Part 7

No one had the least anxiety about the night. We quietly allowed the Moran to bivouac near the camp. Our march through the wild highlands of the Wasotiko and the Wanandi had deadened our sense of such dangers. We could have no forebodings of the fierce struggle lasting for years that was yet to come between the English troops and those peoples, or imagine how warlike and skilled in self-defence they were. The presence of hundreds of spear- and club-armed warriors in the camp had become an almost daily experience, and great was the surprise of the English officers, later on, when they heard that the great caravan, which I had joined, had had the good fortune to pass through these districts without any fighting.

For me my serious illness had all at once interrupted the austere and wild delights of this life of the march and the caravan. But I had now become doubly responsive to the joys of travel amid light and air, freedom and endless space; doubly responsive also to the changing impressions derived from my week of marching through lonely primeval forests, bamboo thickets, and grassy plains--scenes in which, as my friend Richard Kandt, the discoverer of the source of the Nile, so strikingly remarks, every plant, every stone, seems to cry out again to one in the vast solitude but one word: “The desert! the desert!”

C. G. Schillings, phot.

YOUNG MASAI DANCING AND SINGING NEAR MY CAMP.]

In the early morning hours of January 15 there was a light continuous rainfall. A short march of only two hours brought us to our camping place on the shore of Lake Nakuro.

Far away extended the panorama of the lake, which lay before us filling its hollow bed, with its banks at this season of the year yielding fresh pastures to numberless herds of wild animals, and its waters affording rest and food to countless members of the feathered tribe. I had hardly ever seen greater numbers of the pretty little dwarf gazelles (Gazella thomsoni, Gthr.). Thousands and thousands more of these graceful creatures showed themselves on the fresh, green, grassy meadows of the lake margin, or scattered over its pebble beds of obsidian, augite, and pumice-stone. Wherever one turned one’s gaze it fell again and again upon these beautiful gazelles, which in many ways reminded one of wild goats at pasture, and were so strangely trustful that they often allowed the spectator to come quite close to them. Marked as are the colours of its hairy covering, the dwarf gazelle does not stand out boldly from the background, whether this be a plain blackened by bush-fires, or the mere bare ground, dun-coloured and brown, or land covered with soft green grass. But how clearly defined are its brown, black, and white, when we look closely at the hide of a specimen we have secured, or see it in a museum.

Darker spots in the distance far away from us we take to be larger wild animals. The field-glass shows that they are hartebeests, and a great number of waterbuck; and still farther off there is a moving mass that shimmers and is half lost in the glare of the morning sun. There are zebras, and yet more zebras, moving like living walls! Strange effects of light actually give us the impression of something like a wall or rampart, made up of the living forms of the zebras--the deep shadows they throw come out black, their flanks are lighted up in the dazzling sunshine, and they shimmer with all colours and with ever-changing effect.

Here by the lake we have the characteristic mark of the wilderness: dwarf gazelles and zebras, zebras and dwarf gazelles in greater and greater multitudes! Wherever the eye glances it falls upon these two species, and the numerous waterbuck and Grant’s gazelles, and the hundreds of hartebeests, are in a sense mere points of relief for the sight amidst these vast crowds. Bathed in the shimmering light this multitude of animals mingles together. Wherever I make my appearance there is for awhile movement in the mass of wild creatures, which otherwise are grazing quietly. I have long since left the camp a considerable distance behind me. I am following One of the rhinoceros--or hippopotamus--tracks leading to the lake margin, lost, so to speak, in this multitudinous animal life, and once more I have the feeling of finding myself, as it were, in the midst of a vast flock of sheep, and the impression that all the creatures about me are not “wild beasts,” but rather tame domestic animals that have been driven out here to graze on the pastures under the supervision of a herdsman.

BEARERS ON THE MARCH. THE FIGURE ON THE RIGHT IS AN ILLUSTRATION OF THE WAY IN WHICH THEY SOMETIMES RELIEVE THE STRAIN ON THEIR SHOULDERS BY CARRYING THEIR LOAD AT ARMS’ LENGTH OVER THEIR HEAD. A HUNDRED PACES A MINUTE IS AN AVERAGE RATE FOR A HEAVILY LADEN BEARER.]

C. G. Schillings, phot.

TRANSPORT BEARERS IN DIFFICULTIES.]

The mass of animals surges and undulates to and fro. Some old bulls of the heavily horned hartebeest species seem to have undertaken the duty of sentinels. They stand apart fixed and motionless, watching attentively the strange appearance of the approaching man, and then make away in a long striding gallop, with heads bent well down, to increase the distance between themselves and the suspicious object, ready all the while to give the alarm signal for a general stampede by loud snorting. In this district we do not find the flat-horned hartebeest of the Kilimanjaro (Bubalis cokei, Gthr.), but the species named after its discoverer, Jackson (Bubalis jacksoni). Long and stately horns distinguish this variety of a remarkably formed species of antelope, which is widely distributed throughout Darkest Africa. To my great delight I succeeded in bringing down a specimen of a much more interesting species, Neumann’s hartebeest (Bubalis neumanni, Rothsch.), then only known by one or two examples.

C. G. Schillings, phot.

TWO OF MY WANDOROBO GUIDES.]

C. G. Schillings, phot.

A HALT OF MY CARAVAN ON THE VELT. ON THE LEFT CAPTAIN MERKER, THE EXPLORER OF THE MASAI COUNTRY AND THE GREAT AUTHORITY ON THE RACE; NEAR HIM, WEARING A TROPICAL HELMET, STAFF-SURGEON KÜNSTER, WHO LATER SERVED IN THE SOUTH-WEST AFRICAN CAMPAIGN.]

Overwhelming in its vastness, its rich variety of colour, form, and movement is the picture of animal life thus displayed.

Moving along the hollows of the plateau hour after hour, looking out from its ridges, now with the field-glass, now with unaided sight, I find the whole grassy expanse covered with these wild creatures. Hundreds and hundreds more of zebras alternate with larger or smaller herds of Grant’s gazelles. Near them, but keeping apart, and all around them the dwarf gazelles are swarming. Here and there one sees the proudly uplifted head of a stately waterbuck, adorned with splendid branching horns, and not far off his hornless doe, both of them in form and action greatly reminding one of the stag, of our northern lands. Occasionally the eye catches sight of splendid black-plumed cock ostriches here and there on the plateau. They watch the traveller carefully, and are accompanied by their mates, which are very much more difficult for the eye to make out owing to their plain grey plumage. On all sides there are whole herds of brown hartebeests grazing, resting, or making for some more distant spot with their characteristic long striding gallop. And now one suddenly comes upon a herd of giant eland antelopes, brownish yellow, and adorned with white cross-stripes. Conscious of their mighty strength, there is not much shyness about them; but they know not the danger they run from the long-range weapon of the European.

Think of all this animal life, bathed in the fulness of the tropical sunlight! All depths and shades of colour play before our eyes. Strongly cast shadows, ever changing with the position of the sun, alter again and again the whole appearance of this world of life, and from minute to minute it presents new riddles to any one who has not had years of experience in the wilderness. When the glittering light of the midday hours is tiring and confusing the sight, one often can hardly tell for certain whether it be a living multitude stretching out in the distance before one, or whether the play of the sunlight is imparting a semblance of life to scattered clumps of thorn bushes.

Four rhinoceroses which I now descry moving across the plain in the distance, and a flock of ostriches which I can plainly make out with the field-glass, change shape and colour so often that it is astonishing to see them. According to their movements and position with respect to the sun they appear to be of a blending blue and grey, or intensely black, and then again almost invisible and the colour of the earth, but always changing, always different from what they were the moment before.

To realise all this one must in fancy place oneself in the condition of exaggerated susceptibility to nervous excitement that results from the intensity of the light, together with the climate, and the unusual degree of hardship. All this produces the greater effect because one has to do one’s work in solitude and loneliness, and is cut off from all interchange of ideas with one’s fellows.

Here, where the flora makes so poor a display, the fauna is abundant. What a sight it affords for the ornithologists!

C. G. Schillings, phot.

MASAI WARRIORS, ARMED WITH THE LONG SPEARS WHICH HAVE COME INTO USE WITH THEM DURING THE LAST GENERATION OR TWO. IN FORMER DAYS, ACCORDING TO HOLLIS, THEY USED SPEARS WITH SHORTER BLADES.]

Amongst the herds of zebras our European stork together with its smaller African cousin, the Abdim stork, is stalking in hundreds over the plain hunting for locusts. In company with the storks I saw also great flocks of the handsome crested crane engaged in the same occupation. Or they rose in heavy flocks over the valleys with loud and strangely discordant cries. Under the scanty shadows of the mimosas the splendid giant bustards take their stand at midday, erect, solemn, stiff-necked. At this time they are not very wary, but in the coolness of the morning and in the evening hours they soon get away to a safe distance, either running with their quick mincing step, or spreading their strong pinions for a short flight along the ground. Their smaller relative, Otis gindiana, Oust., rose before me in the air, often throwing somersaults on the wing like a tumbler pigeon. There is hardly any other bird of its size that has such a mastery of flight. Sea-eagles circled by the margin of the lake uttering their beautiful clear-sounding cries. Heedless of their presence thousands of splendid rose-red flamingoes soared up into the deep blue dome of the sky, or lined the margin of Nakuro, like a garland of living lake-roses, in company with great flocks of ducks, geese, and waterside birds of many kinds. Out of the clumps of acacias, and from between the thickets of ‘msuaki bush by the lake, guinea fowl and francolins rise, strung out in clattering flying lines, and in the morning hours handsome sandfowl that have come from far-off regions of the plateau sail by the margin of the lake. Altogether an overwhelmingly rich picture of warmly pulsating life and activity! The sight of it all is indeed quite capable of impressing one with the idea of flocks of wild creatures that have been completely tamed; and once this idea has suggested itself, the impression is so strong that for many minutes one can believe in it!

Amidst all this wealth of “wild” life, which here seems hardly to deserve the name of “wild,” it is much easier to understand how primitive man in other continents gradually secured domestic animals for his use, from the vast range of choice thus presented to him.

But a strange feeling comes over the observer when he remembers that out of all this wealth of animal life the African has never been able to link one single creature permanently to himself. He obtained his cattle and also his goats and sheep from Asia. The camel may be left out of account, for its connection with the human race is lost in the mystery of primitive times. We may say that the fauna of Africa has not given a single species to the group of our domestic animals. It is sad and humiliating to reflect that the men of to-day cannot accomplish what was done in the dim past--granted that it took endless ages in the doing.

There were times, as I have said, when I could not get rid of this impression of tame herds of animals. And this was all in a land, and a district, that left one nothing to desire in the way of primitive wildness. What, then, must it have been in early days when man was not yet waylaying the beasts of the wilderness, or at least had not yet employed the poisoned dart and spear, the pitfall and the snare? It must have been a veritable Garden of Eden. But here, far and wide, there is nothing to be seen of man, only something that evokes conjectures as to his former presence.