Meanwhile powder and shot are at work day and night in the Dark Continent. It is not the white man himself who does most of the work of destruction; it is the native who obtains the greater part of the ivory used in commerce. Two subjects of Manga Bell, for instance, killed a short time back, in the space of a year and a half, elephants enough to provide one hundred and thirty-nine large tusks for their chief! There is no way of changing matters except by completely disarming the African natives. Unless this is done, in a very short time the elephant will only be found in the most inaccessible and unhealthy districts. It does not much matter whether this comes about in a single decade or in several. What are thirty or forty or fifty years, in comparison with the endless ages that have gone to the evolution of these wonderful animals? It is remarkable, too, that in spite of all the hundreds of African elephants which are being killed, not a single museum in the whole world possesses one of the gigantic male elephants which were once so numerous, but which are now so rarely to be met with. Accompanying this chapter is a photograph of the heaviest elephant-tusks which have ever reached the coast from the interior. The two tusks together weigh about 450 pounds. One can form some idea of the size of the elephant which carried them! I was unfortunately unable to obtain these tusks for Germany, although they were taken from German Africa. They were sent to America, and sold for nearly £1,000.

I should like the reader to note, also, the illustration showing a room in an ivory factory. The number of tusks there visible will give an approximate notion of the tremendous slaughter which is being carried on.

The price of ivory has been rising gradually, and is now ten times what it was some forty years ago in the Sudan, according to Brehm’s statistics. In Morgen’s time one could buy a fifty-pound tusk in the Cameroons for some stuff worth about sevenpence. In the last century or two the price of ivory has risen commensurately with that of all other such wares. Nowadays a sum varying from £300 to £400 may be obtained for the egg of the Great Auk, which became extinct less than half a century ago: whilst a stuffed specimen of the bird itself is worth at least £1,000. What will be the price of such things in years to come!

In the light of these remarks the reader will easily understand how greatly I prize the photographs which I secured of two huge old bull-elephants in friendly company with a bull-giraffe, and which are here reproduced. It will be difficult, if not indeed impossible, ever again to photograph such mighty “tuskers” in company with giraffes. In the year 1863 Brehm wrote that no true picture existed of the real African elephant in its own actual haunts. The fact brought to light by these pictures is both new and surprising, especially for the expert, who hitherto has been inclined to believe that giraffes were dwellers on the velt and accustomed to fight shy of the damp forests. That they should remain in such a region in company with elephants for weeks at a time was something hitherto unheard of. I do not know how to express my delight at being able after long hours of patient waiting to sight this rare conjunction of animals from my place of observation either with a Goerz-Trizeder or with the naked eye, but only for a few seconds at a time, because of the heavy showers of rain which kept falling. How disappointing and mortifying it was to find oneself left in the lurch by the sun—and just immediately under the Equator, where one had a right to it! What I had so often experienced in my photographic experiments in the forests by the Rufu River—that is, the want of sunlight for days together—now made me almost desperate. At any moment the little gathering of animals might break up, in which case I should never be able to get a photographic record of the strange friendship. Since the publication of my first work I have often been asked to give some further particulars about this matter. Therefore, perhaps these details, supported by photographs, will not be unacceptable to my readers.

I candidly admit that had I suddenly come upon these great bull-elephants in the jungle in years gone by I could not have resisted killing them. But I have gradually learned to restrain myself in this respect. It would have been a fine sensation from the sportsman’s standpoint, and would besides have brought in a round sum of perhaps £500; but what was all that in comparison with the securing of one single authentic photograph which would afford irrefutable proof of so surprising a fact?

The western spurs of the great Kilimanjaro range end somewhat abruptly in a high table-land, which is grass-grown and covered in patches with sweet-smelling acacias. This undulating velt-region gradually slopes down until in its lowest parts the waters collect and form the western Njiri marshes, which at some seasons of the year are almost dry. Volcanic hills arise here and there on the plain, from whose summits one can obtain a wide view. One of the most prominent of these hills has a cavity at its summit. It is evidently the crater of an extinct volcano which is filled with water, like the volcanic lakes of my native Eifel district. A thicket begins not far from this hill, and gradually extends until it merges into the forest beyond. The burning sun has dried up all the grass up to the edge of the thicket. There is so little rain here that the poor Xerophites are the only exception that can stand the drought. Only on the inner walls of the steep crater do bushes and shrubs grow, for these are only exposed at midday to the sun’s heat.

Thus a cool moisture pervades this hollow except during the very hottest season. Paths, trodden down by crowds of game, lead to the shining mirror of the little lake. It used to be the haunt of beasts of prey, and the smaller animals would probably seek drinking-places miles distant rather than come to this grim declivity. There is, however, a kind of road leading to the summit of this hill, a very uneven road, wide at first, then gradually narrower and narrower, which had become almost impassable with grass and brushwood when I made my way up. This road was trodden by the cattle herds of the Masai. It may be that rhinoceroses and elephants were the original makers of it before the warlike shepherds began to lead their thirsty cattle to this secluded lake. Be this as it may, my Masai friends assured me that they brought their herds here time out of mind until the rinderpest devastated them.

For weeks I had had natives on the look-out for elephants. They could only tell me, however, of small herds composed of cows and young bulls, and that was not good enough from the point of view of either sportsman or photographer. However, I made several excursions round the Kilepo Hill from my camp, never taking more than a few men with me—it so often happens that one’s followers spoil the chase, perhaps quite frustrate it. This is well known to natives and experienced elephant-hunters.

I soon became familiar with the district and its vegetation. For hours I followed paths which led through thick undergrowth, and I had some unpleasant encounters with rhinoceroses. I knew well that the neighbourhood of the hills, with its tall impenetrable growth, was a most likely one for astute and cautious bull-elephants to haunt.

Hunting elephants in this fashion, day after day, with only a few followers, is a delightful experience. It happens, perhaps, that one has to pass the night in the forest under the free vault of heaven, with the branches of a huge tree as shelter. The faint glow of the camp-fire fades and flickers, producing weird effects in the network of the foliage. How quickly one falls victim to atavistic terrors of the night! Terrors of what? Of the “pepo ya miti,” the spirit of the woods, or of some other mysterious sprite? No, of wild animals—the same kind of fear that little children have in the dark of something unknown, dangerous and threatening. My followers betake themselves to their slumbers with indifference, for they have little concern for probable dangers. But the imaginative European is on the look-out for peril—the thought of it holds and fascinates him.... Somewhere in the distance, perhaps, the heavens are illuminated with a bright light. Far, far away a conflagration is raging, devastating miles upon miles of the vale below. The sky reflects the light, which blazes up now purple, now scarlet! Often it will last for days and nights, nay weeks, whole table-lands being in flames and acting as giant beacons to light up the landscape!... My thoughts would turn towards the bonfires which in Germany of old flashed their message across the land—news, perhaps, of the burial of some great prince.... So, now, it seemed to me that those distant flames told of the last moments of some monarch of the wild.

At last I received good news. A huge bull-elephant had been seen for a few minutes in the early morning hours in the vicinity of the Kilepo Hill. This overjoyed me, for I was quite certain that in a few days now we should meet them above on the hill.

I left my camp to the care of the greater part of my caravan, but sent a good many of my men back into the inhabited districts of the northern Kilimanjaro to get fresh provisions from Useri. I myself went about a day’s journey up Kilepo Hill, accompanied by a few of my men, resolved to get a picture coûte que coûte.

It was characteristic of my scouts that they could only give me details about elephants. As often as I asked them about other game I could get nothing out of them, for what were giraffes, buffaloes, and rhinoceroses to them, and what interest could they have in such worthless creatures! The whole mind of the natives has been for many years past directed by us Europeans upon ivory. Native hunters in scantily populated districts dream and think only of “jumbe”—ivory, and always more ivory, as the Esquimaux yearns for seal blubber and oil and the European for gold, gold, gold! In these parts giraffes and rhinoceroses count for nothing in comparison with the elephant—the native thinks no more of them than one of our own mountaineers would think of a rabbit or a hare. Only those who have seen this for themselves can realise how quickly one gets accustomed to the point of view! In the gameless and populous coast districts the appearance of a dwarf antelope or of a bustard counts for a good deal, and holds out promise to the sportsman of other such game—waterbuck, perhaps. I have read in one of the coast newspapers the interesting news that Mr. So and So was fortunate enough to kill a bustard and an antelope. That certainly was quite good luck, for you may search long in populous districts and find nothing. As you penetrate into the wilder districts conditions change rapidly, and after weeks and months of marching in the interior you get accustomed to expecting only the biggest of big game. The other animals become so numerous that the sight of them no longer quickens the pulse.

I have already remarked that elephants are much less cautious by night than by day. The very early morning hours are the best for sighting elephants, before they retire into their forest fastnesses to escape the burning rays of the sun. But as at this time of the year the sun hardly ever penetrated the thick bank of clouds, there was a chance of seeing the elephants at a later hour and in the bush. So every morning either I or one of my scouts was posted on one of the hills—Kilepo especially—to keep a sharp look-out. It needed three hours in the dark and two in the daylight to get up the hill. It was not a pleasant climb. We were always drenched to the skin by the wet grass and bushes, and it was impossible to light a fire to dry ourselves, for the animals would certainly have scented it. We had to stay there in our wet clothes, hour after hour, watching most carefully and making the utmost of the rare moments when the mist rolled away in the valley and enabled us to peer into the thickets. It may seem surprising that we should have found so much difficulty in sighting the elephants, but one must remember that they emerge from their mud-baths with a coating that harmonises perfectly with the tree-trunks and the general environment, and are therefore hard to descry. Besides, the conditions of light in the tropics are very different from what we are accustomed to in our own northern clime, and are very deceptive.

When fortune was kind I could just catch a glimpse during a brief spell of sunshine of a gigantic elephant’s form in the deep valley beneath. But only for a few instants. The next moment there was nothing to be seen save long vistas of damp green plants and trees. The deep rain-channels stood out clear and small in the landscape from where I stood. The mightiest trees looked like bushes; the hundred-feet-high trunks of decayed trees which stood up out of the undergrowth here and there looked like small stakes. In the ever-changing light one loses all sense of the vastness of things and distances.

For once the mist rolls off rapidly; a gust of wind drives away the clouds. The sun breaks through. Look! there is a whole herd of elephants below us in the valley! But in another second the impenetrable forest of trees screens them from my camera. At last they become clearly visible again, and I manage to photograph two cow-elephants in the distance. The sun vanishes again now, and an hour later I have at last the whole herd clearly before me in the hollow. How the little calves cling to their mothers! How quietly the massive beasts move about, now disappearing into the gullies, now reappearing and climbing up the hillside with a sureness of foot that makes them seem more like automatons than animals. Every now and again the ruddy earth-coloured backs emerge from the mass of foliage. A wonderful and moving picture! For I know full well that the gigantic mothers are caring for their children and protecting them from the human fiend who seeks to destroy them with pitfalls, poisoned arrows, or death-dealing guns. How cautiously they all move, scenting the wind with uplifted trunks, and keeping a look-out for pitfalls! Every movement shows careful foresight; the gigantic old leaders have evidently been through some dire experiences.

Suddenly a warning cry rings out. Immediately the whole herd disappears noiselessly into the higher rain-channels of the hill—the “Subugo woods” of the Wandorobo hunters.

Had the elephants not got these places of refuge to fly to they would have died out long ago! This is the only means by which they are still able to exist in Africa. I feel how difficult it is to depict accurately the constant warfare that is going on between man and beast, and can only give others a vague idea of what it is like. Many secrets of the life and fate and the speedy annihilation of the African elephants will sink into the grave with the last commercial elephant-hunters. And once again civilisation will have done away with an entire species in the course of a single century. The question as to how far this was necessary will provide ample material for pamphlets and discussions in times to come.

When one knows the “subugo,” however, one understands how it has been possible for elephants in South Africa to have held out so long in the Knysna and Zitzikama forests until European hunters began to go after them with rifles in expert fashion. Fritsch visited the Knysna forests in 1863. “It is easy,” he says, “to understand how elephants have managed to remain in their forests for weeks together before one of their number has fallen, even when hundreds of men have been after them. There are spots in these forests—regular islands completely surrounded by water—where they take refuge, and where no one can get at them.”

Of course, Fritsch speaks of a time when the art of shooting was in its infancy. One must not forget that nowadays ruthless marksmen will reach the mighty beasts even in these islands of refuge—marksmen who shoot at a venture with small-calibre rifles, and who find the dead elephant later somewhere in the neighbourhood, with vultures congregated round the corpse.10

Now perhaps I may have to wait in vain for hours, days, and even weeks! Some mornings there is absolutely nothing to be seen—the animals have gone down to the lake to drink, or have taken refuge in one of the little morasses at the foot of the hill. Judging by their nocturnal wanderings it seems as if they must have other accessible drinking-places in the vicinity. A search for these places, however, is not to be thought of. If I were to penetrate to these haunts they would immediately note my footsteps and take to flight for months, perhaps, putting miles between themselves and their would-be photographer.

For to-day, at any rate, all is over. The sun only breaks through the heavy masses of cloud for a few minutes at a time, and great sombre palls of mist hang over the forests, constantly changing from one shape to another.

To obtain a picture by means of the telephoto-lens did not seem at all feasible. But a photo of bull-elephants and giraffes together!—so long as there was the faintest chance of it I would not lose heart. It was not easy, but I must succeed! So, wet through and perishing with cold, I wandered every morning through the tall grass to the top of the hill and waited and waited....

The elephants seemed to have completely disappeared; no matter how far I extended my daily excursions, they were nowhere to be seen. At length I came across a fairly big herd, but they had taken up their stand in such an impenetrable thicket that it was quite impossible to sight them. After much creeping and crawling through the elephant and rhinoceros paths in the undergrowth I managed to get just for a few minutes a faint glimpse of the vague outline of single animals, but so indistinct that it was impossible to determine their age, size, or sex. In East Africa elephants are generally seen under these unfavourable conditions. Very seldom does one come upon a good male tusk-bearing specimen, as well-meaning but inexperienced persons, such as I myself was at one time, would desire.

There is something very exciting and stimulating in coming face to face with these gigantic creatures in the thick undergrowth. All one’s nerves are strained to see or hear the faintest indication of the whereabouts of the herd; the sultry air, the dense tangle through which we have to move, and which hinders every step, combine to excite us. We can only see a few paces around. The strong scent of elephant stimulates us. The snapping and creaking of branches and twigs, the noises made by the beasts themselves, especially the shrill cry of warning given out from time to time by one of the herd—all add to the tension. The clanging, pealing sound of this cry has something particularly weird in it in the stillness of the great forest. At such a signal the whole herd moves forward, to-day quietly without noise, and to-morrow in wild blustering flight. It is very seldom that one can catch them up on the same day, and then only after long hours of pursuit.... These forest sanctuaries, together with their own caution, have done more to stave off the extermination of the species than have all the sporting restrictions that have been introduced.

Every morning I returned to my post of observation on the hill. I could easily have killed one or other of the herd. But I did not wish to disturb the elephants, and I had also good reason for believing that there were no very large tusks among them. Morning after morning I returned disappointed to my camp, only to find my way back on the next day to my sentry-box at the edge of the forest on the hill. Days went by and nothing was seen save the back or head of an elephant emerging from the “subugo.” This “subugo” knows well how to protect its inmates.

Every morning the same performance. At my feet the mist-mantled forest, and near me my three or four blacks, to whom my reluctance to shoot the elephants and my preoccupation with my camera were alike inexplicable. Whenever the clouds rolled away over the woods and valley it was necessary to keep the strictest watch. Then I discovered smaller herds of giraffes with one or two elephants accompanying them. But this would be for a few seconds only. The heavy banks of cloud closed to again. A beautiful large dove (Columba aquatrix) flew about noisily, and like our ringdove, made its love-flights round about the hill, and cooed its deep notes close by. Down below in the valley echoed the beautiful, resonant, melancholy cry of the great grey shrike; cock and hen birds answered one another in such fashion that the call seemed to come from only one bird. There was no other living thing to see or hear.

But now! At last! I shall never forget how suddenly in one of the brilliant bursts of sunshine the mighty white tusks of two bull-elephants shone out in the hollow so dazzlingly white that one must have beheld them to understand their extraordinary effect, seen thus against that impressive background. Close by was a bull-giraffe. Vividly standing out from the landscape, they would have baffled any artist trying to put them on the canvas. I understood then why A. H. Neumann, one of the most skilful English elephant-hunters, so often remarked on the overwhelming impression he received from these snow-white, shining elephant-tusks. So white do they come out in the photographs that the prints look as though they had been touched up. But these astonishing pictures are as free from any such tampering as are all the rest of my studies of animal life.11

Before I succeeded in getting my first picture of the elephants and giraffes consorting together, I was much tempted to kill the two huge bull-elephants. They came so often close to the foot of my hill that I had plenty of opportunities of killing them without over-much danger to myself or my men. As I caught sight of that rare trio I must honestly confess I had a strong desire to shoot. This desire gave way, however, before my still keener wish to photograph them. The temptation to use my rifle came from the thought of the satisfaction with which I should see them placed in some museum. It might be possible to prepare their skins here on this very spot. In short, I had a hard struggle with myself.

But the wish to secure the photographs triumphed. No museum in the world had ever had such a picture. That thought was conclusive.

The accompanying illustrations give both the colossal beasts in different attitudes. The giraffe stands quite quiet, intent on its own safety, or gazes curiously at its companions. What a contrast there is between the massive elephants and the slender, towering creature whose colouring harmonises so entirely with its surroundings! Wherever you see giraffes they always blend with their background. They obey the same laws as leopards in this respect, and leopards are the best samples of the “mimicry” of protective colouring.

What long periods of hunger must have gone to the formation of the giraffe’s neck!

It would seem as though these survivors of two prehistoric species had come together thus, at a turning-point in the history of their kind, for the special purpose of introducing themselves by means of their photographs to millions of people. I owe it to an extraordinary piece of good fortune that I was able to take another picture of them during a second burst of sunshine which lit up the forest.

It is the event of a lifetime to have been the witness of so strange and unsuspected a condition of things as this friendship between two such dissimilar animals. The extent of my good luck may be estimated from the fact that the famous traveller Le Vaillant, more than seventy years ago, wished so ardently to see a giraffe in its natural surroundings, if only once, that he went to South Africa for that purpose, and that, having achieved it on a single occasion, as he relates in his work, he was quite overjoyed. Although I was aware that herds of giraffes frequented this region without fear of the elephants, it was a complete revelation to me to find an old bull-giraffe living in perfect harmony for days together with two elephants for the sake of mutual protection. I can only account for this strange alliance by the need for such mutual protection. The giraffe is accustomed to use its eyes to assure itself of its safety, whilst elephants scent the breeze with their trunks, raised like the letter S for the purpose. In these valleys the direction of the wind varies very often. The struggle for existence is here very vividly brought before us. How often in the course of centuries must similar meetings have occurred in Africa and in other parts of the world, before I was able to record this observation for the first time? These pictures are a good instance of the value of photography as a means of getting and giving information in regard to wild life.

Kilepo Hill will always stand out vividly in my memory. Elephants may still climb up to the small still lake shut in by the wall-like hillsides, as they have done for ages, to quench their thirst at its refreshing waters. For hundreds of years the Masai, for the sake of their cattle herds, contested with them the rights of this drinking-place. Then the white man came and the Masai vanished, and again the elephants found their way to the Kilepo valley. Later, white settlers came—Boers, ruthless in their attitude towards wild life—and took up their abode in the Kilimanjaro region. The day cannot now be far distant when the last of the elephants will have gone from the heart of Kilepo Hill. But these two, long since killed, no doubt, will continue to live on in my pictures for many a year to come.

A STUDY IN PROTECTIVE “MIMICRY.” XIII
A Vanishing Feature of the Velt

“When men and beasts first emerged from the tree called ‘Omumborombongo,’ all was dark. Then a Damara lit a fire, and zebras, gnus, and giraffes sprang frightened away, whilst oxen, sheep, and dogs clustered fearlessly together.” So Fritsch told us forty years ago, from the ancient folk-lore of the Ova-Herero, one of the most interesting tribes of South-West Africa.

If the photographing of wild life is only to be achieved when conditions are favourable, and is beset with peculiar difficulties in the wilderness of Equatorial Africa, one might at least suppose that such huge creatures as elephants, rhinoceroses, and giraffes could be got successfully upon the “plate.” But they “spring frightened away”! The cunning, the caution, and the shyness of these animals make all attempts at photographing them very troublesome indeed; for to secure a good result you need plenty of sunlight, besides the absence of trees between you and the desired object. And when everything seems to favour you, there is sure to be something wanting—very probably the camera itself. Fortune favours the photographer at sudden and unexpected moments, and then only for a very short while. One instant too late, and you may have to wait weeks, months, even years for your next opportunity. I would give nine-tenths of the photos I have taken of animal life for some half-dozen others which I was unable to take because I did not have my camera to hand just at the right moment. Thus it was with the photographing of the three lions I killed on January 25, 1897, and of the four others I saw on the same day, on the then almost unknown Athi plains in the Wakikuju country. Also with that great herd of elephants which so nearly did for me, and which I should have dearly liked to photograph just as they began their onrush. (I have told the story in With Flashlight and Rifle.) I remember, too, the sight of a giraffe herd of forty-five head which I came across on November 4, 1897,12 about two days’ journey north-west of the Kilimanjaro. The hunter of to-day would travel over the velt for a very long while before meeting with anything similar. In earlier days immense numbers of long-necked giraffe-like creatures, now extinct, lived on the velt; the rare Okapi, that was discovered in the Central African forests a short time ago, has aroused the interest of zoologists as being a relative of that extinct species.

Within the last hundred or even fifty years, the giraffe itself was to be found in large herds in many parts of Africa. The first giraffe of which we know appeared in the Roman arena. About two hundred years ago we are told some specimens were brought over to Europe, and caused much astonishment. The Nubian menageries some years ago brought a goodly number of the strange beasts to our zoological gardens.13 But how many people have seen giraffes in their native haunts? When, in 1896, I saw them thus for the first time, I realised how thin and wretched our captive specimens are by the side of the splendid creatures of the velt. Le Vaillant, in his accounts of his travels in Cape Colony and the country known to-day as German South-West Africa, gives a spirited description of these animals, and tells how after much labour and trouble he managed to take a carefully dried skin to the coast and to send it to Germany. That was seventy years ago. Since then many Europeans have seen giraffes, but they have told us very little about them. The German explorer Dr. Richard Böhm has given us wonderfully accurate information about them and their ways. But the beautiful water-colours so excellently drawn by a hand so soon to be disabled in Africa, were lost in that dreadful conflagration in which his hunting-box on the peaceful Wala River and most of his diaries were destroyed. Dr. Richard Kandt, whilst on his expeditions in search of the sources of the Nile, found the charred remains of the hut. “Ubi sunt, qui ante nos in mundo fuere?”

Zoological experts tell us that there are several species of giraffe inhabiting separate zoological regions. In the districts I traversed, I came across an entirely new species.... Their life and habits interested me beyond measure. I often think of them still—moving about like phantoms among the thorny bushes, and in and out the sunlit woods, or standing out silhouetted against the horizon.

Though by nature peaceful, the giraffe is not defenceless—a kick from one of its immense legs, or a blow sideways with the great thick-necked head of a bull, would be quite enough to kill a mere man. But this gigantic beast, whose coat so much resembles that of the blood-thirsty tiger, leopard, and jaguar, never attacks, and only brings its forces into play for purposes of defence. It harms no man, and it has lived on the velt since time immemorial. It is the more to be deplored, therefore, that it should disappear now so quickly and so suddenly.

I have already remarked several times on the way giraffes and other African mammals harmonise in their colouring with their environment. Professor V. Schmeil has pointed out how my opinion in this respect accords with that of earlier observers.14 The way in which giraffes mingle with their surroundings as regards not only their colour but also their form, is especially astonishing. The illustration on page 550 proves this in a striking manner, for it shows how the outlines of the giraffe correspond exactly with those of the tree close to it.

One may spend days and weeks on the velt trying to get near giraffes without result. Far away on the horizon you descry the gigantic “Twigga”—as the Waswahili call it—but every attempt to approach is in vain. Then, all of a sudden it may happen—as it did once to me near the Western Njiri marshes, Nov. 29, 1898—that a herd of giraffes passes quite near you without fear. On the occasion in question, as is so often the case, I had not my photographic apparatus at hand. I could have got some excellent pictures with quite an ordinary camera. The giraffes came towards me until within sixty paces. They then suddenly took wildly to flight. The little herd consisted of nine head: an old very dark-spotted bull, a light-spotted cow, three younger cows with a calf each, and finally a young dark-spotted bull. Orgeich and I had been able to observe the animals quietly as they stood, as if rooted to the spot, with their long necks craned forward, their eyes fixed upon us.15 I cannot explain why the animals were so fearless on that occasion. It was a most unusual occurrence, for ordinarily giraffes manage to give the sportsman a wide berth.

Again, it may happen, especially about midday, that the hunter will sight a single giraffe or a whole herd at no very great distance. At these times, if one is endowed with good lungs and is in training, one may get close enough to the creatures before they take to flight.

Or it may happen that you will sight giraffes about noontide sheltering under the fragrant acacia trees. I remember one occasion especially, in the neighbourhood of the Gelei volcanic hills. I had hardly penetrated for more than about a hundred and twenty paces into an acacia wood, when I suddenly saw the legs of several gigantic giraffes—their heads were hidden in the crowns of mimosa. The wind was favourable. I might within a few minutes find myself in the middle of the herd! But, a moment later, I felt the ground tremble and the huge beasts with their hard hoofs were thumping over the sun-baked ground. They crashed through the branches and fled to the next shelter of mimosa trees. Although I might easily have killed some of them, it was absolutely impossible to take a photograph. But I was at times more fortunate in snapshotting single specimens. Carefully and cautiously, I would creep forward, of course alone, leaving my people behind, until I came within about twenty paces of the giraffe. By dodging about the trees or shrubs near which it stood I have sometimes managed to obtain good pictures of the animal making off in its queer way. The utmost caution was necessary. I had to consider not only the place where the animal was but the position of the sun, and that most carefully. The possibility of photographing giraffes with the telephoto lens is very slight indeed. One’s opportunities are turned to best account by the skilful use of an ordinary hand-camera.

In this way, also, I managed to get pictures of the peculiar motion of giraffes in full flight. My negatives are a proof of the comparative ease with which native hunters may hunt giraffes with poisoned arrows. I have often met natives in possession of freshly killed giraffe flesh.

In most cases bushes and trees are a great hindrance to the taking of photographs, especially of large herds. At such times it was as good as a game of chess between the photographic sportsman and the animals. For hours I have followed them with a camera ready to snapshot, but the far-sighted beasts have always frustrated my plans. Thus passed hours, days and weeks. But good luck would come back again, and I was sometimes able to develop an excellent negative in a camp swarming with mosquitoes.

It is especially in the peculiar light attendant on the rainy season and amidst tall growths that giraffes mingle so with their surroundings. It is only when the towering forms are silhouetted against the sky that they can be clearly seen on the open velt. At midday, when the velt is shimmering with a thousand waves of light, when everything seems aglow with the dazzling sun, even the most practised eye can scarcely distinguish the outlines of single objects. By such a light the sandy-coloured oryx antelopes and the stag-like waterbuck look coal-black; the uninitiated take zebras for donkeys—they appear so grey—and rhinoceroses resting on the velt for ant-hills. But giraffes especially mingle with the surrounding mimosa woods at this hour in such a way as only those who have seen it could believe possible.

When you see these animals in their wild state, your thoughts naturally revert to the penned-up tame specimens in zoological gardens or those preserved in museums. \ Well do I remember that the first wild zebra I saw looked to me little like a tame specimen in a zoological garden.

The death-knell of the giraffe has tolled. This wonderful and harmless animal16 is being completely annihilated! Fate has decreed that a somewhat near relative should be discovered in later days—namely the Okapi, which inhabits the Central African forests. It may be safely asserted that these unique animals will exist long after the complete extermination of the real giraffe. The species of giraffe, however, which has been dying out in the north and south of the African continent will be represented in the future by pictures within every man’s reach. Every observation as to their habits, every correct representation obtained, every specimen preserved for exhibition is of real value. And this I would impress on every intelligent man who has the opportunity of doing any of these things out in the wild.

Professor Fritsch saw giraffes in South Africa as late as 1863. Shortly before these lines were printed he gave a glowing account of the impression they then made on him, an impression which was renewed when he saw my pictures.

Large herds of giraffes still flourish in remote districts. My friend Carlo von Erlanger, whose early death is much to be regretted, found the animals particularly timid in South Somaliland when he traversed it for the first time. A fine stuffed specimen of these beautifully coloured giraffes is to be found in the Senckenberg Museum in Frankfort-on-Maine. An illustration gives the head of a giraffe killed by my late friend, and proves to the reader how much the two species differ—namely the South Somaliland giraffe as here depicted,17 and that which I was the first to discover in Masailand. We have in Erlanger’s diary and in this illustration the only existing information about the presence of the giraffe in South Somaliland, a region which none but my daring friend and his companions have so far traversed.

Hilgert, Carlo von Erlanger’s companion, mentions the frequent presence of the South Somali giraffe, but says that they showed themselves so shy that the members of the expedition generally had to content themselves with the numerous tracks of the animals or with the sight of them in the far distance.

Meanwhile an effort is being made to save and protect what remains of the giraffe species in Africa. But there is little hope of ultimate success. I do trust, however, that a wealth of observations, illustrations, and specimens may be secured for our museums before it is too late. In this way, at least, a source of pleasure and information will be provided for future generations, and the giraffe will not share the fate of so many other rare creatures which no gold will ever give back to us.

With sad, melancholy, wondering eyes the giraffe seems to peer into the world of the present, where there is room for it no longer. Whoever has seen the expression in those eyes, an expression which has been immortalised by poets in song and ballad for thousands of years, will not easily forget it, any more than he will forget the strong impression made on him when he looked at the “Serafa” of the Arabs in the wilderness.