The Land of Footprints

S >> Stewart Edward White >> The Land of Footprints

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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.

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