dealt with; but in case it is impossible to identify him, then
all the members of the first inclusive unit must be brought to
account. This is the native way of doing things; is the only way
the native understands; and is the only way that in his mind true
justice is answered. Thus if a sheep is stolen, the thief must be
caught and punished. Suppose, however it is known to what family
the thief belongs, but the family refuses to disclose which of
its members committed the theft: then each member must be
punished for sheep stealing; or, if not the family, then the
tribe must make restitution. But punishment MUST be inflicted.

There is an essential justice to recommend this, outside the fact
that it has with the native all the solidity of accepted ethics,
and it certainly helps to run the real criminal to earth. The
innocent sometimes suffers innocently, but not very often; and
our own records show that in that respect with us it is the same.
This is not the place to argue the right or wrong of the matter
from our own standpoint but to recognize the fact that it is right
from theirs, and to act accordingly. Thus in cast of theft of
meat, or something that cannot be traced, it is well to call up
the witnesses, to prove the alibis, and then to place the issue
squarely up to those that remain. There may be but two, or there
may be a dozen.

"I know you did not all steal the meat," you must say, "but I know
that one of you did. Unless I know which one that is by to-morrow
morning, I will kiboko all of you. Bass!"

Perhaps occasionally you may have to kiboko the lot, in the full
knowledge that most are innocent. That seems hard; and your heart
will misgive you. Harden it. The "innocent" probably know
perfectly well who the guilty man is. And the incident builds for
the future.

I had intended nowhere to comment on the politics or policies of
the country. Nothing is more silly than the casual visitor's snap
judgments on how a country is run. Nevertheless, I may perhaps be
pardoned for suggesting that the Government would strengthen its
hand, and aid its few straggling settlers by adopting this native
view of retributions. For instance, at present it is absolutely
impossible to identify individual sheep and cattle stealers. They
operate stealthily and at night. If the Government cannot
identify the actual thief, it gives the matter up. As a
consequence a great hardship is inflicted on the settler and an
evil increases. If, however, the Government would hold the
village, the district, or the tribe responsible, and exact just
compensation from such units in every case, the evil would very
suddenly come to an end. And the native's respect for the white
man would climb in the scale.

Once the safari man gets confidence in his master, that
confidence is complete. The white man's duties are in his mind
clearly defined. His job is to see that the black man is fed, is
watered, is taken care of in every way. The ordinary porter
considers himself quite devoid of responsibility. He is also an
improvident creature, for he drinks all his water when he gets
thirsty, no matter how long and hot the journey before him; he
eats his rations all up when he happens to get hungry, two days
before next distribution time; he straggles outrageously at times
and has to be rounded up; he works three months and, on a whim,
deserts two days before the end of his journey, thus forfeiting
all his wages. Once two porters came to us for money.

"What for?" asked C.

"To buy a sheep," said they.

For two months we had been shooting them all the game meat they
could eat, but on this occasion two days had intervened since the
last kill. If they had been on trading safari they would have had
no meat at all. A sheep cost six rupees in that country, and they
were getting but ten rupees a month as wages. In view of the
circumstances, and for their own good, we refused. Another man
once insisted on purchasing a cake of violet-scented soap for a
rupee. Their chief idea of a wild time in Nairobi, after return
from a long safari, is to SIT IN A CHAIR and drink tea. For this
they pay exorbitantly at the Somali so-called "hotels." It is a
strange sight. But then, I have seen cowboys off the range or
lumberjacks from the river do equally extravagant and foolish
things.

On the other hand they carry their loads well, they march
tremendously, they know their camp duties and they do them. Under
adverse circumstances they are good-natured. I remember C. and I,
being belated and lost in a driving rain. We wandered until
nearly midnight. The four or five men with us were loaded heavily
with the meat and trophy of a roan. Certainly they must have been
very tired; for only occasionally could we permit them to lay
down their loads. Most of the time we were actually groping, over
boulders, volcanic rocks, fallen trees and all sorts of
tribulation. The men took it as a huge joke, and at every pause
laughed consumedly.

In making up a safari one tries to mix in four or five tribes.
This prevents concerted action in case of trouble, for no one
tribe will help another. They vary both in tribal and individual
characteristics, of course. For example, the Kikuyus are docile
but mediocre porters; the Kavirondos strong carriers but
turbulent and difficult to handle. You are very lucky if you
happen on a camp jester, one of the sort that sings, shouts, or
jokes while on the march. He is probably not much as a porter,
but he is worth his wages nevertheless. He may or may not aspire
to his giddy eminence. We had one droll-faced little Kavirondo
whose very expression made one laugh, and whose rueful remarks on
the harshness of his lot finally ended by being funny. His name
got to be a catchword in camp.

"Mualo! Mualo!" the men would cry, as they heaved their burdens
to their heads; and all day long their war cry would ring out,
"Mualo!" followed by shrieks of laughter.

Of the other type was Sulimani, a big, one-eyed Monumwezi, who
had a really keen wit coupled with an earnest, solemn manner.
This man was no buffoon, however; and he was a good porter,
always at or near the head of the procession. In the great jungle
south of Kenia we came upon Cuninghame. When the head of our
safari reached the spot Sulimani left the ranks and, his load
still aloft danced solemnly in front of Cuninghame, chanting
something in a loud tone of voice. Then with a final deep
"Jambo!" to his old master he rejoined the safari. When the day
had stretched to weariness and the men had fallen to a sullen
plodding, Sulimani's vigorous song could always set the safari
sticks tapping the sides of the chop boxes.

He carried part of the tent, and the next best men were entrusted
with the cook outfit and our personal effects. It was a point of
honour with these men to be the first in camp. The rear, the very
extreme and straggling rear, was brought up by worthless porters
with loads of cornmeal-and the weary askaris whose duty it was
to keep astern and herd the lot in.

XIV. A DAY ON THE ISIOLA

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!"

XV. THE LION DANCE

We took our hot baths and sat down to supper most gratefully, for
we were tired. The long string of men, bearing each a log of
wood, filed in from the darkness to add to our pile of fuel.
Saa-sita and Shamba knelt and built the night fire. In a moment
the little flame licked up through the carefully arranged
structure. We finished the meal, and the boys whisked away the
table.

Then out in the blackness beyond our little globe of light we
became aware of a dull confusion, a rustling to and fro. Through
the shadows the eye could guess at movement. The confusion
steadied to a kind of rhythm, and into the circle of the fire
came the group of Monumwezis. Again they were gathered together
in a compact little mass; but now they were bent nearly double,
and were stripped to the red blankets about their waists. Before
them writhed Sulimani, close to earth, darting irregularly now to
right, now to left, wriggling, spreading his arms abroad. He was
repeating over and over two phrases; or rather the same phrase
in two such different intonations that they seemed to convey
quite separate meanings.

"Ka soompeele?" he cried with a strongly appealing interrogation.

"Ka soompeele!" he repeated with the downward inflection of
decided affirmation.

And the bent men, their dark bodies gleaming in the firelight,
stamping in rhythm every third step, chorused in a deep rumbling
bass:

"Goom zoop! goom zoop!"

Thus they advanced; circled between us and the fire, and withdrew
to the half darkness, where tirelessly they continued the same
reiterations.

Hardly had they withdrawn when another group danced forward in
their places. These were the Kikuyus. They had discarded
completely their safari clothes, and now came forth dressed out
in skins, in strips of white cloth, with feathers, shells and
various ornaments. They carried white wands to represent spears,
and they sang their tribal lion song. A soloist delivered the
main argument in a high wavering minor and was followed by a deep
rumbling emphatic chorus of repetition, strongly accented so that
the sheer rhythm of it was most pronounced:

"An-gee a Ka ga An-gee a Ka ga An-gee a Ka ga Ki ya Ka ga Ka
ga an gee ya!"

Solemnly and loftily, their eyes fixed straight before them they
made the circle of the fire, passed before our chairs, and
withdrew to the half light. There, a few paces from the stamping,
crouching Monumwezis, they continued their performance.

The next to appear were the Wakambas. These were more
histrionic. They too were unrecognizable as our porters, for they
too had for the lion discarded their work-a-day garments in
favour of savage. They produced a pantomime of the day's doings,
very realistic indeed, ending with a half dozen of dark swaying
bodies swinging and shuddering in the long grass as lions, while
the "horses" wove in and out among the crouching forms, all done
to the beat of rhythm. Past us swept the hunt, and in its turn
melted into the half light.

The Kavirondos next appeared, the most fantastically caparisoned
of the lot, fine big black men, their eyes rolling with
excitement. They had captured our flag from its place before the
big tent, and were rallied close about this, dancing
fantastically. Before us they leaped and stamped and shook their
spears and shouted out their full-voiced song, while the other
three tribes danced each its specialty dimly in the background.

The dance thus begun lasted for fully two hours. Each tribe took a
turn before us, only to give way to the next. We had leisure to
notice minutiae, such as the ingenious tail one of the "lions"
had constructed from a sweater. As time went on, the men worked
themselves to a frenzy. From the serried ranks every once in a
while one would break forth with a shriek to rush headlong into
the fire, to beat the earth about him with his club, to rush over
to shake one of us violently by the hand, or even to seize one of
our feet between his two palms. Then with equal abruptness back
he darted to regain his place among the dancers. Wilder and
wilder became the movements, higher rose the voices. The mock
lion hunt grew more realistic, and the slaughter on both sides
something tremendous. Lower and lower crouched the Monumwezi,
drawing apart with their deep "goom"; drawing suddenly to a
common centre with the sharp "zoop!" Only the Kikuyus held their
lofty bearing as they rolled forth their chant, but the mounting
excitement showed in their tense muscles and the rolling of their
eyes. The sweat glistened on naked black and bronze bodies. Among
the Monumwezi to my astonishment I saw Memba Sasa, stripped like
the rest, and dancing with all abandon. The firelight leaped high
among the logs that eager hands cast on it; and the shadows it
threw from the swirling, leaping figures wavered out into a
great, calm darkness.

The night guard understood a little of the native languages, so
he stood behind our chairs and told us in Swahili the meaning of
some of the repeated phrases.

"This has been a glorious day; few safaris have had so glorious a
day."

"The masters looked upon the fierce lions and did not run away."

"Brave men without other weapons will nevertheless kill with a
knife."

"The masters' mothers must be brave women, the masters are so
brave."

"The white woman went hunting, and so were many lions killed."

The last one pleased Billy. She felt that at last she was
appreciated.

We sat there spellbound by the weird savagery of the
spectacle-the great licking fire, the dancing, barbaric figures,
the rise and fall of the rhythm, the dust and shuffle, the ebb
and flow of the dance, the dim, half-guessed groups swaying in
the darkness-and overhead the calm tropic night.

At last, fairly exhausted, they stopped. Some one gave a signal.
The men all gathered in one group, uttered a final yell, very
like a cheer, and dispersed.

We called up the heroes of the day-Fundi and his companion-and
made a little speech, and bestowed appropriate reward. Then we
turned in.

XVI. FUNDI

Fundi, as I have suggested, was built very much on the lines of
the marabout stork. He was about twenty years old, carried
himself very erect, and looked one straight in the eye. His total
assets when he came to us were a pair of raggedy white breeches,
very baggy, and an old mesh undershirt, ditto ditto. To this we
added a jersey, a red blanket, and a water bottle. At the first
opportunity he constructed himself a pair of rawhide sandals.

Throughout the first part of the trip he had applied himself to
business and carried his load. He never made trouble. Then he and
his companion saw five lions; and the chance Fundi had evidently
long been awaiting came to his hand. He ran himself almost into
coma, exhibited himself game, and so fell under our especial and
distinguished notice. After participating whole-heartedly in the
lion dance he and his companion were singled out for Our
Distinguished Favour, to the extent of five rupees per. Thus far
Fundi's history reads just like the history of any ordinary
Captain of Industry.

Next morning, after the interesting ceremony of rewarding the
worthy, we moved on to a new camp. When the line-up was called
for, lo! there stood Fundi, without a load, but holding firmly my
double-barrelled rifle. Evidently he had seized the chance of
favour-and the rifle-and intended to be no longer a porter but
a second gunbearer.

This looked interesting, so we said nothing. Fundi marched the
day through very proudly. At evening he deposited the rifle in
the proper place, and set to work with a will at raising the big
tent.

The day following he tried it again. It worked. The third day he
marched deliberately up past the syce to take his place near me.
And the fourth day, as we were going hunting, Fundi calmly fell
in with the rest. Nothing had been said, but Fundi had definitely
grasped his chance to rise from the ranks. In this he differed
from his companion in glory. That worthy citizen pocketed his five
rupees and was never heard from again; I do not even remember his
name nor how he looked.

I killed a buck of some sort, and Memba Sasa, as usual, stepped
forward to attend to the trophy. But I stopped him.

"Fundi," said I, "if you are a gunbearer, prepare this beast."

He stepped up confidently and set to work. I watched him closely.
He did it very well, without awkwardness, though he made one or
two minor mistakes in method.

"Have you done this before?" I inquired.

"No, bwana."

"How did you learn to do it?"

"I have watched the gunbearers when I was a porter bringing in
meat."*

*Except in the greatest emergencies a gunbearer would never
think of carrying any sort of a burden.

This was pleasing, but it would never do, at this stage of the
game, to let him think so, neither on his own account nor that of
the real gunbearers.

"You will bring in meat today also," said I, for I was indeed a
little shorthanded, "and you will learn how to make the top
incision straighter."

When we had reached camp I handed him the Springfield.

"Clean this," I told him.

He departed with it, returning it after a time for my inspection.
It looked all right. I catechized him on the method he had
employed-for high velocities require very especial
treatment-and found him letter perfect.

"You learned this also by watching?"

"Yes, bwana, I watched the gunbearers by the fire, evenings."

Evidently Fundi had been preparing for his chance.

Next day, as he walked alongside, I noticed that he had not
removed the leather cap, or sight protector, that covers the end
of the rifle and is fastened on by a leather thong. Immediately I
called a halt.

"Fundi," said I, "do you know that the cover should be in your
pocket? Suppose a rhinoceros jumps up very near at hand: how can
you get time to unlace the thong and hand me the rifle?"

He thrust the rifle at me suddenly. In some magical fashion the
sight cover had disappeared!

"I have thought of this," said he, "and I have tied the thong,
so, in order that it come away with one pull; and I snatch it
off, so, with my left hand while I am giving you the gun with my
right hand. It seemed good to keep the cover on, for there are
many branches, and the sight is very easy to injure."

Of course this was good sense, and most ingenious; Fundi bade
fair to be quite a boy, but the native African is very easily
spoiled. Therefore, although my inclination was strongly to
praise him, I did nothing of the sort.

"A gunbearer carries the gun away from the branches," was my only
comment.

Shortly after occurred an incident by way of deeper test. We were
all riding rather idly along the easy slope below the foothills.
The grass was short, so we thought we could see easily everything
there was to be seen; but, as we passed some thirty yards from a
small tree, an unexpected and unnecessary rhinoceros rose from an
equally unexpected and unnecessary green hollow beneath the tree,
and charged us. He made straight for Billy. Her mule,
panic-stricken, froze with terror in spite of Billy's attack with
a parasol. I spurred my own animal between her and the charging
brute, with some vague idea of slipping off the other side as the
rhino struck. F. and B. leaped from their own animals, and F.,
with a little .28 calibre rifle, took a hasty shot at the big
brute. Now, of course a .28 calibre rifle would hardly injure a
rhino, but the bullet happened to catch his right shoulder just
as he was about to come down on his right foot. The shock tripped
him up as neatly as though he had been upset by a rope. At the
same instant Billy's mule came to its senses and bolted,
whereupon I too jumped off. The whole thing took about two finger
snaps of time. At the instant I hit the ground, Fundi passed the
double rifle across the horse's back to me.

Note two things to the credit of Fundi: in the first place, he
had not bolted; in the second place, instead of running up to the
left side of my mount and perhaps colliding with and certainly
confusing me, he had come up on the right side and passed the
rifle to me ACROSS the horse. I do not know whether or not he had
figured this out beforehand, but it was cleverly done.

The rhinoceros rolled over and over, like a shot rabbit, kicked
for a moment, and came to his feet. We were now all ready for
him, in battle array, but he had evidently had enough. He turned
at right angles and trotted off, apparently-and probably-none
the worse for the little bullet in his shoulder.

Fundi now began acquiring things that he supposed befitting to
his dignity. The first of these matters was a faded fez, in which
he stuck a long feather. From that he progressed in worldly
wealth. How he got it all, on what credit, or with what hypnotic
power, I do not know. Probably he hypothecated his wages,
certainly he had his five rupees.

At any rate he started out with a ragged undershirt and a pair of
white, baggy breeches. He entered Nairobi at the end of the trip
with a cap, a neat khaki shirt, two water bottles, a cartridge
belt, a sash with a tasseI, a pair of spiral puttees, an old pair
of shoes, and a personal private small boy, picked up en route
from some of the savage tribes, to carry his cooking pot, make
his fires, draw his water, and generally perform his lordly
behests. This was indeed "more-than-oriental-splendour!"

>From now on Fundi considered himself my second gunbearer. I had
no use for him, but Fundi's development interested me, and I
wanted to give him a chance. His main fault at first was
eagerness. He had to be rapped pretty sharply and a good number
of times before he discovered that he really must walk in the
rear. His habit of calling my attention to perfectly obvious
things I cured by liberal sarcasm. His intense desire to take his
own line as perhaps opposed to mine when we were casting about on
trail, I abated kindly but firmly with the toe of my boot. His
evident but mistaken tendency to consider himself on an equality
with Memba Sasa we both squelched by giving him the hard and
dirty work to do. But his faults were never those of voluntary
omission, and he came on surprisingly; in fact so surprisingly
that he began to get quite cocky over it. Not that he was ever in
the least aggressive or disrespectful or neglectful-it would
have been easy to deal with that sort of thing-but he carried
his head pretty high, and evidently began to have mental
reservations. Fundi needed a little wholesome discipline. He was
forgetting his porter days, and was rapidly coming to consider
himself a full-fledged gunbearer.

The occasion soon arose. We were returning from a buffalo hunt
and ran across two rhinoceroses, one of which carried a splendid
horn. B. wanted a well developed specimen very much, so we took
this chance. The approach was easy enough, and at seventy yards
or so B. knocked her flat with a bullet from his .465 Holland.
The beast was immediately afoot, but was as promptly smothered by
shots from us all. So far the affair was very simple, but now
came complication. The second rhinoceros refused to leave. We did
not want to kill it, so we spent a lot of time and pains shooing
it away. We showered rocks and clods of earth in his direction;
we yelled sharply and whistled shrilly. The brute faced here and
there, his pig eyes blinking, his snout upraised, trying to
locate us, and declining to budge. At length he gave us up as
hopeless, and trotted away slowly. We let him go, and when we
thought he had quite departed, we approached to examine B.'s
trophy.

Whereupon the other craftily returned; and charged us, snorting
like an engine blowing off steam. This was a genuine premeditated
charge, as opposed to a blind rush, and it is offered as a good
example of the sort.

The rhinoceros had come fairly close before we got into action.
He headed straight for F. and myself, with B. a little to one
side. Things happened very quickly. F. and I each planted a heavy
bullet in his head; while B. sent a lighter Winchester bullet
into the ribs. The rhino went down in a heap eleven yards away,
and one of us promptly shot him in the spine to finish him.

Personally I was entirely concentrated in the matter at hand-as
is always the way in crises requiring action-and got very few
impressions from anything outside. Nevertheless I imagined,
subconsciously that I had heard four shots. F. and B. disclaimed
more than one apiece, so I concluded myself mistaken, exchanged
my heavy rifle with Fundi for the lighter Winchester, and we
started for camp, leaving all the boys to attend to the dead
rhinos. At camp I threw down the lever of my Winchester-and drew
out an exploded shell!

Here was a double crime on Fundi's part. In the first place, he
had fired the gun, a thing no bearer is supposed ever to do in
any circumstances short of the disarmament and actual mauling of
his master. Naturally this is so, for the white man must be able
in an emergency to depend ABSOLUTELY on his second gun being
loaded and ready for his need. In the second place, Fundi had
given me an empty rifle to carry home. Such a weapon is worse
than none in case of trouble; at least I could have gone up a
tree in the latter case. I would have looked sweet snapping that
old cartridge at anything dangerous!

Therefore after supper we stationed ourselves in a row before the
fire, seated in our canvas chairs, and with due formality sent
word that we wanted all the gunbearers. They came and stood
before us. Memba Sasa erect, military, compact, looking us
straight in the eye; Mavrouki slightly bent forward, his face
alive with the little crafty, calculating smile peculiar to him;
Simba, tall and suave, standing with much social ease; and Fundi,
a trifle frightened, but uncertain as to whether or not he had
been found out.

We stated the matter in a few words.

"Gunbearers, this man Fundi, when the rhinoceros charged, fired
Winchi. Was this the work of a gunbearer?"

The three seasoned men looked at each other with shocked
astonishment that such depravity could exist.

"And being frightened, he gave back Winchi with the exploded
cartridge in her. Was that the work of a gunbearer?"

"No, bwana," said Fundi humbly.

"You, the gunbearers, have been called because we wish to know
what should be done with this man Fundi."

It should be here explained that it is not customary to kiboko,
or flog, men of the gunbearer class. They respect themselves and
their calling, and would never stand that sort of punishment.
When one blunders, a sarcastic scolding is generally sufficient;
a more serious fault may be punished on the spot by the white
man's fist; or a really bad dereliction may cause the man's
instant degradation from the post. With this in mind we had
called the council of gunbearers. Memba Sasa spoke.

"Bwana," said he, "this man is not a true gunbearer. He is no
longer a true porter. He carries a gun in the field, like a
gunbearer; and he knows much of the duty of gunbearer. Also he
does not run away nor climb trees. But he carries in the meat;
and he is not a real gunbearer. He is half porter and half
gunbearer."

"What punishment shall he have?"

"Kiboko," said they.

"Thank you. Bass!"

They went, leaving Fundi. We surveyed him, quietly.

"You a gunbearer!" said we at last. "Memba Sasa says you are half
gunbearer. He was wrong. You are all porter; and you know no more
than they do. It is in our mind to put you back to carrying a
load. If you do not wish to taste the kiboko, you can take a load
to-morrow."

"The kiboko, bwana," pleaded Fundi, very abashed and humble.

"Furthermore," we added crushingly, "you did not even hit the
rhinoceros!"

So with all ceremony he got the kiboko. The incident did him a
lot of good, and toned down his exuberance somewhat. Nevertheless
he still required a good deal of training, just as does a
promising bird dog in its first season. Generally his faults were
of over-eagerness. Indeed, once he got me thoroughly angry in
face of another rhinoceros by dancing just out of reach with the
heavy rifle, instead of sticking close to me where I could get at
him. I temporarily forgot the rhino, and advanced on Fundi with
the full intention of knocking his fool head off. Whereupon this
six feet something of most superb and insolent pride wilted down
to a small boy with his elbow before his face.

"Don't hit, bwana! Don't hit!" he begged.

The whole thing was so comical, especially with Memba Sasa
standing by virtuous and scornful, that I had hard work to keep
from laughing. Fortunately the rhinoceros behaved himself.

The proud moment of Fundi's life was when safari entered Nairobi
at the end of the first expedition. He had gone forth with a load
on his head, rags on his back, and his only glory was the
self-assumed one of the name he had taken-Fundi, the Expert. He
returned carrying a rifle, rigged from top to toe in new garments
and fancy accoutrements, followed by a toro, or small boy, he had
bought from some of the savage tribes to carry his blanket and
cooking pot for him. To the friends who darted out to the line of
march, he was gracious, but he held his head high, and had no
time for mere persiflage.

I did not take Fundi on my second expedition, for I had no real
use for a second gunbearer. Several times subsequently I saw him
on the streets of Nairobi. Always he came up to greet me, and ask
solicitously if I would not give him a job. This I was unable to
do. When we paid off, I had made an addition to his porter's
wages, and had written him a chit. This said that the boy had the
makings of a gunbearer with further training. It would have been
unfair to possible white employers to have said more. Fundi was,
when I left the country, precisely in the position of any young
man who tries to rise in the world. He would not again take a
load as porter, and he was not yet skilled enough or known enough
to pick up more than stray jobs as gunbearer. Before him was
struggle and hard times, with a certainty of a highly considered
profession if he won through. Behind him was steady work without
outlets for ambition. It was distinctly up to him to prove
whether he had done well to reach for ambition, or whether he
would have done better in contentment with his old lot. And that
is in essence a good deal like our own world isn't it?

XVII. NATIVES

Up to this time, save for a few Masai at the very beginning of
our trip, we had seen no natives at all. Only lately, the night
of the lion dance, one of the Wanderobo-the forest hunters-had
drifted in to tell us of buffalo and to get some meat. He was a
simple soul, small and capable, of a beautiful red-brown, with
his hair done up in a tight, short queue. He wore three skewers
about six inches long thrust through each of his ears, three
strings of blue beads on his neck, a bracelet tight around his
upper arm, a bangle around his ankle, a pair of rawhide sandals,
and about a half yard of cotton cloth which he hung from one
shoulder. As weapons he carried a round-headed, heavy club, or
runga, and a long-bladed spear. He led us to buffalo, accepted a
thirty-three cent blanket, and made fire with two sticks in about
thirty seconds. The only other evidences of human life we had
come across were a few beehives suspended in the trees. These
were logs, bored hollow and stopped at either end. Some of them
were very quaintly carved. They hung in the trees like strange
fruits.

Now, however, after leaving the Isiola, we were to quit the game
country and for days travel among the swarming millions of the
jungle.

A few preliminary and entirely random observations may be
permitted me by way of clearing the ground for a conception of
these people. These observations do not pretend to be
ethnological, nor even common logical.

The first thing for an American to realize is that our own negro
population came mainly from the West Coast, and differed utterly
from these peoples of the highlands in the East. Therefore one
must first of all get rid of the mental image of our own negro
"dressed up" in savage garb. Many of these tribes are not negro
at all-the Somalis, the Nandi, and the Masai, for example-while
others belong to the negroid and Nilotic races. Their colour is
general cast more on the red-bronze than the black, though the
Kavirondos and some others are black enough. The texture of their
skin is very satiny and wonderful. This perfection is probably
due to the constant anointing of the body with oils of various
sorts. As a usual thing they are a fine lot physically. The
southern Masai will average between six and seven feet in height,
and are almost invariably well built. Of most tribes the physical
development is remarkably strong and graceful; and a great many
of the women will display a rounded, firm, high-breasted physique
in marked contrast to the blacks of the lowlands. Of the
different tribes possibly the Kikuyus are apt to count the most
weakly and spindly examples: though some of these people, perhaps
a majority, are well made.

Furthermore, the native differentiates himself still further in
impression from our negro in his carriage and the mental attitude
that lies behind it. Our people are trying to pattern themselves
on white men, and succeed in giving a more or less shambling
imitation thereof. The native has standards, ideas, and ideals
that perfectly satisfy him, and that antedated the white man's
coming by thousands of years. The consciousness of this reflects
itself in his outward bearing. He does not shuffle; he is not
either obsequious or impudent. Even when he acknowledges the
white man's divinity and pays it appropriate respect, he does not
lose the poise of his own well-worked-out attitude toward life
and toward himself.

We are fond of calling these people primitive. In the world's
standard of measurement they are primitive, very primitive
indeed. But ordinarily by that term, we mean also undeveloped,
embryonic. In that sense we are wrong. Instead of being at the
very dawn of human development, these people are at the end-as
far as they themselves are concerned. The original racial impulse
that started them down the years toward development has fulfilled
its duty and spent its force. They have worked out all their
problems, established all their customs, arranged the world and
its phenomena in a philosophy to their complete satisfaction.
They have lived, ethnologists tell us, for thousands, perhaps
hundreds of thousands of years, just as we find them to-day. From
our standpoint that is in a hopeless intellectual darkness, for
they know absolutely nothing of the most elementary subjects of
knowledge. From their standpoint, however, they have reached the
highest DESIRABLE pinnacle of human development. Nothing remains
to be changed. Their customs, religions, and duties have been
worked out and immutably established long ago; and nobody dreams
of questioning either their wisdom or their imperative necessity.
They are the conservatives of the world.

Nor must we conclude-looking at them with the eyes of our own
civilization-that the savage is, from his standpoint, lazy and
idle. His life is laid out more rigidly than ours will be for a
great many thousands of years. From childhood to old age he
performs his every act in accord with prohibitions and
requirements. He must remember them all; for ignorance does not
divert consequences. He must observe them all; in pain of
terrible punishments. For example, never may he cultivate on the
site of a grave; and the plants that spring up from it must never
be cut.* He must make certain complicated offerings before
venturing to harvest a crop. On crossing the first stream of a
journey he must touch his lips with the end of his wetted bow,
wade across, drop a stone on the far side, and then drink. If he
cuts his nails, he must throw the parings into a thicket. If he
drink from a stream, and also cross it, he must eject a mouthful
of water back into the stream. He must be particularly careful
not to look his mother-in-law in the face. Hundreds of omens by
the manner of their happening may modify actions, as, on what
side of the road a woodpecker calls, or in which direction a hyena
or jackal crosses the path, how the ground hornbill flies or
alights, and the like. He must notice these things, and change
his plans according to their occurrence. If he does not notice
them, they exercise their influence just the same. This does not
encourage a distrait mental attitude. Also it goes far to explain
otherwise unexplainable visitations. Truly, as Hobley says in his
unexcelled work on the A-Kamba, "the life of a savage native is a
complex matter, and he is hedged round by all sorts of rules and
prohibitions, the infringement of which will probably cause his
death, if only by the intense belief he has in the rules which
guide his life."

*Customs are not universal among the different tribes. I am
merely illustrating.

For these rules and customs he never attempts to give a reason.
They are; and that is all there is to it. A mere statement: "This
is the custom" settles the matter finally. There is no necessity,
nor passing thought even, of finding any logical cause. The
matter was worked out in the mental evolution of remote
ancestors. At that time, perhaps, insurgent and Standpatter,
Conservative and Radical fought out the questions of the day, and
the Muckrakers swung by their tails and chattered about it.
Those days are all long since over. The questions of the world
are settled forever. The people have passed through the struggles
of their formative period to the ultimate highest perfection of
adjustment to material and spiritual environment of which they
were capable under the influence of their original racial force.

Parenthetically, it is now a question whether or not an added
impulse can be communicated from without. Such an impulse must
(a) unsettle all the old beliefs, (b) inspire an era of
skepticism, (c) reintroduce the old struggle of ideas between the
Insurgent and the Standpatter, and Radical and the Conservative,
(d) in the meantime furnish, from the older civilization,
materials, both in the thought-world and in the object-world, for
building slowly a new set of customs more closely approximating
those we are building for ourselves. This is a longer and slower
and more complicated affair than teaching the native to wear
clothes and sing hymns; or to build houses and drink gin; but it
is what must be accomplished step by step before the African
peoples are really civilized. I, personally, do not think it can
be done.

Now having, a hundred thousand years or so ago, worked out the
highest good of the human race, according to them, what must they
say to themselves and what must their attitude be when the white
man has come and has unrolled his carpet of wonderful tricks? The
dilemma is evident. Either we, as black men, must admit that our
hundred-thousand-year-old ideas as to what constitutes the
highest type of human relation to environment is all wrong, or
else we must evolve a new attitude toward this new phenomena. It
is human nature to do the latter. Therefore the native has not
abandoned his old gods; nor has he adopted a new. He still
believes firmly that his way is the best way of doing things, but
he acknowledges the Superman.

To the Superman, with all races, anything is possible. Only our
Superman is an idea, and ideal. The native has his Superman
before him in the actual flesh.

We will suppose that our own Superman has appeared among us,
accomplishing things that apparantly contravene all our
established tenets of skill, of intellect, of possibility. It
will be readily acknowledged that such an individual would at
first create some astonishment. He wanders into a crowded hotel
lobby, let us say, evidently with the desire of going to the bar.
Instead of pushing laboriously through the crowd, he floats just
above their heads, gets his drink, and floats out again! That is
levitation, and is probably just as simple to him as striking a
match is to you and me. After we get thoroughly accustomed to him
and his life, we are no longer vastly astonished, though always
interested, at the various manifestations of his extraordinary
powers. We go right along using the marvellous wireless,
aeroplanes, motor cars, constructive machinery, and the like that
make us confident-justly, of course-in that we are about the
smartest lot of people on earth. And if we see red, white, and
blue streamers of light crossing the zenith at noon, we do not
manifest any very profound amazement. "There's that confounded
Superman again," we mutter, if we happen to be busy. "I wonder
what stunt he's going to do now!"

A consideration of the above beautiful fable may go a little way
toward explaining the supposed native stolidity in the face of
the white man's wonders. A few years ago some misguided person
brought a balloon to Nairobi. The balloon interested the white
people a lot, but everybody was chiefly occupied wondering what
the natives would do when they saw THAT! The natives did not do
anything. They gathered in large numbers, and most interestedly
watched it go up, and then went home again. But they were not
stricken with wonder to any great extent. So also with
locomotives, motor cars, telephones, phonographs-any of our
modern ingenuities. The native is pleased and entertained, but
not astonished. "Stupid creature, no imagination," say we,
because our pride in showing off is a wee bit hurt.

Why should he be astonished? His mental revolution took place
when he saw the first match struck. It is manifestly impossible
for any one to make fire instantaneously by rubbing one small
stick. When for the first time he saw it done, he was indeed
vastly astounded. The immutable had been changed. The law had
been transcended. The impossible had been accomplished. And then,
as logical sequence, his mind completed the syllogism. If the
white man can do this impossibility, why not all the rest? To
defy the laws of nature by flying in the air or forcing great
masses of iron to transport one, is no more wonderful than to
defy them by striking a light. Since the white man can provedly
do one, what earthly reason exists why he should not do anything
else that hits his fancy? There is nothing to get astonished at.

This does not necessarily mean that the native looks on the white
man as a god. On the contrary, your African is very shrewd in the
reading of character. But indubitably white men possess great
magic, uncertain in its extent.

That is as far as I should care to go, without much deeper
acquaintance, into the attitude of the native mind toward the
whites. A superficial study of it, beyond the general principals
I have enunciated, discloses many strange contradictions. The
native respects the white man's warlike skill, he respects his
physical prowess, he certainly acknowledges tacitly his moral
superiority in the right to command. In case of dispute he likes
the white man's adjudication; in case of illness the man's
medicine; in case of trouble the white man's sustaining hand. Yet
he almost never attempts to copy the white man's appearance or
ways of doing things. His own savage customs and habits he
fulfils with as much pride as ever in their eternal fitness. Once
I was badgering Memba Sasa, asking him whether he thought the
white skin or the black skin the more ornamental. "You are not
white," he retorted at last. "That," pointing to a leaf of my
notebook, "is white. You are red. I do not like the looks of red
people."

They call our speech the "snake language," because of its hissing
sound. Once this is brought to your attention, indeed, you cannot
help noticing the superabundance of the sibilants.

A queer melange the pigeonholes of an African's brain must
contain-fear and respect, strongly mingled with clear estimate
of intrinsic character of individuals and a satisfaction with his
own standards.

Nor, I think, do we realize sufficiently the actual fundamental
differences between the African and our peoples. Physically they
must be in many ways as different from our selves as though they
actually belonged to a different species. The Masai are a fine
big race, enduring, well developed and efficient. They live
exclusively on cow's milk mixed with blood; no meat, no fruit, no
vegetables, no grain; just that and nothing more. Obviously they
must differ from us most radically, or else all our dietetic
theories are wrong. It is a well-known fact that any native
requires a triple dose of white man's medicine. Furthermore a
native's sensitiveness to pain is very much less than the white
man's. This is indubitable. For example, the Wakamba file-or,
rather, chip, by means of a small chisel-all their front teeth
down to needle points, When these happen to fall out, the warrior
substitutes an artificial tooth which he drives down into the
socket. If the savage got the same effects from such a
performance that a white man's dental system would arouse, even
"savage stoicism" would hardly do him much good. There is nothing
to be gained by multiplying examples. Every African traveller can
recall a thousand.

Incidentally, and by the way, I want to add to the milk-and-blood
joke on dietetics another on the physical culturists. We are all
familiar with the wails over the loss of our toe nails. You know
what I mean; they run somewhat like this: shoes are the curse of
civilization; if we wear them much longer we shall not only lose
the intended use of our feet, but we shall lose our toe nails as
well; the savage man, etc. , etc. , etc. Now I saw a great many of
said savage men in Africa, and I got much interested in their toe
nails, because I soon found that our own civilized "imprisoned"
toe nails were very much better developed. In fact, a large
number of the free and untramelled savages have hardly any toe
nails at all! Whether this upsets a theory, nullifies a
sentimental protest, or merely stands as an exception, I should
not dare guess. But the fact is indubitable.

XVIII. IN THE JUNGLE  (a) THE MARCH TO MERU

Now, one day we left the Isiola River and cut across on a long
upward slant to the left. In a very short time we had left the
plains, and were adrift in an ocean of brown grass that concealed
all but the bobbing loads atop the safari, and over which we
could only see when mounted. It was glorious feed, apparently,
but it contained very few animals for all that. An animal could
without doubt wax fat and sleek therein: but only to furnish
light and salutary meals to beasts of prey. Long grass makes easy
stalking. We saw a few ostriches, some giraffe, and three or four
singly adventurous oryx. The ripening grasses were softer than a
rippling field grain; and even more beautiful in their umber and
browns. Although apparently we travelled a level, nevertheless in
the extreme distance the plains of our hunting were dropping
below, and the far off mountains were slowly rising above the
horizon. On the other side were two very green hills, looking
nearly straight up and down, and through a cleft the splintered
snow-clad summit of Mt. Kenia.

At length this gentle foothill slope broke over into rougher
country. Then, in the pass, we came upon many parallel beaten
paths, wider and straighter than the game trails-native tracks.
That night we camped in a small, round valley under some glorious
trees, with green grass around us; a refreshing contrast after
the desert brown. In the distance ahead stood a big hill, and at
its base we could make out amid the tree-green, the straight slim
smoke of many fires and the threads of many roads.

We began our next morning's march early, and we dropped over the
hill into a wide, cultivated valley. Fields of grain, mostly
rape, were planted irregularly among big scattered trees. The
morning air, warming under the sun, was as yet still, and carried
sound well. The cooing, chattering and calling of thousands of
birds mingled with shouts and the clapping together of pieces of
wood. As we came closer we saw that every so often scaffolds had
been erected overlooking the grain, and on these scaffolds naked
boys danced and yelled and worked clappers to scare the birds
from the crops. They seemed to put a great deal of rigour into
the job; whether from natural enthusiasm or efficient direful
supervision I could not say. Certainly they must have worked in
watches, however; no human being could keep up that row
continuously for a single day, let alone the whole season of
ripening grain. As we passed they fell silent and stared their
fill.

On the banks of a boggy little stream that we had to flounder
across we came on a gentleman and lady travelling. They were a
tall, well formed pair, mahogany in colour, with the open,
pleasant expression of most of these jungle peoples. The man wore
a string around his waist into which was thrust a small leafy
branch; the woman had on a beautiful skirt made by halving a
banana leaf, using the stem as belt, and letting the leaf part
hang down as a skirt. Shortly after meeting these people we
turned sharp to the right on a well beaten road.

For nearly two weeks we were to follow this road, so it may be as
well to get an idea of it. Its course was a segment of about a
sixth of the circle of Kenia's foothills. With Kenia itself as a
centre, this road swung among the lower elevations about the base
of that great mountain. Its course was mainly down and up
hundreds of the canyons radiating from the main peak, and over the
ridges between them. No sooner were we down, than we had to climb
up; and no sooner were we up, than once more down we had to
plunge. At times, however, we crossed considerable plateaus. Most
of this country was dense jungle, so dense that we could not see
on either side more than fifteen or twenty feet. Occasionally,
atop the ridges, however, we would come upon small open parks. In
these jungles live millions of human beings.

At once, as soon as we had turned into the main road, we began to
meet people. In the grain fields of the valley we saw only the
elevated boys, and a few men engaged in weaving a little house
perched on stilts. We came across some of these little houses all
completed, with conical roofs. They were evidently used for
granaries. As we mounted the slope on the other side, however,
the trees closed in, and we found ourselves marching down the
narrow aisle of the jungle itself.

It was a dense and beautiful jungle, with very tall trees and the
deepest shade; and the impenetrable tangle to the edge of the
track. Among the trees were the broad leaves of bananas and
palms, the fling of leafy vines. Over the track these leaned, so
that we rode through splashing and mottling shade. Nothing could
have seemed wilder than this apparently impenetrable and yet we
had ridden but a short distance before we realized that we were
in fact passing through cultivated land. It was, again, only a
difference in terms. Native cultivation in this district rarely
consists of clearing land and planting crops in due order, but in
leaving the forest proper as it is, and in planting foodstuffs
haphazard wherever a tiny space can be made for even three hills
of corn or a single banana. Thus they add to rather than subtract
from the typical density of the jungle. At first, we found, it
took some practice to tell a farm when we saw it.

>From the track narrow little paths wound immediately out of
sight. Sometimes we saw a wisp of smoke rising above the
undergrowth and eddying in the tops of the trees. Long vine ropes
swung from point to point, hung at intervals with such matters as
feathers, bones, miniature shields, carved sticks, shells and
clappers: either as magic or to keep off the birds. From either
side the track we were conscious always of bright black eyes
watching us. Sometimes we caught a glimpse of their owners
crouched in the bush, concealed behind banana leaves, motionless
and straight against a tree trunk. When they saw themselves
observed they vanished without a sound.

The upper air was musical with birds, and bright with the flutter
of their wings. Rarely did we see them long enough to catch a
fair idea of their size and shape. They flashed from shade to
shade, leaving only an impression of brilliant colour. There were
some exceptions: as the widower-bird, dressed all in black, with
long trailing wing-plumes of which he seemed very proud; and the
various sorts of green pigeons and parrots. There were many
flowering shrubs and trees, and the air was laden with perfume.
Strange, too, it seemed to see tall trees with leaves three or
four feet long and half as many wide.

We were riding a mile or so ahead of the safari. At first we were
accompanied only by our gunbearers and syces. Before long,
however, we began to accumulate a following.

This consisted at first of a very wonderful young man, probably a
chief's son. He carried a long bright spear, wore a short sword
thrust through a girdle, had his hair done in three wrapped
queues, one over each temple and one behind, and was generally
brought to a high state of polish by means of red earth and oil.
About his knee he wore a little bell that jingled pleasingly at
every step. From one shoulder hung a goat-skin cloak embroidered
with steel beads. A small package neatly done up in leaves
probably contained his lunch. He teetered along with a mincing up
and down step, every movement, and the expression of his face
displaying a fatuous self-satisfaction. When we looked back again
this youth had magically become two. Then appeared two women and
a white goat. All except the goat were dressed for visiting, with
long chains of beads, bracelets and anklets, and heavy ornaments
in the distended ear lobes. The manner people sprang apparently
out of the ground was very disconcerting. It was a good deal like
those fairy-story moving pictures where a wave of the wand
produces beautiful ladies. By half an hour we had acquired a long
retinue-young warriors, old men, women and innumerable children.
After we had passed, the new recruits stepped quietly from the
shadow of the jungle and fell in. Every one with nothing much to
do evidently made up his mind he might as well go to Meru now as
any other time.

Also we met a great number of people going in the other
direction. Women were bearing loads of yams. Chiefs' sons minced
along, their spears poised in their left hands at just the proper
angle, their bangles jingling, their right hands carried raised
in a most affected manner. Their social ease was remarkable,
especially in contrast with the awkwardness of the lower
poverty-stricken or menial castes. The latter drew one side to
let us pass, and stared. Our chiefs' sons, on the other hand,
stepped springingly and beamingly forward; spat carefully in
their hands (we did the same); shook hands all down the line:
exchanged a long-drawn "moo-o-ga!" with each of us; and departed
at the same springing rapid gait. The ordinary warriors greeted
us, but did not offer to shake hands, thank goodness! There were
a great many of them. Across the valleys and through the open
spaces the sun, as it struck down the trail, was always flashing
back from distant spears. Twice we met flocks of sheep being
moved from one point to another. Three or four herdsmen and
innumerable small boys seemed to be in charge. Occasionally we
met a real chief or headman of a village, distinguished by the
fact that he or a servant carried a small wooden stool. With
these dignitaries we always stopped to exchange friendly words.

These comprised the travelling public. The resident public also
showed itself quite in evidence. Once our retainers had become
sufficiently numerous to inspire confidence, the jungle people no
longer hid. On the contrary, they came out to the very edge of
the track to exchange greetings. They were very good-natured,
exceedingly well-formed, and quite jocular with our boys.
Especially did our suave and elegant Simba sparkle. This resident
public, called from its daily labours and duties, did not always
show as gaudy a make-up as did the dressed-up travelling public.
Banana leaves were popular wear, and seemed to us at once pretty
and fresh. To be sure some had rather withered away; but even
wool will shrink. We saw some grass skirts, like the
Sunday-school pictures.

At noon we stopped under a tree by a little stream for lunch.
Before long a dozen women were lined up in front of us staring at
Billy with all their might. She nodded and smiled at them.
Thereupon they sent one of their number away. The messenger
returned after a few moments carrying a bunch of the small eating
bananas which she laid at our feet. Billy fished some beads out
of her saddle bags, and presented them. Friendly relations having
been thus fully established, two or three of the women scurried
hastily away, to return a few moments later each with her small
child. To these infants they carefully and earnestly pointed out
Billy and her wonders, talking in a tongue unknown to us. The
admonition undoubtedly ran something like this:

"Now, my child, look well at this: for when you get to be a very
old person you will be able to look back at the day when with
your own eyes you beheld a white woman. See all the strange
things she wears-and HASN'T she a funny face?"

We offered these bung-eyed and totally naked youngsters various
bribes in the way of beads, the tinfoil from chocolate, and even
a small piece of the chocolate itself. Most of them howled and
hid their faces against their mothers. The mothers looked
scandalized, and hypocritically astounded, and mortified.

They made remarks, still in an unknown language, but which much
past experience enabled me to translate very readily:

"I don't know what has got into little Willie," was the drift of
it. "I have never known him to act this way before. Why, only
yesterday I was saying to his father that it really seemed as
though that child NEVER cried-"

It made me feel quite friendly and at home.

Now at last came two marvellous and magnificent personages before
whom the women and children drew back to a respectful distance.
These potentates squatted down and smiled at us engagingly.
Evidently this was a really important couple, so we called up
Simba, who knew the language, and had a talk.

They were old men, straight, and very tall, with the hawk-faced,
high-headed dignity of the true aristocrat. Their robes were
voluminous, of some short-haired skins, beautifully embroidered.
Around their arms were armlets of polished buffalo horn. They
wore most elaborate ear ornaments, and long cased marquise rings
extending well beyond the first joints of the fingers. Very fine
old gentlemen. They were quite unarmed.

After appropriate greetings, we learned that these were the chief
and his prime minister of a nearby village hidden in the jungle.
We exchanged polite phrases; then offered tobacco. This was
accepted. From the jungle came a youth carrying more bananas. We
indicated our pleasure. The old men arose with great dignity and
departed, sweeping the women and children before them.

We rode on. Our acquired retinue, which had waited at a
respectful distance, went on too. I suppose they must have
desired the prestige of being attached to Our Persons. In the
depths of the forest Billy succumbed to the temptation to
bargain, and made her first trade. Her prize was a long water
gourd strapped with leather and decorated with cowry shells. Our
boys were completely scandalized at the price she paid for it, so
I fear the wily savage got ahead of her.

About the middle of the afternoon we sat down to wait for the
safari to catch up. It would never do to cheat our boys out of
their anticipated grand entrance to the Government post at Meru.
We finally debouched from the forest to the great clearing at the
head of a most impressive procession, flags flying, oryx horns
blowing, boys chanting and beating the sides of their loads with
the safari sticks. As there happened to be gathered, at this
time, several thousand of warriors for the purpose of a council,
or shauri, with the District Commissioner we had just the
audience to delight our barbaric hearts.

(b) MERU

The Government post at Meru is situated in a clearing won from the
forest on the first gentle slopes of Kenia's ranges. The clearing
is a very large one, and on it the grass grows green and short,
like a lawn. It resembles, as much as anything else, the rolling,
beautiful downs of a first-class country club, and the illusion
is enhanced by the Commissioner's house among some trees atop a
hill. Well-kept roadways railed with rustic fences lead from the
house to the native quarters lying in the hollow and to the
Government offices atop another hill. Then also there are the
quarters of the Nubian troops; round low houses with conical
grass roofs.

These, and the presence everywhere of savages, rather take away
from the first country-club effect. A corral seemed full of a
seething mob of natives; we found later that this was the market,
a place of exchange. Groups wandered idly here and there across
the greensward; and other groups sat in circles under the shade
of trees, each man's spear stuck in the ground behind him. At
stated points were the Nubians, fine, tall, black, soldierly men,
with red fez, khaki shirt, and short breeches, bare knees and
feet, spiral puttees, and a broad red sash of webbing. One of
these soldiers assigned us a place to camp. We directed our
safari there, and then immediately rode over to pay our respects
to the Commissioner.

The latter, Horne by name, greeted us with the utmost cordiality,
and offered us cool drinks. Then we accompanied him to a grand
shauri or council of chiefs.

Horne was a little chap, dressed in flannels and a big slouch
hat, carrying only a light rawhide whip, with very little of the
dignity and "side" usually considered necessary in dealing with
wild natives. The post at Meru had been established only two
years, among a people that had always been very difficult, and
had only recently ceased open hostilities. Nevertheless in that
length of time Horne's personal influence had won them over to
positive friendliness. He had, moreover, done the entire
construction work of the post itself; and this we now saw to be
even more elaborate than we had at first realized. Irrigating
ditches ran in all directions brimming with clear mountain water;
the roads and paths were rounded, graded and gravelled; the
houses were substantial, well built and well kept; fences, except
of course the rustic, were whitewashed; the native quarters and
"barracks" were well ranged and in perfect order. The place
looked ten years old instead of only two.

We followed Horne to an enclosure, outside the gate of which were
stacked a great number of spears. Inside we found the owners of
those spears squatted before the open side of a small,
three-walled building containing a table and a chair. Horne
placed himself in the chair, lounged back, and hit the table
smartly with his rawhide whip. From the centre of the throng an
old man got up and made quite a long speech. When he had finished
another did likewise. All was carried out with the greatest
decorum. After four or five had thus spoken, Horne, without
altering his lounging attitude, spoke twenty or thirty words,
rapped again on the table with his rawhide whip, and immediately
came over to us.

"Now," said he cheerfully, "we'll have a game of golf."

That was amusing, but not astonishing. Most of us have at one
time or another laid out a scratch hole or so somewhere in the
vacant lot. We returned to the house, Horne produced a
sufficiency of clubs, and we sallied forth. Then came the surprise
of our life! We played eighteen holes-eighteen, mind you-over
an excellently laid-out and kept-up course! The fair greens were
cropped short and smooth by a well-managed small herd of sheep;
the putting greens were rolled, and in perfect order; bunkers had
been located at the correct distances; there were water hazards
in the proper spots. In short, it was a genuine, scientific,
well-kept golf course. Over it played Horne, solitary except on
the rare occasions when he and his assistant happened to be at
the post at the same time. The nearest white man was six days'
journey; the nearest small civilization 196 miles.* The whole
affair was most astounding.

*Which was, in turn, over three hundred miles from the next.

Our caddies were grinning youngsters a good deal like the Gold
Dust Twins. They wore nothing but our golf bags. Afield were
other supernumerary caddies: one in case we sliced, one in case
we pulled, and one in case we drove straight ahead. Horne
explained that unlimited caddies were easier to get than
unlimited golf balls. I can well believe it.

F. joined forces with Horne against B. and me for a grand
international match. I regret to state that America was defeated
by two holes.

We returned to find our camp crowded with savages. In a short
time we had established trade relations and were doing a brisk
business. Two years before we should have had to barter
exclusively; but now, thanks to Horne's attempt to collect an
annual hut tax, money was some good. We had, however, very good
luck with bright blankets and cotton cloth. Our beads did not
happen here to be in fashion. Probably three months earlier or
later we might have done better with them. The feminine mind here
differs in no basic essential from that of civilization. Fashions
change as rapidly, as often and as completely in the jungle as in
Paris. The trader who brings blue beads when blue beads have
"gone out" might just as well have stayed at home. We bought a
number of the pretty "marquise" rings for four cents apiece (our
money), some war clubs or rungas for the same, several spears,
armlets, stools and the like. Billy thought one of the short,
soft skin cloaks embroidered with steel beads might be nice to
hang on the wall. We offered a youth two rupees for one. This
must have been a high price, for every man in hearing of the
words snatched off his cloak and rushed forward holding it out.
As that reduced his costume to a few knick-knacks, Billy retired
from the busy mart until we could arrange matters.

We dined with Horne. His official residence was most interesting.
The main room was very high to beams and a grass-thatched roof,
with a well-brushed earth floor covered with mats. It contained
comfortable furniture, a small library, a good phonograph,
tables, lamps and the like. When the mountain chill descended,
Horne lit a fire in a coal-oil can with a perforated bottom. What
little smoke was produced by the clean burning wood lost itself
far aloft. Leopard skins and other trophies hung on the wall. We
dined in another room at a well-appointed table. After dinner we
sat up until the unheard of hour of ten o'clock discussing at
length many matters that interested us. Horne told us of his
personal bodyguard consisting of one son from each chief of his
wide district. These youths were encouraged to make as good an
appearance as possible, and as a consequence turned out in the
extreme of savage gorgeousness. Horne spoke of them carelessly
as a "matter of policy in keeping the different tribes well
disposed," but I thought he was at heart a little proud of them.
Certainly, later and from other sources, we heard great tales of
their endurance, devotion and efficiency. Also we heard that
Horne had cut in half his six months' leave (earned by three
years' continuous service in the jungle) to hurry back from
England because he could not bear the thought of being absent
from the first collection of the hut tax! He is a good man.

We said good-night to him and stepped from the lighted house into
the vast tropical night. The little rays of our lantern showed us
the inequalities of the ground, and where to step across the
bubbling, little irrigation streams. But thousands of stars
insisted on a simplification. The broad, rolling meadows of the
clearing lay half guessed in the dim light; and about its edge
was the velvet band of the forest, dark and mysterious,
stretching away for leagues into the jungle. From it near at
hand, far away, came the rhythmic beating of solemn great drums,
and the rising and falling chants of the savage peoples.

(C) THE CHIEFS

We left Meru well observed by a very large audience, much to the
delight of our safari boys, who love to show off. We had acquired
fourteen more small boys, or totos, ranging in age from eight to
twelve years. These had been fitted out by their masters to
alleviate their original shenzi appearance of savagery. Some had
ragged blankets, which they had already learned to twist turban
wise around their heads; others had ragged old jerseys reaching
to their knees, or the wrecks of full-grown undershirts; one or
two even sported baggy breeches a dozen sizes too large. Each
carried his little load, proudly, atop his head like a real
porter, sufurias or cooking pots, the small bags of potio, and
the like. Inside a mile they had gravitated together and with the
small boy's relish for imitation and for playing a game, had
completed a miniature safari organization of their own.
Thenceforth they marched in a compact little company, under
orders of their "headman." They marched very well, too, straight
and proud and tireless. Of course we inspected their loads to see
that they were not required to carry too much for their strength;
but, I am bound to say, we never discovered an attempt at
overloading. In fact, the toto brigade was treated very well
indeed. M'ganga especially took great interest in their education
and welfare. One of my most vivid camp recollections is that of
M'ganga, very benign and didactic, seated on a chop box and
holding forth to a semicircle of totos squatted on the ground
before him. On reaching camp totos had several clearly defined
duties: they must pick out good places for their masters'
individual camps, they must procure cooking stones, they must
collect kindling wood and start fires, they must fill the
sufurias with water and set them over to boil. In the meantime,
their masters were attending to the pitching of the bwana's camp.
The rest of the time the toto played about quite happily, and did
light odd jobs, or watched most attentively while his master
showed him small details of a safari-boy's duty, or taught him
simple handicraft. Our boys seemed to take great pains with
their totos and to try hard to teach them.

Also at Meru we had acquired two cocks and four hens of the
ridiculously small native breed. These rode atop the loads: their
feet were tied to the cords and there they swayed and teetered
and balanced all day long, apparently quite happy and interested.
At each new camp site they were released and went scratching and
clucking around among the tents. They lent our temporary quarters
quite a settled air of domesticity. We named the cocks Gaston and
Alphonse and somehow it was rather fine, in the blackness before
dawn, to hear these little birds crowing stout-heartedly against
the great African wilderness. Neither Gaston, Alphonse nor any of
their harem were killed and eaten by their owners; but seemed
rather to fulfil the function of household pets.

Along the jungle track we met swarms of people coming in to the
post. One large native safari composed exclusively of women were
transporting loads of trade goods for the Indian trader. They
carried their burdens on their backs by means of a strap passing
over the top of the head; our own "tump line" method. The labour
seemed in no way to have dashed their spirits, for they grinned
at us, and joked merrily with our boys. Along the way, every once
in a while, we came upon people squatted down behind small stocks
of sugarcane, yams, bananas, and the like. With these our boys
did a brisk trade. Little paths led mysteriously into the jungle.
Down them came more savages to greet us. Everybody was most
friendly and cheerful, thanks to Horne's personal influence. Two
years before this same lot had been hostile. From every hidden
village came the headmen or chiefs. They all wanted to shake
hands-the ordinary citizen never dreamed of aspiring to that
honour-and they all spat carefully into their palms before they
did so. This all had to be done in passing; for ordinary village
headmen it was beneath Our Dignity to draw rein. Once only we
broke over this rule. That was in the case of an old fellow with
white hair who managed to get so tangled up in the shrubbery that
he could not get to us. He was so frantic with disappointment
that we made an exception and waited.

About three miles out, we lost one of our newly acquired totos.
Reason: an exasperated parent who had followed from Meru for the
purpose of reclaiming his runaway offspring. The latter was
dragged off howling. Evidently he, like some of his civilized
cousins, had "run away to join the circus." As nearly as we could
get at it, the rest of the totos, as well as the nine additional
we picked up before we quitted the jungle, had all come with
their parents' consent. In fact, we soon discovered that we could
buy any amount of good sound totos, not house broke however, for
an average of half a rupee (16-1/2 cents) apiece.

The road was very much up and down hill over the numerous ridges
that star-fish out from Mt. Kenia. We would climb down steep
trails from 200 to 800 feet (measured by aneroid), cross an
excellent mountain stream of crystalline dashing water, and climb
out again. The trails of course had no notion of easy grades. It
was very hard work, especially for men with loads; and it would
have been impossible on account of the heat were it not for the
numerous streams. On the slopes and in the bottoms were patches
of magnificent forest; on the crests was the jungle, and
occasionally an outlook over extended views. The birds and the
strange tropical big-leaved trees were a constant delight-exotic
and strange. Billy was in a heaven of joy, for her specialty in
Africa was plants, seeds and bulbs, for her California garden.
She had syces, gunbearers and tent boys all climbing, shaking
branches, and generally pawing about.

This idiosyncracy of Billy's puzzled our boys hugely. At first
they tried telling her that everything was poisonous; but when
that did not work, they resigned themselves to their fate. In
fact, some of the most enterprising like Memba Sasa, Kitaru, and,
later, Kongoni used of their own accord to hunt up and bring in
seeds and blossoms. They did not in the least understand what it
was for; and it used to puzzle them hugely until out of sheer
pity for their uneasiness, I implied that the Memsahib collected
"medicine." That was rational, so the wrinkled brow of care was
smoothed. From this botanical trait, Billy got her native name of
"Beebee Kooletta"-"The Lady Who Says: Go Get That." For in
Africa every white man has a name by which he is known among the
native people. If you would get news of your friends, you must
know their local cognomens-their own white man names will not do
at all. For example, I was called either Bwana Machumwani or
Bwana N'goma. The former means merely Master Four-eyes, referring
to my glasses. The precise meaning of the latter is a matter much
disputed between myself and Billy. An N'goma is a native dance,
consisting of drum poundings, chantings, and hoppings around.
Therefore I translate myself (most appropriately) as the Master
who Makes Merry. On the other hand, Billy, with true feminine
indirectness, insists that it means "The Master who Shouts and
Howls." I leave it to any fairminded reader.

About the middle of the morning we met a Government runner, a
proud youth, young, lithe, with many ornaments and bangles; his
red skin glistening; the long blade of his spear, bound around
with a red strip to signify his office, slanting across his
shoulder; his buffalo hide shield slung from it over his back;
the letter he was bearing stuck in a cleft stick and carried
proudly before him as a priest carries a cross to the heathen-in
the pictures. He was swinging along at a brisk pace, but on
seeing us drew up and gave us a smart military salute.

At one point where the path went level and straight for some
distance, we were riding in an absolute solitude. Suddenly from
the jungle on either side and about fifty yards ahead of us
leaped a dozen women. They were dressed in grass skirts, and
carried long narrow wooden shields painted white and brown. These
they clashed together, shrieked shrilly, and charged down on us
at full speed. When within a few yards of our horses noses they
came to a sudden halt, once more clashed their shields, shrieked,
turned and scuttled away as fast as their legs could carry them.
At a hundred yards they repeated the performance; and charged back
at us again. Thus advancing and retreating, shrieking high,
hitting the wooden shields with resounding crash, they preceded
our slow advance for a half mile or so. Then at some signal
unperceived by us they vanished abruptly into the jungle. Once
more we rode forward in silence and in solitude. Why they did it
I could not say.

Of this tissue were our days made. At noon our boys plucked us
each two or three banana leaves which they spread down for us to
lie on. Then we dozed through the hot hours in great comfort,
occasionally waking to blue sky through green trees, or to peer
idly into the tangled jungle. At two o'clock or a little later we
would arouse ourselves reluctantly and move on. The safari we had
dimly heard passing us an hour before. In this country of the
direct track we did not attempt to accompany our men.

The end of the day's march found us in a little clearing where we
could pitch camp. Generally this was atop a ridge, so that the
boys had some distance to carry water; but that disadvantage was
outweighed by the cleared space. Sometimes we found ourselves
hemmed in by a wall of jungle. Again we enjoyed a broad outlook.
One such in especial took in the magnificent, splintered,
snow-capped peak of Kenia on the right, a tremendous gorge and
rolling forested mountains straight ahead, and a great drop to a
plain with other and distant mountains to the left. It was as
fine a panoramic view as one could imagine.

Our tents pitched, and ourselves washed and refreshed, we gave
audience to the resident chief, who had probably been waiting.
With this potentate we conversed affably, after the usual
expectoratorial ceremonies. Billy, being a mere woman, did not
always come in for this; but nevertheless she maintained what she
called her "quarantine gloves," and kept them very handy. We had
standing orders with our boys for basins of hot water to be
waiting always behind our tents. After the usual polite exchanges
we informed the chief of our needs-firewood, perhaps, milk, a
sheep or the like. These he furnished. When we left we made him a
present of a few beads, a knife, a blanket or such according to
the value of his contribution.

To me these encounters were some of the most interesting of our
many experiences, for each man differed radically from every
other in his conceptions of ceremony, in his ideas, and in his
methods. Our coming was a good deal of an event, always, and each
chief, according to his temperament and training, tried to do
things up properly. And in that attempt certain basic traits of
human nature showed in the very strongest relief. Thus there are
three points of view to take in running any spectacle: that of
the star performer, the stage manager, or the truly artistic. We
encountered well-marked specimens of each. I will tell you about
them.

The star performer knew his stagecraft thoroughly; and in the
exposition of his knowledge he showed incidentally how truly
basic are the principles of stagecraft anywhere.

We were seated under a tree near the banks of a stream eating our
lunch. Before us appeared two tall and slender youths, wreathed
in smiles, engaging, and most attentive to the small niceties of
courtesy. We returned their greeting from our recumbent
positions, whereupon they made preparation to squat down
beside us.

"Are you sultans?" we demanded sternly, "that you attempt to sit
in Our Presence," and we lazily kicked the nearest.

Not at all abashed, but favourably impressed with our
transcendent importance-as we intended-they leaned gracefully
on their spears and entered into conversation. After a few
trifles of airy persiflage they got down to business.

"This," said they, indicating the tiny flat, "is the most
beautiful place to camp in all the mountains."

We doubted it.

"Here is excellent water."

We agreed to that.

"And there is no more water for a journey."

"You are liars," we observed politely.

"And near is the village of our chief, who is a great warrior,
and will bring you many presents; the greatest man in these
parts."

"Now you're getting to it," we observed in English; "you want
trade." Then in Swahili, "We shall march two hours longer."

After a few polite phrases they went away. We finished lunch,
remounted, and rode up the trail. At the edge of the canyon we
came to a wide clearing, at the farther side of which was
evidently the village in question. But the merry villagers, down
to the last toro, were drawn up at the edge of the track in a
double line through which we rode. They were very wealthy
savages, and wore it all. Bright neck, arm, and leg ornaments,
yards and yards of cowry shells in strings, blue beads of all
sizes (blue beads were evidently "in"), odd scraps and shapes of
embroidered skins, clean shaves and a beautiful polish
characterized this holiday gathering. We made our royal progress
between the serried ranks. About eight or ten seconds after we
had passed the last villager-just the proper dramatic pause, you
observe-the bushes parted and a splendid, straight, springy young
man came into view and stepped smilingly across the space that
separated us. And about eight or ten seconds after his
emergence-again just the right dramatic pause-the bushes parted
again to give entrance to four of the quaintest little dolls of
wives. These advanced all abreast, parted, and took up positions
two either side the smiling chief. This youth was evidently in
the height of fashion, his hair braided in a tight queue bound
with skin, his ears dangling with ornaments, heavy necklaces
around his neck, and armlets etc., ad lib. His robe was of fine
monkey skin embroidered with rosettes of beads, and his spear was
very long, bright and keen. He was tall and finely built carried
himself with a free, lithe swing. As the quintette came to halt,
the villagers fell silent and our shauri began.

We drew up and dismounted. We all expectorated as gentlemen.

"These," said he proudly, "are my beebees."

We replied that they seemed like excellent beebees and politely
inquired the price of wives thereabout, and also the market for
totos. He gave us to understand that such superior wives as these
brought three cows and twenty sheep apiece, but that you could
get a pretty good toto for half a rupee.

"When we look upon our women," he concluded grandly, "we find
them good; but when we look upon the white women they are as
nothing!" He completely obliterated the poor little beebees with
a magnificent gesture. They looked very humble and abashed. I
was, however, a bit uncertain as to whether this was intended as
a genuine tribute to Billy, or was meant to console us for having
only one to his four.

Now observe the stagecraft of all this: entrance of diplomats,
preliminary conversation introducing the idea of the greatness of
N'Zahgi (for that was his name), chorus of villagers, and, as
climax, dramatic entrance of the hero and heroines. It was pretty
well done.

Again we stopped about the middle of the afternoon in an opening
on the rounded top of a hill. While waiting for the safari to
come up, Billy wandered away fifty or sixty yards to sit under a
big tree. She did not stay long. Immediately she was settled, a
dozen women and young girls surrounded her. They were almost
uproariously good-natured, but Billy was probably the first white
woman they had ever seen, and they intended to make the most of
her. Every item of her clothes and equipment they examined
minutely, handled and discussed. When she told them with great
dignity to go away, they laughed consumedly, fairly tumbling into
each other's arms with excess of joy. Billy tried to gather her
effects for a masterly retreat, but found the press of numbers
too great. At last she had to signal for help. One of us wandered
over with a kiboko with which lightly he flicked the legs of such
damsels as he could reach. They scattered like quail, laughing
hilariously. Billy was escorted back to safety.

Shortly after the Chief and his Prime Minister came in. He was a
little old gray-haired gentleman, as spry as a cricket, quite
nervous, and very chatty. We indicated our wants to him, and he
retired after enunciating many words. The safari came in, made
camp. We had tea and a bath. The darkness fell; and still no
Chief, no milk, no firewood, no promises fulfilled. There were
plenty of natives around camp, but when we suggested that they
get out and rustle on our behalf, they merely laughed
good-naturedly. We seriously contemplated turning the whole lot
out of camp.

Finally we gave it up, and sat down to our dinner. It was now
quite dark. The askaris had built a little campfire out in front.

Then, far in the distance of the jungle's depths, we heard a
faint measured chanting as of many people coming nearer. From
another direction this was repeated. The two processions
approached each other; their paths converged; the double chanting
became a chorus that grew moment by moment. We heard beneath the
wild weird minors the rhythmic stamping of feet, and the tapping
of sticks. The procession debouched from the jungle's edge into
the circle of the firelight. Our old chief led, accompanied by a
bodyguard in all the panoply of war: ostrich feather circlets
enclosing the head and face, shields of bright heraldry, long
glittering spears. These were followed by a dozen of the
quaintest solemn dolls of beebees dressed in all the white cowry
shells, beads and brass the royal treasury afforded, very
earnest, very much on inspection, every little head uplifted,
singing away just as hard as ever they could. Each carried a
gourd of milk, a bunch of bananas, some sugarcane, yams or the
like. Straight to the fire marched the pageant. Then the warriors
dividing right and left, drew up facing each other in two lines,
struck their spears upright in the ground, and stood at
attention. The quaint brown little women lined up to close the
end of this hollow square, of which our group was, roughly
speaking, the fourth side. Then all came to attention. The song
now rose to a wild and ecstatic minor chanting. The beebees,
still singing, one by one cast their burdens between the files
and at our feet in the middle of the hollow square. Then they
continued their chant, singing away at the tops of their little
lungs, their eyes and teeth showing, their pretty bodies held
rigidly upright. The warriors, very erect and military, stared
straight ahead.

And the chief? Was he the centre of the show, the important
leading man, to the contemplation of whom all these glories led?
Not at all! This particular chief did not have the soul of a
leading man, but rather the soul of a stage manager. Quite
forgetful of himself and his part in the spectacle, his brow
furrowed with anxiety, he was flittering from one to another of
the performers. He listened carefully to each singer in turn,
holding his hand behind his ear to catch the individual note,
striking one on the shoulder in admonition, nodding approval at
another. He darted unexpectedly across to scrutinize a warrior,
in the chance of catching a flicker of the eyelid even. Nary a
flicker! They did their stage manager credit, and stood like
magnificent bronzes. He even ran across to peer into our own
faces to see how we liked it.

With a sudden crescendo the music stopped. Involuntarily we broke
into handclapping. The old boy looked a bit startled at this, but
we explained to him, and he seemed very pleased. We then accepted
formally the heap of presents, by touching them-and in turn
passed over a blanket, a box of matches, and two needles,
together with beads for the beebees. Then F., on an inspiration,
produced his flashlight. This made a tremendous sensation. The
women tittered and giggled and blinked as its beams were thrown
directly into their eyes; the chief's sons grinned and guffawed;
the chief himself laughed like a pleased schoolboy, and seemed
never to weary of the sudden shutting on and off of the switch.
But the trusty Spartan warriors, standing still in their
formation behind their planted spears, were not to be shaken.
They glared straight in front of them, even when we held the
light within a few inches of their eyes, and not a muscle
quivered!

"It is wonderful! wonderful!" the old man repeated. "Many
Government men have come here, but none have had anything like
that! The bwanas must be very great sultans!"

After the departure of our friends, we went rather grandly to
bed. We always did after any one had called us sultans.

But our prize chief was an individual named M'booley.* Our camp
here also was on a fine cleared hilltop between two streams.
After we had traded for a while with very friendly and prosperous
people M'booley came in. He was young, tall, straight, with a
beautiful smooth lithe form, and his face was hawklike and
cleverly intelligent. He carried himself with the greatest
dignity and simplicity, meeting us on an easy plane of
familiarity. I do not know how I can better describe his manner
toward us than to compare it to the manner the member of an
exclusive golf club would use to one who is a stranger, but
evidently a guest. He took our quality for granted; and supposed
we must do the same by him, neither acting as though he
considered us "great white men," nor yet standing aloof and too
respectful. And as the distinguishing feature of all, he was
absolutely without personal ornament.

*Pronounce each o separately.

Pause for a moment to consider what a real advance in esthetic
taste that one little fact stands for. All M'booley's attendants
were the giddiest and gaudiest savages we had yet seen, with more
colobus fur, sleighbells, polished metal, ostrich plumes, and red
paint than would have fitted out any two other royal courts of
the jungle. The women too were wealthy and opulent without limit.
It takes considerable perception among our civilized people to
realize that severe simplicity amid ultra magnificence makes the
most effective distinguishing of an individual. If you do not
believe it, drop in at the next ball to which you are invited.
M'booley had fathomed this, and what was more he had the strength
of mind to act on it. Any savage loves finery for its own sake.
His hair was cut short, and shaved away at the edges to leave
what looked like an ordinary close-fitting skull cap. He wore one
pair of plain armlets on his left upper arm and small simple
ear-rings. His robe was black. He had no trace of either oil or
paint, nor did he even carry a spear.

He greeted us with good-humoured ease, and inquired
conversationally if we wanted anything. We suggested wood and
milk, whereupon still smiling, he uttered a few casual words in
his own language to no one in particular. There was no earthly
doubt that he was chief. Three of the most gorgeous and haughty
warriors ran out of camp. Shortly long files of women came in
bringing loads of firewood; and others carrying bananas, yams,
sugarcane and a sheep. Truly M'booley did things on a princely
scale. We thanked him. He accepted the thanks with a casual
smile, waved his hand and went on to talk of something else. In
due order our M'ganga brought up one of our best trade blankets,
to which we added a half dozen boxes of matches and a razor.

Now into camp filed a small procession: four women, four
children, and two young men. These advanced to where M'booley was
standing smoking with great satisfaction one of B's tailor-made
cigarettes. M'booley advanced ten feet to meet them, and brought
them up to introduce them one by one in the most formal fashion.
These were of course his family, and we had to confess that they
"saw" N'Zahgi's outfit of ornaments and "raised" him beyond the
ceiling. We gave them each in turn the handshake of ceremony,
first with the palms as we do it, and then each grasping the
other's upright thumb. The "little chiefs" were proud,
aristocratic little fellows, holding themselves very straight and
solemn. I think one would have known them for royalty anywhere.

It was quite a social occasion. None of our guests was in the
least ill at ease; in fact, the young ladies were quite coy and
flirtatious. We had a great many jokes. Each of the little ladies
received a handful of prevailing beads. M'booley smiled benignly
at these delightful femininities. After a time he led us to the
edge of the hill and showed us his houses across the cation,
perched on a flat about halfway up the wall. They were of the
usual grass-thatched construction, but rather larger and neater
than most. Examining them through the glasses we saw that a
little stream had been diverted to flow through the front yard.
M'booley waved his hand abroad and gave us to understand that he
considered the outlook worth looking at. It was; but an
appreciation of that fact is foreign to the average native. Next
morning, when we rode by very early, we found the little flat
most attractively cleared and arranged. M'booley was out to shake
us by the hand in farewell, shivering in the cold of dawn. The
flirtatious and spoiled little beauties were not in evidence.

One day after two very deep canyons we emerged from the forest
jungle into an up and down country of high jungle bush-brush.
>From the top of a ridge it looked a good deal like a northern
cut-over pine country grown up very heavily to blackberry vines;
although, of course, when we came nearer, the "blackberry vines"
proved to be ten or twenty feet high. This was a district of
which Horne had warned us. The natives herein were reported
restless and semi-hostile; and in fact had never been friendly.
They probably needed the demonstration most native tribes seem to
require before they are content to settle down and be happy. At
any rate safaris were not permitted in their district; and we
ourselves were allowed to go through merely because we were a
large party, did not intend to linger, and had a good reputation
with natives.

It is very curious how abruptly, in Central Africa, one passes
from one condition to another, from one tribe or race to the
next. Sometimes, as in the present case, it is the traversing of
a deep cation; at others the simple crossing of a tiny brook is
enough. Moreover the line of demarcation is clearly defined, as
boundaries elsewhere are never defined save in wartime.

Thus we smiled our good-bye to a friendly numerous people,
descended a hill, and ascended another into a deserted track.
After a half mile we came unexpectedly on to two men carrying
each a load of reeds. These they abandoned and fled up the
hillside through the jungle, in spite of our shouted assurances.
A moment later they reappeared at some distance above us, each
with a spear he had snatched from somewhere; they were unarmed
when we first caught sight of them. Examined through the glasses
they proved to be sullen looking men, copper coloured, but broad
across the cheekbones, broad in the forehead, more decidedly of
the negro type than our late hosts.

Aside from these two men we travelled through an apparently
deserted jungle. I suspect, however, that we were probably well
watched; for when we stopped for noon we heard the gunbearers
beyond the screen of leaves talking to some one. On learning from
our boys that these were some of the shenzis, we told them to
bring the savages in for a shauri; but in this our men failed,
nor could they themselves get nearer than fifty yards or so to
the wild people. So until evening our impression remained that of
two distant men, and the indistinct sound of voices behind a
leafy screen.

We made camp comparatively early in a wide open space surrounded
by low forest. Almost immediately then the savages commenced to
drift in, very haughty and arrogant. They were fully armed.
Besides the spear and decorated shield, some of them carried the
curious small grass spears. These are used to stab upward from
below, the wielder lying flat in the grass. Some of these men
were fantastically painted with a groundwork ochre, on which had
been drawn intricate wavy designs on the legs, like stockings,
and varied stripes across the face. One particularly ingenious
individual, stark naked, had outlined a roughly entire skeleton! He
was a gruesome object! They stalked here and there through the
camp, looking at our men and their activities with a lofty and
silent contempt.

You may be sure we had our arrangements, though they did not
appear on the surface. The askaris, or native soldiers, were
posted here and there with their muskets; the gunbearers also
kept our spare weapons by them. The askaris could not hit a barn, but
they could make a noise. The gunbearers were fair shots.

Of course the chief and his prime minister came in. They were
evil-looking savages. To them we paid not the slightest
attention, but went about our usual business as though they did
not exist. At the end of an hour they of their own initiative
greeted us. We did not hear them. Half an hour later they
disappeared, to return after an interval, followed by a string of
young men bearing firewood. Evidently our bearing had impressed
them, as we had intended. We then unbent far enough to recognize
them, carried on a formal conversation for a few moments, gave
them adequate presents and dismissed them. Then we ordered the
askaris to clear camp and to keep it clear. No women had
appeared. Even the gifts of firewood had been carried by men, a
most unusual proceeding.

As soon as dark fell the drums began roaring in the forest all
about our clearing, and the chanting to rise. We instructed our
men to shoot first and inquire afterward, if a shenzi so much as
showed himself in the clearing. This was not as bad as it
sounded; the shenzi stood in no immediate danger. Then we turned
in to a sleep rather light and broken by uncertainty. I do not
think we were in any immediate danger of a considered attack, for
these people were not openly hostile; but there was always a
chance that the savages might by their drum pounding and dancing
work themselves into a frenzy. Then we might have to do a little
rapid shooting. Not for one instant the whole night long did
those misguided savages cease their howling and dancing. At any
rate we cost them a night's sleep.

Next morning we took up our march through the deserted tracks
once more. Not a sign of human life did we encounter. About ten
o'clock we climbed down a tremendous gash of a box canyon with
precipitous cliffs. From below we looked back to see, perched
high against the skyline, the motionless figures of many savages
watching us from the crags. So we had had company after all, and
we had not known it. This canyon proved to be the boundary line.
With the same abruptness we passed again into friendly country.

(d) OUT THE OTHER SIDE

We left the jungle finally when we turned on a long angle away
from Kenia. At first the open country of the foothills was
closely cultivated with fields of rape and maize. We saw some of
the people breaking new soil by means of long pointed sticks. The
plowmen quite simply inserted the pointed end in the ground and
pried. It was very slow hard work. In other fields the grain
stood high and good. From among the stalks, as from a miniature
jungle, the little naked totos stared out, and the good-natured
women smiled at us. The magnificent peak of Kenia had now shaken
itself free of the forests. On its snow the sunrises and sunsets
kindled their fires. The flames of grass fires, too, could
plainly be made out, incredible distances away, and at daytime,
through the reek, were fascinating suggestions of distant rivers,
plains, jungles, and hills. You see, we were still practically on
the wide slope of Kenia's base, though the peak was many days
away, and so could look out over wide country.

The last half day of this we wandered literally in a rape field.
The stalks were quite above our heads, and we could see but a few
yards in any direction. In addition the track had become a
footpath not over two feet wide. We could occasionally look back
to catch glimpses of a pack or so bobbing along on a porter's
head. From our own path hundreds of other paths branched; we were
continually taking the wrong fork and moving back to set the
safari right before it could do likewise. This we did by drawing
a deep double line in the earth across the wrong trail. Then we
hustled on ahead to pioneer the way a little farther; our
difficulties were further complicated by the fact that we had
sent our horses back to Nairobi for fear of the tsetse fly, so we
could not see out above the corn. All we knew was that we ought
to go down hill.

At the ends of some of our false trails we came upon fascinating
little settlements: groups of houses inside brush enclosures,
with low wooden gateways beneath which we had to stoop to enter.
Within were groups of beehive houses with small naked children
and perhaps an old woman or old man seated cross-legged under a
sort of veranda. From them we obtained new-and confusing-
directions.

After three o'clock we came finally out on the edge of a cliff
fifty or sixty feet high, below which lay uncultivated bottom
lands like a great meadow and a little meandering stream. We
descended the cliff, and camped by the meandering stream.

By this time we were fairly tired from long walking in the heat,
and so were content to sit down under our tent-fly before our
little table, and let Mahomet bring us sparklets and lime juice.
Before us was the flat of a meadow below the cliffs and the
cliffs themselves. Just below the rise lay a single patch of
standing rape not over two acres in extent, the only sign of
human life. It was as though this little bit had overflowed from
the countless millions on the plateau above. Beyond it arose a
thin signal of smoke.

We sipped our lime juice and rested. Soon our attention was
attracted by the peculiar actions of a big flock of very white
birds. They rose suddenly from one side of the tiny rape field,
wheeled and swirled like leaves in the wind, and dropped down
suddenly on the other side the patch. After a few moments they
repeated the performance. The sun caught the dazzling white of
their plumage. At first we speculated on what they might be, then
on what they were doing, to behave in so peculiar a manner. The
lime juice and the armchair began to get in their recuperative
work. Somehow the distance across that flat did not seem quite as
tremendous as at first. Finally I picked up the shotgun and
sauntered across to investigate. The cause of action I soon
determined. The owner of that rape field turned out to be an
emaciated, gray-haired but spry old savage. He was armed with a
spear; and at the moment his chief business in life seemed to be
chasing a large flock of white birds off his grain. Since he had
no assistance, and since the birds held his spear in justifiable
contempt as a fowling piece, he was getting much exercise and few
results. The birds gave way before his direct charge, flopped
over to the other side, and continued their meal. They had
already occasioned considerable damage; the rape heads were bent
and destroyed for a space of perhaps ten feet from the outer edge
of the field. As this grain probably constituted the old man's food supply
for a season, I did not wonder at the vehemence with which he shook
his spear at his enemies, nor the apparent flavour of his language,
though I did marvel at his physical endurance. As for the birds,
they had become cynical and impudent; they barely fluttered out
of the way.

I halted the old gentleman and hastened to explain that I was
neither a pirate, a robber, nor an oppressor of the poor. This as
counter-check to his tendency to flee, leaving me in sole charge.
He understood a little Swahili, and talked a few words of
something he intended for that language. By means of our mutual
accomplishment in that tongue, and through a more efficient sign
language, I got him to understand the plan of campaign. It was
very simple. I squatted down inside the rape, while he went
around the other side to scare them up.

The white birds uttered their peculiarly derisive cackle at the
old man and flapped over to my side. Then they were certainly an
astonished lot of birds. I gave them both barrels and dropped a
pair; got two more shots as they swung over me and dropped
another pair, and brought down a straggling single as a grand
finale. The flock, with shrill, derogatory remarks, flew in an
airline straight away. They never deviated, as far as I could
follow them with the eye. Even after they had apparently
disappeared, I could catch an occasional flash of white in the
sun.

Now the old gentleman came whooping around with long, undignified
bounds to fall on his face and seize my foot in an excess of
gratitude. He rose and capered about, he rushed out and gathered
in the slain one by one and laid them in a pile at my feet. Then
he danced a jig-step around them and reviled them, and fell on
his face once more, repeating the word "Bwana! bwana! bwana!"
over and over-"Master! master! master!" We returned to camp
together, the old gentleman carrying the birds, and capering
about like a small boy, pouring forth a flood of his sort of
Swahili, of which I could understand only a word here and there.
Memba Sasa, very dignified and scornful of such performances, met
us halfway and took my gun. He seemed to be able to understand
the old fellow's brand of Swahili, and said it over again in a
brand I could understand. From it I gathered that I was called a
marvellously great sultan, a protector of the poor, and other
Arabian Nights titles.

The birds proved to be white egrets. Now at home I am strongly
against the killing of these creatures, and have so expressed
myself on many occasions. But, looking from the beautiful white
plumage of these villainous mauraders, to the wrinkled countenance
of the grateful weary old savage, I could not fan a spark of
regret. And from the straight line of their retreating flight I
like to think that the rest of the flock never came back, but
took their toll from the wider fields of the plateau above.

Next day we reentered the game-haunted wilderness, nor did we see
any more native villages until many weeks later we came into the
country of the Wakamba.

XIX. THE TANA RIVER

Our first sight of the Tana River was from the top of a bluff. It
flowed below us a hundred feet, bending at a sharp elbow against
the cliff on which we stood. Out of the jungle it crept
sluggishly and into the jungle it crept again, brown, slow,
viscid, suggestive of the fevers and the lurking beasts by which,
indeed, it was haunted. From our elevation we could follow its
course by the jungle that grew along its banks. At first this was
intermittent, leaving thin or even open spaces at intervals, but
lower down it extended away unbroken and very tall. The trees
were many of them beginning to come into flower.

Either side of the jungle were rolling hills. Those to the left made
up to the tremendous slopes of Kenia. Those to the right ended
finally in a low broken range many miles away called the Ithanga
Hills. The country gave one the impression of being clothed with
small trees; although here and there this growth gave space to
wide grassy plains. Later we discovered that the forest was more
apparent than real. The small trees, even where continuous, were
sparse enough to permit free walking in all directions, and open
enough to allow clear sight for a hundred yards or so.
Furthermore, the shallow wide valleys between the hills were
almost invariably treeless and grown to very high thick grass.

Thus the course of the Tana possessed advantages to such as we.
By following in general the course of the stream we were always
certain of wood and water. The river itself was full of fish-not
to speak of hundreds of crocodiles and hippopotamuses. The thick
river jungle gave cover to such animals as the bushbuck, leopard,
the beautiful colobus, some of the tiny antelope, waterbuck,
buffalo and rhinoceros. Among the thorn and acacia trees of the
hillsides one was certain of impalla, eland, diks-diks, and
giraffes. In the grass bottoms were lions, rhinoceroses, a half
dozen varieties of buck, and thousands and thousands of game
birds such as guinea fowl and grouse. On the plains fed zebra,
hartebeeste, wart-hog, ostriches, and several species of the
smaller antelope. As a sportsman's paradise this region would be
hard to beat.

We were now afoot. The dreaded tsetse fly abounded here, and we
had sent our horses in via Fort Hall. F. had accompanied them,
and hoped to rejoin us in a few days or weeks with tougher and
less valuable mules. Pending his return we moved on leisurely,
camping long at one spot, marching short days, searching the
country far and near for the special trophies of which we stood
in need.

It was great fun. Generally we hunted each in his own direction
and according to his own ideas. The jungle along the river, while
not the most prolific in trophies, was by all odds the most
interesting. It was very dense, very hot, and very shady. Often a
thorn thicket would fling itself from the hills right across to
the water's edge, absolutely and hopelessly impenetrable save by
way of the rhinoceros tracks. Along these then we would slip,
bent double, very quietly and gingerly, keeping a sharp lookout
for the rightful owners of the trail. Again we would wander among
lofty trees through the tops of which the sun flickered on
festooned serpentlike vines. Every once in a while we managed a
glimpse of the sullen oily river through the dense leaf screen on
its banks. The water looked thick as syrup, of a deadly menacing
green. Sometimes we saw a loathsome crocodile lying with his nose
just out of water, or heard the snorting blow of a hippopotamus
coming up for air. Then the thicket forced us inland again. We
stepped very slowly, very alertly, our ears cocked for the
faintest sound, our eyes roving. Generally, of course, the
creatures of the jungle saw us first. We became aware of them by
a crash or a rustling or a scamper. Then we stood stock listening
with all our ears for some sound distinguishing to the species. Thus I
came to recognize the queer barking note of the bushbuck, for
example, and to realize how profane and vulgar that and the beautiful
creature, the impalla, can be when he forgets himself. As for the
rhinoceros, he does not care how much noise he makes, nor how
badly he scares you.

Personally, I liked very well to circle out in the more open
country until about three o'clock, then to enter the river jungle
and work my way slowly back toward camp. At that time of day the
shadows were lengthening, the birds and animals were beginning to
stir about. In the cooling nether world of shadow we slipped
silently from thicket to thicket, from tree to tree; and the
jungle people fled from us, or withdrew, or gazed curiously, or
cursed us as their dispositions varied.

While thus returning one evening I saw my first colobus. He was
swinging rapidly from one tree to another, his long black and
white fur shining against the sun. I wanted him very much, and
promptly let drive at him with the 405 Winchester. I always
carried this heavier weapon in the dense jungle. Of course I
missed him, but the roar of the shot so surprised him that he
came to a stand. Memba Sasa passed me the Springfield, and I
managed to get him in the head. At the shot another flashed into
view, high up in the top of a tree. Again I aimed and fired. The
beast let go and fell like a plummet. "Good shot," said I to
myself. Fifty feet down the colobus seized a limb and went
skipping away through the branches as lively as ever. In a moment
he stopped to look back, and by good luck I landed him through
the body. When we retrieved him we found that the first shot had
not hit him at all!

At the time I thought he must have been frightened into falling;
but many subsequent experiences showed me that this sheer
let-go-all-holds drop is characteristic of the colobus and his
mode of progression. He rarely, as far as my observation goes,
leaps out and across as do the ordinary monkeys, but prefers to
progress by a series of slanting ascents followed by
breath-taking straight drops to lower levels. When closely
pressed from beneath, he will go as high as he can, and will then
conceal himself in the thick leaves.

B. and I procured our desired number of colobus by taking
advantage of this habit-as soon as we had learned it. Shooting
the beasts with our rifles we soon found to be not only very
difficult, but also destructive of the skins. On the other hand,
a man could not, save by sheer good fortune, rely on stalking
near enough to use a shotgun. Therefore we evolved a method
productive of the maximum noise, row, barked shins, thorn wounds,
tumbles, bruises-and colobus! It was very simple. We took about
twenty boys into the jungle with us, and as soon as we caught
sight of a colobus we chased him madly. That was all there was to
it.

And yet this method, simple apparently to the point of
imbecility, had considerable logic back of it after all; for
after a time somebody managed to get underneath that colobus when
he was at the top of a tree. Then the beast would hide.

Consider then a tumbling riotous mob careering through the jungle
as fast as the jungle would let it, slipping, stumbling, falling
flat, getting tangled hopelessly, disentangling with profane
remarks, falling behind and catching up again, everybody yelling
and shrieking. Ahead of us we caught glimpses of the sleek
bounding black and white creature, running up the long slanting
limbs, and dropping like a plummet into the lower branches of the
next tree. We white men never could keep up with the best of our
men at this sort of work, although in the open country I could
hold them well enough. We could see them dashing through the
thick cover at a great rate of speed far ahead of us. After an
interval came a great shout in chorus. By this we knew that the
quarry had been definitely brought to a stand. Arriving at the
spot we craned our heads backward, and proceeded to get a crick
in the neck trying to make out invisible colobus in the very tops
of the trees above us. For gaudily marked beasts the colobus were
extraordinarily difficult to see. This was in no sense owing to
any far-fetched application of protective colouration; but to the
remarkable skill the animals possessed in concealing themselves
behind apparently the scantiest and most inadequate cover.
Fortunately for us our boys' ability to see them was equally
remarkable. Indeed, the most difficult part of their task was to
point the game out to us. We squinted, and changed position, and
tried hard to follow directions eagerly proffered by a dozen of
the men. Finally one of us would, by the aid of six
power-glasses, make out, or guess at a small tuft of white or
black hair showing beyond the concealment of a bunch of leaves.
We would unlimber the shotgun and send a charge of BB into that
bunch. Then down would plump the game, to the huge and vociferous
delight of all the boys. Or, as occasionally happened, the shot
was followed merely by a shower of leaves and a chorus of
expostulations indicating that we had mistaken the place, and had
fired into empty air.

In this manner we gathered the twelve we required between us. At
noon we sat under the bank, with the tangled roots of trees above
us, and the smooth oily river slipping by. You may be sure we
always selected a spot protected by very shoal water, for the
crocodiles were numerous. I always shot these loathsome creatures
whenever I got a chance, whenever the sound of a shot would not
alarm more valuable game. Generally they were to be seen in
midstream, just the tip of their snouts above water, and
extraordinarily like anything but crocodiles. Often it took
several close scrutinies through the glass to determine the
brutes. This required rather nice shooting. More rarely we
managed to see them on the banks, or only half submerged. In this
position, too, they were all but undistinguishable as living
creatures. I think this is perhaps because of their complete
immobility. The creatures of the woods, standing quite still, are
difficult enough to see; but I have a notion that the eye,
unknown to itself, catches the sum total of little flexings of
the muscles, movements of the skin, winkings, even the play of
wind and light in the hair of the coat, all of which, while
impossible of analysis, together relieve the appearance of dead
inertia. The vitality of a creature like the crocodile, however,
seems to have withdrawn into the inner recesses of its being. It
lies like a log of wood, and for a log of wood it is mistaken.

Nevertheless the crocodile has stored in it somewhere a fearful
vitality. The swiftness of its movements when seizing prey is
most astonishing; a swirl of water, the sweep of a powerful tail,
and the unfortunate victim has disappeared. For this reason it is
especially dangerous to approach the actual edge of any of the
great rivers, unless the water is so shallow that the crocodile
could not possibly approach under cover, as is its cheerful
habit. We had considerable difficulty in impressing this
elementary truth on our hill-bred totos until one day, hearing
wild shrieks from the direction of the river, I rushed down to
find the lot huddled together in the very middle of a sand spit
that-reached well out into the stream. Inquiry developed that
while paddling in the shallows they had been surprised by the
sudden appearance of an ugly snout and well drenched by the sweep
of an eager tail. The stroke fortunately missed. We stilled the
tumult, sat down quietly to wait, and at the end of ten minutes
had the satisfaction of abating that croc.

Generally we killed the brutes where we found them and allowed
them to drift away with the current. Occasionally however we
wanted a piece of hide, and then tried to retrieve them. One such
occasion showed very vividly the tenacity of life and the
primitive nervous systems of these great saurians.

I discovered the beast, head out of water, in a reasonable sized
pool below which were shallow rapids. My Springfield bullet hit
him fair, whereupon he stood square on his head and waved his tail
in the air, rolled over three or four times, thrashed the water,
and disappeared. After waiting a while we moved on downstream.
Returning four hours later I sneaked up quietly. There the
crocodile lay sunning himself on the sand bank. I supposed he
must be dead; but when I accidentally broke a twig, he
immediately commenced to slide off into the water. Thereupon I
stopped him with a bullet in the spine. The first shot had
smashed a hole in his head, just behind the eye, about the size
of an ordinary coffee cup. In spite of this wound, which would
have been instantly fatal to any warm-blooded animal, the
creature was so little affected that it actually reacted to a
slight noise made at some distance from where it lay. Of course
the wound would probably have been fatal in the long run.

The best spot to shoot at, indeed, is not the head but the spine
immediately back of the head.

These brutes are exceedingly powerful. They are capable of taking
down horses and cattle, with no particular effort. This I know
from my own observation. Mr. Fleischman, however, was privileged
to see the wonderful sight of the capture and destruction of a
full-grown rhinoceros by a crocodile. The photographs he took of
this most extraordinary affair leave no room for doubt. Crossing
a stream was always a matter of concern to us. The boys beat the
surface of the water vigorously with their safari sticks. On
occasion we have even let loose a few heavy bullets to stir up
the pool before venturing in.

A steep climb through thorn and brush would always extricate us
from the river jungle when we became tired of it. Then we found
ourselves in a continuous but scattered growth of small trees.
Between the trunks of these we could see for a hundred yards or
so before their numbers closed in the view. Here was the
favourite haunt of numerous beautiful impalla. We caught glimpses
of them, flashing through the trees; or occasionally standing,
gazing in our direction, their slender necks stretched high,
their ears pointed for us. These curious ones were generally the
does. The bucks were either more cautious or less inquisitive. A
herd or so of eland also liked this covered country; and there were
always a few waterbuck and rhinoceroses about. Often too we here
encountered stragglers from the open plains-zebra or
hartebeeste, very alert and suspicious in unaccustomed
surroundings.

A great deal of the plains country had been burned over; and a
considerable area was still afire. The low bright flames licked
their way slowly through the grass in a narrow irregular band
extending sometimes for miles. Behind it was blackened soil, and
above it rolled dense clouds of smoke. Always accompanied it
thousands of birds wheeling and dashing frantically in and out of
the murk, often fairly at the flames themselves. The published
writings of a certain worthy and sentimental person waste much
sympathy over these poor birds dashing frenziedly about above
their destroyed nests. As a matter of fact they are taking greedy
advantage of a most excellent opportunity to get insects cheap.
Thousands of the common red-billed European storks patrolled the
grass just in front of the advancing flames, or wheeled barely
above the fire. Grasshoppers were their main object, although
apparently they never objected to any small mammals or reptiles
that came their way. Far overhead wheeled a few thousand more
assorted soarers who either had no appetite or had satisfied it.

The utter indifference of the animals to the advance of a big
conflagration always impressed me. One naturally pictures the
beasts as fleeing wildly, nostrils distended, before the
devouring element. On the contrary I have seen kongoni grazing
quite peacefully with flames on three sides of them. The fire
seems to travel rather slowly in the tough grass; although at
times and for a short distance it will leap to a wild and roaring
life. Beasts will then lope rapidly away to right or left, but
without excitement.

On these open plains we were more or less pestered with ticks of
various sizes. These clung to the grass blades; but with no
invincible preference for that habitat; trousers did them just as
well. Then they ascended looking for openings. They ranged in
size from little red ones as small as the period of a printed
page to big patterned fellows the size of a pea. The little ones
were much the most abundant. At times I have had the front of my
breeches so covered with them that their numbers actually
imparted a reddish tinge to the surface of the cloth. This sounds
like exaggeration, but it is a measured statement. The process of
de-ticking (new and valuable word) can then be done only by
scraping with the back of a hunting knife.

Some people, of tender skin, are driven nearly frantic by these
pests. Others, of whom I am thankful to say I am one, get off
comparatively easy. In a particularly bad tick country, one
generally appoints one of the youngsters as "tick toto." It is
then his job in life to de-tick any person or domestic animal
requiring his services. His is a busy existence. But though at
first the nuisance is excessive, one becomes accustomed to it in
a remarkably short space of time. The adaptability of the human
being is nowhere better exemplified. After a time one gets so
that at night he can remove a marauding tick and cast it forth
into the darkness without even waking up. Fortunately ticks are
local in distribution. Often one may travel weeks or months
without this infliction.

I was always interested and impressed to observe how indifferent
the wild animals seem to be to these insects. Zebra, rhinoceros
and giraffe seem to be especially good hosts. The loathsome
creatures fasten themselves in clusters wherever they can grip
their fangs. Thus in a tick country a zebra's ears, the lids and
corners of his eyes, his nostrils and lips, the soft skin between
his legs and body, and between his hind legs, and under his tail
are always crusted with ticks as thick as they can cling. One
would think the drain on vitality would be enormous, but the
animals are always plump and in condition. The same state of
affairs obtains with the other two beasts named. The hartebeeste
also carries ticks but not nearly in the same abundance; while
such creatures as the waterbuck, impalla, gazelles and the
smaller bucks seem either to be absolutely free from the pests,
or to have a very few. Whether this is because such animals take
the trouble to rid themselves, or because they are more immune
from attack it would be difficult to say. I have found ticks
clinging to the hair of lions, but never fastened to the flesh.
It is probable that they had been brushed off from the grass in
passing. Perhaps ticks do not like lions, waterbuck, Tommies, et
al., or perhaps only big coarse-grained common brutes like zebra
and rhinos will stand them at all.

XX. DIVERS ADVENTURES ALONG THE TANA

Late one afternoon I shot a wart-hog in the tall grass. The beast
was an unusually fine specimen, so I instructed Fundi and the
porters to take the head, and myself started for camp with Memba
Sasa. I had gone not over a hundred yards when I was recalled by
wild and agonized appeals of "Bwana! bwana!" The long-legged
Fundi was repeatedly leaping straight up in the air to an
astonishing height above the long grass, curling his legs up
under him at each jump, and yelling like a steam-engine.
Returning promptly, I found that the wart-hog had come to life at
the first prick of the knife. He was engaged in charging back and
forth in an earnest effort to tusk Fundi, and the latter was
jumping high in an equally earnest effort to keep out of the way.
Fortunately he proved agile enough to do so until I planted
another bullet in the aggressor.

These wart-hogs are most comical brutes from whatever angle one
views them. They have a patriarchal, self-satisfied, suburban
manner of complete importance. The old gentleman bosses his harem
outrageously, and each and every member of the tribe walks about
with short steps and a stuffy parvenu small-town
self-sufficiency. One is quite certain that it is only by
accident that they have long tusks and live in Africa, instead of
rubber-plants and self-made business and a pug-dog within
commuters' distance of New York. But at the slightest alarm this
swollen and puffy importance breaks down completely. Away they
scurry, their tails held stiffly and straightly perpendicular,
their short legs scrabbling the small stones in a frantic effort
to go faster than nature had intended them to go. Nor do they
cease their flight at a reasonable distance, but keep on going
over hill and dale, until they fairly vanish in the blue. I used
to like starting them off this way, just for the sake of
contrast, and also for the sake of the delicious but impossible
vision of seeing their human prototypes do likewise.

When a wart-hog is at home, he lives down a hole. Of course it
has to be a particularly large hole. He turns around and backs
down it. No more peculiar sight can be imagined than the
sardonically toothsome countenance of a wart-hog fading slowly in
the dimness of a deep burrow, a good deal like Alice's Cheshire
Cat. Firing a revolver, preferably with smoky black powder, just
in front of the hole annoys the wart-hog exceedingly. Out he
comes full tilt, bent on damaging some one, and it takes quick
shooting to prevent his doing so.

Once, many hundreds of miles south of the Tana, and many months
later, we were riding quite peaceably through the country, when
we were startled by the sound of a deep and continuous roaring in
a small brush patch to our left. We advanced cautiously to a
prospective lion, only to discover that the roaring proceeded
from the depths of a wart-hog burrow. The reverberation of our
footsteps on the hollow ground had alarmed him. He was a very
nervous wart-hog.

On another occasion, when returning to camp from a solitary walk,
I saw two wart-hogs before they saw me. I made no attempt to
conceal myself, but stood absolutely motionless. They fed slowly
nearer and nearer until at last they were not over twenty yards
away. When finally they made me out, their indignation and
amazement and utter incredulity were very funny. In fact, they
did not believe in me at all for some few snorty moments. Finally
they departed, their absurd tails stiff upright.

One afternoon F. and I, hunting along one of the wide grass
bottom lands, caught sight of a herd of an especially fine
impalla. The animals were feeding about fifty yards the other
side of a small solitary bush, and the bush grew on the sloping
bank of the slight depression that represented the dry stream
bottom. We could duck down into the depression, sneak along it,
come up back of the little bush, and shoot from very close range.
Leaving the gunbearers, we proceeded to do this.

So quietly did we move that when we rose up back of the little
bush a lioness lying under it with her cub was as surprised as we
were!

Indeed, I do not think she knew what we were, for instead of
attacking, she leaped out the other side the bush, uttering a
startled snarl. At once she whirled to come at us, but the brief
respite had allowed us to recover our own scattered wits. As she
turned I caught her broadside through the heart. Although this
shot knocked her down, F. immediately followed it with another
for safety's sake. We found that actually we had just missed
stepping on her tail!

The cub we caught a glimpse of. He was about the size of a setter
dog. We tried hard to find him, but failed. The lioness was an
unusually large one, probably about as big as the female ever
grows, measuring nine feet six inches in length, and three feet
eight inches tail at the shoulder.

Billy had her funny times housekeeping. The kitchen department
never quite ceased marvelling at her. Whenever she went to the
cook-camp to deliver her orders she was surrounded by an
attentive and respectful audience. One day, after holding forth
for some time in Swahili, she found that she had been standing
hobnailed on one of the boy's feet.

"Why, Mahomet!" she cried. "That must hurt you! Why didn't you
tell me?"

"Memsahib," he smiled politely, "I think perhaps you move some
time!"

On another occasion she was trying to tell the cook, through
Mahomet as interpreter, that she wanted a tough old buffalo steak
pounded, boarding-house style. This evidently puzzled all hands.
They turned to in an earnest discussion of what it was all about,
anyway. Billy understood Swahili well enough at that time to
gather that they could not understand the Memsahib's wanting the
meat "kibokoed"-FLOGGED. Was it a religious rite, or a piece of
revenge? They gave it up.

"All right," said Mahomet patiently at last. "He say he do it.
WHICH ONE IS IT?"

Part of our supplies comprised tins of dehydrated fruit. One
evening Billy decided to have a grand celebration, so she passed
out a tin marked "rhubarb" and some cornstarch, together with
suitable instructions for a fruit pudding. In a little while the
cook returned.

"Nataka m'tund-I want fruit," said he.

Billy pointed out, severely, that he already had fruit. He went
away shaking his head. Evening and the pudding came. It looked
good, and we congratulated Billy on her culinary enterprise.
Being hungry, we took big mouthfuls. There followed splutterings
and investigations. The rhubarb can proved to be an old one
containing heavy gun grease!

When finally we parted with our faithful cook we bought him a
really wonderful many bladed knife as a present. On seeing it he
slumped to the ground-six feet of lofty dignity-and began to
weep violently, rocking back and forth in an excess of grief.

"Why, what is it?" we inquired, alarmed.

"Oh, Memsahib!" he wailed, the tears coursing down his cheeks, "I
wanted a watch!"

One morning about nine o'clock we were riding along at the edge of
a grass-grown savannah, with a low hill to our right and another
about four hundred yards ahead. Suddenly two rhinoceroses came to
their feet some fifty yards to our left out in the high grass,
and stood looking uncertainly in our direction.

"Look out! Rhinos!" I warned instantly.

"Why-why!" gasped Billy in an astonished tone of voice, "they
have manes!"

In some concern for her sanity I glanced in her direction. She
was staring, not to her left, but straight ahead. I followed the
direction of her gaze, to see three lions moving across the face
of the hill.

Instantly we dropped off our horses. We wanted a shot at those
lions very much indeed, but were hampered in our efforts by the
two rhinoceroses, now stamping, snorting, and moving slowly in
our direction. The language we muttered was racy, but we dropped
to a kneeling position and opened fire on the disappearing lions.
It was most distinctly a case of divided attention, one eye on
those menacing rhinos, and one trying to attend to the always
delicate operation of aligning sights and signalling from a
rather distracted brain just when to pull the trigger. Our
faithful gunbearers crouched by us, the heavy guns ready.

One rhino seemed either peaceable or stupid. He showed no
inclination either to attack or to depart, but was willing to
back whatever play his friend might decide on. The friend charged
toward us until we began to think he meant battle, stopped,
thought a moment, and then, followed by his companion, trotted
slowly across our bows about eighty yards away, while we
continued our long range practice at the lions over their backs.

In this we were not winning many cigars. F. had a 280-calibre
rifle shooting the Ross cartridge through the much advertised
grooveless oval bore. It was little accurate beyond a hundred
yards. Memba Sasa had thrust the 405 into my hand, knowing it for
the "lion gun," and kept just out of reach with the long-range
Springfield. I had no time to argue the matter with him. The 405
has a trajectory like a rainbow at that distance, and I was
guessing at it, and not making very good guesses either. B. had
his Springfield and made closer practice, finally hitting a leg
of one of the beasts. We saw him lift his paw and shake it, but
he did not move lamely afterward, so the damage was probably
confined to a simple scrape. It was a good shot anyway. Then they
disappeared over the top of the hill.

We walked forward, regretting rhinos. Thirty yards ahead of me
came a thunderous and roaring growl, and a magnificent old lion
reared his head from a low bush. He evidently intended mischief,
for I could see his tail switching. However, B. had killed only
one lion and I wanted very much to give him the shot. Therefore,
I held the front sight on the middle of his chest, and uttered a
fervent wish to myself that B. would hurry up. In about ten
seconds the muzzle of his rifle poked over my shoulder, so I
resigned the job.

At B.'s shot the lion fell over, but was immediately up and
trying to get at us. Then we saw that his hind quarters were
paralyzed. He was a most magnificent sight as he reared his fine
old head, roaring at us full mouthed so that the very air
trembled. Billy had a good look at a lion in action. B. took up a
commanding position on an ant hill to one side with his rifle
levelled. F. and I advanced slowly side by side. At twelve feet
from the wounded beast stopped, F. unlimbered the kodak, while I
held the bead of the 405 between the lion's eyes, ready to press
trigger at the first forward movement, however slight. Thus we
took several exposures in the two cameras. Unfortunately one of
the cameras fell in the river the next day. The other contained
but one exposure. While not so spectacular as some of those
spoiled, it shows very well the erect mane, he wicked narrowing
of the eyes, the flattening of the ears of an angry lion. You
must imagine, furthermore, the deep rumbling diapason of his
growling.

We backed away, and B. put in the finishing shot. The first
bullet, we then found, had penetrated the kidneys, thus
inflicting a temporary paralysis.

When we came to skin him we found an old-fashioned lead bullet
between the bones of his right forepaw. The entrance wound had so
entirely healed over that hardly the trace of a scar remained.
>From what I know of the character of these beasts, I have no
doubt that this ancient injury furnished the reason for his
staying to attack us instead of departing with the other three
lions over the hill.

Following the course of the river, we one afternoon came around a
bend on a huge herd of mixed game that had been down to water.
The river, a quite impassable barrier lay to our right, and an
equally impassable precipitous ravine barred their flight ahead.
They were forced to cross our front, quite close, within the
hundred yards. We stopped to watch them go, a seemingly endless
file of them, some very much frightened, bounding spasmodically
as though stung; others more philosophical, loping easily and
unconcernedly; still others to a few-even stopping for a moment to
get a good view of us. The very young creatures, as always,
bounced along absolutely stiff-legged, exactly like wooden
animals suspended by an elastic, touching the ground and
rebounding high, without a bend of the knee nor an apparent
effort of the muscles. Young animals seem to have to learn how to
bend their legs for the most efficient travel. The same is true
of human babies as well. In this herd were, we estimated, some
four or five hundred beasts.

While hunting near the foothills I came across the body of a
large eagle suspended by one leg from the crotch of a limb. The
bird's talon had missed its grip, probably on alighting, the
tarsus had slipped through the crotch beyond the joint, the eagle
had fallen forward, and had never been able to flop itself back
to an upright position!

XXI. THE RHINOCEROS

The rhinoceros is, with the giraffe, the hippopotamus, the
gerenuk, and the camel, one of Africa's unbelievable animals.
Nobody has bettered Kipling's description of him in the Just-so
Stories: "A horn on his nose, piggy eyes, and few manners." He
lives a self-centred life, wrapped up in the porcine contentment
that broods within nor looks abroad over the land. When anything
external to himself and his food and drink penetrates to his
intelligence he makes a flurried fool of himself, rushing madly
and frantically here and there in a hysterical effort either to
destroy or get away from the cause of disturbance. He is the
incarnation of a living and perpetual Grouch.

Generally he lives by himself, sometimes with his spouse, more
rarely still with a third that is probably a grown-up son or
daughter. I personally have never seen more than three in
company. Some observers have reported larger bands, or rather
collections, but, lacking other evidence, I should be inclined to
suspect that some circumstances of food or water rather than a
sense of gregariousness had attracted a number of individuals to
one locality.

The rhinoceros has three objects in life: to fill his stomach
with food and water, to stand absolutely motionless under a bush,
and to imitate ant hills when he lies down in the tall grass.
When disturbed at any of these occupations he snorts. The snort
sounds exactly as though the safety valve of a locomotive had
suddenly opened and as suddenly shut again after two seconds of
escaping steam. Then he puts his head down and rushes madly in
some direction, generally upwind. As he weighs about two tons,
and can, in spite of his appearance, get over the ground nearly
as fast as an ordinary horse, he is a truly imposing sight,
especially since the innocent bystander generally happens to be
upwind, and hence in the general path of progress. This is
because the rhino's scent is his keenest sense, and through it he
becomes aware, in the majority of times, of man's presence. His
sight is very poor indeed; he cannot see clearly even a moving
object much beyond fifty yards. He can, however, hear pretty
well.

The novice, then, is subjected to what he calls a "vicious
charge" on the part of the rhinoceros, merely because his scent
was borne to the beast from upwind, and the rhino naturally runs
away upwind. He opens fire, and has another thrilling adventure
to relate. As a matter of fact, if he had approached from the
other side, and then aroused the animal with a clod of earth, the
beast would probably have "charged" away in identically the same
direction. I am convinced from a fairly varied experience that
this is the basis for most of the thrilling experiences with
rhinoceroses.

But whatever the beast's first mental attitude, the danger is
quite real. In the beginning he rushes, upwind in instinctive
reaction against the strange scent. If he catches sight of the
man at all, it must be after he has approached to pretty close
range, for only at close range are the rhino's eyes effective.
Then he is quite likely to finish what was at first a blind dash
by a genuine charge. Whether this is from malice or from the
panicky feeling that he is now too close to attempt to get away,
I never was able determine. It is probably in the majority of
cases the latter. This seems indicated by the fact that the
rhino, if avoided in his first rush, will generally charge right
through and keep on going. Occasionally, however, he will whirl
and come back to the attack. There can then be no doubt that he
actually intends mischief.

Nor must it be forgotten that with these animals, AS WITH ALL
OTHERS, not enough account is taken of individual variation.
They, as well as man, and as well as other animals, have their
cowards, their fighters, their slothful and their enterprising.
And, too, there seem to be truculent and peaceful districts.
North of Mt. Kenia, between that peak and the Northern Guaso
Nyero River, we saw many rhinos, none of which showed the
slightest disposition to turn ugly. In fact, they were so
peaceful that they scrabbled off as fast as they could go every
time they either scented, heard, or SAW us; and in their flight
they held their noses up, not down. In the wide angle between the
Tana and Thika rivers, and comprising the Yatta Plains, and in
the thickets of the Tsavo, the rhinoceroses generally ran nose
down in a position of attack and were much inclined to let their
angry passions master them at the sight of man. Thus we never had
our safari scattered by rhinoceroses in the former district,
while in the latter the boys were up trees six times in the
course of one morning! Carl Akeley, with a moving picture
machine, could not tease a charge out of a rhino in a dozen
tries, while Dugmore, in a different part of the country, was so
chivied about that he finally left the district to avoid killing
any more of the brutes in self-defence!

The fact of the matter is that the rhinoceros is neither animated
by the implacable man-destroying passion ascribed to him by the
amateur hunter, nor is he so purposeless and haphazard in his
rushes as some would have us believe. On being disturbed his
instinct is to get away. He generally tries to get away in the
direction of the disturbance, or upwind, as the case may be. If
he catches sight of the cause of disturbance he is apt to try to
trample and gore it, whatever it is. As his sight is short, he
will sometimes so inflict punishment on unoffending bushes. In
doing this he is probably not animated by a consuming destructive
blind rage, but by a naturally pugnacious desire to eliminate
sources of annoyance. Missing a definite object, he thunders
right through and disappears without trying again to discover
what has aroused him.

This first rush is not a charge in the sense that it is an attack
on a definite object. It may not, and probably will not, amount
to a charge at all, for the beast will blunder through without
ever defining more clearly the object of his blind dash. That
dash is likely, however, at any moment, to turn into a definite
charge should the rhinoceros happen to catch sight of his
disturber. Whether the impelling motive would then be a mistaken
notion that on the part of the beast he was so close he had to
fight, or just plain malice, would not matter. At such times the
intended victim is not interested in the rhino's mental
processes.

Owing to his size, his powerful armament, and his incredible
quickness the rhinoceros is a dangerous animal at all times, to
be treated with respect and due caution. This is proved by the
number of white men, out of a sparse population, that are
annually tossed and killed by the brutes, and by the promptness
with which the natives take to trees-thorn trees at that!-when
the cry of faru! is raised. As he comes rushing in your
direction, head down and long weapon pointed, tail rigidly erect,
ears up, the earth trembling with his tread and the air with his
snorts, you suddenly feel very small and ineffective.

If you keep cool, however, it is probable that the encounter will
result only in a lot of mental perturbation for the rhino and a
bit of excitement for yourself. If there is any cover you should
duck down behind it and move rapidly but quietly to one side or
another of the line of advance. If there is no cover, you should
crouch low and hold still. The chances are he will pass to one
side or the other of you, and go snorting away into the distance.
Keep your eye on him very closely. If he swerves definitely in
your direction, AND DROPS HIS HEAD A LITTLE LOWER, it would be
just as well to open fire. Provided the beast was still far
enough away to give me "sea-room," I used to put a small bullet
in the flesh of the outer part of the shoulder. The wound thus
inflicted was not at all serious, but the shock of the bullet
usually turned the beast. This was generally in the direction of
the wounded shoulder, which would indicate that the brute turned
toward the apparent source of the attack, probably for the
purpose of getting even. At any rate, the shot turned the rush to
one side, and the rhinoceros, as usual, went right on through.
If, however, he seemed to mean business, or was too close for
comfort, the point to aim for was the neck just above the lowered
horn.

In my own experience I came to establish a "dead line" about
twenty yards from myself. That seemed to be as near as I cared to
let the brutes come. Up to that point I let them alone on the
chance that they might swerve or change their minds, as they
often did. But inside of twenty yards, whether the rhinoceros
meant to charge me, or was merely running blindly by, did not
particularly matter. Even in the latter case he might happen to
catch sight of me and change his mind. Thus, looking over my
notebook records, I find that I was "charged" forty odd
times-that is to say, the rhinoceros rushed in my general
direction. Of this lot I can be sure of but three, and possibly
four, that certainly meant mischief. Six more came so directly at
us, and continued so to come, that in spite of ourselves we were
compelled to kill them. The rest were successfully dodged.

As I have heard old hunters of many times my experience, affirm
that only in a few instances have they themselves been charged
indubitably and with malice aforethought, it might be well to
detail my reasons for believing myself definitely and not blindly
attacked.

The first instance was that when B. killed his second trophy
rhinoceros. The beast's companion refused to leave the dead body
for a long time, but finally withdrew. On our approaching,
however, and after we had been some moments occupied with the
trophy, it returned and charged viciously. It was finally killed
at fifteen yards.

The second instance was of a rhinoceros that got up from the
grass sixty yards away, and came headlong in my direction. At the
moment I was standing on the edge of a narrow eroded ravine, ten
feet deep, with perpendicular sides. The rhinoceros came on
bravely to the edge of this ravine-and stopped. Then he gave an
exhibition of unmitigated bad temper most amusing to
contemplate-from my safe position. He snorted, and stamped, and
pawed the earth, and tramped up and down at a great rate. I sat on
the opposite bank and laughed at him. This did not please him a
bit, but after many short rushes to the edge of the ravine, he
gave it up and departed slowly, his tail very erect and rigid.
>From the persistency with which he tried to get at me, I cannot
but think he intended something of the sort from the first.

The third instance was much more aggravating. In company with
Memba Sasa and Fundi I left camp early one morning to get a
waterbuck. Four or five hundred yards out, however, we came on
fresh buffalo signs, not an hour old. To one who knew anything of
buffaloes' habits this seemed like an excellent chance, for at
this time of the morning they should be feeding not far away
preparatory to seeking cover for the day. Therefore we
immediately took up the trail.

It led us over hills, through valleys, high grass, burned
country, brush, thin scrub, and small woodland alternately.
Unfortunately we had happened on these buffalo just as they were
about changing district, and they were therefore travelling
steadily. At times the trail was easy to follow and at other
times we had to cast about very diligently to find traces of the
direction even such huge animals had taken. It was interesting
work, however, and we drew on steadily, keeping a sharp lookout
ahead in case the buffalo had come to a halt in some shady
thicket out of the sun. As the latter ascended the heavens and
the scorching heat increased, our confidence in nearing our
quarry ascended likewise, for we knew that buffaloes do not like
great heat. Nevertheless this band continued straight on its way.
I think now they must have got scent of our camp, and had
therefore decided to move to one of the alternate and widely
separated feeding grounds every herd keeps in its habitat. Only
at noon, and after six hours of steady trailing, covering perhaps
a dozen miles, did we catch them up.

>From the start we had been bothered with rhinoceroses. Five times
did we encounter them, standing almost squarely on the line of
the spoor we were following. Then we had to make a wide quiet
circle to leeward in order to avoid disturbing them, and were
forced to a very minute search in order to pick up the buffalo
tracks again on the other side. This was at once an anxiety and a
delay, and we did not love those rhino.

Finally, at the very edge of the Yatta Plains we overtook the
herd, resting for noon in a scattered thicket. Leaving Fundi, I,
with Memba Sasa, stalked down to them. We crawled and crept by
inches flat to the ground, which was so hot that it fairly burned
the hand. The sun beat down on us fiercely, and the air was close
and heavy even among the scanty grass tufts in which we were
trying to get cover. It was very hard work indeed, but after a
half hour of it we gained a thin bush not over thirty yards from
a half dozen dark and indeterminate bodies dozing in the very
centre of a brush patch. Cautiously I wiped the sweat from my
eyes and raised my glasses. It was slow work and patient work,
picking out and examining each individual beast from the mass.
Finally the job was done. I let fall my glasses.

"Monumookee y'otey-all cows," I whispered to Memba Sasa.

We backed out of there inch by inch, with intention of circling a
short distance to the leeward, and then trying the herd again
lower down. But some awkward slight movement, probably on my
part, caught the eye of one of those blessed cows. She threw up
her head; instantly the whole thicket seemed alive with beasts.
We could hear them crashing and stamping, breaking the brush,
rushing headlong and stopping again; we could even catch
momentary glimpses of dark bodies. After a few minutes we saw the
mass of the herd emerge from the thicket five hundred yards away
and flow up over the hill. There were probably a hundred and
fifty of them, and, looking through my glasses, I saw among them
two fine old bulls. They were of course not much alarmed, as only
the one cow knew what it was all about anyway, and I suspected
they would stop at the next thicket.

We had only one small canteen of water with us, but we divided
that. It probably did us good, but the quantity was not
sufficient to touch our thirst. For the remainder of the day we
suffered rather severely, as the sun was fierce.

After a short interval we followed on after the buffaloes. Within
a half mile beyond the crest of the hill over which they had
disappeared was another thicket. At the very edge of the thicket,
asleep under an outlying bush, stood one of the big bulls!

Luck seemed with us at last. The wind was right, and between us
and the bull lay only four hundred yards of knee-high grass. All
we had to do was to get down on our hands and knees, and, without
further precautions, crawl up within range and pot him. That
meant only a bit of hard, hot work.

When we were about halfway a rhinoceros suddenly arose from the
grass between us and the buffalo, and about one hundred yards
away.

What had aroused him, at that distance and upwind, I do not know.
It hardly seemed possible that he could have heard us, for we
were moving very quietly, and, as I say, we were downwind.
However, there he was on his feet, sniffing now this way, now
that, in search for what had alarmed him. We sank out of sight
and lay low, fully expecting that the brute would make off.

For just twenty-five minutes by the watch that rhinoceros looked
and looked deliberately in all directions while we lay hidden
waiting for him to get over it. Sometimes he would start off
quite confidently for fifty or sixty yards, so that we thought at
last we were rid of him, but always he returned to the exact spot
where we had first seen him, there to stamp, and blow. The
buffalo paid no attention to these manifestations. I suppose
everybody in jungleland is accustomed to rhinoceros bad temper
over nothing. Twice he came in our direction, but both times gave
it up after advancing twenty-five yards or so. We lay flat on our
faces, the vertical sun slowly roasting us, and cursed that
rhino.

Now the significance of this incident is twofold: first, the fact
that, instead of rushing off at the first intimation of our
presence, as would the average rhino, he went methodically to
work to find us; second, that he displayed such remarkable
perseverance as to keep at it nearly a half hour. This was a
spirit quite at variance with that finding its expression in the
blind rush or in the sudden passionate attack. From that point of
view it seems to me that the interest and significance of the
incident can hardly be overstated.

Four or five times we thought ourselves freed of the nuisance,
but always, just as we were about to move on, back he came, as
eager as ever to nose us out. Finally he gave it up, and, at a
slow trot, started to go away from there. And out of the three
hundred and sixty degrees of the circle where he might have gone
he selected just our direction. Note that this was downwind for
him, and that rhinoceroses usually escape upwind.

We laid very low, hoping that, as before, he would change his
mind as to direction. But now he was no longer looking, but
travelling. Nearer and nearer he came. We could see plainly his
little eyes, and hear the regular swish, swish, swish of his
thick legs brushing through the grass. The regularity of his trot
never varied, but to me lying there directly in his path, he
seemed to be coming on altogether too fast for comfort. From our
low level he looked as big as a barn. Memba Sasa touched me
lightly on the leg. I hated to shoot, but finally when he loomed
fairly over us I saw it must be now or never. If I allowed him to
come closer, he must indubitably catch the first movement of my
gun and so charge right on us before I would have time to deliver
even an ineffective shot. Therefore, most reluctantly, I placed
the ivory bead of the great Holland gun just to the point of his
shoulder and pulled the trigger. So close was he that as he
toppled forward I instinctively, though unnecessarily of course,
shrank back as though he might fall on me. Fortunately I had
picked my spot properly, and no second shot was necessary. He
fell just twenty-seven feet-nine yards -from where we lay!

The buffalo vanished into the blue. We were left with a dead
rhino, which we did not want, twelve miles from camp, and no
water. It was a hard hike back, but we made it finally, though
nearly perished from thirst.

This beast, be it noted, did not charge us at all, but I consider
him as one of the three undoubtedly animated by hostile
intentions. Of the others I can, at this moment, remember five
that might or might not have been actually and maliciously
charging when they were killed or dodged. I am no mind reader for
rhinoceros. Also I am willing to believe in their entirely
altruistic intentions. Only, if they want to get the practical
results of their said altruistic intentions they must really
refrain from coming straight at me nearer than twenty yards. It
has been stated that if one stands perfectly still until the
rhinoceros is just six feet away, and then jumps sideways, the
beast will pass him. I never happened to meet anybody who had
acted on this theory. I suppose that such exist: though I doubt
if any persistent exponent of the art is likely to exist long.
Personally I like my own method, and stoutly maintain that
within twenty yards it is up to the rhinoceros to begin to do the
dodging.

XXII. THE RHINOCEROS-(continued)

At first the traveller is pleased and curious over rhinoceros.
After he has seen and encountered eight or ten, he begins to look
upon them as an unmitigated nuisance. By the time he has done a
week in thick rhino-infested scrub he gets fairly to hating them.

They are bad enough in the open plains, where they can be seen and
avoided, but in the tall grass or the scrub they are a continuous
anxiety. No cover seems small enough to reveal them. Often they
will stand or lie absolutely immobile until you are within a very
short distance, and then will outrageously break out. They are,
in spite of their clumsy build, as quick an