Our man used the Somali “Nabad” as a salutation, instead of the “Salaam aleikum” of the Arabs. The last is the most generally used. We heard it almost invariably in the Ogaden and Marehan countries. Clarence had donned resplendent garb in which to give us greeting, and discarding the ordinary everyday white tobe had dressed himself in the khaili, a tobe dyed in shades of the tricolour, fringed with orange. We never saw him again tricked out like this; evidently the get-up must have been borrowed for the occasion. He wore a tusba, or prayer chaplet, round his neck, and the beads were made from some wood that had a pleasant aroma. A business-like dagger was at the waist; Peace and War were united.
I noticed what long tapering fingers the Somali had, and quite aristocratic hands, though so brown. He had a very graceful way of standing too. In fact all his movements were lithe and lissome, telling us he was a jungle man. I liked him the instant I set eyes on him, and we were friends from the day we met to the day we parted. Had we been unable to secure his services I do not know where we should have ended, or what the trip might have cost. Everyone in Berbera seemed bent on making us pay for things twice over, and three times if possible. Clarence’s demands were reasonable enough, and he fell in with our wishes most graciously.
I gave instructions for the purchase of camels, fifty at least, for the caravan was a large one. There were not so many animals in the place for sale at once, and of course our soldier friends were on the look out for likely animals also.
During the next few days we busied ourselves in engaging the necessary servants. My uncle had impressed on me the necessity of seeing that the caravan was peopled with men from many tribes, as friction is better than a sort of trust among themselves. Clarence appeared to have no wish to take his own relatives along, as is so often the case, and we had no bother in the matter. But we were dreadfully ‘had’ over six rough ponies we bought. We gave one hundred and fifty rupees each for them and they were dear at forty. However, much wiser people than Cecily and myself go wrong in buying horses! Later in the trip we acquired a better pony apiece and so pulled through all right.
My cousin has a very excellent appetite, and is rather fond of the flesh-pots generally, and gave as much attention to the engaging of a suitable cook as I did to the purchase of the camels. No lady ever emerged more triumphantly from the local Servants’ Registry Office after securing the latest thing in cooks than did Cecily on rushing out of the bungalow at express speed to tell me she had engaged a regular Monsieur Escoffier to accompany us.
What he could not cook was not worth cooking. Altogether we seemed in for a good time as far as meals were concerned.
Meanwhile Clarence had produced from somewhere about forty-five camels, and I judged it about time to launch a little of the knowledge I was supposed to have gathered from my shikâri uncle. I told Clarence I would personally see and pass every camel we bought for the trip, and prepared for an inspection in the Square. I suffered the most frightful discomfort, in the most appalling heat, but I did not regret it, as I really do think my action prevented our having any amount of useless camels being thrust upon us.
Assume a virtue if you have it not. The pretence at knowledge took in the Somalis, and I went up some miles in their estimation.
As I say, some of the camels offered were palpably useless, and were very antediluvian indeed. I refused any camel with a sore back, or with any tendency that way, and I watched with what looked like the most critical and knowing interest the manner of kneeling. The animal must kneel with fore and hind legs together, or there is something wrong. I can’t tell you what. My uncle merely said, darkly, “something.” Of course I found out age by the teeth, an operation attended with much snapping and Somali cuss-words. The directions about teeth had grown very confused in my mind, and all I stuck to was the pith of the narrative, namely, that a camel at eight years old has molars and canines. I forget the earlier ages with attendant incisors. Then another condition plain to be seen was the hump. Even a tyro like myself could see the immense difference between the round, full hump of a camel in fine condition and that of the poor over-worked creature. As I knew we were paying far too much for the beasts anyway I saw no reason why we should be content to take the lowest for the highest.
Finally I stood possessed of forty-nine camels, try as I would I could not find a fiftieth. I was told this number was amply sufficient to carry our entire outfit, but how they were to do so I really could not conceive. Viewed casually, our possessions now assumed the dimensions of a mountain, and we had to pitch tents in the Square in order to store the goods safely. This necessitated a constant guard.
Everything we brought with us was in apple-pie order owing to the lists so carefully placed in the lid of each box, and gave us no trouble in the dividing up into the usual camel loads. It was our myriad purchases in Berbera that caused the chaos. They were here, there and everywhere, and all concerning them was at six and seven. I detailed some camels to carry our personal kit, food supplies, &c., exclusively; the same men to be always responsible for their safety, and that there should be no mistake about it I took down the branding marks on apiece of paper. Camels seem to be branded on the neck, and most of the marks are different, for I suppose every tribe has its own hallmark.
Some of the camels brought into Berbera for sale are not intended to be draught animals, being merely for food, and with so much care and extra attention get very fine and well-developed generally. Camel-meat is to the Somali what we are given to understand turtle soup is to the London alderman. Next in favour comes mutton, but no flesh comes up to camel. The Somali camel-man is exceedingly attentive to his charges, giving them names, and rarely, if ever, ill treating them. As a result the animals are fairly even tempered, for camels, and one may go amongst them with more or less assurance of emerging unbitten. When loading up the man sings away, and the camel must get familiar with the song. It seems to be interminably the same, and goes on and on in dreary monotone until the job is over. I would I knew what it was all about.
Of course it is a fact that a camel can take in a month’s supply of water, but it very much depends on the nature of the month how the animal gets on. If he is on pasture, green and succulent, he can go on much longer than a month, but if working hard, continuously, and much loaded, once a week is none too often to water him. They are not strong animals; far from it, and they have a great many complaints and annoyances to contend with in a strenuous life. The most awful, to my mind, is sore back and its consequences. This trouble comes from bad and uneven lading, damp mats, &c., and more often than not the sore is scratched until it gets into a shocking condition. Flies come next, and maggots follow, and then a ghastly Nemesis in the form of the rhinoceros bird which comes for a meal, and with its sharp pointed beak picks up maggots and flesh together. When out at pasture these birds never leave the browsing camels alone, clinging on to shoulders, haunch, and side, in threes and fours.
We had now in our caravan, not counting Clarence and the cook, two boys (men of at least forty, who always referred to themselves as “boys”) to assist the cook, one “makadam,” or head camel-man, twenty-four camel men, four syces, and six hunters, to say nothing of a couple of men of all work, who appeared to be going with us for reasons only known to themselves.
In most caravans the head-man and head shikari are separate individuals, but in our show Clarence was to double the parts. It seemed to us the wisest arrangement. He was so excellent a manager, and we knew him to be a mighty hunter.
The chaos of purchases included rice, harns or native water-casks, ordinary water barrels calculated to hold about twelve gallons apiece, blankets for the men, herios, or camel mats, potatoes, ghee, leather loading ropes, numerous native axes, onions, many white tobes for gifts up country, and some Merikani tobes (American made cloth) also for presents, or exchange. Tent-pegs, cooking utensils, and crowds of little things which added to the confusion. A big day’s work, however, set things right, and meanwhile Cecily had discovered a treasure in the way of a butler. He had lived in the service of a white family at Aden, and so would know our ways.
We had taken out a saddle apiece, as the double-peaked affair used by the Somalis is a very uncomfortable thing indeed.
Rice for the men’s rations we bought in sacks of some 160 pounds, and two bags could be carried by one camel. Dates, also an indispensable article of diet, are put up in native baskets of sorts, and bought by the gosra, about 130 pounds, and two gosra can be apportioned to a camel. Ghee, the native butter, is a compound of cow’s milk, largely used by the Somalis to mix with the rice portion, a large quantity of fat being needful ere the wheels go round smoothly. It is bought in a bag made of a whole goat skin, with an ingenious cork of wood and clay. Each bag, if my memory serves me rightly, holds somewhere about 20 pounds, and every man expects two ounces daily unless he is on a meat diet, when it is possible to economise the rice and dates and ghee.
The camel mats, or herios, are plaited by the women of Somaliland, and are made from the chewed bark of a tree called Galol. The harns for water are also made from plaited bark, in different sizes, and when near a karia, it is quite usual to see old women and small children carrying on their backs the heaviest filled harns, whilst the men sit about and watch operations. The harns, which hold about six gallons of water, are—from the camels’ point of view anyway—the best for transport purposes. Six can be carried at once, but a tremendous amount of leakage goes on, and this is very irritating, upsetting calculations so. The water-casks were really better, because they were padlocked, and could also be cleaned out at intervals. But of these only two can go on a camel at one time.
Our own kit was mostly in tin uniform cases, these being better than wooden boxes on account of damp and rainy weather. Leather, besides being heavy, is so attractive to ants. Our rifles, in flat cases, specially made, were compact and not cumbersome, at least not untowardly cumbersome. Our food stores were in the usual cases, padlocked, and a little of everything was in each box, so that we did not need to raid another before the last opened was half emptied. The ammunition was carried in specially made haversacks, each haversack being marked for its particular rifle, and more spare ammunition was packed away in a convenient box, along with cleaning materials, &c. We made our coats into small pantechnicons, and the pockets held no end of useful small articles and useful contraptions. My two coats, one warm khaki serge, one thin drill, were both made with recoil pads as fixtures, and this was an excellent idea, as they saved my shoulder many hard knocks.
We heard of a man who was anxious to go out as skinner, but the Opposition, for we had by now christened the rival camp so, snapped him up before we had an opportunity to engage him. On learning of our disappointment they nobly volunteered to waive their claim, but when I saw the trophy in discussion I would not take him into our little lot at any price. A more crafty, murderous-looking individual it would be hard to find.
The Opposition watched us do some of the packing, and were green with envy as they handled our rifles. The elder tried to induce me to sell him my double-barrelled hammerless ejecting .500 Express. I don’t know how I was meant to be able to get along without it, but I suppose he didn’t think that mattered.
It was then that Clarence, who had, I believe, been yearning to ask all along, wanted to know if I was any good with a rifle, and the other Mem-sahib could she shoot, and if so how had we learned, for the Somalis are nothing if not direct. They rather remind me of English North-country people with their outspoken inquisitiveness, which is at home always regarded as such charming straightforwardness of character.
I was as modest as I could be under the circumstances, but I had to allay any fears the man might be harbouring. Besides, it is not well to under-estimate oneself, especially to a Somali. Nowadays everywhere it is the thing to remove the bushel from one’s light and to make it glare in all men’s eyes. My advice to any one who wants to be heard of is—Advertise, advertise, advertise. If you begin by having a great opinion of yourself and talk about it long enough, you generally end by being great in the opinion of everyone else. I told our shikari I had the use of my uncle’s fine range at home, and the advantage of what sport there was to be had in England and Scotland. Also that this was not our first expedition. The knowledge of all this and my unbounded confidence, not to say cheek, set all doubts at rest.
Every night I was rendered desperate by the scratching in my room of some little rodent which thundered about the floor as though his feet were shod with iron.
Hurrah! At last I had him! He stole my biscuits set for my “chota hazari,” and sometimes left me stranded. They resided in a tin by my bedside. Kismet overtook him, and his nose was in the jaws of a gin. He was killed instanter, and the cat dropped in to breakfast.
I helped her to him.
She commenced on his head, and finished with his tail, a sort of cheese straw. This is curious, because a lion, which is also a cat, begins at the other end. Domesticity reverses the order of a good many things.
He left no trace behind him. Unknown (except to me) he lived, and uncoffined (unless a cat may be called a coffin) he died. By the way, he was a rat.
One afternoon Cecily and I walked along the sea coast at Berbera, and came on the most remarkable fish, jumping into the sea from the sandy shore. I asked a resident about this, and he said the fish is called “mud-skipper”—a name that seems to have more point about it than most.
So, at last, we reached the day fixed for the starting of the great trek.
My necessaries are embark’d
Hamlet
Occasion smiles upon a second leave
Hamlet
At three o’clock in the morning we joined our caravan, all in readiness, in the Square. It was still dark, but we could see the outline of the waiting camels loaded up like pantechnicon vans, and our ponies saddled in expectation of our coming. The Opposition, who had mapped out a different route, beginning by skirting the borders of the now barred reserve for game in the Hargaisa, got up to see us start and wish us “Good hunting.” What our men thought of us and the expedition generally I cannot conjecture. Outwardly at least they gave no sign of astonishment. Clarence gave the word to march, and we set out, leaving Berbera behind us, and very glad we were to see the suburbs a thing of the past. The flies and the sand storms there are most hard to bear, and a little longer sojourn would have seen both of us in bad tempers.
We made up our minds from the first to have tents pitched every night under any circumstances, and never do any of that sleeping on the ground business which seems to be an indispensable part of the fun of big game shooting. We also resolved to share a tent for safety’s sake, but after a little, when we had begun to understand there was nothing on earth to be afraid of, we “chucked” this uncomfortable plan and sported a tent apiece.
On clear nights I always left the flap of the tent open.
I loved to see the wonderful blue of the sky, so reminiscent of the chromo-lithograph pictures admired so greatly in childhood’s days. And I would try and count the myriad stars, and trace a path down the Milky Way. How glorious it was, that first waking in the early, early morning with dark shadows lurking around, the embers of the fires glowing dully, and—just here—a faint breeze blowing in with messages from the distant sea.
The long string of grunting camels ahead looked like some pantomime snake of colossal proportions as it wriggled its way through the low thorn bushes which, here and there, grew stunted and forlorn; camels move with such an undulating gait, and the loads I had trembled about seemed to be a mere bagatelle.
All too soon came the day, and, with the day, the sun in fiery splendour, which speedily reduced us both to the condition of Mr. Mantalini’s expressive description of “demn’d, damp, unpleasant bodies.” The glitter from the sand made us blink at first, but, like everything else, we got perfectly inured to it, and dark days or wet seemed the darker for its loss.
Jerk! And all the camels stopped and bumped into each other, like a train of loaded trucks after a push from an engine. The front camel decided he would rest and meditate awhile, so sat down. He had to be taught the error of such ways, and in a volley of furious undertones from his driver be persuaded to rise.
We passed numerous camels grazing, or trying to, in charge of poor looking, half-fed Somali youths. There is no grazing very near into Berbera, very little outside either unless the animals are taken far afield. Here they were simply spending their energy on trying to pick a bit from an attenuated burnt-up patch of grass that would have been starvation to the average rabbit.
The camel men in charge came over to exchange salaams with ours, and proffer camels’ milk, in the filthiest of harns, to the “sahibs.” We couldn’t help laughing. But for our hair we looked undersized sahibs all right, I suppose, but we couldn’t face the milk. It would have been almost as disagreeable as that bilge water tea.
We each rode one of our expensive steeds, and I had certainly never ridden worse. I called mine “Sceptre,” and “Sceptre” would not answer to the rein at all. I think his jaw was paralysed. He would play follow the leader, so I rode behind Cecily.
The cook of cooks made us some tea, but I don’t think the kettle had boiled. Cecily said perhaps it wasn’t meant to in Somaliland. I asked her to see that we set the fashion.
We rested during the hottest hours, and then trekked again for a little in the evening. There was no need to form a thorn zareba the first night out, as we were practically still in Berbera—at least I felt so when I knew we had covered but some fifteen miles since dawn. Perhaps it will be as well here to describe our clothes for the trip. We wore useful khaki jackets, with many capacious pockets, knickerbockers, gaiters, and good shooting boots. At first we elected to don a silly little skirt that came to the knee, rather like the ones you see on bathing suits, but we soon left the things off, or rather they left us, torn to pieces by the thorns.
Mosquitoes do not like me at all in any country, but we had curtains of course, and they served, very badly, to keep out the insects that swarmed all over one.
Next day as we progressed, we saw numerous dik-dik, popping up as suddenly as the gophers do in Canada. They are the tiniest little things, weighing only about four pounds, and are the smallest variety of buck known. The back is much arched, grey brown in colour, with much rufous red on the side. The muzzle is singularly pointed. The little horns measure usually about two and a half inches, but the females are hornless.
The ground we went over was very barren and sandy, rather ugly than otherwise, and there was no cover of any kind. Any thought of stalking the small numbers of gazelle we saw was out of the question. Besides, our main object was to push on as fast as possible to the back of beyond.
In the evenings we always did a few miles, and camped where any wells were to be found. The water was full of leeches, but we carefully boiled all the drinking water for our personal use. The Somalis seem to thrive on the filthiest liquid.
The cook got a leech of the most tenacious principles on to his wrist, and made the most consummate fuss. A bite from a venomous snake could hardly have occasioned more commotion. I can’t imagine what the condition of the man would have been had the leech stayed as long as it intended. I put a little salt on its tail, and settled the matter. By the end of the next short trek we reached the Golis Range, taking them at their narrowest part. The whole place had changed for the better. Clear pools of water glistened bright among a riot of aloes and thorns, and there was also a very feathery looking plant, of which I do not know the name.
For the first time we said to each other, “Let us go out and kill something, or try to.” There was always the dread of returning to camp unblooded, so to speak, when Clarence might, or would, or should, or could regard us as two amiable lunatics not fit to be trusted with firearms. This is a woman all over. Try as she will she cannot rise superior to Public Opinion—even the opinion of a crowd of ignorant Somalis! After all, what is it? “The views of the incapable Many as opposed to the discerning Few.”
We agreed to separate, tossing up for the privilege of taking Clarence. To my infinite regret I drew him. As a rule when we tossed up we did it again and again until the one who had a preference got what she wanted. Women always toss up like that. Why bother to toss at all? Ah, now you’ve asked a poser.
But I couldn’t get Cecily to try our luck again. She said she was suited all right. The fact being that neither of us yearned to make a possible exhibition before our shikari. There was nothing for it. I took my .500 Express, and with Clarence behind me flung myself into the wilderness in as nonchalant a manner as I could assume. I was really very excited in a quiet sort of way, “for now sits Expectation in the air.” It got a trifle dashed after an hour of creeping about with no sort of reward save the frightened rush of the ubiquitous dik-dik.
“Mem-sahib! Mem-sahib!” from the shikari, in excited undertone.
He gripped my arm in silent indication.
“Mem-sahib!” in tones of anguished reproach. “Gerenük!”
We were always Mems to Clarence, who perhaps felt, like the lady at Aden, that if we weren’t we ought to be.
I looked straight ahead, and from my crouching position could make out nothing alive. I gazed intently again. And, yes, of course, all that I looked at was gerenük, two, three, four of them. In that moment of huge surprise I couldn’t even count properly. The intervening bushes screened them more or less, but what a comical appearance they had! how quaintly set their heads! how long their necks! how like giraffes! They moved on, slowly tearing down the thorns as they fed. I commenced to stalk. There was a fine buck with a good head. It was not difficult to distinguish him, as his harem carried no horns.
For twenty minutes or more I crawled along, hoping on, hoping ever, that some chance bit of luck would bring me in fairly clear range, or that the antelope would pause again. Clearly they had not winded me; clearly I was not doing so very badly to be still in their vicinity at all. Now came a bare patch of country to be got over, and I signed to Clarence to remain behind. I was flat on my face, wriggling along the sand. If the antelope were only in the open, and I in the spot where they were screened! The smallest movement now, and... I got to within 120 yards of them when something snapped. The herd gathered together and silently trotted off, making a way through the density with surprising ease considering its thick nature. I got up and ran some way to try and cut them off, dropping again instantly as I saw a gap ahead through which it seemed likely their rush would carry them. It was an uncertain and somewhat long shot, but the chances were I should never see the animals again if I did not take even the small opportunity that seemed about to present itself. I had long ago forgotten the very existence of my shikari. The world might have been empty save for myself and four gerenük. Nervousness had left me, doubts of all kinds; nothing remained save the wonder and the interest and the scheming.
It really was more good luck than good management. I afterwards discovered that the gerenük, or Waller’s gazelle, is the most difficult antelope to shoot in all Somaliland, mostly from their habit of frequenting the thickest country.
This is where the ignoramus scores. It is well known that the tyro at first is often more successful in his stalks, and kills too, for the matter of that, than your experienced shikari with years of practice and a mine of knowledge to draw on. Fools rush in where angels fear to tread—and win too sometimes.
The herd passed the gap, and, as they did so, slowed up a bit to crush through. The buck presented more than a sporting shot, his lighter side showing up clear against his dark red back. I fired. I heard the “phut” of the bullet, and knew I had not missed. I began to tremble with the after excitements, and rated myself soundly for it. I dashed to the gap. The buck—oh, where was he? Gone on, following his companions, and all were out of sight. He was seriously wounded, there was no doubt, for the blood trail was plain to be seen. Clarence joined me, and off we went hot on the track. After a long chase we came on a thickish bunch of thorns, and my quarry, obviously hard hit, bounded out, and was off again like the wind before I had an opportunity to bring up my rifle. It was a long time before he gave me another, when, catching him in fairly open ground, I dropped him with a successful shot at some 140 yards, and the buck fell as my first prize of the trip.
Clarence’s pleasure in my success was really genuine, and I gave him directions to reserve the head and skin, royally presenting him with all the meat. I could not at first make out why he so vigorously refused it. I made up my mind he had some prejudice against this particular variety of antelope. I afterwards found that no Jew is more particular how his meat is killed than is the Somali. The system of “hallal” is very strictly respected, and it was only occasionally, when I meant the men to have meat, that I was able to stock their larder.
I tasted some of this gerenük, and cooked it myself, Our cook was, indeed, a failure. He was one of the talk-about-himself variety, and from constant assertions that he could cook anything passing well, had come to believe himself a culinary artist.
I roasted a part of the leg of my gerenük, and did it in a way we used to adopt in the wilds of Vancouver Island. A hole is made in the ground and filled with small timber and pieces of wood. This is fired, and then, when the embers are glowing, the meat being ready in a deep tin with a tight-fitting lid, you place it on the hot red ashes, and cover the whole with more burning faggots, which are piled on until the meat is considered to be ready. If the Somalis have a quantity of meat to cook, they make a large trench, fill it with firewood, and make a network of stout faggots, on which the meat is placed. It is a sort of grilling process, and very effective. If kept constantly turned, the result is usually quite appetising.
Cecily came into camp with a Speke buck. I examined it with the greatest interest. The coat feels very soft to the touch, and has almost the appearance of having been oiled. Speke’s Gazelle are very numerous in the Golis, and are dark in colour, with a tiny black tail. They have a very strange protuberance of skin on the nose, of which I have never discovered the use. Every extraordinary feature of wild life seems to me to be there for some reason of protection, or escape, or well being. Dear Nature arranges things so to balance accounts a little ’twixt all the jungle folk. In the Speke fraternity there is more equality of the sexes. The does as well as the bucks carry horns. At first I pretended to Cecily that my expedition had been an humiliating and embarrassing failure, that I had signally missed a shot at a gerenük that would have delighted the heart of a baby in arms. But she caught sight of my trophy impaled on a thorn bush, and dashed over to see it instanter.
About this time we were very much amused to discover we had among our shikaris a veritable Baron Munchausen. Of whatever he told us, the contrary was the fact. If he brought news of splendid “khubbah,” there was no game for miles. If we went spooring, he spoored to the extent of romancing about beasts that could not possibly frequent the region we were in at all. I do not mind a few fibs; in fact, I rather like them.
“A taste exact for faultless fact
Amounts to a disease,”
and argues such a hopeless want of imagination. But this man was too much altogether. Of course he may have had a somewhat perverted sense of humour.
My uncle had warned me I should find all Somalis frightful liars, and to be prepared for it. Personally, I always like to assume that every man is a Washington until I have proved him to be an Ananias.
We saw—in the distance—numerous aoul, Soemmering’s Gazelle, and the exquisitely graceful koodoo, the most beautiful animal, to my thinking, that lives in Somaliland. The horns are magnificent, with the most artistic of curves. The females are hornless in this species also. When come upon suddenly, or when frightened, this animal “barks” exactly as our own red deer are wont to do. In colour they are of a greyish hue, and their sides are striped in lines of white.
It was not our intention to stay and stalk the quantities of game about us. Our desire was all to push on to the kingdom of His Majesty King Leo. So for days we went on, halting o’ nights now in glorious scenery, and everywhere the game tracks were plentiful. The other side of the Golis we thought really lovely, the trees were so lofty and the jungle so thick. The atmosphere was much damper, and it was not long before we felt the difference in our tents. However, there was one consolation, water was plentiful, and we were so soon to leave that most necessary of all things.
The birds were beautiful, and as tame as the sparrows in Kensington Gardens. One afternoon I walked into a small nullah, where, to my joy, I found some ferns, on which some of the most lovely weaver-finches had built their nests. The small birds are, to my mind, the sweetest in the world. Some were crimson, some were golden, and the metallic lustre of their plumage made them glitter in the sun. There was also a variety of the long-tailed whydah bird, some honey-suckers, and a number of exquisite purple martins. Two of the last flew just behind me, snapping up the insects I stirred up with my feet. I watched one with a fly in its beak, which it released again and again, always swooping after it and recapturing it, just like a cruel otter with its fish.
I tried to find some of the nests of the little sun-birds. I believe they dome them, but no one quite knows why. It was once thought that it was done to hide the brilliant colours of some feminines from birds of prey, but it is done by some plain ones as well. Some birds lock up their wives in the nests; they must be a frivolous species!
Many of the honey-suckers are quite gorgeous when looked at closely—especially the green malachite ones, which have a bright metallic appearance. I also watched some little russet finches performing those evolutions associated with the nesting season only. They rose clapping their wings together above them, producing a noise somewhat similar to our own hands being clapped, and when at the top of their ascent they uttered a single note and then shut up as if shot, descending rapidly until close to the ground, when they open their wings again and alight most gently. The single note is the love song, and the other extraordinary performance is the love dance. It must be attractive, as it is done by the male only, and only in the breeding season.
Farther on I got into a perfect little covey of sun-birds flying about and enjoying themselves. Every now and again one would settle on a flowering shrub with crimson blossoms, and dip its curved long beak into the cup and suck out the honey. The male of this species is ornamented with a long tail, the female being much plainer. In the brute creation it is always so; the male tries to captivate by ornaments and brilliant colours. We human beings have grown out of that and try other blandishments. But it is curious that the male has still to ask and the female to accept. We haven’t changed that. We fight just as bucks and tigers do, and the winner isn’t always chosen; there may be reasons against it. There is just that little uncertainty, that little hardness to please which gives such joy to the pursuit. Well, there are exceptions, for the ladies of the bustard persuasion fight for their lords.
On my way back to camp I saw a buck and Mrs. Buck of the Speke genus. The former stood broadside on, and almost stared me out of countenance at fifty paces. He evidently knew I was unarmed. Why do they always stand broadside on? I’ve never seen it explained. I suppose it is partly because he is in a better position for flight.
At this camp we were caught in a continuous downpour which lasted twenty-four hours, intermixed with furious thunderstorms. Cecily’s tent (fortunately she was in mine at the time) was struck, producing some curious results. The lightning split the bamboo tent-pole into shreds and threw splinters about that, when collected, made quite a big bundle. The hats and clothes which were hanging on to the pole were found flung in all directions, but nothing was burnt. The lightning disappeared into the loose soil, without appreciably disturbing it.
Then we had a glorious day sandwiched in, but returned again to the winter of our discontent and Atlantic thunderstorms. It was rather unfortunate to emerge from one rain to enter another. We took the precaution this time to entrench ourselves so that the tents were not flooded, but the poor camels must have had a bad time.
The sun reappeared at last, after a long seclusion, and all our clothes, beds, and chattels had to be dried. Never has old Sol had a warmer welcome. All nature aired itself.
We moved on and now found it needful to form a zareba at night. Into this citadel of thorns and cut bushes the camels were driven and our tents set up. At intervals of a few yards fires blazed, and a steady watch was kept.
We camped in one place for two days in order to fill up every water cask, and here Cecily and I, going out together one morning quite early, had the luck to come on a whole sounder of wart hog. I shall never forget the weird and extraordinary spectacle they presented. A big boar, rather to the front, with gleaming tushes, stepping so proudly and ever and again shaking his weighty head. They all appeared to move with clockwork precision and to move slowly, whereas, as a matter of fact, they were going at a good pace. We dropped, and I took a shot at the coveted prize, and missed! The whole sounder fled in panic, with tails held erect, a very comical sight. We doubled after them through the bush, and bang! I had another try. They were gone, and the whole jungle astir.
I bagged a very fine Speke’s Gazelle here, but am ashamed to say it was a doe. It is very hard sometimes to differentiate between the sexes in this species.
I was very much looking forward to the opportunity of bagging an oryx, I admire the horns of this antelope so greatly, though I suppose they are not really to be compared in the same breath with those of the koodoo. The oryx is very powerfully made, about the size of a pony, and the horns are long and tapering. They remind me of a vast pair of screws, the “thread” starting from the base and winding round to a few inches off the top when the horn is plain. They are the greatest fighters of all the genus buck, and the bulls are provided by nature, who orders all things well, with almost impenetrable protective horn-proof shields of immensely thick skin which covers the withers. These are much valued by the Somalis for many purposes, notably for the shields carried by them when in full dress. Set up as trophies they take a high polish and come up like tortoise-shell. One or two of mine I had mounted as trays, with protective glass, others as tables. All were exceedingly effective.
By this time we had got to and set out upon, not without some qualms, the waterless Haud, starting for the first march at cock-crow. In some parts it attains a width of over two hundred miles across. It all depends on where you strike it. We did the crossing in ten marches, taking five days over it. All that time we had to rely solely on the supply of water we carried with us, which was an anxious piece of work. I do not think we ever did so little washing in our lives before; water was too precious to juggle with then.
Haud is a Somali word signifying the kind of country so named, and may mean jungly ground or prairie-like plains. We crossed a part which reminded us both of the Canadian prairies, dried-up grass as far as the eye could reach. The waterless tract most crossed by travellers and trading caravans is arid and barren, and the paths are not discernible owing to the springy nature of the ground. Parts of the Haud are quite luxuriant, and provide grazing for countless thousands of camels, sheep, and goats. Our route lay over a flat, ugly, and uninteresting expanse. It was no use looking for signs of game. The new grass had not as yet appeared. Even the easily contented camels had to make believe a lot at meal-times.
We were marvellously lucky in our getting over this daunting place. At no time were we overwhelmed with the heat. A quite refreshing breeze blew over us most days, and at night we found it too cold to be pleasant. I called it luck, but Clarence attributed it to the will of Allah.
I got a fine bustard for the pot. A beautiful bird with a dark brown crest, and a coat, like Joseph’s, of many colours. I saved some of the feathers, they were so iridescent and beautiful. The bustard tribe in Somaliland appears to be a large one. I noticed three or four distinctly different species, with dissimilar markings. The Ogaden bustard had the prize, I think, in glory of plumage. Even his beak was painted green, his legs yellow, and all else of him shone resplendent. The cook made a bustard stew, and very good it tasted. We did not need to feel selfish, feasting so royally, for birds are not looked on with any favour by Somalis, though they do not refuse to eat them. I think it is because no bird, even an ostrich, can grow big enough to make the meal seem really worth while to a people who, though willing enough to go on short commons if occasion forces, enjoy nothing less than a leg of mutton per man.
Cecily, lucky person, shot a wart-hog, coming on him just as he was backing in to the little pied-à-terre they make for themselves. She did deserve her luck, for as I was out, and not able to help her, she had to dissect her prize alone. Pig is unclean to the Somali. Even the cook, who claimed to be “all same English,” was not English enough for this. We kept the tushes, and ate the rest. The meat was the most palatable of any we had tasted so far.
I bagged a wandering aoul, not at all a sporting shot. I got the buck in the near fore, and but for its terrible lameness I should never have come up with it at all. His wound, like Mercutio’s, sufficed. One might as well try to win the Derby on a cab-horse as come up with even a wounded buck on any of the steeds we possessed. I ambled along, and so slowly that the buck was outstripping the pony. I slipped off then, and running speedily, came within excellent range and put the poor thing out of his pain. His head was the finest of his kind we obtained.
The horns differ considerably, and I have in my collection backward and outward turning ones. Aoul is a very common gazelle in all parts of open country, barring South-East Somaliland, and travels about in vast herds. Its extraordinary inquisitiveness makes it fall a very easy victim.
Clarence went out with us in turn. His alternative was a fine upstanding fellow, but after three or four expeditions with him as guide I deposed him from the position of second hunter. He was slow, and lost his presence of mind on the smallest provocation, both of them fatal defects in a big game hunter, where quickness of brain and readiness of resource is a sine qua non.