To-day I am to have an unlooked-for experience. A number of eland have attracted my attention. I follow them through the long grass, just as I did that time in 1896 when the flock of pearl-hens buzzed over me and I started the two rhinoceroses which nearly “did for” me.5 These antelopes claim my undivided attention. The country is undulating in its formation, and my men are all out of sight. I am quite alone, rifle in hand. The animals make off to the left and in amidst the high grass. I stand still and watch them. It would be too far to have a shot at the leader of the herd, so I merely follow in their tracks, crouching down. Now I have to get across a crevice. But as I am negotiating it and penetrating the higher grass on the opposite slope, suddenly, fifty paces in front of me, I perceive a huge dark object in among the reeds—a rhinoceros.

It has not become aware of me yet, nor of the peril awaiting it. It sits up, turned right in my direction. Now there is no going either forwards or backwards for me. The grass encumbers my legs—the old growth (spared by the great fires that sometimes ravage the whole velt between two rainy seasons) mingling with the new into an inextricable tangle. Such moments are full of excitement. It is quite on the cards that a second rhinoceros—perhaps a third—will now turn up. Who knows? Moreover, I have absolutely no inducement to bag the specimen now before my eyes—its horns are not of much account. I try cautiously to retreat, but my feet are entangled and I slip. Instantly I jump up again—the rhinoceros has heard the noise of my fall and is making a rush for me, spitting and snorting. It won’t be easy to hit him effectively, but I fire. As my rifle rings out I hear suddenly the singing notes like a bird in the air above, clear and resonant, and I seem to note the impact of the bullet. Next instant I see the rhinoceros disappearing over the undulating plain.

I conclude that the bullet must have struck one of his horns and been turned aside, and that it startled the beast and caused him to abandon his attack.

But there are yet other ways in which you may be surprised by a rhinoceros. I had pitched my camp by the Pangani, in a region which at the time of Count Telekis’ expedition, some years before, was a swamp. Its swampy condition lasts only during the rainy season, but I found my camping-place to be very unsatisfactory and unhealthy. I set out therefore with a few of my men to find a better position somewhere on dryer land, if possible shaded by trees, and at a spot where the river was passable—a good deal to ask for in the African bush. For hours we pursued our search through “boga” and “pori,” but the marshy ground did not even enable us to get down to the river-side. Endless morasses of reeds enfolded us, in whose miry depths the foot sinks even in the dry weather, in which the sultry heat enervates us, shut in as we are by the rank growth that meets above our heads as we grope through it. At last we reach some solid earth, and it looks as though here, beneath some sycamores, we have found a better camping place. Deep-trodden paths lead down to the waterside. We follow them through the brushwood, I leading the way, and thus reach the stream. The rush and roar of the river resounds in our ears, and we catch the notes, too, of birds. Suddenly, right in front of me, the ground seems to quicken into life. My first notion is that it must be a gigantic crocodile; but no, it is a rhinoceros which has just been bathing, and which now, disturbed, is glancing in our direction and about to attack us or take to its heels—who can say? Escape seems impossible. Clasping my rifle I plunge back into the dense brushwood. But the tough viscous branches project me forward again. Now for it. The rhinoceros is “coming for” us. We tumble about in all directions. Some seconds later we exchange stupefied glances. The animal has fled past us, just grazing us and bespattering us with mud, and has disappeared from sight. How small we felt at that moment I cannot express! In such moments you experience the same kind of sensation as when your horse throws you or you are knocked over by a motorcar. (Perhaps this latter simile comes home to one best nowadays!) You realise, too, why the native hunters throw off all their clothing when they are after big game. On such occasions even the lightest covering hampers you, and perhaps endangers your life.

Countless thousands of two-horned rhinoceroses are still to the good in East Africa. Yes, countless thousands! Captain Schlobach tells us that he would encounter as many as thirty in one day in Karragwe in 1903 and 1904. Countless also are the numbers of horns which are secured annually for sale on the coast. But how much longer will this state of things continue? And the specimens of the white rhinoceros of South Africa which adorn the museum in Cape Town and the private museum of Mr. W. Rothschild (and which we owe to Coryndon and Varndell) are not more valuable than the specimens also to be found in the museums of the “black” rhinoceroses still extant in East Africa.

This view of the matter will perhaps receive attention fifty or a hundred years hence.

MASAI KILLING A HYENA WITH THEIR CLUBS. XI
The Capturing of a Lion

Simba Station—Lion Station—is the name of a place on the Uganda Railway, which connects the Indian Ocean with the Victoria-Nyanza. It is situated near Nairobi, and the sound of its name recalls vividly to my memory January 25, 1897, the great day when I came face to face with three lions.

At that time no iron road led to the interior of the country; there were neither railway lines nor telegraph wires to vibrate to the sound of the voice of the monarch of the wilderness. But the white man was soon to bar his path by day and night along the whole length of the great railroad from lake to ocean.

“Lion Station” deserves its name, for in the vicinity of this spot over a hundred Indian workmen have been seized by lions. To me this was no surprise, for years before I had visited the region, and had done full justice to its wilderness in my description of it. Some stir was caused when a lion killed a European in one of the sleeping-cars at night-time. In company with two others, the unfortunate man was passing the night in a saloon carriage which had been shunted on to a siding. One of the Europeans slept on the floor; as a precaution against mosquitoes he had covered himself with a cloth. Another was lying on a raised bunk. The lion seized the third man, who was sleeping near the two others on a camp-bed, killed him, and carried him away. One of the survivors, Herr Hübner—whose hunting-box, “Kibwezi,” in British East Africa, has given many sportsmen an opportunity of becoming acquainted with African game—gave me the following account of the incident: “The situation was a critical one. The door through which the beast had entered the compartment was rolled back. I saw the creature at about an arm’s length from me, standing with its fore-paws on the bed of my sleeping friend. Then a sudden snatch, followed by a sharp cry, told me that all was over. The lion’s right paw had fallen on my friend’s left temple, and its teeth were buried deep in his left breast near the armpit. For the next two minutes a deathly stillness reigned. Then the lion pulled the body from off the bed and laid it on the ground.” The lion disappeared with the corpse into the darkness of the night. It was killed shortly after, as might be expected.

Such scenes were probably more frequent in earlier days, when, in the Orange Free State, a single hunter would kill five-and-twenty lions. This was so even down to the year 1863, when impallah antelopes (Æpyceros suara) had already become very rare in Bechuanaland, and in Natal a keen control had to be instituted over the use of arms. Times have changed. In the year 1899 much sensation was aroused by the fact that a lion was killed near Johannesburg, and so far back as 1883 there was quite a to-do over a lion that was seen and killed at Uppington, on the Orange River. To Oswald and Vardon, well-known English hunters, as well as to Moffat in Bechuanaland, the encountering of as many as nine troops of lions in a day was quite an ordinary experience, and I still found lions in surprising numbers in 1896 in German and British East Africa. The practical records of the Anglo-German Boundary Commission in East Africa, the observations made lately by Duke Adolf Friedrich of Mecklenburg, and the evidence of many other trustworthy witnesses, have confirmed these facts.

Although I do not think that lions, at least in districts where game is very plentiful, are so dangerous as some would make out, yet I quite agree with the statement made by H. A. Bryden that a lion-hunt made on foot must be reckoned as one of the most dangerous sports there are. The experience of an authority like Selous, who was seized by lions during the night in the jungle, proves this.

In the region in which I had such success lion-hunting in 1897, there were many mishaps. My friend the commandant of Port Smith in Kikuÿuland, who was badly mauled by lions, has since had more than one fellow-sufferer in this respect.

Captain Chauncy Hugh-Stegand, who, like Mr. Hall and so many other hunters of other nationalities, had been several times injured by rhinoceroses, was once within an ace of being killed by a lion which he encountered by night, and which he shot at and pursued. Severely wounded, and cured almost by a miracle, he had to return to England to regain his health. “Such are the casualties of sportsmen in Central and East Africa” is the dry comment of Sir Harry Johnston in his preface to the English edition of my book With Flashlight and Rifle.

When I read about such adventures I call to mind vividly my own. I live through them all again, and the magic of these experiences reawakes in me.

To-day I would fain give the reader some account of the capturing of lions. Not of captures made by means of a net, such as skilful and brave men used in olden days to throw over the king of beasts, thus disabling him and putting him in their power, but of a capture that was not without its many intense and exciting moments.

Proud Rome saw as many as five hundred lions die in the arena in one day. That was in the time of Pompey. Nearly two thousand years have passed since then, and one may safely affirm that in the intervening centuries very few lions have been brought to Europe that were caught when full grown in the desert. The many lions that are brought over to our continent are caught when young, and then reared, despite the credence given sometimes to statements to the contrary.

It goes without saying that lions which have matured in confinement cannot compare with the lions that have come to their full development in the wilderness. Full-grown tigers and leopards are still nowadays in some cases ensnared alive, and we can see them in our zoological gardens in all their native wildness, and without any artificial breeding, marked with the unmistakable stamp common to all wild animals. It is an established fact that all captive monkeys show symptoms after a certain time of rachitis. This is also the case frequently with large felines. Lions brought up in captivity, however, have far finer manes than wild ones.

Of course a certain number of the lions used in the arena-fights in Rome were probably reared in the Roman provinces by some potentate. But without doubt a large number were caught when fully grown by means of nets, pitfalls, and other devices of which we have no precise details.

It seemed to me worth while to make a trial of the means which had once been so successful. As I have already pointed out, there is a great difference between a man who scours the wilderness solely as a hunter, and one who makes practical investigations into the life of the animal world. The sportsman may possibly sneer at the use of pitfalls. He has no mind for anything but an exciting encounter with the lion, an encounter which, thanks to modern means of warfare, is much easier for the man than formerly.

However, I have no wish whatever to lay down the law on this question of the relative amount of danger involved in the shooting or the trapping of lions. In many parts of Africa lion-hunting is a matter of luck, above all where horses cannot live owing to the tsetse-fly, and where dogs cannot be employed in large numbers (as used to be the practice in South Africa) to mark down the lions until the hunter can come. For example, we have it on good authority that the members of an Anglo-Abyssinian Border Commission, aided by a pack of dogs, were able to kill about twenty lions in the course of a year. But on entering the region of Lake Rudolf all the dogs fall victims to the tsetse-fly. Hunting with a pack of dogs is very successful. Dogs were used by the three brothers Chudiakow, who, some nine years ago, near Nikolsk on the Amur, in Manchuria, killed nearly forty Siberian tigers in one winter6; whilst a hunting party near Vladivostock killed in one month one hundred and twenty-five wild boars and seven tigers. Tigers are so plentiful near Mount Ararat that a military guard of three men is necessary during the night-watch to ward off these beasts of prey.7

My extraordinary luck on January 25, 1897, when I killed three full-grown lions, fine big specimens, was of course a source of much satisfaction to me. The little sketch-map of the day’s hunt which accompanies this chapter shows the route I took on that memorable occasion, and gives a good idea of the way in which I am accustomed to keep a record of such things in my diary. I must add that my adventures and narrow escapes while trying to secure lions have been of a kind such as would be to the taste only of those most greedy of excitement.

In 1897 I had already observed that the lion was to be found in great troops in thinly populated neighbourhoods, where he was at no loss for prey and where he had not much to fear from man. As many as thirty lions have been found together, and I myself have seen a troop of fourteen with my own eyes. Other sportsmen have seen still larger troops in East Africa. Quite recently Duke Adolf Friedrich of Mecklenburg, who, on the occasion of his second African trip, made some interesting observations in regard to lions, has borne witness to the existence of very large troops. During the period in which I devoted myself entirely to making photographic studies of wild life, and consequently left undisturbed all the different species of game which swarmed around my camp, I was sometimes surrounded for days, weeks even, by great numbers of them, sometimes to an alarming extent. I have already described how one night an old lion brushed close by my tent to drink at the brook near which we were encamping, although it was just as easy for him to drink from the same stream at any point for miles to either side of us. On another occasion, as could be seen from the tracks, lions approached our camp until within a few yards of it. When I was photographing the lions falling upon the heifers and donkeys, as described in With Flashlight and Rifle, I must have been, judging by the tracks, surrounded by about thirty. I trapped a number of them, either for our various museums, where specimens in various stages of development and age are much needed, or to protect the natives who were menaced by lions, or whose relatives had perhaps been seized by them.

It is the more necessary to have recourse to traps in that one may spend years hunting in Equatorial East Africa without getting a single chance of firing a shot at a lion. The hunt has to take place at night, for the lion leads a nocturnal life, and makes off into inaccessible thickets by day.

But what I was most anxious to do was to secure a specimen or two that I could bring alive to Europe. To do this, I required the lightest possible and most portable iron cages, which should yet be strong enough to resist every effort of the imprisoned animals to get free. This problem was solved for me as well as it could be by Professor Heck, the Director of the Berlin Zoological Gardens. Yet even he declared it to be impossible to make such cages under 330 lbs. in weight. For the transport of one such cage the services of six bearers would be necessary. I arranged for several such cages to be sent oversea to Tanga, and took them thence into the interior. Thus I had the assurance of keeping my captives in security, but first I had to get hold of them without hurting them. By means of a modified form of iron traps I was able to manage this eventually. Those who are not acquainted with the difficulties of transport in countries where everything has to be borne on men’s shoulders will hardly be able to realise the straits to which one may be put. Thus I was much hampered, when carrying back my first lion (which was unharmed save for a few skin scratches), by a lack of bearers owing to famine and other causes.

I had found the tracks of a lioness with three quite little cubs. I followed them for an hour over the velt—they then got lost in the thick bush. As I had already observed the tracks of this little band for several days, I naturally concluded that the old lioness was making a stay in the neighbourhood. So I decided, as one of my heifers was ill from the tsetse sickness and bound to die, to pitch my tent in the neighbourhood and to bait a trap with the sick animal.

I found water at about an hour and a half’s distance from the spot where I had observed the lion’s tracks. I was thus obliged to encamp at this distance away. Later on in the evening, after much labour, I succeeded in setting a trap in such a way that I had every reason to hope for good results.

In the early hours of the following morning I started out, full of hope, to visit my trap. Already in the distance I could see that my heifer was still alive, and I immediately concluded that the lions had sought the open. But it was not so, for to my surprise I presently found fresh tracks of the old lioness and her cubs. Evidently she had visited the trap, but had returned into the bush without taking any notice of the easy prey. The lie of the land allowed me to read the lion’s tracks imprinted into the ground as if in a book. They told me that the cubs had at one point suddenly darted to one side, their curiosity excited by a land-tortoise whose back was now reflecting the rays of the sun, and which in the moonlight must have attracted their attention. They had evidently amused themselves for a while with this plaything, for the hard surface of the tortoise’s shell was marked with their claws. Then they had returned to their mother. I concluded that the old lioness was not hungry and had no more lust for prey—another confirmation of the fact that lions, when sated, are not destructive. This new proof seemed to me to be worth all the trouble I had taken.

The two following nights, to my disappointment, the lions approached my heifer again without molesting it.

This was the more annoying because I had hoped by capturing the old lioness to obtain possession of all the young cubs as well.

In this case, as in many others, the behaviour of the heifer was a matter of great interest. As already remarked, in most cases I made use of sick cows mortally afflicted by the tsetse-fly. In many districts in German East Africa the tsetse-fly, which causes the dreadful sleeping sickness in man, also makes it impossible to keep cattle except under quite special conditions. This heifer, then, was already doomed to a painful death through the tsetse illness, and the fate I provided for it was more merciful, for the lion kills its prey by one single powerful bite. I observed, moreover, that the bound animal took its food quite placidly and showed no signs of unrest so long as the lion came up to her peaceably, as in this case. This accorded entirely with my frequent observations of the behaviour of animals towards lions on the open velt. Antelopes out on the velt apparently take very little notice of lions, though they hold themselves at a respectful distance from them.

In spite of my want of success, I decided to try my luck once more, though the surroundings of my camp were not very alluring and game was very scarce with the exception of a herd of ostriches, which for hours together haunted the vicinity. I hoped this time the lioness would be bagged. But no, I never came across her or her young again.

Instead, on the fourth morning, I found a good maned specimen—an old male—at my mercy. Loud roars announced the fact of his capture to me from afar. The first thing was to discover whether he was firmly held by the iron, and also whether he was unhurt. I assured myself of both these points after some time, with great trouble and difficulty, and, needless to add, not without considerable danger. I leave the reader to imagine for himself the state of mind in which one approaches the King of Beasts in such circumstances. I can vouch for it that one does so with a certain amount of respect for His Majesty.

The roaring of an enraged lion, once heard, is never to be forgotten. It is kept up by my captive without intermission, a dull heavy rumble suddenly swelling to a tremendous volume of sound. The expression of its face and head, too, show fierce anger and threaten danger. The terrible jaws now scrunch the branches within reach, now open menacingly.

It was now necessary to free the lion from the trap and to bring it into camp. It would take a week to get my cage, but meanwhile I decided to fasten the animal by means of a strong chain and with a triple yoke specially made for such a purpose in Europe.

But even the bravest of my men absolutely refused to obey my command. It needed the greatest persistence to persuade some of them, at last, to lend a helping hand to me and my assistant Orgeich. As usual they required the stimulus of a good example. After some time I had, as can be seen on pages 485 and 499, set up my photographic apparatus right in front of the lion so as to take several photos of him at the distance of a few paces.

Then we cut a few saplings about as thick as one’s arm, and with these we tried to beat down the lion so as to secure him. At first this did not succeed at all. I then had recourse to strong cord, which I made into a lasso. It was wonderful, when I caught the head of the prisoner in the noose, to see him grip it with his teeth and to watch the thick rope fall to pieces as if cut with a pair of scissors after a few quick, angry bites. During this trial I made a false step on the smooth, grassy ground, so well known to African explorers, and was within a hair’s breadth of falling into the clutches of the raging beast had not my good taxidermist happily dragged me back. After various further efforts, during which my people were constantly taking fright, I at length succeeded in fastening the head as well as the paws of the beast. With the help of the branches the body was laid prostrate on the ground, a gag was inserted between the teeth, the prisoner was released from the trap and, fastened to a tree-trunk, was carried into camp.

But what takes only a few words to describe involved hours of work. It was a wonderful burden, and one not to be seen every day! In my previous book I have already described how we carried a half-grown lion in a similar manner, and I have given an illustration of the scene. Unfortunately some of my best photographs, showing my bearers carrying this full-grown lion, were lost while crossing a river.

I was full of delight at the thought of my captive as he would appear in my encampment. But to my great chagrin the lion died in it quite suddenly, evidently from heart failure. We could find no trace of any wound.

There was something really moving at this issue to the struggle, in the thought that I, using wile against strength, should have overpowered and captured this noble beast only to break his heart!

This failure made me fear that I should never succeed in capturing a lion by such methods. It seemed almost better to use a large grating-trap in which it could be kept for several days and gradually accustomed to the loss of its freedom. But this meant an expensive apparatus which was quite beyond the funds of a private individual with narrow means like myself. My efforts to capture lions by means of pits dug by the natives were quite unsuccessful, because the lions always found a way out.

A younger male lion which was entrapped lived for nearly a month chained up in my camp. This one had hurt its paw when captured, and in spite of every care a bad sore gradually festered. It wounded one of my people very badly by ripping open a vein in his arm when he went to feed it.

Thus terminated my efforts to bring an old lion to Europe.

Much that is easy in appearance is troublesome in reality. Even when the animal is overcome, the transportation of it to the coast is accompanied by almost insuperable difficulties. It means something to carry beast and cage, a burden amounting to something like eight hundred pounds, right through the wilderness by means of bearers. Even with the help of the Uganda Railway it has not been possible to bring home a full-grown lion. I have repeatedly caught lions for this purpose, but have always experienced ultimate failure.

Sometimes the animals would not return to the place where I had tracked or sighted them, or would steer clear of the decoy. One often meets with this experience in India with tigers, which are decoyed in much the same way, and then shot from a raised stand. Interesting information about the behaviour of tigers in such cases may be found in the publications of English hunters, as well as in the very interesting book on tropical sport by P. Niedieck, a German hunter of vast experience. I might perhaps have succeeded on subsequent occasions in transporting old lions, but I never had the strong cages at hand. Now perhaps they are rusted and rotted, as well as the other implements which I hid or buried on the velt, not having bearers enough to carry them, and hoping to find them again later.

I had a most interesting adventure, once, with a lion on the right bank of the Rufu River.

For several nights the continuous roaring of a lion had been heard in the immediate vicinity of my camp. In spite of all my attempts to get a sight of the beast by day I could not even find the slightest trace of it. Moreover, the vegetation in the neighbourhood of the river was not at all suitable for a lion-hunt. I decided to try my luck with a trap. A very decrepit old donkey was used as a bait, and killed by the lion the very first night. But to my disappointment the powerful beast of prey had evidently killed the ass with one blow, and with incredible strength had succeeded in dragging it off into the thicket without as much as touching the trap. Very early the next morning I found the tracks, which were clearly imprinted on the ground. Breathlessly I followed up the trail step by step in the midst of thick growth which only allowed me to see a few paces around me. I crept noiselessly forward, followed by my gun-bearer, knowing that in all probability I should come upon the lion.

The trail turned sharply to the left through some thick bushes. Now we came to a spot where the thief had evidently rested with his spoil; then the tracks led sharply to the right and went straight forward without a pause.

We had been creeping forward on the sunlit sand like stealthy cats, with every nerve and muscle taut, my people close behind me, I with my rifle raised and ready to fire—when, suddenly, with a weird sort of growl it leapt up right in front of us and was over the hard sand and away. It is astonishing how the stampede of a lion reverberates even in the far distance!

A few steps further I came upon the remains of the ass. The lion had gained the open when I got out of the brushwood. It was useless to follow the tracks, for they led only to stony ground, where they would be lost. Discouraged, I gave up the pursuit for the time, but only to return a few hours later. Approaching very cautiously to the place where I had left the remains of the donkey, we found they were no longer there. The lion had fetched them away. We followed again, but to my unspeakable disappointment with the same result as in the morning. I managed this time, however, to get near the lion through the brushwood, but he immediately took to flight again—when only a few yards from me, though hidden by bushes. Perhaps he is still at large in this same locality!

Lions—generally several of them together—killed my decoys on several occasions without themselves getting caught. I once surprised a lion and two lionesses at such a meal in the Njiri marshes, in June 1903. Unfortunately the animals became aware of my approach, and now began just such a chase as I had already successfully undertaken on January 25, 1897.8

I was able by degrees to gain on the satiated animals. A wonderful memory that! Clear morning light, a sharp breeze from over the swamps, the yellowish velt with its whitish incrustation of salt—a few bushes and groups of trees—and ever before me the lions, beating their reluctant retreat, now clearly visible, now almost out of sight.

I try a shot. But they are too far—it is no use. Puffing and panting, I feel my face glow and my heart beat with my exertions. At length one lioness stops and glances in my direction. I shoot, and imagine I have missed her. All three rapidly disappear in a morass near at hand. All my efforts seem to have been in vain.... Eight days later, however, I bag the lioness, and find that my ball has struck her right through the thigh.

It may happen that a lion caught in a trap gets off with the iron attached to him, and covers vast stretches of country. The pursuer has then an exciting time of it. If the animal passes through a fairly open district the issue is probably successful. But I have sometimes been obliged to wade through a morass of reeds for hours at a stretch. The hunter should remember that the irons may have gripped the lion’s paw in such a way that he may be able to shake them off with a powerful effort. Then the tables may easily be turned, and the lion may clasp the hunter, never to let him go again.

On another occasion I caught two full-grown lions in one night. They had roamed about quite near my camp night after night. They had frightened my people, and had been seen by the night sentinels; but in the daytime no one had been able to catch a glimpse of them. At last one night a sick ass, that had been placed as a bait, was torn away. The trail of the heavy irons led, after much turning and twisting, to a reedy swamp. Here it was impossible to follow the tracks further. Several hours passed before I succeeded finally in finding first one lion and then the other. To kill them was no easy matter. I could hear the clanking of the chains where they were moving about, but I must see them before I could take effective aim. Meanwhile one of the lions was making frantic efforts to free himself. Supposing the irons were to give way! But these efforts were followed by moments of quiet and watching. How the beasts growled!

I cannot agree with those who condemn indiscriminately the trapping of lions. Of course, it must be done for a good purpose. I should not have been able to present the Imperial Natural History Museum in Berlin with such beautiful and typical lions’ skins had I not had recourse to these traps.

A lion story with a droll ending came to me from Bagamoÿo. There a lion had made itself very obnoxious, and some Europeans determined to trap it. The trap was soon set, and a young lion fell into it. Several men armed to the teeth approached the place, to put an end to the captive with powder and shot. I cannot now exactly remember what happened next, but on the attempt of the lion to free itself from the trap the riflemen took to their heels and plunged into a pond. According to one version, the lion turned out afterwards to be only a hyena!

At one time there was a perfect plague of lions near the coast towns—Mikindani, for instance. Hungry lions attacked the townsfolk on many occasions, and even poked their heads inside the doors of the dwellings.

The extermination of wild life has been almost as great a disaster to the lions as to the bushmen of South Africa. Extermination awaits bushman and lion in their turn—not through hunger alone.

I was more fortunate in my attempt to get a fine example of the striped hyena (Hyena schillingsi, Mtsch.), which I had previously discovered, and in bringing it to Germany, where I presented it to the Berlin Zoological Gardens. On page 501 is to be seen a picture of one of this species caught in a trap. Orgeich, my plucky assistant, had armed himself with a big cudgel, for use in the case of the beast attacking him, but never lost his equanimity, and smoked his indispensable and inseparable pipe the whole time! Another illustration is of a hyena which was confined in the camp. This fine specimen, an old female, was very difficult to take to the coast. Something like forty bearers were needed to transport the heavy iron apparatus with its inmate as far as Tanga. This representative of its species was one of the first brought alive to Europe, and lived for several years in the Berlin Zoological Gardens.

It is less troublesome to obtain possession of smaller beasts of prey. Thus I kept three jackals (Thos. schmidti, Noack) in my camp until they became quite reconciled to their fate. It is very interesting to study the various characteristics of animals at such times. Some adapt themselves very easily to their altered circumstances; others of the same species do so only after a long struggle. The study of animal character can be carried on very well under the favourable conditions of camp life in the wild.

Although grown jackals may be fairly easily brought over to Europe, we had great difficulty with members of the more noble feline race, and above all with the King of Beasts himself. I learnt by experience that lynxes and wild cats were only to be tamed with great difficulty, and I once lost a captive lynx very suddenly in spite of every care.

These things are not so simple. This is why it is not yet possible to bring many of the most charming and most interesting members of the African animal world to Europe. I much wish that it were possible to bring full-grown lions over. I would far rather see one or two of them in all their native wildness and majesty than a whole troop of home-reared and almost domesticated specimens.

But the hours I devoted to my own attempts in this direction were not spent in vain. They were memorable hours, full of splendid excitement.

A FEW SPECIMENS OF ELEPHANT-TUSKS SECURED BY THE EMISSARIES OF DEUSS & CO., IN PORTUGUESE EAST AFRICA. XII
A Dying Race of Giants

Every one who knows Equatorial East Africa will bear me out in saying that it is easier nowadays to kill fifty rhinoceroses than a single bull-elephant carrying tusks weighing upwards of a couple of hundred pounds.

There are only a few survivors left of this world-old race of giants. Many species, probably, have disappeared without leaving a single trace behind. The block granite sarcophagi on the Field of the Dead in Sakkarah in Egypt, dating from 3,500 years ago, are memorials (each weighing some 64 tons) of the sacred bulls of Apis: the mightiest monument ever raised by man to beast. Bulls were sacred to Ptah, the God of Memphis, and their gravestones—which Mariette, for instance, brought to light in 1851—yield striking evidence of the pomp attached to the cult of animals in those days of old.

But no monument has been raised to the African elephants that have been slaughtered by millions in the last hundred years. Save for some of the huge tusks for which they were killed, there will be scarcely a trace of them in the days to come, when their Indian cousins—the sacred white elephants—may perhaps still be revered.

John Hanning Speke, who with his fellow-countryman Grant discovered the Victoria Nyanza, found elephant herds grazing quite peacefully on its banks. The animals, nowadays so wild, hardly took any notice when some of their number were killed or wounded: they merely passed a little farther on and returned to their grazing.

The same might be said of the Upper Nile swamps in the land of the Dinkas, in English territory, where, thanks to specially favourable conditions, the English have been successfully preserving the elephants. Also in the Knysna forests of Cape Colony some herds of elephants have been preserved by strict protective laws during the last eighty years or so. Experience with Indian elephants has proved that when protected the sagacious beasts are not so shy and wild as is generally the case with those of Africa. For the latter have become, especially the full-grown and experienced specimens, the shyest of creatures, and therefore the most difficult to study.

Should any one differ from me as to this, I would beg him to substantiate his opinion by the help of photographs, taken in the wilderness, of elephants which have not been shot at—photographs depicting for us the African elephant in its native wilds. When he does, I shall “give him best”!

The elephant is no longer to be found anywhere in its original numbers. It is found most frequently in the desert places between Abyssinia and the Nile and the Galla country, or in the inaccessible parts of the Congo, on the Albert Nyanza, and in the hinterlands of Nigeria and the Gold Coast. But in the vicinity of the Victoria Nyanza things have changed greatly. Richard Kandt tells us that a single elephant-hunter, a Dane, who afterwards succumbed to the climate, alone slaughtered hundreds in the course of years.

According to experts in this field of knowledge, some of the huge animals of prehistoric days disappeared in a quite brief space of time from the earth’s surface. But we cannot explain why beasts so well qualified to defend themselves should so speedily cease to exist. However that may be, the fate of the still existing African elephant appears to me tragic. At one time elephants of different kinds dwelt in our own country.9 Remains of the closely related mammoth, with its long hair adapted to a northern climate, are sometimes excavated from the ice in Siberia. Thus we obtain information about its kind of food, for remnants of food well preserved by the intense cold have been found between the teeth and in the stomach—remnants which botanists have been able to identify.

By a singular coincidence, the mammoth remains preserved in the ice have been found just at a time when the craze for slaughtering their African relations has reached its climax, and when by means of arms that deal out death at great, and therefore safe distances, the work of annihilation is all too rapidly progressing. The scientific equipment of mankind is so nearly perfect that we are able to make the huge ice-bound mammoths, which have perhaps been reposing in their cold grave for thousands of years, speak for themselves. And it can be proved by means of the so-called “physiological blood-proof” that the frozen blood of the Siberian mammoths shows its kinship with the Indian and African elephant!

It is strange to reflect that mankind, having attained to its present condition of enlightenment, should yet have designs upon the last survivors of this African race of giants—and chiefly in the interests of a game! For the ivory is chiefly required to make billiard balls! Is it not possible to contrive some substitute in these days when nothing seems beyond the power of science?

A. H. Neumann, a well-known English hunter, says that some years ago it was already too late to reap a good ivory harvest in Equatorial Africa or in Mombasa. He had to seek farther afield in the far-lying districts between the Indian Ocean and the Upper Nile, where he obtained about £5,000 worth of ivory during one hunting expedition.