We paused for lunch, and some surprised Midgans were located beneath a guda tree. Round about them were many fierce and vengeful-looking dogs. They had a fire over which they were roasting bits of flesh. A few dogs fought and wrangled over mangled remnants of bone, skin, and entrails. The horns and shield of an oryx hung on a khansa bush. The horns were not large, and were those of a cow oryx, killed to make a Midgan holiday, by the aid of the trained dogs, and with a coup-de-grâce of arrows. I have never seen the actual hunting, but I understand that these pariah dogs are bred by the Midgans to hunt the oryx, and going out in a pack make straight for the prey on being shown the antelope.
The music of the chase is noteless. The dogs hunt in silence, until they bring the antelope to his last stand, when they give tongue, guiding the tracking Midgans, who steal up, as concealed as may be, and let fly a flight of arrows which either settles the oryx there and then, or paves the way for an easy pull down later. Very often the antelope makes such a glorious stand that a couple of dogs are left on the field of battle for the hyænas. Though the dogs fasten on to their prey and are fierce beyond relief an oryx at bay is something to be afraid of. His swift forward rush, head down, with horns just fixed at the right angle for impaling an enemy, and sideway strike render him a formidable foe at close quarters.
The Midgans were very friendly. They were very ragged, and the quivers full of poisoned arrows hung on quite bare shoulders. They kindly showed us a track to our betterment, for the going now was stony and difficult. In and out among rocky nullahs were week-old pugs of lion, and farther, where rain had fallen, well defined spoor of more lion, together with massed tracks of oryx and aoul. The spoor of the former is broad in the forefoot, somewhat resembling two pears set together, and the hind foot makes a much longer, narrower impress. We followed the rough track for a mile or more being led to an open “bun,” not extensive, where some few bunches of aoul grazed and an odd bull oryx also. We got off our ponies, and making the hunters into syces pro tem. did a stalk on all fours. Cover there was not, and the centre of the “bun” was the centre of attraction to all the buck, the best grass probably growing there. It was completely out of reasonable range. A crackle, a rustle, or possibly a vision gave the alarm, and away went the oryx, out of sight instantly. The aoul fled affrightedly for a hundred yards or so, then brought up in a thick bunch to stare. One, inquisitive beyond belief, trotted towards us, advancing in short bounds in his anxiety to solve the mystery of these new squirming creatures. Head on, the aoul presented the position for the most reliable shot possible. A child would have brought it off. Cecily dropped the inquirer dead in his tracks.
We were very glad of the meat, and the horns were not amiss. The men would not be able to look forward to a resulting feast, as the “hallal” was left out. However, they had any amount of sun-dried meat to go on with. One pony had to carry the buck, which, after being cleaned, probably weighed less than the Somali who had occupied the saddle previously. Then we made tracks for the rendezvous. Looking behind us we saw a large jackal making off with the left-behind bits of aoul. Another and another came up, and then a set-to fight began as to who should eat the spoils. Whilst the battle raged with fang and claw a tiny jackal stealing up made off at best pace with most of the bone of contention.
At the arranged place of meeting we found no hospitably waiting tents, no cook trying to cook, no camels, no anything, but an arid waste of sand, sparsely dotted with adad bushes and a couple of very stunted guda trees. From the adad comes the gum arabic of Somali trading, a useless commodity to us. But we could see it for ourselves in amber lumps, in the crannies of the thorn.
Half an hour passed. The ponies nibbled the occasional brown spears that masqueraded as grass, and we sat down, and said things. One of the hunters got up a guda tree to help investigations, and we played: “Sister Ann, Sister Ann, do you see anybody coming?” until we were tired of it, and the man not being particularly agile missed his footing and fell with a plop to the ground. After he realised he still lived we had to listen to his complaints, which embraced everything from petitions to Allah, allusions to Kismet, to ordinary swear words consigning the tree and the bruises to altogether impossible places. It grew bitterly cold. A breeze sprang up and dashed the sand in little sprays about us. Then it got colder still, and darker; presently night would fall and find us unprepared. We guarded the ponies, and the men with nothing but a couple of shikar knives, cut thorn hurriedly, and we could not cry, “Hold, enough!” until a goodly pile had been collected. We started a fire then and sat about it holding the ponies by us. A comical group. The fire warmed us in front, but oh, the cold where the fire was not. I kept turning round and round like a meat-jack. We sat on like this in great discomfort until twelve o’clock. We had on drill jackets, so were very coldly clad. Then—a shot on the silence, cracking suddenly like ice splitting on a frozen lake. Crack again. We replied; and after a waste of cartridges on either side a dark mass loomed on our limited horizon, and the camel-men called words of endearment to the lost hunters. We were huffy enough to have dismissed the whole caravan and left ourselves stranded, but feigned to be propitiated by stories of how they lost their way and the compass, for a Somali will lose, as he can break, anything. The sight of our tents being erected and the prospect of bed and warmth mollified us as nothing else could have done, and we turned in as soon as the cook produced some soup. The men had to collect wood in the dark—a thing they hate. It was all a gross piece of bad management on the part of Clarence. Even Homer nods.
As a result of the exposure Cecily contracted rheumatism of some inflammatory description. We called it rheumatism for want of a better name, but her illness most coincided with something discussed in our medical work—our vade mecum—and most unfortunately the page was lost and the name of the complaint, as luck would have it, was on it.
We decided it must be rheumatism and treated it accordingly. The right arm was rendered quite useless, and it was agony for the poor girl to do more than crawl about. It was a most irritating affair for her and ever so disappointing. The best sport of the trip was now at hand. We were in the rhino country, and at breakfast next morning a Somali hunter rode in—it is marvellous the way in which these people track caravans and then seem to drop in from nowhere—and he brought news, great news for us. Clarence introduced the man, a fine upstanding Berserk, who gazed in bewilderment at the new type of sporting sahib. A rhinoceros was in the vicinity, that much we elicited, that much, and enough too. A flowing tobe was the reward for these tidings of great joy.
Leaving Clarence to glean all particulars, I rushed to Cecily’s tent to see if she would require me to remain in camp with her. She said, nobly, “Of course not.” Truth to tell, I don’t think I could have done it had she asked me to.
I was so overjoyed and excited that I saw to the condition of my rifle ten times over.
The only animal a Somali really fears is the rhinoceros. His charge, though so blundering, is so terrific; and though he has not the cunning of the elephant, in fact hardly any finesse at all, the native mind knows it is safer to take no chances. I learnt by after experience that a rhinoceros is, indeed, a very big thing to tackle; that his immense bulk is no deterrent to nimbleness, that his lumbering, bull-like charge is not the most he can do, for if needs be he can turn and double with agility.
As soon as possible after hearing the great news we prepared to try our luck. The country here was of the densest description, and Clarence’s idea was to make a detour south, by way of some water-holes, where we might come on tracks of more rhino. He said the one we had heard of would probably by now be far away, and, as we were right in the Ogaden, there was every possibility of our picking up fresh rhino spoor for ourselves almost immediately. We got ready quite a little expedition, and I detailed a camel to carry my requirements in case we thought it better to stay out all night, and with Clarence, the Baron, a syce, and two camel men my retinue was sufficiently imposing. Danger from the Ogaden Somalis never presented itself to me as a very real thing, in spite of certain lurid tales we had heard and read. Although we penetrated the country from end to end, the few tribes we met gave us no anxiety save that of the off-chance that we might catch some disease from them. They are very prone to small-pox, and go on walking about with it, giving it to all and sundry, when most people would be isolated.
But to return to that joint of mutton we sat down to. I took a whole armoury along with me, but had quite selected my 12-bore as the rifle for the job. I said good-bye to poor disappointed Cecily, thinking how lucky I was to be well and able to set off on this the greatest adventure of all my life. I little thought I was nearing one of its tragedies. As I rode along I felt light-hearted enough to sing. Even the woeful going and the consequent delays did not seriously vex me. The sandy plateaus presently changed to the most impossible thorn, and it became apparent we could get the encumbered camel no farther. The creature could not struggle on through such dense jungle, neither could the ponies. I would hear of no going back, and there was no going round, so I instructed the small caravan to await my reappearance under pain of all sorts of penalties whilst “the Baron,” myself, and Clarence pushed and crawled our way in a direction where we confidently hoped to come on rhino.
I simply held my breath, took a header into the sea of bush before us, and with the ubiquitous Clarence ever and anon carving out a rough path for me with his hunting knife, held on the way.
The heat was appalling. I can truthfully say I never was so hot in all my life. After about an hour of this, we all suddenly came upon a distinct passage through the jungle, running at right angles, a passage that could hardly be called one, still the way was easier, and it was apparent that, though the brushwood had closed together again more or less, some mighty creatures had passed along. But which way? Spooring was impossible, the broken thorns could not solve the puzzle. We must chance it. Clarence was for the left. I advocated the right. Something made me choose so; but oh, how devoutly afterwards I wished I had taken the man’s way and not mine own. It was not easy going now, but child’s play to what we endured at first. On and on, very, very slowly; and at last the heavy country broke up somewhat and we could see the sandy ground in patches once more. A space and then—rhino spoor! New, never-to-be-forgotten, I stooped down and examined it carefully. It was very distinct considering the dry nature of the ground. I ascribed this to his immense weight. I measured the imprint, and found it came out at nine and three-quarters long by eight and three-quarter inches broad. A rhino causes no havoc to the thorn bushes as he travels bar the injury of his passage. Unlike the elephant, he does not stop and eat all along the way. He waits until settled in some cherished feeding ground.
By the time we had done another hour, the spoor still holding on, the country was comparatively clear. I was so fatigued and winded I lay down and hardly knew what to do with myself. I sent Clarence and the Baron on a bit to prospect, and had really nearly forgotten their existence in exhausted sleep when they appeared again all tingling with excitement and eagerness, and with many signs and mysterious facial contortions explained the rhino was not far off. A wave of the hand to a far away fastness of thicket showed me its lair, and as we crept closer a pensive munching sound betrayed the occupation of our prey.
Aching all over, I silently crept on. In the stillness I could more plainly hear the crunching of the thorns as they made a meal for the great pachyderm. But I saw nothing, and how I was to penetrate the wait-a-bit with any degree of safety I could not see. Few people would care to meet a rhinoceros at such disadvantage, and I had to add to other drawbacks the fact that I had for safety’s sake to let the hammers of my rifle down ere negotiating such dense undergrowth. It would be highly dangerous to proceed with the rifle cocked, but I wanted it very much cocked indeed on my first introduction to so vast and important an animal. The thing was to circumvent the wood—if I may call the place by so home-like a word—and on reaching one spot where the thorn grew sparser, I decided to penetrate here. I could not bear to leave it longer, and could not wait all day; besides, I prefer to meet a rhino in some place where there is a pretence at cover anyway to trying conclusions with him in a patch of conspicuously open ground.
My men showed no sign of fear, and following me came on as carefully and steadily as ever. Both were armed, inadequately it is to be feared, but the onus of the business was to fall, presumably, on me. At last! In one dazzling minute of surprise I saw the huge lumbering bulk we know as the rhinoceros. I have a bowing acquaintance with his relatives in many zoos, yet he seemed to me a stranger. Surely they never were so colossal, so mighty, so altogether awe-inspiring.
My hands trembled violently. I was for the moment unsteady. It all seemed so impossible I could kill the wondrous brute.
The cocking of the hammers seemed to echo through the jungle. To let him hear us now would present difficulties unthinkable. Beads of perspiration rolled down my forehead, and my heart beat so loudly that I wondered if Clarence heard it. This would never do, so rating myself to myself—a method that never fails to pull me together—I took long, steady, and careful aim at the pachyderm’s shoulder. The frontal shot is never of the slightest use, and I could not get in a heart one. I know now I had no business to fire at all, but my keenness was great, my ignorance greater, and Clarence had not protested once.
I fired! Instantly a noise like the letting off steam of a C.P.R. engine, twice as noisy as any other. The rhino sniffed the air with his huge muzzle, and I could clearly see his prehensile upper lip. In a moment he seemed on us—through us; we scattered as he came. Then I saw what a truly awful business we were in for, and, recognising there must be no delay in getting the sights on him again, I dashed after the animal, who was now about to double on his tracks, and I crawled into the insignificant shelter of a thorn bush to await developments.
The rhino had not as yet realised what was the matter, or quite gathered who his foes were. I fired again, another shoulder shot. This bullet “told” heavily, and the maddened creature, smarting and furious, passed me like the wind and charged like a Juggernaut right over the Baron, who, in meaning to evade the rush, fell into it through the unexpected agility of the brute. A most awful stifled shriek arose as my poor fellow went down. Frightened as I was, I felt I should be everlastingly branded to myself as a coward if I made no attempt to save the man, although I understood how altogether impossible salvation was just then. The pachyderm was giving the prostrate body a number of vicious rams with his horn. I advanced quite close, and the rhino, seeing me, blunderingly charged, passing so near I got the very breath from his nostrils. I luckily managed to get in a heart shot, and yet another. The animal lurched on, and then fell, as a loaded furniture van might, with a terrific crash. But it was not entirely accounted for even yet, and continued to emit little squeals and plough the ground up all about it. Still, I knew it would rise no more, and I gave my rifle to Clarence with a sign to him to do the happy despatch. I went to the fallen Baron, and even now cannot write of the dreadful nature of his wounds without a shudder at the manner of so hideous a death. I was overwhelmed, but Clarence was still imperturbable as he looked back from the great mass that now lay as inert as my poor follower.
There was no use trying anything; the Baron was dead. I did my best to hide my stress of mind from the calm shikari, and endeavoured to think what it was best to do. I wanted to have the body taken back to camp and bury it decently, but, after all, it was a silly idea enough, and a mere relic of home associations. The man had to be buried, so why not do it where he fell? Then the rhinoceros, with all its value in hide and horn, lay there to be dealt with. The only way seemed to be to return to the spot where we left the camel, let Clarence lead two men to the scene of the débâcle, and then I would proceed to camp and order out further assistance.
We covered the poor Baron with cut thorns, which seemed a slight barrier of protection for his body; and the thought of the inroads of some beasts of prey made me hurry and almost run back through the awful way we had come so short a time ago. Our passage had cleared it a very little, and my mind was so much occupied with the catastrophe that it did not seem very long before we reached the philosophic camel and the help of which we stood in need.
One camel-man I instructed to return to camp with his charge; the other and my syce I detailed to go back with Clarence to attend to the Baron and the rhino. I got on my own pony, leading the others, and going as hard as I could under such harassing conditions, I returned an hour or so after with a few men, whom I led to the edge of the thick jungle into which I heartily wished I had never penetrated, and explained to the leader the exact location of the scene of the disaster. I arranged that a rifle should be fired three times to acquaint me of his meeting with Clarence at the awful spot. For myself, I was too utterly done to take on the journey down that path again. I sat and waited for the signal, and felt a little easier in my mind as I heard the welcome one, two, three.
I wearily returned to camp, and having fully explained to Cecily the extent of the disaster, lay on my bed, face down, for ages. The death of the poor hunter could not, strictly speaking, be ascribed to me. I might so easily have been the victim myself, but the horror of it all and the pity of it bothered me as I suppose it would not have done a real sportsman. For, in retailing it now to my uncle, he pooh-poohs my trouble and says it is the fortune of big game hunting. “You hunt big game, big game hunt you,” as the case may be.
Cecily tried in her loving way to comfort me, and the cook made me a soporific in the shape of tea, and the kettle had really boiled. I was very glad to see Clarence back before the light gave out, and hear that the Baron had been buried deeply and far out of the reach of hungry jackals and hyænas.
I spent a fearful night of regrets and recriminations. When pain is acute it is as well to let it bite deep, because the reaction is greater in proportion to the pain. I’m not sure that the old adage about crying over spilt milk isn’t a fraud. It does a woman good to cry, so I wept and wept.
Next morning I thoroughly overhauled my prize so dearly bought. The spoil must have taken some carrying. The head, which I kept entire—I mean without despoiling it of horns—was not so large as I somehow expected from an animal of his bulk. Still, it was big enough in all conscience. The skin appeared like some freshly-peeled fruit, and was of great thickness, though it afterwards shrank in the drying a little.
After the epidermis is removed, the hide, when polished, comes up like clouded amber, and makes the most exquisite top for a table, of which the four feet form the base. In my worry at the time I neglected to measure the rhinoceros as he lay, but in any case we were quite unable to move him. I afterwards took the dimensions of the horns, and the length of the anterior was sixteen inches, the posterior being at seven. I could not settle in that camp again, nor hunt with any happiness. As soon as Cecily was well enough to trek we struck camp, and held on in the direction of Galadi, wherever that might be.
Therefore be merry, coz; since sudden sorrow
Serves to say thus—some good thing comes to-morrow
King Henry VI
It was impossible to feel down-hearted for long, and my spirits began to rise again. Even the heat did not affect us as much as one might have thought. Of course we were burnt as mahogany brown as it is possible for a white woman to be, and I think very little marked us out from our Somalis in point of colour. Our very fair hair looked quite odd in contrast.
Our hunters reported one morning that in spooring for leopard they had come on the tracks of a large caravan, and overtaking some part of it gathered that the outfit belonged to some English officer on sport bent. Every Englishman is an officer to the Somalis. It is really rather funny. It is quite like the way every American is—to the Englishman—a martial colonel. I was intensely sorry to know we were so near to other hunters. It was very selfish too, for the country was big enough, in all conscience, to hold us all. But I was sorry, and there’s an end of it. Cecily said perhaps it was all a mistake, because how could anyone be hunting in the forbidden ground of the Ogaden unless they were as signally favoured as ourselves? I suggested that they might be, because we did not surely suppose we were the only people with relatives able to pull the strings. We were both a bit “shirty” because we were vexed to know we had not got the Ogaden to ourselves. A nice sporting spirit, wasn’t it?
We were at lunch, battling with an altogether impossible curry Cecily had perpetrated, for she always said you can curry anything, even old boots, at a push, and they would be rendered appetising. Oryx beat her efforts culinary, and she had to admit at last that curry powder and oryx meat should be strangers.
As she had had all the trouble of stirring the concoction over a grilling fire on a grilling day I struggled on as long as I possibly could in order that the amateur chefs feelings should not be hurt, but confessed myself beaten in the end and very hungry, so we fell to opening a tin of meat.
“I fear no beef that’s canned by Armour,” sang Cecily, coming events not having cast any shadows before.
“Salaam, ladies!” said an English voice close at hand.
It was the leader of the opposition shoot. The younger, my kinsman, was quarrelling with a syce about the proper way to hold a pony. I don’t know if we were glad to see them or not. Anyway we had to pretend to be, besides making the usual ridiculous remarks about the smallness of the world, and how odd it was we should have come across each other again.
It would have been inhospitable to offer any of the curry, so we begged them to sample the tinned beef. Our butler waited on us, and drenched the four of us in a successful attempt to open a champagne bottle. Oh yes, we gave them champagne, to make up for other deficiencies. I told them if they would wait for dinner they should have a Carlton-like meal. After lunch they would see our skins and heads, so we excavated the skulls, and displayed all we had for admiration. We tried not to feel superior, but it was rather difficult when we heard they had not as yet got a shot even at a rhino. I lay low about the price we paid for ours! We evidently went up a little in their estimation, because they invited us to take part in a big shoot next day, and seemed really anxious we should accept. We said we were about to trek in an opposite direction, but I was rather taken aback when the elder warrior asked me how I knew which direction the proposed shoot was to take? They invited us to go over and see their trophies, but we did not mean to give them one single chance to crow, and instantly on their departure struck camp and moved on towards a large Somali encampment which had recently suffered many grievous losses from the depredations of leopards.
We were anxious to see the spoor for ourselves. A great many of the leopards reported are nothing in the wide world but hyæna in spite of the fact that the leopard, being a cat, does not, in quiescence, show his claws in the pug marks, and the hyæna, being a dog, does; besides, the shape of the pad is entirely different. The hyaena has a triangle-shaped back pad, with two large side toes and two smaller centre ones, whilst the pug of the leopard is similar to that of lion but proportionately smaller. In spite of these mistakes on the part of some unlettered Somali, almost every black man spoors in a way no white man ever can hope to do. The former can follow tracks of game over ground that tells us nothing. Stony ground, wet ground, loose ground, dry ground, all alike give up secrets to him whereof we cannot hear the faintest whispers. The whole jungle is an open book to the black shikari, and compared to him the cleverest chiel among us is but a tyro.
We camped some two miles from the karia, and barely arrived when the head-man arrived to say “Salaam,” He brought with him all his sisters and his cousins and his aunts. A very plain lot they looked too, although Clarence whispered to me that in Somaliland one of the women was rated as a great beauty. I don’t know how he knew, unless the local M. A. P. said so. After a closer inspection of the lady I came to the conclusion that, for a beauty, she really was not bad looking.
They were very prying though, and really dangerous to have round, as one could not be everywhere at once. They all had advanced kleptomania. My tent was overflowing with them, though I had given orders to keep the place clear, and somebody annexed my sponge, hair-brush, and even a tooth-brush vanished from Cecily’s tent, though we never saw any one penetrate it. I don’t know what use the tooth-brush would be. The Somalis do not neglect their teeth, far from it, but they use for cleaning purposes a soft stick, rubbing and polishing away at all sorts of odd moments. The result is of dazzling whiteness.
It was unnecessary also for them to help themselves as we were more than generous, and in response to their unblushing demands for presents we gave them at least four tobes, a turban or two, and an umbrella without a handle, which the proud proprietor unfurled and at once subsided beneath.
When Cecily in the warmth of her heart began to bestow things we really had need of ourselves I begged her to curb her Santa Claus-like ideas, and let us try and get to the leopard subject. But they were not to be switched off so easily. The head-man yearned for a rifle, and seemed to think we were the very people to satisfy him, and I don’t wonder, when we had been playing universal provider to them for half an hour. There is nothing on earth a black man longs for so earnestly as a rifle of his own. It does not matter if it is a mere piece of gas piping with sights set on it, so that he may call it rifle. A vast amount of rubbish is palmed off by rascally traders, who get the arms through in spite of regulations and precautions. The maker is nothing, the skill of the user nothing, the mere name rifle is everything; and the fact that a native was not—it may still be so, I don’t know—allowed to own such a treasure made the prospect more enchanting than ever. I refused the head-man’s request, so trifling as it was too, as firmly and politely as possible, and offered him a pen-knife instead. He took one somewhat superciliously, and went off with it with both blades open. We had not once got to the main point, the leopard, whose existence was supposed to be a daily menace to their karia. I bade Clarence go after our guest, and extract particulars.
After a little time a convoy appeared with return gifts, a couple of goats, and dirty harns without number full of camels’ milk. I thought at one time the extreme uncleanliness of the harns accounted for the unpleasant taste of the milk, but I liked it no better when I sampled it from a can of my own providing.
The leopard, for this time rumour had not lied, had made serious depredations, and carried off nightly goats, sheep, and even a baby camel. It jumped the zareba wall with ease apparently. We decided to have “machan,” or rather a small enclosure, built, and sit up for the thief. I never see much fun in this sitting up business. It is so often all waiting and no coming. We set some of the men to construct the shelters, and arranged them some six hundred yards away from the Somali encampment on the side where the leopard had most often made an entry. We decided to have a small zareba each, two hundred yards apart, and took up our residence for the night about 6 p.m. Cecily had Clarence with her; I had mine to myself. I was most uncomfortably crowded as it was, but Cecily had a little more space in her prison.
We tied up a goat between us, and settled down to dreary hours of silent watching. Though we kept quiet, the Somalis never gave over singing and shouting for a moment. I wondered at a leopard going near the place at all. But it may have used the din to its own advantage.
The night grew very dark, and for a wonder, as the midnight hours drew near, it got intensely cold. The mosquitoes did not bother me in the least, though they were present in hundreds. I was completely fastened in, and only had a peep hole for my rifle which covered the goat.
I heard a lion roar once, and after a little came a strange lowing sound, most weird and eldritch. I had never known it before, but I judged a leopard was hunting. My senses being completely awake, I peered through the darkness at the goat. It was most ridiculous. It was impossible even to see it. The whole place was in inky darkness. I waited, shivering, and next moment I distinctly heard the crunching of bones and the tearing of flesh. The leopard, or hyæna, had come without a sound. I could not fire when I could see absolutely nothing to fire at. Bang! came from Cecily’s zareba, and was followed by a choking gurgle.
“I’ve got him, don’t you think?” called out Cicely from her enclosure.
We dared not venture out, and remained there until in the early hours some of our men arrived to let us free. But as it grew light I could see the shadowy form of a great leopard lying prone on his victim. We investigated as soon as possible, and found that Cecily had got him through the head. This was, of course, a mere fluke, for she says she only fired after she and Clarence had sighted and just as the darkness seemed to lift in the very slightest. She did not see the arrival of the beast either, though she says from her zareba his form was at times dimly apparent. For myself, I never saw our prize in life at all.
He was a glorious trophy, and with perfectly undamaged skin measured, before skinning, seven feet, and after, seven feet six inches. Then from out of the Somali karia strolled the head-man, not obliged at all, still clamouring for some further souvenir! I bade Clarence endeavour to explain that the boot was on the other leg now, which the shikari literally and faithfully did, as I heard boots and legs, inextricably muddled with Somali cuss words, being heatedly discussed. Then back to camp and breakfast.
Sometimes at night, before turning in we would go and sit around the blazing fires and try to talk to the men. We really wanted to find out more about them, where they came from, what they had done, and what they would like to do, but on our approach the chanting and the chatter ceased almost invariably and all the naturalness would vanish. I do not think they had any sense of humour. They laughed and were happy enough, but situations that would have taxed the risible faculties of a white man left them solemn and unmoved.
Almost every one of our men, if you could extract his real name instead of his nick-name, had been christened Mahomed. What a lot of Mahomeds there must be! I suppose it is like the glut of Jameses and Johns with us. They are tremendous aristocrats, these Somalis; immensely proud of their descent and origin, and even the most unlettered, though he cannot read or write, can give you the names of his grandfathers, great-grandfathers, and all the other greats, until you know you must be going back to grope in the mists of centuries.
When we were tracking one morning about this time, on the spoor of a very small-footed lion, we came on a bit of ridge country, and for some hundred yards or so a small thorn fence had been erected, chevaux-de-frise like, the thorn having been cut and brought there. At intervals tiny gaps were left, and inset, right on the sand of the ridge, stood the most primitive gins to catch—Clarence said—dik-dik. The Midgans set them. It would need to be a very unsophisticated little antelope indeed to run its head into so palpable a noose. They were like the ones you set at home for rabbits, but made of string instead of wire held up in an apology for a circle by plainly-to-be-seen props of thorn twigs. On the sides of the thorn walls forming the passages, bits of uninviting scraps of dik-dik heads and tails were impaled—to attract and allure their kind our shikari said. I should have thought the evidence of what awaited them would have had a deterring effect on any roaming dik-dik, and serve merely to attract jackals and foxes. But Clarence said the small antelope are often caught in this way for the pot.
That night a vast bat visited our tent, flying round the candle lamp and dashing himself against it. We called to Clarence to come and evict it, not meaning him to kill it, but he flew at the creature forthwith, a hangol in his hand, smashing the winged thing in a heap to the ground. The wings hung limply around the mouse body, and myriads of fleas scattered from it. It was larger than our English bats, and the top of the head was raised in a sort of crown-like lump.
As we sat breakfasting, the camel-man in charge of the grazing camels ran into the zareba and did a lot of excited jabbering. Then most of the men made off outside. I called to know what was the matter, and the butler said one of the camels had fallen into a pit and could not get out. Presently we went off to see how affairs stood, and were exceedingly put about to find Zeila, our big brown camel, had somehow or other fallen into a long disused elephant trap which are still to be found in parts of the Ogaden. They were quite deep, and the intention was that an elephant would tumble in at night and find itself unable to get out like our Zeila, whose hump was about level with the top of the hole.
Every order the camel-man gave he countermanded as soon as it was about to be put into execution, and all they had as a means of retrieving our camel was one leather lading rope. We sent back to camp for more, and sat on the edge of the trap and waited. The other camels grazed about us, and Zeila was very quiet indeed, only occasionally breaking into groans. The poor beast was ominously down in the forequarters, and we thought must be kneeling. When the ropes arrived the difficulty was how to pass them around the camel, and if we did get them round how to prevent the leather thongs from cutting into the flesh. A rather sporting hunter volunteered to join Zeila in the trap, a tight fit already, and endeavour to place the ropes. First we wound grass around the rope up to a certain distance making a pad, and then the hunter climbed down. Had the camel done any lashing about or moving the man would have been awkwardly placed. The ropes were successfully passed around the body, made into nooses, the intrepid hunter, wreathed in smiles at our congratulations, emerged sandy but successful, and we all did a tug of war, heaving poor Zeila to the surface, a struggling mass. Once on terra firma at the top it sank groaning pitifully. The camel man examined it, “Bruk I bruk!” he said, ruefully regarding the right fore-leg.
He evidently was right. The poor creature had broken the leg in the fall. Here was a calamity! The head camel man said it could not be mended, and Zeila was no more use to us. I asked Clarence if he thought so fine a camel would be given a home at the karia of the leopard adventure if I offered to hand it over. He laughed and said a broken-legged camel is no use anywhere, and if I offered the animal the Somalis would accept it gladly and then eat it, and didn’t I think it better our own men should get the benefit of the meat? I had never thought of our turning cannibal and eating each other this wise, but I believe all the men were looking forward to a Zeila chop. With great reluctance I said I supposed the poor camel must be killed, that it must be shot first through the head, and then that “hallal” business could follow immediately. Clarence swore by Allah he would do the killing humanely, a word the Somali does not understand at all. The rest of the day the men spent in gorging.
When we went out late in the afternoon by the place of the catastrophe, where the vultures were feasting on dragged-away bits of camel bones, we caught some exquisite butterflies who sat on the now putrid carcase, gorged into quiescence. It seems an odd juxtaposition, butterflies and bad flesh, but there they were in unison. Cecily is an ardent entomologist, and collected. I let her do the securing the specimens because she understands how to kill them neatly, pressing the thorax without damaging the glory of the wings. I never could gain the knowledge. My fingers seemed all thumbs at it.
We purchased two new camels from the neighbouring karia, needing a full complement on account of the water-carrying nuisance. I gave the head-man an order on our banker at Berbera with which he was as pleased as though it were cash, but the next trading trip would take him to the coast-town. These jungle Somalis have some delightfully pre-historic traits. Belief is one of them. An Englishman’s bond is as good as his word, and that is something; it isn’t always in civilisation.
Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me
Comedy of Errors
Things without all remedy
Should be without regard, what’s done is done
Macbeth
What’s gone and what’s past help
Should be past grief.
Winter’s Tale
We were now having a great time trying to cure the skin of the rhino. I was so afraid something would go wrong with it that I was for ever messing away. Clarence would have it that the wrong thing had been done from the first. He was rather pessimistic these days, mainly, I think, because he had a gathered hand and it pained very considerably.
The skins generally were menaced by the deadly beetle grub, and we had to resort to all sorts of drastic measures. Saltpetre I found of great use here, and we used it freely. The heads of rhino are very difficult to dry, as can well be imagined, and our trophy looked a hopeless mess. It was difficult to believe it would ever rise in glory, Phoenix-like, from the ashes, to be a thing of joy to anyone. Such great heads swarm with maggots in no time unless carefully watched. The monster we were tackling was no exception to the rule, and manufactured the enemy on the “whilst you wait” principle.
It now became a matter for our deep consideration as to how far our trip should extend.
We had known before we started that Somaliland is no longer the old time sportsman’s paradise. The shikar obtainable is not what it was, and every year lessens the chances. The truth is the country is fairly shot out.
Fifteen years ago the most excellent shooting was to be had all over; now, unless one penetrates right into the interior where a certain amount of danger from warlike tribes must be looked for, there is not much hope of a truly great and representative bag. The reserving of the Hargeisa and Mirso as entirely protected regions has also necessarily restricted the game area. The day of the sportsman in all Africa was in that Golden Age when he, all untrammelled, might stalk the more important fauna, to say nothing of the lesser, as he listed. Now he pays heavy toll, varying with the scarcity of the quarry, and the licences are not the least part of the expenses. Of course the needful preservation of big game should, and inevitably must, lead to good results, since to husband the resources of anything is to accumulate in the long run. But the idea of artificial preservation and legislation seems to knock some of the elemental romance out of hunting. Anything cut and dried seems out of place in sport of big game variety, and brings it down to the nearer level of shooting pheasants that know you by sight, and which have been on terms of friendship with their slaughterers. The Ogaden country, in parts, like the curate’s egg, still possesses potentialities not to be sneered at, and if one is willing to penetrate the interior, getting clear away from the beaten track, the possibilities become certainties.
To go onwards through the Mijertain meant striking into, or crossing the “Mary Ann Desert,” as Cecily persisted in styling the Marehan. This was a somewhat daunting enterprise, but to put against any drawbacks there was the attraction and magnet of unlimited sport at the other side. We consulted our maps, and understood them sufficiently to plan a route and leave the rest to Providence, which useful commodity or personage we confidently hoped would be good enough to see us through.
We told Clarence and the caravan generally in an off-hand manner, very confidently, that we proposed trekking eventually to Joh in the Haweea country, but I cannot say they received the news in the same spirit of easy confidence. Clarence was and looked taken aback. He murmured something about its being a great journey, days and days, that he had never penetrated so far before. Even our shikari uncle had stopped at the Bun Arnwein. This rather settled the matter. Oh, to go one better than our relative!
We mapped our homeward route so that it permitted of a day or more on the Bun Toyo with the new grass all a-blowing and a-growing to tempt out buck in dozens, even though it all meant going over much of our old shooting ground. We had not yet got a “sig,” Swayne’s hartebeest, among our trophies. We also intended to pass through a new—to us—part of the Golis, and try our luck there.
This Ogaden country is a God-forsaken spot, and the eye aches at last with the dull brown of everything. Even the haze of the early morning is khaki-tinted. As for ourselves, we matched the landscape. Our hands were sienna-coloured, and our complexions———, but maybe the very word is out of place in connection with our sun-dried faces.
Cecily was very bent on shooting a rhino on her own,’ saying she would not count the one that fell to my rifle as anything to do with her. I offered half share in it enthusiastically, for I had no desire to meet another.
I had killed one, to say nothing of the Baron, and was more than sated. Cecily, however, would not be put off with any sophistry on my part, so we had the order on hand.
At last we came on the oasis called Galadi, a very remarkable place, set like a jewel in a rim of iron. We could hardly believe our eyes. It was such a faceted gem. No more dingy brown landscape, but a peaceful sylvan scene of great trees, real turf, and a wealth of green vegetation. This patch of emerald extended for a mile or more and seemed like a little Heaven. I was very interested in the wells we came on here and there. They were of immense antiquity, very deep, cut in the solid rock. We could not but be impressed with the industry of the long dead hewers. Naturally in some places, though the wells are deep, the work of excavation is rendered less difficult by the nature of the ground cut through, which is in most parts of red earth. There are always steps cut all the way down, on which the Somalis balance themselves with the greatest sang-froid, doing the necessary conjuring trick with-the buckets from hand to hand the while. They are made from the ubiquitous leather—in no country, I imagine, can leather be more pressed into service—and a number of Somalis often descend a deep well at one time, passing up the full buckets in continuous chain, receiving back the returning empty ones as the other leaves the hand. All the time the ever helpful songs are sung.
When a large number of camels have to be watered it means spending the best part of a day down the wells, which are often very foul, and full of noxious gases. Troughs for the cattle are made by the wells as a rule, again of the ever helpful leather, or hollowed by hand, and lined with some sort of clay. We used the ordinary English method, much simpler, of procuring water, and a bucket and rope seemed to be as effectual and as expeditious, with certainly less waste than the Somali system.
We had hoped to have a splendid bath at Galadi, and a real good drink, but on trying well after well we found the water absolutely poisonous, and highly dangerous. The liquid was putrid. The birds of the air in their thousands made the place their own, and the smell when we disturbed the surface of the wells was simply abominable. Our men drank freely, but Cecily and I worried along on the short commons of our last water barrel. All the animals were watered, and it did not surprise me in the least when one of the camels shortly afterwards without a word of warning, sat down, and promptly died. Clarence said it died because its time to die had come, but I averred, and held to it, that even a camel cannot always swallow drainage with impunity, even if it can philosophically. Such big words baffled the shikari, and I left him pondering.
We were camped in a beautiful glade, the armo creeper, bright green, with large leaves, grew festooned on lofty guda trees, and the fairy web of the Hangeyu spider hung in golden threads from leaf to leaf. The camels were rejoicing in splendid grazing, and would be all the better for the change. It is always very rough on camels, I think, having to provide for themselves, after bringing them in so late at night, after a march, as one is so often compelled to do. If reasonable care is not taken of them they will cave in, and there’s the end. Grazing through the hot hours, as is the inevitable custom, does not permit of enough food being taken in, especially when the grass is more often than not conspicuous merely by its absence. They fed now in charge of the camel-men, wandering whithersoever, in reason, they listed. On trek camels are tied together in good going. In bad I always ordered them to go separately, because I observed how cruelly jerked the tail often was.
Here we had an apiary of wild bees. They are expected to live on flowers in Somaliland as elsewhere, I presume, but the flowers were not. And the insects, naturally, were a bit peckish and invaded my tent after a pot of marmalade. They ate away to their hearts content, for no human being thought of going in and interfering; but the brainy Clarence put some sugar in their official residence and the counter attraction caused them to return.
There was a strong moon now, so magical that it set all the jackals for miles around a-baying and a-barking, and nearly distracted us whose vocal chords were not so susceptible. What this mysterious influence on the canine genus is no man can tell, but it had the effect of making me rouse some of the men to eject rocks at the offenders. The worship of Astarte was all very well in olden days, but the manner of it in Somaliland was intolerable.
A quaint insect made a loud tapping noise in the roof of my tent—probably his love signal. I tried to see him, but he hid from the light. Altogether I had a wakeful time.
I watched some weavers building next morning as I strolled about, the while the parody of a cook struggled with the kettle which seemed unable to boil. It really was very wonderful and astonishing. They snip off the threads of grass with their beaks, and actually tie knots, half-hitches. It was rather late for building, but the cock birds of this species, sensible little things, sometimes make nests for roosting purposes.
Whydah birds were flying about in large numbers. They have crimson bodies, black wings and tails about two feet long, which hamper them so in flight they can only lollop along. I pursued one, and could have caught it had I wished. They are finches, and so always to be found in damp green places. I saw a merry little sand-piper in grey, with no tail at all, but wagging as though he had one. He had rather a long beak and was very tame, eating the crumbs I threw him within a yard of my feet. Two birds that looked like sand-grouse crossed to the wells. The whole oasis was a paradise for birds.
Dik-dik was now our staple food, and very palatable we found it. We had it cooked up every imaginable way. The cook was a sombre individual, but in moments of roasting he could joke with ease. We had but little fat to cook with, as antelope have none on them to speak of. We put our meat on stones in the pot with a little water, and we grilled on a gridiron, or we boiled it. We made bread easily, but as a long course of baking powder is bad for one we made our yeast from hops, of which we had some packets with us. It was much nicer than dough bread, all sour.
The butler who had lived with the English family had an insinuating smile, and a vocabulary of English words, a moiety of which he had grasped the meaning of. He had no fairy footsteps nor airy nothingness, so valued in an attendant of his variety at home. On the contrary, he hit the ground with heavy beats in plantigrade fashion.
We felt quite regretful to leave this fairy place and turn back to the blistering hot red sand. But time was flying, and we were rather out of the way of big game here.
We struck camp and marched, seeing dibitag and oryx, which we vainly stalked, and as we progressed we passed through extraordinary changes. Every two or three miles or so we came on similar oases to Galadi and then, in between, burnt up patches of familiar country. In one of these green gardens Cecily bagged a lesser koodoo, somewhat rare in these parts, and an exceedingly beautiful trophy.
Nearing another oasis, some two miles in extent, Clarence manifested the greatest desire for me to penetrate the place with him and see something that was bound to interest me. He was like a woman with a secret, longing to tell, telling a little, then feeling if he showed his hand entirely I might not trouble to go at all. Whatever could the mystery be? Animal, vegetable, or mineral? “Curiouser and curiouser.”
None of these things! So, following the shikari, his face all alight with eager interest and desire to surprise me, we pushed our way through the density of the foliage until we reached about the centre of the place. It was a Titania’s bower, carpeted with green and shaded by lofty trees. I sat down and gazed upon the wonders of it, though it would have taken me hours to take in the many beauties in detail. They were so infinite in variety, the etchings, the colour and the rainbow effects as the sun glinted through the lustrous fresh verdure. I sat on and marvelled. To think that outside of this there existed only a waste of red sand, ugly and monotonous, and here—but it is ridiculous on my part to try and describe it. I should like some Shakespeare to see it and try his art.
This did not please Clarence at all, who has no love for the beauties of nature. We must push on. Then, of a sudden, he turned and running to a tree, proudly patted its trunk. I looked and there I saw in indistinct letters—my uncle’s initials. Clarence had evidently seen the deed of vandalism committed. I could not have believed my relative would do such a thing had I not seen the result with my own eyes. Not that I mean to say my uncle is anything but truly British to the backbone, but I thought he would have been the man to rise above the habits of his countrymen. I never looked on the stern old shikari as a man likely to give the lighter side of life the upper hand. Ex pede Herculem!
We turned to get back to the caravan, taking a different route and found it stiffish going. In a little shady dingle I came on the remains of a jungle king dead and turned to dust. The oasis had been his sepulchre these many years, and there was little of him left to tell us of long passed monarchy. His skull, which I looked at, was practically eaten away, and was not worth taking.
A venomous snake struck at me here, but was turned by the top of my shooting boot. It was a near shave, and I was off and out of the place in quick time after that.
I missed a fine lion in this thick forest that evening, and followed him in fear and trembling without getting him. On the way back to camp however, disconsolate, I bagged a small oryx for the pot, which turned a somersault like a hare does when shot in the head. I thought I had lost him when I saw him leap about seven feet into the air, and then again and again until I despatched him.
On another early morning here, having only a collector’s gun with me, I put a charge into an old wart-hog, but failed to do more than prick him into a great annoyance and send him off into the wilderness without getting him. I was vexed with myself for hurting him.
Just here, too, we came on a kill which had been a jungle tragedy indeed: the spoor of two oryx all about the outskirts of a green oasis, where succulent bushes flourished, and confused pugs of a large lion. The pugs had no beginning, only an ending, and a return path. Therefore the devastator leaped from out his lair and struck down his prey all suddenly. We measured the spring from where it is certain the great cat must have taken off to the spot where lay the half-consumed oryx, lying as he fell, and it came out at nineteen feet.
Somalis are exceedingly fond of giving nicknames to one another, more or less personal, and the European does not escape his satire in this direction. All the men in our caravan answered to names of the most irritatingly personal variety, though they all took the for the most part rude attention to some unfortunate peculiarity quite good humouredly. I asked Clarence one day, as we were sitting under a shady guda tree waiting for what might chance to cross our line of fire, what the men had been pleased to christen me. He assented diffidently to the assumption that I had a nickname, but gave me to understand he would rather not mention it, if indeed he had not forgotten it, and a lapse of memory seemed imminent. This piqued my curiosity naturally, and I gave him no peace until I extracted what I wanted to know more than anything else just then. Prepared for any mortal thing, for the Somali nicknames are nothing if not deadly descriptive, I learned I was called by the men “Daga-yera,” small ears. This was not so bad, and at least not uncomplimentary. Clarence looked at me keenly to see if he noted any signs of offence but I was smiling broadly, so he smiled too. I told him that with us small ears are not considered a drawback, whatever they may be in Somaliland.
Almost on every march we came on graves, some together, here and there one alone, marking the spot where some traveller had fallen by the way. An important head-man, or chief, has a perfect stockade of thorn bushes and stones piled atop of him to keep off the jackals and hyænas. The women, however, less important in death as in life, have merely thorn piled casually on their tombs with some such relic as a bit of an old shield or worse for wear ham strung aloft to act as a deterrent to the scratchings of wild beasts. When we passed by graves the men would cross their hands and say a prayer, whether for themselves or for the dead I do not know. They would be solemn for a moment, brooding, and then set off a-chanting again. They are a strange romantic people, whose sun ever follows on the silver mist of rain.
A perfect avalanche of water fell after this for two whole days and kept us in our drenched tents. And again everything was wet through. Rain is a very real terror to the poor camper out. Fires are off and many little comforts, that passed unnoticed before, go with them. We had our spirit lamp, and had economised with it all along, only using it on hopeless occasions like the present. Cecily again fled to her warm whisky and water cure, and I drank ammoniated quinine until my brain reeled. My tent, after a night of deluge which more resembles the bursting of a reservoir than anything else I can think of, collapsed altogether, and was a perfect wreck. Since mine own doors refused to entertain me I migrated to Cecily’s, after digging out my belongings from the débris, and, packed like sardines, we had to go on until I got my flattened home set to rights, which I did after a lot of trouble.
Two black-backed jackals came close around the tents several times during the torrential rains. I think they winded the rhino, who was by now exceedingly “niffy.” About six one evening, when the rain ceased for a short five minutes, I had a shot at one venturesome jackal and caught him in the shoulder. I had to rush after him and follow quite a long way before I got within range again, when I finished the job with a long shot. Clarence and one of the hunters brought his skin and head to camp. I admire the black-backed jackal, next to the koodoo, more than any other trophy to be found in Somaliland. It is quite unique in colouring. A veritable admixture of the beaux arts and the bizarre.
A fine day again, and with everything steaming like boiling water we trekked on. Two or three of the camels were suffering terribly from sore backs, and had to be placed hors de combat and unloaded, thus disorganising everything. We can take the average load at 250 pounds, though it frequently exceeds this, because naturally loads vary with the nature of the things to be carried, bulky or compact, easy or difficult. On being required to walk, one sick animal refused to budge another inch. It is very hard to judge the extent of the illness of a camel. They do not act any differently, ill or well, as far as my small experience goes. Clarence and the head camel-man made certain that the creature was sick unto death, and finally it had to be shot. It would not walk, we could not tow it, and humanity forbade our leaving it to fend for itself. All the camels were bothered no end by a small fly, a species of gad-fly, I think, not very large, but most mischievous.
One or two of the animals were so overcome with the attentions of these pests of insects they took to rolling, which, all encumbered as the camels were, could not but be exceedingly detrimental to the load. These troubles continued for some days, and the camel we lost may have been too badly bitten to go on. This fly is a cause of great loss to the Somali herds. Another joined the attack, a fearsome creature too—much larger again—and he seemed to prefer people to camels. We, Cecily and myself, kept him off by bathing the exposed parts of our skin in solution of carbolic, and this seemed to him an anathema-maranatha and was to us a god-send. We only wished we had sufficient to tub all the camels. I think our precautions against these annoying flies helped to keep off the fearful ticks also. Our ponies were much affected by them, and the camels, poor things, lived in a chronic state of providing nourishment for the hateful little insects, which grew and fattened by what they fed on. Some of the antelopes we shot had these ticks very badly too, and in one or two cases the skin was marred thereby, being pitted with small pin-head spots all over the even surface.
There was now such an abundance of water we decided to camp for a day and have a washing of ourselves and our clothes. It was not clear water as we use the word, but limpidly translucent compared to most of the water holes we had struck lately. Game was plentiful again, but very, very shy.
We went out at dawn and saw spoor of many varieties of game and rhino; of the last a perfect maze of tracks. I had privately no intention, however I may have play-acted to Cecily with a view of keeping up appearances, of being in at another battue; but Fate, that tricksy dame, ordained otherwise. As we were spooring for leopard, and hard on him, we suddenly came on a vast rhino calmly lying down by a patch of guda thorn. The idea of another fracas with an infuriated animal of the genus was too much for me, and I shamelessly turned on my heel, taking the precaution, however, to grab my rifle from my hunter as I passed him.
I put myself behind a little adad tree, and turned to see what was going on. The great lumbering bulk stood up, winded us, saw us too, I should think, and sniffed the air. There was very poor cover immediately around the pachyderm, but a thick belt of khansa and mimosa jungle lay to our left and the country behind us was fairly thick.
All this unexpected treat was joy untold to Cecily, I suppose; it was absolute horror to me. If she could have had the affair all to herself it wouldn’t have mattered, but how are you to know which hunter the rhino may select to chase? His sight is so poor, his charge goes this way or that, and has, in my experience, next to nothing to do with the way of the wind; and all this makes it quite impossible to reduce the possibilities of his onslaught to a mathematical calculation beforehand. Another moment and the huge animal was rushing straight at my poor bit of thorn bush, a mere broken reed of a shelter. What was I to do? Anger the brute with a useless frontal shot, or fly on the wings of terror? The wings of terror had it. I abandoned my untenable position, and gained another very little better. I let the rhino have the right barrel just as I installed myself, and looked for Cecily to finish the affair. She was doing a scientific stalk on the flank.
The rhino was now spinning about and knocking up the dust in clouds. I played Brer Rabbit and “lay low.” I saw Cecily expose herself to the full view of the wounded animal, and her 12-bore spoke. We were spared another charge, thank goodness; and as the dust subsided I saw the rhino ambling quickly towards the thick cover, blood pouring from its shoulder. We followed, discreetly, I assure you, as far as I’m concerned, on the blood trail until we reached the fringe of jungle. The men volunteered to beat, but I was set against this; so we wandered about on the edge of this natural zareba awaiting developments, my heart in my mouth the whole time. Intrepid Cecily was all for penetrating the thorn, and at last came on a place she could at least peer into. There was not a sound nor rustle, nor crackle of twig. Then Clarence, in evil minute, suggested firing the place, and under Cecily’s directions at once set about the business with his fire stick. I had often tried to acquire the knack of summoning the spirit of flame thus, but had long since given it up as an accomplishment impossible for me to learn.
The thorn was damp and took some time to ignite, but in half an hour the blaze got a fair start and simply ate up all before it. We had to back farther and farther away each moment. Volumes of smoke rolled away to the northward, and the heat grew insufferable. It had been about as much as we could stand before we began operations. The flames roared away, licking up every trace of vegetation. I was so surprised no small affrighted animals broke cover, but this was explained to my wondering mind a moment later, when, to my amazement, a tawny lioness sprang from the burning bush and, terror-stricken, passed close to me—so close almost I could have touched her. I ran straight to my waiting pony held by my syce at some distance, mounted, and calling to a couple of men to follow, galloped on the track of the lioness. Occasionally I caught glimpses of her as she cantered between the low-lying bushes. Then she disappeared suddenly and precipitately. There was a small nullah hereabouts, and I made certain the great cat had brought up there; so I rode on and then settled down on the verge to wait for the shikaris to come up. When they arrived, they surrounded the place in most daring fashion, and began to prod with their spears into the thickest grass and thorn, keeping up a hideous yelling the while.
A choking, gurgling roar, and the lioness was out and off. I hastily brought up my rifle and fired. It was a shaky shot enough, and I only got her in the hind quarter. Things looked a bit nasty as she turned on us, ears laid back, mouth curled up in a furious snarl, and tail working up and down like a clockwork toy. She sprang, as a set off, several feet into the air. Such mighty bounds with a sideway twist about them, and I did not delay longer.
Seeing the great head over my sights, I pulled the trigger. Still she came on a few yards, worrying the ground with her mouth. Then the game and magnificent creature crashed forward and never moved again-She was a young lioness, in the heyday of beauty, and I sat down quivering all over at the sight of so wondrous a prize. After directing the three men who had followed to skin and decapitate my lioness, I worked back to the retreat of the rhino. On my way I sighted a dibatag and a couple of graceful oryx, but saw them disappear on the horizon without an attempt to annex one of them. It was not only late, but the men had all they could manage.
I imagined the rhino would be by now accounted for. It was—thoroughly! Cicely met me as I neared the blackened waste, and explained they had waited and waited for the rhino to break cover, expecting the rush every second, and the flames and heat drove them almost out of range. Nothing happened, and it was not until the whole brake of thorn was a heap of ashes that they came on the pachyderm at last. His charred bulk lay in the smouldering embers, and until the place cooled it was impossible to retrieve his horns. What a pity and what a waste! We both cursed the fire stick and our haste. One bullet, Cecily’s, I surmise, must have penetrated the rhino’s heart, and after careering on for a short way the stricken animal settled down silently to die. We were intensely put out. Not even the beautiful lioness allayed our disappointment and chagrin.