The Land of Footprints

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

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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.

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