The Land of Footprints

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

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22

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.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22