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Title: African Nature Notes and Reminiscences

Author: Frederick Courteney Selous

Author of introduction, etc.: Theodore Roosevelt

Illustrator: E. Caldwell

Release date: June 24, 2015 [eBook #49270]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AFRICAN
NATURE NOTES AND REMINISCENCES ***

BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
A HUNTER'S WANDERINGS
IN AFRICA. Nine Years
amongst the Game of the Far
Interior of South Africa. By
Frederick Courteney
Selous. Illustrated. Fifth
Edition. 7s. 6d. net.
MACMILLAN AND CO., Ltd., LONDON.

TRAVEL AND ADVENTURE
IN SOUTH-EAST
AFRICA. With numerous
Illustrations and Map. 25s.
net.
SUNSHINE AND STORM IN
RHODESIA. Fully
Illustrated, with Map. 10s.
6d. net.
ROWLAND WARD, Ltd., LONDON.

AFRICAN NATURE NOTES AND
REMINISCENCES

MACMILLAN AND CO., Limited
LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO
ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd.
TORONTO

"UNFORTUNATELY, ONE OF THESE TERRIFIC BLOWS, VERY
PROBABLY THE FIRST AIMED AT THE LEOPARD WHICH
SEIZED THE CALF, HAD STRUCK THE LITTLE CREATURE ON
THE LOINS AND BROKEN ITS BACK."—Page 220.

African Nature Notes
and
Reminiscences
BY
FREDERICK COURTENEY SELOUS, F.Z.S.
GOLD MEDALLIST OF THE ROYAL GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY

WITH A "FOREWORD" BY
PRESIDENT ROOSEVELT
AND ILLUSTRATIONS BY
E. CALDWELL

MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON
1908

TO

THEODORE ROOSEVELT
PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
THIS BOOK IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED NOT ONLY BECAUSE

IT WAS ENTIRELY OWING TO HIS INSPIRATION AND KINDLY
ENCOURAGEMENT THAT IT WAS EVER WRITTEN BUT ALSO

BECAUSE BOTH IN HIS PRIVATE AND PUBLIC LIFE HE HAS
ALWAYS WON THE SINCERE ADMIRATION AND ESTEEM

OF
THE AUTHOR

PREFACE
The chapters comprised in the present volume were written at various times
during the last ten years. Some of them have already appeared in print in the
pages of the Field, Land and Water, and other papers, but the majority have
remained in manuscript until now. The greatest part of the matter in the
chapters on the "Lion" was written some years ago, and was intended to be
the commencement of a book dealing entirely with the life-history of South
African mammals. When, however, I was asked by Mr. Rowland Ward to
contribute to a book he was about to publish on the Great and Small Game
of Africa, all the articles in which would be written by men who had
personally studied the habits of the animals they described, I gave up the
idea of myself writing a less comprehensive work on similar lines, and
became one of the chief contributors to Mr. Ward's large and valuable
publication.
My manuscript notes on the lion and some other animals were then
consigned to the seclusion of a drawer in my study, from which they would
probably never again have emerged had it not been for the fact that during
the autumn of 1905 I had the honour to be the guest of President Roosevelt
at the White House in Washington.
I found that President Roosevelt's knowledge of wild animals was not
confined to the big game of North America, with which he has made
himself so intimately acquainted by long personal experience, but that he
also possessed a most comprehensive acquaintance with the habits of the
fauna of the whole world, derived from the careful study of practically
every book that has been written on the subject.
In the course of conversation, President Roosevelt remarked that he wished
I would bring out another book, adding to the natural history notes which I
had already written on the big game of South Africa; and on my telling him
that I had some manuscript notes on the lion and other animals which I had
once intended to publish, but had subsequently put on one side, he
requested me to let him see them. On my return to England I at once posted
these articles to President Roosevelt, who was kind enough to say that he

had found them so interesting that he earnestly hoped I would add to them
and bring out another book. Thus encouraged, I set about the revision of all
my recent writings dealing with the natural history of South African animals
which had not been published in book form, and after arranging them in
chapters, sent the whole of the manuscript to President Roosevelt, at the
same time asking him to be good enough to look through them, if he could
find the time to do so, and telling him that if he thought them of sufficient
interest to publish in the form of a book, how much I should appreciate it, if
he were able to write me a few lines by way of introduction, since the
publication of the book would be entirely due to the kind encouragement
and inspiration I had received from himself. This request met with a most
kind and generous response, for which I shall ever feel most grateful, for, in
the midst of all his multifarious and harassing public duties, President
Roosevelt contrived to find the time to write an introduction to my book,
which adds to it a most interesting and valuable chapter.
The title I have given to my book, African Nature Notes and Reminiscences,
though it perhaps lacks terseness, nevertheless exactly describes its scope,
and although the chapters dealing with the "Tse-tse" Fly and the subject of
Protective Coloration and the Influence of Environment on large mammals
may have no interest except for a small number of naturalists, I trust that
much of the matter contained in the remaining seventeen articles will appeal
to a much wider public.
I must once more acknowledge my indebtedness to President Roosevelt, not
only for the very interesting "Foreword" he has contributed to this book, but
also for the constant encouragement he has given me during its preparation.
My best thanks are also due to Mr. Max C. Fleischmann of Cincinnati for
the very remarkable account which will be found at the end of Chapter X.
of the struggle between a crocodile and a rhinoceros, of which he was an
eye-witness; as well as to my friend Mr. E. Caldwell for the great pains he
has taken to render the ten illustrations emanating from his able pencil as
lifelike as possible.
As it is possible that some of those who may glance through this book may
be versed in South African languages, and may remark that I have
sometimes represented the Masarwa Bushmen as speaking in the Sechwana
language, and at others in the dialect spoken by the Matabele, it may

perhaps be as well to explain that whilst the greater part of the Bushmen
living between the Limpopo and the Zambesi were the serfs of Bechwana
masters, a few of those living near the western border of Matabeleland had
become the vassals of certain Matabele headmen, by whom they were
employed as hunters and trappers. Besides their own language—which is
almost impossible of acquirement by a European—all the Bushmen I ever
met spoke that of their masters as well. This was usually Sechwana, but
sometimes Sintabele—the language of the Matabele people.
F. C. SELOUS.
Worplesdon, Surrey,
Dec. 31, 1907.

FOREWORD
Mr. Selous is the last of the big-game hunters of South Africa; the last of the
mighty hunters whose experiences lay in the greatest hunting ground which
this world has seen since civilized man has appeared therein. There are still
many happy hunting grounds to be found by adventure-loving wilderness
wanderers of sufficient hardihood and prowess; and in Central Africa the
hunting grounds are of a character to satisfy the most exacting hunter of to-
day. Nevertheless, they none of them quite equal South Africa as it once
was, whether as regards the extraordinary multitude of big-game animals,
the extraordinary variety of the species, or the bold attraction of the
conditions under which the hunting was carried on.
Mr. Selous is much more than a mere big-game hunter, however; he is by
instinct a keen field naturalist, an observer with a power of seeing, and of
remembering what he has seen; and finally he is a writer who possesses to a
very marked and unusual degree the power vividly and accurately to put on
paper his observations. Such a combination of qualities is rare indeed, and
the lack of any one of them effectually prevents any man from doing work
as valuable as Mr. Selous has done. No ordinary naturalist fills the place at
all. Big game exists only in the remote wilderness. Throughout historic time
it has receded steadily before the advance of civilized man, and now the
retrogression—or, to be more accurate, the extermination—is going on with
appalling rapidity. The ordinary naturalist, if he goes into the haunts of big
game, is apt to find numerous small animals of interest, and he naturally
devotes an altogether disproportionate share of his time to these. Yet such
time is almost wasted; for the little animals, and especially the insects and
small birds, remain in the land long after the big game has vanished, and
can then be studied at leisure by hosts of observers. The observation of the
great beasts of the marsh and the mountain, the desert and the forest, must
be made by those hardy adventurers who, unless explorers by profession,
are almost certainly men to whom the chase itself is a dominant attraction.
But the great majority of these hunters have no power whatever of seeing
accurately. There is no fonder delusion than the belief that the average old
hunter knows all about the animals of the wilderness. The Bushman may;

but, as Mr. Selous has shown, neither the average English, Boer, nor Kafir
hunter in South Africa does; and neither does the white or Indian hunter in
North America. Any one who doubts this can be referred to what Mr. Selous
has elsewhere said concerning the rhinoceroses of South Africa and the
astounding misinformation about them which the average South African
hunter of every type believed and perpetuated; and in my own experience I
have found that most white and Indian hunters in the Rocky Mountains are
just as little to be trusted when, for instance, they speak of the grizzly bear
and the cougar—two animals which always tend to excite their
imaginations. Finally, the few accurate observers among the men who have
seen much of big game are apt wholly to lack the power of expression, and
this means that their knowledge can benefit no one. The love of nature, the
love of outdoor life, is growing in our race, and it is well that it should
grow. Therefore we should prize exceedingly all contributions of worth to
the life-histories of the great, splendid, terrible beasts whose lives add an
immense majesty to the far-off wilds, and who inevitably pass away before
the onrush of the greedy, energetic, forceful men, usually both unscrupulous
and short-sighted, who make up the vanguard of civilization.
Mr. Selous has hunted in many parts of the world, but his most noteworthy
experiences were in Africa, south of the Zambezi, when the dry uplands,
and the valleys of the dwindling rivers, and the thick coast jungle belt, still
held a fauna as vast and varied as that of the Pleistocene. Mighty hunters,
Dutch and English, roamed hither and thither across the land on foot and on
horseback, alone, or guiding the huge white-topped ox-wagons; several
among their number wrote with power and charm of their adventures; and
at the very last the man arose who could tell us more of value than any of
his predecessors.
Mr. Selous by his observations illustrates the great desirability of having the
views of the closet naturalist tested by competent field observers. In a
previous volume he has effectively answered those amiable closet theorists
who once advanced the Rousseau-like belief that in the state of nature
hunted creatures suffered but little from either pain or terror; the truth being
that, in the easy conditions of civilized life, we hardly even conceive of pain
and horror as they were in times primeval; while it is only in nightmares
that we now realize the maddened, hideous terror which our remote
ancestors so often underwent, and which is a common incident in the lives

of all harmless wild creatures. In the first two chapters of the present
volume, Mr. Selous' remarks on the fallacy of much of the theory of
protective coloration are excellent. The whole subject is one fraught with
difficulty and deserving of far more careful study than has ever yet been
given it. That the general pattern of coloration, so to speak, of birds and
mammals of the snowy North as compared to the South, of a dry desert as
compared to a wet forest region, is due to the effect of the environment I
have no question; and Mr. Selous' observations and arguments show that the
protective theory has been ridiculously overworked in trying to account for
coloration like that of the zebra and giraffe, for instance; but there is much
that as yet it is difficult to explain.
The most conspicuous colors of nature, for instance, are, under ordinary
circumstances, black and white. Yet we continually find black, and
sometimes white, animals thriving as well as their more dull-colored
compeers under conditions that certainly seem as if they ought to favor the
latter. The white goat of the Rocky Mountains may be helped by its
coloration in winter, but in summer its white coat advertises its presence to
every man or beast within range of vision, and this at the very time when
the little white kids are most in need of protection. Eagles are formidable
foes of these little kids, and undoubtedly their white color is a disadvantage
to them in the struggle for existence, when they are compared with the dull-
colored lambs of the mountain sheep of the same general habitat. The sheep
tend to become mainly or entirely white at the northern portion of their
range—thereby becoming exceedingly conspicuous in summer—but
change to grays and browns from the semi-Arctic regions southward. The
goats, however, remain white everywhere.
Again, birds and mammals of the far North tend to be white, but one of the
typical far northern birds is the jet black raven. It is hard to believe that the
color of the snowy owl assists it in getting its prey, or that its color hampers
the raven. The northern weasels and northern hares of America both turn
white in winter. Thru most of their range the various species of these
weasels and hares exist side by side with the close kinsmen of the weasel,
the mink and the sable, and at the southern boundary of their range side by
side with the small gray rabbits; none of which change their color any more
than the lynx and fox do, and yet in the struggle for life seem to be put to no
disadvantage thereby. The Arctic hare changes color as does the ptarmigan.

The ordinary snow-shoe rabbits and jack-rabbits of the woods and plains
south of the Arctic hare region also change their color; but the grouse which
inhabit the same woods or open plains, such as the ruffed, the sharp-tailed
and the spruce, unlike their northern kinsman, the ptarmigan, undergo no
seasonal change. Around my ranch on the Little Missouri, the jack-rabbits
all turned white in winter; the little cotton-tail rabbits did not; yet as far as I
could see both species were equally at home and fared equally well.
When a boy, shooting on the edges of the desert in Egypt, I was imprest
with the fact that the sand grouse, rosy bullfinches, sand larks and sand
chats all in the coloration of their upper parts harmonized strikingly with
the surroundings, while the bold black and white chats were peculiarly
noticeable, and yet as far as I could see held their own as well in the
struggle for existence. But as regards the first-named birds it seemed to me
at the time that their coloration was probably protective, for in the breeding
season the males of some of them showed striking colors, but always
underneath, where they would not attract the attention of foes.
Mr. Selous also shows that the "signal" or "mutual recognition" theory of
coloration has been at the least carried to an extreme by closet naturalists.
The prongbuck of North America has the power of erecting the glistening
white hairs on its rump until it looks like a chrysanthemum; but there seems
scarcely any need of this as a signal; for prongbucks live out on the bare
plains, never seek to avoid observation, are very conspicuous beasts, and
have eyes like telescopes, so that one of them can easily see another a mile
or two off. According to my experience—but of course the experience of
any one man is of limited value, and affords little ground for generalization
—the "chrysanthemum" is shown when the beast is much aroused by
curiosity or excitement.
Mr. Selous' chapters on the lion possess a peculiar interest, for they
represent without any exception the best study we have of the great, tawny,
maned cat. No one observer can possibly cover the entire ground in a case
such as this, for individual animals differ markedly from one another in
many essential traits, and all the animals of one species in one locality
sometimes differ markedly from all the animals of the same species in
another locality (as I have myself found, in some extraordinary particulars,
in the case of the grizzly bear). Therefore, especially with a beast like the
lion, one of the most interesting of all beasts, it is necessary for the

naturalist to have at hand the observations of many different men; but no
other single observer has left a record of the lion of such value to the
naturalist as Mr. Selous.
One of the most interesting of Mr. Selous' chapters is that containing his
notes on wild dogs, on hunting hounds, and on cheetahs. Especially
noteworthy are his experiences in actually running down and overtaking by
sheer speed of horse and hound both the wild dog and the cheetah. These
experiences are literally inexplicable with our present knowledge; and
therefore it is all the more valuable to have them recorded, Mr. Selous' own
account of the speed of wild dogs and the statements of many competent
observers about cheetahs—as for instance, of that mighty hunter, Sir
Samuel Baker—make it clear that under ordinary circumstances both wild
dogs and cheetahs, when running after their game, go at a speed far
surpassing that of a horse. Yet in these instances given by Mr. Selous, he
and his companions with their camp dogs once fairly ran down a pack of
wild dogs; and twice he fairly ran down full-grown cheetahs. In the last
case it is possible that the hunted cheetah, not at first realizing his danger,
did not put forth his full speed at the beginning, and, not being a long-
winded animal, was exhausted and unable to spurt when he really
discovered his peril. But with the hunting dogs it is hard to imagine any
explanation unless they were gorged with food. In coursing wolves with
greyhounds, I have noticed that the dogs will speedily run into even an old
dog wolf, if he is found lying by a carcase on which he has feasted, under
conditions which would almost certainly have insured his escape if he had
been in good running trim. I once saw a cougar, an old male, jump from a
ledge of rock surrounded by hounds and come down hill for several
hundred yards thru the snow. The hounds started almost on even terms with
him, but he drew away from them at once, and when he reached the bottom
of the hill, was a good distance ahead; but by this time he had shot his bolt,
and after going up hill for a very few yards he climbed into a low evergreen
tree, which I reached almost as soon as the hounds. His lungs were then
working like bellows, and it was obvious he could have gone no distance
further.
The book of nature has many difficult passages, and some of them seem
mutually contradictory. It is a good thing to have capable observers who can
record faithfully what they find therein, and who are not in the least afraid

of putting down two observations which are in seeming conflict. Allied
species often differ so radically in their habits that, with our present
knowledge, not even a guess can be made as to the reason for the
difference; this makes it all the more necessary that there should be a
multitude of trustworthy observations. Mr. Selous points out, for instance,
the extraordinary difference in pugnacity between the fighting roan and
sable antelopes, on the one hand, and on the other, the koodoo and the mild
eland. There is quite as great difference between far more closely allied
species, or even between individuals of one species in one place and those
of the same species in another place. Sometimes the reasons for the
difference are apparent; all carnivores in India, with its dense, feeble
population, would at times naturally take to man-killing. In other cases, at
least a guess may be hazarded. The wolf of America has never been
dangerous to man, as his no larger or more formidable brother of Asia and
Europe has been from time immemorial; yet the difference may be
accounted for by the difference of environment. But it is hard to say why
the cougar, which is just about the size of the great spotted cats, and which
preys on practically the same animals, should not be dangerous to man,
while they are singularly formidable fighters when at bay. The largest
cougar I ever killed was eight feet long and weighed over two hundred
pounds. Very few African leopards or Indian panthers would surpass these
measurements, and this particular animal had been preying not only on deer,
but on horses and cattle; yet I killed him with no danger to myself, under
circumstances which would probably have insured a charge from one of the
big spotted cats of Africa or Asia, or, for the matter of that, from a South
American jaguar. And by the way, in reading of the ravages committed by
leopards among the hounds of the sport-loving planters of Ceylon, it has
always seemed to me strange that these planters did not turn the tables on
the aggressors by training packs especially to hunt them. Such a pack as
that with which I have hunted the cougar and the black bear in the Rocky
Mountains would, I am sure, give a good account of any leopard or panther
that ever lived. All that would be needed would be a good pack of trained
hounds and six or eight first-class fighting dogs in order, as I thoroughly
believe, completely to clear out the leopard from any given locality.
Mr. Selous' notes on the Cape buffalo and tsetse fly are extremely
interesting. But indeed this is true of all that he has written, both of the great
game beasts themselves and of his adventures in hunting them. His book is

a genuine contribution alike to hunting lore and to natural history. It should
be welcomed by every lover of the chase and by every man who cares for
the wild, free life of the wilderness. It should be no less welcome to all who
are interested in the life-histories of the most formidable and interesting of
the beasts that dwell in our world to-day.
THEODORE ROOSEVELT.
The White House,
May 23, 1907.

CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
NOTES ON THE QUESTIONS OF PROTECTIVE COLORATION,
RECOGNITION MARKS, AND THE INFLUENCE OF ENVIRONMENT
ON LIVING ORGANISMS
Harmony of colour in nature—Theory of protective coloration—Sexual
selection—Conspicuous colours not harmful—The influence of
environment—The leucoryx—The Barbary sheep—The Sardinian
moufflon—African butterflies—Coloration of the musk ox and caribou
—Arctic hares and foxes—Coloration of mammals in the Yukon
Territory—The chamois in winter—Examples of conspicuous
coloration in African mammals—Colour not always protective—
Carnivorous animals usually hunt by scent—Wild dogs and wolves—
Wild dog and sable antelope—Sense of smell in herbivorous animals
—Sight of antelopes—Experience with waterbuck—Dull sight of
caribou—Demeanour of wild animals when alarmed—Small antelopes
—Lions—Large antelopes—Difficulty of seeing wild animals
sometimes exaggerated—Powers of sight of Bushmen—Colour not
protective against animals which hunt by night and by scent—Animals
in motion easy to see—Restlessness of wild animals—Lions attacking
bullocks—Zebras the principal prey of lions since the disappearance of
buffaloes—Appearance of zebras—Undoubtedly conspicuous animals
in open country—Zebras by moonlight—Strong smell of zebras—
Conspicuous antelopes in East Africa—Effect of the juxtaposition of
black and white—Bold coloration of the sable antelope
Pages 1-23
CHAPTER II
FURTHER NOTES ON THE QUESTIONS OF PROTECTIVE
COLORATION, RECOGNITION MARKS, AND THE INFLUENCE OF
ENVIRONMENT ON LIVING ORGANISMS

Occasional resemblance of African mammals to natural objects—
Hartebeests—Elephants—Giraffes—Coloration of the Somali giraffe
—Giraffes not in need of a protective coloration—Koodoos and sable
antelopes—Acute sense of hearing in the moose—Possible explanation
of large size of ears in the African tragelaphine antelopes—Coloration
of bushbucks, situtungas, and inyalas—Leopards the only enemies of
the smaller bush-haunting antelopes—Recognition marks—Must
render animals conspicuous to friend and foe alike—Ranges of allied
species of antelopes seldom overlap—Hybridisation sometimes takes
place—Wonderful coloration of the bontebok—Coloration distinctly
conspicuous and therefore not protective—Recognition marks
unnecessary—Coloration of the blesbok—The blesbok merely a duller
coloured bontebok—Difference in the habitat of the two species—The
coloration of both species may be due to the influence of their
respective environments—The weak point in the theory of protective
coloration when applied to large mammals—Hares and foxes in the
Arctic and sub-Arctic regions—The efficacy of colour protection at
once destroyed by movement—Buffaloes and lions—General
conclusions regarding the theory of protective coloration as applied to
large mammals
Pages 24-43
CHAPTER III
NOTES ON THE LION
The lion—Native names for—Character of—Death of Ponto—Picture in
Gordon Cumming's book—Death of Hendrik—Number of natives
killed by lions—Usual mode of seizure—A trooper's adventure—
Poisonous nature of lion's bite—Story of the Tsavo man-eaters—Death
of Mr. Ryall—Story of the tragedy—Precautions by natives against
lions—Remains of a lion's victim found—Four women killed—Lion
killed—Carcase burned—Story of the Majili man-eater—Man-eating
lions usually old animals—Strength of lions—Large ox killed by
single lion—Buffaloes killed by lions—Ox slowly killed by family of
lions—Lions usually silent when attacking and killing their prey—
Camp approached by three lions—Various ways of killing game—
Favourite food of lions—Giraffes rarely killed by lions—Evidence as

to lions attacking elephants—Michael Engelbreght's story—Mr.
Arnot's letter describing the killing of an elephant cow by six lions
Pages 44-66
CHAPTER IV
NOTES ON THE LION (continued)
Depredations of lions in Mashunaland—Sad death of Mr. Teale—Great
slaughter of pigs by a lioness—Mode of entering a cattle kraal—
Method of killing prey—Sharpness of lion's claws—Mode of seizing a
horse in motion—Lion chasing koodoos—Lions lying in wait for oxen
—How a lion charges—Black Jantje's story—Numbing effect of lion's
bite—Cruelty in nature—Appearance of wild lions—Colour of eyes—
Lions at bay—A crouching lion—A lucky shot—The cat a lion in
miniature—A danger signal—Social habits of lions—Troops of lions
—Lions on the Mababi plain—Difference between cubs of one litter—
Individual differences in lions—Great variation in the development of
the mane—Lion probably first evolved in a cold climate—Still found
in Europe in the time of Herodotus—Effect of cold on growth of lion's
mane
Pages 67-84
CHAPTER V
NOTES ON THE LION (concluded)
Method of opening a carcase—Removal of paunch and entrails—Lions
skilful butchers—Paunch and entrails not usually eaten—Lions not
bone-eaters—Will eat putrid meat—Will sometimes devour their own
kind—Number of cubs at birth—Check on inordinate increase of
carnivorous animals—The lion's roar—Diversity of opinion
concerning its power—Probable explanation—Volume of sound when
several lions roar in unison—A nerve-shaking experience—Lions
silent when approaching their prey—Roar after killing—And in
answer to one another—Lions only roar freely in undisturbed districts
—Lions essentially game-killers—But change their habits with
circumstances—Killing lions with spear and shield—Bambaleli's
splendid courage—Lions killed by Bushmen with poisoned arrows—

Behaviour of domestic animals in the presence of lions—Cattle
sometimes terrified, at other times show no fear
Pages 85-97
CHAPTER VI
NOTES ON THE SPOTTED HYÆNA
Character of hyænas—Contrasted with that of wolves—Story illustrating
the strength and audacity of a spotted hyæna—How a goat was seized
and carried off—A mean trick—Boldness of hyænas near native
villages—More suspicious in the wilderness—Very destructive to
native live stock—Will sometimes enter native huts—Giving an old
woman to the hyænas—How the smelling out of witches benefited the
hyænas—"Come out, missionary, and give us the witch"—Number of
hyænas infesting Matabeleland in olden times—Trials for witchcraft in
Matabeleland—Food of hyænas—Strength of jaws—Charged by a
wounded hyæna—Heavy trap broken up—Killing hyænas with set
guns—Hyæna held by dogs—Hyæna attacked by wild dogs—Pace of
hyænas—Curious experience on the Mababi plain—The hyæna's howl
—Rhinoceros calf killed by hyænas—Smell of hyænas—Hyæna meat
a delicacy—Small cows and donkeys easily killed by hyænas—Size
and weight of the spotted hyæna—Number of whelps
Pages 98-118
CHAPTER VII
NOTES ON WILD DOGS AND CHETAHS
Wild dogs not very numerous—Hunt in packs—Attack herd of buffaloes—
First experience with wild dogs—Impala antelope killed—Koodoo
cow driven into shed—Koodoo driven to waggon—Wild dogs not
dangerous to human beings—Greatly feared by all antelopes—Wild
dog pursuing sable antelope—Great pace displayed—Wild dogs
capable of running down every kind of African antelope—General
opinion as to the running powers of wild dogs—Curious incidents—
Chasing wild dogs with tame ones—One wild dog galloped over and
shot—Two others caught and worried by tame dogs—Wild dog
shamming dead—Clever escape—Chetahs overtaken on horseback—

Three chetahs seen—Two females passed—Male galloped down—A
second chetah overtaken—Great speed of trained Indian chetahs—
Three chetah cubs found—Brought up by bitch
Pages 119-129
CHAPTER VIII
EXTINCTION AND DIMINUTION OF GAME IN SOUTH AFRICA—
NOTES ON THE CAPE BUFFALO
Extinction of the blaauwbok and the true quagga—Threatened
extermination of the black and white rhinoceros and the buffalo in
South Africa—Former abundance of game—Scene in the valley of
Dett witnessed by the author in 1873—Buffaloes protected by the
Cape Government—But few survivors in other parts of South Africa—
Abundance of buffaloes in former times—Extent of their range—Still
plentiful in places up to 1896—The terrible epidemic of rinderpest—
Character of the African buffalo—A matter of individual experience—
Comparison of buffalo with the lion and elephant—Danger of
following wounded buffaloes into thick cover—Personal experiences
—Well-known sportsman killed by a buffalo—Usual action of
buffaloes when wounded—Difficult to stop when actually charging—
The moaning bellow of a dying buffalo—Probable reasons for some
apparently unprovoked attacks by buffaloes—Speed of buffaloes—
Colour, texture, and abundance of coat at different ages—Abundance
of buffaloes along the Chobi river—Demeanour of old buffalo bulls
—"God's cattle"—Elephants waiting for a herd of buffaloes to leave a
pool of water before themselves coming down to drink
Pages 130-148
CHAPTER IX
NOTES ON THE TSE-TSE FLY
Connection between buffaloes and tse-tse flies—Sir Alfred Sharpe's views
—Buffaloes and tse-tse flies both once abundant in the valley of the
Limpopo and many other districts south of the Zambesi, in which both
have now become extinct—Permanence of all kinds of game other
than buffaloes in districts from which the tse-tse fly has disappeared—

Experience of Mr. Percy Reid—Sudden increase of tse-tse flies
between Leshuma and Kazungula during 1888—Disappearance of the
tse-tse fly from the country to the north of Lake N'gami after the
extermination of the buffalo—History of the country between the
Gwai and Daka rivers—And of the country between the Chobi and the
Zambesi—Climatic and other conditions necessary to the existence of
the tse-tse fly—Never found at a high altitude above the sea—Nor on
open plains or in large reed beds—"Fly" areas usually but not always
well defined—Tse-tse flies most numerous in hot weather—Bite of the
tse-tse fly fatal to all domestic animals, except native goats and
perhaps pigs—Donkeys more resistant to tse-tse fly poison than horses
or cattle—Tse-tse flies active on warm nights—Effect of tse-tse fly
bites on human beings
Pages 149-177
CHAPTER X
NOTES ON THE BLACK OR PREHENSILE-LIPPED RHINOCEROS
Character of the black rhinoceros—Its practical extermination in South
Africa at a very trifling cost to human life—No case known to author
of a Boer hunter having been killed by a black rhinoceros—Accidents
to English hunters—Harris's opinion of and experiences with the black
rhinoceros—Seemingly unnecessary slaughter of these animals—
Large numbers shot by Oswell and Vardon—Divergence of opinion
concerning disposition of the two so-called different species of black
rhinoceroses—Experiences of Gordon Cumming, Andersson, and
Baldwin with these animals—Victims of the ferocity of the black
rhinoceros extraordinarily few in South Africa—The author's
experiences with these animals—Sudden rise in the value of short
rhinoceros horns—Its fatal effect—Dull sight of the black rhinoceros
—Keen scent—Inquisitiveness—Blind rush of the black rhinoceros
when wounded—An advancing rhinoceros shot in the head—Author
chased by black rhinoceroses when on horseback—Curious experience
near Thamma-Setjie—Black rhinoceroses charging through caravans
—Coming to camp fires at night—Author's doubts as to the extreme
ferocity of black rhinoceroses in general—Testimony of experienced
hunters as to the character of the black rhinoceros in the countries

north of the Zambesi—Captain Stigand severely injured by one of
these animals—Experiences of Mr. Vaughan Kirby—Extraordinary
number of black rhinoceroses in East Africa—Experiences of A. H.
Neumann and F. J. Jackson with these animals—Views of Sir James
Hayes-Sadler—Great numbers of rhinoceroses lately shot in East
Africa without loss of life to hunters—Superiority of modern weapons
—President Roosevelt's letter—Mr. Fleischmann's remarkable account
of a combat between a rhinoceros and a crocodile—Possible
explanation of seeming helplessness of the rhinoceros
Pages 178-204
CHAPTER XI
NOTES ON THE GIRAFFE
Appearance of the giraffe—Not a vanishing species—Immense range—
Habitat—Native mounted hunters—Destruction of giraffes and other
game by Europeans—Necessity of restraining native hunters—
Discussion as to the possibility of the giraffe existing for long periods
without drinking—Water-conserving tubers—Wild water-melons—
Habits of elephants after much persecution—Possible explanation of
the belief that giraffes can dispense with water—Giraffes seen in the
act of drinking—Giraffes absolutely voiceless—Partial to open, park-
like country—Difficult to approach on foot—Giraffes very keen-
scented—Hunting giraffes with Bushmen trackers—Exhilarating sport
—Pace of the giraffe—The easiest way to kill giraffes—Driving
wounded giraffes to camp—Two curious experiences with giraffes
—"Stink bulls"—Excellence of the meat of a fat giraffe cow—Height
of giraffes—Giraffes only occasionally killed by lions—Young giraffe
attacked by leopards
Pages 205-221
CHAPTER XII
A JOURNEY TO AMATONGALAND IN SEARCH OF INYALA
The inyala, a rare and beautiful animal—Seldom shot by Englishmen—
Account of, by Mr. Baldwin—Further observations of, by the Hon. W.
H. Drummond—Inyala-shooting and fever almost synonymous—

Distribution of the inyala—Curious antelope shot by Captain Faulkner
—Start on journey in search of inyalas—Reach Delagoa Bay—Meet
Mr. Wissels—Voyage to the Maputa river—Depredations of locusts—
Elephants still found in the Matuta district—A quick run up the river—
Reach Bella Vista—Talk with Portuguese officer—Hippopotamuses
seen—Change of weather—Longman engages four lady porters—Start
for Mr. Wissels's station—Sleep at Amatonga kraal—Description of
people—Cross the Maputa river—Reedbuck shot—Rainy weather—
Reach Mr. Wissels's station
Pages 222-238
CHAPTER XIII
A JOURNEY TO AMATONGALAND (concluded)
Receive information concerning the haunts of the inyala—Heavy
thunderstorm—Start for Gugawi's kraal—Cross the Usutu river—
Reach Gugawi's—Go out hunting—Crested guinea-fowl seen—Two
inyalas shot—Angas's description of the inyala antelope—Inyala skins
prepared for mounting—Now safe in Natural History Museum—A
third inyala shot—One missed—Move farther up the Usutu river—
Country denuded of game—Bushbucks scarce—Hippopotamuses in
river—Heavy thunderstorm—Two more male inyalas shot—Start on
return journey to Delagoa Bay—Tedious journey—Intense heat—End
of trip—Slight attacks of fever
Pages 239-253
CHAPTER XIV
NOTES ON THE GEMSBUCK
Number of African antelopes—The eland—Roan and sable antelopes—The
greater koodoo—Other antelopes—The gemsbuck—Limited range—
Habitat—Keen sight—Speed and endurance—Chase after four
gemsbucks—Two shot—Sight of vultures—Oxen frightened—Horse
wounded by lioness—Gemsbuck bull shot—Visit from natives—
Gemsbuck and zebras—Gemsbucks ridden to a standstill—Fine
specimens shot—Length of horns—Character of the gemsbuck—
Probably unaffected by the rinderpest—Likely to survive for long time

Pages 254-269
CHAPTER XV
SOME CURIOUS HUNTING EXPERIENCES
Contrast between Rhodesia to-day and long ago—The old days the best—
White rhinoceroses and elephants drinking—A night on the Sikumi
river—Abundance of big game—A white rhinoceros visits my camp—
My queerest experience—Meet with two black rhinoceroses—A near
approach—Rhinoceros knocked down—Apparently dead—Commence
to cut it up—Rhinoceros regains consciousness—Gets on its legs—
And runs off—Another curious experience—Buffaloes and tse-tse flies
—Meeting with lioness—Hammer of rifle lost—Bushmen sent in
search of it—Lions met with—Lion and lioness stand close to me—
The chance of a lifetime—Rifle misses fire—Lions run off—Lion
again seen—Rifle useless—Throw it at the lion—The irony of fate
Pages 270-282
CHAPTER XVI
FURTHER CURIOUS HUNTING EXPERIENCES
Travelling through the wilderness—Find deep pool of water—Meet with
two tsessebe antelopes—Shoot them both—Cover one of them with
dry grass to keep off vultures—Ride back to waggon—Return to pool
of water—Find tsessebe antelope gone—Never recovered—Journey to
Bamangwato—Gemsbuck seen—Stalk spoilt—Long, stern chase—
Gemsbuck wounded—Lost through glare of setting sun—Wildebeest
seen—Return to waggon—Arrival of Count von Schweinitz—Lost
gemsbuck found—Two hartebeests shot
Pages 283-292
CHAPTER XVII
INCIDENTS OF A JOURNEY THROUGH THE NORTHERN
KALAHARI
Southern Rhodesia—Country farther west still a primeval wilderness—
Seldom traversed by white men—Scarcity of water—Remarkable rain-

storm—Porcupine flooded out—Every hollow filled with water—All
game in good condition—Many varieties encountered—Large herd of
elephants—Four large bulls—Wariness of elephants—Lions roaring
near camp—Search for them on the following morning—Large male
seen and chased into thick bush—Successful encounter with a second
male
Pages 293-301
CHAPTER XVIII
THE LAST OF SOUTH AFRICA'S GAME HAUNTS
Decrease of game in South Africa—Journey from Mashunaland to the East
African coast—Find country full of game—Elephants—Great herds of
buffaloes—Five old bulls—Bushbucks—Other antelopes and zebras—
Curiosity of the latter animals—Wart-hogs, bush-pigs, and
hippopotamuses—Numbers of carnivorous animals—Three lions seen
—Fine male wounded, and subsequently killed
Pages 302-311
CHAPTER XIX
HOW I SPENT CHRISTMAS DAY 1879
Travelling through the desert—Large number of bullocks—Long distances
between permanent waters—Heavy sand—Start for Mahakabi—
Intense heat—Sufferings of the poor oxen—No water at Mahakabi—
Search for water with Bushmen guides—Another disappointment—
Ride all night—Reach the Luali river—Bullocks lost—Dick's account
of the catastrophe—Fear the worst—Ride to Shoshong for assistance
—Return to Klabala—Meet wagons
Pages 312-327
CHAPTER XX
NOTES ON THE MASARWA: THE BUSHMEN OF THE INTERIOR OF
SOUTH AFRICA
First Bushmen seen by author in 1872—Armed with bows and arrows—
Large areas of country uninhabited except by Bushmen—The

Masarwa—Origin of the word "Vaalpens"—Dwarf race mentioned by
Professor Keane—Notes on the language of the Bushmen north of the
Orange river—Apparently very similar to that spoken by the Koranas
—The author's faithful Korana servant—The Nero family—Physical
dissimilarity between the Koranas and the Masarwa—Stature of
Bushmen met with north of the Orange river—Probably a pure race—
The Bakalahari—Livingstone's account of them—Khama's kindness to
them—Habits and mode of life of the Masarwa—Their weapons—
Bows and poisoned arrows—Food of the Bushmen—Bush children
tracking tortoises—Terrible privations sometimes endured by
Bushmen—Provision against famine—A giraffe hunt—Rotten ostrich
egg found by Bushmen and eaten—Fundamental difference of nature
between Bushmen and civilised races not great—Personal experiences
with Bushmen—Their marvellous endurance—Skill as hunters and
trackers—Incident with lion—Family affection amongst Bushmen—
Not unworthy members of the human race
Pages 328-348
INDEX
349

ILLUSTRATIONS
"Unfortunately, one of these terrific Blows, very
probably the first aimed at the Leopard which
seized the Calf, had struck the little
Creature on the Loins and broken its Back" Frontispiece
FACING PAGE
"He had evidently been sitting or lying by a Fire
when caught" 53
Plate showing Differences in the Development of
the Mane in Lions inhabiting a comparatively
small Area of Country in South Africa 76
"A picked Man of dauntless Heart ... would rush
forward alone...." 93
"On the second Night they once more left it
alone, but on the third they devoured it" 103
"Such old Buffalo Bulls were very slow about
getting out of one's way" 146
Photographs of a Struggle between a Rhinoceros
and a Crocodile:
No. 1. Shows the Rhinoceros holding its own,
but unable to reach the bank 202
No. 2. Shows the Rhinoceros still struggling,
but in deeper water 202
No. 3. Shows the Rhinoceros after it had turned
round, and just before it got into deep
water and was pulled under 202
"I knew it was a male Inyala—the first that my
Eyes had ever looked upon" 242
"The Gemsbucks were now going at their utmost
Speed, and when I had passed the Zebras were
still sixty or seventy yards in front of me" 258

"My Gun-Carrier hurled another Lump of
Burning Wood at our Visitor" 273
The Last of South Africa's Game Haunts 302

CHAPTER I
NOTES ON THE QUESTIONS OF PROTECTIVE COLORATION,
RECOGNITION MARKS, AND THE INFLUENCE OF ENVIRONMENT
ON LIVING ORGANISMS
Harmony of colour in nature—Theory of protective coloration—Sexual
selection—Conspicuous colours not harmful—The influence of
environment—The leucoryx—The Barbary sheep—The Sardinian
moufflon—African butterflies—Coloration of the musk ox and caribou
—Arctic hares and foxes—Coloration of mammals in the Yukon
Territory—The chamois in winter—Examples of conspicuous
coloration in African mammals—Colour not always protective—
Carnivorous animals usually hunt by scent—Wild dogs and wolves—
Wild dog and sable antelope—Sense of smell in herbivorous animals
—Sight of antelopes—Experience with waterbuck—Dull sight of
caribou—Demeanour of wild animals when alarmed—Small antelopes
—Lions—Large antelopes—Difficulty of seeing wild animals
sometimes exaggerated—Powers of sight of Bushmen—Colour not
protective against animals which hunt by night and by scent—Animals
in motion easy to see—Restlessness of wild animals—Lions attacking
bullocks—Zebras the principal prey of lions since the disappearance of
buffaloes—Appearance of zebras—Undoubtedly conspicuous animals
in open country—Zebras by moonlight—Strong smell of zebras—
Conspicuous antelopes in East Africa—Effect of the juxtaposition of
black and white—Bold coloration of the sable antelope.

Although there are certain striking exceptions to the general rule, yet,
broadly speaking, it cannot be gainsaid that living organisms are usually
coloured in such a way as to make them difficult of detection by the human
eye amongst their natural surroundings. Every collecting entomologist
knows how closely certain species of butterflies when resting with closed
wings in shady forests resemble dead leaves, or moths the bark of trees.

Birds too, especially those which nest on the ground, often harmonise with
their surroundings in a most marvellous way.
In the open treeless regions within the Arctic Circle, as well as on bare
mountain ranges, nearly all the resident species of animals and birds turn
white in winter, when their whole visible world is covered with an
unbroken mantle of pure white snow, and become brown or grey during the
short period of summer.
In treeless deserts again within the tropics, where the rainfall is very scanty
and the climate excessively hot and dry, with intense sunlight throughout
the year, all resident living organisms, mammals, birds, reptiles, and insects,
are found to be of a dull coloration which harmonises in the most wonderful
way with the sandy or stony soil on which they live. It is also very often the
case that animals which live in forests where the foliage is not too dense to
allow the sun to penetrate are spotted or striped, whilst those which live in
really thick jungle or amongst deep gloomy ravines are of a uniform dark
coloration.
Now a most interesting question arises as to the true causes which have
brought about the extraordinary variations of colour to be seen in living
organisms inhabiting different parts of the world.
It is, I believe, the general opinion of modern naturalists that, putting aside
cases where brilliant colours may have been produced amongst birds and
insects by the action of the law of sexual selection, the coloration of all
living organisms is protective, "serving," as that distinguished naturalist Mr.
Alfred Russel Wallace puts it, when discussing the subject of the coloration
of mammals, "to conceal herbivorous species from their enemies, and
enabling carnivorous animals to approach their prey unperceived."
Many very striking facts can be adduced in support of this theory, and no
doubt it is of advantage to most species of mammals, birds, reptiles, and
insects to harmonise in colour with their surroundings; but there are many
instances in nature, especially amongst birds and insects, where a very
striking and conspicuous coloration does not appear to have been
prejudicial to the life of a species.
The highly decorative but very conspicuously coloured plumage to be seen
in the males of many species of birds, especially during the breeding

season, was considered by the immortal Darwin to be due to the influence
of sexual selection, and whatever may be urged against the correctness of
this theory, it is supported by a long array of indisputable facts.
Great, however, as is the divergence between the plumage of the males and
females in many species of birds, not only during the breeding season, but
in a great number of cases at all times of year, and however gaudy and
conspicuous the coloration of the former may be compared with that of the
latter, such conspicuous coloration never appears to be prejudicial to the life
of a species, though in some cases the brighter coloured male assists the
female in incubation, and it would thus appear that in all such cases the
sombre coloured plumage of the female was not absolutely necessary for
purposes of protection against enemies.
I therefore think that if it is admitted that bright and conspicuous colours
have been evolved in living organisms through the action of the law of
sexual selection, without detriment to the life of the species in which such
conspicuous colours are shown, it must be conceded that a coloration
harmonising with its surroundings is not a necessity of existence in all cases
to all species of mammals, birds, reptiles, and insects, and that it is therefore
quite possible that where living organisms agree very closely in colour with
their surroundings, such harmonious coloration may have been produced by
some other agency than the need for protection by colour, and I would
suggest that in addition to the influence exerted in the evolution of colour in
living organisms by the action of sexual selection, and the necessity for
protection against enemies, a third factor has also been at work, which I will
call the influence of environment.
It is worthy of remark, I think, that in hot, dry deserts, where the climatic
conditions are stable, and where the general colour of the landscape is
therefore very much the same all the year round, all the resident species of
mammals, birds, reptiles, and insects are what is called protectively
coloured, that is to say, they are all of a dull brown or greyish coloration,[1]
which harmonises beautifully with their parched, dull-coloured
environment. In the leucoryx, the Saharan representative of the gemsbuck
of South-Western Africa, all the black markings which are so conspicuous
in the latter animal have disappeared or become pale brown, whilst the
general colour of the body has been bleached to a dirty white. Now, no one
can persuade me that if the leucoryx were coloured exactly like its near

relative the gemsbuck, it would suffer one iota more, in the open country in
which it lives, from the attacks of carnivorous animals than it does at
present, and I therefore believe that the faded colour of the leucoryx, as
compared with that of the gemsbuck or the beisa antelope, has not been
brought about in order to serve as a protection against enemies, but is
directly due to the influence of its desert environment, and constant
exposure to strong sunlight on treeless plains. Again, from the point of view
of a carnivorous animal hunting for food by daylight and by sight, no two
countries could be more alike than the open karoos of the Cape Colony and
the plains in the neighbourhood of Lakes Nakuru and Elmenteita in British
East Africa, where the grass is always kept very short by the large herds of
game, as well as by the cattle, sheep, and goats belonging to the Masai,
which pasture there. Before the advent of Europeans, the carnivorous
animals inhabiting the Cape Colony were exactly the same as those found
to-day in East Africa, viz. lions, leopards, chetahs, wild dogs, and hyænas.
In both districts lions were once numerous, and in both zebras formed the
principal food of these carnivora. But whereas Equus granti, the form of
zebra found on the plains near Lake Nakuru, is the most brilliantly coloured
representative of the genus to which it belongs, with jet black stripes on a
pure white ground, the now extinct form of zebra—Equus quagga—which
once abounded on the plains of the Cape Colony, was of a dull grey brown
in ground colour, with darker brown stripes on the head, neck, and fore-part
of the body alone. Now, these two races of zebras, both living on bare, open
plains, could not both have been coloured in the best possible way to escape
being seen by the lions which constantly preyed upon them. If, as has been
contended, the juxtaposition of the black and white stripes in Grant's zebras
renders these animals not only inconspicuous, but almost invisible under
strong sunlight on an open plain, and is, in fact, the supreme triumph of
protective coloration in large mammals, why had the quaggas of the Cape
Colony become dull brown, for they also lived on open plains in strong
sunlight, and needed protection from the lions every bit as much as their
congeners of East Africa? Moreover, I think all naturalists and
embryologists are agreed that Equus quagga was the descendant of boldly
striped ancestors.
[1] The cock ostrich is, I think, the only exception to this rule, and in the case of
this remarkable bird the influence of sexual selection has probably been more
potent than that of a dull-coloured, monotonous environment.

To my mind the loss of stripes in the quagga was entirely due to the
environment in which this species had lived for long ages; for on the karoos
of the Cape Colony everything is of one dull brown colour, whether on hill
or plain, and no shade is to be found anywhere, for the whole country is
without trees. The air, too, is intensely hot and dry, and the rainfall scanty.
In these semi-deserts of South-Western Africa, not only did the quaggas
lose their black stripes, but the elands also lost the white stripes of their
immediate ancestors, whilst the blesboks had already lost much of the white
to be seen in the body colouring of the bonteboks, from which they are
descended, and had become of a much duller colour generally. In East
Africa, however, the plains are surrounded by well-wooded hills, which
give some colour to the landscape, whilst the rainfall every year is heavy. If
it is not the influence of their several environments which has brought about
the differences between the well-striped elands and zebras of East Africa
and their dull-coloured relatives that once lived in the karoos of the Cape
Colony, the theory of protective coloration must be equally at fault, for in
spite of the fact that in both countries both races of these animals have been
hunted by lions from time immemorial on open plains, and under precisely
similar conditions, they developed very different schemes of coloration.
The Barbary sheep, again, which inhabits the dry hills bordering the deserts
of Northern Africa, where the vegetation is parched and scanty at all
seasons of the year, and the rocks of a red brown colour, is itself of a
uniform reddish brown which harmonises exactly with its surroundings, and
makes it very difficult to detect when lying at rest amongst rocks. This
perfect harmony of coloration with its surroundings in the Barbary sheep
may have been brought about by the need of protection from enemies, but
seems to me far more likely to have been caused by the influence of the
colour of its environment, for its four-footed foes hunt by scent and by night
far more than by sight during the daytime.
The male moufflon of Sardinia, which lives in a temperate climate where
the colours of its surroundings are much brighter and more diversified than
is the case in the habitat of the Barbary sheep, is a much more
conspicuously coloured animal than the latter, or than the females of its own
kind. As the females and young of the Sardinian moufflon, which are of a
uniform brown colour, are more difficult to see than the males in their
somewhat conspicuous autumn and winter coats, the latter cannot be said to

be protectively coloured. Either through the influence of sexual selection or
that of an environment the general colour of which varies very greatly at
different seasons of the year, the male of the Sardinian moufflon becomes
during autumn and winter conspicuously coloured compared with the
female, without detriment, however, to the well-being of the species.
During my long sojourn in the interior of South Africa, I made large
collections of butterflies. There was one species (Precis artaxia, Hewits)
which always puzzled me. This handsome insect is only found in shady
forests, is seldom seen flying until disturbed, and always sits on the ground
amongst dead leaves. Though handsomely coloured on the upper side, when
its wings are closed it closely resembles a dead leaf. It has a little tail on the
lower wing which looks exactly like the stalk of a leaf, and from this tail a
dark brown line runs through both wings (which on the under sides are light
brown) to the apex of the upper wing. One would naturally be inclined to
look upon this wonderful resemblance to a dead leaf in a butterfly sitting
with closed wings on the ground amongst real dead leaves as a remarkable
instance of protective form and coloration. And of course it may be that this
is the correct explanation. But what enemy is this butterfly protected
against? Upon hundreds of different occasions I have ridden and walked
through the forests where Precis artaxia was numerous, and I have caught
and preserved many specimens of these butterflies, but never once did I see
a bird attempting to catch one of them. Indeed, birds of all kinds were
scarce in the forests where these insects were to be found. I now think that
the form and colour of the under wings of Precis artaxia have more
probably been produced by the influence of its environment than by the
need for protection.
During the rainy season in South Africa, the open glades in the forests
bordering the rivers are gay with multitudes of brightly coloured butterflies
of many different species, and after a night's rain butterflies of various kinds
may often be seen settling in masses round pools of water along waggon
roads. Most of these butterflies are conspicuously coloured, though they are
in perfect harmony with the sunlit flowers which spring up at the time of
year when they appear. I cannot, however, believe that the need for
protection against birds or other enemies has had anything whatever to do
with the determination of their various colours, as in all my experience (and

I have been all my life a close observer of nature) I have never once seen a
bird feeding upon butterflies in Africa.
The coloration of certain animals in the Arctic and sub-Arctic Regions is
somewhat remarkable, as at certain seasons it is conspicuously out of
harmony with its surroundings, and cannot therefore be protective. The
musk ox retains its dark brown coat the whole year round, although it lives
almost constantly amidst a snowy environment. Mr. Wallace tells us that the
reason why the musk ox does not turn white is because it has no enemies to
fear, and therefore has no need of a protective coloration. He says: "Then
we have that thoroughly Arctic animal the musk sheep, which is brown and
conspicuous; but this animal is gregarious, and its safety depends on its
association in small herds. It is therefore of more importance for it to be
able to recognise its kind at a distance than to be concealed from its
enemies, against which it can well protect itself so long as it keeps together
in a compact body." As, however, according to the experience of Arctic
travellers, large numbers of young musk oxen are annually killed by
wolves, this explanation of a case in which an animal is manifestly not
protectively coloured does not seem altogether satisfactory. Mr. Wallace, it
may be noted, calls special attention to the coloration of the giraffe, which
he considers to be protective; yet nothing, I think, is more certain than that a
far smaller percentage of giraffes are killed annually by lions in Africa than
of musk oxen by wolves in Arctic America. If this is so, the musk ox has
more need of protective coloration than the giraffe. The musk ox is, I think,
the only one amongst the few truly Arctic mammals which does not turn
white during the winter months, for, unlike the barren ground caribou, it
does not migrate southwards in the autumn to the dark spruce forests, which
change of habitat no doubt has had an influence on the colour of the latter
animals; since Peary's caribou, the most northerly form of the genus, whose
habitat lies far within the Arctic Circle, where trees of any kind are non-
existent, is almost absolutely white in colour. In spite, however, of the fact
that the caribou inhabiting Ellesmere Land and the adjacent land masses are
white, and therefore harmonise well in colour with the snowy wastes
amongst which they live, they form the principal food of the white wolves
inhabiting the same regions, which hunt them by scent and run them down
just as easily as the grey and black wolves of Alaska capture the dark-
coloured and very conspicuous caribou which frequent the mountain ranges
of that country. It appears to me that the colour of a caribou's coat, whether

it be white, black, or brown, cannot afford it any protection against wolves,
which probably possess as keen a sense of scent as any animals in the
world, and must surely hunt entirely by scent during the long dark months
of the Arctic winter. If this is so, then the great diversity in the coloration of
the various species of caribou inhabiting the North American Continent
must be due to some other cause than the necessity for protection against
wolves, practically their only four-footed enemies.
Speaking of other Arctic animals, Mr. Wallace believes that the Arctic fox
of necessity turns white in winter in order to enable it to capture the white
Arctic hares upon which it chiefly lives. Very little, however, is known as to
the life-history of these two animals. But if the Arctic foxes hunt by scent,
as they almost certainly do, during the constant darkness of the long Arctic
winter, and the hares burrow beneath the snow, and are caught as a rule
when completely hidden from sight below its surface, I think it is arguable
that the influence of environment has been at least as potent a factor in
bringing about the white coloration of these animals in winter as the
necessity for protective coloration. At any rate, in Alaska and the Yukon
Territory of Canada, where the country is covered with snow for more than
half the year, and where the hares are white throughout the long winter, the
foxes are red, black, or a mixture of these two colours, all the year round,
and the lynxes grey; yet these two species of carnivorous animals depend
almost entirely on the hares for their food supply. It is somewhat
remarkable that in the sub-Arctic forests of Alaska and the Yukon Territory,
where the cold is intense and the ground covered with snow for so many
months of every year, only the hares and the stoats amongst mammals turn
white in winter. But in these countries the land is covered for the most part
with dark spruce forests, the influence of which—if there is anything in the
influence of environment—may have been greater in determining the
coloration of the mammals of this district than that of the snow-covered
ground.
During winter in the Yukon Territory, moose turn very dark in colour on the
under parts of the body, and at this season of the year leave the thick forests
and live in the comparatively open valleys amongst willow and birch scrub,
where they are said to stand out like haystacks amidst their snowy
surroundings. The local race of caribou (Rangifer osborni), which live all
the year round on the treeless mountain plateaus, are very dark in colour

(with the exception of their necks), and, as I myself can testify, stand out
very plainly when the open ground they frequent is covered with snow. Of
the various races of wild sheep inhabiting the mountains of Alaska, the
Yukon Territory, and Northern British Columbia, some are white all the year
round, and therefore very conspicuous in summer when there is no snow on
the ground, though difficult to detect in the winter; some are grey, with
white heads, necks, and rumps; whilst others are nearly black, and therefore
very conspicuous in winter. Of the predatory animals the large timber
wolves are, as a rule, pale greyish brown with black hairs on their backs and
shoulders, but a considerable number are quite black; the foxes are either
red or black, or of the intermediate coloration known as "cross"; whilst the
wolverines, martens, and minks are rich dark brown, and the lynxes neutral
grey. The stoat or ermine is the only carnivorous animal which turns white
in winter in these countries.
It would thus appear that in the sub-Arctic Regions of North America the
coloration of mammals does not obviously serve the purpose of concealing
the herbivorous species from their enemies, or of enabling carnivorous
animals to approach their prey unperceived. To come nearer home, we find
that whereas in the Alpine regions of Europe the mountain hare turns white
in winter, the chamois living in the same snow-covered ground becomes
deep black. It is true that in winter chamois often leave the open mountains
and live amongst the higher forests, where it may be said that their dark
colour harmonises well with the dark foliage of the spruce trees; but I have
hunted chamois in December in the mountains of Transylvania, when they
were in full winter coat, and I certainly found that their dark coloration
often made them conspicuous.
Turning to Africa, we have many instances of what seen in the open and at
short range cannot possibly be called anything but conspicuous coloration,
such as the jet black and pure white striping of the East African form of
Burchell's zebra; the deep glossy black body and neck, with snow-white
belly and parti-coloured face, of the sable antelope; the black and white face
of the gemsbuck; the pure white face and rump of the bontebok, combined
with the beautiful dark brown neck and sides and lilac tinted back; or the
juxtaposition of the black and white in Thomson's gazelle—only to mention
a few of the most noteworthy examples.

To me it seems that the influence of environment might very well be
deemed sufficient of itself to cause all animals that have lived for long ages
in treeless deserts under constant strong sunlight to assume the dull brown
coloration which they undoubtedly possess; whilst Arctic conditions might
be expected to cause the whitening of an animal's hair in the winter, or the
play of the sun's light through the leaves and branches of trees and bushes
to be responsible for a spotted or striped coat. In the case of a combination
of black and white—the two most conspicuous colours in nature—such as
may be seen in the adult cock ostrich or male sable antelope, why should it
not be supposed that the law of sexual selection has come into play, as it
probably has done in the production of the lion's mane and the exaggerated
size of the horns in the male koodoo.
Having spent many years of my life in the constant pursuit of African game,
I have certainly been afforded opportunities such as have been enjoyed by
but few civilised men of becoming intimately acquainted with the habits
and life-history of many species of animals living in that continent, and all
that I have learnt during my long experience as a hunter compels me to
doubt the correctness of the now very generally accepted theories that all
the wonderfully diversified colours of mammals—the stripes of the zebra,
the blotched coat of the giraffe, the spots of the bushbuck, the white face
and rump of the bontebok, to mention only a few—have been evolved
either as a means of protection from enemies or for the purpose of mutual
recognition by animals of the same species in times of sudden alarm. Sexual
selection and the influence of environment must, I think, have been equally
potent factors in the evolution of colours in mammals, birds, reptiles, and
insects.
In all recent articles which I have read by well-known naturalists on these
subjects, it appears to be assumed that both carnivorous and herbivorous
animals trust entirely to their sense of sight, the former to find their prey,
and the latter to detect and avoid the approach of their enemies. Yet nothing
is more certain than that all carnivorous animals hunt almost entirely by
scent, until they have closely approached their quarry, and usually by night,
when all the animals on which they prey must look very much alike as far
as colour is concerned.
The wild dogs of Africa and the wolves of northern latitudes are not so
completely nocturnal, it is true, as the large Felidae, but the former I know,

and the latter I have every reason to believe, hunt, as a rule, by night and
only occasionally in the daytime. In both these animals the sense of smell is
enormously developed, and must be of far greater use to them in procuring
food than the sense of sight, however acute that may be. In all my
wanderings I have only seen African wild dogs chasing game in the daytime
on four occasions. I once saw a single wild dog chasing a sable antelope in
the daytime. This wild dog—which was, however, then too far away to
enable me to see what it was—first ran past the sable antelope and behind it
from where I was watching. It must then have been running on the trail,
with its nose on the ground, and must have passed quite close to the animal
it was pursuing without seeing it. Its nose, however, kept it on the antelope's
tracks and soon brought it to close quarters, and then of course it continued
the chase by sight. Now if this is the usual proceeding of African wild dogs,
and I am convinced that it is, the value of assimilative coloration to animals
on which the wild dog preys cannot be very great.
But not only do all carnivorous animals hunt by scent, and rely far more
upon their olfactory organs than upon their keenness of sight to procure
food, but, as all practical hunters very well know, the sense of smell is also
very highly developed in all, or at any rate in most, of the animals on which
the carnivora prey, and personally I am persuaded that all browsing and
grazing animals in Africa trust as much to their noses as to their eyes both
to avoid danger and to find members of their own species. The eyes of
antelopes are quick to detect a moving object, but they are by no means
quick to notice any unusual colour in a stationary object. I will relate an
anecdote illustrating this point.
Early in 1883, I reached the spot on the Hanyani river in Mashunaland
where I intended to establish my hunting camp for the season. Whilst my
Kafirs were chopping down trees to build the cattle enclosures, I climbed to
the top of the ridge at the foot of which I was having my camp made.
It was late in the afternoon, and I was sitting on a rock looking over the
open country to the south, when I heard a slight noise, and turning my eyes
saw a fine male waterbuck coming towards me up the ridge. I sat perfectly
still, and it presently walked slowly past within three yards of me and then
went on along the ridge, into the forest beyond. As it passed me I noticed its
shining wet nose, and the way in which its nostrils kept constantly opening
and shutting at every step. It was evidently listening to the noise that my

Kafirs were making chopping down small trees at the foot of the ridge, but
as it could not get their wind did not take alarm.
Of course, if I had made the very slightest movement, this waterbuck would
have seen me instantly; but had it possessed much sense of colour, the
contrast between the red brown of my sunburnt arms and face and the light-
coloured shirt I was wearing would have attracted its attention, as I was
sitting on a stone, on the top of a ridge which was quite free from trees or
bush. I have never had any other African antelopes pass so close to me as
this without seeing me, but many have fed slowly past me, as I sat watching
them, with a tree or a bush behind me but nothing between myself and
them, at distances of from 20 to 50 yards.
Both in Newfoundland and in the Yukon Territory of Canada, I have had
caribou walk almost over me when sitting in front of them on their line of
march on ground devoid of any cover whatever. In such cases, of course,
the wind was blowing from these animals towards where I was sitting, and I
remained absolutely motionless.
As a rule, when wild animals notice something suspicious approaching, say
a man on horseback, and cannot get the scent of it, they run off before it
gets near them or circle round to try and get the wind of it. But the smaller
African antelopes, steinbucks, duikers, oribis, and reedbucks will
occasionally, while keeping their eyes fixed on the unfamiliar object, crouch
slowly down, and then, with their necks stretched along the ground, lie
watching. I have ridden past a few oribis, steinbucks, and reedbucks within
a few yards, as they lay absolutely motionless on the ground watching me.
To pull in one's horse with the intention of shooting such a crouching
antelope was the instant signal for it to jump up and bound away. Lions too,
when they see a human being and imagine that they themselves have not
been observed, will often lie flat on the ground watching, and will not move
until very closely approached. I imagine that these carnivora secure nearly
all their prey by approaching herds of game below the wind, and when they
have got pretty near lying flat on the ground, perfectly motionless except
for the twitching of the end of their tails, which they never seem able to
control, and then waiting till one or other of the unsuspecting animals feeds
close up to them, when they rush upon and seize it before it has time to
turn. If a lion, however, fails to make good his hold with one of his fore-
paws over the muzzle of a buffalo or one of the heavier antelopes, and

cannot fix his teeth in their throats or necks, they often manage to throw
him off and escape.
It is perhaps worthy of remark that I have never known a case of one of the
larger antelopes trying to escape observation by lying down. Gemsbucks,
roan and sable antelopes, elands, koodoos, hartebeests, indeed all the large
African antelopes, directly they see anything suspicious, face towards it,
and stand looking at it, holding their heads high, and not in any way
shielding their bodies and only exposing their faces to view, which, when
marked with black and white, as in the case of the gemsbuck and roan
antelope, are supposed, though quite erroneously, to render these animals
invisible.
I am inclined to think, but it is only my personal opinion, that the difficulty
of seeing wild animals in their natural surroundings has been greatly
exaggerated by travellers who were not hunters, and whose eyesight
therefore, although of normal strength, had not been trained by practice to
see animals quickly in every kind of environment.
I am quite sure that to a South-African Bushman there is no such thing as
protective coloration in nature. If an animal is behind a rock or a thick bush,
he of course cannot see it, but his eyes are so well trained, he knows so
exactly the appearance of every animal to be met with in the country in
which he and his ancestors have spent their lives as hunters for countless
ages, that he will not miss seeing any living thing that comes within his
range of vision no matter what its surroundings may be. Bantu Kafirs are
often called savages, and their quickness of sight extolled; but Kafirs are
not real savages, and though there are good hunters amongst them, such
men will form but a small percentage of any one tribe. To realise to what a
pitch of perfection the human eyesight can be trained, not in seeing
immense distances but in picking up an animal within a moderate range
immediately it is physically possible to see it, it is necessary to hunt with
real savages like the Masarwa Bushmen of South-Western Africa, who
depend on their eyesight for a living.
Now, if carnivorous animals had throughout the ages depended on their
eyesight for their daily food as the Bushmen have done, which is what
naturalists who believe in the value of protective coloration to large
mammals must imagine to be the case, surely their eyesight would have

become so perfected that no colour or combination of colours could have
concealed any of the animals on which they habitually preyed from their
view. As a matter of fact, however, carnivorous animals hunt as a rule by
scent and not by sight, and usually at night when herbivorous animals are
moving about feeding or going to drink. At such a time it appears to me that
the value of a coloration that assimilated perfectly with an animal's natural
surroundings during the daytime would be very small as a protection from
the attacks of carnivora which hunted by night and by scent.
Reverting again to the question of quickness of eyesight, I will say that,
although a Boer or an English hunter can never hope to become as keen-
sighted as a Bushman, his eyes will nevertheless improve so much in power
after a few years spent in the constant pursuit of game, that the difficulty of
distinguishing wild animals amongst their native haunts will be very much
less than it was when he first commenced to hunt, or than it must always be
to a traveller or sportsman who has not had a long experience of hunting.
However difficult an animal may be to see as long as it is lying down or
standing motionless, as soon as it moves it becomes very apparent to the
human eye; and, as I have had ample experience that any movement made
by a man is very quickly noticed by a lion, leopard, hyæna, or wild dog, I
am quite sure that all these carnivora, if lying watching for prey by daylight,
would at once see any animal moving about feeding anywhere near them;
and all herbivorous animals move about and feed early in the morning and
late in the evening, the very times when carnivorous animals would be most
likely to be looking for game by daylight.
During the heat of the day carnivorous animals are very seldom seen, as at
that time they sleep, and most herbivorous animals do the same. But even
when resting, wild animals are seldom motionless. Elephants and
rhinoceroses are constantly moving their ears, whilst giraffes, elands,
buffaloes, zebras, and other animals seldom stand for many seconds
together without swishing their tails. All these movements at once attract
the attention of the trained human eye, and I am very sure would be equally
apparent to the sight of a lion or a leopard, were these animals to hunt by
sight and during the daytime. But, speaking generally, they do not do so,
though doubtless should antelopes or other animals unconsciously feed
close up to where a lion happened to be lying resting and waiting for night
before commencing active hunting, he would very likely make a rush and

try and seize one of them if he could. Upon two occasions I have had my
bullocks attacked in the middle of the day, once by a single lioness, and on
the other occasion by a party of four lions, two lions and two lionesses. But
how many old hunters have seen lions actually hunting in the full light of
day? Personally, in all the long years I was hunting big game in Africa—
years during which I must have walked or ridden many thousands of miles
through country full of game, and where lions were often numerous—I only
once saw one of these animals hunting by daylight. This lion was pursuing
four koodoo cows on a cool cloudy winter's morning.
As a rule, lions do not commence to hunt before darkness has set in. They
then seek their prey by scent, either smelling the animals directly or
following their tracks. They understand as well as the most experienced
human hunter the art of approaching game below the wind, when hunting
singly; but when there are several lions hunting together, I believe that some
of them will sometimes creep close up to a herd of game below the wind,
whilst one or more of their number go round to the other side. The
buffaloes, zebras, or antelopes at once get the scent of these latter, and run
off right on to the lions lying waiting below the wind, which then get a good
chance to seize and pull down one of the frightened animals. As lions have
played this game with my cattle upon several occasions, I presume that they
often act in the same way with wild animals.
No matter how dark the night may be, a lion has no difficulty in seizing an
ox, a horse, or a donkey exactly in the right way, and I have no doubt that
he does the same in the case of all the different kinds of game upon which
he preys. Now that the buffaloes have been almost exterminated by the
rinderpest in most parts of Africa, the zebra undoubtedly forms the
favourite food of the lion. For every zebra that is killed by daylight
probably at least a hundred are killed during the night, when, except by
moonlight, they would appear to a lion very much the same, as far as
coloration goes, as a black ox, a dark grey wildebeest, or a red hartebeest,
all of which animals look black by night if they are near enough to be seen
at all.
I have had innumerable opportunities of looking at wild zebras, and when
met with on open ground they certainly have always appeared to me to be
very conspicuous animals, except just at dawn and late in the evening, when

they are not so easy to see as animals of some uniform dark colour, such as
hartebeests.
In Southern Africa, between the Limpopo and the Zambesi rivers,
Burchell's zebras used to be very plentiful in all the uninhabited parts of the
country, and although they were often met with feeding or resting in
districts covered with open forest or scattered bush, I found them always
very partial to open ground, where they were as plainly visible as a troop of
horses. In East Africa the local race of Burchell's zebra is remarkable for the
whiteness of the ground colour of the body and the intense blackness of the
superimposed stripes. These beautiful animals congregate in large herds on
the bare open plains traversed by the Uganda Railway, and probably form
the chief food of the lions living in that district.
When in East Africa a few years ago, I took special note of the appearance
of zebras at different distances on the open plains between Lakes Nakuru
and Elmenteita. I found that in the bright African sunlight I could see with
the naked eye the black and white striping of their coats up to a distance
which I estimated at about 400 yards. Beyond that distance they looked of a
uniform dark colour when the sun was behind them, and almost white when
the sun was shining on them. But at whatever distance they happened to be
on the open plain between myself and the horizon, their forms showed up
quite as distinctly as those of a herd of cattle or horses. Never in my life
have I seen the sun shining on zebras in such a way as to cause them to
become invisible or even in any way inconspicuous on an open plain, and I
have seen thousands upon thousands of Burchell's zebras. Should these
animals be approached when standing amongst trees with the leaf on, they
are not at all easy to see, and the whisking of their tails will probably be the
first thing to catch one's eye; but in open ground, and that is where they are
usually met with, no animals could be more conspicuous. I have seen zebras
too by moonlight, but that was many years ago, and I did not then take any
special note of their appearance; but my impression is that they were no
more invisible than other animals, but looked whitish in colour when the
moon was shining on them, and very dark when it was behind them. As,
however, zebras have a very strong smell, and lions usually hunt them by
scent and at night, I cannot think that their coloration, whether it be
conspicuous or not, matters very much to them, though I look upon the
theory that the brilliantly striped coats of these animals render them in

reality inconspicuous as absolutely untenable, as it is not in accordance with
fact.
When in East Africa I came to the conclusion that not only the zebras, but
also the impala antelopes—which are of a much richer and darker red than
in South Africa—were conspicuously coloured, and therefore very easy to
see; whilst the broad black lateral band dividing the snow-white belly from
the fawn-coloured side in Thomson's gazelles showed these little animals
up with the most startling distinctness on the bare open plains they inhabit.
To my eyes, and in the bright sunlight of Africa, the juxtaposition of black
and white markings, so often seen on the faces of African antelopes, has
never seemed to produce an indistinct blur of colour except at a
considerable distance. At any distance up to 300 yards the black and white
face-markings of the gemsbuck, the roan, and the sable antelope always
appeared to me to be distinctly visible, and they have often been the first
parts of these animals to catch my eye.
It is all very well to say that a male sable antelope, in spite of its bold
colouring, is often very difficult to see. That is no doubt the case, but that
only means that there is no colour in nature, and no possible combination of
colours, which at a certain distance, if stationary, would not be found to
harmonise well with some portions of, or objects in, an African landscape.
Speaking generally, however, the coloration of a sable antelope bull makes
him a very conspicuous object to a trained human eye, and also, one would
suppose, to that of a carnivorous animal, were it watching for prey by
daylight.

CHAPTER II
FURTHER NOTES ON THE QUESTIONS OF PROTECTIVE
COLORATION, RECOGNITION MARKS, AND THE INFLUENCE OF
ENVIRONMENT ON LIVING ORGANISMS
Occasional resemblance of African mammals to natural objects—
Hartebeests—Elephants—Giraffes—Coloration of the Somali giraffe
—Giraffes not in need of a protective coloration—Koodoos and sable
antelopes—Acute sense of hearing in the moose—Possible explanation
of large size of ears in the African tragelaphine antelopes—Coloration
of bushbucks, situtungas, and inyalas—Leopards the only enemies of
the smaller bush-haunting antelopes—Recognition marks—Must
render animals conspicuous to friend and foe alike—Ranges of allied
species of antelopes seldom overlap—Hybridisation sometimes takes
place—Wonderful coloration of the bontebok—Coloration distinctly
conspicuous and therefore not protective—Recognition marks
unnecessary—Coloration of the blesbok—The blesbok merely a duller
coloured bontebok—Difference in the habitat of the two species—The
coloration of both species may be due to the influence of their
respective environments—The weak point in the theory of protective
coloration when applied to large mammals—Hares and foxes in the
Arctic and sub-Arctic Regions—The efficacy of colour protection at
once destroyed by movement—Buffaloes and lions—General
conclusions regarding the theory of protective coloration as applied to
large mammals.

Certain observations have been made and theories propounded on the
occasional resemblance of African mammals to natural objects, which have
never seemed to me to have much significance, although they are often
referred to as valuable observations by writers on natural history.
Thus it has been said that hartebeests, which are red in colour, derive
protection from their enemies owing to their resemblance not only in colour
but also in shape to ant-heaps, and that giraffes gain an advantage in the

struggle for life owing to the fact that their long necks look like tree-trunks
and their heads and horns like broken branches.
Well, hartebeests are red in colour wherever they are found all over Africa.
Ant-heaps are only red when they are built of red soil. In parts of the
Bechwanaland Protectorate, where the Cape hartebeest used to be common,
the ant-heaps are a glaring white. In East Africa, in different portions of
which territory hartebeests of three species are very numerous, all of which
are bright red in colour, red ant-heaps are certainly not a conspicuous
feature in all parts of the country, and there were, if my memory serves me,
very few ant-heaps of any size on the plains where I met with either Coke's,
Neumann's, or Jackson's hartebeests.[2] But even in those districts where the
ant-heaps are red in colour, and neither very much larger nor smaller than
hartebeests, they are usually of one even rounded shape, and it would only
be here and there, where two had been thrown up together forming a
double-humped structure, that anything resembling one of these animals
could be seen. Such unusual natural objects must be anything but common,
and cannot, I believe, have had any effect in determining the bodily shape
of hartebeests, though, if the coloration of animals is influenced by their
environment, red soil and red ant-heaps may have had their influence on the
colour of the ancestral form from which all the various but nearly allied
species of hartebeests have been derived.
[2] The plains along the railway line between Simba and Nairobi, the open
country between Lakes Nakuru and Elmenteita, or the neighbourhood of the road
between Landiani and Ravine Station.

I was once hunting in 1885 with a Boer friend (Cornelis van Rooyen) near
the Umfuli river in Mashunaland. We were riding slowly along, followed by
some Kafirs, and driving a donkey carrying corn for the horses in front of
us, when we saw what we took to be some boulders of black rock in the
open forest ahead, but some distance away, as we were crossing an open
valley at the time. In this particular part of the country great boulders of
black rock were a common feature in the landscape. Suddenly our donkey
pricked his ears, and stretching out his nose, commenced to bray loudly.
Immediately one of the black rocks, as we had thought them to be, moved,
and we soon saw that what we had taken for rocks were elephants. Our
donkey had smelt them before either my friend or myself or any of our
Kafirs had been able to distinguish what they were. As, however, elephants

are only occasionally encountered in forests through which great boulders
of black rock are scattered, I do not believe that these huge quadrupeds
have been moulded to the shape of rocks by the need of a protective
resemblance to inanimate objects, any more than I think that the abnormal
shape of certain ant-heaps has had anything to do with the production of the
high wither and drooping hind-quarters of the hartebeest.
As to the theory that the long neck and the peculiarly formed head of the
giraffe have been evolved in order to protect this remarkable animal against
its carnivorous foes, by giving it the appearance of a dead or decayed tree, I
personally consider such an idea to be so fantastic and extravagant as to be
unworthy of serious consideration.
In the course of my own hunting experience, I have shot a great many
giraffes to obtain a supply of food for my native followers, and under the
guidance of Bushmen have followed on the tracks of many herds of these
animals until I at length sighted them. In certain parts of the country
frequented by giraffes in Southern Africa, large camel-thorn trees (Acacia
giraffae) grow either singly or a few together amongst a wide expanse of
wait-a-bit thorn scrub, which is from 6 to 12 feet high. From time to time
these large trees die and decay, until nothing is left but a tall straight stem,
standing up like a telegraph pole (only a good deal thicker) amongst the
surrounding scrub. When, whilst following on giraffe spoor through such
country, something suddenly comes in view protruding from the bush,
perhaps a mile ahead, the Bushmen will stop and take a good look at it. Of
course at a very great distance it is impossible for even a Bushman to
distinguish between the tall straight stem of a dead tree standing up out of
low bush and the neck of a solitary old bull giraffe. But if the latter, it is
sure soon to move, unless it is standing watching its human enemies
approaching, in which case it will not be very far away, and I have never
known a Bushman to mistake a giraffe for a tree at any reasonable distance.
As regards the coloration of the species of giraffe inhabiting South and
South-Western Africa, it assimilates very well with its surroundings, when
amongst trees and bush; but as giraffes spend a great deal of their time
passing through open stretches of country on their way from one feeding-
ground to another, they are often very conspicuous animals.

With respect to the Somali giraffe (Giraffa reticulata), a photograph taken
by the photographer who accompanied one of Lord Delamere's expeditions,
showing some of these animals feeding amongst mimosa trees, gives the
impression of a most marvellous harmonisation of colour and arrangement
of marking with their surroundings. But I cannot help thinking that the facts
of the case have been very much exaggerated in this photograph, which has
eliminated all colours from the picture except black and white. In life, the
foliage of the mimosa is very thin, and I think it probable that the rich dark
chestnut blotches divided by white lines of the Somali giraffe would show
through it at least as distinctly as would the colours of the southern giraffe
in a like position. The Somali giraffe cannot constantly live amongst
mimosa trees, as these only grow in valleys near streams or dried-up
watercourses, and only cover a small proportion of any country I have yet
seen either in South or East Africa.
I must say that I rather distrust the camera as a true interpreter of nature, as
I have seen so many photographs of the nests of small birds in bushes in
which it was very difficult even for a trained eye to find the nest at all,
although in all probability it would have been comparatively easy to detect
these nests in the actual bushes in which they were placed.
Speaking of the Somali giraffe, Colonel J. J. Harrison, in a footnote to a
photograph of one of these animals shot by himself right out in open
country, which appeared in the Bystander for January 30, 1907, says:
"These handsome coloured giraffes are very striking when seen standing in
the sun. Of a rich bright chestnut colour, with pure white rings, they stand
out splendidly as compared with the dull grey colouring of the more
southern giraffe."
However, it appears to me that to whatever extent the coloration of the
various races of giraffes harmonises with their surroundings, that result
must have been brought about by the influence of their environment rather
than by the need of protective coloration, for I cannot believe that the
struggle for life against the attacks of carnivorous animals can have been
sufficiently severe to have influenced the colour and the arrangement of
markings in giraffes. That lions occasionally attack and kill giraffes is an
undoubted fact, and, as I shall relate in a subsequent chapter, I have also
known a case of a very young giraffe having been attacked by two leopards;
but in South Africa giraffes are found in the greatest numbers in those parts

of the country where, except during the rainy season, there is very little
surface water, and where other species of game are far from plentiful. Into
such districts lions do not often penetrate, and when giraffes are found in
country where there is plenty of water, zebras, buffaloes, and antelopes of
various kinds will also be numerous, and these animals will certainly be
preyed upon in preference. At any rate, my own experience would lead me
to believe that although lions can and do kill giraffes upon occasion, they do
not habitually prey upon these animals. Moreover, when giraffes are killed
by lions, they are in all probability followed by scent and killed in the dark.
Altogether, the theory that the colour of the giraffe has been evolved by the
necessity for concealment and protection from the attacks of carnivorous
animals does not seem to me to be at all well supported by the life-history
of that animal as seen by a practical hunter; but the fact that the coloration
of this remarkable animal assimilates very well with the dull and
monotonous shades of the trees and bushes in the parched and waterless
districts it usually frequents, is a strong argument in favour of there being a
law which, working through the ages, tends to bring the colours of all
organic beings into harmony with their surroundings, irrespective of any
special benefit they may receive in the way of protection from enemies by
such harmonious coloration.
Turning to the striped and spotted forest antelopes inhabiting various parts
of Africa, I think there is some misconception amongst naturalists who have
not visited that country as to the general surroundings amongst which the
various species live. The magnificent koodoo, with his long spiral horns,
striped body, spotted cheeks, nose marked with a white arrow, and throat
adorned with a long fringe of hair, is often spoken of as an inhabitant of
dense jungle. This is, however, by no means the case, for although koodoos
are never found on open plains, they are, on the other hand, seldom met
with in really dense jungle.
The range of the koodoo to the south of the Zambesi extends farther to the
south and west than that of the sable antelope, but I think I am justified in
saying that up to the time of the deplorable visitation of rinderpest in 1896,
wherever, between the Limpopo and the Zambesi, sable antelopes were to
be met with, there koodoos were also to be found, and outside of districts
infested by the "tse-tse" fly, excepting amongst rocky hills, I have never met

with the latter animals in any country where I was not able to gallop after
them on horseback.
Living as they do in surroundings so very similar to those frequented by
sable antelopes, I have never been able to understand why koodoos should
have such much larger ears than the former animals. I have never been
struck with the acute sense of hearing in koodoos as I have been in the case
of the moose of North America, and I should scarcely think that this sense
would often save them from the noiseless approach of such animals as lions
or leopards, to which they very frequently fall a prey, judging by the
number of the remains of koodoo bulls which I have found that had been
killed by the former animals.
I have often wondered whether the large size of the ears observable in the
African tragelaphine antelopes, which are all forests dwellers (with the
exception of the situtunga, which lives in dense beds of reeds), may not be
useful to them by enabling the males and females to hear one another's calls
during the mating season. The large ears and exquisite sense of hearing of
the moose, which is also a forest-dwelling animal, have undoubtedly been
developed for the purpose of enabling the males and females to find one
another in the breeding season, and not for protection against the attacks of
wolves. I have frequently heard both koodoos and bushbucks calling by
night and also in the early morning. The noise they make is a sort of bark or
cough.
Antelopes inhabiting open plains are very gregarious, and in the daytime
would always be able to find their mates by sight. I have never heard them
making anything but low grunting noises. As it is often assumed by
naturalists that all bush-haunting species of antelopes have very large ears,
it is perhaps worth noticing that in the little blue buck and the red bush
duiker of South-East Africa, which both live in dense jungle near the coast,
the ears are very small; whilst in the steinbuck, on the other hand, which is
always found in very open country and never in thick bush, the ears are
very large—both long and broad.
The coloration observable in the different races of bushbucks inhabiting
different localities, as well as in the situtunga and inyala antelopes, is, I
think, very interesting and suggestive. It may, I think, be taken for granted
that all the races of African bushbucks have been derived from an ancestral

form which was both striped and spotted; but in the bushbucks found near
the coast of the Cape Colony and Natal, the adult males are deep dark
brown in colour, often absolutely devoid of any white spots or stripes on
face or body, whilst the adult females are yellowish red, with only a few
white spots on the flanks. Now these most southerly of the African
bushbucks live in really dense bush, and often in deep ravines, where the
sun never penetrates. Their habitat too being near the sea-coast, the climate
must be damper than in the interior of the continent. In the northern parts of
Mashunaland and along the Central Zambesi and Chobi rivers the
bushbucks live in forest and bush which is seldom very dense, and through
most of which the sunlight plays constantly. In these districts the males are,
when adult, beautifully striped and spotted, and the ground colour of their
coats is rich red and dark brown, the females being of a dark rich red and
also well striped and spotted. The situtunga antelopes live (on the Chobi
and Central Zambesi) in immense beds of reeds which are always of one
dull monotonous greyish green or brown. The adult animals are, as might be
expected by those who believe in the direct influence of environment, of a
uniform light brown colour, except that the spots on the cheeks and the
arrow-shaped mark across the nose, present in most tragelaphine antelopes,
are still discernible. In the inyala antelope, which inhabits thick jungly
tracts of bush along the south-east coast of Africa, the adult male is of a
deep dark grey in general body colour, with a few scarcely visible vertical
white stripes. The young males and the adult females are, however, of a
brilliant light red colour, profusely striped and spotted with white. The
young of all bushbucks and of the inyala are reddish in ground colour,
striped and spotted with white. The fœtal young of the situtunga found in
the marshes of the Chobi are of the colour of a dark moleskin beautifully
banded and spotted with pale yellow, and it is, I think, a very remarkable
fact that these stripes and spots are identical in position with those found on
the adult Chobi bushbuck, which is strong evidence, I think, that both these
animals are descended from one ancestral form.
Now the only animal that preys habitually on bushbucks, inyalas, and
situtungas is the leopard, and as leopards hunt by night and by scent, I
cannot believe that the very different outward appearance of the various
races of bushbucks inhabiting different parts of Africa is to be accounted for
by the theory of protective coloration. The males and females of the Cape
bushbuck and of the inyala antelope are very different one from another in

the colour of their coats, but this does not seem to be prejudicial to either
sex, though there is absolutely no difference in their habits or their habitat.
In all the different races of bushbucks, however, with which I am
acquainted, the males are much darker in colour than the females, so that it
is not so very surprising that in the case of the inyala and the Cape
bushbuck the males should have been the first to lose their stripes and spots
in a sombre environment. In the case of the Cape bushbuck the adult
females have already lost all the stripes and most of the spots of the
ancestral form. The female inyala is, however, one of the most distinctly
striped and spotted representatives of the tragelaphine group.
I cannot see that facts support the opinion that the uniform dull brown
coloration of both sexes of the southern race of situtunga has been brought
about for the purpose of protection from carnivorous enemies. During the
daytime these animals live in the midst of beds of reeds growing in water
where they cannot be approached except by wading; but at night they are
often killed by leopards, and perhaps sometimes by lions, whilst feeding
just outside the reed beds, on open ground which has perhaps been recently
swept by a veld fire, and where young reeds and grass are just sprouting. At
such a time their actual colour can be of no more use in the way of
protecting them from their keen-scented feline foes than if it were black or
red or grey. To me it seems far more probable that the situtunga has
gradually lost the stripes and spots of the ancestral form from which it is
derived, and assumed a uniform dull brown coloration, because it has lived
for ages amongst reed beds of one dull monotonous colour, than because a
uniform brown coat affords it a special protection against carnivorous foes.
I gather from the writings of Mr. A. R. Wallace and other well-known
naturalists that, whereas the coloration of all animals is supposed to be due
to the need of protection from carnivorous beasts, many species have
developed in addition what are known as recognition marks, to enable them
to distinguish members of their own species from nearly allied forms, or to
help them to quickly recognise and rejoin the members of the herd or family
from which they may have been separated.
That many large mammals belonging to different genera, and living in
widely separated parts of the globe, are marked with conspicuous patches of
white on the rump, neck, or face, or throw up bushy tails when running,
showing a large white under surface, is an indisputable fact, though it is not

possible to say that the possession of such a conspicuous coloration is
absolutely necessary to the well-being of any particular species, because
there will nearly always be other species living in the same country, and
subject to the attacks of the same predatory animals, in which these so-
called recognition marks are absent. However, on the supposition that
carnivorous animals hunt by sight, it seems to me that no animal can be said
to be protectively coloured which is marked in any way so conspicuously as
to be recognisable by others of its own species at a distance, for it would be
equally recognisable by all predatory animals, and caribou and white-tailed
deer or African antelopes cannot escape from wolves or wild dogs by
running like rabbits into burrows.
Personally, I cannot see why large antelopes which live in herds on open
plains should require special recognition marks, as in such localities the
bulk of an animal's whole body would be plainly visible at a great distance
no matter what its colour might be. If an antelope became separated from its
fellows by night, all so-called recognition marks would be invisible at a
very short distance. It must be remembered, however, that every species of
animal has a peculiar and very distinctive smell of its own, and my own
observations would lead me to believe that most wild animals recognise one
another, as a rule, more by scent than by sight.
It seems difficult to believe that there can be any truth in the theory
suggested by Mr. Wallace, that recognition marks have been developed in
certain species of large mammals because they are necessary to enable
nearly allied species of animals to know their own kind at a glance, and so
prevent interbreeding; for the ranges of very nearly allied forms of one
genus, such as the various species of hartebeests and oryxes, or the
bontebok and the blesbok, very seldom overlap, and so each species keeps
true of necessity and without the help of special recognition marks. Where
the ranges of two nearly allied species do overlap interbreeding probably
will take place.
There seems little doubt that the species of hartebeest known as Neumann's
hartebeest has interbred with Jackson's hartebeest in certain districts where
the ranges of the two species meet. In the neighbourhood of Lake Nakuru,
in British East Africa, I shot, in February 1903, a hartebeest which was not
a Jackson's hartebeest, but which closely resembled an animal of that
species in the character of its horns and the measurements of its skull,

whilst all the others in the same herd appeared to be true Neumann's. I have
known too of one undoubted case of the interbreeding of the South African
hartebeest (B. Caama) with the tsessebe (Damaliseus lunatus).
This animal (an adult male) was shot by my friend Cornelis van Rooyen in
Western Matabeleland, where the ranges of the two species just overlap. In
coloration it was like a tsessebe, but had the comparatively bushy tail of the
hartebeest, whilst its skull and horns (which are, I am glad to say, in the
collection of the Natural History Museum at South Kensington) are exactly
intermediate between those of the two parent species. This skull has been
very unsatisfactorily labelled "supposed hybrid between B. Caama and D.
lunatus." But as, when I presented it to the Natural History Museum, I gave
at the same time a full description of the animal to which it had belonged,
which I got from the man who actually shot it, there is no supposition in the
matter. If the skull and horns in question are not those of a hybrid between
the South African hartebeest and the tsessebe, then they must belong to an
animal still unknown to science.
There is, I think, no large mammal in the whole world whose coat shows a
greater richness of bloom and a more abrupt contrast of colours than the
bontebok, so called by the old Dutch colonists of the Cape because of its
many coloured hide, for bont means spotted, or blotched, or variegated. The
whole neck, the chest, the sides and under parts of the head, and the sides of
the body of this remarkable antelope are of a rich dark brown, and the
central part of the back is of a beautiful purple lilac; whilst, in strong
contrast to these rich dark colours, the whole front of the face, a good-sized
patch on the rump, the whole belly, and the legs are of a pure and brilliant
white. In life, and when they are in good condition, a wonderful sheen plays
and shimmers over the glossy coats of these beautifully coloured animals,
which fully atones for the want of grace and refinement in the shape of their
heads and the heavy build of their bodies.
Now, a practical acquaintance with the very limited extent of country in
which the bontebok has been evolved, and where the survivors of the race
still live, makes it quite impossible for me to believe that the extraordinarily
brilliant colouring of this species of antelope can have been gradually
developed in order to make it inconspicuous and therefore difficult of
detection by carnivorous animals, nor can I believe that it has been evolved
for the purpose of mutual recognition between individuals of the species;

for although the snow-white blaze down the face or the white rump patch
might very well subserve such a purpose, I see no necessity, looking to the
habitat and the habits of the bontebok, for special recognition marks.
Now, before proceeding further, I think I ought to say a word as to the
points of resemblance and the differences between the bontebok and its near
ally the blesbok.
In the latter, the wonderful contrasts of colour to be seen in the former are
considerably toned down; but the difference between the two species is
merely superficial. The general body colour of the blesbok is dark brown,
but not so dark as on the neck and sides of the bontebok, and the delicate
purply lilac colour of the back in the latter species is altogether wanting in
the former. In the blesbok, too, the colour of the rump just above the tail,
which in the bontebok is snow-white, is brown, though of a paler shade than
any other part of the body. In the blesbok, too, the white face "blaze" is not
continuous from the horns downwards as in the bontebok, but is interrupted
above the eyes by a bar of brown. The legs, too, in the blesbok are not so
white as in the bontebok, and whilst the horns of the latter species are
always perfectly black, in the former they are of a greenish colour.
In a word, the differences between the bontebok and the blesbok are
confined to the intensity of the colours on various portions of their hides,
the former being much more brilliantly coloured than the latter.
Owing to the fact that the early Dutch settlers at the Cape first met with the
antelopes which they called bonteboks on the plains near Cape Agulhas,
and subsequently at first gave the same name to the nearly allied species
which was discovered about one hundred years later in the neighbourhood
of the Orange river, although these latter were undoubtedly blesboks and
not bonteboks, a great confusion arose between these two nearly allied
species, which I think that I was the first to clear up, in the article on the
bontebok which I contributed to the Great and Small Game of Africa,
published by Rowland Ward, Limited, in 1899. I cannot go into all the
arguments I then used, but there can be no doubt that the animals which
Captain (afterwards Sir Cornwallis) Harris first met with on the bontebok
flats near the Orange river, in the Colesburg division of the Cape Colony,
were blesboks and not bonteboks, and that all the millions of antelopes of
the same species which he subsequently saw to the north of the Orange

river and thought to be bonteboks were also all blesboks, and that he never
saw a bontebok at all until after his return to the Cape, when he made a
special journey to Cape Agulhas to secure specimens of that species, as he
was "anxious to ascertain whether the animal rigorously protected in the
neighbourhood of Cape Agulhas differed in any respect from that found in
the interior, as pretended by the colonists."
I think myself that the correct determination of the true distribution of these
two nearly allied species of antelopes is of the utmost importance to the
question as to the influence of environment on the coloration of animals.
I imagine that the white-faced bontebok was evolved from the same
ancestral form as the topi and the tiang of East and Northern Africa, for the
new-born bontebok as well as the blesbok has a blackish brown face, and I
believe—however fantastic this belief may appear to be—that the
wonderfully rich and varied coloration of this remarkable antelope has been
brought about purely through the influence of its exceptional environment.
The plains where these animals live lie along the shore of a deep blue sea,
the ground beneath their feet is at certain seasons of the year carpeted with
wild flowers, which grow in such profusion that they give a distinct colour
to the landscape, whilst above them rises a range of mountains of a
considerable altitude, the upper parts of which are often covered with a
mantle of pure white snow. I cannot imagine how any one who has seen
bonteboks on the plains they inhabit can believe that their white rumps,
faces, bellies, and legs, contrasting as they do so vividly with the dark rich
brown of their sides and necks, can afford them any protection against their
carnivorous foes; nor, although a white rump or face is a conspicuous mark,
can I see the necessity of recognition marks for animals which live on open
plains where the vegetation is short, and where an animal's whole body can
be seen at a long distance.
In the blesbok, which also lives on open plains, the white rump patch so
conspicuous in the bontebok has become pale brown, as, I think, through
the influence of the dull monotonous colours of the dreary, dull-coloured
country in which it lives. Ages ago no doubt the bontebok spread
northwards through the karroo into the countries beyond the Orange and the
Vaal rivers, but the gradual desiccation of the whole of South-Western
Africa, which has been going on for a very long time, must have gradually
driven all the bonteboks outside the Cape peninsula northwards to the

Orange river, and completely separated them from their relatives still living
near Cape Agulhas. These latter have retained all their richness of
coloration brought about by the influence of their very striking
surroundings, the deep blue of the sea, the snow on the mountains, and the
bloom of innumerable wild flowers. The northern herds moved into open
plains, in themselves very similar to the plains near Cape Agulhas, but they
are never carpeted with wild flowers, nor are they skirted by a deep blue
sea, nor ever overlooked by snow-covered mountains. Is it not possible that
the differences which exist to-day between the coloration of the bontebok
and the blesbok are entirely the result of the absence of any kind of colour
but various monotonous shades of brown in the countries in which the latter
species has now been living for a long period of time?
Not only has the rich and beautifully variegated body colouring of the
bontebok become an almost uniform dark brown in the blesbok, but the
snow-white disc on the rump of the former animal has turned to a pale
brown in the latter, whilst the area of white on the face and legs of the
bontebok has already been considerably contracted in the blesbok.
Personally, I look upon the blesbok as a faded bontebok; faded because it
moved northwards out of the richly coloured environment in which it was
first evolved into the dull-coloured plains of its present habitat, where it
subsequently became isolated owing to the desiccation of the intervening
country.
Could the opening up of Africa by the destructive civilised races have been
delayed for a few hundred or a few thousand years, the blesbok would no
doubt have lost the white blaze down the face as completely as it has lost
the white disc over the tail, which is so conspicuous a feature in the
coloration of its immediate ancestor, the bontebok. To those who believe
that every spot or stripe or patch of colour on every animal is a beautiful
illustration of the truth of the theory of protective coloration, this may seem
a very fanciful idea. Yet I feel convinced that the influence of environment
has played a greater part than is generally believed in the evolution of
colour in living organisms. The weak point in the theory of protective
coloration when applied to large mammals is the fact that all carnivorous
animals are nocturnal and seek their prey habitually by night and by scent,
and only occasionally by daylight and by sight.

I submit that the beautiful case in the Central Hall of the Natural History
Museum at South Kensington—showing an Arctic fox, in its white winter
coat, approaching a Polar hare, also in winter dress, and an ermine (stoat)
hunting for ptarmigan (evidently by sight)—gives an entirely false view of
the struggle for life as carried on by animals inhabiting the Arctic Regions,
for it conveys the idea of the carnivorous animals of those snow-covered
wastes hunting for their prey in a bright light and by eyesight alone.
But the truth is that the Arctic winter, during the long continuance of which
all living resident creatures, with the exception of the musk ox, become
white,[3] is one long night, in the gloom of which the wolves and the foxes
and the ermines (stoats) search for and find their prey by scent alone, just as
foxes, stoats, and weasels do in this country. As long as a hare gives out any
scent at all, a fox will be able to follow and find it. The fact that the hare has
turned white in the snow-covered ground in which it is living will not help
it as long as it throws out the scent of its species, nor can it be shown that
the foxes of the sub-Arctic regions, which never turn white in winter, have
any greater difficulty in approaching and killing the white hares on which
they live than the white Arctic foxes experience in catching the Polar hares.
[3] I do not admit that the raven is a truly Arctic bird. Nansen, in Farthest North,
although he kept careful records of all the birds seen during the three years his
expedition lasted, never mentions having seen a raven, which I believe has only
penetrated into the Arctic Regions, as an excursionist, in comparatively recent
times, following the whaling ships, and living on the carcases of the whales and
seals killed.

There is one other point regarding the protection afforded by colour to large
mammals against carnivorous foes which I think has not been sufficiently
considered by naturalists, and that is, that no matter how well the colour of
an animal may harmonise with its surroundings as long as it remains
perfectly still, as soon as it moves "it jumps to the eyes," as the French say,
no matter what its colour may be. What is called protective coloration to be
effective must be motionless. Movement, even very slight movement, at
once destroys its efficacy. But no herbivorous animals can remain
constantly motionless. They lie down and rest certainly during the heat of
the day, which is, however, just the time when all carnivorous animals are
sleeping. At night and in the early mornings and late evenings they move
about feeding, and it is at such times that carnivorous animals hunt for their
prey. In the dark these latter are undoubtedly guided by scent and not by

sight, and I cannot see that it matters much to them whether the beasts on
which they prey are black or red or grey or spotted or striped; whilst, if they
should happen to be still hunting after daylight, any antelopes or other
animals feeding and moving about within their range of vision would at
once be seen whatever their colour might be. Every old hunter knows how
easy it is to overlook any animal, no matter what its colour or surroundings,
as long as it is motionless, and how easy it is to see it as soon as ever it
moves.
I have never yet heard any explanation given of the black, and therefore
most conspicuous, coloration of the Cape buffalo. If any animals needed
protective coloration buffaloes certainly did, for in the interior of South
Africa they formed the favourite food of the lion, and enormous numbers of
them must have been annually killed by these powerful carnivora, which
seemed to live with and follow the larger herds in all their wanderings.
It certainly seems very strange to me that giraffes, which are very seldom
killed by lions or other carnivora, should have found it necessary to evolve
a colour which harmonises with their surroundings, as a protection against
such foes, whilst buffaloes, which in many districts used once to form the
principal food for the lions living in the same countries, have retained
throughout the ages a coloration which is everywhere except in deep shade
singularly conspicuous. Altogether, a very long experience of the larger
mammals inhabiting Africa and some other parts of the world has
convinced me that neither the need of protection against carnivorous foes
nor the theory of recognition marks can satisfactorily explain all the
wonderful diversity of colour to be seen in the coats of wild animals.

CHAPTER III
NOTES ON THE LION
The lion—Native names for—Character of—Death of Ponto—Picture in
Gordon Cumming's book—Death of Hendrik—Number of natives
killed by lions—Usual mode of seizure—A trooper's adventure—
Poisonous nature of lion's bite—Story of the Tsavo man-eaters—Death
of Mr. Ryall—Story of the tragedy—Precautions by natives against
lions—Remains of a lion's victim found—Four women killed—Lion
killed—Carcase burned—Story of the Majili man-eater—Man-eating
lions usually old animals—Strength of lions—Large ox killed by
single lion—Buffaloes killed by lions—Ox slowly killed by family of
lions—Lions usually silent when attacking and killing their prey—
Camp approached by three lions—Various ways of killing game—
Favourite food of lions—Giraffes rarely killed by lions—Evidence as
to lions attacking elephants—Michael Engelbreght's story—Mr.
Arnot's letter describing the killing of an elephant cow by six lions.

Of all the multifarious forms of life with which the great African Continent
has been so bountifully stocked, none, not even excepting the "half-
reasoning elephant" or the "armed rhinoceros," has been responsible for
such a wealth of anecdote and story, or has stirred the heart and imagination
of mankind to such a degree, as the lion—the great and terrible meat-eating
cat, the monarch of the African wilderness, by night at least, whose life
means constant death to all his fellow-brutes, from the ponderous buffalo to
the light-footed gazelle, and fear, and often destruction too, to the human
inhabitants of the countries through which he roams.
How often has not the single word "Simba," "Tauw," "Shumba," "Silouān,"
or any other native African synonym for the lion, sent the blood tingling
through the veins of a European traveller or hunter; or when whispered or
screamed in the darkness of the night in a native village or encampment,
brought terror to the hearts of dark-skinned men and women!

When met in the light of day, a lion may be bold and aggressive, retiring, or
even cowardly, according to its individual character and the circumstances
under which it is encountered; but no one, I think, who has had anything
like a long experience of the nature and habits of these great carnivora can
doubt that by night, particularly on a dark rainy night, a hungry lion is a
terrible and terrifying beast to deal with.
One day towards the end of the year 1878, my friend Mr. Alfred Cross left
our main camp on the Umfuli river in Mashunaland, and taking an empty
waggon with him, went off to buy corn at some native villages about twenty
miles distant. That same afternoon he outspanned early near a small stream
running into the Umfuli, as a heavy thunderstorm was threatening. A kraal
was made for the oxen, behind which the Kafir boys arranged a shelter for
themselves of boughs and dry grass as a protection from the anticipated
downpour of rain. They also collected a lot of dry wood in order to be able
to keep up a good fire. The waggon-driver, a native of the Cape Colony,
made his bed under the waggon, to the front wheel of which Mr. Cross's
horse was fastened. As one of the hind oxen kept breaking out of the kraal,
it was tied up by itself to the hind yoke close in front of the waggon. The
trek chain, with the other yokes attached to it, was then stretched straight
out along the ground in front of the waggon. Soon after dark the
thunderstorm, which had been gathering all the afternoon, burst forth with
terrific violence. The rain fell in sheets, soon extinguishing the fires that had
been lighted by the Kafirs, and the blinding flashes of lightning which
continually lit up both heaven and earth with blue-white light were quickly
succeeded by crashing peals of thunder.
The storm had lasted some time and the rain had almost ceased, when the
ox which was tied up all alone to the after yoke of the waggon began to
jump backwards and forwards over the disselboom—the waggon pole.
Cross, who was then lying down inside the waggon, raised himself to a
sitting position, and whilst calling to the ox to quiet it, crawled forward, and
raising the fore sheet, looked out. Just then a vivid flash of lightning lit up
the inky blackness of the night just for one brief moment. But the brilliant
light revealed to my friend every detail of the surrounding landscape, and
showed him with startling distinctness the form of a big male lion lying flat
on the ground not ten yards in front of the frightened ox, which it would
probably already have seized, had it not been for Cross's loud shouting. The

lion had been no doubt creeping silently towards its would-be prey, which
had already become aware of its proximity, when my friend's voice caused
it to halt and lie flat on the ground watching. By this time Cross's dog, a
well-bred pointer, which had been lying on the driver's blankets under the
waggon, had become aware that something was wrong—though the lion
was no doubt making its approach against the wind—and was standing just
behind the ox, growling.
Directly the position of the lion was revealed to him by the lightning, Cross
seized his rifle, and calling to the waggon-driver to jump up and hold his
horse, took aim in the direction of the crouching brute, waiting for another
flash of lightning. This was not long delayed, and showed the lion still lying
flat on the ground close in front of the waggon. Cross fired at once.
Encouraged by the report of the rifle, poor Ponto rushed boldly forward,
past the terrified ox, into the black night, barking loudly. A yelp of fright or
pain suddenly succeeded the bold barking of the dog, and poor Ponto's
voice was stilled for ever. He had rushed right into the lion's jaws, and had
been instantly killed and carried off. Fires were then made up again, but the
lion, apparently satisfied with a somewhat light repast, did not give any
further trouble. On the following morning Cross could find no part of Ponto
but the head. All the rest of him had apparently been eaten.
I remember even to-day, and with perfect distinctness, though I have not
seen it for many years, a certain picture in Gordon Cumming's well-known
book on African hunting, and the fearful fascination it always had for me
when I was a small boy. That picture represented a great gaunt lion in the
act of seizing one of the hunter's Hottentot servants—poor Hendrik—as he
lay asleep by the camp fire; but it left to the imagination all the horror and
agony of mind suffered by the poor wretch, when so rudely awakened at
dead of night and swiftly dragged away into the darkness to a cruel death, in
spite of the gallant attempts of his comrades to save him.
During the sixty odd years that have elapsed since this tragedy was enacted
on the banks of the Limpopo, many a similar incident has taken place.
Some of these occurrences have come within the knowledge of, and been
described by, European travellers and hunters, yet these have been but
isolated cases, and can only represent a very small percentage of the
number of natives that have been dragged away from their camp fires, or
even killed in their huts, by hungry lions within recent times.

As a rule, I think, a lion seizes a sleeping man by the head, and in that case,
unless it is a very old and weakly animal, death must be usually
instantaneous, as its great fang teeth will be driven into the brain through
the thickest negro skull.
I have known of two instances of men having been seized at night by the
shoulder. This, I think, is likely to happen to a sleeping man lying on his
side with one shoulder raised, especially if his recumbent form should
happen to be covered with a blanket, in which case the most prominent part
of him would very likely be mistaken by a lion for his head.
In the early 'nineties of the last century, two troopers of the British South
Africa Company's Police started one afternoon from the neighbourhood of
Lo Magondi's kraal to ride into Salisbury, the capital of Mashunaland, a
distance of about seventy miles. They rode until dark, and then off-saddling
their horses, tied them to a tree, and after having had something to eat and
cooked a pot of tea, lay down by the side of the camp fire they had kindled,
intending to sleep until the moon rose and then continue their journey by its
light. About midnight, however, and when it was very dark, for the moon
had not yet risen, a prowling lion came up to their lonely bivouac, and,
disregarding their horses, seized one of them by the shoulder and at once
dragged him away into the darkness. His companion, awakened by his
cries, quickly realised what had happened, and snatching up his rifle, ran to
his friend's assistance and fired two or three shots into the air in quick
succession. This so startled the lion that it dropped its prospective supper
and made off. The wounded man, it was found, had received a severe bite in
the shoulder when the lion first seized him, but fortunately had not suffered
any further injuries, and was able to proceed with his friend to Salisbury as
soon as the moon had risen. He had to be sent to the Hospital on his arrival
there, as, although his hurts were not very serious, any wound indicted by
the teeth of a lion is, as a rule, very difficult to heal unless carefully
attended to at once and cauterised with a strong lotion of carbolic acid. Dr.
Livingstone has described how he suffered for years from the bite of a lion;
and I have myself seen wounds from the teeth of one of these animals in a
horse's neck, which had never been properly attended to, still suppurating
thirteen months after they had been inflicted; whilst, on the other hand, I
have seen wounds from the bite of a lion, which were cauterised at once,
heal up very quickly and never reopen.

Of all the lion stories that I have ever heard or read, I think none equals in
dramatic interest the thrilling narrative of Mr. J. H. Patterson's[4]
experiences with two man-eaters during the construction of the Uganda
Railway in 1898. This very remarkable story, a brief account of which I first
read some years ago with the most absorbing interest in the Field
newspaper, has now, I am glad to say, been incorporated in the record of his
experiences in East Africa which Colonel Patterson has recently published
under the title of The Man-Eaters of Tsavo. Mr. Patterson (as he then was)
at last succeeded in ridding the country of both of these dread beasts, but
not before they had killed and eaten twenty-eight Indian coolies employed
upon the construction of the Uganda Railway, and caused such a panic
through the country-side, that at one time it looked as if the building of the
railway would have to be abandoned altogether for the time being.
[4] This gentleman greatly distinguished himself in the late South African War,
and is now Lieut. Col. Patterson, D.S.O.

The death of Mr. C. H. Ryall, the Assistant Superintendent of the East
African Police Force, who was killed by a man-eating lion inside a railway
carriage on the Uganda Railway, is also a most interesting episode, as it
shows how extraordinarily bold a hungry lion may become, when in search
of prey during the hours of darkness.
When in East Africa a few years ago, I met both the other two Europeans
(Mr. Huebner, a German, and Mr. Parenti, an Italian) who were in the
carriage with Mr. Ryall when he was killed, and I heard the story of the
tragedy from their lips.
The railway carriage in question, which contained a small saloon and an
adjoining servants' compartment, had been pulled on to a siding, close to a
small station on the Uganda Railway, in order to give its occupants the
chance of getting a shot at a man-eating lion which had lately been giving
trouble in the neighbourhood—either as it came prowling about during the
night or by hunting it up the next morning. There was a small window on
each side of the little saloon, and a sliding door at the end of the carriage.
Both the windows and the door were wide open. Mr. Ryall took the first
watch, and seems to have taken up a position on one of the seats of the
carriage, with his back to the open window. His head and shoulders would
therefore probably have been visible to the eyes of a nocturnal animal from
outside.

Mr. Huebner turned in and went to sleep on one of the top berths in the
carriage, and Mr. Parenti made his bed on the floor. It is probable, I think,
that Mr. Ryall also went to sleep after a time. What happened afterwards I
will now relate as it was told to me by Mr. Parenti. "I was awakened from a
sound sleep by the sensation of a weight holding me down on the floor, and
for a moment was unable to move. Then the weight was taken off me, and I
raised my head with a jerk. My face immediately came in contact with a
soft hairy body, and I became conscious of a disagreeable smell. In an
instant I realised that there was a lion in the railway carriage, and that at
that moment it was killing poor Mr. Ryall, as I heard a sort of gurgling
noise, the only sound he ever made."
Mr. Huebner seems to have awakened at the same time, and to have at once
jumped down on to the floor of the carriage, where he and Mr. Parenti and
the lion were all mixed up together. At this time the weight of the lion and
the struggling men combined slightly tipped the carriage to one side,
causing the sliding door to close automatically, and thus materially
increasing the horror of the situation. Mr. Parenti, as soon as he could
collect his thoughts, made his escape from the carriage through the open
window opposite to the one against which poor Mr. Ryall had been sitting
when the lion seized him, and Mr. Huebner burst open the door
communicating with the smaller compartment occupied by Mr. Ryall's two
Indian servants, who, having become aware that there was a lion in the
other room with the "Sahibs," were holding the door against the crowd with
all their strength. Mr. Huebner, however, who is a heavy, powerful man,
soon overcame their resistance.
To do it justice, this lion does not seem to have had any wish to make itself
unnecessarily disagreeable. It wanted something to eat, but, having got hold
of Mr. Ryall, seems never to have paid the smallest attention to any one
else. In all probability, I think, it had seen its victim's back and head from
outside against the open window, and, coming round to the open door, had
entered the carriage and made straight for him, treading on Mr. Parenti's
sleeping form as it crossed the floor. It seized Mr. Ryall by the throat just
under the jaw, and must have reared itself up, probably resting its fore-paws
on the seat of the carriage, to have done so. Mr. Ryall must have been killed
by the first bite almost instantaneously, as he never seems to have struggled
or made any noise but a low gurgling sound.

The windows of the carriages on the Uganda Railway are small, but after
having killed Mr. Ryall, this lion—a big male—succeeded in carrying off
his body through the comparatively small opening. It probably never
relaxed its hold on his throat until it had got his dead body safely out of the
carriage and pulled it away to some distance.
The half-eaten remains of the unfortunate man were recovered the next day
nearly a mile away from the railway carriage in which he had met his death;
but the lion was nowhere to be found, and in spite of a large reward offered
for its destruction, it was some time before this bold and dangerous beast
was disposed of. At last, however, it was caught alive in a big cage-trap
made by a Mr. Costello, who at that time was the station-master at
Makindu, on the Uganda Railway. After having been photographed, this
lion was shot. This photograph was shown me by Mr. Costello himself, who
told me that the captured animal was old and mangy, with very worn teeth
and claws, and a short, scrubby mane. He thought that there could be no
reasonable doubt that it was the lion that had killed poor Mr. Ryall, but of
course nobody can be absolutely certain on this point.
Natives living in very small communities, in wild districts where game
being still abundant, lions also are consequently fairly numerous, are often
troubled at night by these animals. In such cases a man-eating lion usually
proves to be an old and almost worn-out beast, which having grown too
weak to catch and kill its usual prey, has been driven by hunger to approach
the haunts of men. Urged on by its desperate need, such a lion knows no
fear, and will not hesitate to enter a small native village or even to force its
way into a hut in search of food.
In 1879, whilst hunting elephants in the country to the east of the Chobi or
Quito river, I met with a very primitive tribe of natives living in families or
very small communities in isolated villages along the bank of the river.
Their huts were of the flimsiest description, being formed of a light
framework of poles, over which a few grass mats had been stretched; but
the two or three, up to half a dozen, ill-made huts which formed each
village were always surrounded and protected by a carefully made stockade,
the poles forming which were all sharpened at the end and hardened by
having been charred in the fire, and so placed that they slanted outwards
and would have been very difficult to surmount from the outside. The

natives informed me that they had taken this trouble as a defence against
lions.

"HE HAD EVIDENTLY BEEN SITTING OR LYING BY A FIRE
WHEN CAUGHT."
One morning, in this same district, I came upon most of the skeleton of a
man who had been killed and eaten by a lion a few days before. He had
evidently been sitting or lying by a fire when caught, and had probably been
overtaken by darkness when on his way from one village to another. This
man's spears lay close to his bones, so that he must have been holding them
in his hand when he was seized. None of my Kafirs would touch them.
Apparently it was not etiquette to meddle with the belongings of a dead
man, though I think that most of the members of my retinue would not have
been above stealing anything they might have found lying about, belonging
to a live one.
In April 1878 a lion entered a small Banyai village near the river Umay, in
Northern Matabeleland, a short time after I had left it, and, not being able to
make its way into any of the huts through the small doorways, all of which
had been very carefully barricaded, climbed on the roof of one of them, and
tearing away the grass thatching, forced its way in from the top. There were

three or four women inside the hut, and it killed them all; but, having
gorged itself, was apparently unable to make its escape through the roof
again, and was speared to death by the men of the village the next morning
through the framework of the hut, after the mud plaster had been removed
in places.
A native servant of my own, whom I had left behind in this village, was
present when this lion was killed, and he told me that, as soon as it was
dead, a huge bonfire was built, on which the carcase of the man-eater was
thrown, and the fire kept up until it was quite consumed.
The most cunning and destructive man-eating lion—probably because it
was not an old and weakly animal, but in the prime of life—that I ever
heard of in South Africa was one which once haunted the neighbourhood of
the Majili river, a tributary of the central Zambesi from the north. I gave
some account of the doings of this bold and ferocious beast in the course of
an article which I contributed to the pages of the Fortnightly Review some
twenty years ago, and as I have the kind permission of the editor and
proprietor of that publication to do so, I will now retell the story as I
originally heard it from one of my own native servants shortly after the
occurrences related took place.
In the early part of 1886 two half-caste elephant-hunters, Henry Wall and
Black Jantje—the latter for several years both before and after this time a
trusted servant of my own—crossed the Zambesi at its junction with the
Quito or Chobi, in order to hunt elephants in the country to the north
between the Majili and Ungwesi rivers.
They soon heard from the natives that there was a man-eating lion in the
district which had already killed several people, and they were therefore
careful to see that a strong fence was made every night behind their camp,
and sufficient dry wood collected to keep up good fires during the hours of
darkness. The two half-civilised hunters were accustomed to sleep by
themselves within a strong semicircular fence, the open end of which was
protected by a large fire. All but one of their native boys—wild Batongas
and Masubias—slept together, lying in a row with a strong fence behind
them and a succession of fires near their feet. The boy who would not sleep
with the others, always lay by one or other of the fires by himself.

One night, Henry Wall, who was a very light sleeper, and had perhaps been
dreaming of lions, was awakened, as he afterwards declared, by the sound
of a low growl or purr close to him. Springing to his feet, he shouted out,
"De leeuw is hier!" ("The lion's here!"); "wake up, Jantje!" But Jantje and
all the Kafirs were fast asleep, and it was not until they had been awakened
and questioned that it was discovered that the man who had been lying by
one of the fires all alone was gone. Where he had gone and why was not left
long in doubt, for almost immediately a lion was heard eating his remains
close behind the encampment. Henry Wall and Jantje at once fired in the
direction of the sound, on which the lion retired to a safer distance with its
prey.
As soon as it was broad daylight, the hunters took up the spoor of the lion,
which was, they told me, quite easy to follow through the dewy grass. It
was not long before they saw it walking slowly along with its head half-
turned, holding the dead man by one shoulder, so that his legs dragged at its
side. As soon as it became aware that it was being followed, it dropped its
prey, and wheeling round, stood looking at its pursuers, twitching its tail
and growling angrily.
Henry Wall, who was a very good shot and a cool and courageous man,
now tried to fire, but the old, clumsy, muzzle-loading elephant gun he was
using only snapped the cap. At this juncture Jantje, who was a little to one
side, was unable to fire because there was a bush in his way, and before
Henry Wall could get another cap on the nipple of his gun, the Kafir who
carried his second weapon fired at and missed the lion, which instantly
turned and, running into a patch of bush, made good its escape.
On examination, it was found that the dead man had been seized by the
head. He must have been killed instantaneously, as the two upper canine
teeth had been driven through the top of the skull, whilst one of the lower
ones had entered beneath the jaw and broken the bone. During the night the
corpse had been disembowelled and all the flesh eaten off the thighs and
buttocks.
A few days later, a native family was attacked not far from the scene of the
episode I have just recounted, and almost certainly by the same lion.
All over Africa, wherever game is plentiful, it is customary for the natives,
at the season when their crops are ripening, to build huts in their fields, in

which they spend the night and endeavour to keep buffaloes, elephants, and
all kinds of antelopes out of their corn by shouting and beating tom-toms.
The huts are often built on the top of platforms raised ten or twelve feet
above the ground and reached by a ladder. The native family in question
occupied two huts—a large one built on the ground and a small one on the
top of a platform. The large hut was occupied by a woman and her two
children, whilst her husband kept watch alone in the little open hut above.
One night the dread man-eater of the Majili came prowling round, and
scenting the native on the platform, either sprang up and seized him with its
teeth, or more probably, I think, half clambered up by the help of the ladder,
and dragged him from his shelter with its claws. At any rate, it bore him to
the ground and speedily killed him, but not before he had made a good deal
of noise, as reported afterwards by his children. His wife, awakened by the
cries of her husband, opened the door of her hut and rushed out, leaving the
two children inside. The lion at once left the man, who was then dead, and
seizing the woman, quickly killed her. It never returned to the body of the
man at all, but ate all the fleshy parts of the woman, retiring into the bush
before daylight, and never revisiting the corpses.
All through the dry season this lion kept the natives in the neighbourhood of
the Majili river in a constant state of alarm, and whilst adding steadily to the
number of its victims, baffled every attempt made to hunt it down and
destroy it. After having been away for some months, hunting elephants in
the country farther north, Henry Wall and Black Jantje once again camped
on the Majili river on their way back to the Zambesi, and for the second
time the man-eater paid them a visit. This time Jantje was awake, and
hearing, as he told me, a low purring growl, jumped up, calling out, "Daat's
de leeuw wieder!" ("That's the lion again!").
At the same time one of the Kafirs stood up holding his hand to his head.
"What's the matter with you?" asked Jantje, going up to him.
"I don't know," answered the man; "something hit me on the head."
At this moment Jantje saw by the light of the fire blood running down his
neck, and called out, "Wake, wake, it was the lion I heard! Wake, wake, and
see if every one is here!"

It soon appeared that one of the Kafirs was missing, and this is no doubt
what had happened. The lion must have crept or sprung in amongst the
sleepers, and seizing one of them by the head, must have killed him
instantly and carried him off. But in doing so it must have struck the man
lying next him on the head with one of its paws, and inflicted a slight scalp
wound with one of its claws. The body of the man who had been carried off
was not recovered, because, as Henry Wall and Jantje told me, the rest of
the Kafirs would give them no assistance in following up the lion the next
day.
This dangerous man-eater was at last mortally wounded by the spears of
two young men whom it attacked in broad daylight close to a small native
village. One of these youths died the same evening from the mauling he
received in the encounter, but he had driven his spear into the lion's chest
when it attacked him, and his companion had also struck it in the side with
a light throwing spear. The next day, all the men from the two or three little
villages in the neighbourhood turned out and followed up the bloody tracks
of the wounded lion. They had not far to go, for the grim beast lay dead,
with the two spears still sticking in it, within a short distance from the spot
where it had attacked the two young men the previous day. As is the custom
when man-eating lions are killed in the interior of Africa, a great quantity of
dry wood was then collected, and a huge fire lighted, on which the carcase
was thrown and utterly consumed.
There is one rather curious fact in connection with the history of this
notorious man-eating lion which I omitted from the first account I wrote of
its doings, but which I will now relate, as it is of interest. Soon after dark on
the night of the second attack on their camp, Henry Wall and Jantje and all
their boys heard the sudden rush of an affrighted herd of buffaloes, which
had been feeding in the open ground between their camp and the Majili
river. Suddenly there was the loud and agonised bellow of a buffalo in pain
and terror, and they all knew that one of these animals had been seized by a
lion. The following morning they found a buffalo cow lying dead not two
hundred yards from their camp, with its head twisted in under it and its neck
dislocated. It had the claw-marks usual in such cases over the muzzle and
on the shoulder, showing the manner in which it had been seized, but after
having been killed it had not been touched. The tracks of the lion, however,
led from the carcase of the buffalo to the hunters' camp, and I think that

there can be no doubt that it was the same animal which killed the buffalo
that a few hours later carried off a human being. If so, it proves two things.
Firstly, that this man-eating lion must have been in its prime, for it requires
a strong and vigorous male lion to kill a full-grown buffalo cow or a heavy
bullock neatly and quickly by breaking its neck; and secondly, that it
preferred human flesh to that of a buffalo. It must either have seen the
gleam of the camp fires for the first time immediately after it had killed the
buffalo, and abandoned the carcase in the hope of obtaining more succulent
food, or, if it was aware of the neighbourhood of the hunters' camp before it
attacked the buffalo, it must have killed the latter out of sheer mischief.
Though similar cases of lions becoming confirmed man-eaters when in the
prime of life and still in the enjoyment of their full strength and vigour do
from time to time occur—the celebrated Tsavo man-eaters which played
such havoc amongst the construction camps on the Uganda Railway were
reported to have been far from old—yet it cannot be denied that in the vast
majority of cases a lion only takes to killing human beings in its declining
years, and when its strength is failing.
On this subject, Dr. Livingstone wrote many years ago: "A man-eater is
invariably an old lion, and when he overcomes his fear of man so far as to
come to villages for goats, the people remark, 'His teeth are worn, he will
soon kill men.' They at once acknowledge the necessity of instant action
and turn out to kill him."
Speaking generally, nothing truer could have been written than these
sentences; but there are exceptions to every rule, and when a strong and
vigorous lion does take to preying upon human beings, it is naturally not so
easy to hunt down and destroy as would be an old and weakly beast, whose
"teeth are worn."
An adult male lion is probably possessed of greater strength in proportion to
its size and weight than any other African animal. It will kill with
astonishing ease and dexterity a full-grown buffalo cow or the heaviest
bullock, and probably sometimes a buffalo bull or a giraffe. I never
remember, however, to have seen the carcase of an old buffalo bull that had
palpably been killed by a single lion, whilst I have shot several buffalo bulls
that had escaped from lions after receiving very severe wounds from their
teeth and claws. I once had a very good opportunity of noting the manner in

which a big male lion killed a heavy ox, which would certainly have scaled
more than twice its own weight. This ox was killed during the night, but as
the lion was immediately driven from the carcase, it had no time to inflict
any wound upon it other than those made when it first seized its victim, and
the ground being soft from recent rain, every step taken by both the ox and
the lion during the brief struggle was plainly visible. The lion had evidently
crept close up to where the ox was lying (within forty yards of my waggon),
and had either attacked it where it lay or just as it was rising to its feet. It
had not jumped upon its victim, but throughout the struggle had always kept
its hind-feet on the ground. The only wounds that had been inflicted on the
ox were claw-marks on the nose and on the top of the left shoulder-blade,
and the lion had evidently seized it by the muzzle with its left paw and on
the top of the shoulder with the right, and had simply held it, pulling its
head in towards its chest. The ox had plunged forward, dragging the lion
with it for a few yards, and had then fallen with its head twisted right under
it and its neck dislocated. Whether the lion had broken the ox's neck by its
own strength, or whether the dislocation was due to the way in which it fell
with its head twisted in under it, I cannot say; but my experience is that
when a single lion tries to kill an ox or a buffalo, it invariably seizes it over
the muzzle with one paw, and usually succeeds in either breaking its
victim's neck or causing it to break it itself by its own weight in falling.
When several lions attack an ox or buffalo, they will often bite and tear it all
over and take a long time to kill it. Upon several occasions I have listened
to the protracted bellowing of buffaloes being thus mauled to death. Upon
one occasion a party of five lions stampeded my oxen as they lay round the
waggon, and very soon seized and pulled down one of them. The wretched
creature bellowed most fearfully, and must have been suffering terribly.
Hastily lighting torches of long dry grass, several of my Kafirs and I ran to
help it. The blazing grass scared the lions off, and they left the ox before the
light of the torches reached them. The wounded animal immediately got up
and rushed off again into the darkness, but had not gone far before its loud
bellowing told us the lions had got hold of it once more. They took some
time to kill it, but its agonised bellowings gradually died away in low
moans, until at length all was again quiet. During the approach of these five
lions to my camp, and the subsequent chase and long-drawn-out killing of
the ox, not one of them made the slightest sound; and as far as my own
personal experience goes, with one exception, whenever lions have

reconnoitred or attacked my camp at night, and bitten or killed any of my
native followers or cattle or horses, they have done all their stalking and
killing without making a sound. If disturbed, however, they always growl
loudly. On the occasion I have referred to as an exception to this rule, three
lions—as we learnt the next morning by the spoor—came quite close up to
my bivouac one night in Northern Mashunaland, and one of them gave a
very loud roar which woke us all up. I was travelling at the time with a
small cart and eight oxen, which were tied to the yokes, and were right in
the open, unprotected either by fires or any kind of kraal or fence. My two
horses were tied to one of the wheels, and my few native servants and
myself were lying close to them, with a small fence of soft bush behind us.
The three lions that came so near us in the night could not have been very
hungry, or they would assuredly have seized one of my oxen. Perhaps the
one that so suddenly roared only did so with the idea of frightening the
oxen, and if one of them had broken the raw hide thong with which it was
fastened to the yoke, and run off away from our camp, all three of them
would very likely have pursued and killed it. Fortunately, neither my oxen
nor my horses showed much fear on this occasion, and although the former
pulled a bit, they did not break their thongs, and we soon quieted them and
then built up some big fires. The lions passed on up the little river near
which we were camped, and before long began to roar loudly, a pretty good
sign, I think, that they had already dined and were not hunting. Why, when
a family of four or five lions are hunting together, one of their number being
an old male, they should kill an ox so much less artistically than the old
male would have done, if he had been alone, I do not know. Possibly the
eagerness of each member of the party renders a scientific attack by any one
of them impossible, or perhaps the older lions allow the younger ones to do
the killing for practice. There is no doubt, I think, that lions know that the
head, throat, and the back of the neck are the most vital spots in all animals
on which they prey. Human beings are nearly always seized by the head or
neck; horses, donkeys, and zebras are almost invariably killed by bites in
the back of the neck just behind the ears, or by bites in the throat; whilst
they either dislocate the necks of heavy animals like buffaloes, or hold them
in such a way that they can hardly help falling and breaking their own
necks. The lion which broke the neck of one of my oxen, as I have
described above, escaped punishment when it returned to the carcase the
following evening owing to my rifle missing fire. It then visited a mining

camp close at hand, and forcing its way into an enclosure in which there
were fourteen sheep and goats and one calf, it killed every one of these
unfortunate animals. I shot this lion early the following morning and then
examined its victims. Every one of them, the calf as well as the sheep and
goats, had been killed by a single bite in the head. In each case the upper
canine teeth had been driven through the top of the skull or the back of the
neck just behind the ears. I once came on a young elephant only a few
minutes after it had been killed by a lion. The only wounds I could find
were deep tooth-marks in the throat.
Lions kill and eat every kind of wild animal in Africa with the exception of
the Pachydermata—though they occasionally catch and kill a young
elephant or rhinoceros that has been separated from its mother—but as long
as buffaloes and zebras are plentiful in the countries they inhabit, they will
kill far more of these than of any other animal. Quaggas and Burchell's
zebras probably formed their chief food on the plains of the Cape Colony,
the Orange River Colony, and the Transvaal before those countries were
settled by Europeans; whilst farther north, where great numbers of buffaloes
frequented the neighbourhood of every river, the lions lived almost entirely
on these animals, following the herds in all their wanderings, just as in
North America the prairie wolves were always in attendance on the bisons.
Giraffes are sometimes killed by lions, but according to my experience only
very rarely; no doubt because they must be very awkward animals to pull
down, and also for the reason that, generally speaking, they inhabit dry,
waterless stretches of country, throughout which game is usually only
sparsely distributed and into which lions do not penetrate.
Although I have excluded the Pachydermata from the list of animals on
which lions prey, there nevertheless seems to be good evidence that these
carnivora do sometimes attack and kill good-sized cow elephants.
I well remember an old Boer hunter, Michael Engelbreght, telling me of an
unsuccessful attack made by lions on a cow elephant within a short distance
of the shooting hole where he was lying one night watching for elephants
coming to drink at Tamasanka vley on the old road to the Zambesi. This
incident had occurred only a few nights before I met Engelbreght at the vley
in question. But it happened so long ago (in 1874) that I cannot remember
anything more than that the elephant was held up by the lions for some
hours, and that the trumpeting of the former was accompanied by the loud

growling of the latter, and that when my informant examined the ground
where the combat had taken place, the next morning, he found a great deal
of thorn bush trampled down by the elephant, and some blood on the
ground. The former, however, although probably it had been badly bitten in
the trunk and legs, had kept the lions from its throat, and had finally beaten
them off and made good its retreat. Michael Engelbreght was at that time a
man of over sixty years of age, and as he had been a hunter from his youth
upwards, in the golden days of South African hunting, he must have had a
vast experience of the habits of wild animals, but I well remember that he
spoke of this incident of an elephant having been attacked by lions as
wonderful and almost incredible.
I have, however, heard of another case of an elephant having been attacked
and killed by lions.
When passing through Kimberley in 1895, I met my old friend Mr. F. S.
Arnot, who has done such splendid work as a pioneer missionary in Central
Africa, and who is an absolutely reliable man, and he then told me a story
of an elephant having been killed by lions near Lake Mweru. Hearing last
year that Mr. Arnot was in England, I wrote and asked him if he would
kindly tell me this story again, as I wanted to put it on record. In the course
of his answer to my letter Mr. Arnot wrote: "The lion story I told you may
appear rather tall to some, but when travelling between Lakes Tanganyika
and Mweru, in November 1894, and when skirting the northern end of the
great Mweru Marsh—a regular elephants' stronghold—my men suddenly
left me en masse—they were a raw set of men—returning presently with
elephant flesh. They then told me that our guides having informed them that
they had that morning seen six hungry lions attack and pull down a full-
grown cow elephant, just ahead of where we then were, they had left me so
suddenly in order to drive the lions off and get some meat. Unfortunately, I
did not see the lions myself, but there could be no doubt about the truth of
our guides' statement, for I saw the lions' spoor and the carcase of the dead
elephant. The tusks were very small, but my men brought them. They may
have weighed from four to five pounds each."
As the tusks were so small, this elephant could hardly have been a full-
grown cow; but it must have been a good-sized animal, probably a young
cow about three-parts grown. It is a great pity that Mr. Arnot did not
examine the carcase carefully and ascertain exactly how the elephant had

been killed. As the natives, however, asserted positively that they had seen
six lions attack and kill it, and as Mr. Arnot is fully convinced that their
story was true, I think it ought to be accepted as a fact, especially as cases
of full-grown elephants having been killed by tigers in India and Burma
have been put on record.

CHAPTER IV
NOTES ON THE LION (continued)
Depredations of lions in Mashunaland—Sad death of Mr. Teale—Great
slaughter of pigs by a lioness—Mode of entering a cattle kraal—
Method of killing prey—Sharpness of lion's claws—Mode of seizing a
horse in motion—Lion chasing koodoos—Lions lying in wait for oxen
—How a lion charges—Black Jantje's story—Numbing effect of lion's
bite—Cruelty in nature—Appearance of wild lions—Colour of eyes—
Lions at bay—A crouching lion—A lucky shot—The cat a lion in
miniature—A danger signal—Social habits of lions—Troops of lions
—Lions on the Mababi plain—Difference between cubs of one litter—
Individual differences in lions—Great variation in the development of
the mane—Lion probably first evolved in a cold climate—Still found
in Europe in the time of Herodotus—Effect of cold on growth of lion's
mane.

When a previously uninhabited piece of country is invaded and settled up
by a tribe of natives or by Europeans, lions are always very troublesome, as
they look upon all the newly introduced domestic animals as some new
species of game specially brought into the country for their benefit.
For the first few months after Mr. Rhodes's pioneers entered Mashunaland
in 1890, I kept as accurate an account as I could of the number of horses,
donkeys, oxen, sheep, goats, and pigs that were killed by lions, and it soon
amounted to more than two hundred. During the same time two white men
were killed and several others severely injured by lions. The saddest case
was that of a young man named Teale, who had come to Mashunaland in
the hope of making his fortune by market-gardening. He was outspanned
one night near a native village not far from Umtali, where he had gone to
buy grain. His four oxen were tied to the yokes, and he with his native
driver was sleeping on the ground beneath his two-wheeled cart, when he
was seized and carried off by a lion. What the lion did not eat of him, the

hyænas probably got, as nothing was ever found but his head and one foot
with the boot still on it.
A rather curious incident happened the following year at a farm on the
Hanyani river about forty miles from Salisbury. The owner of the farm—
from whom I heard this story (which was fully corroborated by his native
servants)—was breeding pigs, and had a large number of these animals in a
series of pens, separated from one another by low partitions, but all under
one thatched roof. One night a lioness managed to force her way into the
piggery between two poles, and after having satisfied her hunger, was
apparently unable to find her way out again, and either became angry or
frightened, or else must have been overcome with an almost insatiable lust
for killing. At any rate, she wandered backwards and forwards through the
pens and killed almost all the pigs, over a hundred altogether, each one with
a bite in the head or the back of the neck. She had only eaten portions of
two young pigs. She managed to effect her escape before daylight, but
returned the following night, and was shot by a set gun. I saw her skull,
which was that of a full-grown lioness with good teeth.
There appears to be a considerable difference of opinion as to the means
usually adopted by lions to effect an entrance by night into a cattle kraal or
a camp surrounded by a fence. They are often said to leap boldly over high
fences and stockades. In my own experience I have not known them do this.
They will walk through any opening in an enclosure, but in the absence of
such a means of ingress, I have always found that they got inside by
creeping through the fence, even when it was low and very thick and
thorny. I have known a lion to walk round and round a stockaded cattle
kraal, and at last force its way in by pressing two poles apart and squeezing
through the opening thus made. Should lions, however, be disturbed and
suddenly fired at whilst feeding on a bullock which they have killed inside
an enclosure, they will almost always jump over the fence in their hurry to
escape.
I have never seen any evidence of a lion's killing its prey by striking it a
heavy blow with one of its paws, and I believe that it always endeavours to
kill by biting, and only uses its claws for holding or pulling an animal to its
mouth. I have seen both a lion and a lioness bayed by dogs repeatedly throw
out their fore-paws like lightning when one of these latter came near them;
but the movement was not in the nature of a blow, but rather an attempt to

hook one of the dogs in their claws and draw it to them. Lions, I think, must
often lose their prey through the very sharpness of their claws, which cut
like knives through the skin and flesh of a heavy animal in motion. I have
known several instances of a lion overtaking a horse that had only had a
short start. In such a case a lion will not land with a flying leap right on to a
horse's back. It gallops close along the ground until it is almost under the
horse's tail, and then, rearing itself up on its hind-legs, seizes it on either
flank, endeavouring to hold it with the protruded claws of its great fore-
paws. But almost invariably in such a case it fails to stop a galloping horse,
its claws simply cutting great gashes through skin and flesh. I once saw a
lion chasing four koodoos in broad daylight, though on a cold cloudy
morning. It was galloping after them flat along the ground as hard as it
could go, and looked like an enormous mastiff, especially as, though a
male, it had but little mane. On another occasion, late one evening, I saw a
lion and two lionesses lying in wait for some cattle of mine which were
feeding towards them. Every now and then one or other of the lions would
raise its head for a moment above the grass to see that the oxen were still
coming on, lowering it again after one quick look. But for my intervention,
these lions would probably have lain quite still until one or other of the
oxen had fed close up to them, when they would have seized it by the head
before it had time to turn. As lions nearly always hunt by scent and by
night, they no doubt come up wind and approach as near as possible to a
herd of game before making an attack, and probably often lie quite still
until some animal feeds right on to them. In a country where game is
plentiful, one would imagine that on a dark night lions must have but little
trouble in securing food, and this is no doubt the case, as these carnivora
become excessively fat wherever game is really plentiful.
When a lion charges, it does not come on in great leaps, nor does it strike its
adversary a crushing blow with its paw. It comes along close to the ground
like a great dog and bites, often so low that its forefeet can hardly be off the
ground. Two Boer hunters of my acquaintance were both of them first bitten
in the thigh. Shortly after the opening up of Mashunaland, too, an
Englishman and a Dane were both seized in the same way by charging lions
when hunting near the Pungwe river, in Portuguese East Africa, the latter
dying from his wounds. In 1877 an Englishman was charged by an
unwounded lion in Mashunaland and severely bitten in the groin; and in the
following year, in the same locality, an old Hottentot servant of mine was

badly bitten in the small of the back when running away from a charging
lion which he had previously wounded. All these wounds were so low down
that they must have been inflicted when the lion's forefeet were on the
ground. On the other hand, many cases are on record of men standing
facing charging lions being seized by the left forearm and sometimes by the
shoulder. I do not remember to have heard of a case of a man being bitten in
the head in a frontal charge, but one of my old servants, "Black Jantje,"
described to me very minutely the way in which he saw from a distance of
only a few yards a Bushman killed by a wounded lion. When the lion
charged every one ran, and just as "Black Jantje" reached a small tree, it
dashed past him and the next instant caught up to a Bushman. It appeared,
Jantje told me, to rear itself up, and placing a forepaw on each shoulder,
gave the unfortunate savage a bite in the head. There were no wounds on
the man's shoulders, but his skull was bitten through, and he was dashed to
the ground with such violence that the skin was knocked off both his knees.
The wounded lion made no further attack, but walking slowly away to the
foot of a neighbouring tree, lay down and presently died within a few yards
of its dead enemy. Two cases have come within my experience of lions
charging home, and after having thrown their adversaries to the ground with
one severe bite, leaving them without further molestation. I have known
personally a number of men who had been mauled by lions. Every one of
them was bitten, not struck by the lion's paw. Indeed, most of them were
absolutely untouched by the lion's claws.
I once made the acquaintance of a fine old Boer hunter with whom I
subsequently became very intimate, just after he had been very severely
mauled by a lion. On asking him if he had felt much pain when the lion was
biting him—he had eleven deep tooth wounds in the one thigh, besides
others in the left arm and hand, and described the lion as having "chewed"
him—he answered, "Ja, ik at byung sair gekrij" ("Yes, I felt much pain");
and some Kafirs have also told me that they have suffered much when
being bitten by lions. It is possible that old Petrus Jacobs and my Kafir
informants did really feel some pain at the time when they were being
bitten, but in the case of Europeans, at any rate, who probably possess very
highly-strung nervous systems, all the first-hand evidence I have been able
to gather goes to prove that the bite of a lion or a tiger is practically
painless. I imagine that the reason of this is, that the tremendous energy
exerted by a lion in biting is equivalent to a heavy blow, which produces

such a shock to the nervous system that all sensation is for the time being
deadened, as it would be by a heavy blow from a sledge-hammer. I do not
think that any kind of wounds from either blows or bullets or bites are
likely to give any appreciable pain if inflicted swiftly when the blood is up;
but they become painful enough very soon afterwards. When animals are
killed quickly by lions, they too probably suffer very little, if at all, but no
one who has listened, as I have done, to the bellowing of an ox or a buffalo
being killed by inches could possibly say that such an animal's sufferings
were not very great. I once had a fine stallion donkey killed by a hyæna
within a short distance of my bivouac. It had first been seized between the
hind-legs by its foul assailant, and its screams were perfectly heart-rending,
and haunted me for a long time afterwards. My Kafirs and I ran to the poor
brute's assistance at once, but were too late to save it, as a great hole had
been torn in its belly, out of which half its entrails were hanging. No; it is
useless for the scientist or the divine to tell an old hunter that there is no
cruelty in nature, because the man who has spent many years of his life in a
wild country knows by actual experience that such an assertion is not true.
But let me return to my lions.
In appearance a full-maned, well-proportioned lion lying in peaceful repose
in a European menagerie, gazing placidly and thoughtfully out of sleepy,
brownish yellow eyes at the human crowd beyond the bars of its cage, is a
truly dignified and majestic-looking animal; and if a fine specimen of a
wild lion could be viewed at close quarters and at a moment when it was
lying or standing with its massive mane-encircled head well raised, content
with itself and all the world, after a good meal, and entirely unconscious of
danger, it also would doubtless look both dignified and majestic, though I
doubt if it could ever look quite so reposeful as the typical lion of the
picture-books; for although wild lions are sometimes caught fast asleep,
they are usually alert and watchful. I have spoken of the eyes of lions that
have grown up in captivity as being brownish in colour and somewhat
sleepy in expression, and that is the impression I have received from
looking at the lions in the Zoological Gardens in Regent's Park. On the
other hand, I remember the colour of the eyes of wild lions as being of a
flaming yellow, which retains its fierce brilliancy for many hours after
death. Should a lion be shot through the loins and injured in such a way
that, its hind-quarters being paralysed, it can be closely approached without
danger, its fierce eyes seem ablaze with bright yellow flame, and give

complete expression to the awful fury by which it is possessed. It is worth
mentioning, I think, that when visiting the Zoological Gardens at Clifton, a
couple of years ago, I noticed that the eyes of the lions and tigers there were
in most cases of a flaming yellow, as they are, according to my experience,
in wild lions. In some of them, however, the eyes were brownish and
sleepy-looking.
When walking, wild lions hold the head rather low, lower than the line of
the back, and although, when suddenly encountered, they will raise it for a
moment to take a look at the intruder, they will soon lower it again and
either trot away with a low growl or else stand watching. A wild lion looks
his best and his worst, intensely savage but not at all majestic, when
standing at bay. I have the pictures of four male lions, that I had chased on
horseback and brought to bay, very vividly impressed on my memory. One
was wounded, though only slightly, the other three as yet untouched. They
all stood fairly facing me, their heads held well down below their mane-
crowned shoulders, their fierce yellow eyes gleaming, and their ears laid
flat, like the ears of an angry cat or leopard. All the time they stood at bay
they kept up a constant succession of loud, rumbling growls and flicked
their tails continually from side to side, throwing them suddenly into the air
before charging with louder, hoarser growls.
In one respect the behaviour of these four angry lions was quite different
from that of an angry cat or leopard, or even tiger. There was no suspicion
of snarling about them. Their mouths were held slightly open, but instead of
the upper lip being drawn up so as to expose the upper canine teeth, it was
drawn down so as to completely cover them. They stood thus with their
mouths held slightly open, growling savagely and twitching their tails from
side to side, until two of them charged before I fired at them, and the other
two I fired at and killed before they could make up their minds to charge.
Now this abstention from all suspicion of snarling which I remember so
well in the case of four different lions when driven to bay, and the fact that I
do not carry in my mind the picture of any lion snarling that I have ever
shot, makes me wonder whether it is correct to depict an angry lion as
snarling like an angry cat or leopard. This is a small matter, no doubt, but
one which I think it is worth while inquiring into, as if an angry lion really
does not snarl, it differs in this respect from all other members of the cat
tribe.

I once galloped almost on to a lion lying flat on the ground in grass only
about a foot in height before I saw it. When I at last made it out, I was
directly in front of, and probably less than twenty yards away from it. As I
pulled my horse in, this lion had its head pressed down on its outstretched
paws and its eyes were fixed upon me. Had I ridden by, it would certainly
never have moved until I had got out of sight. As I raised my rifle and
looked down the barrel to align the sights upon its head, I saw the black tuft
of hair at the end of its tail flicked lightly from side to side, and the fore-
paws, that had been stretched out straight beyond its nose, drawn slowly
under its breast, without its head or body being perceptibly raised. I knew
the lion was on the very point of charging, but my horse kept breathing hard
and I could not get my sight steadily fixed below its eyes. Then, just as I
saw the crouching beast's hind-quarters quivering, or rather moving gently
from side to side, I fired, and luckily my bullet struck it just between the
eyes, and crashing into its brain, killed it instantly, so that it never moved,
but still lay crouching on the ground, struck dead at the very last moment
before starting on its charge. Since that time I have on several occasions
watched a cat when stalking a bird go through every movement made by
that lion—the same apparently involuntary twitching of just the end of the
tail, the same drawing-in of the fore-paws beneath the chest, and then the
wavy movement of the loins just before the final rush. As lions are very
nocturnal in their habits and usually hunt by night, it is, of course, very
unusual to see them approach and kill their prey, but from the above related
experience I imagine that every movement made by a lion in approaching
and finally making a rush upon an antelope or zebra is exactly represented
in miniature by a cat stalking a bird or rabbit. It is as well to remember that
if a lion, after standing for a short time growling at you and whisking its tail
backwards and forwards round its hind-legs, suddenly stiffens it and throws
it straight into the air at right angles to the line of its back two or three
times, it is a danger-signal and means charging. A lion may often charge
without throwing its tail straight up, but I believe that it will never throw its
tail up without charging.
PLATE SHOWING DIFFERENCES IN THE DEVELOPMENT OF
THE MANE IN LIONS INHABITING A COMPARATIVELY SMALL
AREA OF COUNTRY IN SOUTH AFRICA.

The skins from which these figures have been drawn are all in the
possession of the Author, and are all three those of fully adult animals.

No. 1.—Lion killed on the upper Hanyani river in Mashunaland in
June 1880.

No. 2.—Lion killed on the Umzingwani river near Bulawayo in
Matabeleland in September 1887.

No. 3.—Lion killed on the Botletlie river, near the Makari-kari Salt-
pan, in May 1879.

The African lion appears to be more gregarious than any other of the
Felidae, and the male is certainly addicted to polygamy. Often a lion or a
lioness may live and hunt for a time by itself, and very old animals are
probably always solitary, as an old lion would be driven away from the
females by younger males, and an old female would probably be badly
treated by younger animals of both sexes. Sometimes two or even three
males will hunt together for a time. More often a male lion may be met with
accompanied by from one to four females, some of which latter may be
followed by cubs of different ages and sizes. A family party consisting of
one old male lion, three or four adult females, and several cubs, some of
which may stand almost as high at the shoulder as their mothers, would
constitute what the old Boer hunters would have called "en trop leeuws" (a
troop of lions). In parts of Africa where game is, or was, very abundant,
there are many authentic records of over twenty lions having been seen
together. In his article on "The Lion," published in the Badminton Library
Series, Mr. F. J. Jackson, C.B., has noted the fact that on August 7, 1890, he
and Dr. Mackinnon came across a troop of twenty-three lions near
Machakos in East Africa. This troop consisted of three male lions with
splendid dark manes, five or six lionesses, and the rest cubs. I have come to
the conclusion that such large assemblages of lions as this, in which there
are several full-grown males, are, in all probability, only of a very
temporary nature, the chance meeting and fraternisation of several families
which, as a rule, live and hunt apart; since I believe that the passions of love
and jealousy would not allow two or more males to live permanently in the
company of lionesses without fighting. When a troop of lions is met with, in
which, besides a full-grown male and some females and small cubs, there
are also one or two good-sized young males with small manes, I believe
that they are the offspring of the old male and one or other of the adult
females, and that they have lived and hunted with the troop since cubhood.
Such young males are probably not driven away to hunt by themselves until
they commence to aspire to the affections of one of the females of the party.
In 1879 I encountered two pairs of male lions hunting in company in the
Mababi country to the north of Lake N'gami. I shot the first pair, and should
certainly have killed both the others had I only had a rifle and a few
cartridges with me when I first saw them, as they were right out on an open
plain from which the grass had been burnt, far away from the nearest bush,
and I was riding the best hunting horse I ever possessed. The two lions

which I shot were large and heavy, apparently just in their prime, and the
other pair also appeared to be full-grown animals. Now the Masarwa
Bushmen living near the Mababi plain—and these wild people are
extraordinarily acute observers—declared that they knew both these pairs of
lions well, and said that each pair were the cubs of one mother, and had
been hunting together since cubhood. Curiously enough, in the case of both
these pairs of lions the two animals living and hunting together differed
from one another very much. In each case one was of a very dark colour all
over, with a dark mane, whilst the body of the other was of a pale yellow,
and it had scarcely any mane at all. A few days after encountering the
second pair of lions, a friend and myself came upon two lionesses on the
same open plain, both of which we shot. One of these lionesses was on the
point of giving birth to three cubs, which we cut out of her womb. Two of
these cubs were males, and they differed very much one from another in
colour even before birth. One was very dark indeed, owing to the blackish
tint of the tips of the hairs of its little fluffy coat. The other was of a reddish
yellow. The fur of the female cub was also of a much lighter colour than in
the dark male. Now I cannot but adhere to the opinion which I wrote down
in my diary at the time, that these two male lion cubs would, had they lived,
have grown up into animals differing very much in appearance one from the
other. The dark cub would have become a dark-skinned, dark-maned lion,
the lighter coloured one a yellow lion with probably very little mane.
Commenting upon such a case as the above, Mr. R. Lydekker, in one of his
recently published zoological essays, says that when light- and dark-maned
cubs are met with in the same litter it is due to crossing between lions of
different races. Mr. Lydekker has also stated that "with regard to the lion, it
has now been ascertained that the black-maned and tawny-maned
specimens belong, in most cases at any rate, to distinct local races."
The objection to this theory is that you cannot classify all African lions
under two heads, the black-maned and the tawny-maned. Dealing with this
subject in 1881, and referring only to the skins of lions I had seen which
had been killed in the country between the Limpopo and the Zambesi, I
wrote as follows: "I cannot see that there is any reason for supposing that
more than one species (of lion) exists, and as out of fifty lion skins scarcely
two will be found exactly alike in the colour and length of the mane, I think
it would be as reasonable to suppose that there are twenty species as two.

The fact is, that between the animal with hardly a vestige of mane and the
far handsomer but much less common beast with a long flowing black mane
every possible intermediate variety may be found." Since that time I have
seen a great many more skins of lions shot in the country to the south of the
Zambesi, as well as a number from limited areas of country in East Africa
and in Somaliland, and it appears to me that the lions of these two latter
very limited areas show exactly the same variations as regards colour and
profuseness of mane as their congeners in the more southerly parts of the
continent.
I have seen the skins of many lions and lionesses in South Africa, which
seemed to be those of full-sized animals though they may have been young
in years, showing very well-defined red-brown spots on the legs, flanks,
and belly. The old Boer hunters, indeed, had a name for such lions, "bont
pod leeuws" (spotted-footed lions), which some of them maintained
belonged to a distinct species. I once, however, showed the skins of five
lions, which I had recently shot in Mashunaland, to a well-known Boer
hunter. One was that of a large male with a fine dark mane. This he declared
to be the skin of a "swart voer-leif leeuw" (lion with the front part of the
body black); whilst the skin of a lioness which showed a good many spots
on the legs and belly, he declared to be that of a "bont pod leeuw, de kwai
sort" (spotted-footed lion, the vicious kind). As, however, these two animals
were consorting together when I shot them, I do not believe that they
belonged to different species or even races. I am inclined to think that lions
showing spots on the legs and belly, when adult but still not old, might very
likely lose them in later life.
In regard to wild lions, it may be said, as a general proposition, that the
mane usually grows round the neck and on the chest only, with a
prolongation from the back of the neck to behind the shoulder-blades.
Sometimes large full-grown male lions will be practically maneless.
Occasionally specimens will be met with in which the entire shoulders as
well as the neck will be covered with mane. When writing of lions in 1881,
I stated that I had never seen the skin of a wild lion in which the whole
belly was covered with long hair, as is so often the case with lions in
captivity in this country, though I had seen full-maned wild lions with large
tufts of long dark hair on the elbows and in the flanks. A few years later,
however, Lo Bengula, the last chief of the Matabele, gave me the skin of a

lion which had been killed near the upper course of the Umzingwani river,
not far from Bulawayo, with a very fine mane. In this specimen the tufts of
hair in the flanks were very profuse, almost meeting across the belly, and
there were a few long hairs all over the under parts of the skin. There is
also, I think, good evidence to show that in the more southerly portions of
South Africa lions not infrequently developed a growth of long hair all over
their bellies; for not only are all the lions figured by Captain (afterwards Sir
Cornwallis) Harris so adorned, but there is now in the Junior United Service
Club in London a mounted specimen of a South African lion with not only
an extraordinary wealth of mane covering the whole of the fore-part of the
body, but also with a thick growth of long hair all over its belly. This lion is
said to have been killed near the Orange river about 1830, probably, I
should think, on the bontebok flats, near Colesberg, in the Cape Colony,
though possibly on the plains to the north of the river. Now, personally I
believe that cold has more to do with the development of a lion's mane than
anything else. The winter cold of the high plateaus of the Cape Colony, the
Orange Colony, and the Southern Transvaal is much more severe than in
any part of Africa where lions exist to-day, and Harris's drawings and the
mounted specimen of the lion I have above referred to, which was killed
near the Orange river long ago, show that wild lions sometimes attained
very profuse manes and had their bellies covered with long hair in that part
of Africa. To-day, lions with really fine manes are never found except in
countries where the nights are cold during the winter months, such as the
Athi plains, the Uas N'gishu plateau, the high downs of Matabeleland and
Mashunaland, and the Haud of Somaliland, as well as other elevated
regions. In the Pungwe river district some few lions attain fairly good, but
never, I believe, extraordinarily profuse manes. Only a certain proportion of
the lions found on high and cold plateaus have, however, fine long dark
manes. Many have very poor manes, but it seems to me impossible that
there can be more than one species of lion in so confined an area. In the
hotter parts of Africa, lying below the level of the more elevated plateaus, I
think I am correct in saying that lions never get fine manes, and the hotter
the climate, the poorer on the average the manes will be. The fact that the
high, cold plateaus are always open grasslands free from thorn-bush, whilst
the lower parts of the country are usually covered with scrubby bush and
thorny thickets, has led many people to think that lions have poor manes in
bush-covered countries because the thorns tear out the hair; but I think that

this is quite a mistaken idea, for in the western part of Matabeleland, in the
neighbourhood of the Ramokwebani and Tati rivers, where the winter
nights are very cold, although the whole country is covered with forest,
much of it dense thorn-bush, the lions used sometimes to grow very fine
long manes. Personally, therefore, I am convinced that climate is the main
factor in the production of a lion's mane, and possibly very high feeding
may help to produce certain exceptionally fine animals. As the high
plateaus of Southern and Eastern Africa have, before the advent of
Europeans, always teemed with great multitudes of zebras and antelopes,
and in some cases buffaloes as well, the lions of the high and cold plateaus
have most certainly always been well fed. The lions living in the Pungwe
river district too must, before the advent of Europeans, have been
exceptionally well fed.
It has always seemed to me that in Africa and India, where, although the
nights may be cold, the sun is always hot, a heavy mane must be more or
less of a nuisance and encumbrance to a lion; and I believe that such a
wonderful growth of hair must be a reversion to an ancestral adornment
first evolved in a cold climate.
The fossil remains of the so-called cave lion (Felis spelaea), which have
been discovered in great abundance in the cave deposits of Pleistocene
times in Western Europe, are said by Professor Boyd Dawkins to present
absolutely no osteological or dental character by which they can be
distinguished from those of existing lions, and I think that we are therefore
justified in believing that the lion was first evolved in a cold climate, and
that in the course of ages it gradually spread south and east, following the
migrations of the game on which it preyed. It probably entered Africa
before that continent was separated from Europe by the Mediterranean Sea,
at the same time as the ancestors of the giraffes, antelopes, buffaloes,
elephants, and rhinoceroses of to-day, and accompanied them through
Eastern Africa right down to Cape Agulhas. Some lions remained in Europe
long after the separation of Africa from that continent, and even in the time
of Herodotus these animals appear to have been still common throughout
South-Eastern Europe.
As the ancient cave lions which roamed the woods and plains of Western
Europe co-existed with bears, mammoths, reindeer, elk, wild cattle, and
other denizens of a cold country, there can be little doubt that their coats

were thick and furry in both sexes, whilst a heavy mane would have been an
adornment to the males without being an encumbrance.
That the flowing mane and shaggy hair on the belly of the male lion were
first evolved in a cold climate is, I think, proved by the undoubted fact that
there is an inherited tendency in all lions to grow a mane, which is crippled
and dwarfed by a hot climate but encouraged by exposure to cold. Quite
recently there was a fine lion in the Zoological Society's Gardens at
Regent's Park which was presented by Messrs. Grogan and Sharpe. This
animal was caught near the Pungwe river, in South-East Africa, and brought
to England by these gentlemen when quite a small cub. When full-grown it
developed a very much finer mane than I believe has ever been seen in a
wild lion that has come to maturity in the part of Africa from which it was
brought. Similarly, some thirty years ago there was a very fine lion in the
Society's Gardens which was brought by Colonel Knox from the Soudan.
Colonel Knox took me to the Gardens to see this animal, and pointed out to
me the fact that it had developed a far finer mane (extending much farther
back over the shoulders and under the belly) than any man had ever seen in
a wild lion in the country from which it came. Lion cubs brought to this
country from India also grow fine manes, though I do not think that there is
any record of a lion ever having been shot in India with anything more than
a fairly good mane. The fact that lion cubs captured in any part of Africa or
Asia, and brought up in the comparatively cool and damp climate of
Western Europe, always—or nearly always—grow fine manes, which
usually cover the whole shoulders and often extend all over the under-
surface of the body, and the further fact that in the hotter parts of Africa
lions always have very scanty manes, but on the high, cold plateaus often
develop good, and occasionally very luxuriant manes, appears to me to
show that a heavily maned lion is a reversion to an ancient ancestral type,
first evolved in Pleistocene times in a cold and inclement climate.

CHAPTER V
NOTES ON THE LION (concluded)
Method of opening a carcase—Removal of paunch and entrails—Lions
skilful butchers—Paunch and entrails not usually eaten—Lions not
bone-eaters—Will eat putrid meat—Will sometimes devour their own
kind—Number of cubs at birth—Check on inordinate increase of
carnivorous animals—The lion's roar—Diversity of opinion
concerning its power—Probable explanation—Volume of sound when
several lions roar in unison—A nerve-shaking experience—Lions
silent when approaching their prey—Roar after killing—And in
answer to one another—Lions only roar freely in undisturbed districts
—Lions essentially game-killers—But change their habits with
circumstances—Killing lions with spear and shield—Bambaleli's
splendid courage—Lions killed by Bushmen with poisoned arrows—
Behaviour of domestic animals in the presence of lions—Cattle
sometimes terrified, at other times show no fear.

When once a lion or lions have killed an animal they almost always open
the carcase at the point where the skin is thinnest, that is, in the flank just in
front of where the thigh joins the belly. They then at once tear off and eat
this thin skin and the flesh attached to it, and all the skin and flesh covering
the paunch and entrails, which latter they then proceed to remove from the
carcase. The neatness and cleanliness with which lions can take the inside
out of an animal they have just killed has always struck me as little short of
marvellous. Every one who has had to do much cutting up of large animals
knows how easy it is to tear the skin of the paunch and get some of its
contents on the meat, and African natives are nearly always very clumsy
and dirty in this respect. Lions, however, are able to remove the paunch and
entrails from the carcase of a large animal as skilfully as a trained butcher.
The offal itself is dragged away to a distance of ten yards or so, and then
covered with earth or grass, which is scratched up and thrown over it. As a
rule, lions certainly do not eat the paunch and entrails of any animals which

they may kill, but I once had occasion to search through a refuse-heap left
by a party of lions near the carcase of a buffalo they had killed, in the hope
of finding some scavenger beetles of a rare species, and I found that it
contained nothing but vegetable matter—the contents of the buffalo's
stomach. If the lions had not eaten the entrails and the covering of the
paunch, I do not know what had become of them. This refuse-heap as usual
had been thickly covered with earth and grass, which had been scratched up
from all around it. Once the inside of a carcase has been removed, the liver,
kidneys, heart, and lungs are eaten, with all the fat adhering to them. Then
the carcase is again torn open at the anus, and the soft meat of the buttocks
is devoured in great lumps, which are swallowed whole with the skin
attached. No lion will ever scrunch up heavy bones like a hyæna, but should
he kill an animal in good condition, he will swallow all the comparatively
soft bones of the brisket, and also gnaw off the ends of all the rib-bones.
The idea that lions will not eat the flesh of any animal which they have not
killed themselves is quite erroneous. It would, indeed, be more correct to
say that as long as lions can find dead animals to eat, they will not take the
trouble to hunt. Nor are they at all particular as to the condition of any
carcase they may chance to come across. As long as there is any meat left
on it, they will eat it, and I have known lions to remain for days in the
neighbourhood of the putrid carcases of elephants, on which they fed
nightly, in preference to hunting for fresh meat, although game of all kinds
was plentiful in the neighbourhood. Two instances of lions eating the flesh
of one of their own kind have come under my personal observation, and
although such a practice is undoubtedly of unusual occurrence, yet I should
imagine that, provided hunger and opportunity were both present, there are
few lions that would disdain a meal off the carcase of an individual of their
own species.
Although I am informed that lionesses in captivity often give birth to four,
and sometimes to as many as five or six cubs, in the wild state the usual
number is certainly three, and of these a large number, for some reason
which has never been ascertained, never reach maturity, for it is seldom that
lionesses are met with accompanied by more than two large cubs, and they
often only rear one.
It is an axiom that all birds and mammals living in countries where the
climatic conditions are favourable, and where they have no enemies, will

increase in numbers up to the limit of the food-supply available for them.
When the ground becomes overstocked, diseases break out, which only the
strongest and healthiest animals are able to resist, and these survivors
perpetuate the race, which will once more increase and multiply up to a
certain point. But what is it that checks the inordinate increase of
carnivorous animals? They certainly do not go on increasing in numbers up
to the limit of their food-supply, otherwise there are many parts of Africa in
which, before the advent of the white man, lions, leopards, cheetahs,
hyænas, and wild dogs, not to mention all the smaller carnivora, would have
increased to such an extent that they would gradually have denuded the
country of all herbivorous animals, and would then have died in large
numbers themselves, till in the end there would have been few animals of
any kind left. But such catastrophes never occur. Wherever, before the
advent of the white man, game was very plentiful in Africa, lions and all
other carnivorous animals were also numerous, but the meat-eaters never
increased to such an extent as to reduce the numbers of the grass-eaters on
which they preyed. Let us take the Pungwe district in South-East Africa for
example. In 1891 I found the country both east and west of the Pungwe
river teeming with game, particularly buffaloes and zebras, the favourite
food of the lion. Up to that time no Europeans had ever hunted or in any
way disturbed the wild beasts in that country, and the few scattered natives
living there were timid and ill armed, and certainly never killed or
interfered with lions, which animals therefore were absolutely without
enemies. As this state of things must have endured for centuries, or more
probably for untold thousands, of years, why had not the lions and other
carnivorous animals, living as they had been doing in such a well-stocked
preserve, increased up to the limit of their food-supply? They certainly had
not done so up to 1891, the year the white man first entered the country, and
at once of course changed all the natural conditions. Many lions certainly
seem to die in early cubhood, and this may be a provision of nature to check
their inordinate increase; but that neither they nor any other species of
carnivorous animal in Africa ever become so numerous, under the most
favourable conditions, as to seriously diminish the numbers of the animals
on which they prey is a well-ascertained fact.
Lionesses, I believe, only give birth to cubs at long intervals, for although I
have often seen young lions and lionesses with their mothers which must

have been at least two years old, I have never seen a lioness accompanied
by cubs of different ages.
One of the most distinguishing characteristics of the lion, and the one which
perhaps differentiates it more than anything else from all other members of
the cat tribe, is its roar. During more than twenty years spent in hunting and
pioneering in the African wilderness, I have heard lions roaring under all
sorts of conditions: in the stillness of frosty winter nights, when the camp
fire blazed merrily, and as each fresh log was thrown upon it sent up
showers of sparks towards the cloudless, star-decked sky; or amidst the
crashing thunder-peals and blinding flashes of lightning of a stormy night
during the rainy season, when it was sometimes quite impossible to keep a
fire alight at all. On such a night, when sitting wet and cold amongst one's
Kafir boys, huddled up beneath the scanty shelter of a few boughs (for I
never carried a tent with me in South Africa), the roaring of lions is not
altogether a reassuring sound.
On a still night the roaring of lions can be heard at a very great distance,
and should a party of these animals roar loudly quite a mile away, I think
most people would imagine that they were within one hundred yards. One
reason, I think, for the diversity of opinion as to the power and volume of
the lion's roar is, that very few people have ever really heard several lions
roaring together quite close to them, although they may believe they have
done so. In 1891, and again in 1892, I spent some weeks travelling and
hunting in the country between Lake Sungwe and the Pungwe river, in
South-East Africa, and there was scarcely a night on both those trips when
lions were not heard roaring, often as many as three, and once four,
different troops of these animals appearing to be answering one another
from different points of the compass; but although on the second trip—I
was alone in 1891—my companions, who had not had much experience in
the veld, often thought the lions were very near us, I am sure they were
never within a mile of our camp.
When a party of lions are together, perhaps on their way to drink after a
meal, one of them will halt and breathe out from its expanded lungs a full-
toned note, which rolls afar across the silent wilderness. As it draws in its
breath for another effort, a second member of the party emulates the leader,
and then a third, a fourth, and a fifth perhaps will join in, and all of them
then seem to vie with one another as to which can produce the greatest

volume of sound, and it is a fact that at the climax of the roaring of a troop
of lions the whole air seems to vibrate and tremble. Of a sudden the grand
booming, vibrating notes cease, and are immediately succeeded by a series
of short, deep-toned, coughing grunts, which gradually die away to a mere
hissing expulsion of the breath. Then not a sound is heard until, after an
interval of a few minutes, the grand competitive roaring peals across the
lonely veld once more. During some few out of the thousands of nights I
have lain on the ground, beneath the stars, in the interior of South Africa, I
have heard lions roaring pretty near my camp; but never quite so near as
one dark night in 1879. I was returning from the Chobi river to where I had
left my waggons in the Mababi country, and was alone with five Kafirs.
One evening just at dusk we reached the last water-hole in the Sunta river.
We had made a long march in intense heat, as it was the month of
November, and were all so tired that we made no camp nor collected much
firewood, but just lay down on the sandy ground round a very small fire.
Not long after dark we heard a troop of lions roaring in the distance;
presently they roared again evidently nearer, and roaring magnificently at
intervals, they continued to approach until there could be no doubt that they
were coming down to drink at the water-hole close to our bivouac. This
water-hole was situated in the bed of the river at the foot of a steep high
bank on the top of which we were lying. A game-path led down into the
river-bed some fifteen yards away, and the lions were coming down this
path. The night was inky black, as the sky was overcast with heavy clouds,
for the rainy season was close at hand. Our fire had died down to a few
embers, and it was useless looking for wood in such darkness. I don't think
the lions ever noticed our dying fire, or ever had any idea of our close
proximity to the water-hole, as, after having roared about a quarter of a mile
away, they walked noiselessly past us along the game-path, and descending
to the river-bed, commenced to slake their thirst. We could hear them
lapping the water when they were drinking. They roared three times in the
river-bed just below us, and the volume of sound they emitted when all
roaring in unison was nerve-shaking. My Kafirs sat motionless and silent,
holding their hands over their mouths. There were no trees of any size near
us, only small bushes, so they could not make a run for it to any place of
safety. They confessed to me the next morning that when they heard the
lions roaring so near them "their hearts died," meaning that they were
terrified; and although I myself was not then of a very nervous disposition,

and moreover believed that when lions roared loudly they were not hungry,
and would therefore be unlikely to attack a human being, I was very glad
when they at last left the water and we heard them go roaring back to where
they had probably been feeding on the carcase of a buffalo or some other
animal before they came to drink.
I certainly do not believe that lions roar when approaching their prey, for
surely such a proceeding would be as foolish as it would be for a burglar to
whistle and sing whilst committing a robbery, but they will sometimes roar
loudly in the late evening or early night, just as they leave their lairs and set
out to look for prey. When moving about at night, lions sometimes give
vent to a low purring growl—very different in sound to a roar—which may
be a call-note to others of their party, and if driven off by shots from a horse
or an ox they have killed in the night, they will growl loudly. In
approaching a camp with the intention of killing oxen, horses, donkeys, or
human beings, lions are absolutely silent, as I believe they always are when
approaching any kind of wild game. I believe that lions often roar after they
have killed an animal and before commencing to feed, and at intervals
during the night, as they lie round the carcase, and they certainly often roar
when on their way to drink in the early hours of the night, but probably
after they have killed some large animal and made a meal. The roaring of
one lion or party of lions undoubtedly excites other lions within hearing to
roar in answer. I once heard several lions roaring loudly throughout the
night, and even after the sun had risen the next morning, and I found that a
solitary male lion had approached a party consisting of another male, two
females, and two large cubs, standing as high at the shoulder as the full-
grown females. The single male was, I imagine, jealous of his married
kinsman, but feared to engage in deadly combat with him, and so contented
himself by roaring defiance at his rival, who answered with counter roars,
in which his whole family joined. The next morning I just missed getting a
shot at the unattached lion, but killed the other, a very fine but hasty
tempered animal, as he charged me at sight without any provocation.
In countries where lions have long lived undisturbed by human beings, and
where they have really been the undisputed lords of the wilderness, they
roar very freely, and may often be heard even after the sun has risen. But
when white men suddenly invade a well-stocked game-country and disturb
its peace by continual shooting, lions gradually grow more and more silent,

till it becomes rare to hear one roar at all, though there may still be a good
many of them about. The African lion is essentially a wilderness hunter and
a game-killer, but when man, whether savage or civilised, encroaches upon
his preserves, killing or driving off the game, and bringing in cattle, sheep,
and goats in their place, then he preys upon these newly introduced animals
and wars with their guardians to the death.

"A PICKED MAN OF DAUNTLESS HEART ... WOULD RUSH
FORWARD ALONE...."
Before the introduction of firearms amongst the Matabele, these courageous
savages, though only armed with shield and spear, were accustomed to join
battle without a moment's hesitation with any lion or lions that interfered
with the cattle given over to their charge by their king. Full and drowsy
after his feed of beef, the marauding lion would not usually go far from the
carcase of the ox or cow he had killed before lying down to sleep. Soon
after break of day the swarthy cattle guards would track him to his lair and
silently surround and then close in on him, heaping every term of abuse
upon his head as they did so. The lion thus roused, and seeing all retreat cut
off, would stand at bay, and growling savagely, with head held low, ears laid
flat, lashing tail, and mouth held slightly open, would glance from side to

side with blazing eyes upon its foes. Then a picked man of dauntless heart,
armed with a single stabbing spear and a very large ox-hide shield, would
rush forward alone towards the lion, cursing and abusing it in true Homeric
fashion. The lion, seeing its retreat cut off, almost invariably accepted the
challenge and rushed upon the advancing savage, whose endeavour it was
to strike one blow at his assailant and then fall to the ground beneath his
broad shield. At the same time, his friends would rush in from both sides
and quickly spear the lion to death, but often not before one or two of them
had paid the penalty for their daring with their lives. Many lions used to be
killed annually in the olden time round the outlying cattle posts in
Matabeleland, and many of Umziligazi's[5] bravest warriors died of wounds
received in these gladiatorial games. Many years ago I used to be very
friendly with the second Enduna of Bulawayo, one Bambaleli, a splendid
specimen of a good, brave, honest, heathen gentleman. He told me that on
five occasions he had been chosen to rush in on a lion that had been
surrounded and brought to bay. Twice he escaped without a wound, thanks
to the protection afforded by his great shield and the quickness with which
his comrades had rushed in to his assistance; but in the other three
encounters he had been severely bitten, once in the right shoulder and twice
through the muscles of his thigh, and he bore the scars of all these
honourable wounds to his grave. The fact that, on each of the occasions
when he was hurt, his formidable assailant had only been able to get in one
savage bite, shows, I think, the quickness with which his friends had come
to his rescue.
[5] The father of Lo Bengula.

Before they were supplied with firearms by their Bechwana masters, the
Bushmen of the Kalahari sometimes killed lions with poisoned arrows. Old
Bushmen have assured me that they had themselves killed lions by this
means. Their plan, they said, was to creep close up to a lion lying asleep
after a heavy meal, and then to shoot one of their little reed arrows into
some part of its body from behind the shelter of a bush or tree. The sharp
prick would awake the lion but not greatly alarm it, and as it would see
nothing to account for the disturbance of its slumbers, it would probably
think it had been stung by some fly. It would probably, however, get up and
walk away. The shaft of the arrow would soon fall to the ground, but the
bone head, barbed and thickly smeared with poison, would remain fixed in

its victim's hide, and the deadly compound would gradually permeate its
blood and sap its strength. The Bushmen averred that a lion once struck by
a poisoned arrow never recovered, though it would not die till the third day.
Domestic animals such as horses and oxen sometimes show great alarm at
the near proximity of lions, at others they only seem slightly scared, and
sometimes they do not seem to be frightened at all. If a horse has once been
bitten by a lion, or if another horse tied up close to it has been attacked, it
will probably ever afterwards evince great fear at the smell of a lion. But,
on the other hand, I have had several horses in my possession, which I
bought in the Cape Colony or the Orange Free State, which, when I had
trained them to carry the meat of antelopes, never showed the slightest sign
of fear when a reeking lion skin was put on their backs, although they could
never possibly have seen or smelt a lion before I took them up country. I
had some trouble at first to train some of these horses to carry the meat of
any kind of fresh-killed game, and they always began by smelling it and
then snorting; but once they became accustomed to the smell of antelope
meat, they showed no further alarm when the skin of a freshly killed lion
was thrown over the saddle.
I have known a herd of cattle, after one of their number had been killed by a
lion, travel more than twenty miles without feeding, evidently in a state of
terror all the time. On the other hand, I was lying in my blankets at my
camp on the Hanyani river, in Mashunaland, one day early in 1885, just in
the throes of a sharp attack of fever and ague, when my cattle-herd came
rushing in, saying that there was a lion amongst my cattle, and that it was
killing a heifer. This was about two o'clock in the afternoon. Pulling myself
together, I had one of my horses saddled up, and calling my dogs, rode out
to see what had happened. I found my cattle, over fifty altogether in
number, all feeding quietly not 400 yards away from my camp, just where
they were, my herd-boy said, when the lion came amongst them. As it
turned out, it was a lioness. She had clawed a three-year-old heifer in the
flanks and on the hind-quarters, but had either been kicked off by the heifer
itself or driven off by the rest of the herd. At any rate, the sudden
appearance of this lioness in their midst had created no panic amongst the
cattle. I had a chase after this lioness with my dogs, but she crossed the
river and got into some very thick bush, and as I could not get a sight of her
and was feeling very unwell, I returned to camp.

In 1887, one day about noon, four lions—two males and two females—
attacked my oxen and killed two of them, but without apparently alarming
the others in the slightest degree, as they never ran away nor showed any
sign of having been frightened. One dark night early in 1892, I was camped
near the Revue river, in South-East Africa, and my oxen were lying loose
round the waggon, as I thought there were no lions in the neighbourhood.
About midnight five lions came up to reconnoitre, and my oxen no doubt
smelt them, for they jumped up and stampeded in a body. As they ran, the
lions caught and pulled down one of them. The next morning I thought I
might possibly have to follow my frightened oxen a long way before
overtaking them, but I found them feeding quietly, and showing no signs of
having been terrified, only a few hundred yards away. On the whole, I do
not think that domestic animals have that ingrained and instinctive fear of
lions with which they are usually credited, though the smell of these
animals is doubtless disagreeable to them.

CHAPTER VI
NOTES ON THE SPOTTED HYÆNA
Character of hyænas—Contrasted with that of wolves—Story illustrating
the strength and audacity of a spotted hyæna—How a goat was seized
and carried off—A mean trick—Boldness of hyænas near native
villages—More suspicious in the wilderness—Very destructive to
native live stock—Will sometimes enter native huts—Giving an old
woman to the hyænas—How the smelling out of witches benefited the
hyænas—"Come out, missionary, and give us the witch"—Number of
hyænas infesting Matabeleland in olden times—Trials for witchcraft in
Matabeleland—Food of hyænas—Strength of jaws—Charged by a
wounded hyæna—Heavy trap broken up—Killing hyænas with set
guns—Hyæna held by dogs—Hyæna attacked by wild dogs—Pace of
hyænas—Curious experience on the Mababi plain—The hyæna's howl
—Rhinoceros calf killed by hyænas—Smell of hyænas—Hyæna meat
a delicacy—Small cows and donkeys easily killed by hyænas—Size
and weight of the spotted hyæna—Number of whelps.

It has always appeared to me that the qualities and characteristics of the
African spotted hyæna have met with somewhat scant recognition at the
hands of writers on sport, travel, and natural history, for this animal is
usually tersely described as a cowardly, skulking brute, and then dismissed
with a few contemptuous words.
Yet I think that the spotted hyæna of Africa is quite as dangerous and
destructive an animal as the wolf of North America, which is usually treated
with respect, sometimes with sympathy, by its biographers, though I cannot
see that wolves are in any way nobler in character than hyænas. Both breeds
roam abroad by night, ever crafty, fierce, and hungry, and both will be
equally ready to tear open the graves and devour the flesh of human beings,
should the opportunity present itself, whether on the shores of the Arctic
Sea, where men's skins are yellowy brown, or beneath the shadow of the
Southern Cross, where they are sooty black. There is nothing really noble,

though much that is interesting, in the nature of either wolves or hyænas,
but neither of these animals ought to be despised. Hyænas are big,
powerful, dangerous brutes, and at night often show great determination
and courage in their attempts to obtain food at the expense of human
beings. The following story will illustrate, I think, both the strength and the
audacity of a spotted hyæna.
I was once camped many years ago near a small native village on the high
veld of Mashunaland to the south-east of the present town of Salisbury. A
piece of ground some fifty yards long by twenty in breadth had been
enclosed by a small light hedge made of thornless boughs, as it was
supposed that there were no lions in this part of the country. In the midst of
this enclosure my waggon was standing one night with the oxen tied to the
yokes, and my two shooting horses fastened to the wheels. On the previous
day I had shot three eland bulls, and had had every scrap of the meat as well
as the skins and heads carried to my waggon, and on the evening of the
following day there were a large number of natives in my camp from the
surrounding villages. These men had brought me an abundant supply of
native beer, ground nuts, pumpkins, sweet potatoes, maize, etc., and as I, on
my side, had given them several hundredweights of meat, both they and my
own boys were preparing to make a night of it in my encampment.
About an hour after dark, the boy who looked after my horses stretched one
of the eland hides on the ground behind the waggon, and then pouring a
large pot full of half-boiled maize upon it, spread it out to cool before
putting it into the horses' nosebags for their evening feed. At this time my
whole camp was lighted up by the blazing fires the natives had lit all along
one side of the enclosure, and of course within the hedge. Every one was
happy, with plenty of fat meat to eat and beer to drink, and the whole crowd
kept up an incessant babble of talk and laughter, as only happy Africans
can.
I was quite alone, as I had been for months, with these good-tempered
primitive people, and I may here say that I went to sleep every night in their
midst, and always completely in their power (as I had not a single armed
follower with me), feeling as absolutely safe, as indeed I was, as if I had
been in an hotel in London.

I had just finished my evening meal, and was sitting by the fire that had
been lighted at the foot of my bed of dry grass, when I saw a big hyæna
burst through the lightly made hedge of boughs on the other side of the
waggon and advance boldly into the centre of the enclosure, where he stood
for a moment looking about him, plainly visible to every one in the bright
light cast by twenty fires. The next moment he advanced to where the eland
skin lay spread upon the ground behind the waggon, and seizing it, dashed
back with it through the fence and disappeared into the darkness of the
night.
I had several large dogs with me on this trip, which were all lying near the
fires when the hyæna entered the encampment from the other side, but as
the latter had come up against the wind, they had not smelt him. When,
however, he appeared within a few yards of them, and in the full light of the
fires, they of course saw him, and as he seized the eland skin and dashed off
with it, scattering my horses' feed to the winds as he did so, the dogs rushed
after him, barking loudly. I do not know exactly what the green hide of a
big eland bull may weigh, but it is certainly very much heavier than the skin
of a bullock, and of course a very awkward thing to carry off, as the weight
would be distributed over so much ground. Yet, although this hyæna had
only a start of a few yards, my dogs did not overtake him, or at any rate did
not force him to drop the skin, until he had reached the little stream of water
that ran through the valley more than a hundred yards below my camp.
Here we found the dogs guarding it a few minutes later, and again dragged
it back to the waggon.
I knew the hyæna would follow, so I went and sat outside the camp behind
a little bush on the trail of the skin, and very soon he walked close up to me.
I could only just make out a something darker than the night, but as it
moved, I knew it could be nothing but the animal I was waiting for, and
when it was very near me I fired and wounded it, and we killed it in the
little creek below the camp. It proved to be a very large old male hyæna,
which the Mashunas said had lately killed several head of cattle, besides
many sheep and goats.
I cannot help thinking that this hyæna must have thrown part of the heavy
hide over his shoulders as he seized it, though I cannot say that I saw him
do this, but if he did not half carry it, I don't believe he could possibly have
gone off with it at the pace he did, for the dogs did not overtake him until he

had nearly reached the stream, more than a hundred yards distant from my
camp. I am inclined to the view that this hyæna must have half carried, half
dragged this heavy hide, as I once saw one of these animals seize a goat by
the back of the neck, and throwing it over its shoulders, gallop off with it.
This was just outside a native kraal in Western Matabeleland near the river
Gwai. I had outspanned my waggon there one evening, and having bought a
large fat goat, which must have weighed fifty pounds as it stood, I fastened
it by one of its forelegs to one of the front wheels of the waggon. I then had
some dry grass cut, and made my bed on the ground alongside of the other
front wheel, not six feet distant from where the goat was fastened.
It was a brilliant moonlight night and very cold, and I had not long turned
in, and was lying wide awake, when I heard the goat give a loud "baa," and
instantly turning my head, saw a hyæna seize it by the back of the neck,
break the thong with which it was tied to the waggon wheel with a jerk, and
go off at a gallop with, as well as I could see, the body of the goat thrown
over his shoulders. All my dogs were lying round the fires where the Kafirs
were sleeping when the hyæna seized the goat, and as he had come up
against the wind, had not smelt him. But when the goat "baaed" they all
sprang up and dashed after the marauder, closely followed by my Kafirs.
The dogs caught up to the hyæna after a short chase and made him drop the
goat, which the Kafirs brought back to the waggon. It was quite alive, but as
it had been badly bitten behind the ears I had it killed at once.
A hyæna once played me a particularly mean trick. I was outspanned one
night towards the close of the year 1891 in Mashunaland near the Hanyani
river, not many miles from the town of Salisbury. It was either the night of
the full moon or within a day or two of it. At any rate, it was a gloriously
bright moonlight night. I had shot a reedbuck that day, and in the evening
placed its hind-quarters on a flat granite rock, close to where my cart was
standing. I then made my bed on the ground close to the flat rock, and, as
the moonlight was so bright, never troubled to surround my camp with any
kind of fence. Pulling the blanket over my head, I soon went fast asleep.
During the night I woke up, and was astonished to find that it was dark.
This I soon saw was owing to a complete eclipse of the moon. When the
shadow had passed, and it once more became light, I found that the choice
piece of antelope meat which I had placed on the stone close behind my

head was gone, and I have no doubt that it had been carried off by a hyæna
during the eclipse of the moon.

"ON THE SECOND NIGHT THEY ONCE MORE LEFT IT ALONE,
BUT ON THE THIRD THEY DEVOURED IT."
Hyænas are always far bolder and more dangerous in the neighbourhood of
native villages than they are in the uninhabited wilderness.
In the year 1872 a Bushman Hottentot who had shot a Kafir in cold blood,
was beaten to death with clubs by friends of the murdered man close to
where my waggon was standing near the Jomani river, in a wild,
uninhabited part of Eastern Matabeleland. I did not know anything about
this summary administration of justice until it was over, as it took place at
the waggons of some Griqua hunters who were camped near me. The body
of the Hottentot was then dragged to a spot less than three hundred yards
from my waggon, and quite close to the Griqua encampment. That night
several hyænas laughed and cackled and howled round the corpse from dark
to daylight, but they never touched it. On the second night they once more
left it alone, but on the third they devoured it. I do not know why these
hyænas waited until the third night before making a meal off the body of

this dead Hottentot, but I imagine that it was because they were hyænas of
the wilderness, unaccustomed to, and therefore suspicious of the smell of a
human being. I have noticed, too, that in the wilds hyænas will often,
though not always, pass the carcase of a freshly killed lion without touching
it.
In any part of the country, however, where there is a considerable native
population, and where consequently there is little or no game, hyænas have
no fear or suspicion of a dead man. They make their living out of the
natives round whose villages they patrol nightly. They soon discover any
weak spot in the pens where the goats, sheep, or calves are kept, and kill
and carry off numbers of these animals. They often, too, kill full-grown
cows by tearing their udders open and then disembowelling them, and will
sometimes enter a hut, the door of which has been left open, and make a
snap at the head of a sleeping man or woman, or carry off a child. When
lying once very weak and ill with fever in a hut in a small Banyai village
near the Zambesi, I awoke suddenly and saw a hyæna standing in the open
doorway, through which the moon was shining brightly. I lay quite still and
he came right inside, but he heard me moving as I caught hold of my rifle,
and bolted out, carrying with him a bundle tied up with raw hide thongs.
The latter he afterwards ate, but we recovered the contents of the bundle the
next morning.
Besides being able to dig up the carelessly buried bodies of natives who
have died a natural death, the customs of some of the warlike tribes used to
provide hyænas with many a dainty meal. In 1873 my old friend the late
Mr. Frank Mandy—afterwards for so many years the manager of De Beers
Compound at Kimberley—saw some natives dragging, with thongs attached
to the wrists, what he thought was a dead body across the stony ground
outside the native town of Bulawayo.[6] On going nearer he was horrified to
find that the body was that of an old woman, and that she was alive. On
remonstrating with the men who were dragging the poor creature along, and
taxing them with their inhumanity, they seemed quite hurt, and said, "Why,
what use is she? She's an old slave, and altogether past work, and we are
going to give her to the hyænas." They accordingly dragged her down to the
valley below Bulawayo and tied her to a tree. My friend had followed and
watched them, and that evening, as soon as it was dusk, he and a trader
named Grant—who was murdered in Mashunaland by the natives during

the rising of 1896—went down to her with a stretcher, and cutting the
thongs that bound her to the tree, carried her up to Mandy's hut, where,
however, she died during the night.
[6] The original native town built by Lo Bengula in 1870, about twelve miles
from the present European city.

I do not wish it to be understood that the custom of tying old and worn-out
slaves to trees, whilst still alive, to be devoured by hyænas, was very
common, but it cannot have been very unusual either, as Mandy told me
that many natives looked on with absolute indifference whilst the old
woman whose fate I have described was dragged past them; so the hyænas
must have got many a good feed in this way, especially round the larger
towns. But the native custom which was most advantageous to these
animals was the practice of smelling out witches. In Matabeleland, in the
time of Umziligazi and his son Lo Bengula, people were continually being
tried and convicted of witchcraft, and very often not only was the actual
witch, man or woman, killed, but their families as well, sometimes even all
their relations, as in the case of Lotchi, head Enduna of the town of Induba,
who was put to death in 1888, and the number of whose wives, children,
and other relations who were killed with him amounted to seventy. When
the evidence had been heard the king pronounced the sentence, which was
often conveyed by the two words "niga impisi" (give him, her, or them to
the hyænas). The wretches were then taken just outside the kraal fence and
clubbed to death. Their huts were also pulled down and thrown out. I
remember I was once sleeping at the house of Mr. C——, a missionary in
Matabeleland, when a lot of natives came to the door very early in the
morning, and kept shouting out in a very excited manner, "Come out,
missionary, and give us the witch; we want to take him to his mother, who
is a witch also, and kill them both together." It appeared that the man they
said was a witch was a native, who had been left in charge of another
missionary's house during his master's absence in the Cape Colony, and
who by steady work had accumulated enough money to buy a few head of
cattle. This man had been accused of bewitching some of the king's cattle,
and Lo Bengula had pronounced sentence of death upon him. Directly I saw
the men outside Mr. C——'s house I thought from their manner that they
had already killed the falsely accused man, although they denied having
done so; but when Mr. C—— and I went across the valley towards the poor
fellow's kraal on the other side, they all left us.

It was as I had surmised; for we found Mr. H——'s faithful servant lying on
his face just outside the fence of his kraal, with his elbows tied behind his
back and his head in much the same condition as that of Banquo's ghost, as
represented on the London stage. On the evening of that day the sun had not
been long down when we heard the hyænas howling, and that night they
held high carnival over the murdered man's remains.
Some idea of the number of hyænas that used to infest Matabeleland in the
old savage times may be gathered from the fact that my old friend the late
Mr. G. A. Philips once poisoned with strychnine twenty-one of these
animals round the old town of Bulawayo in one night.
I was never able to get a full account of the proceedings at a trial for
witchcraft in Matabeleland, but from all I have heard they must have been
strangely similar to those trials for the same alleged crime which were so
common a few centuries ago in England and Scotland. In recent times in
Matabeleland, just as in mediæval times in England, everybody, almost
without exception, believed in witchcraft, and there can be no doubt that in
both countries men and women existed who firmly believed themselves to
be possessed of the powers ascribed to witches. One of the commonest
accusations against men accused of witchcraft in Matabeleland was that
they had been seen riding a hyæna at night, and on this account when one of
these animals was killed, it was looked upon as an unfeeling joke to point to
it and say to any native, "Nansi ibeza yako" ("There lies your horse").
Although hyænas eat large quantities of soft meat when they get the chance,
they can do very well on a diet of little else than bones. When a large
animal is killed by lions, these purely carnivorous animals eat the greater
part of the soft meat, and then leave the carcase to the hyænas, which are
pretty sure to be at hand. These latter then scrunch up and swallow many of
the bones. So powerful are their jaws that they can break the leg-bones of
buffaloes and giraffes, the ends of which they gnaw off after extracting the
marrow.
I once wounded a large hyæna as he ran out of a patch of long grass, where
he had been lying asleep. After following on his blood spoor for a few
hundred yards, I came upon him lying under a bush, evidently badly
wounded. On the previous day I had bought a very large-bladed assegai
from a Mashuna blacksmith, and so, dismounting, I took this assegai from

the Kafir who was carrying it, and advanced on the wounded hyæna to give
him the coup de grace. When I was still about ten yards away from him, he
jumped up and came towards me, not with a rush certainly, but still pretty
quickly, and with the evident intent to do grievous bodily harm. As he
advanced he repeatedly clacked his jaws together, making a loud noise. I
stood my ground with my heavy assegai poised to strike, and when the
hyæna was close to me I drove it with all my force into his mouth. His jaws
closed instantly on the heavy iron blade, nor was I able to again withdraw
it, for although the wounded animal bit it all over from one end to the other,
he opened and shut his jaws with such surprising quickness that he never
lost possession of it. Finally, he pulled the iron blade of the assegai out of
its wooden shaft, and then, weakening from loss of blood, fell to the
ground, still clashing his jaws on it. He was not able to rise to his feet again,
and the Kafirs speared him to death as he lay. I found that the heavy assegai
blade had been twisted and bent and bitten in a most extraordinary manner.
I kept it for a long time, and wish I still had it in my possession, as it was a
veritable curiosity.
I once caught a hyæna in a very large heavy iron trap, which it required the
strength of two ordinary men to set. To this trap I had attached a heavy iron
waggon chain, but the other end of this chain was not made fast to anything.
I caught this hyæna by hanging up the hind-leg of a sable antelope in a tree
by the roadside about a hundred yards from where my waggon was
outspanned. The trap was set at the foot of the tree without any bait and
carefully covered. The hyæna must have jumped up at the meat and sprung
the trap as he came to the ground again. One of the large iron spikes which
projected from the jaws of the trap must have gone right through the leg
that had been caught, as it was broken off and there was a lot of blood on
the trap. When the hyæna was caught he made no noise, at least no one
heard anything, but just dragged the trap with the heavy chain attached for a
distance of about a hundred yards away from the waggon road and then
broke it up. One jaw of the trap had been wrenched off, and the solid iron
tongue which supports the plate when such a trap is set, had been twisted
right round. The trap, which would probably have held a lion, was of course
destroyed and the hyæna gone.
I have killed many hyænas both near native villages and in wild uninhabited
parts of the country by setting guns for them, usually baited with a lump of

meat tied over the muzzle, and attached with a string to a lever rigged on to
the trigger, so that a straight pull exploded the charge. Of course, one
arranged the trap in such a way, with the help of a few thorn bushes, that the
hyæna was obliged to take the meat from in front; but I never knew these
animals show any hesitation in doing so, with the result that they received
the charge full in the mouth and were killed instantly. I have no doubt,
however, that if a constant practice were made of setting guns for hyænas in
a certain district, they would become wary and suspicious after a few of
their number had been killed.
On one occasion my own dogs held a large old bitch hyæna until the Kafirs
came up and speared her, but this animal had, we afterwards discovered,
been shot some time previously through the lower jaw, the end of which,
with both the lower canine teeth, was gone, so that she could not bite. This
hyæna was, however, very fat, and the wound she had received had long
since healed up after all the broken pieces of bone had sloughed out. How
she had managed to eat anything but soft food I cannot imagine, for what
was left of her lower jaw, being in two separate pieces, must have been
useless for scrunching up bones.
One moonlight night I wounded a large male hyæna, partially paralysing his
hind-quarters, and my pack of dogs at once ran up to and attacked him.
Several of these dogs were large, powerful animals, and holding the hyæna
by the ears, throat, and neck, they certainly prevented him from using his
teeth to their discomfort, but they seemed quite unable to pull him to the
ground, and when I at last drove them off, I could not see that they had hurt
him in any way, so I shot him.
My friend Mr. Percy Reid once, when hunting on the Chobi river, heard a
great noise, a mixture of howls and yells going on near his camp during the
night, and his Kafirs asserted that they could distinguish the cries both of
wild dogs and spotted hyænas. The next morning the weird sounds were
again heard, and appeared to be approaching the camp, so Mr. Reid went
out to see what was going on. He had only walked a short distance when he
saw a very interesting sight. An old hyæna was standing with its back to a
large tree, surrounded by a double circle of some twelve to fifteen wild
dogs. The inner circle of these, by turn, flew in on the hyæna and tried to
bite him, falling back after they had done so, and fearing apparently to
come to close quarters. At the end of some five or ten minutes the old

hyæna, seizing an opportunity, bolted for an adjacent tree, and, standing
with his back to this, again renewed the fight. Both the hyæna and his
assailants were so intent on their own concerns that they paid no heed
whatever to my friend's approach, and he walked up to within fifty yards of
them and shot two of the wild dogs. The remainder of the pack then ran off,
leaving the hyæna alone. Mr. Reid would not shoot him, because of the
brave and determined fight he had made, and he presently lumbered off at a
heavy gallop, apparently none the worse for his all-night encounter with the
wild dogs.
Hyænas do not always lie up during the day in caves or in holes in the
ground. I have often found them sleeping in patches of long grass, and have
had many a good gallop after them. I always found they ran very fast,
though I have galloped right up to several in good open ground, but it was
just as much as my horse could do to overtake them. Once whilst riding
across the Mababi plain in 1879, about two hours after sunrise I heard some
hyænas howling; but they were so far off that I could not see them, though
the plain was perfectly level and open, as all the long summer grass had
been burnt off. As the noise they were making, however, was very great and
quite unaccountable by broad daylight, I determined to see what was going
on, and galloped in the direction of the strange sounds. After a time I
sighted a regular pack of hyænas trotting along towards the belt of thorn
bush at the top end of the plain, and beyond the hyænas I could see there
were three animals which looked larger and of a different build, and which I
thought must be lions. I then galloped as hard as I could in order to get up
to these three animals before they entered the bush. As I galloped, I passed
and counted fifteen hyænas, trotting along like great dogs, most of which
stopped and stood looking at me without any sign of fear as I rode close
past them. All the time some of them kept howling. I now saw that the three
larger animals were lionesses, and that there were several more hyænas in
front of them, so that there must have been more than twenty of these
animals out on the plain with the lionesses, two of which latter I succeeded
in shooting. After I had skinned them, I rode back over the plain, but could
discover no sign of the carcase of a dead animal, as I should have done, had
it been anywhere near, by the flight of the vultures. Why had all these
hyænas collected round these three lionesses, and why were they escorting
them back to the bush again over the open plain? I can only hazard the
suggestion that they had followed the lionesses in the hope that they would

kill some large animal, whose bones they would then have picked after the
nobler animals had eaten their full. When I heard them howling, perhaps
they were upbraiding the lionesses for their want of success. Hyænas do not
live in packs, but when a large animal has been killed, they scent the blood
from afar and collect together for the feast, separating and going off singly
to their several lairs soon after daybreak. The rapidity with which hyænas
sometimes collect round a carcase is truly astonishing, and shows how
numerous these animals are in countries where game is still plentiful.
I remember arriving late one evening, in July 1873, at a small water-hole in
the country to the west of the river Gwai, in Matabeleland. I had left my
waggon at a permanent water called Linquasi two days previously, but
being only armed with two four-bore muzzle-loading elephant guns, and not
having met with either elephants, rhinoceroses, or buffaloes, was still
without meat for myself and my Kafirs, as, although I had seen giraffes,
elands, and other antelopes, I had not been able to get within shot of any of
these animals with the archaic weapons which were the only firearms at that
time in my possession.
The water-hole was situated on the edge of a large open pan, at the back of
a small hollow half beneath a low ledge of rock, and must have been fed
from an underground spring, as the Bushmen told me that it never dried up.
As, on the evening in question, the moon was almost at the full, I
determined to watch the water during the early hours of the night, in the
hope of getting a shot at some animal at close quarters as it came to drink,
for there was a great deal of recent spoor in the pan of rhinoceroses,
buffaloes, zebras, and antelopes.
As soon, therefore, as my Kafirs had made a "scherm"[7] amongst some
mopani trees, just beyond the edge of the open ground, I took one of my
blankets and both my heavy elephant guns, and established myself on the
ledge just above the pool of water. Lying flat on my stomach, I was
completely hidden from the view of any animal coming towards me across
the open pan by the long coarse grass, which grew right up to the edge of
the rock ledge beneath which lay the pool of water.
[7] A semicircular hedge of thorn bushes within which we slept with fires at our
feet.

I had not long taken up my position when a small herd of buffaloes came
feeding up the valley behind me. They, however, got my wind when still
some distance away from the water, and ran off.
About half an hour later, I suddenly saw a rhinoceros coming towards me
across the open pan, and as the wind was now right, I thought he would be
sure to come to the water.
He was, however, very suspicious, and kept continually stopping and
turning sideways, apparently listening. In the brilliant moonlight I had made
him out to be a black rhinoceros almost as soon as I saw him, for he held
his head well up, whilst as a white rhinoceros walks along its great square
muzzle almost touches the ground. At last the great beast seemed to make
up its mind that no danger threatened it, for after having stood quite still for
some little time about fifty yards away from me, it came on without any
further hesitation and commenced to drink at the pool beneath the ledge on
which I was lying. Its head was then hidden from me, but if I had held my
old gun at arm's length I could have touched it on the shoulder. Raising
myself on my elbows, I now lost no time in firing into the unsuspecting
animal, the muzzle of my gun almost touching it at the junction of the neck
and the chest as I pulled the trigger.
The loud report of my heavily charged elephant gun was answered by the
puffing snorts of the rhinoceros, which, although mortally wounded, had
strength enough to swing round and run about fifty yards across the open
ground before falling dead.
As it was still quite early, and the night was so gloriously fine, I thought I
would lie and watch for an hour or two longer to see if anything else came
to drink at the water.
I don't think the rhinoceros had been dead five minutes when a hyæna came
across the pan and went straight up to the carcase. This first arrival was
soon followed by others, and in less than half an hour there were at least a
dozen of these ravenous creatures assembled for the prospective feast. All
the time I was watching them they neither howled nor laughed nor fought
amongst themselves, but kept continually walking round the dead
rhinoceros, or watching whilst one or other of their number attempted to
tear the carcase open. This they always attempted to do at the same place—
in the flank just where the thigh joins the belly. The soft, thick, spongy skin,

however, resisted all their efforts as long as I left them undisturbed, though
I could hear their teeth grating over its rough surface. Presently I heard a
troop of lions roaring in the distance, and as I thought they might be coming
to drink at the pool of water close to which I was lying all by myself and
without any kind of shelter, I stood up and shouted to my Kafirs to come
and cut up the rhinoceros, and bring some dry wood with them so that we
could make a fire near the carcase.
As my hungry boys came running up, the hyænas hastily retired; but after
we had opened the carcase of the rhinoceros and cut out the heart and liver
and some of the choicest pieces of meat and carried them to our camp, they
returned and feasted on what was left to their heart's content. The noise they
made during the remainder of the night, howling, laughing, and cackling,
was in strange contrast to their silence when they first came to the carcase,
but found themselves unable to get at the meat, owing to the thickness of
the hide by which it was covered. The lions which I had heard roaring in the
distance did not come to drink at the pool near which we were encamped.
They were probably on their way to a much larger pool of water some miles
to the eastward.
Spotted hyænas are very noisy animals, and their eerie, mournful howling is
the commonest sound to break the silence of an African night.
The ordinary howl of the spotted hyæna commences with a long-drawn-out,
mournful moan, rising in cadence till it ends in a shriek, altogether one of
the weirdest sounds in nature. It is only rarely that one hears hyænas laugh
in the wilds of Africa, as these animals can be made to do in the Zoological
Gardens by tantalising them with a piece of meat held just beyond their
reach outside the bars of their cage. But when a lot of hyænas have gathered
together round the carcase of a large animal, such as an elephant or a
rhinoceros, and are feasting on it undisturbed, the noises they make are
most interesting to listen to. They laugh, they shriek, they howl, and in
addition they make all kinds of gurgling, grunting, cackling noises,
impossible to describe accurately. Once, late one evening in 1873, I shot a
white rhinoceros cow that had a smallish calf, which, however, I thought
was large enough to fend for itself and get its own living. That night, after
having cut off all the best and fattest meat of the rhinoceros, we camped
some two hundred yards from the carcase, which lay in an open valley close
to a pool of water. Soon after dark the hyænas began to collect for the feast,

and whether the calf returned to its mother's remains and the hyænas
forthwith attacked it, or whether it resented their presence and first attacked
them, I do not know; but we first heard it snorting and then squealing like a
pig, and for half the night it was rushing about, closely pursued by some of
the hyænas, which, I fancy, must have been hanging on to its ears and any
other part they could get hold of. Twice the young rhinoceros charged
almost into our camp, squealing lustily. Finally, the hyænas killed it, and
had left hardly anything of it the next morning. I shall never forget the
extraordinary noises these animals made that night.
Contrary to generally accepted ideas, I have not found hyænas when killed
to be more stinking animals than other carnivorous beasts. The carcase of a
freshly killed hyæna certainly does not smell as strongly as that of a lion. I
have often had the raw hide neck straps attached to the ox yokes of my
South African waggon eaten by hyænas at night in Matabeleland, and to do
this, these animals must have been right amongst the oxen, gnawing the raw
hide thongs within a few feet of them, yet I never remember such a
proceeding to have caused them any alarm. On three occasions, two of
which were on bright moonlight nights, I actually saw hyænas right in
amongst my oxen, and at first thought they were dogs, as they were sniffing
about on the ground. Two of these hyænas I shot. On all these occasions my
oxen did not pay the very slightest attention to the hyænas, and I cannot
therefore believe that these animals have a more fetid or disagreeable smell
than dogs. I remember once shooting a hyæna in the Mababi country, close
to the permanent camp where my waggons stood all through the dry season
of 1879. Several waggons belonging to Khama's people were standing close
by, and when Tinkarn, the headman of the party, saw the dead hyæna he
asked me if he and his people might have it. When I inquired what they
wanted it for, they answered "To eat," and averred that no other meat
obtainable in the African veld was equal to that of a fat hyæna. I gave them
the coveted carcase, and they ate it with every appearance of satisfaction.
These men were not low savages, but Christianised Bechwanas, all of
whom could read and write. They had plenty of good antelope meat, too, at
the time, so that they certainly ate the hyæna from choice. I have, however,
never come across any other tribe of African natives who would willingly
eat the flesh of a hyæna, their objection to it being that it is that of an
animal which eats the bodies of human beings. This objection, however,
would not apply to the vast majority of hyænas that live in the wilderness,

far from any human habitations. Hyænas will attack and kill old and worn-
out oxen after they have become very weak; but I have never heard of a
case of an ox or a horse in good condition being interfered with by these
animals. They often kill the small native cows of South-East Africa,
however, always tearing open their udders, and then dragging out their
entrails through the wound thus made. I once started on a journey down the
northern bank of the central Zambesi in 1877, taking with me four fine
strong donkeys. Three of these donkeys were killed near the mouth of the
Kafukwe river by hyænas, and the fourth badly lacerated. These donkeys
were so completely devoured by what, judging from the noise they made,
must have been a regular pack of hyænas, that it was impossible to tell how
they had been killed. In 1882, when travelling through the eastern part of
Mashunaland beyond the Hanyani river, I had a very fine large stallion
donkey killed one night close to my camp by a single hyæna. We heard the
poor creature give a heart-rending screaming cry when it was first seized,
and ran to its assistance at once, but when we got to it, it was already dead.
Its powerful, strong-jawed assailant had seized it between the hind-legs,
torn a great hole in its abdomen, and dragged out half its entrails in an
incredibly short space of time.
I have never measured or weighed any of the hyænas I have shot, but Mr.
Vaughan Kirby speaks of a very large one as having stood three feet high at
the shoulder, and I believe that such an animal must have weighed more
than 200 pounds.
Very little is known of the life-history of the spotted hyæna. Bushmen have
told me that the females give birth only to two whelps at a time. These are
usually born in one of the large holes excavated by the African ant-eaters
(Aardvarks). Although I have seen a great number of hyænas on various
moonlight nights, I have never seen a very young or even a half-grown one
accompanying its mother, and I cannot help thinking, therefore, that young
spotted hyænas remain in the burrows where they are born, and are there
fed by their parents until they are at least eight or nine months old.

CHAPTER VII
NOTES ON WILD DOGS AND CHETAHS
Wild dogs not very numerous—Hunt in packs—Attack herd of buffaloes—
First experience with wild dogs—Impala antelope killed—Koodoo
cow driven into shed—Koodoo driven to waggon—Wild dogs not
dangerous to human beings—Greatly feared by all antelopes—Wild
dog pursuing sable antelope—Great pace displayed—Wild dogs
capable of running down every kind of African antelope—General
opinion as to the running powers of wild dogs—Curious incidents—
Chasing wild dogs with tame ones—One wild dog galloped over and
shot—Two others caught and worried by tame dogs—Wild dog
shamming dead—Clever escape—Chetahs overtaken on horseback—
Three chetahs seen—Two females passed—Male galloped down—A
second chetah overtaken—Great speed of trained Indian chetahs—
Three chetah cubs found—Brought up by bitch.

I do not think that the Cape hunting dog (Lycaon pictus) was ever very
numerous in the interior of South Africa, as at the time when I was
elephant-hunting, many years ago, and continually moving about, day after
day and year after year, in countries where game was plentiful, I never
encountered more than two or three packs of these animals in a year's
wanderings, and there were several years—not consecutive—during which
I did not meet with any at all. So far as my memory serves me, I think that
the wild dogs I came across—with the exception of a single animal which
was chasing a sable antelope bull—were in packs of from fifteen to thirty.
At times I have come across these animals lying in the shade of scattered
trees, on bare ground, from which all the grass had been burnt off, and they
would then trot away, continually stopping and looking back, but making no
sound. But I can remember distinctly two occasions on which I suddenly
disturbed a pack of wild dogs in longish grass. On both these occasions they
were very near to me, but could not very well make me out, owing to the
length of the grass. They retreated very slowly, and kept jumping up,

looking at me inquisitively, with their large ears cocked forward. At the
same time they gave vent to a kind of bark, the sound being repeated twice.
This double note might be represented by the syllables "hoo-hoo."
On one of these two occasions which I say I remember so well, I was
hunting—in 1873—in the country about half-way between Bulawayo and
the Victoria Falls, not very far, I fancy, from the present railway line. After a
long march I had reached a swampy valley—then known by the name of
Dett—where there was water, and where I intended to camp. Seeing some
buffaloes drinking a little way down the valley, and wanting some fresh
meat, I at once proceeded to stalk them. The stream at which the buffaloes
were drinking ran down the centre of an open valley some 300 yards broad,
in which there was no cover, except that afforded by coarse grass, some 2-
1/2 feet to 3 feet in length. Being armed with only an old muzzle-loading
four-bore gun, I had to get pretty close to anything I wanted to shoot, and I
had crawled half-way to the buffaloes when I saw them all suddenly raise
their heads and look down the valley. I immediately looked in the same
direction, and then heard a heavy trampling noise, which I knew must be
caused by a herd of large animals running.
This noise came rapidly nearer, and on raising myself so that I could look
over the grass, I saw a herd of perhaps forty or fifty buffaloes coming
straight towards me at a lumbering gallop. At the same time I heard a noise
which sounded like kak-kak-kak constantly repeated. The buffaloes came
straight on towards me, and had I remained quiet would have run right over
me, so when they were within twenty yards I jumped up and shouted. The
leaders stopped for a moment, and then, swerving slightly, dashed close
past me. I fired into one of them, and immediately afterwards saw some
wild dogs—a pack of about twenty—jumping up in the long grass to look at
me.
They had been hanging on to the rear of the herd of buffaloes, which they
had undoubtedly first put to flight, and had they not been disturbed, would,
I think, have probably succeeded in pulling down a young animal. Had I not
witnessed this incident with my own eyes, I never should have thought it
possible that a herd of buffaloes would have allowed themselves to be
stampeded by a few wild dogs. These latter gave up the chase as soon as
they saw me, and after hoo-hooing a little, trotted off. The barking hoo-hoo
and the clacking kak-kak-kak are the only sounds that I have ever heard

wild dogs make, but I cannot claim to have had much experience with these
animals. Wild dogs sometimes hunt by day, but more usually at night, and
in the latter case must be guided entirely by their acute sense of smell. As a
rule, they certainly run mute.
On the first occasion on which I ever had anything to do with wild dogs,
they ran into and killed an impala antelope quite close to my waggon on a
dark night in 1872. We ran up with lights and drove them from the carcase,
a good deal of which they had, however, already devoured. About a month
later another pack of wild dogs drove a koodoo cow into a shed used as a
stable, attached to a store near the Blue Jacket gold mine at Tati, in
Matabeleland. I was there at the time, and on this occasion the wild dogs
were driven off by some Kafir boys, who speared the koodoo inside the
shed.
For some time during the year 1888 my waggon was standing at Leshuma,
a water-hole which is situated just ten miles from the junction of the Chobi
and Zambesi rivers. One morning I walked down to Kazungula, at the
junction of the rivers, and on returning to my waggon the same evening,
was surprised to see the meat of a freshly killed koodoo hanging up in my
camp, as game of all kinds was very scarce in the district. On asking my old
Griqua servant where he had shot the koodoo, he replied, "Master, the good
Lord gave it us, for the wild dogs brought it right up to the waggon." On
further inquiry, I found that soon after midday a pack of those animals had
chased the koodoo to within less than a hundred yards of the waggon, and
then run it in a circle completely round it. When my waggon-driver ran out
with his rifle, both the wild dogs and the koodoo stopped and looked at him,
the latter evidently very much distressed. Jantje at once shot the antelope,
and its pursuers then ran off.
It has always struck me as somewhat remarkable that animals so confident
in their powers of offence that they will sometimes attack a herd of
buffaloes, and that a single one of them will occasionally try conclusions
with so fierce and powerful an animal as a sable antelope bull, should never
have turned their attention seriously to man as an article of diet; yet in all
my experience I have never heard of wild dogs attacking human beings, nor
have I ever heard either Kafirs or Bushmen express any fear of them. This
is all the more remarkable because when they are met with they do not

show any great fear of man, but retreat very leisurely, constantly halting and
looking back curiously before finally trotting off.
All African antelopes probably live in deadly fear of wild dogs, for on the
occasion when, with two companions, I saw a single wild dog overtake a
sable antelope bull, the latter halted and looked round when its pursuer was
about fifty yards behind it, and then, instead of showing fight, as I should
have expected it to do, threw out its limbs convulsively and ran at its utmost
speed; but the wild dog overhauled it with apparent ease, and twice jumped
up and snapped at its flank, each time, I think, making good its bite. Now
this wild dog must have been running very much faster than any South
African hunting horse could do, for although it is easy enough to gallop up
to sable and roan antelope cows in August and September, when these
animals are heavy with calf, I have never been able to run into a bull of
either of these species, though I have often attempted to do so, with very
good horses, on the open downs of Mashunaland. Wild dogs, too, can run
down koodoo cows and impala antelopes, as well as hartebeests and
tsessebes, none of which animals can be overtaken on horseback, and I
believe that the general concensus of opinion amongst African hunters
would be that no horse could overtake a wild dog.
I will, however, relate an experience which shows that this is not always the
case, and which will probably be read with great surprise, if not with
incredulity. Early one morning in November 1885, I was travelling near the
source of the Sebakwe river, in Mashunaland, in company with the late Mr.
H. C. Collison, Mr. James Dawson, and Cornelis van Rooyen, a well-known
Boer hunter. We were all riding together in very open country, just in front
of our four bullock waggons, when we saw fifteen or twenty wild dogs
emerge from a small watercourse that we had just crossed.
When we first saw them they were nearly abreast of us, and not more than
300 or 400 yards to our left. They trotted quietly along, stopping frequently
to look at us, as is their wont. We possessed amongst us a large number of
dogs, most of them big, rough, powerful mongrels, such as one sees on a
Boer farm in the Transvaal. Calling to our dogs, we galloped towards their
wild cousins, and twelve or fifteen of the former soon rushed past our
horses and took up the chase at a great pace. The wild dogs now broke into
a gallop, but, strange to say, instead of leaving their pursuers far behind
them, they did not seem able to show any great turn of speed. We were soon

right amongst them with our horses, and our dogs mobbed and pulled down
two, which they held in such a way that they were quite unable to bite.
Personally I picked out a fine large wild dog, in good coat, and rode at him.
When my horse's forefeet were almost touching him he suddenly rolled on
his back and my horse jumped over him. I galloped over this wild dog
several times, and finally shot him.
During this time my companions had occupied themselves in encouraging
our dogs to hold on to the two they had seized, and the rest of the wild pack
had galloped off. As each of the two wild dogs that had been caught had
been worried for some minutes by five or six assailants, all larger and
heavier than itself, we thought they were dead and beat off our dogs. Their
two badly used relatives lay quite still and limp, and we dragged them,
together with the one I had shot, to a tree near a small stream, where we
intended to skin them. All our dogs then went back to the waggons, which
had not halted.
We had just commenced to skin the wild dog I had shot when, on looking
round, I caught the eye of one of the other two that was lying dead, as we
had thought, at the foot of the tree, and instantly saw that it was alive. It
must have been shamming dead all the time in order to recover its strength,
as immediately it caught my eye it sprang to its feet and dashed off. Two
shots were fired at it as it ran, but it got clean away, apparently none the
worse for the worrying it had endured. The other one which had been
caught by our dogs was not quite full-grown, and as it had been held by the
throat by one of our most powerful hounds, was quite dead.
I can offer no explanation as to why we were able to overtake this pack of
wild dogs so easily, after chasing them for less than a mile, but the facts are
as I have stated them. It is possible, I suppose, that we disturbed these wild
dogs soon after they had killed some large antelope, and just after they had
made a heavy meal. I cannot say, but I remember that the one I galloped
over had its tongue lolling from its jaws, and showed every sign of distress.
I have, however, had two somewhat similar experiences with chetahs,
which are generally credited with being the swiftest of all four-footed
animals; yet upon two separate occasions, once in company with the Boer
hunter Cornelis van Rooyen, and again with three English friends, I have
galloped after and overtaken a large male chetah. On each occasion the

chetahs squatted suddenly when the horses were close upon them, and lay
flat on the ground, in which position they were both shot.
As I think that these somewhat remarkable experiences ought to be put on
record, I will briefly relate the circumstances under which they took place.
One day during September 1885, when hunting in company with Cornelis
van Rooyen near the Umfuli river, in Mashunaland, I rode out of a belt of
forest-covered country into a broad open valley, from half a mile to a
thousand yards in breadth, and bounded on the farther side again with a
tract of open forest. Down the centre of this open valley ran a small
watercourse, which was, however, no longer running, though several deep
pools were still full of water.
My friend and I had only ridden out a short distance into the open when
three chetahs, a big male and two smaller animals which were no doubt
females, emerged from the creek, and after trotting a short distance away
from us across the open ground, turned round and stood looking at us.
Van Rooyen and I at once rode towards them. They let us come close to the
creek before running off, but when they did so, they broke into a light
springing gallop and got over the ground at a great pace. The long summer
grass had all been burnt off in this district, and the ground in the open
valley, being firm and hard and quite free from holes, was in excellent
condition for galloping.
When we commenced to race after the chetahs they had a start of at least
fifty yards—I think considerably more—and the edge of the forest for
which they were making could not have been more than five hundred yards
distant.
Both our horses were pretty fast and in good hard condition, and we raced
neck and neck as hard as we could go behind the chetahs. Whether these
latter were running at their utmost speed I cannot say, but, at any rate, we
slowly but steadily gained on them, and were only a few yards behind them
when they reached the edge of the forest, which was very open and free
from underbush. Suddenly the two female chetahs, which were a little
behind the male, came to a halt, and we galloped past within a few yards of
them, as we wanted to kill the largest of the three. These two female chetahs
did not crouch down, but stood looking at us as we shot past them. We

chased the big male another fifty yards through the open forest, and were
quite close up to him, when he suddenly stopped and crouched, all in one
motion as it were, and lay with his long thin body pressed flat to the ground.
Van Rooyen and I were so near him that, going at the pace we were, we
could not pull in our horses until we were thirty or forty yards beyond
where he lay. The chetah, however, never moved again, but lay perfectly
still watching us, and we dismounted and shot him where he lay. We never
saw anything more of the two females, which must have run off as soon as
we had passed them.
Two years later, in October 1887, I was riding one day with three English
gentlemen (Messrs. J. A. Jameson, Frank Cooper, and A. Fountaine, all of
whom are alive to-day and will be able to corroborate my story) through the
country lying between the upper waters of the Sebakwe and Umniati rivers
in Mashunaland. The ground was not quite open, as it was covered here and
there with a growth of small trees, but as these grew very sparsely there was
nothing to stop one from riding at full gallop in every direction. As we rode
along I was on the left of our party. Suddenly my horse turned his head and
snorted. I at once pulled him in, calling to my companions to stop, as I
thought my horse must have smelt a lion lying somewhere near us.
I had scarcely spoken when up jumped a very large male chetah within
twenty yards of my horse and bounded away across the open ground,
holding his long, thick, furry tail straight out behind him.
This chetah did not get much of a start, as we galloped after him as soon as
ever we could get our horses started. The chase may have lasted for a mile,
though I think certainly not farther, and the chetah never seemed to be able
to get away from us, and if he was capable of going at a greater pace, I
cannot understand why he did not do so. At the end of a mile, however,
Jameson, who was the light-weight of our party, and who was, moreover,
mounted on a very fast Basuto pony, was close up to the chetah, and the rest
of us were perhaps thirty yards behind him. Suddenly the hunted animal
squatted flat on the ground, and Jameson's pony was then so close to it that
it jumped clean over it. The action of this chetah was exactly the same as in
the case of the one that Van Rooyen and I had chased and overtaken in
1885, and in both cases it was very remarkable how the hunted animals
suddenly stopped when going at a great pace and lay flat on the ground in a
single movement, as it seemed. This second chetah was shot by Jameson

from his horse's back as soon as he could pull in, and it never moved again
after first crouching down.
Now when we read of the wonderful speed of the tamed chetahs kept for
hunting purposes in India, it certainly seems very remarkable that in South
Africa these animals can be overtaken in a short distance by ordinary
shooting horses.
In Jerdon's Mammals of India a very interesting description is given of
hunting with trained chetahs, and I think there can be no doubt that in that
country these animals are able to overtake in a fair course antelopes and
gazelles which cannot be ridden down, and whose speed surpasses even that
of greyhounds.
Whether the African chetah has lost the great speed of his Asiatic
progenitors, and if so why, are questions which I cannot answer, but the two
animals which were galloped after and overtaken by my friends and myself
were both fine specimens of their kind, in good condition and apparently in
the prime of life, and why they did not run away from our horses and so
save their skins, if they were able to do so, is more than I can understand.
Personally, I know very little as to the life-history of chetahs, and I doubt if
any one else does, as they are very rarely encountered. I once saw six of
these animals together near the town of Salisbury, in Mashunaland. The
teeth of the chetah are very small and weak compared with those of the
leopard, hyæna, or wild dog, and its semi-retractile claws not very sharp, so
I should imagine that its chief prey would be the smaller species of
antelopes.
When the pioneer expedition to Mashunaland was crossing the high plateau
near the source of the Sabi river, in 1890, one of the troopers of the British
South Africa Police Force, who was riding along parallel with and not far
from the line of waggons, came on three chetah cubs lying in the grass, and
brought them to me. They could only have been a few days old, as their
eyes were not yet open. I do not know what became of those chetah cubs, as
my duties as guide and chief intelligence officer of the pioneer force made
it impossible for me to attend to them; but I believe they were suckled by a
bitch and lived for some time.

CHAPTER VIII
EXTINCTION AND DIMINUTION OF GAME IN SOUTH AFRICA—
NOTES ON THE CAPE BUFFALO
Extinction of the blaauwbok and the true quagga—Threatened
extermination of the black and white rhinoceros and the buffalo in
South Africa—Former abundance of game—Scene in the valley of
Dett witnessed by the author in 1873—Buffaloes protected by the
Cape Government—But few survivors in other parts of South Africa—
Abundance of buffaloes in former times—Extent of their range—Still
plentiful in places up to 1896—The terrible epidemic of rinderpest—
Character of the African buffalo—A matter of individual experience—
Comparison of buffalo with the lion and elephant—Danger of
following wounded buffaloes into thick cover—Personal experiences
—Well-known sportsman killed by a buffalo—Usual action of
buffaloes when wounded—Difficult to stop when actually charging—
The moaning bellow of a dying buffalo—Probable reasons for some
apparently unprovoked attacks by buffaloes—Speed of buffaloes—
Colour, texture, and abundance of coat at different ages—Abundance
of buffaloes along the Chobi river—Demeanour of old buffalo bulls
—"God's cattle"—Elephants waiting for a herd of buffaloes to leave a
pool of water before themselves coming down to drink.

Since the first settlement of Europeans at the Cape of Good Hope in the
seventeenth century, two species of the indigenous fauna of South Africa
have become absolutely extinct. These are the blaauwbok (Hippotragus
leucophaeus) and the true quagga (Equus quagga). Both these animals,
however, were nearly related to species which still exist in considerable
numbers, for the blaauwbok must in appearance have looked very much
like a small roan antelope in which the black face markings and
conspicuous white tufts under the eyes were wanting; whilst the true quagga
was nothing but the dullest coloured and most southerly form of Burchell's
zebra. Deplorable, therefore, as is the loss of these two animals, it is not

quite so distressing as it would be had they been the sole representatives of
the genera to which they belonged, and personally I look upon the
disappearance of the Cape buffalo and the black and white rhinoceros from
almost every part of Southern Africa, over which these animals once
wandered so plentifully, with far greater regret; for when these highly
specialised and most interesting creatures have completely disappeared
from the face of the South African veld, there will be no living species of
animal left alive in that country which resembles them in the remotest
degree.
Of course, neither the Cape buffalo nor either of the two species of
rhinoceroses indigenous to Africa are yet absolutely extinct in the country
to the south of the Zambesi river; but of the great white or square-mouthed,
grass-eating rhinoceroses, the largest of all terrestrial mammals after the
elephant, none are left alive to-day with the exception of some half-dozen
which still survive in Zululand, and a very few which are believed to exist
in the neighbourhood of the Angwa river, in Southern Rhodesia. A few of
the black or prehensile-lipped species are, I should think, still to be found
here and there throughout the great stretch of uninhabited country which
lies between the high plateaus of Southern Rhodesia and the Zambesi river,
but, like their congener the white rhinoceros, they are now entirely extinct
throughout all but an infinitesimal proportion of the vast territories over
which they ranged so plentifully only half a century ago.
By the enforcement of game laws, and the establishment of large
sanctuaries in uninhabited parts of the country, it will be possible, I think, to
preserve in considerable numbers all the many species of antelopes still
inhabiting South Africa, as well as the handsome striped zebras, for a long
time to come; but never again can such scenes be witnessed as were
constantly presented to the eyes of the earlier travellers in the interior of
that country.
Then not only were many species of richly coloured graceful antelopes and
zebras everywhere to be seen, but in the early mornings and evenings great
herds of rugged horned buffaloes on their way to or from their drinking-
places almost rivalled the lesser game in numbers, whilst, scattered amongst
all these denizens of the modern world, the numerous long-horned, heavy-
headed white rhinoceroses, together with their more alert and active-

looking cousins of the prehensile-lipped species, must have appeared like
survivals from a far-distant epoch of the world's history.
Even in my own time all the great game of Southern Africa was in places
still abundant, and a scene which I once witnessed in October 1873 will
never fade from my memory. I was at that time hunting elephants in the
country to the south-east of the Victoria Falls, and one afternoon, when
approaching a swampy valley known to the Bushmen by the name of
"Dett," I came unexpectedly on a herd of these animals. I had killed one
young bull and severely wounded a second, when I was charged by a big
cow with long white tusks. I stood my ground and fired into her chest as she
came on, on which she at once stopped screaming and swerved off, giving
me the opportunity to place another shot in her ribs with my second gun. At
that time I was only armed with two old muzzle-loading four-bore elephant
guns, of the clumsiest and most antiquated description, but they hit hard
nevertheless. Having got rid of the vicious old cow, I again followed the
wounded bull, which I presently laid low. When my Kafirs had all
assembled round the carcase, one of them said that he had seen the cow
after I had fired at her, and that he thought she would not go far, as she was
only walking very slowly and throwing great quantities of blood from her
trunk. I at once resolved to follow her, and soon found that she was heading
straight for the valley of Dett, for which I was very thankful, since the day
had been intensely hot, and my Kafirs and I were badly in want of water, as
we had drunk all we had been able to carry in our calabashes before we
came on the elephants.
The sun was low in the western sky, and, seen through the haze of many
grass fires, had already turned from blazing yellow to a dull red, when the
spoor of the wounded elephant led us suddenly out of the forest into the
open grassy valley, some three or four hundred yards broad, through which
the little stream of the Dett made its sluggish way, forming many fine pools
of water along its course. Immediately we emerged from the forest we saw
the carcase of the elephant we had been following lying in the open ground
within fifty yards of the water for which the poor animal had been making,
but had not quite been able to reach. It was too late to commence chopping
out the tusks, but, leaving some of my Kafirs to cut bushes and grass and
prepare a camping-place for the night on the edge of the forest, I went with
the rest to cut open the dead elephant and get the heart out for my supper.

It was whilst I was so engaged that I saw appear along the valley of Dett the
most interesting collection of wild animals that I think I have ever seen
collected together in a small extent of ground.
First, a few hundred yards higher up the valley than where we were
working, a herd of nine giraffes stalked slowly and majestically from the
forest, and, making their way to a pool of water, commenced to drink.
These giraffes remained in the open valley until dark, one or other of them
from time to time straddling out its forelegs in a most extraordinary manner
in order to get its mouth down to the water. No other animals came to drink
in the pools between us and the giraffes. Possibly some got our wind before
leaving the shelter of the forest, though the evening was very still. But
below us, as far as one could see down the valley, the open ground was
presently alive with game. One after another, great herds of buffaloes
emerged from the forest on either side of the valley and fed slowly down to
the water. One of these herds was preceded by about fifty zebras, and
another by a large herd of sable antelopes. Presently two other herds of
sable antelopes appeared upon the scene, a second herd of zebras, and five
magnificently horned old koodoo bulls, whilst rhinoceroses both of the
black and white species (the latter predominating in numbers) were
scattered amongst the other game, singly or in twos and threes all down the
valley. Of course all this great concourse of wild animals had been collected
together in the neighbourhood of the valley of Dett owing to the drying up
of all the vleys in the surrounding country, and during the rainy season
would have been scattered over a wide area.
It is sad to think that of all those buffaloes and rhinoceroses I saw in the
valley of Dett on that October evening, less than five and thirty years ago,
not one single one nor any of their descendants are left alive to-day. They
were all killed off years ago, almost all by the natives of Matabeleland after
these people became possessed of firearms, purchased for the most part on
the Diamond Fields.
As was to be expected, the rhinoceroses were the first to go, but the
buffaloes, in spite of their prodigious numbers in many parts of South
Africa only a generation ago, did not long survive them, for wherever the
epidemic of rinderpest penetrated in 1896 it almost completely destroyed all
the buffaloes which up till then had escaped the native hunters.

It is very difficult to say with any exactitude how many buffaloes still exist
in South Africa to-day. There are a certain number of these animals in the
Addo bush and the Knysna forest, in the Cape Colony, which are protected
by the Cape Government, and there is also a small but increasing herd
inhabiting the game-reserve which has recently been established in the
Eastern Transvaal. Besides these, there may be a few in the Zululand
reserve which survived the rinderpest, whilst a poor remnant of the great
herds I saw in the Pungwe river district in 1891 and 1892 undoubtedly still
survive in that part of the country. Farther north, it is quite possible that
there may still be a considerable number of buffaloes to the north and north-
east of the high plateau of Mashunaland in the neighbourhood of Mount
Darwin, and also in the valleys of the Umsengaisi, Panyami, and Sanyati
rivers. It all depends upon whether the rinderpest penetrated to these
regions in 1896 and 1897.[8]
[8] I have lately learned that the route followed by cattle which are now
frequently brought from N.E. Rhodesia to Salisbury, in Mashunaland, is down
the valley of the Loangwa river to the Zambesi, and after that river has been
crossed up the course of the Panyami to Salisbury. In 1882, and again in 1887, I
found buffaloes very numerous all along the Panyami river from the Zambesi to
a point only a few miles north of Lo Magondi's, and wherever the buffaloes were
found, tse-tse flies were also very numerous. There can be no tse-tse flies along
the Panyami to-day, if I have been correctly informed that cattle are brought to
Mashunaland by this route, and there can be no buffaloes there either, or the tse-
tse flies would not have disappeared. No doubt the buffaloes were destroyed by
the epidemic of rinderpest in 1896-97, and their disappearance was quickly
followed, as has been the case in so many other districts of South Africa, by the
dying out of the tse-tse flies. I fear that very few buffaloes can now be left in any
part of Northern Mashunaland, since the rinderpest appears to have swept
through all that country.

To the west of the river Gwai, however, I believe that few, if any, buffaloes
still survive in the interior of South Africa, though in my own personal
experience I met with these animals in extraordinary numbers wherever I
hunted between 1872 and 1880 in that part of the country, whether to the
south-east of the Victoria Falls, or farther westwards along the Zambesi and
as far as I went along the Chobi, or in the valleys of the Machabi (an
overflow from the Okavango), the Mababi, or the Tamalakan.
In fact, speaking generally, the Cape buffalo was formerly very abundant
everywhere throughout South Africa wherever there was a plentiful supply
of water and grass in close proximity to shady forests; for these animals
never appear to have frequented open country anywhere to the south of the

Zambesi. They spread themselves all down the thickly wooded coast belt of
East and South Africa as far as Mossel Bay, and along all the tributaries of
the Zambesi and the Limpopo rivers, and it was probably from the
headwaters of the Marico and Notwani rivers that they found their way to
the Molopo, and thence through Bechwanaland to the Orange river.
Buffaloes were met with in that district, about 1783, by the French traveller
Le Vaillant, and in Southern Bechwanaland some five and twenty years
later by the missionary John Campbell, whilst in 1845 Mr. W. Cotton
Oswell still found large herds of these animals living in the reed beds of the
Molopo; but it is worthy of remark that, owing to the gradual desiccation of
the country, which has been and still is constantly taking place in South-
Western Africa, there is to-day not enough water to support a herd of
buffaloes either in the Molopo river or anywhere to the south of it,
throughout Bechwanaland.
During the quarter of a century succeeding the year 1871 (during which I
first visited South Africa) the range of the buffalo had been very much
curtailed, but up to 1896 these animals were still numerous in many of the
uninhabited parts of the country, and especially so in the Pungwe river
district of South-East Africa. In the early part of that most fatal year,
however, the terrible epidemic of rinderpest crossed the Zambesi, and
besides depleting nearly the whole of South Africa of cattle before a stop
was put to its ravages by Dr. Koch, almost absolutely exterminated the
buffaloes. The few that remain will probably be gradually killed off, I am
afraid, and I think it quite likely that before many more years have passed
the only buffaloes left in South Africa will be those living in the Addo bush
in the Cape Colony.
There was always a considerable difference of opinion amongst South
African hunters in the old pre-rinderpest times as to the character of the
Cape buffalo, but there is no doubt that this animal was looked upon by all
experienced men as a dangerous antagonist under certain conditions, whilst
by some it was considered to be the most dangerous of all African game. It
is all a matter of individual experience. A man who has shot two or three
lions and a few buffaloes, and who, whilst having had no trouble with the
former animals, has been charged and perhaps only narrowly escaped with
his life from one or more of the latter, will naturally consider the buffalo to
be a more dangerous animal than a lion, and vice versa.

Personally I consider that, speaking generally, the South African lion is a
much more dangerous animal than the South African buffalo, for not only
can a lion hide much more easily and rush on to its antagonist much more
quickly than a buffalo, but the former is, I think, much more savage by
nature, on the average, than the latter. As regards viciousness I should be
inclined to put the buffalo third on the list of dangerous African game,
without reckoning the leopard (of which animal I have not had sufficient
experience to offer an opinion) and the black rhinoceros (whose true
character it seems so difficult to understand); for, whilst putting the lion
first, I think the elephant should come second, as I believe that of a hundred
elephants shot, a greater proportion will charge than of the same number of
buffaloes. However, a charging elephant can almost always be stopped with
a bullet, and it is most difficult to stop a charging buffalo; therefore the
latter is perhaps actually the more dangerous animal of the two.
To follow a wounded buffalo into a bed of reeds, or into long grass, where it
is almost impossible to see it before getting to very close quarters, is a most
dangerous, not to say foolhardy, proceeding. It is quite exciting enough to
follow one of these animals when wounded into thick bush, but there you
have a chance of seeing it as soon as, if not before, it sees you.
I have had a very considerable experience with South African buffaloes,
having killed 175 of these animals to my own rifle, and helped to kill at
least fifty others. When hunting on the Chobi river in 1877, and again in
1879, I had to shoot a great many buffaloes to supply my native followers
with meat, as I did not come across many elephants in either of those years.
During 1877 I killed to my own rifle forty-seven buffaloes, and in 1879
fifty. All these buffaloes, with the exception of five, which I shot when
hunting on horseback near the Mababi river in the latter year, were killed on
foot, and a large number of them were followed, after having been
wounded, into thick bush, and there finally despatched.
If the Cape buffalo was really such a ferocious and diabolically cunning
beast as it has often been represented to have been, it seems to me that I
have been very badly treated in the way of adventures with these animals. I
have, of course, had a few more or less exciting experiences with buffaloes,
but they only happened occasionally, and I never thought it necessary to
make my will before attacking a herd of these animals. In 1874, when very

young and inexperienced, and very badly armed with a clumsy muzzle-
loading elephant gun, my horse was tossed and killed by an old bull which I
had been chasing, and I afterwards received a blow from one of its horns on
the shoulder as I lay on the ground. I was once knocked down, too, by
another buffalo, which charged from behind a bush at very close quarters,
but I escaped without serious injury. On another occasion an old bull which
had been recently mauled by lions, and at which one of my Kafirs had
thrown an assegai, put me into a tree, as I had not a gun in my hands, when
it charged. I once dodged a charging buffalo by leaping aside when its
outstretched nose was quite close to me, and then, swinging myself round a
small tree, ran past its hind-quarters; but I was young then, in perfect
training and full of confidence in myself. Following on the blood spoor of
wounded buffaloes, very cautiously in soft shoes, and holding my rifle at
the ready and on full cock, I believe I have often in thick bush just got a
shot in, in time to prevent a good many of these animals from charging. I
became used to this work, and my eyes, through constant practice, could see
a buffalo standing in thick cover as soon as it was possible to do so, and as
soon as it could see me. My only clothing, too, in those days used to be a
cotton shirt, a soft felt hat, and a pair of shoes. Had I been short-sighted or
dull-sighted, and gone blundering into thick jungle after wounded buffaloes,
in heavy shooting boots and thick clothes, as inexperienced sportsmen
sometimes used to do, I might have met with more adventures than I have
done.
Of course, in the pursuit of any kind of big game which becomes dangerous
when wounded, accidents will sometimes occur to the most experienced
hunters. The Hon. Guy Dawnay, it will be remembered, was killed many
years ago in East Africa by a buffalo which he had wounded. This
gentleman, whom I met in Matabeleland in 1873, had had a great deal of
experience in hunting all kinds of African game before meeting with the
accident which cost him his life, and was an exceptionally athletic young
Englishman.
In all my experience I can only remember one wounded buffalo, when
being followed through open forest, charging from a distance of perhaps a
hundred yards, but lions when chased on horseback will often, even before
they have been fired at, turn and charge from even a greater distance.

When wounded in open country a buffalo will always make for thick cover.
Before it reaches this, it will perhaps see you several times following on its
tracks. It will then stop, turn, and, with head raised and outstretched nose,
stand looking at you for a few seconds, but if able to do so will almost
invariably gallop off again. When it has reached the retreat for which it is
making, it will presently halt, but unless very badly wounded will not lie
down for some time. Personally, I have never known a wounded buffalo to
circle round and then stand watching near its own tracks for its approaching
enemies; but I can imagine that one of these animals when wounded might
go zigzagging about in a thick piece of jungle, and, without any fixed
intention of waylaying its pursuers, might be just about to cross its own
tracks at the very point these latter had reached when following on its spoor.
Then it would almost certainly charge, with a good chance of scoring a
success.
My own experience has been that in thick cover wounded buffaloes usually
stood behind a bush at right angles to their tracks. In such a position,
standing quite motionless, they were very difficult to see, whilst they had
every chance of hearing or seeing anything approaching on their spoor
before being themselves observed. In such cases they would nearly always
be broadside on to the hunter, and if one's eyes were trained to pick up
game quickly in all kinds of surroundings, there would be time to get a shot
in before the wounded animals swung round and started on their charge.
Struck in this way with a heavy bullet somewhere near the junction of the
neck and the shoulder before the charge had actually commenced, a
wounded buffalo would run off again. Once, however, a buffalo is actually
charging, no bullet will turn or stop it, unless its brain is pierced or its neck
or one of its legs broken. A charging buffalo comes on grunting loudly, with
outstretched nose and horns laid back on its neck, and does not lower its
head to strike until close up to its enemy. The outstretched nose of the
buffalo which killed my horse was within a few inches of my leg before it
dipped its head, and, with a sweeping blow, inflicted a fearful wound in the
poor animal's flank.
I once hit a charging buffalo at a distance of perhaps thirty yards, right in
the chest, with a round bullet fired from an old four-bore elephant gun. This
bullet just grazed this old bull's heart, cutting a groove through one side of
it, and then, after traversing the whole length of its body, lodged under the

skin of one of its hind-legs; yet this brave and determined animal still came
on, and struck a blow at a Kafir who was trying to climb a tree close beside
me. It then, after running only a short distance farther, lay down and died.
Almost always when a buffalo is dying it gives vent to a moaning bellow,
which can be heard at a considerable distance. It is a sound which, once
heard, can never be forgotten.
On June 24, 1877, I had a somewhat curious experience with a buffalo on
the banks of the Chobi river. Some natives came to my camp on the
morning of that day and informed me that there were three old buffalo bulls
in the thick bush along the river's edge only a few hundred yards away, and
at the same time begged me to try and shoot them, as they and their people
were very badly off for food. Yielding to their entreaties, I at once went
after the buffaloes, and, putting my Bushmen spoorers on their fresh tracks,
soon came up with them in some thickish bush, and killed two of them with
consecutive shots from a single-barrelled ten-bore rifle. The third ran off
towards the river, and I dashed after him in hot pursuit. Just along the edge
of the bush, and fringing the open ground which skirted the reedy swamp,
through which the river ran at this point, there grew a fringe of palmetto
scrub, the large leaves of which hung over to the ground. Into this the
buffalo dashed, and I followed close behind him. I thought he had gone
through the palmetto scrub, into which one could not see a yard, into the
open ground beyond, and so never slackened my pace, but went at it at full
speed; but the old bull had halted suddenly, and was standing still behind
the screen formed by the overhanging leaves of one of the palmetto bushes.
He could only just have turned himself broadside to listen when I ran full
tilt into him, and was thrown on the ground flat on my back by the violence
of the impact. Probably the buffalo was as much surprised as I was. At any
rate, he never stopped to see what had happened, but galloped off again
across the open ground on the other side of the palmetto scrub and plunged
into the reeds.
Men who hunted big game in South Africa at a time when that country was
worth living in, are often charged with wastefully slaughtering large
numbers of wild animals. Every one must answer this charge for himself.
Personally I do not plead guilty. I never killed any animal for mere sport;
but it was often necessary to shoot what may seem to any one who does not
realise the circumstances an extravagant amount of game in order not only

to supply one's own followers with food, but also to gain the goodwill of
the natives of the country in which one was travelling. I find an entry in my
diary for August 20, 1879: "Shot six buffalo bulls." That without
explanation seems a big order. But, as it happened, on the previous evening
I had met my friends Collison and Miller on the banks of the Chobi, and
found them both down with fever, and their native followers without food.
The next day it was necessary for me to shoot enough meat not only to
supply the immediate wants of more than fifty men, but to take them to the
waggons on the Mababi river, which was several days' journey distant.
Taking up the spoor of a big herd of buffaloes, I killed six fine bulls, not
one ounce of meat of any one of which was wasted. Incidentally I may say
that I killed these six buffalo bulls with ten shots from a single-barrelled
ten-bore rifle, using round bullets and six drachms of powder. I had no kind
of adventure with any one of these animals. Another entry for December 6
in the same year stands: "Nine Burchell's zebras; two eland bulls." These
animals were killed soon after leaving the Mababi for Bamangwato, and
without the supply of meat thus obtained it would have gone very hard with
the large number of Khama's people who were travelling with me, and who
were almost entirely dependent upon me for food. Khama thanked me very
heartily on my return to Bamangwato for the assistance I had given to his
people.
To return to buffaloes, old bulls are often said to be very bad tempered and
liable to charge without the slightest provocation. Many instances can, no
doubt, be cited of men having suddenly been charged and either killed or
badly maimed by one of these animals. If all these cases, however, had been
thoroughly investigated, I believe it would have been found that such
unprovoked attacks had for the most part been made by wounded animals
lying in thick cover or long grass, which were suffering from injuries
inflicted either by lions or by human hunters. Such animals would naturally
be morose and dangerous to approach.
I have not shot many buffaloes when hunting on horseback, as in my time
these animals were seldom found except in countries infested by the tse-tse
fly, which fatally affects horses and cattle. However, I have galloped after at
least a dozen herds of buffaloes, riding alongside of them and continually
dismounting and firing at one or other of their number. Only on one
occasion did an unwounded buffalo leave the herd and charge me. This was

a cow which gave me a smart chase for perhaps a hundred yards. It is
astonishing at what a speed a buffalo can run when charging. It certainly
takes a good horse to get away from one, although when following a herd of
buffaloes on horseback one can easily keep alongside of them at a hand-
gallop. Even on foot I never found any difficulty in keeping up with a herd
of buffaloes and shooting as many as I required to supply my native
followers with food. But, of course, the life I led at that time, and the
continual hard walking and running necessary to earn my living, kept me in
perfect training.
In the interior of South Africa, where the nights are very cold in the winter-
time, buffaloes used to get fairly abundant but never thick coats when in
their prime. The calves, which were born during January, February, and
March, were, when very young, covered with soft hair of a reddish brown
colour, but as they grew, the reddish tinge gradually disappeared and they
became dun coloured. They did not turn black until they were fully three
years of age. The hair of the Cape buffalo when full-grown was always
quite black and very coarse. The large ears were bordered with long fringes
of soft black hair, and the end of the tail carried a good-sized tassel. When
old, both bull and cow buffaloes lost most of their hair, first on the middle
of the back; but the baldness gradually increased until very old animals of
this species became almost as hairless as a rhinoceros.
In the early 'seventies buffaloes were everywhere very plentiful along the
Zambesi and its tributaries, but nowhere so abundant as along the Chobi
river. So numerous were they along both banks of this river, that one would
have thought that they had reached the very limits of their food-supply.
They were usually found consorting together in herds of from fifty or sixty
to two or three hundred individuals. Once I saw what I think must have
been several large herds collected together, as the total number of the troop
could not have been less than a thousand. A grass fire had probably
destroyed the pasture on the ground where several herds had lately been
living, and they were all moving up the river together in search of food. In
districts where buffaloes were plentiful, old bulls, which had either been
driven from the herds by younger animals or had voluntarily retired from a
society which bored them, would often be encountered either alone or two
or three together. But along the Chobi I have often seen from five to ten old

buffalo bulls consorting together, and I once saw as many as fifteen very
old males in one troop.

"SUCH OLD BUFFALO BULLS WERE VERY SLOW ABOUT
GETTING OUT OF ONE'S WAY."
Where the country had not been much disturbed, such old buffalo bulls
were very slow about getting out of one's way, and would stand calmly
watching the approach of so unaccustomed a visitor to their haunts as a
human being without showing any sign of fear. Their demeanour was
indeed apparently aggressive and truculent; still, although I have walked up
to or close past a very large number in the aggregate of old buffalo bulls, I
have never known one to charge before being interfered with. With
outstretched noses these formidable-looking creatures would stand gazing
at one with sullen eyes from under their massive rugged horns, and would
not sometimes run off before sticks and stones were thrown at them; but in
my experience they always did run off sooner or later. African buffaloes are,
after all, nothing but wild cattle. My Matabele boys used frequently to
speak of them as "Izinkomo ka M'limo" ("God's cattle"). I have walked past
thousands and thousands of them, and have never known one to charge
when unprovoked. But when a buffalo which has been mauled by lions or

wounded by some hunter, and is lying sick and sore in long grass or thick
bush, suddenly sees a number of human beings advancing towards its
retreat, it will very likely jump up and charge through them, inflicting
perhaps a deadly blow with one of its massive crooked horns as it passes.
Once a buffalo has been wounded and gets into thick jungle or reeds or long
grass, it becomes a most dangerous animal, especially to an inexperienced
sportsman who has not yet acquired the art of seeing an animal standing
motionless in the shade of dense bush as soon as it is physically possible to
do so, and who cannot walk noiselessly on the tracks of wounded game.
It has often been stated that on the approach of a herd of elephants to drink
at a pool of water, all other animals will at once retire and make way for
them. Very likely this may be true as a general rule, but I remember one
occasion upon which a herd of some thirty elephants coming down to drink
at a vley early in the night, and finding a large herd of buffaloes at the water
before them, waited until these latter animals had quenched their thirst and
fed slowly off into the forest before themselves going down to the pool.
This happened on a night in November 1873, when the moon, nearly at the
full, was shining in a cloudless sky.
I was camped near a fine vley of fresh rain-water in the country to the west
of the river Gwai, in Matabeleland, and had just finished my evening meal,
when a large herd of buffaloes came to drink, and had hardly reached the
water when we saw a troop of elephants approaching. These latter passed
very near to my encampment, and must have seen our fires, as one after
another they faced towards us, and stood looking in our direction with
outspread ears. They did not, however, get our wind, and though they must
have been suspicious, they were, I suppose, very thirsty. But as long as the
buffaloes remained on the open ground round the pool of water, the
elephants did not advance, remaining about a hundred yards away, just
within the edge of a thin forest of mopani trees. Directly, however, the
buffaloes had fed away into the forest on the other side of the vley, the
greater beasts advanced very quickly to the water's edge, and, arranging
themselves in a row, stood for a long time sucking up the grateful fluid
through their trunks. As they were all cows and young animals, and there
were some fine bulls in the district, I did not disturb them. Of course, I
cannot say whether or no the buffaloes were aware of the proximity of the
elephants, but I am quite certain that the latter not only saw and smelt the

wild cattle, but waited until they had retired before themselves advancing to
the water.

CHAPTER IX
NOTES ON THE TSE-TSE FLY
Connection between buffaloes and tse-tse flies—Sir Alfred Sharpe's views
—Buffaloes and tse-tse flies both once abundant in the valley of the
Limpopo and many other districts south of the Zambesi, in which both
have now become extinct—Permanence of all kinds of game other
than buffaloes in districts from which the tse-tse fly has disappeared—
Experience of Mr. Percy Reid—Sudden increase of tse-tse flies
between Leshuma and Kazungula during 1888—Disappearance of the
tse-tse fly from the country to the north of lake N'gami after the
extermination of the buffalo—History of the country between the
Gwai and Daka rivers—And of the country between the Chobi and the
Zambesi—Climatic and other conditions necessary to the existence of
the tse-tse fly—Never found at a high altitude above the sea—Nor on
open plains or in large reed beds—"Fly" areas usually but not always
well defined—Tse-tse flies most numerous in hot weather—Bite of the
tse-tse fly fatal to all domestic animals, except native goats and
perhaps pigs—Donkeys more resistant to tse-tse fly poison than horses
or cattle—Tse-tse flies active on warm nights—Effect of tse-tse fly
bites on human beings.

As it is impossible for any one who had much experience with buffaloes in
the interior of South Africa in the days when these animals were
excessively plentiful not to have a very lively remembrance also of the tse-
tse flies by which they were almost invariably accompanied, I think a few
words concerning these insects will not be out of place. My remarks must,
however, be understood to apply not to all tse-tse flies—for there are
several distinct species of the genus inhabiting different parts of Africa—
but to Glossina morsitans alone, which, so far as I am aware, is the only
species of tse-tse fly as yet known to occur in Africa to the south of the
Zambesi river.

In the countries farther north, men of great experience have expressed the
opinion that there is no connection between tse-tse flies and buffaloes or
any other kind of wild animals. Writing on this subject, Sir Alfred Sharpe
has recently stated, in the course of an article published in the Field
newspaper for November 2, 1907:

So far as Africa north of the Zambesi is concerned (i.e. British Central
Africa, North-Eastern Rhodesia, Portuguese East Africa, the south-
west portion of German East Africa, and the south-east corner of the
Congo State), I am able to speak with some experience, having spent
twenty years in those regions. The results of the last few years' careful
observation have led me to a decided opinion that the existence of tse-
tse is not dependent on wild game of any description. Tse-tse (mostly
Glossina morsitans in British Central Africa), when it has the
opportunity, sucks the blood of all such animals as it can get at in tracts
of country in which it exists, but I think that blood is an exceptional
diet (as in the case of the mosquito).

The great experience which Sir Alfred Sharpe has enjoyed in British Central
Africa—which territory he has so ably administered for many years—
entitles any views he may express on any subject concerning that country to
the very greatest respect; but it must, nevertheless, be said that the
conclusions he has arrived at concerning the requirements and life-history
of the tse-tse fly (of the species Glossina morsitans), in the countries lying
to the north of the Zambesi river, in which his observations have been
made, are diametrically opposed to the teachings of history throughout the
whole of Africa to the south of the Zambesi, where not only would it seem
that these insects live entirely upon mammalian blood, but that they have
become so highly specialised that they can only maintain their vitality on
the blood of buffaloes; for it can be shown that wherever tse-tse flies were
first encountered by the earliest European travellers in South Africa, there
also buffaloes were either constantly present or visited such districts during
certain months of every year; and that as soon as the buffaloes were either
exterminated or driven out of any such territories, a remarkable diminution
in the numbers of the tse-tse flies was at once observed; whilst in a very few
years after the complete extinction of the buffaloes these insects entirely
ceased to exist, even though other kinds of game remained in the country

for years afterwards. A few facts bearing on this subject, which, being
historical, can neither be questioned nor, I think, explained away as
coincidences, are well worth enumerating.
In 1845 Mr. William Cotton Oswell—the well-known traveller and hunter
—encountered tse-tse fly on the Maghaliquain river, a tributary of the
Limpopo running through the Northern Transvaal, and it is an historical fact
that at that time the whole of the Northern Transvaal lying between the
Waterberg and Zoutpansberg ranges and the Limpopo, as well as a large
area of country lying to the north of that river, was the haunt of great herds
of buffaloes, and that the banks of every river draining this large territory, as
well as many tracts of forest lying between these rivers, were at the same
time infested with tse-tse flies.
In 1871 the well-known traveller Mr. Thomas Baines, as he has recorded in
his book The Gold Regions of South-East Africa, still found the tse-tse fly
numerous on the Maghaliquain river, as well as in the neighbourhood of the
Macloutsie and Shashi rivers, and in many other places throughout the
valley of the Limpopo.
In the following year, 1872, I visited Matabeleland for the first time, and it
is within my own knowledge that at that time buffaloes were still plentiful
in many parts of the valley of the central Limpopo.
About this time the natives of every tribe in South Africa were acquiring
guns and ammunition in immense quantities in payment for work in the
recently discovered diamond mines. The first result of the acquisition of
firearms by the natives of the Northern Transvaal and the countries farther
north was the destruction of all the buffaloes throughout the valley of the
Limpopo to the west of the Tuli river, and it is a well-known fact that in a
very few years after the disappearance of the buffaloes from this large area
of country the tse-tse fly had also absolutely ceased to exist.
Yet for years after the disappearance of both buffaloes and tse-tse flies from
the valley of the central Limpopo and its tributaries, other game, such as
zebras, koodoos, wildebeests, waterbucks, impalas, and bushbucks,
continued to exist in considerable numbers. I myself found all these animals
still fairly numerous in 1886 along the Maghaliquain river, as well as on the
Limpopo itself and along the lower course of the Macloutsie and Shashi
rivers, and it seems to me that there can be no doubt that after the buffaloes

had been exterminated the tse-tse flies gradually died out, because they
could not maintain themselves on the blood of other kinds of game.
Again, it is an historical fact that when gold was first discovered in the
Lydenburg district of the Transvaal, in the early 'seventies of the last
century, the whole of the low-lying belt of country near Delagoa Bay was
infested with tse-tse fly, and that buffaloes were also very plentiful in the
same district.
Very heavy losses in cattle were the result of the first attempts to carry
goods by ox waggon from Lourenço Marquez to the Transvaal gold-fields.
Ox-waggon transport was then abandoned and a service of donkey waggons
established by, I think, a Mr. Abbot. Donkeys, however, though far more
resistant to tse-tse fly poison than cattle, were found to soon grow weak
from, and sooner or later to succumb to, its effects. Gradually, however, the
buffaloes got killed off throughout the low country lying between the
Lebombo range and the sea, and the tse-tse fly then gradually diminished in
numbers, until, though many other kinds of game remained in the country,
the waggon road leading from Barberton to Delagoa Bay at last became
quite free from these insects.
It is a well-known fact, too, that up to the year 1878 buffaloes were plentiful
on the Botletlie river to the south of Lake N'gami in the neighbourhood of
the Tamalakan, where Livingstone and Oswell lost so many of their oxen
from tse-tse fly bites in 1853.
Up to the year 1878, too, there were still two "fly"-infested tracts of forest
to the west of the Botletlie, through which the waggon road to Lake N'gami
from Bamangwato passed. These "fly" belts were always crossed during the
coldest hours of the night by traders and hunters travelling to or from Lake
N'gami with cattle and horses. During the year 1878 a number of emigrant
Boer families, on their way from the Transvaal to Portuguese West Africa,
spent several months camped along the Botletlie river. The men belonging
to these families were all hunters, and they killed a great many buffaloes,
and drove those they did not kill far up the Tamalakan. After 1878 no
buffalo was ever seen again on the Botletlie river, and soon after the
disappearance of the buffaloes the tse-tse flies, which had up to that time
constantly infested two belts of forest near the western bank of the river,
ceased to exist. There are neither tse-tse flies nor buffaloes along the

Botletlie river to-day, though several species of antelopes as well as zebras
were a few years ago, and are probably still, existent there.
Again, in the early 'seventies of the last century there were two "fly" belts
lying across the road from Bamangwato to the Zambesi, the first a tract of
forested country some twelve miles broad, situated to the south of Daka,
and the second occupying a lesser extent of ground of similar character
between Pandamatenka and the Zambesi. At the same date, all along the
southern bank of the Zambesi and Chobi rivers to the westward of the
Victoria Falls, tse-tse flies were present in such numbers that it was no
exaggeration to speak of them as swarming, or as resembling a swarm of
bees, whilst prodigious numbers of buffaloes were likewise to be found all
the year round in the same locality. The buffaloes seldom went more than a
mile or so away from the river, and it was my experience that where the
buffaloes did not penetrate, the country was entirely free from "fly." Both
the one and the other were confined in this part of the country to the near
vicinity of the river, where, however, both literally swarmed. In the "fly"
belts aforementioned, crossed by the waggon road to the Zambesi, buffaloes
were only present during the wet season and the early part of the dry
season, retiring eastwards as the vleys dried up. In these "fly" belts,
however, tse-tse were not nearly so numerous as along the Zambesi and
Chobi, where the buffaloes were present all the year round. Constant
persecution from about 1876 onwards, chiefly by natives armed with guns,
soon stopped the buffaloes from coming into the "fly" belts crossed by the
waggon road to the Zambesi, and a few years later these animals had also
entirely ceased to visit the southern bank of the Zambesi between the
Victoria Falls and the mouth of the Chobi. After the buffaloes ceased to visit
the tracts of forests infested by "fly" on the road to the Zambesi, these
insects very soon entirely died out, though other kinds of game still
remained in both those districts. Along the southern bank of the Zambesi to
the west of the Victoria Falls the tse-tse flies began to diminish in numbers
as soon as the buffaloes ceased to frequent this part of the country. It took
some years certainly before the tse-tse had quite died out in this strip of
country, but for many years past now neither buffaloes nor tse-tse flies have
been seen in that district, where, however, game of various kinds other than
buffaloes continued to exist long after the tse-tse flies had completely
disappeared.

When exactly the buffaloes ceased to visit the neighbourhood of the
Victoria Falls and the two tracts of country that were once known as "fly"
belts on the road to the Zambesi, and how long it was after the
disappearance of these animals that the tse-tse flies entirely died out in
these same districts, I have been unable to ascertain. In 1874 I found both
buffaloes and tse-tse flies in all these districts, and in 1877, on my second
visit to the Zambesi, although I did not see any buffaloes or their fresh
tracks in the two "fly" belts crossed by the waggon road, tse-tse flies still
haunted both these localities, as I myself observed, and as has also been
recorded by the late Dr. B. F. Bradshaw. I believe, however, that these
insects were at that time rapidly diminishing in numbers in both those
districts, owing to the fact that the buffaloes had almost ceased to come
amongst them. In October 1877 I accompanied Dr. Bradshaw from
Kazungula—where the Chobi joins the Zambesi—to the Victoria Falls. We
walked the whole way along the bank of the Zambesi and found tse-tse fly
very numerous everywhere, especially near the Falls. At this time buffaloes
were already becoming scarce to the eastward of the junction of the Chobi
with the Zambesi, most of them having already moved westwards up the
course of the former river.
Eleven years later, in 1888, I travelled over the old waggon road to the
Zambesi for the last time. Both buffaloes and tse-tse flies had then long
since disappeared from the stretch of country to the south of Daka as well
as from the "fly" belt to the north of Pandamatenka, whilst they were also
entirely absent from the southern bank of the Zambesi near the Victoria
Falls. There was still, however, a certain amount of game—zebras and
several species of antelopes—left in all these districts.
In December 1888 I took two horses to the Falls, and rode one of them all
along the narrow strip of open ground between the Rain Forest and the edge
of the chasm into which the river falls. It seemed strange not to see a single
"fly" in this district, where these death-dealing insects had literally swarmed
only eleven years earlier.
Farther westwards, however, tse-tse flies continued to haunt the southern
bank of the lower Chobi river in great numbers long after the buffaloes had
ceased to live there constantly, though these animals still visited the district
during the rainy seasons. At such times they probably grazed down the river
in great numbers to within a few miles of its junction with the Zambesi.

A letter I have lately received from my old friend Mr. Percy Reid, who has
made many hunting trips to the Chobi and Zambesi rivers, the last two of
which were undertaken, the one the year before and the other three years
after the epidemic of rinderpest had killed off all the buffaloes on the lower
course of the Chobi river, throws a great deal of light on the disputed
question as to whether or no there is or has ever been any connection
between the buffalo and the tse-tse fly in South Africa.
In the course of his letter Mr. Reid says:

I was at Kazungula (the junction of the Chobi and Zambesi rivers) in
1885, 1888, 1895, and 1899. In 1885 I did not take my oxen beyond
Pandamatenka, as it was not considered safe to take them to
Kazungula; but even in that year I saw no "fly" between Leshuma[9]
and the junction of the rivers, though I remember that a few were said
to still exist there at that time. There were no buffalo there then, and
the fact that the "fly" still lingered in this district was put down, though
I do not know with how much truth, to the great number of baboons
which, as you will remember, always frequented the bush near
Kazungula.
[9] Leshuma is ten miles south of Kazungula.

In 1888 and subsequent years I sent oxen and horses backwards and
forwards from the river to Leshuma at all hours of the day, and never
lost any from "fly" bites.
In 1895 there were plenty of both fly and buffalo up the Majili,[10] and
swarms of fly up the Chobi, but I did not go very far, and saw no
buffalo there.
[10] A river running into the Zambesi from the north, not far above its
junction with the Chobi.

In 1899, only three years after the rinderpest had swept off all the
buffaloes, I went along the north bank of the Chobi right past Linyanti,
and, crossing above the swamps, came back along the south bank.
There was not a fly to be seen where, only four years before, I had
counted thirty or forty on a native's back at one time, and we had
actually to light fires and sit in the smoke to protect ourselves from
them. On the whole trip we saw no buffalo, and only got fairly old

spoor of one very small lot on the north bank. I certainly always
understood that in a very few years after the buffalo disappeared from
any district the "fly" followed suit. All the old hunters up on the
Zambesi were agreed on that point, and I recollect George
Westbeech[11] saying the same thing.
[11] An old Zambesi trader of great experience.

This letter conclusively proves that although tse-tse flies continued to
swarm along the southern bank of the Chobi to within a short distance
above Kazungula for some years after the buffaloes had ceased to live all
the year round in this district (as they used to do up to the early 'eighties of
the last century), and only spent the rainy season there, these insects
absolutely disappeared within three years after the final destruction of the
buffaloes by rinderpest in 1896.
Mr. Reid's letter also seems to show that if buffaloes live in great numbers
all along the bank of a certain river where tse-tse flies also swarm, and that
if through persecution the buffaloes should be driven far up the river at
certain times of year, only returning to their old haunts during the rains,
when all hunters have left the country, a large proportion of the tse-tse flies
do not migrate backwards and forwards with the buffaloes, but remain
constantly on the section of the river where they first appeared as perfect
insects, not appreciably decreasing in numbers as long as the buffaloes
come amongst them periodically, but gradually dwindling in numbers, and
at last altogether disappearing within a few years of the final extinction of
those animals, in spite of the continued presence of other kinds of game.
Although Mr. Reid saw no "flies" between Leshuma and Kazungula either
in 1885 or in 1888, there were still a few lingering there in the latter year.
There were so few in the early part of 1888, however, that probably none
were to be seen during June and July, when the nights were very cold, but
later on in this same year they increased very rapidly in numbers, as I think,
owing to the fact that my own and Mr. Reid's cattle deposited a great deal of
dung all along the waggon track leading down to Kazungula. It was in June
of that year (1888), after I myself had crossed the Zambesi on an expedition
to the north, that Jan Weyers, an old Dutch hunter, took my waggon by
night through the old "fly" belt between Leshuma and Kazungula in order to
trade with the natives living on the Zambesi, sending the oxen back to

Leshuma the following night. In the same month, or a little later, Mr. Percy
Reid and his party brought their waggons to Leshuma, and their oxen pulled
them backwards and forwards several times between that place and
Kazungula. There was thus a great deal of cattle dung, which is, of course,
precisely the same as buffalo dung, all along this short stretch of waggon
road. For some reason this driving of cattle backwards and forwards
between Leshuma and the Chobi caused an extraordinary increase in the
number of tse-tse flies. All the natives who travelled the road remarked
upon it, and both they and Jan Weyers assured me that they had thought the
"fly" was almost absolutely extinct in this district, as in the previous year,
even in the hot weather before the rains, very few had been seen.
However, when I went down to the river in August (1888) on my way to the
Barotse country, I found a good many tse-tse flies along the track, and by
November they had become very numerous. As Mr. Reid and his party did
not return to Pandamatenka by way of Leshuma, but went along the
southern bank of the Zambesi to the Falls, they were unaware of this sudden
increase in the numbers of the tse-tse flies.
I am still quite unable to account for the sudden and rapid increase in the
number of tse-tse flies along the waggon track between Leshuma and
Kazungula between August and November 1888, as it is quite certain that
up to the latter month they had taken no toll of blood from the cattle which
had been driven backwards and forwards along the road either by night or
during the cold weather in June or July.
I knew that my friend the late Dr. Bradshaw used to hold the view that the
tse-tse fly deposited its eggs in buffalo dung, and I thought at the time that
the cattle dung had been taken as a substitute. The very important
researches, however, of Lieutenant-Colonel Bruce in Zululand have shown
that "the 'tse-tse' fly does not lay eggs as do the majority of the Diptera, but
extrudes a yellow coloured larva, nearly as large as the abdomen of the
mother." The perfect insect does not hatch out for six weeks, so that the
increase by generation from a small number of individuals in the course of a
few months would not be very great. I can only think, therefore, that all the
tse-tse flies throughout the bush through which the ten miles of road led
from Leshuma to the Chobi must have been attracted to its neighbourhood
by the smell of the cattle dung, which no doubt they mistook for that of
buffaloes, the animals with which they have always been so closely

associated in the countries to the south of the Zambesi. I am, however, not
at all satisfied with this explanation.
I was obliged to keep my waggon standing on the bank of the Zambesi
(waiting for ivory to be brought down from the Barotse valley) until late in
November 1888, so that when I was at last able to send my oxen down to
the river to bring it through the "fly," which now infested the waggon track
leading from Leshuma to Kazungula in considerable numbers, the nights
had become very warm, and although we did not start till after eleven
o'clock, and ran the oxen to the river and brought the waggon back as
quickly as possible, every one of them, twenty-one in all, got "fly-stuck"
and died within six months.
After 1888 the tse-tse flies again rapidly diminished in numbers between
Leshuma and Kazungula, and have long since absolutely ceased to exist
there; so that here again we have another instance of a country in which, at
no very distant time, both buffaloes and tse-tse flies literally swarmed, but
from which both have now long since completely disappeared, although
other animals, such as antelopes of various kinds and baboons, cannot yet
be altogether extinct.
The same diminution and eventual disappearance of the tse-tse fly has also
followed the extinction of the buffalo on the Okavango to the north of Lake
N'gami.
As has been recorded by C. J. Andersson and other travellers and hunters,
both buffaloes and tse-tse flies existed in great numbers along the Teoge
(Okavango) river between Lake N'gami and Libèbè's in the early 'fifties of
the last century. At that time the Batauwana tribe were living at Lake
N'gami. These people gradually acquired firearms and drove the buffaloes
northwards up the Okavango, and the fly did not long remain in the
countries which these animals ceased to visit. In 1884, after having been
twice attacked by the Matabele, the Batauwana abandoned their settlements
at Lake N'gami and retreated several days' journey to the north along the
Okavango, where they built a new town, which they named Denukani (on
the river). From this point they have now been hunting through all the
country farther north for more than twenty years, and I have been lately
informed that a waggon road has been cut from Denukani to Libèbè's, and
from thence to the Quito, the whole length of which is entirely free from

tse-tse fly, which insects there seems every reason to believe have died out
owing to the disappearance of the buffaloes from their former haunts.
But the facts which I have already stated, and which seem to me to show
that in Africa to the south of the Zambesi there has always been a close
connection between the buffalo and the tse-tse fly, by no means exhaust the
evidence on this point.
When Sebitwane, the great chief of the Makololo, and Umziligazi, the
founder of the Matabele nation, led their clans, the one to Linyanti between
the Chobi and Zambesi rivers, the other to the high plateau near the sources
of the Gwai and Umzingwani rivers, they found the whole country south of
the Zambesi, between the Daka and the Gwai, occupied by an unwarlike
and agricultural people akin to the Makalaka, and if any value can be placed
on native testimony, these people were rich in cattle.
Attacked first by the Makololo and later on by the Matabele, these
unfortunate people were killed in great numbers and gradually dispossessed
of their lands, all their cattle being taken from them. Those that escaped
death fled across the Zambesi, where their descendants are living to this
day.
Now I have no doubt that long ago, before the country between the Gwai
and the Daka rivers was settled up by natives, it had been a "fly"-infested
country full of buffaloes. At any rate, as soon as the natives had been killed
or driven out of it, buffaloes and all other kinds of game took possession of
it, moving in no doubt from the countries both to the east and the west, and
with them came a few tse-tse flies, which must soon have increased and
multiplied in so favourable an environment.
In 1873 I was hunting elephants at the junction of the Gwai and Shangani
rivers, and through all the country westwards to beyond the site of the
present coal-mine at Wankies. At that time all this country was full of
buffaloes and tse-tse flies.
Fifteen years later, however, the Matabele, who had then for a long time
been in the possession of firearms, had driven the buffaloes out of all the
country on either side of the river Gwai, and as these animals went farther
north and east, the tse-tse fly gradually disappeared.

The last time I saw Lo Bengula alive—early in 1890—I spent the greater
part of two days talking to him on many subjects, especially game, for he
loved to talk about wild animals, having been a great hunter in his youth.
He told me that there were then no more buffaloes anywhere in the
neighbourhood of the Gwai and Shangani rivers, and that with the buffaloes
the "fly" had gone too, and that as the buffaloes and the "fly" had died out,
he had gradually pushed his cattle posts down both the Gwai and Shangani
rivers, and that at that time, 1890, he had actually got a cattle post at the
junction of the two rivers, where seventeen years before I had found
buffaloes and tse-tse flies both very numerous.
The history of the country lying between the lower course of the Chobi
river and the Zambesi has been very similar to that of the territory to the
south of the Zambesi between the Gwai and the Daka.
When Livingstone and Oswell visited the chief Sebitwane in 1853, they
first took their waggon during the night through the narrow strip of "fly"-
infested country which ran along the southern bank of the Chobi, and swam
their bullocks to the other side of the river before sunrise the next morning.
Just where they struck the southern branch of the Chobi there were no trees
or bushes on its northern bank, only open grass lands and reed beds to
which the tse-tse flies never crossed, although the river was only fifty yards
broad, and they simply swarmed all along the wooded southern bank.
At this time, 1853, Sebitwane, who possessed great numbers of cattle, was
living not in the open grass country, which has always been free from "fly,"
but at Linyanti, which was situated beyond the northern branch of the Chobi
and was surrounded on all sides by sandy ridges on which grew forest trees
and bushes. In 1861 Linyanti was again visited by Dr. Livingstone, in
company with his brother Charles and Dr. (now Sir John) Kirk. Sekeletu,
the son of Sebitwane, was then the chief of the Makololo, and these people
were still rich in cattle. After Sekeletu's death a civil war broke out between
two rival claimants to the chieftainship which so weakened the Makololo,
that a coalition of the remnants of the various tribes they had conquered and
reduced to servitude some forty years previously rose in rebellion against
their rulers, and under the leadership of Sepopo, the uncle of Lewanika, the
present chief of the Barotse, absolutely destroyed them as a people, killing
every male down to the new-born infants, but sparing all the young females
and girl children, who were subsequently taken as wives by their captors.

After the destruction of the Makololo tribe, the country between the Chobi
and the Zambesi was once more given back to nature.
In 1879 I crossed both branches of the Chobi and visited the site of the once
important native town of Linyanti. I there found several relics of the ill-
fated Makololo mission party (sent to that tribe by Dr. Livingstone's
advice), in the shape of the iron tyres and nave bands of waggon wheels. At
that time the surrounding country had been uninhabited for some fifteen
years, and I found great herds of buffaloes grazing undisturbed all round
and over the site of Linyanti, where once had pastured the cattle of the
Makololo. With the buffaloes too had come the tse-tse flies, which swarmed
all over this district, though when the former left the forest and bush and
went into the reed beds and open grass lands between the two main
branches of the Chobi, the latter did not follow them. There can be no
doubt, however, that when the Makololo first crossed from Sesheke on the
Zambesi to the northern branch of the Chobi river, they must have found
both buffaloes and tse-tse flies numerous in the district where later on their
chief Sebitwane built his principal town. The buffaloes must have first been
driven to the west, and the fly must subsequently have died out, before the
natives were able to introduce cattle into this part of the country. After the
destruction of the native population about 1864, the buffaloes moved back
into the country from which they had whilom been driven, and the tse-tse
flies came with them. The rinderpest which passed through the country in
1896, I believe, killed all the buffaloes left anywhere near Linyanti, and
probably the tse-tse fly has also long since died out in that district,[12] into
which cattle may have been once more introduced by the natives, though I
do not know that this is the case.
[12] A reference to the letter I have already quoted from my friend Mr. Percy
Reid shows that in 1899 he found neither buffaloes nor tse-tse flies in the
neighbourhood of Linyanti, where both were very numerous on the occasion of
my visit in 1879.

But although it would seem, from the historical facts I have just related, that
in Africa, to the south of the Zambesi river, Glossina morsitans has always
been dependent upon the Cape buffalo for its continued existence, certain
climatic and other conditions which have never yet been satisfactorily
explained have always prevented tse-tse flies from spreading into all parts
of the country in which buffaloes were once found. In Southern Africa the
tse-tse fly has always been confined to a strip of country along the south-

east coast, and the hot, well-wooded valleys of the Zambesi and Limpopo
rivers and their tributaries. Apparently the tse-tse fly (Glossina morsitans)
requires a certain degree of heat in the atmosphere, or can only stand a
certain degree of cold; for along the east coast it seems never to have
existed to the south of St. Lucia Bay, in the 28th parallel of south latitude,
although buffaloes were once plentiful far beyond this limit, all through the
coast lands of Natal and the Cape Colony, as far as Mossel Bay. Nor are
these insects ever found at a high altitude above the sea. "Fly" country is
usually less than 3000 feet above sea-level, though in places such as the
district to the north of Hartley Hills, in Mashunaland, tse-tse flies ascend to
a height of nearly 3500 feet. Nearer the equator, they are able to live at a
higher level, and I have myself met with tse-tse flies near the upper
Kafukwe river at an altitude of at least 4000 feet above the sea.
The tse-tse flies spread with the buffaloes from the sea-coast all along the
Limpopo to beyond its junction with the Maghaliquain, but were not able to
accompany them to higher ground. The buffaloes, however, spread right up
to near the sources of the Limpopo and its tributaries, crossed the watershed
to the reed beds of the Molopo, and from thence spread through
Bechwanaland as far south as the Orange river, hundreds of miles away
from the nearest "fly"-infested area. Even in the midst of low-lying districts
full of buffaloes, and, speaking generally, full of tse-tse flies as well, all
open pieces of grass country, where there are neither trees nor bushes, and
all reed beds of any size, will be found to be free from these insects. When
buffaloes feed out into such places from the surrounding forests, the "flies"
soon leave them and return to the shelter of the trees. Similarly, if one side
of a river be covered with bush and forest down to the water's edge, and if,
along this forest-covered bank, tse-tse flies swarm, these insects will never
cross even a narrow channel to open reed beds or grass land on the other
side. Dr. Livingstone has mentioned how, though he found tse-tse flies
swarming along the southern bank of the Chobi river in 1853, his oxen were
perfectly safe from these insects in the open grass lands on the other side of
the river; and in my own experience, although I have often crossed this
same part of the Chobi by canoe, and seen numbers of "flies" on meat, or on
the natives or myself, as we left the southern bank, I never knew one of
them to cross the river with us. As soon as we got to a short distance from
the southern bank, they all left us and flew back to the shelter of the trees
and bushes. But the most extraordinary thing about the tse-tse fly is, that in

certain low-lying countries away from the wooded banks of the larger
rivers, these insects were not found everywhere, but only in certain forest
areas, known to the early South African pioneers as "fly" belts. I am
speaking now, of course, of the time when natural conditions and the
balance of nature had not been upset by North Europeans; for no charge of
this kind can be made against the Portuguese, who were always poor
hunters.
No one, I think, has ever been able to explain why the tse-tse flies never
spread from the "fly" belt which was crossed by the old waggon road to the
Zambesi, a few miles to the south of Daka, to the "fly"-infested forest,
which lay across the same road a little to the north of Pandamatenka. The
country between these two "fly"-infested areas was exactly similar in its
vegetation, its altitude above the sea, and in every other particular, as far as
one could see, to the "fly" belts which bounded it to the north and south,
and during the rainy season buffaloes must have wandered through the
intermediate country, as well as through the two "fly" belts. That tse-tse
flies used to be found in the greatest numbers along the wooded banks of
rivers such as the Chobi, the Zambesi and many of its tributaries, was
owing, I think, to the fact that buffaloes had become excessively plentiful in
the same districts, not because the near neighbourhood of water was
necessary to them; for many "fly" belts, e.g. those extending across the road
to the Zambesi, were absolutely destitute of water during several months of
every year.
The tenacity with which tse-tse flies cling to certain tracts of country, or
even narrow belts of forest, is wonderful, but they sometimes move beyond
their usual limits nevertheless. About forty years ago, a waggon track was
made by elephant hunters from Matabeleland to Hartley Hills in
Mashunaland. Not more than ten miles to the north of the points where this
waggon road cut the Umzweswe and Umfuli rivers, the country was always
frequented by buffaloes and infested with tse-tse flies. In my own
experience, I have often known large herds of buffaloes to come south
along the Umfuli river up to and beyond the waggon road. I hunted and shot
them there on horseback for the last time in 1885, and used my waggon and
oxen to bring the meat and skins to my camp; and as my cattle did not
suffer in any way, there could not have been any "flies" about. The tse-tse
flies, however, used always to come with the buffaloes for several miles

beyond their usual boundary, but gradually left them, and in my own
experience I never knew them to quite reach the waggon road.
It will thus be seen that although "fly"-infested areas are, as a rule, well
defined and well known to the natives, the movements of large herds of
buffaloes may carry these insects—sometimes in great numbers—for a
short period of time, for a few miles beyond their usual limits. Within a
large area of country throughout which tse-tse flies exist, such as the level
forest country in the valley of the Zambesi intersected by the lower courses
of the Sanyati and Panyami rivers, or the country near the east coast, in the
neighbourhood of the Pungwe river, tse-tse flies used to move about, so that
in a place where they were found in great numbers on a certain date, hardly
any would sometimes be met with in the same place a month later. In my
experience, in such cases the tse-tse flies always moved about with the
buffaloes, within these areas, where all other conditions were suitable to
their existence.
In "fly"-infested areas where these insects are not very numerous,
comparatively few or possibly none at all will be seen during the months of
May, June, and July, when the days are short and not excessively hot and
the nights are bitterly cold. In fact, it is quite possible to pass through a
good deal of "fly" country during these months without ever becoming
aware of the existence of these insects. But as the days get longer and
hotter, and the nights less cold, if there are any tse-tse flies in a district at all
they will be found to increase very rapidly in numbers. They become most
numerous and most troublesome, I think, in October and November, just
before the commencement of the rainy season. During the rainy season they
are perhaps not quite so exasperating, but my experience has been that they
were both numerous and troublesome at that season too. They are not so
active in cloudy weather as in bright sunshine, and if a strong wind is
blowing they hardly show themselves at all.
It is perhaps worth mentioning that the fact of the disappearance of the tse-
tse fly from all countries to the south of the Zambesi, very soon after the
complete extinction of buffaloes in the same regions, cannot be attributed to
the settling up and cultivation of the land by Europeans; for the tse-tse fly
has never existed in any part of Africa south of the Zambesi where malarial
fever was not and is not still rife. Whatever may be the case to-day, up to
1896, long after the disappearance of both buffaloes and tse-tse flies, the

Boers had never been able to establish themselves and live all the year
round in the Northern Transvaal along the valley of the Limpopo, although
they used to graze their cattle there during the winter; nor, as far as I am
aware, although mining operations have been carried on for nearly twenty
years within what was once "fly" country to the north of Hartley Hills in
Mashunaland, has there been any settlement of families on the land in that
district.
The word "tse-tse" (pronounced by the natives "tsay-tsay" and by colonists
"tetsy") is simply the word used by natives of the Bechwana clans for the
deadly fly known to scientists as Glossina morsitans. The Matabele—as
well, I believe, as the Zulu—name for the same insect is "impugan." With
the Matabele any kind of fly is an "impugan," but it is the only word they
ever employ for the tse-tse.
As is well known, the tse-tse fly, when with its long proboscis it "sticks," as
the Boers say, a domestic animal, introduces into the blood of the latter
certain minute blood parasites (Trypanosoma), which, though constantly
present in the blood of wild animals living in the "fly"-infested regions of
Africa, does them no harm. These Trypanosomes, if introduced into the
blood of domestic animals in any quantity, at once set up a disease, which
almost always ends fatally. Cattle when "fly-stuck" soon begin to run at the
eyes, and the glands behind the ears and in the throat swell. Although
continuing to feed well, they become thinner and weaker day by day, and
should they be exposed to cold or wet weather, their coats stare, as if they
were suffering from lung sickness. According to the number of
Trypanosomes in their blood, cattle will live a shorter or longer time. They
will succumb within a month if kept constantly in country where tse-tse
flies are numerous during that time. On the other hand, they will sometimes
live for nearly a year if only "stuck" by one or a few flies whilst passing
through a "fly"-infested belt of forest of small extent. I have known a young
ox, though it showed every sign of having been impregnated with the "fly"
disease—possibly it had only been "stuck" by one "fly"—to recover
completely after remaining very thin for more than a year. Horses and
donkeys, when "fly-stuck," run at the eyes and swell at the navel, and soon
get thin and lose all their strength.
In 1877 I took three donkeys with me up the Chobi. They lived in a swarm
of tse-tse flies day after day and all day long. The first of them to succumb

only lived a fortnight; the second died in five weeks; but the third lived for
nearly three months, and carried a buffalo head back to my waggons at
Daka—some eighty miles from the Chobi.
For about ten days before the second donkey died I remained in the same
camp. By this time it had grown very thin and was too weak to carry
anything, but it did not seem to suffer in any way, and whenever I could
observe it, was always feeding on the young green grass at the river's edge.
I never tied it up at nights, but every evening it used to come and roll in a
large heap of ashes behind my camp. One evening it came and rolled in the
ashes as usual, but was too weak to get on its legs again, and on the
following morning was dead. Apparently it enjoyed its life to the very last.
During 1887 some friends and I took four horses and five donkeys into the
"fly" country on the Angwa river, in the northern part of Mashunaland.
There were a good many buffaloes and a fair number of tse-tse flies in this
district at that time, but not one for every hundred of either that I had met
with along the Chobi river in the early 'seventies. My own horse cut its
career short by galloping with me into an open game pitfall and breaking its
back, and the other three, although they were well fed with maize morning
and evening, were too weak to gallop after game in a fortnight. After a
month they were too weak to carry a man at all, and they were then shot.
The five donkeys all got thin, and swelled at the navel, and ran at the eyes,
but none of them died, although they remained in the "fly" country for more
than a month. By the end of the following rainy season they had quite
recovered their condition and were well and strong again. These same five
donkeys were taken down to Zumbo on the Zambesi the following year by
the late Bishop Knight-Bruce. But they all died from the effects of this
journey, during which they must have suffered great hardships and also
been exposed to the attacks of thousands of tse-tse flies on the lower
Panyami river.
When visiting the old Portuguese settlement of Zumbo on the Zambesi, in
1882, I found the few Portuguese residents as well as the natives living
there in the possession of great numbers of pigs. These animals were sent
out every morning into the country round the settlement, and called back in
the evening—those which belonged to the Portuguese—by a few notes on a
horn. A little maize was then scattered on the ground for them to pick up,
after which they were shut up for the night in a walled enclosure. As tse-tse

flies were numerous along the bank of the Zambesi on both sides of Zumbo,
and it was quite impossible to keep cattle there on account of them, or any
other domestic animals besides the pigs, except the small native goats, the
former must have been equally as resistant to "fly" poison as the latter.
These domestic pigs certainly did not owe their immunity to the "fly"
disease to the fact that they were fat, for they were miserably thin long-
snouted looking brutes. Although the pigs I saw at Zumbo probably did not
go very far away from the settlement during the daytime, I feel sure that
they must have been constantly bitten by tse-tse flies, as these insects were
numerous quite close up to the native village, which is built amongst the
ruins of the old Portuguese town.
All the natives living in "fly"-infested districts of South Africa keep small,
miserable-looking dogs, as well as goats of a small, indigenous breed, and
the natives outside such infested districts also keep goats of the same kind.
These goats take no harm from the tse-tse flies; but the large Cape goats,
which are descended from European breeds, as well as Angora goats, are
not resistant to the "fly" disease. Nor are any dogs of European breeds.
In 1891 my two horses were suddenly attacked by tse-tse flies as I was
riding with a companion along the bank of the Revue river, where the local
Kafirs had told me these insects did not exist. Luckily, being so well
acquainted with the peculiar "buzz" made by a tse-tse fly, I believe I heard
the first one that came to my horse, and immediately dismounted. In the
next few minutes we caught sixteen flies on the two horses, most of them
by pinning their feet with a knife blade, as they are very difficult to catch
with the hand. I then made the Kafirs cut branches, with which they kept
the flies off the horses until we had got them away from the river, and
beyond the "fly" belt. Most of these flies were caught immediately they
settled on the horses, but two or three managed to fill themselves with
blood. My horses, however, which were in very good condition, were never
affected in any way.
Tse-tse flies are most active and troublesome in hot weather. During the
winter months in South Africa (May, June, and July) none will be seen until
the sun is high above the horizon, but later in the season they begin to bite
early in the morning. After sunset in the evening they seem to become
lethargic, and will often crawl up between one's legs or under one's coat as
if for shelter, and from such positions will often "stick" one long after dark.

On cold nights they probably become quite benumbed, and do not move at
all, but on warm nights they are sometimes very active and hungry. As
before related, I lost twenty-one oxen by driving them backwards and
forwards in one night through a "fly" belt ten miles in width. This was in
the month of November, and the night was very warm.
On the 25th of August 1874, when returning from the pursuit of a wounded
elephant, I struck the Chobi river late at night, and had to walk several
miles along the bank before getting to my camp. It was a bright moonlight
night, and fairly warm. My only clothing consisted of a shirt, a hat, and a
pair of veld shoes, and as I walked along near the water's edge the tse-tse
flies kept flying up from the ground and biting my bare legs, and from the
loud slaps behind me I knew they were paying similar attentions to my
Kafirs. Now, these "flies" were undoubtedly resting on the bare ground, for
we were walking, not through bushes, but along the strip of open ground
between the forest and the water's edge. The bite of the tse-tse is very sharp,
like the prick of a needle, but in a healthy man it causes no swelling or after
irritation, like the bite of a midge or a mosquitoe. Speaking generally, the
bites of a moderate number of tse-tse flies may be said to have no
appreciable effect on a human being. Still, I am of opinion that if one is
exposed to the attentions of swarms of these insects for months at a time,
the strongest of human beings will find himself growing gradually weaker.
Explorers or traders may sometimes be exposed to the bites of great
numbers of tse-tse flies for a few days together, but they will soon pass
through such districts. Only an elephant hunter, I think, would ever be
likely to remain for any considerable period of time in a country where tse-
tse flies were very numerous. I cannot think that many Europeans have
suffered from tse-tse fly bites as much as I have. In 1874, and again in
1877, I spent the whole of the dry season, from June till November, on the
southern bank of the Chobi river, and lived during the greater part of those
two seasons in a swarm of tse-tse flies. Up to that time I had had no fever,
and my constitution was unimpaired in any way. Towards the end of both
those seasons, however, not only I myself but all my Kafir attendants
became excessively thin, and seemed to be getting rather weak. The natives,
too, who lived in the reed beds where there were no tse-tse flies, but who
used to come to the southern bank of the river to collect firewood and look
at their game traps, all said that they could not live there because of the tse-

tse, which made them thin and weak, or, as they expressed it, the tse-tse
"killed them," just as they say in times of famine that hunger is killing them.
In 1882 I met with a curious experience, for which I cannot quite account.
During that year I had made an expedition from the high plateau of
Mashunaland to Zumbo, on the Zambesi, and had had a somewhat hard
time and gone through a severe attack of fever. I had also been very much
bitten by tse-tse flies on the lower Panyami and Umsengaisi rivers. Towards
the end of the year I got back to the Mission Station of Umshlangeni in
Matabeleland, and was given a warm welcome by my old friends the Rev.
W. A. Elliott and his wife. I reached the Mission Station late in the evening,
after a ride of fifty miles in the hot sun. I was fairly well, having recovered
from the attack of fever, but perhaps a little run down.
Soon after I had turned in on the bed Mrs. Elliott had arranged for me, I felt
my nose coming on to bleed. Not wanting to disturb any one, I pulled a
newspaper I had been reading from the chair by my bedside, and spreading
it on the floor, let my nose bleed on to it. It bled a good deal, and the next
morning I was surprised to see that the blood which had come from me was
not like blood at all, but slimy, yellow-looking stuff. When I showed it to
Mr. Elliott, I said to him that it looked to me exactly like the blood of a "fly-
stuck" donkey which I had shot some years before at Daka, and I laughingly
suggested that I was "fly-stuck" too. That something had affected the red
corpuscles of my blood seems certain, but whether innumerable tse-tse fly
bites or fever, or both combined, had done it I cannot say. Ever since I
received an injury in the head in 1880, I have been rather subject to
bleeding from the right nostril, but I have never again lost any blood which
bore the slightest resemblance to that which came from me in Mr. Elliott's
house after my trip to Zumbo in 1882.

CHAPTER X
NOTES ON THE BLACK OR PREHENSILE-LIPPED RHINOCEROS
Character of the black rhinoceros—Its practical extermination in South
Africa at a very trifling cost to human life—No case known to author
of a Boer hunter having been killed by a black rhinoceros—Accidents
to English hunters—Harris's opinion of and experiences with the black
rhinoceros—Seemingly unnecessary slaughter of these animals—
Large numbers shot by Oswell and Vardon—Divergence of opinion
concerning disposition of the two so-called different species of black
rhinoceroses—Experiences of Gordon Cumming, Andersson, and
Baldwin with these animals—Victims of the ferocity of the black
rhinoceros extraordinarily few in South Africa—The author's
experiences with these animals—Sudden rise in the value of short
rhinoceros horns—Its fatal effect—Dull sight of the black rhinoceros
—Keen scent—Inquisitiveness—Blind rush of the black rhinoceros
when wounded—An advancing rhinoceros shot in the head—Author
chased by black rhinoceroses when on horseback—Curious experience
near Thamma-Setjie—Black rhinoceroses charging through caravans
—Coming to camp fires at night—Author's doubts as to the extreme
ferocity of black rhinoceroses in general—Testimony of experienced
hunters as to the character of the black rhinoceros in the countries
north of the Zambesi—Captain Stigand severely injured by one of
these animals—Experiences of Mr. Vaughan Kirby—Extraordinary
number of black rhinoceroses in East Africa—Experiences of A. H.
Neumann and F. J. Jackson with these animals—Views of Sir James
Hayes-Sadler—Great numbers of rhinoceroses lately shot in East
Africa without loss of life to hunters—Superiority of modern weapons
—President Roosevelt's letter—Mr. Fleischmann's remarkable account
of a combat between a rhinoceros and a crocodile—Possible
explanation of seeming helplessness of the rhinoceros.

In a previous chapter I have spoken of the difficulty of understanding the
true character of the African black or prehensile-lipped rhinoceros; but
perhaps I ought to have said "my own" difficulty, for never having had my
life seriously endangered by any one of the many animals of this species
which I met with at a time when they were still fairly numerous in the
interior of South Africa, I have always found it very difficult to credit the
vast majority of these stupidly inquisitive but dull-sighted brutes with the
vindictiveness and ferocity of disposition that has often been attributed to
the whole race. I am, it must be understood, now speaking only of the black
rhinoceros in Africa to the south of the Zambesi. In other parts of the
continent I have had no experience of these animals.
In Southern Africa the black as well as the white rhinoceros has been almost
absolutely exterminated during the last sixty years. During that period,
thousands upon thousands of these animals have been killed, at a cost to
human life so trifling, that I submit it is impossible to contend that,
speaking generally, the hunting and shooting of black rhinoceroses was an
exceptionally dangerous undertaking.
When a young man I was personally acquainted with several of the most
noted of the old Boer hunters—Petrus Jacobs, Jan Viljoen, Martinus Swart,
Michael Engelbreght, and others—who were amongst the first white men to
penetrate to the wondrous hunting-grounds beyond the Limpopo; but I
never heard of any Boer hunter having been killed by a black rhinoceros.
Amongst the early English hunters, who were probably more reckless and
less experienced than the Boers, a few accidents certainly happened, but,
considering the number of rhinoceroses they killed, they must have been
favoured with extraordinarily good luck to have got off as cheaply as they
did, if anything like a large proportion of these animals had habitually
attacked them without provocation, as soon as they saw or scented them, or
even made a point of charging immediately they were interfered with.
During his wonderful hunting expedition to the interior of South Africa in
1836-37, Captain (afterwards Sir Cornwallis) Harris met with an
extraordinary number of rhinoceroses of both the black and the white
species. He shot great numbers of both, but never seems himself to have
been in any serious danger from a black rhinoceros, though one of his
Hottentot servants was knocked over by one of these animals, and his

companion, Mr. Richardson, seems to have had a very narrow escape from
another.
Speaking of this incident, Harris says: "My companion the next morning
achieved a 'gentle passage of arms' with the very duplicate of this
gentleman;[13] but his antagonist could not be prevailed upon to surrender to
superior weapons, until it had considerably disfigured with the point of its
horn the stock of the rifle employed in its reduction. Aroused from a siesta
in a thick bush by the smarting of a gunshot wound, the exasperated beast
pursued its human assailant so closely, that Richardson was fain in self-
defence to discharge the second barrel down its open throat!"
[13] Another rhinoceros shot by Captain Harris.

In a further paragraph Harris wrote: "As we advanced, the species (the
black rhinoceros) became daily more and more abundant, and I shall hardly
gain credence when I assert that in the valley of the Limpopo specimens
were so numerous that on arriving in the afternoon at our new ground it was
no uncommon thing to perceive a dozen horned snouts protruded at once
from bushes in the immediate vicinity. No sooner were the teams unyoked
than the whole party, in the regular routine of business, having assumed
their weapons, proceeded to dislodge the enemy, and right stoutly often was
the field contested. But where is the quadruped that can stand before the
grooved rifle? it will take the conceit out of the most contumacious, and
like a sedative, will calm his ruffled temper in a minute. Every individual
came in for a share of cold lead and quicksilver; and the stubborn brute that
would not quietly withdraw, satisfied with the mercurial dose he had
received, was ultimately badgered to death as a matter of course. Daily
almost two or three were thus annihilated within view of the camp."
Personally, I find it impossible to believe, nor does it seem to be implied,
that any great danger attended this oft-repeated and senseless slaughter of
animals, which were undoubtedly attracted to the waggons by nothing more
reprehensible than inquisitiveness; just as, when crossing the high downs
between the Zambesi and Kafukwe rivers with a train of pack-donkeys in
1888, I was upon several occasions accompanied by herds of wildebeests,
which ran alongside of my caravan for considerable distances, their sense of
danger entirely overcome by the stronger passion of curiosity.

It is very evident from Harris's description of the white rhinoceros that he
considered this species to be almost equally as dangerous as the black. He
states that he found it "subject to the same paroxysms of reckless and
unprovoked fury," and "often fully as troublesome as its sable relative."
The black rhinoceros is often spoken of as a beast of so savage and morose
a temper that it will not only attack any animal which may approach it, but
in default of anything better, will vent its senseless rage on bushes or other
inanimate objects. But is there any authority for such a charge? Harris says:
"Nineteen times out of twenty shall you see the crusty old fellow standing
listlessly in the society of gnoos, quaggas, and hartebeests"; and I myself
have often seen black rhinoceroses drinking peaceably in close proximity to
buffaloes and other animals.
Mr. William Cotton Oswell, who between the years 1844 and 1853 made
five hunting expeditions into the interior of South Africa, met with and shot
great numbers of rhinoceroses of both the black and the white species. In
one season alone, he and his companion Mr. Vardon shot no less than
eighty-nine of these animals. Oswell, who was a man of a very bold and
fearless disposition, was badly injured by a black rhinoceros on one
occasion, and on another had his horse gored to death by a wounded animal
of the white species.
It is worthy of remark, I think, that Harris took the correct view that all the
prehensile-lipped rhinoceroses he encountered belonged to one and the
same species, although showing individually very great divergencies in the
relative length of the two horns. In a footnote to his description of the black
rhinoceros he says: "In no two specimens of this animal which came under
my observation were the horns built exactly upon the same model. Disease
or accident had not unfrequently rendered the anterior horn the shorter of
the two."
Oswell, however, as well as many other travellers and hunters, adopted the
native view that those prehensile-lipped rhinoceroses in which the posterior
horn was equal or nearly equal in length to the anterior belonged to a
distinct species, and in view of the fact that all naturalists and sportsmen are
now agreed that all prehensile-lipped rhinoceroses throughout Africa belong
to one and the same species, the differences in their horns being merely
individual variations of no specific value, it is interesting to note the

divergence of opinion between well-known writers as to the comparative
aggressiveness of the two supposed species.
Oswell speaks of the borili—the prehensile-lipped rhinoceros in which the
second horn was short—as being "as a rule the only really troublesome
member of his family," whilst Andersson and Chapman considered the
keitloa—the variety in which both horns were of equal or nearly equal
length—as the more dangerous variety.
Gordon Cumming speaks of both varieties of the black rhinoceros as
"extremely fierce and dangerous," and says "they rush headlong and
unprovoked at any object which attracts their attention." Although,
however, this great hunter must have seen and shot large numbers of these
animals, I cannot gather from his writings that he ever treated them with the
respect which the character he gives them ought to have inspired, or ever
seemed to think there was much danger to be apprehended in attacking
them. Having approached the first black rhinoceros he ever saw very
closely, it heard him and advanced towards where he was hiding. Gordon
Cumming then, "knowing well that a frontal shot would not prove deadly,"
sprang to his feet and ran for cover, upon which the rhinoceros charged and
chased him round a bush. The animal then stood eyeing the hunter, but
"getting a whiff of his wind, at once became alarmed and ran off." This last
remark is interesting to me because it has so often been stated that black
rhinoceroses charge as a rule immediately they scent a human being,
whereas my own experience agrees in this particular with that of Gordon
Cumming. With the exception of this adventure, a careful perusal of Gordon
Cumming's writings does not reveal the fact that he was ever again in any
great danger from a black rhinoceros. He was once chased when on
horseback by one which he had wounded, but from the account he gives of
this incident he could hardly have expected anything else. He writes:
"Becoming at last annoyed at the length of the chase ... I determined to
bring matters to a crisis; so, spurring my horse, I dashed ahead and rode
right in his path. Upon this the hideous monster instantly charged me in the
most resolute manner, blowing loudly through his nostrils."
C. J. Andersson, who travelled in Western South Africa in the early 'fifties
of the last century, was also a mighty hunter. He states that he killed "many
scores" of rhinoceroses—as many as sixty in one season alone. He gives the
black rhinoceros a very bad character, saying that animals of this species are

not only of "a very sullen and morose disposition," but that they are also
"subject to sudden paroxysms of unprovoked fury, rushing and charging
with inconceivable fierceness animals, stones, bushes—in short, any object
that comes in their way."
Except, however, upon one occasion, when Andersson was badly injured
one night and nearly lost his life as the result of closely approaching and
throwing a stone at a black rhinoceros which he had previously wounded,
he does not seem to have met with any further adventures or suffered any
inconvenience from the unprovoked fury of any other individual of the
species.
About the same time that Andersson was travelling and hunting in
Damaraland and Ovampoland, Baldwin was leading an almost precisely
similar life first in Zululand and Amatongaland, and later on in the countries
lying to the north and north-west of the Transvaal as far as the Zambesi
river and Lake N'gami. Baldwin must have encountered a considerable
number of rhinoceroses of both the black and the white species, and records
the shooting of a good many of these animals in the most matter-of-fact
way. From cover to cover of the very interesting book he wrote describing
his hunting adventures, African Hunting from Natal to the Zambesi, he
never speaks of the black rhinoceros as being a savage and ferocious
animal, given to sudden paroxysms of fury, nor does he ever appear to have
thought it a more dangerous animal to attack than one of the white species.
Indeed, on several occasions he simply records the fact that he shot a
rhinoceros, without saying to which species it belonged. One rhinoceros
came at him after having been wounded, but was stopped by a shot in the
forehead. As this animal—a cow with a very small calf—is spoken of as
having a very long horn, it was probably a white rhinoceros, which would
have charged with its nose close to the ground, and would therefore have
been much easier to kill with a shot in the forehead than one of the black
species, whose head would necessarily have been held somewhat higher
owing to the shortness of its neck.
My own personal experience of the black rhinoceros in Southern Africa
compels me to believe that, although a small proportion of animals of this
species may have been excessively ill-tempered, and were always ready to
charge anything and everything they saw moving, and even to hunt a human
being by scent, that was never the character of the great majority of these

animals. At any rate, the rage of the black rhinoceros in the countries to the
south of the Zambesi has been singularly impotent and ineffective. In the
thirty-five years which elapsed between the date of Harris's travels through
Bechwanaland and the north-western portions of what is now the Transvaal
Colony and my own first visit to South Africa in 1871, thousands of black
rhinoceroses must have been killed; a very large proportion of them by
white—principally Boer—hunters, for up to the latter date the natives only
possessed a very few firearms. Yet how many hunters were killed or injured
during the killing-off of this enormous number of creatures, which have
been so often described as not only excessively savage and dangerous when
interfered with, but also subject to sudden paroxysms of unprovoked fury? I
think I have read all recent books on South African hunting, but I cannot
recall any mention of a white man or a black man having been killed by a
black rhinoceros in any one of them, though both Oswell and Andersson
were badly injured and came very near losing their lives in encounters with
individuals of this species. I do not say that between 1836 and 1871 no
human being was killed by a black rhinoceros in South Africa. All I wish to
convey is that such incidents must have been exceedingly rare, for I cannot
remember either to have read any account of such a catastrophe or to have
heard any of the old Boer hunters mention such a case.
Between 1872 and 1890, the period during which both black and white
rhinoceroses were practically exterminated in all the countries between the
Limpopo and the Zambesi rivers, I can, however, positively assert that no
white hunter was killed or even injured by a black rhinoceros in any part of
the immense territories comprised in the present Southern Rhodesia and the
Bechwanaland Protectorate, for no such accident could have happened
without my having heard of it; nor did I ever hear of a native hunter having
been killed by one of these animals during that time, although one of the old
traders—George Kirton[14]—told me that in 1868 a black rhinoceros had
charged through his string of porters, and driven its horn through both
thighs of one of them, throwing him up in the air. Fortunately no bones
were broken and the injured man quickly recovered from his wounds.
Another instance of the same kind happened in the experience of my old
hunting companion, George Wood. One day, as he and two companions—
David Napier and, I think, James Gifford—were riding along on elephant
spoor in Mashunaland, a black rhinoceros suddenly charged through them,
overturning Napier's horse and throwing it and its rider to the ground.

Napier was not hurt, but I forget whether or no the horse was killed. These
two incidents serve to show that in the parts of Africa in which my own
experience was gained, certain black rhinoceroses were undoubtedly
dangerous and aggressive; but such animals were, I am convinced,
exceptional. I do not think that rhinoceroses were ever so plentiful on the
northern watershed between the Limpopo and Zambesi rivers as Harris
found them in the valley of the former river in 1837, but nevertheless in the
early 'seventies, throughout all the uninhabited portions of the territory now
known as Southern Rhodesia, rhinoceroses of both the black and the white
species were very plentiful. The countries through which I hunted in 1872
and 1873 were practically virgin ground, as the Matabele were then only
just beginning to acquire firearms in any quantity. As I have recorded in my
book A Hunter's Wanderings,[15] when hunting elephants during those two
years I encountered almost daily one or more prehensile-lipped
rhinoceroses, often seeing five, six, or even eight in one day, and in addition
to these, I met with many of the square-mouthed or white species as well.
As I was hunting elephants for a living and could not therefore afford to run
the risk of disturbing these valuable animals by firing indiscriminately at
any other kind of game, unless I really wanted meat, I seldom killed
rhinoceroses. But had these animals been valuable, and had I been hunting
them for a living instead of elephants, I think that by watching at their
drinking-places, and following up fresh tracks, as well as shooting all those
I came across casually, I might easily have killed a hundred of each species
during those two years. During each of the years 1874, 1877, 1878, 1879,
1880, 1882, 1883, 1885, and 1887, I came across black rhinoceroses, but
never in any one of those years in anything like the numbers I had met with
these animals in 1872 and 1873.
[14] An elder brother of Argent Kirton, who was killed with Allan Wilson in the
Matabele War of 1893.
[15] First published in 1881.

In the country to the north-east of Matabeleland, between the Sebakwe and
the Hanyani rivers, both black and white rhinoceroses were still fairly
numerous in 1878, during which year I one day saw five of the latter all
together, and it was only after 1880 that the numbers of both species
commenced to be seriously reduced in this part of South Africa. About that
time rhinoceros horns—of all sorts and sizes—attained a considerable
commercial value, probably through some freak of fashion in knife-handles

or combs or what not in Europe. But whatever was the cause of it, this
sudden rise in the value of small rhinoceros horns sounded the death-knell
of these creatures in the interior of South Africa. By the year 1880, ivory
had become very scarce in that portion of the continent, and the traders in
Matabeleland then for the first time began to employ native hunters to shoot
rhinoceroses for the sake of their horns—no matter of what length—and
their hides, which latter were made into waggon whips and sjamboks. One
trader alone told me that he had supplied four hundred Matabele hunters
with guns and ammunition, and between 1880 and 1884 his large store
always contained great piles of rhinoceros horns—of all sorts and sizes,
often the spoils of over a hundred of these animals at one time, although
they were constantly being sold to other traders and carried south to
Kimberley on their way to Europe. I do not know for a fact that all these
rhinoceros horns were sent to Europe. They may have been shipped to
China or India.
Although many hundreds of native hunters—poorly armed with smooth-
bore muskets for the most part—must have taken part in the practical
extermination of both the black and the white rhinoceros, throughout all the
uninhabited tracts of country lying between the high plateau of
Matabeleland and the Zambesi river, as far as I know no single man was
either killed or injured in the process, although they must have killed
between them at least a thousand black rhinoceroses alone during the five
years before 1886. After that there were very few rhinoceroses left to shoot
to the west of the Umfuli river, beyond which the Matabele hunters seldom
ventured.
Black rhinoceroses always appeared to me to be very dull of sight, but
quick of hearing and excessively keen scented, and I have never known an
instance of one not immediately running off on getting my wind. I have
often seen them, too, take alarm and run off when warned by the tick-birds
that so often accompanied them, although they had neither seen nor smelt
me. These tick-birds, which may often be seen accompanying buffaloes and
other animals as well as rhinoceroses, always flutter about and give well-
understood warning cries on the approach of a human being. On the other
hand, I have seen many black rhinoceroses, when suddenly disturbed by the
noise made by my Kafirs and myself, as we walked past them, come
trotting up towards us snorting loudly. Such animals had not got our wind

or they would have run off—at least I think so. Whenever rhinoceroses
came trotting towards us snorting, my Kafirs used to run to the nearest trees
and call to me to do the same; but I never did so, and I was never charged
by one. These animals, after first trotting quickly towards me, would stand
looking intently at what must have been to them the unaccustomed sight of
a figure with a shirt and a hat on it, then snort again and trot up nearer; but
with one exception they always turned round and trotted off sooner or later,
carrying their heads and tails high in the air. Sometimes I had to shout and
throw sticks and stones at them before they wheeled round and made off.
It sometimes happened that a rhinoceros which I had disturbed came
trotting towards me, at a time when I wanted meat, and I then took
advantage of the opportunity, and kneeling down, fired a four-ounce ball
into its chest from my muzzle-loading elephant gun. In such cases they
would usually come rushing straight forwards at a gallop, puffing and
snorting furiously, and on several occasions have passed within a few yards
of where I was standing. However, I never thought that these wounded
animals were charging, but believed them to be rushing blindly forwards
after having received a mortal wound. I have, however, often heard such
blind rushes described as terrific charges.
The one occasion on which I had to fire at an advancing black rhinoceros
because I could not make it turn was on April 25, 1878. At that time I was
making my way from the Zambesi river to Matabeleland, through an
uninhabited piece of country which had never previously been traversed by
a white man. I was very weak and ill from fever and privation, and on
meeting with a black rhinoceros early in the morning, was anxious to kill it
for the sake of the meat. When the animal, however, an old bull, first came
trotting towards me, I did not fire at it, as I thought I could make more
certain of killing it with a shot through the lungs as it turned to run off. But
it would not turn, but kept advancing steadily towards me without taking
any notice of my shouts, until it was so near that I determined to try and kill
it with a shot in the front of the head. I was at that time armed with a single-
barrelled ten-bore rifle, which was carefully sighted and shot very
accurately, and when the rhinoceros was within fifteen yards of where I
stood, and still slowly but steadily advancing, I put a bullet past its horns
and into its forehead. It fell to the shot and rolled on its side, but almost
immediately raised its head and brought it down again on the ground with a

thump. I saw that it was only stunned, just as the one had been which I had
lost some five years previously, after having hit it in almost exactly the
same place with a four-ounce bullet; so I ran close up to it and killed it with
a bullet behind the shoulder, just as it swung itself up into a sitting position.
What this rhinoceros would have done if I had not fired I do not know. I
think it very likely, however, that had I turned and run for a tree, it might
have rushed after me and struck at me with its horn. Some of the others,
too, which had trotted up towards me in previous years might have done the
same thing, if they had suddenly seen me running close in front of them. I
have twice had the same experience as that described by Gordon Cumming
when he galloped in front of a black rhinoceros which he had wounded, that
is to say, I have been smartly chased by two of these animals. The first was
a cow with a nearly full-grown calf. These two animals went off at a swift
trot as soon as they scented me, breaking into a gallop when I pressed them.
I then tried to pass them, so as to get a broadside shot; but directly my horse
drew level with her, the cow charged in the most determined manner,
snorting furiously and chasing me for a considerable distance. This incident
occurred in 1880. In 1883, when hunting on horseback just outside the "fly"
country on the upper Sabi river, I one day came across an old bull black
rhinoceros which, though it ran off in the first instance as soon as it saw or
scented me, turned and chased me smartly, with the usual accompaniment
of snorts and puffs, as soon as my horse drew level with it. It chased me
certainly for over a hundred yards, and pressed my horse pretty hard. As it
swerved off and stopped snorting, I brought my horse round, and
dismounting, gave it a shot in the ribs; but on galloping up near it again, it
gave me another smart chase. Two more bullets, however, finished this
plucky old animal.
Besides these two, I can only call to mind eight other black rhinoceroses
which I chased on horseback, and none of these showed any fight at all, but
kept continually sheering off as the horse drew level with them, making it
almost impossible to get anything but a stern shot. In November 1874 I
chased a black rhinoceros bull out into an open expanse of ground near
Thamma-Setjie, on the old waggon road to the Zambesi, and in trying to get
a broadside shot, rode it round and round in a large circle, until it presently
stood still with its mouth open, evidently completely done. Even when I
dismounted and shot it at close range—I only had an old smooth-bore gun
—it never attempted to charge.

Several times, when hunting elephants in the early 'seventies of the last
century, black rhinoceroses rushed snorting either close in front of or close
behind myself and my small party of Kafirs. They had undoubtedly been
alarmed by hearing or smelling us, and were, I think, trying to get out of
danger; but I believe that, should a rhinoceros get the wind of the foremost
man amongst a long string of porters, and on starting off to run away from
the disagreeable smell, suddenly find itself confronted by another portion of
the caravan, it will not turn back, but rush snorting through the line,
sometimes perhaps injuring a man in its passage. It is, I think, owing to the
fact that travellers, traders, and hunters in East Africa have always
employed very large numbers of porters, who marched in single file in a
line often extending to several hundred yards in length, that incidents of this
kind have been so frequent in that country. But when a black rhinoceros just
rushes through a long line of porters without singling out and following any
particular man, I think such a proceeding is more the result of panic than
anything else. My view is that the wind blowing obliquely across the line
being taken by a caravan may reach a rhinoceros lying or standing some
distance away. This animal at once takes alarm and runs off, at first perhaps
at right angles to the direction from which the wind is blowing; but on again
turning up wind, as rhinoceroses almost invariably do, it comes right on to
another portion of the straggling line of porters. Confronted by this line of
men, whom it had at first tried to avoid, it will probably not turn back, but
rather charge through them and continue its flight. The sight of the black
rhinoceros is certainly very bad, and in cases where these animals have
charged against waggons in South Africa, and trains on the Uganda
Railway, it is difficult to say whether they were animated by pure bad
temper or ran against these obstacles because they suddenly saw them
moving right across their path, when they were endeavouring to escape
from some other danger.
Upon three occasions during 1873 black rhinoceroses came close up to my
camp at night, snorting loudly, and upon one occasion, as I shall relate in a
subsequent chapter, a white one did the same thing. On all these occasions,
I think the curiosity of these rhinoceroses must have been aroused by the
sight of the camp fires, or else the smell of blood and meat must have
excited them. I fired into one of the black rhinoceroses as he was coming
very close, and drove off the other two by shouting at them.

That a certain proportion of the vanished race of South African rhinoceroses
of the prehensile-lipped species were of a morose and savage temper, and
therefore dangerous animals to encounter, I will not for one moment
attempt to deny, for there is a great deal of evidence that this was the case.
But what I do think is that many writers have taken the character of the
exceptionally vicious animals they met with as typical of that of the whole
species. But, unless at least a very considerable proportion of black
rhinoceroses were neither savage nor dangerous, I fail to understand why it
was that none of those that I myself encountered behaved in a manner
befitting their reputation; how it has come about that the whole race has
been practically exterminated in South Africa at so infinitesimal a cost to
human life; why Gordon Cumming, who shot so many of these "hideous
monsters," only appears to have met with two adventures—both of a very
mild character—with these animals; and why Baldwin never seemed to
have the least idea that they were either dangerous to attack or subject to
sudden paroxysms of unprovoked fury.
Hitherto I have only spoken of the black rhinoceros in South Africa; but the
testimony of the most experienced hunters, in other parts of the continent,
seems to show that the character of this animal has always been essentially
the same throughout its entire range. Everywhere it seems to have been and
to be a stupid, blundering, bad-sighted, but keen-scented beast; in the great
majority of cases doing its best to avoid human beings, but always liable to
become savage when wounded, like elephants, lions, and buffaloes, and
sometimes being really bad-tempered and savage by nature, and ready to
charge unprovoked at the sight or scent of any one approaching it. My own
experience proves at least that it is quite possible to come across a great
number of black rhinoceroses without ever encountering a really vicious
one.
In those countries which now form part of North-Western Rhodesia,
through which I travelled many years ago, black rhinoceroses were by no
means plentiful. In fact, though I from time to time came across their tracks,
I never actually saw a rhinoceros in the flesh to the north of the Zambesi.
Throughout British Central Africa, too, I believe I am correct in stating that
these animals have never been found in any great number. It was
somewhere in this territory that my friend Captain C. H. Stigand was
severely injured by a black rhinoceros. I have heard the story of this

misadventure from his own lips, and I think there can be no doubt that the
animal which suddenly charged and tossed him without provocation was
one of those vicious, dangerous brutes whose exceptionally savage tempers
have given a bad name to the whole species.
In a footnote to the article on the black rhinoceros contributed to the Great
and Small Game of Africa by Mr. F. Vaughan Kirby, that writer says, in
speaking of the character of this animal: "I know an instance of a native
being charged and killed, and another whom I met personally who was
chased and regularly hunted by a wounded one, which caught and fearfully
mutilated him."
Judging by his own personal experience, Mr. Kirby came to the conclusion
that, "although naturally timid, and certainly not dangerously aggressive,
the black rhinoceros is of most uncertain temper, and when wounded and
encountered at close quarters, can and will charge most fiercely, and
occasionally is as vindictive as any buffalo." The adjective "vindictive" here
used by Mr. Kirby does not appear to me to be quite the right or fair one. If
an elephant, buffalo, lion, or rhinoceros should be attacked and grievously
injured by a human being, and is brave and stubborn enough to resent such
treatment and make a fight for its life, it seems like adding insult to injury
to speak of it as vindictive.
In many parts of both British and German East Africa black rhinoceroses
were quite recently, and in some cases probably still are, extraordinarily
numerous. Here, as in other parts of Africa, a certain number of accidents
have occurred in hunting these animals, and there have been a good many
instances of their charging through a line of native porters. However,
although it is unquestionable that in East Africa, as elsewhere, black
rhinoceroses have sometimes shown themselves to be really vicious, and
therefore very dangerous animals, there seems to be a concensus of opinion
amongst those men who have had the greatest experience with them, that
these were the exceptions to the general rule.
Few men, if any, could have had a wider experience with the black
rhinoceros in East Africa than my friend the late A. H. Neumann, whose
recent death I shall never cease to deplore, and I therefore make no apology
for quoting a few sentences from the very interesting and informing article

contributed by him to the Great and Small Game of Africa on the subject of
this animal. Neumann says:

As has often been pointed out, the rhino is the most intensely stupid of
animals, and marvellously blind. So much so, that it may often be
approached even on a bare plain with little trouble up wind. It is their
very stupidity and blindness which makes these beasts a source of
danger to passing caravans; for should the wind be blowing from them,
and unless they be accompanied by tick-birds, as they often are, which
alarm them and cause them to make off, they frequently remain
unconscious of the approach of a caravan until it is close to them,
when, being suddenly confronted with a long line of porters, they will
sometimes charge straight through it, apparently under the impression
that there is no other way of escape open. On the other hand, they are
keen-scented; and if the wind be blowing in their direction they start
away at a quick trot as soon as the taint reaches them, and while yet a
long way off.
As regards the much-disputed question, to what degree the rhinoceros
is a dangerous beast, the result of my experience and observations is
very decidedly to convince me that, under ordinary circumstances and
with proper caution, there is not very much risk in shooting him, and
that the danger is not to be compared in any way with that attending
the pursuit of the elephant. At the same time, there is always a
possibility that one may charge, and there is therefore a certain amount
of excitement in the sport; and instances are not rare of men having
been badly injured by these beasts....
The Ndorobos kill these animals with their elephant harpoons, or trap
them in the same manner as elephants. Those I have been among have
far less fear of rhinoceroses than of elephants, and as a consequence it
is a rare thing to see a rhino in country much frequented by such of
these people as have much skill and courage in elephant-hunting. The
same applies to Swahilis, many of whom think nothing of shooting a
"faro," though they would not dream of attacking elephants.

The only other man whose experience with rhinoceroses in East Africa has
been equal to that of Arthur Neumann is Mr. F. J. Jackson, C.B., who for

some years past has been a most able administrator of the territories in
which he first made a name as a hunter and a naturalist. Mr. Jackson's
testimony concerning the character of the black rhinoceros as he has known
that animal appears to me to coincide very closely with that arrived at by
Neumann, his great friend and only rival as a hunter in East Africa. Like
Neumann, Jackson fully realises that black rhinoceroses are sometimes
vicious and dangerous, but his experience has been that, as a rule, these
animals avoid and run away from human beings if they can, and that even
when they rush snorting through a long line of native porters, they are
usually trying to escape from rather than viciously attacking these men. In
the course of the very interesting article on the black rhinoceros contributed
by Mr. F. J. Jackson to vol. i. on Big Game Shooting of the Badminton
Library, he states: "When alarmed, the rhinoceros becomes easily flurried,
appears to do things on impulse which other animals endowed with more
sagacity would not do, and is by no means the vicious and vindictive brute
which some writers have found him to be in South Africa and the Soudan.
In the majority of cases, where a rhinoceros is said, by men who perhaps
have not been very well acquainted with his peculiarities, to have charged
in a most determined and vicious manner, I believe this so-called charge to
have been nothing more than the first headlong and impetuous rush of the
beast in a semidazed state, endeavouring to avoid an encounter rather than
court one."
In the course of the Report made to the Earl of Elgin on the game of the
East Africa Protectorate by the Chief Commissioner, Captain (now Sir
James) Hayes-Sadler, dated "Commissioner's Office, Nairobi, September
28, 1906," the following passage occurs: "This interesting Pachyderm (the
black rhinoceros), though sometimes a dangerous, is always a stupid
animal, and, from his bulk and the nature of the country he inhabits, with
but few exceptions falls an easy prey. My experience of him, too, is that in
fairly open country he is easily driven away, and that therefore the necessity
of shooting to protect life is not nearly so frequent as has sometimes been
alleged."
The opinion expressed in the above paragraph concerning the black
rhinoceros and the danger of its pursuit has, I think, been proved to be fairly
accurate by the experience of the many sportsmen (most of them utterly
inexperienced in hunting large and dangerous animals) who have visited

British East Africa in recent years; for since Mr. B. Eastwood was very
badly injured, and indeed had a most miraculous escape, near Lake
Baringo, in October 1902, from a rhinoceros which he thought he had
killed, but which got on to its feet again and charged him after he had
walked close up to where it was lying, I have not heard of any other
accident having occurred in the hunting of these animals, although during
the three years ending on March 31, 1906, no less than 308 black
rhinoceroses were killed under sportsmen's and settlers' licences in British
East Africa, besides twenty-three others which were shot on the border of
the same territory by the members of the Anglo-German Boundary
Commission.
The big-game hunter of to-day is armed with weapons which are vastly
superior to those which the old pioneer hunters of South Africa had to rely
upon in bygone times, and the dangers of big-game hunting are, in
consequence, now very much less than they were then; but still, judging
from my own experience (and in 1872, 1873, and 1874 the clumsy old four-
bore guns I used were very inferior even to the two-grooved rifles
possessed by Harris, Oswell, or Gordon Cumming) and all I heard from
many old Boer and native hunters, I feel convinced that the character of the
black rhinoceros was originally painted by picturesque writers in colours
which, although they may have been appropriate to a certain small
proportion of these animals, were quite undeserved by the great majority of
the species. I will conclude these notes on the black rhinoceros with a letter
which I have lately received from President Roosevelt, covering a most
remarkable and excessively interesting description of a struggle between a
crocodile and a rhinoceros in the Tana river, in British East Africa. Before
making any comments on this extraordinary incident, I will first give both
President Roosevelt's letter to myself and his correspondent's
communication, as I have full permission to do.

The White House, Washington,
September 27, 1907.
My dear Mr. Selous—I don't know whether the enclosed letter and
photographs will be of any value to you in your book or not. Both
relate to an occurrence so remarkable that I thought I would send them
to you. Fleischmann is a man of good standing, entirely truthful, and

he had no conception of the importance of what he was telling me. I
told him that the "authorities in Africa" who informed him that the
crocodile might have gotten a purchase by wrapping its tail around
something sunken were doubtless in error, and advised him to leave it
out of the letter which he wrote me, which I told him I was going to
send to you. But he put it in, and I am sending it along. It is the only
part of his letter which is mere hearsay or guesswork. I had no
conception that crocodiles would tackle a rhinoceros. But you may
remember in Samuel Baker's Wild Beasts and Their Ways that he
speaks of seeing crocodiles in Africa with the girth of a hippopotamus.
In any event I send you the letter.
The other day, in reading Big Game, in the Badminton Library, I
noticed that Oswell, the South African hunter, speaks of trying to cut
off a cheetah, and that the latter distanced his horse with the utmost
ease. This tends to confirm me in the opinion that the cheetah for a half
mile or so can readily distance a horse, and that when pursued by you
the two animals you overtook at first simply tried to keep ahead of
you, not trying to exert themselves, and that after a half mile was
passed their wind was gone and then they gave out.
When do you think you will publish your book?
Sincerely yours,
Theodore Roosevelt.

Mr. Frederick C. Selous,
Heatherside, Worplesdon,
Surrey, England.
Cincinnati, September 23, 1907.
My dear Mr. President—I take pleasure in sending you under
separate cover to-day, as per your request, the enlarged photographs of
the encounter between a rhinoceros and crocodiles in the Tana river,
British East Africa; also another photograph showing a large herd of
hippopotami in the Tana river, which I believe may prove of interest to
you.

I shall also undertake to give you a brief description of the attack of
the crocodile upon the rhino, which resulted in the latter's death. While
encamped on the Thika river, about one hundred yards above its
junction with the Tana, the attention of the members of our hunting
party was called to the loud cries of the porters. A moment later "Ali,"
the Somali headman, came running in to tell us that a mamba
(crocodile) had seized a faro (rhinoceros), as the latter stepped into the
river to drink. "Ali" was concealed in the bushes on the side of the
river opposite the scene at the time the rhino came down to drink.
When our party arrived, about fifty of our porters were on a sandbank
leading out into the Tana river. The rhino was held by its left hind-leg,
which had been seized by the crocodile just as the big beast was
leaving the river after drinking. At least half a dozen of the porters,
who had been lying in the bushes near the scene, in reply to my
questions, agreed as to the manner the rhino was attacked.
When we neared the point of attack, the rhino appeared panic-stricken,
making very little noise—simply straining and heaving in its efforts to
release its leg from the jaws of the crocodile. While making but little
headway, the rhino did for a time succeed in holding its own, keeping
in shallow water, as the photos 1 and 2 show. A moment or two later,
however, blood appeared on the surface of the water, leading us to
believe that the crocodile had been reinforced by other mambas which
had been attracted to the scene by the blood and lashing of the water.
The struggle continued on down the stream, the combatants having
moved quite a distance from the original point of attack. The rhino still
managed to keep on its feet, facing either down stream or toward the
opposite bank, and for a distance of at least one hundred yards down
stream had made no perceptible loss of ground. Shortly afterward,
however, apparently maddened by the pain it was undoubtedly
suffering (for now much more blood and pieces of flesh appeared on
the surface of the water), the rhino evidently lost its head and
attempted to cross through the deep water to the opposite shore, as
shown in photo 3. This move was the beginning of the rhino's end, for
as soon as it turned and met with deeper water, it lost the advantage of
a firm foothold in the shallow water, and the animal was quickly
drawn beneath the surface.

The rhino was a full-grown female with a horn which we estimated to
be about twenty inches in length. It was the opinion of authorities in
Africa to whom I told the story of the struggle, that a very large
crocodile had taken hold of the rhino's leg and wrapped its tail around
some sunken obstacle, thus giving it a purchase, as it were, which
enabled it to successfully hold on until reinforced by other crocodiles.
These enlarged photographs were made from 3-1/4 × 4-1/2 negatives,
the "snaps" being taken by my valet, who was acting in charge of the
commissary department of the caravan.
I trust that these photos will reach you in good condition.
With my sincere regards, I have the honour to be,
Yours respectfully,
Max C. Fleischmann.
To Honorable Theodore Roosevelt,
Washington, D.C.

Photographs of a Struggle between a Rhinoceros and a Crocodile.

No. 1.
Shows the Rhinoceros holding its own, but unable to reach the bank.

No. 2.
Shows the Rhinoceros still struggling, but in deeper water.

No. 3.
Shows the Rhinoceros after it had turned round, and just before it got
into deep water and was pulled under.
Remarkable and unusual as was the occurrence witnessed by Mr.
Fleischmann, there can be no doubt as to the truth of his most interesting
story. The three photographs—all of which are reproduced in this book—
showing the rhinoceros straining against something which was gradually
pulling its hind-quarters deeper and deeper into the water, must convince
the most sceptical. I fully agree with President Roosevelt that the theory,
that the crocodile held the rhinoceros by getting a purchase with its tail
round some sunken log, is not tenable, especially as Mr. Fleischmann states
that "the struggle continued on down the stream, the combatants having
moved quite a distance from the original point of attack."
Personally, I find no difficulty in believing that if a very large crocodile
were to seize a rhinoceros by the one hind-leg, and was sufficiently
powerful to hold that limb off the ground, the largest of these animals
would become almost helpless; for if either hind-leg of a rhinoceros be

broken by a bullet, the animal is rendered immediately almost incapable of
movement, and very soon assumes a sitting position. I imagine that a
rhinoceros would easily be able to pull the largest of crocodiles out of
water, if it was harnessed to one of these reptiles, and so could get a fair
pull at it from the chest and shoulders; but I think that the paralysing effect
of the crocodile's hold on one of its hind-legs would be sufficient to account
for the helplessness of the animal whose struggles and ultimate death Mr.
Fleischmann witnessed in the Tana river.

CHAPTER XI
NOTES ON THE GIRAFFE
Appearance of the giraffe—Not a vanishing species—Immense range—
Habitat—Native mounted hunters—Destruction of giraffes and other
game by Europeans—Necessity of restraining native hunters—
Discussion as to the possibility of the giraffe existing for long periods
without drinking—Water-conserving tubers—Wild water-melons—
Habits of elephants after much persecution—Possible explanation of
the belief that giraffes can dispense with water—Giraffes seen in the
act of drinking—Giraffes absolutely voiceless—Partial to open, park-
like country—Difficult to approach on foot—Giraffes very keen-
scented—Hunting giraffes with Bushmen trackers—Exhilarating sport
—Pace of the giraffe—The easiest way to kill giraffes—Driving
wounded giraffes to camp—Two curious experiences with giraffes
—"Stink bulls"—Excellence of the meat of a fat giraffe cow—Height
of giraffes—Giraffes only occasionally killed by lions—Young giraffe
attacked by leopards.

"Ungainly" is an epithet which has often been applied to the giraffe; but
"stately," I think, would be a far more truly descriptive word, and there is
certainly no animal in Africa which adds so much to the interest of the
parched and waterless wastes in which it is usually found as this tallest of
mammals. The sight of a herd of giraffes walking leisurely across an open
piece of ground, or feeding through a park-like country of scattered trees
and bush, is one which, once seen, must ever linger in the memory; for
there is a something about the appearance of some few of the largest
mammals still extant upon the earth which stirs the imagination as the sight
of smaller but more beautiful animals can never do. When watching a
moose bull standing knee-deep on the edge of some swampy lake, amidst
the silence and the gloom of sub-Arctic pine forests, I always seem to be
carried back to some far distant period of the world's history; and I
remember that when hunting with Bushmen amidst the dull monotony of

the sun-scorched, silent wastes of Western South Africa, the sight of giraffes
always stirred the same thought. My rude companions were palæolithic
men, and we were hunting strange beasts in the hot dry atmosphere of a
long past geological era.
Giraffes are often spoken of as a scarce and fast vanishing species, but this I
cannot believe to be really the case. There are vast areas of country,
extending right across the whole width of the broadest part of Africa from
Senegambia to Somaliland, and from thence southwards to the northern
border of British Central Africa, throughout the whole of which one or other
of the different races into which giraffes have lately been divided is to be
found, often in great abundance. Throughout the greater part of this
immense range, these magnificent, strangely beautiful creatures will, in my
opinion, continue to live and thrive for centuries yet to come; for the giraffe
is, as a rule, an inhabitant only of countries which, owing to the extreme
scarcity of water, can never be settled up by Europeans, nor support
anything but a sparse and scattered population of native herdsmen. Here
they will never be hunted to any great extent by Europeans on horseback,
nor shot down in large numbers for the sake of their hides, whilst their
keenness of sight and great range of vision will protect them very
effectually from all danger of extermination at the hands of native hunters
as long as these latter are only armed with primitive weapons.
Even in the countries to the south and west of the Zambesi river, though
there the range of the giraffe has been sadly curtailed since the time when
the emigrant Boers first crossed the Orange river in 1836, these animals are
far from being a vanished species, or one which is on the verge of
extermination. True, there are now no giraffes left in large areas of country
where thirty years ago they were plentiful, but these animals are still to be
found in Western Matabeleland, throughout the greater part of Khama's
country, as well as in the Northern Kalahari, and thence northwards to far
within the boundaries of the Portuguese province of Angola. The whole of
this vast extent of country is, like so much of Northern Africa to the south
of the Sahara and Abyssinia, a semidesert, impossible of settlement by
Europeans; for although it is covered for the most part with trees of various
kinds, or thorn scrub varying in height from two or three to twelve or fifteen
feet, the soil is almost everywhere deep soft sand, and for several months in
the year there is little or no surface water, except in the large rivers, which

are few in number and far apart. Throughout the greater part of these arid,
sun-scorched wastes, giraffes are, I think, likely to hold their own for a long
time to come, if only some check can be put upon the operations of the
native mounted hunters, belonging to the Bakwena, Bamangwato, and
Batauwana tribes, who are now practically their only enemies.
For the extermination of the giraffe in the Transvaal, Bechwanaland, and
the country immediately to the north of the Limpopo, Europeans are
entirely responsible. The Boers killed most of them, of course, because up
to 1890 Boer hunters were always in the proportion of at least ten to one to
white hunters of any other nationality. But, man for man, English hunters
were quite as destructive as Boers. The fact is, the pioneers of all the white
races of North-Western Europe in new countries are tarred with the same
brush, as far as the extermination of wild animals is concerned. In North
America the western frontiers-men, who were largely of British descent,
exterminated in a few short years the countless herds of bison; in South
Africa the Boers have exterminated or brought to the verge of extinction
many species of animals which but a few decades ago were spread over the
face of the land in seemingly inexhaustible numbers; and to-day the
inhabitants of Newfoundland are hard at work destroying as fast as they can
the great herds of seals which annually assemble in the early spring to bring
forth their young on the ice floes off the coast of Labrador.
When human greed of gain is added to the old love of hunting, and both are
unrestrained by legislation, the speedy extermination of any beast or bird
which has any market value must necessarily follow. The errors of the past
can never be retrieved, but it is to be hoped that now that every part of the
world has been taken under the protection of some civilised state, no
species of animal or bird which still survives in any considerable numbers
will be allowed to become extinct. The white man, whether Boer or Britain,
is now effectually restrained from taking any further part in lessening the
numbers of the giraffes in the countries to the west of Southern Rhodesia
and to the north of the Limpopo, which are under British protection, and if
only the native Bechwana hunters from Molipololi, Palapye, and Denukana
—who are well-mounted and armed with breech-loading rifles—were
forbidden by their chiefs to kill more than a certain fixed number of giraffes
annually, and severely punished for exceeding the limit allowed, I see no
reason why these most interesting animals should not survive for all time,

throughout all those great areas of South-Western Africa where, owing to
the scarcity of water, no human beings other than a few scattered families of
wandering Bushmen can ever make their home.
The belief is very general, both amongst white and native hunters in South
Africa, that giraffes are capable of going for months at a time without
drinking, and the fact that they are to be found during the driest season of
the year in the most arid districts, far away from any place where surface
water exists, lends colour to this belief. But yet it seems to me impossible
that an animal of the size of the giraffe, which during the dry season is
exposed day after day to a sun-heat of 165° (Fahrenheit), and which
browses on leaves and twigs which at that time of year contain but little
moisture, can really live for long periods without drinking. When hunting
with Bushmen in the country to the south of the Mababi river, which
towards the end of the dry season is quite waterless, my savage companions
would often halt suddenly on perceiving a certain thin, grass-like leaf
protruding from the ground, and squatting down, commence digging
vigorously with their spears in the soft sandy soil. They would presently
unearth great white tubers—often as big as a man's head—white in colour
and looking something like very large turnips. These tubers contained as
much water as a juicy orange, and were, as the Bushmen said, "metsi hela"
(that is, "nothing but water"). They told me, and I think with truth, that they
were able to live and hunt in the country where these tubers grew without
requiring water to drink. They also informed me that elands, gemsbucks,
and other antelopes which live in the desert were in the habit of pawing
away the sand from and then eating these tubers, which rendered them
independent of actual drinking water. There are probably other water-
conserving tubers, known to animals which live in the waterless parts of
Western South Africa; and at certain times of year a kind of small water-
melon grows in the Kalahari in great profusion, which, as long as it lasts,
renders all wild animals entirely independent of drinking water. Oxen and
horses soon get accustomed to these wild melons and thrive on them, and
human beings can make tea or coffee from their juice.
Now, the occurrence of wild melons and tubers which contain a great deal
of water, probably explains the otherwise unaccountable fact that large
antelopes and other animals are able to exist in the most arid portions of
South-West Africa at a time of year when there is absolutely no surface

water; but in the country to the south of the Mababi the Bushmen stated
emphatically that giraffes never dug up the water-containing tubers of
which I have spoken. My own belief is that, although they must be able to
go without water for a much longer time than most animals, they must
nevertheless drink periodically throughout the year. It is possible that in the
recesses of the Kalahari the giraffes may obtain the fluid they require from
the wild water-melons like other animals, or in periods of prolonged
drought they may migrate to the neighbourhood of the Botletlie and other
rivers. To the east and north of the Botletlie, a glance at a good map will
show that giraffes could never be more than fifty or sixty miles from
permanent water. When I was hunting elephants on the Chobi river, in the
'seventies of last century, elephants were in the habit of drinking early one
night in that river, and then travelling straight away into the waterless
country to the west, and I am sure they got their next drink, either twenty-
four or possibly forty-eight hours later, in the overflow of the Okavango,
known by the natives living on the Mababi as the Machabi. These
elephants, which had become excessively wary, through much hunting, I
believe never quenched their thirst twice running in the same river; and as
giraffes would not require to drink nearly as frequently as elephants, they
would be able to range over far more extensive areas of country than those
animals, drinking at intervals at points far distant one from another, and
between which there was absolutely no surface water. I cannot help
thinking that the idea that giraffes can go for months together without
drinking, in countries where there is but a small percentage of fluid in the
food they eat, and in which the heat and dryness of the atmosphere are so
intense that one's nails become as brittle as glass and the hairs of one's
beard are constantly splitting, must be a mistaken one. It is, however, only
right to say that many very experienced African hunters hold the view that
giraffes are quite independent of water, and that they can and do exist for
months at a time without drinking.
Giraffes certainly show no aversion to water, as I have frequently seen them
drinking, and watched them as they gradually straddled their forelegs wide
apart, by a series of little jerks, until they at length got their mouths down to
the surface of the pool.
Many herbivorous animals are, as a rule, very silent, but all antelopes are
capable of making, and do occasionally make, certain vocal sounds. But the

giraffe appears to be absolutely voiceless. At any rate, I have never heard
one make any kind of noise, and that was the experience of my friend the
late Mr. A. H. Neumann; whilst Mr. H. A. Bryden, as well as other men who
have hunted these animals, have put the same fact on record.
Although giraffes often feed through dense thickets of wait-a-bit thorns on
their way from one part of a country to another, they are more partial, I
think, to open park-like surroundings than to thick forest. In portions of
Khama's country—both near Lopepe and Metsi-butluku—I have upon more
than one occasion seen giraffes and springbucks at the same time. In such
districts, before the days of the modern long-range, small-bore rifles, it was
very difficult to get within shot of the former animals on foot, as, owing to
the great height of their heads above the ground and their quickness of
sight, they were always able to see anything approaching them, when still a
long way off. Giraffes are also very keen-scented, as any one will agree
who has often followed on their spoor with Bushmen trackers. Pointing to
the ground, on which they have read as in a book that just here the giraffes
have commenced to run, these quick-sighted savages will suddenly dash off
along the spoor with right arms extended, crying, "Sabili; ootlili pevu"[16]
("They've run away; they've got our wind"). Running on the tracks of the
disturbed animals at a pace which it requires a sharp canter to keep up with,
it is seldom that these wiry sons of the desert will not bring the mounted
hunter in sight of the giant quarry. "Tutla, tutla ki-o" ("The giraffes; there
are the giraffes"), they cry, pointing eagerly forwards with glistening eyes.
And then it is for the white man to do his part and secure a plentiful supply
of meat for his savage friends.
[16] Literally, "They've heard the wind."

The chase of the giraffe on horseback lacks, of course, the fierce joy and the
soul-stirring excitement which accompanied elephant- and lion-hunting,
with the rude muzzle-loading guns used by professional African hunters
some forty years ago; for the giraffe is a most harmless and inoffensive
animal, in no way dangerous to human life. The same thing may, however,
be said of the fox and the wild red deer of Exmoor, the pursuit of which
animals, it is generally conceded, affords some of the most exhilarating
sport procurable in this country.

Personally, in the old days when giraffes were very plentiful, and when,
with the thoughtless optimism of youth, one failed to realise that they would
ever become scarce, and when, moreover, a large supply of meat was
constantly required to feed one's native followers, I always looked upon a
good, reckless, breakneck gallop after a herd of giraffes as a most
exhilarating experience. The giant quadrupeds looked so splendid as they
dashed along at tremendous speed, with their long black tails screwed up
over their backs. Nothing checked their pace, as they tore their way through
dense thorn jungles, or crashed through the branches of forest trees, ever
and anon dipping their lofty heads with the most unerring judgment so as
just to pass beneath some horizontal limb, which almost seemed to graze
their shoulders. One took lots of chances in giraffe-hunting, and got many a
heavy fall when galloping ventre à terre across open ground full of ant-bear
holes, or deep sun-cracks hidden from view by thick tussocky grass, and
when one saw the branches of two neighbouring wait-a-bit thorn bushes,
each covered with hundreds of little hard black hooks, suddenly close
together with a swish behind the disappearing stern of a giraffe, it needed
considerable resolution to follow in its wake.
I have often had the greater part of my shirt—for I never wore a coat—torn
off and my bare arms very severely scratched whilst chasing giraffes
through thick wait-a-bit thorn scrub. I have had some heavy falls too, and
once knocked one of my front teeth clean out of the socket, through
galloping into an ant-eater's hole and falling on my heavy ten-bore rifle. On
another occasion my horse rolled over on me, and cracked the tibia of my
right leg, so that some of the serum ran out and formed a lump on the bone.
However, I never hurt myself seriously, and the risk of such little
misadventures when galloping after giraffes through thick forests and over
ground where the holes were hidden by long grass always added zest to the
pursuit of these animals.
The pace of the giraffe, when pressed, is very great, and in my own
experience, which has been considerable, I have found that it is only an
exceptionally fast South African shooting horse which can actually gallop
past an unwounded giraffe in open ground. The young Boer hunters used
always to think a lot of a horse which was fast enough to enable them to
"brant," i.e. "burn," a giraffe. This meant firing into one of these animals
when galloping level with it and at a distance of only a few paces. Such a

practice is, however, not to be recommended, as it takes too much out of a
horse, upon which one has to depend to keep one's camp in meat throughout
a long hunting season, and the easiest way of killing giraffes is not to press
them too hard, but to jump off behind them whenever a suitable opportunity
occurs and aim for the root of the tail. A bullet so placed, even from one of
the old low velocity rifles of forty years ago, would penetrate to the heart
and lungs, and soon prove fatal.
A wounded giraffe will usually, if not invariably, run against the wind, and
if one's waggon or camp is anywhere in the direction for which it is
heading, it is possible, by galloping alongside and shouting, to alter its
course to a certain extent, and so drive the unsuspecting animal close up to
the place where it can be most conveniently killed and cut up. I have driven
many giraffes quite close up to my waggons before killing them; but I have
also found that if a wounded giraffe takes a course exactly opposite to that
in which you want it to go, no power on earth will make it turn right round
and run in the other direction. In the nature of things one cannot have an
adventure with a giraffe, but I have had two somewhat curious experiences
with these animals.
During 1876, when my friend George Dorehill and I were hunting in
Western Matabeleland, some Bushmen one day came to our camp and
asked us to shoot them a giraffe for the sake of the meat; so, on the
following morning, we went out with them, and before long crossing the
fresh tracks of a big old bull, followed them, and presently came up with
the animal itself. After a short gallop, I wounded it, and it then very soon
came to a halt and stood quite still. Wishing to drive it to our camp, I rode
slowly towards it, waving my hat and shouting, but it never moved. I was
sitting on my horse quite close to where the giant beast stood towering
above me, when I heard the crack of my friend's rifle close behind me. At
the same instant, the whole seventeen feet of giraffe lurched over and came
tumbling towards me, perfectly rigid and without a bend in legs or neck. I
don't think I had hold of my horse's reins when my friend fired and shot the
giraffe through the head from behind, and the sudden fall of the huge beast
was so unexpected that my horse never moved till the great head crashed to
the ground close to its forefeet. I am sure that I am not exaggerating when I
say that the short thick horns of this dead giraffe only missed my horse's
neck by less than six inches. Had the giraffe only been a little taller, or had

my horse and I been a little nearer to it, there would have been more than
one dead animal on the ground soon after my friend's very accurate shot.
On another occasion, during the same year, Dorehill wounded a giraffe—a
good-sized but not full-grown bull—which, after running a little distance,
stopped and then knelt down, in the position of an ox or a camel at rest, and
never moved when we rode up and dismounted close to it. "I'll bet you, you
won't get on to its back," said my friend. We were both of us very young
men then, which perhaps does not excuse the thoughtless cruelty of the act;
but in answer to my friend's challenge I at once vaulted on to the giraffe's
back, and sat astride it just behind the withers. Immediately I touched it the
startled animal struggled to its feet and started off at a gallop. Clasping it
round the neck, I had no difficulty in retaining my seat, and my
remembrance is that the motion of my tall steed was easy. I was not carried
very far, however, and there were fortunately no trees, but only a low
growth of scrubby bush for a good distance in front of us. After carrying me
at a swinging canter for a short distance, the giraffe once more knelt gently
down, and I hastily dismounted. This giraffe was not mortally wounded, but
a bullet had injured its hip or pelvis, though, as far as I can remember, no
bone was actually broken.
The body of an old bull giraffe gives out an excessively strong, pungent
odour, which can be smelt by a human being at a considerable distance.
These old bulls, which are always so dark in colour that they look almost
black, used to be called by the old Boer hunters "stink bulls." The meat of
such animals was never eaten by white hunters, but every scrap of it was
either consumed when fresh, or dried for future consumption, by one's Kafir
or Bushman followers. The tongue of an old bull giraffe, which is the only
part of such an animal that I have ever eaten, I have, however, always found
to be excellent.
During the rainy season, when giraffes are able to obtain without much
exertion a plentiful supply of sweet and nourishing food, the full-grown
cows get into very good condition, and are sometimes so fat in the early
part of the dry season—May and June—that they probably never get into
bad order for the remainder of the year. I have shot giraffe cows whose
sides when the hide was peeled off them were covered with a thick layer of
white fat, from half an inch to over two inches in thickness from shoulder to
rump. There is no finer meat to be got in the whole world than that of a fat

giraffe cow, and the soft white fat when rendered out is equal to the best
lard. The tongue and marrow-bones are also great delicacies, and the hide is
valuable for waggon whips, sjamboks, and the soles of boots. No wonder
the South African frontiers-men, whether Boers or Britons, were always
keen giraffe hunters.
It has often been stated that giraffe bulls in South Africa grow to a height of
19 feet, whilst the cows attain to a stature of from 16 to 17 feet. I
unfortunately only measured the standing height of two bull giraffes; both
of which, however, were old animals, and seemed to me to be fine
specimens of their kind. One of these, the head of which I still have in my
collection, measured, when his legs and neck had been pulled out into as
straight a line as possible, just 17 feet, the measurement having been taken
between two stakes, the one driven into the ground at the base of the
forefoot, the other at the top of the short horns. This giraffe was
undoubtedly a very large animal, and I remember very well Mr. Rowland
Ward remarking on the size of its skull, compared to one which had lately
been brought from Somaliland by the late Mr. F. L. James, as they both lay
side by side in Piccadilly. The other giraffe I measured—also a big bull, or,
at any rate, an old one—could only have stood 16 feet 6 inches in height, in
a straight line from the heel of the forefoot to the top of the horns. The
original old South African bull giraffe, too, which once used to stand in the
Mammalian Gallery of the Natural History Museum at South Kensington,
and which always appeared to me to be a magnificent specimen in point of
size, only measured as set up 17 feet 5 inches from the ground to the top of
the horns. I took this measurement myself with the aid of a ladder. I know
that in the Tring Museum the Hon. Walter Rothschild has a specimen of a
giraffe from Southern Angola, which measures 18 feet 4 inches as it stands.
But I am not convinced that the animal actually stood that height when
alive. In modern taxidermy a framework model of an animal is first built,
and the skin then stretched over it. The man who shot and preserved the
skin of the giraffe now in the Tring Museum said that it stood 18 feet 4
inches, and it has been set up to that height; but if the measurement was
taken carelessly, or over the curves of the animal's body, there would be no
difficulty in stretching the skin so as to obtain the height required. My
esteemed friend the late Mr. A. H. Neumann, than whom there never lived a
better authority upon African game, when speaking of the northern giraffe
in The Great and Small Game of Africa, says: "It may possibly be

somewhat smaller (than the southern species), for the height of the full-
grown males I have shot averaged about 16 feet, that of the cows 14 feet."
And he further says: "And though I have not found these dimensions
exceeded respectively in any of the southern specimens of either sex I have
myself killed anywhere, I have read in the accounts of other hunters of
considerably taller animals being obtained in parts of South Africa."
Personally, grounding my belief on the size of the magnificent old bull
giraffe which once stood in the Mammalian Gallery of the Natural History
Museum at South Kensington, and the measurement I myself took,
immediately it was dead, of a very fine old bull which I shot in Western
Matabeleland in 1880, I should say that the average height, at any rate of
giraffe bulls in South Africa, cannot be more than 17 feet, and that of the
cows about 2 feet less. I have never measured a cow giraffe, but in a herd of
these animals an old black bull always towers above the tallest cows.
Exceptional specimens in both sexes may, of course, grow much taller than
the average height of the species.
Giraffes are, I think, less troubled by lions or other carnivorous animals
than any other African mammal, with the exception of the elephant,
rhinoceros, and hippopotamus. That giraffes are occasionally killed by lions
is, of course, a well-known fact, but my own experience leads me to believe
that such cases are quite exceptional. There are two reasons, I think, for
this, the first being that giraffes spend most of their time in very dry,
semidesert countries, far away from water, into which lions do not often
penetrate; and the second, that, owing to their great size and strength and
the thickness of their hides, giraffes cannot be easy animals for even lions to
pull down, and, as a matter of fact, I think they are seldom molested in parts
of the country where game of other kinds, such as zebras, buffaloes, or large
antelopes, are plentiful.
An instance of a young giraffe being attacked by two leopards once came
within my own experience. I was riding with some Bushmen—more than
thirty years ago now—near the course of the Upper Tati river in Western
Matabeleland, when a single giraffe cow ran out into the open from a
cluster of mimosa trees through which we were passing. Immediately I saw
the giraffe, I put spurs to my horse and galloped after it, but had only just
reached the edge of the mimosa grove when my horse put his foot in a hole,
and not only fell, but rolled over on me, breaking the thin thong attached to

my belt from a ring on the bridle. I was not hurt, but I was unable to
extricate myself and regain my feet as quickly as my horse, and he, not
being a very well-trained animal, trotted away in the direction taken by the
giraffe before I could get hold of the bridle. I now for the first time saw a
very young giraffe calf, which I do not think could have been more than a
day or two old, running between my horse and its mother, but much nearer
to the former than the latter. I suppose this little calf, being so very young,
had been purposely left by its mother lying hidden amongst the bushes to
await her return, but that we had frightened it and caused it to jump up and
run off. As we watched it we saw it run close up to my horse, and as long as
it was in view it appeared to be running close behind it.
I now told two of my Bushmen to run after my horse, and try and get in
front of it and then catch it and bring it back to me. This they succeeded in
doing before very long, as, after having trotted away for a mile or so, my
recreant steed had commenced to feed. When we met, the Bushmen told me
that the giraffe cow had come round and taken off the calf before they came
up with my horse.
Since this giraffe calf was evidently very young and weak, I thought it
would be an easy matter to catch it alive, so I told my Bushmen to take up
its spoor at once. We had been following the tracks of both the cow and the
calf for perhaps a mile, when I saw the head and neck of the latter rising out
of some tussocky grass in an opening in the forest. Galloping up to it, I
found that the poor little creature's hind-legs were stretched out straight
behind it, as if its back were broken. It was also bleeding from a few
scratches. My Bushmen were now examining the ground round the injured
calf; and I heard one of them say, "Ingwi, ingwi mabele" ("Leopards, two
leopards"). They soon explained to me exactly what had happened. As the
giraffe calf was following its mother, two leopards had attacked it. They
must, however, have been driven from their prey very quickly, as I could
only find a few claw-marks upon the body of the calf. Its mother had
evidently struck at the leopards with her forefeet, as we found several
freshly-made marks where her sharp hoofs had struck the hard ground.
Unfortunately, one of these terrific blows, very probably the first aimed at
the leopard which had attacked the calf, had struck the little creature on the
loins and broken its back, or at any rate paralysed its hind-quarters. I
searched all round for the leopards, but could not find them, and was

obliged to kill the calf, for it could only have died a lingering death if I had
not done so, or been torn to pieces sooner or later by leopards or hyænas.
I don't think giraffes ever give birth to more than one calf at a time. The
calves are born, in South-Western Africa, towards the end of the dry season
or early in the rainy season, that is, during the months of September,
October, November, or December.

CHAPTER XII
A JOURNEY TO AMATONGALAND IN SEARCH OF INYALA
The inyala, a rare and beautiful animal—Seldom shot by Englishmen—
Account of, by Mr. Baldwin—Further observations of, by the Hon. W.
H. Drummond—Inyala-shooting and fever almost synonymous—
Distribution of the inyala—Curious antelope shot by Captain Faulkner
—Start on journey in search of inyalas—Reach Delagoa Bay—Meet
Mr. Wissels—Voyage to the Maputa river—Depredations of locusts—
Elephants still found in the Matuta district—A quick run up the river—
Reach Bella Vista—Talk with Portuguese officer—Hippopotamuses
seen—Change of weather—Longman engages four lady porters—Start
for Mr. Wissels's station—Sleep at Amatonga kraal—Description of
people—Cross the Maputa river—Reedbuck shot—Rainy weather—
Reach Mr. Wissels's station.

Of all the various species of antelopes still to be found in the southern
portion of the great African continent, the inyala is perhaps at once the most
beautiful and the least known to naturalists and sportsmen. This handsome
animal, although it had been previously shot by some few Boer hunters,
was first described and brought to the notice of European naturalists by Mr.
Douglas Angas, by whom it was named Tragelaphus angasi, or Angas's
bushbuck, though it is more generally known at the present day by its native
Zulu name of inyala.
Inyala horns are often met with in collections, but such trophies, it will be
found, have almost invariably been obtained from the natives, few living
Englishmen having actually shot this very local and retiring animal; whilst,
as far as I am aware, but two of these have, since Angas's first description,
given us any information concerning its haunts and habits.
That tough old sportsman the late Mr. William Charles Baldwin met with
the inyala on his first visit to Amatongaland in 1854. He writes:

Hearing from the Kaffirs that there were inyalas in the bush, I sallied
out, but without success, until nearly sunset, when, as I was returning
home, the Amatongas showed me two inyalas feeding, the first I had
ever seen. I succeeded in bagging the stag, a most beautiful dark silver-
grey buck, with long mane and very long hair like a goat. He is of the
bushbuck species, but on a much larger scale than the inkonka of the
colony, with long spiral horns, tanned legs, very long hair on his breast
and quarters—a beautiful animal, weighing from 250 lbs. to 300 lbs.,
and very fierce when wounded. They inhabit the coast from this to
Delagoa Bay, and are numerous. The does are often to be seen in large
herds, and are likewise very beautiful, resembling a fallow deer, but
are of a much darker red, striped and spotted with white. They have no
horns, and are half the size of the stag; and nowhere else in Africa have
I met with them.

Baldwin was evidently very much struck with the beauty of these antelopes,
for, referring to the first of the species which he shot, he says: "When I at
last secured him I thought I should never sufficiently admire him." On
another occasion he says: "I wounded an inyala doe, and had a long chase
after her, but eventually lost her. They are wild and wary, and it requires the
greatest caution to get a shot at them."
The only other author, besides Angas and Baldwin, who, as far as I know,
has written anything concerning the inyala from personal experience is the
Hon. W. H. Drummond, who was travelling and hunting in Zululand and
Amatongaland from 1867 to 1872, and who subsequently recorded his
observations on the wild animals he met with in those countries in a book
entitled The Large Game and Natural History of South and South-East
Africa. As his remarks concerning the inyala are very much to the point, I
think they are well worth quoting. He writes concerning this antelope as
follows:—

Perhaps the most beautiful of all the antelopes that I have seen is the
inyala, the white lines with which it is striped being more numerous,
more regular, and much better defined than those of either the koodoo
or the striped eland, which, as far as I know, are the only two animals
which possess them at all. Unfortunately, it does not exist except in the
low, fever-stricken districts of the Bombo range, about the 28th degree

of south latitude. It frequents the densest thickets it can find, and is
wary and difficult to stalk; indeed, I should fancy that more people
have caught fever by hunting this antelope than in the pursuit of any
other animal in Africa, except perhaps the elephant. Of course, as with
most game, early morning and evening are the best times during which
to look for it, and early dawn implies being wet through to above the
waist by the heavy dew and the subsequent drying of one's things by
the heat of the sun—a pretty certain method of getting fever; evening,
on the other hand, means not getting home till hours after dark, and
breathing during that period the fatal miasma, which, as soon as the
sun sets, begins to rise from all over the great lagoons and dotted
plains where this antelope is chiefly found. Inyala-shooting and fever
are all but synonymous; but to those who have already had the latter,
and with whom the mischief as regards constitution is already done,
ample amends are made by the graceful beauty of the antelope and the
magnificence of its skin. Its horns almost exactly resemble those of a
koodoo of eighteen months or two years old, though, if anything, they
have a broader spread.

The range of this beautiful animal is very limited, and even yet has not been
quite accurately ascertained. Angas first met with it on the northern shores
of St Lucia Bay, in latitude 28 degrees south, which seems to be its extreme
southern range. North of St. Lucia Bay it is, or was, plentiful in the
neighbourhood of all the rivers which flow through the wooded plains that
lie between the Lebombo Hills and the sea as far north as Delagoa Bay,
being particularly numerous in the thickets which border the Pongolo,
Usutu, and Tembe rivers. North of Delagoa Bay its distribution is very
imperfectly known; but, as it has been shot on the lower course of the
Oliphants river, it doubtless exists along the Limpopo between the point
where the former river joins it and the sea. To the north of the Limpopo it is
probably found along the coast-line wherever conditions suitable to its
habits exist, namely, dense jungle in the immediate neighbourhood of
swamps and rivers, as far north as the great Sabi river. At any rate, several
Kafirs whom I have questioned in the De Beers compound at Kimberley,
and who were natives of the coast country near Inyambani, were evidently
well acquainted with it, describing it accurately and giving it the Zulu name
of inyala.

North of the Sabi, and between that river and the Zambesi, the inyala has, I
believe, never been met with. Personally, I have never come across any
trace of it, nor obtained any information concerning it during my travels on
the lower course of either the Zambesi, Pungwe, or Buzi rivers, the latter
being the first important stream met with flowing into the Indian Ocean
north of the great Sabi river.
Thus, until quite lately the range of Angas's bushbuck was supposed to be
confined to the coast-line between St. Lucia Bay and a point somewhere to
the south of the great Sabi river; but amongst a parcel of skins sent from
Nyasaland in 1891 by Mr. (now Sir Alfred) Sharpe to Dr. P. L. Sclater, the
well-known zoologist, was the unmistakable hide of a male inyala, and
subsequent research has brought to light the fact that this beautiful antelope,
whose habitat had hitherto been supposed to be confined entirely to the
country immediately north and south of Delagoa Bay, is also an inhabitant
of the jungles on the central course of the Shiré river. In a consular report
concerning the state of Nyasaland, published some years ago, Sir H. H.
Johnston, amongst his most interesting notes on the fauna of the country
which he had so ably administered, wrote: "In the west Shiré and lower
Shiré districts only is found the very handsome inyala antelope."
Concerning the skin previously mentioned, which was obtained by Mr.
(now Sir Alfred) Sharpe, Dr. P. L. Sclater wrote as follows:—

Mr. Sharpe brings a flat skin of what is apparently a male of this
antelope (the inyala), hitherto not known to occur so far north. He
gives the following notes on it: "This antelope is found in a piece of
thick, scrubby country bordering the Moanza, which enters the Shiré
on the right bank near the Murchison cataracts. I have never seen it
alive myself, but have heard of it frequently from the natives, by
whom it is called bo, the 'o' being pronounced very long. It frequents
the thick scrub, and only occasionally comes out to the edges of the
grass flats. I have never heard of it in any other part of Nyasaland."

However, although the fact of the existence of the inyala in Nyasaland was
only established as lately as 1891, I think that a specimen of this antelope
was undoubtedly shot near Cape Maclear, on the shores of Lake Nyasa
itself (where apparently it is not now known to exist), by the late Captain

Faulkner in 1866. In his narrative of a journey to Lake Nyasa, in connection
with the Livingstone search expedition sent out from England under the
command of Lieutenant Young in that year, Captain Faulkner has written, in
a little-known work entitled Elephants' Haunts: "I had walked a long way
without seeing anything, and as it was getting late, was about returning,
when I saw a beautiful antelope feeding near a narrow strip of swamp."
This antelope he killed, and then described it in the following words: "He
was in splendid condition, and a distinctly different animal from any I had
hitherto seen; height at shoulder, 3 ft. 4 in.; spiral horns, 21 in. long, slightly
curved forward, skin of a greyish colour, and covered with white spots,
belly white."
Now, either this antelope shot by Captain Faulkner on the shores of Lake
Nyasa was an inyala, or it belonged to a species still unknown to science.
Seeing that it has now been ascertained that the inyala is an inhabitant of
certain thickets on the banks of the Shiré river, at no great distance from the
place where Captain Faulkner shot his unidentified specimen, I am inclined
to think that the former supposition is the most probable, and that a mistake
was made in describing the animal as covered with spots; for if this
sentence had read: "Of a greyish colour, and covered with white stripes, or
white spots and stripes," the whole description, meagre though it is, would
have been applicable to a male inyala, which the length and shape of the
horns, and the standing height at the shoulder, seem to show that it was. It
certainly was not a bushbuck, with which animal Captain Faulkner was well
acquainted; and as the Kafirs chopped off its horns, and the skin went rotten
and was not preserved, and the description of the animal in question may
have been written from memory by a man who was not a trained observer,
some want of accuracy was to be expected. The fact that the shaggy hair
which hangs from the neck and chest, and fringes the flanks of the male
inyala, and is such a very noticeable characteristic of this species of
antelope, was not mentioned by Captain Faulkner, is certainly very curious;
still, I am inclined to the belief that the animal which he shot on the shore of
Lake Nyasa was an inyala. If not, there exists in that district a nearly allied
species still unknown to science, which I do not think is likely, though it
would be worth while to make careful inquiries amongst the natives living
near Cape Maclear as to all the antelopes of the bushbuck tribe with spiral
horns with which they are acquainted, in order to clear up the mystery.

The foregoing notes represent all the information I have been able to gather
from the works of travellers and sportsmen concerning the habits and
distribution of the inyala, and I will now give a short account of a journey
undertaken by myself to the Usutu river, in Amatongaland, in search of
these antelopes, during which I was able to obtain some knowledge of them
at first hand.
It had long been my ambition to add the head of an inyala, shot by myself,
to my collection of hunting trophies, but year after year had rolled by,
without my having been able to spare the time to undertake a special
journey to the country near Delagoa Bay in search of it, until I recognised
that, unless I made a determined effort, my large collection of South African
antelope heads would for ever remain incomplete and unsatisfactory,
ungraced as it would have been by the spoils of one of the handsomest
species.
Thus I left Matabeleland in September 1896, at the conclusion of the native
rebellion in that country, with the fixed resolve to do my best to kill a male
inyala before quitting South Africa.
Leaving my wife in the care of kind friends at Kimberley, I proceeded by
the shortest route, viz. by rail viâ Pretoria to Delagoa Bay, and found myself
in the now important town of Lourenço Marques on the evening of Monday,
September 21.
There I was fortunate enough to make the acquaintance of Messrs. Gould
and Edixhoven, two gentlemen who were most kind and obliging to me in
every way, and who spared no pains to render me all the assistance in their
power to enable me to carry out the object I had in view. They introduced
me at once to a trader from Amatongaland, who had lately come down to
Delagoa Bay, and who was just about to return to his station near the
junction of the Pongolo and Usutu rivers. Mr. Wissels (the gentleman in
question), a Cape colonist of German extraction, I found was about to
return to his station by boat on the following day; and when he heard that I
wished to shoot an inyala, he told me that these animals were plentiful in
the neighbourhood of his station. Then he most kindly offered to take me
there with him, and to find Kafirs who knew the haunts and habits of the
antelopes in question to go hunting with me.

I had but very little preparation to make for the journey before me, but
before I could leave Delagoa Bay it was necessary for me to get a passport
from the authorities to travel in Portuguese territory, and also to obtain a
licence to carry arms. Thanks to the ready kindness of Mr. B. Cohen,[17] and
the courtesy of the Portuguese governor of Lourenço Marques, I obtained
all the necessary licences in an unusually short space of time, and was ready
to embark on Mr. Wissels's large, open sailing-boat by four o'clock on the
afternoon of Tuesday, September 22. The same evening, after a good dinner
at a small hotel on the opposite side of the bay, we ran out to sea with the
tide, by the light of a most glorious full moon, and after passing a reef of
rocks which projects into the sea from the southern shore of the bay
immediately opposite Reuben Point, on which there is a lighthouse, we
anchored about midnight in quite shallow water to wait for the morning
breeze, by the help of which Mr. Wissels expected we would be able to run
right into the mouth of the Maputa river, in time to catch the inflowing tide.
[17] At that time the British Consul at Delagoa Bay.

After a not too comfortable night, passed on mealie bags which had not
been arranged to serve as a bed, we awoke just as the day was breaking, but
before the moon had quite set, and found that a strong breeze had sprung
up, before which we ran right into the mouth of the Maputa river in a very
short space of time. The Maputa is the name given to the united streams of
the Pongolo and Usutu, below their confluence, and carries to the sea the
muddy water of the former commingled with the clear stream of the latter,
which takes its rise amongst the far-off hills of Swaziland. As the height of
the country above sea-level at the junction of these rivers is, I believe, under
400 feet, it follows that the Maputa runs through a very level tract of
country. Like all rivers flowing into the Indian Ocean, on the east coast of
Africa, it is a tidal stream fringed on both banks along its lower course by
monotonous, dismal-looking mangrove swamps.
The country between the Maputa and the Tembe—which latter is the river
flowing into the southern portion of Delagoa Bay—is reputed to be very
fruitful, and to carry a large native population, who, however, have suffered
terribly of late years owing to the depredations of locusts. The district is
called Matuta. To the south the land does not appear to be so rich, and must
be more sparsely populated, as elephants are said to still maintain a
precarious footing there. After entering the mouth of the Maputa, both wind

and tide being favourable, we ran up its course at racing speed, and by ten
o'clock had passed the limit of the mangrove swamps. So far the only sign
of life we had seen was numerous large flocks of curlews feeding on the
mud-banks on both sides of the river. These birds appeared very similar to
the species so familiar to British shore-shooters, and were equally wary and
shy of close acquaintanceship.
About eleven o'clock we reached the Portuguese military station of Bella
Vista, in charge of an officer, who, after he had inspected my papers and
found them all in order, was very civil, and invited us to join him at the late
breakfast which is one of the two substantial meals partaken of by the
Portuguese in Africa.
Our host seemed to be something more of a sportsman than most of his
countrymen, and only the day previous to our arrival had shot a fine
reedbuck ram, and a short time before a bushbuck ram, having killed both
with buck shot. He also possessed a good pair of inyala horns, which, he
told me, had been obtained from the natives on the Pongolo river. We
remained at Bella Vista for a couple of hours, conversing in French on
various topics, especially the late Matabele rebellion, in which our host
seemed to take a great interest. He was very emphatic in his condemnation
of the policy of raising a police force from amongst the natives of a
conquered country. "However," said he, "it is the English way; they have
done it in Natal and Zululand too, and may yet live to regret it; qui vivra
verra." "But," said I, "you Portuguese surely do the same thing, for
wherever I have travelled in your possessions, I have always met with your
black soldiers." "That is true," said he, "but still our policy is very different
from yours; for we never employ natives as police or soldiers in their own
country; all the black troops you see in our East African possessions being
recruited in Angola, and vice versa, and thus all native levies in the
Portuguese service are looked upon as foreigners by, and are themselves out
of sympathy with, the tribes amongst whom they find themselves."
After bidding adieu to our host and resuming our journey, we continued to
make very good progress, with the help of wind and tide, and although we
now and then lost a little time by sticking on a sandbank, we had done so
well by sundown that Mr. Wissels expected to make a record run up to his
station. During the afternoon we passed a few hippopotamuses and an odd
crocodile; but they were few and far between, and appeared to be very wild

and wary. Our luck, however, was not to last, for during the hour which
intervened between the setting of the sun and the rising of the moon (which
was now but one day beyond the full) the wind veered right round, and
commenced to blow fresh and cool from the south. We soon found it
impossible to make any further progress, even with the oars, after the sail,
which had done us such good service throughout the day, had been lowered;
for the strength of the wind blew us in under the bank. So, yielding to
necessity, we made our heavy craft fast to a tree for the night, and then,
after having made a hasty meal, washed down by a cup of tea, we turned in
under our blankets, which were once more spread on the top of the mealie
bags.
On the following morning, just at daybreak, two hippos passed down the
river close to our boat. They were very wary, however, and gave but little
chance of a shot, even had we wished to kill them, which I, at any rate, did
not. The weather had now completely changed, the sky being overcast with
an unbroken sheet of cloud, whilst the temperature had become quite cool
and pleasant, with a strong breeze blowing from the south. It looked to me
as if we were going to have a day or two of cloudy weather, which would
end in rain when the wind dropped; but as it was very early in the season
for rain, Mr. Wissels thought it was only a cool spell which would blow off
again in a day or two. However, all progress by boat being impossible as
long as the southerly wind lasted, my companion, knowing that my time
was limited, advised me to get some carriers and push on at once on foot to
his station, which was about thirty miles distant, and in the vicinity of
which inyala were to be found. This proposition entirely coinciding with my
own wishes, one of our two Zulu boatmen, an excellent fellow named
Longman, was sent off to engage four carriers, and soon after midday
returned with four Amatonga women; for, in this part of the country, the
women act almost exclusively as porters.
Of the ladies who, after a considerable amount of haggling, at length agreed
to carry my baggage to the junction of the Usutu and Pongolo rivers, three
were already in the afternoon of life—gaunt, bony, wrinkled, hideous hags.
The fourth was a younger and pleasanter-looking woman, who, in addition
to her load, which weighed about forty pounds, carried a two-year-old child,
slung in a goat-skin, at her back. It took some time to arrange the price
which was to be paid for their services, but at last, after testing the weight

of the loads, they agreed to carry them to Mr. Wissels's store for a certain
price. This, however, had to be paid in advance, in accordance with a
custom which is general throughout every portion of the Portuguese
dominions in South-East Africa—a custom which is most humiliating to the
pride of an Englishman, as it seems to say, "By bitter experience we black
people have learnt that white men will cheat us if they can, and therefore we
do not trust them."
At last everything was ready, and I was able to start on my journey at about
two o'clock, accompanied by my four lady carriers and Longman, the Zulu,
whom Mr. Wissels had most kindly given me to act as guide and headman.
That afternoon we walked for about three hours, and slept at a small
Amatonga kraal on a rise above the Maputa river. The country through
which we travelled was neither flat nor hilly, but consisted of a succession
of undulating rises separated by boggy streams. The soil on the surface was
of pure white sand, which rendered the walking very heavy. These sandy
rises were for the most part free of trees or bush, though patches of thorny
scrub were to be seen here and there, as well as some large thorn trees in the
hollows.
The Amatonga about here seem to live in families rather than in large
communities, as we passed several kraals, none of which contained more
than half-a-dozen huts. Each little community seemed to possess a few head
of cattle of a small breed, which is probably identical with that found
throughout Eastern and South Central Africa, though in certain localities it
has become very dwarfed. At the time of my visit to Amatongaland the
people were very badly off for food, as for several successive years their
crops had more or less been destroyed by a wing of that mighty army of
locusts by which the whole of South-Eastern and South Central Africa has
been devastated continually ever since 1890.
Arrived at our destination for the night, a hut was placed at my disposal by
the headman of the village, which I found perfectly clean, and free from
anything which might have made it interesting to an entomologist. Indeed, I
will here say that I found all the Amatonga huts in which I slept during this
trip perfectly clean and comfortable. The people themselves are too well
known to need any detailed description. They are nearly allied to the Zulus
in race, language, and general appearance, and most of them understand and
speak pure Zulu. In their own dialect, which I was not able to follow, the

letter "h" is very noticeable; for instance, the Zulu word "inkuku," a fowl,
becomes "huku" in Satonga. I found no difficulty in understanding them
when they spoke Zulu, or in making them understand "Sintabele," the
native language with which I am best acquainted, and which is itself a
dialect of Zulu.
On waking the following morning, I found that the weather looked very
threatening, as the clouds had become quite thick, and rain was evidently
near at hand. However, after a good deal of opposition on the part of my
lady porters had been overcome, we made a fairly early start, and soon
reached the Maputa river at the place where we had to cross it in a native
ferry boat, which proved to be merely a very disreputable-looking old dug-
out canoe.
On our way here we passed along the edge of a marsh, and as we were
doing so I heard a reedbuck whistle, but as the morning was very dull and
misty, neither Longman nor I could at first see any sign of the animal that
had thus needlessly betrayed its existence. However, after walking a short
distance in the direction from which the sound had proceeded, we made out
three reedbucks, which, as they ran from behind some reeds into the open
ground, I saw were a ram and two ewes. They almost immediately stood,
the ram with his hind-quarters towards us; so, judging the distance between
us to be about three hundred yards, I put up the third sight, and sitting down
took a careful shot at him. I thought I heard the bullet strike, but as he ran
lightly behind the two ewes without showing any sign of being hit, I began
to think I must have been mistaken. Before going far, however, he stopped
suddenly for a few moments, and then rolled over on his side, apparently
dead. On walking up to him, however, we found him still alive, although on
examination the bullet proved to have passed through the lower part of his
heart, having first hit him in the belly between the hind-legs and gone
forwards through the whole length of his body.
Whilst Longman and I were cutting up the reedbuck, the lady porters took
their loads to the ferry, which was close at hand, and then returned for the
meat; and when we had got everything down to the river, we shouted for the
ferryman to take us to the other side.
It was some time before the native Charon made his appearance, and, whilst
we were waiting for him, my lady porters ate up about half the reedbuck,

and I also made a good breakfast, and skinned the head, which was a pretty
good one. Just where we crossed the river we saw some elephant spoor
which looked fairly recent, and the natives told us that a herd of these
animals roamed over the country between the Tembe and Maputa rivers,
and sometimes passed close to their kraal on their way to drink in the latter
stream. The banks of the river presented a very pretty appearance at the
time of our crossing, as all the bushes were covered with convolvulus
creepers in full bloom.
It was past midday when we again resumed our journey, and light showers
had already begun to fall, and continued to do so during the remainder of
the day, becoming heavier towards evening, so that by the time we reached
the little kraal where we intended to pass the night, I was pretty damp,
though not exactly wet through. With the aid of a big fire, however, I got
my things dry again before nightfall, and spent a comfortable night in a
clean native hut.
During the night it rained a good deal, but when day broke no rain was
actually falling, although heavy watery-looking clouds were coming up fast
from the south. Taking advantage of the temporary respite, I managed to get
my traps packed up, and my unwilling porters under way, as I knew that I
should not be able to persuade them to start if rain were actually falling. We
had not proceeded far, however, before being caught in a soaking shower,
which soon wetted me to the skin, as, not expecting rain, I had not brought
a waterproof coat with me, and was only lightly clad. There was nothing for
it but to push on to Mr. Wissels's store. It proved to be farther off than I had
anticipated, as it was one o'clock before Longman and I arrived there,
whilst my lady porters did not turn up until three hours later, in a very
bedraggled condition.
During the morning's walk we had passed a large fresh-water lake or
lagoon, on which there were numbers of spur-winged geese, one of which I
should have tried to shoot for food, had I not been so cold and wet that my
one idea was to reach Mr. Wissels's store as soon as possible. After passing
the lagoon we crossed a broad marshy plain, where I saw three reedbucks,
and also the spoor of two waterbucks, which I am afraid are almost the last
of their species in this part of the country, where not many years ago these
animals must have been very numerous. On at length reaching the store, I
found that the white man—a German sailor, whom Mr. Wissels had left in

charge, and whom I had expected to find there—had gone down to the
Maputa river with carriers to bring up some bags of maize, and was not
expected back till the following day. Thus, I only found some Amatonga
natives looking after the store, who, although they were civil and obliging
enough after Longman had told them all about me, were yet unable to give
me the same kind of welcome that one white man always extends to another
in the wilds of Africa. For instance, had Mr. Wissels's friend been at home I
should have borrowed a shirt and trousers from him whilst I dried my own;
but, in the nature of things, the naked Amatonga were unable to oblige me
in this way; however, they did the next best thing, and built a big fire
beneath a large thick-foliaged tree; and by the help of this I managed to get
myself tolerably dry in the course of the afternoon.

CHAPTER XIII
A JOURNEY TO AMATONGALAND (concluded)
Receive information concerning the haunts of the inyala—Heavy
thunderstorm—Start for Gugawi's kraal—Cross the Usutu river—
Reach Gugawi's—Go out hunting—Crested guinea-fowl seen—Two
inyalas shot—Angas's description of the inyala antelope—Inyala skins
prepared for mounting—Now safe in Natural History Museum—A
third inyala shot—One missed—Move farther up the Usutu river—
Country denuded of game—Bushbucks scarce—Hippopotamuses in
river—Heavy thunderstorm—Two more male inyalas shot—Start on
return journey to Delagoa Bay—Tedious journey—Intense heat—End
of trip—Slight attacks of fever.

There were now abundant signs that I was approaching the haunts of the
beautiful antelope I had come so far to seek, as inyala skins and horns were
very much in evidence round Mr. Wissels's store, and several of the latter
had manifestly been but recently killed. All these animals, Longman
assured me, had been shot by the Amatonga within a short distance of the
store, in the dense jungles lying in the angle between the Usutu and
Pongolo rivers, which I could now see covering some low ridges at a
distance of not more than six or seven miles from where we stood. Had it
not been for the rain, I should have gone on the same afternoon; however, I
gathered a good deal of information and arranged for a start with fresh
carriers as early as possible the following day—my objective point being
the kraal of an Amatonga headman named Gugawi, who, I was told, lived a
few miles up the Usutu river, on the very edge of the jungle where inyalas
were said to be plentiful. I noticed, however, that my informants were not
over confident about my being likely to shoot any of these animals. When I
asked if I should be sure to see some, they replied, "The imbala-intendi (the
local name in this part of Amatongaland for the inyala) is very cunning; he
lives in the very densest jungle, and never comes into the open except at
nights; he is very cunning; he is a witch is the imbala-intendi." They all

agreed, however, in declaring that there were plenty of them, although they
were difficult to get a sight of. Well, there was nothing for it but to do my
best, and deserve success even if I could not attain it.
That night we had a most tremendous thunderstorm, the rain falling in
torrents; and as the place in which I was sleeping was not water-tight, I had
rather a bad time of it, and was very glad when day broke.
The thunderstorm had cleared the air, and Sunday, September 27, dawned
bright and clear, with every prospect of its being a fine day. I had all my
things packed up pretty early, and with four new women carriers, and
accompanied by two men who knew the way to Gugawi's kraal, managed to
get off about an hour after sunrise, and reached my destination before ten
o'clock. On our way we crossed the Usutu river—here a clear, swift-flowing
stream, about two hundred yards in breadth, running over a bed of sand. We
waded across it, and found the water quite shallow for the most part, and
never more than three feet deep.
On reaching the kraal we were making for, I told Longman to cook me
some breakfast; and whilst he was frying me some reedbuck steaks, I had a
talk with the headman Gugawi and told him the reason of my visit. He
replied that the "imbala-intendi" were numerous in the jungle just behind
his kraal, and promised to do his best to help me to secure the specimens I
wanted, though, like every one else, he said the animals were very cunning
and difficult to get a sight of. As soon as I had had my breakfast, I asked
Gugawi to give me a man who was well acquainted with the habits of the
inyala, as I wished to go into the bush after them without any loss of time.
He gave me one of his sons, and, accompanied by Longman and one of the
Kafirs who had come from Mr. Wissels's store, we forthwith entered the
jungle, which extended to within a few yards of the kraal. From this we
were not distant more than two hundred yards before we saw fresh inyala
spoor plainly imprinted in the wet ground. The rain at least had done us this
service, that it had washed out all old spoor and rendered any fresh tracks
quite conspicuous.
We now commenced to creep very cautiously through the thick thorny bush,
making our way for the most part through tunnels made by hippopotamuses
during their night excursions in search of food. We had usually to walk bent
nearly double, often having to creep on our hands and knees; and, as the air

was very hot and steamy, we were soon bathed in perspiration. Now and
again we came to little open spaces in the bush, and in one of these, which
we passed through soon after leaving the kraal, I saw a very handsome
crested guinea-fowl, the same species, no doubt (Guttera edouardi), as that
met with on the central Zambesi, to the east of the Victoria Falls.
We had been creeping about the bush in the uncomfortable manner I have
described for about an hour, when we came suddenly upon a little circular
opening some fifty or sixty yards in diameter. As we approached the edge of
this open space, advancing very cautiously in a stooping attitude down a
hippopotamus path, my guide suddenly dropped to the ground. As he did so,
I got a clear view past him, and saw, standing amongst the grass and bush,
just on the further side of the opening, what I knew was an inyala doe, as I
could distinctly see it was reddish in colour. I could see no other animal
near her, and as I required two specimens of inyala does, the one for the
British and the other for the South African Museum, I lost no time about
firing at the animal in question, which I saw drop instantly to the shot. But
even as she did so, there appeared in her place, or very close to where she
had stood, a great black shaggy form, which, indistinctly as I could see it in
the deep shadow of the bush, I knew was a male inyala—the first that my
eyes had ever looked upon in the flesh. My rifle was a single-barrelled one;
and before I could fire the shot that might make that rare and beautiful beast
mine, I had to open the breech of my rifle, take another cartridge from my
belt, slip it into the chamber, close the breech again, and then raise the rifle
to my shoulder and take aim. All this meant time and noise. Would the
inyala, which stood like a statue by the dead body of his mate, give me the
few seconds I required to take his own life too? I little thought he would,
but he did; and as I raised my rifle once more, and took a quick but careful
sight on his dark shoulder, I felt, as I pulled the trigger, that he was mine.

"I KNEW IT WAS A MALE INYALA—THE FIRST THAT MY EYES
HAD EVER LOOKED UPON."
As the report of the rifle sounded, he plunged madly forward, and was
instantly lost to sight in the thick scrub. But I felt sure he carried death with
him; and so it proved, for we found him lying dead not twenty yards from
where he had stood when the bullet struck him. The fatal missile had passed
right through his shoulders, and having expanded on impact, had torn his
heart to pieces. I had the dead female brought to where the male had fallen,
and laid them side by side; then stood admiring them for a long time before
I could bring myself to skin them. To thus secure a very handsome pair of
inyala antelopes—whose excellently mounted skins are now safe in the
Mammalian Gallery of the Natural History Museum at South Kensington—
on the very first day I had ever hunted for them, and after little more than an
hour's search—was indeed a most glorious and exceptional piece of good
fortune, which, however, has been balanced by many and many a day that I
can remember of unrequited labour in search of game.
I think I had here better give Mr. Angas's very careful descriptions of the
inyala antelope, male and female, as they are so detailed and precise that
they cannot be improved upon—except that, for a reason which I shall refer

to presently, I imagine that the male whose skin he described could not have
been fully adult.
Mr. Angas tells us that his notes "were drawn up from recently killed
specimens which he in vain attempted to purchase from the Boers who
possessed them," and are as follows: "The adult male is about 7 feet 6
inches in total length, and 3 feet 4 inches high at the shoulder. Though
elegant in form, and with much of the grace of the solitary koodoo, the
robust and shaggy aspect of the male bears considerable resemblance to that
of the goat. Legs clean, hoofs pointed and black, with two oval cream-
coloured spots in front of each fetlock, immediately above the hoof. Horns
of the specimen in question, 1 foot 10 inches long,[18] twisted and sublyrate,
very similar to those of the bushbuck, but rather more spiral; very sharp
polished extremities of a pale straw colour, rest of horns brownish black,
deeply ridged from the forehead to about half the length of the horn.
Prevailing colour, greyish black, tinged with purplish brown and ochre; on
the neck, flanks, and cheeks marked with several white stripes like the
koodoo. Forehead brilliant sienna brown, almost approaching to orange;
mane black down the neck, and white from the withers to the insertion of
the tail; ears, 8 inches long, oval, rufous, tipped with black, and fringed
inside with white hairs. A pale ochreous circle round the eyes, which are
connected by two white spots, forming an arrow-shaped mark on a black
ground; nose black; a white spot on each side of the upper lip; chin and
gullet white; and three white marks under each eye; neck covered with long
shaggy hair, extending also under the belly and fringing the haunches to the
knees; two white spots on the flanks, and a patch of long white hair on the
interior portion of the thigh; a white tuft under the belly, and another on the
dewlap. On the outer side of the forelegs is a black patch above the knee
surrounded by three white spots; legs below the knee bright rufous colour;
tail, 1 foot 8 inches long, black above, with tip and inside white." This most
detailed description is, I think, that of an animal not fully adult, as in the
three full-grown male inyalas which I saw in the flesh all the buff,
ochreous, and orange tints described by Mr. Angas had turned to greyish
black, except to a slight extent below the knees, whilst none of them had
any white stripes on the cheeks or neck; and, as the general ground colour
of the young male is reddish brown, and that of a full-grown male greyish
black, it goes without saying that, as the young animal grows from kidhood
to maturity, the former colour gradually gives place to the latter—till, in a

very old male, there is no buff or ochre left except on the legs below the
knees. Of the female, Mr. Angas's description is as follows: "Smaller than
the male, and without horns; total length, 6 feet; nose, to insertion of ear, 10
inches; length of ear, 6-1/2 inches; height from forefoot to shoulder, 2 feet 9
inches; tail, 1 foot 3 inches in length; becoming very pale on the belly and
lower parts and white inside the thighs; a black dorsal ridge of bristly hair
extends from the back of the crown to the tail; nose black; the white spots
on various parts of the body nearly resembling those of the male, only the
white stripes on both sides are more numerous and clearly defined,
amounting to twelve or thirteen in number; tail, rufous above and white
below, tipped with black."
[18] It may be remembered that the unidentified antelope shot by Captain
Faulkner on the shore of Lake Nyasa, near Cape Maclear, stood 3 feet 4 inches at
the shoulder, whilst the length of its horns was 1 foot 9 inches.

As soon as I had stripped the skins, with the leg-bones still attached, from
my two beautiful specimens, I had them carried, together with the skulls, to
Gugawi's kraal, on the edge of the bush, and there spent the remainder of
the day in preparing them for mounting. Of the meat, which was all brought
in, I sent a couple of haunches over to Mr. Wissels, and then, after keeping a
small piece for myself, gave the remainder to Gugawi, to divide amongst
his people as he thought fit.
Next morning I was up and out in the bush just as day was breaking,
accompanied only by my guide of yesterday and Longman, who, however,
kept some distance behind, in order to allow my guide and myself to
approach our game as noiselessly as possible. We had been creeping about
in the dense jungle for some three hours without having seen anything,
although there was a good deal of fresh spoor about, and twice we had
heard inyalas dash away through the bush without getting a sight of them,
when suddenly my guide crouched to the ground, at the same time pointing
towards a large ant-heap growing out of the dense scrub, and itself covered
with undergrowth. Following the direction of his arm, I made out a reddish
patch not fifteen yards away in the gloom of the bush; and, taking it for an
inyala doe, I fired into it point-blank, as I required another specimen for
mounting. At the shot, the animal fell, and on creeping up to it, I found that
it was a young male. It was something less in size than a full-grown female,
from which it did not differ in any way in coloration and the number and
distribution of white stripes and spots. It was thus interesting, as showing

that the male inyala changes in general colour from bright red to dark grey,
only losing the rufous and orange tints on the ears and forehead—which
were still conspicuous in the type specimen described by Mr. Angas—when
fully adult.
As it was now getting on for midday, I had the young inyala carried
forthwith to the kraal, where I remained until about four o'clock, then again
sallied forth, and did another two hours' jungle-creeping before dark. I saw
an inyala doe, and could have fired at her, but, thinking there might have
been a male accompanying her, did not care to do so too hurriedly, and
whilst I was straining my eyes peering into the bush all around her, she
either saw or winded me, and bounded off, quite alone as far as I could
make out.
Early the following morning I was again in the bush, and just after sunrise
came on a male inyala close to the river. He was standing behind a mass of
tree stems, with just his tail showing on one side and part of his head on the
other. He was evidently looking at us, and as I knew he would be off in a
moment, giving but little chance of a shot, I thought I had better try and put
a bullet into him through an interstice amongst the tree stems, where I could
see what I took to be part of his neck. I made a bad shot, however, as my
bullet, instead of passing through the opening, imbedded itself in the wood
of one of the tree stems, and the inyala went off uninjured.
On returning to the kraal, Gugawi proposed to take me to a spot some few
miles higher up the Usutu, where he said there were plenty of inyalas,
whilst at the same time the bush was not so dense as near his kraal. Being
by this time thoroughly sick of crawling about bent nearly double, I hailed
with delight the idea of finding the game I was seeking in a country where I
could walk upright, and visions of inyalas feeding through open glades
passed through my mind—visions, alas, which were never realised, for in
my small experience I never found these antelopes anywhere except in
dense bush. However, I was glad of the change, and soon had everything
ready for a move.
In the afternoon we travelled some five or six miles up the river, and
pitched camp in a bit of jungle near the water's edge. The Usutu river is
here very broad, and reminded me strongly of parts of the Chobi; but
whereas the banks of the latter river, as I knew it in the early 'seventies,

abounded in game of many descriptions, from the elephant downwards,
there was not a track to be seen along the Usutu of any kind of animal with
the exception of the inyala. All the wealth of wild life which Baldwin saw
in this same district in 1854 had melted away before the guns of the native
Amatonga hunters; for, be it noted, this is a country in which but very little
game has been killed by white men. Rhinoceroses, buffaloes, koodoos,
waterbucks, impalas, lions,—all are gone, the only game left being the
inyalas, which owe their preservation to the dense jungles in which they
live; and even they are being rapidly killed off, as the natives are always
after them, lying in wait for them in the paths made by the hippopotamuses
or creeping stealthily through the bush in their pursuit.
Curiously enough, in these thickets, where inyalas are so numerous, there
are very few bushbucks, although the surroundings are in every respect
suited to their requirements. I can only account for the scarcity of the
bushbucks, where inyalas are plentiful, by supposing that the latter animals
will not tolerate the former—considering them too nearly akin to
themselves to make good neighbours; for a male bushbuck might be
excused, I think, for making love to an inyala doe, which scarcely differs
from one of his own females in any way except size, and that probably not
to a sufficient degree to stop his advances during the rutting season; which,
of course, would be resented by the male inyala, and the latter being the
more powerful animal, has been able to drive his rival out of his preserves.
If jealousy is not answerable for the scarcity of bushbucks in these jungles
where inyalas are so plentiful, I fail to understand why the former animals
should be so numerous lower down the river under exactly similar
conditions, except that there there are no inyalas.
In the open expanse of water, some half a mile in breadth, just opposite our
camp, several hippopotamuses were grunting and playing about on our
arrival, and as long as we remained here there were always some of these
animals in sight. In the evening I went out after inyala, but though I saw
plenty of spoor, I did not catch sight of one of the animals themselves. Soon
after dark a heavy thunderstorm came up from the south, and continued
with much lightning and torrents of rain till long after midnight. Having
neither a tent nor a waterproof sheet, I, like my native companions, of
course got soaking wet; and we had to sit shivering in our drenched

blankets until daylight, as the heavy rains had put our fires out and we could
not get another alight, everything being wet.
Soon after dawn, however, we managed to get a fire under way, and I then
had a cup of warm coffee. Just as the sun was rising I went out into the
dripping bush, and returned to camp dry and warm before midday. In spite
of what Gugawi had said as to the bush being more open round this camp
than near his own kraal, I found but little difference, and should describe all
the bush in which I hunted on the Usutu river as dense jungle. In the course
of the morning I just caught a glimpse of an inyala—a male evidently by his
colour—but failed to get a shot at him. I also saw a large number of the
beautiful crested guinea-fowls, which in this district seem to be more
numerous than the common South African species. During the heat of the
day I remained at our bivouac, and, as the sun was intensely hot, managed
to thoroughly dry all my belongings, which had got so wet during the
previous night's rain. In the evening I again went out into the bush, and just
at dusk caught sight of the hind-quarters of an antelope amongst the thick
scrub ahead of me. The light was fast failing, and although I felt sure it was
an inyala, as there were apparently no other kinds of antelopes in the
district, yet I could not in the least tell whether it was a male or female, but,
hoping for the best, fired, and saw nothing more.
On forcing my way through the scrub to where the animal had been when I
fired, I found a fine inyala doe lying on the ground, just on the point of
death, the bullet having struck her in the left thigh and passed through the
whole length of her body into the cavity of the chest. Although disappointed
that it was not a male, I skinned her carefully for mounting; and she now
forms part of the fine collection of South African mammalia which is in the
Museum at Cape Town.
It would be but tedious reading were I to continue to describe in detail my
further bush-crawling experiences in search of inyalas. Suffice it to say that,
on October 1 and 2, I secured two more fine males, whose heads I
preserved for my own collection. Although I should have liked to have got a
fourth male for the South African Museum, I did not think it prudent to
remain any longer in my camp on the edge of a swamp, where I knew the
air must be reeking with malarial poison, as, besides the exhalations from
the marsh, the ground (from which I was only separated at nights by a little
dry grass and a blanket) had been soaked to the depth of two feet by the

recent rain, thus rendering the conditions more than usually unhealthy. The
weather, too, was now again looking very threatening, and I did not relish
the idea of any further lying out in the rain; as I knew, from former
experience, that I should probably have to pay for the wettings I had already
suffered, by some attacks of fever—a disease from which I had been
entirely exempt for seven years, but the poison of which I knew was still in
my blood, and would be likely to be again stirred into activity by my recent
exposure to unhealthy conditions.
Hence, on Saturday, October 3, I packed up my things and returned to
Gugawi's kraal, walking on in the afternoon to Mr. Wissels's store. At
Gugawi's I met an Englishman, who informed me that he had come down
from Barberton, and was travelling about amongst the Amatonga, buying
skins of wild cats, jackals, etc., which he hoped to sell again at a profit to
the Kafirs working in the mines in the Transvaal. He seemed much
surprised when I told him that I had only come to Amatongaland in order to
shoot an inyala, and frequently remarked in the course of our conversation,
"Well, I'm ——; so you've come all this —— way to shoot a —— buck."
He also informed me that he was not very well, as he had been "on the
burst" for the last three days; but this confidence was superfluous, as no one
could have approached within ten yards of him without realising his
condition.
On my arrival at the store I was disappointed to find that Mr. Wissels was
absent, having again returned to Delagoa Bay for another cargo of maize.
Had he been at home, I should have endeavoured to obtain a specimen of
Livingstone's antelope—a species which I have never shot, and which Mr.
Wissels had informed me was numerous in most of the jungles near his
store. These little animals are very similar in habits to the diminutive blue
buck of Natal, and as they inhabit dense bush, are not often shot, except by
driving, and Mr. Wissels had promised that when I returned to his station he
would collect a lot of Kafirs and get up a drive for me. However, as I did
not know when he would return, and was anxious to get back to Kimberley
as soon as possible now that I had accomplished the main object of my
journey, I did not care about waiting for him, but determined to get on as
quickly as possible. Had Mr. Wissels been at home I should probably have
returned to Delagoa Bay by boat, but now I had the prospect of an eighty-
mile walk. I had no difficulty in getting carriers, as Gugawi's men, who had

brought my things to the store, and with whom I had been associated for the
last week, volunteered to go on with me to Delagoa Bay; and it pleased me
very much to find that they did not insist on being paid beforehand, but
trusted to my honour to deal fairly with them.
On the evening of the day on which I returned to Mr. Wissels's store, the
weather looked very unsettled; but on the following morning all signs of
rain had cleared off, and the sun rose red and fiery in a cloudless sky. I got
away early, and on the evening of the third day slept within sight of the
lights amongst the shipping in Delagoa Bay. During those three days the
heat had been intense, and in those eighty miles I never put my foot on a
piece of firm ground, but plodded painfully through deep white sand, like
the soft sand of the sea-shore. Indeed, all this flat country to the south of
Delagoa Bay must once have been at the bottom of the sea—from which it
has been upheaved probably at no very distant time, geologically speaking,
as I noticed that the patches of sandy soil which were under cultivation
were full of oyster and other sea-shells. Water seemed to be everywhere
close below the surface, but was not good—having an unhealthy, slimy
taste, and making bad tea. Indeed, except in the actual stream of the Usutu
river, I never tasted anything but swamp water during this trip. As I tramped
along mile after mile in the deep sand and beneath the blazing sun, I could
not but think regretfully of my elephant-hunting days of over twenty years
before, when I used to do the same sort of work day after day and month
after month without feeling it, and got up every morning without an ache or
pain, fresh and ready for the next day's work. But one cannot last for ever;
and on this long weary tramp there were moments when I would have given
a good deal for a horse, or even a donkey, and on the first day's walk the sun
gave me a bad headache.
On the evening of the first and the morning of the second day we passed
through some quite uninhabited country, and here I shot two duiker
antelopes and a steinbuck. I also saw some quite fresh elephant spoor, and
just caught a glimpse of a little Livingstone's antelope, whose local name is
"schlengarn," in a patch of thick bush. The country was looking fresh and
green, with the sprouting grass after the recent heavy rains; and hundreds of
beetles were now running over the sand, which was a good deal more than
warm. Indeed, it was so hot that I think a baboon would have hesitated to sit
down on it.

But my weary tramp came to an end at last, and early on the morning of
October 7 I crossed the Bay of Delagoa to the town of Lourenço Marques,
and, thanks to the kind assistance of Mr. Edixhoven, got all my specimens
packed and conveyed on board the Pembroke Castle the same day, for
transport to England, where they duly arrived in very good order.
The same evening I left Delagoa Bay by train for the Transvaal, and finally
reached Kimberley on October 10. Here I had a slight attack of malarial
fever—a matter of a few hours only—succeeded by two more in Cape
Town, and a final attack on board ship on my way to England. But these
attacks were very slight and only lasted for a few hours at a time, and I can
only say, with Drummond, that ample amends have been made for any little
inconveniences I may have suffered, by the pleasure of the thought that I
have not only added a pair of inyala heads to my own private collection, but
have also enriched our National Museum of Natural History with two
beautiful specimens of this rare and handsome antelope.

CHAPTER XIV
NOTES ON THE GEMSBUCK
Number of African antelopes—The eland—Roan and sable antelopes—The
greater koodoo—Other antelopes—The gemsbuck—Limited range—
Habitat—Keen sight—Speed and endurance—Chase after four
gemsbucks—Two shot—Sight of vultures—Oxen frightened—Horse
wounded by lioness—Gemsbuck bull shot—Visit from natives—
Gemsbucks and zebras—Gemsbucks ridden to a standstill—Fine
specimens shot—Length of horns—Character of the gemsbuck—
Probably unaffected by the rinderpest—Likely to survive for long
time.

There is such a wealth of splendid-looking antelopes to be found on the
great African continent that it is hard, nay, impossible to say which amongst
them is the grandest prize of all that can fall to a hunter's rifle. In bulk
nothing approaches the eland, and an old bull of this species, with his
massive form, low-hanging dewlap, and great neck surmounted by a
striking and beautifully proportioned head, is in truth a noble animal, but at
the same time one that looks fitter in every way to adorn a park than to be
hunted to the death. The eland is, in fact, one of those beasts that ought to
have been trained to the service of man, and would have been in all
probability had it existed in Asia instead of in Africa. Such an animal few
can slay without a certain feeling of regret, for even when desperately
wounded, nothing but reproach can be read in its mild dark eyes.
How different is the quiet resignation shown by the dying eland to the fierce
defiance of every look and gesture of a roan or sable antelope brought to
bay and fighting desperately to the very last. These two latter animals are
amongst the finest of all the African antelopes, and by many sportsmen the
last named is considered the noblest of them all. The magnificent greater
koodoo, too, has many warm admirers, whilst the inyala, lesser koodoo, and
Grant's gazelle, if not amongst the grandest of the several genera to which
they belong, are certainly some of the most beautiful.

But there is yet another species, whose praises have of late years been sung
by few, the successful pursuit of which has always given me more
satisfaction than that of any other of the larger antelopes of Southern Africa.
This is the gemsbuck, the grandest of all the handsome oryx family.
Cornwallis Harris, Gordon Cumming, Oswell, Baldwin, and others of those
fortunate Englishmen who travelled and hunted in South Africa when the
last century was only middle-aged have all written enthusiastically of the
chase of the gemsbuck and the joy of securing a good head of this species.
But with the spread of European settlements and the steady advance of
civilisation, these beautiful animals have been driven from many of their
former haunts, and are now only to be found in the most arid districts of
Western South Africa; and though their range extends from the north-
western portion of the Cape Colony in the south to the southern part of the
Portuguese province of Angola in the north, there can, I think, be but few
districts left where they are to be met with at the present day in anything but
small and widely scattered herds. At least, a herd of about fifteen is the
greatest number that I have ever seen together, though it must be
remembered that I have only met with the gemsbuck in the more easterly
portions of its range, and it is quite possible that in the recesses of the
Kalahari it may at certain seasons of the year collect into larger droves than
anything that I have ever seen.
Compared with other South African game, I have shot but few gemsbuck—
only twenty-five, I find by reference to my note-books—partly because I
have done the greater part of my hunting in the more easterly parts of the
country where these animals are unknown, but also for the reason that even
when in countries where they existed I never found them anything but
scarce.
The gemsbuck, as I have said before, is an inhabitant of Western South
Africa, and lives and thrives in parts of the country where not only are there
no running streams, but where for months together every year there is
absolutely no surface water at all. In such districts there are almost limitless
expanses of level plains covered with low scrub and thorny bush studded
with small glittering white salt-pans, and intersected by forest-covered
country, with sometimes a thick undergrowth amongst the trees, and it is in
such surroundings that the gemsbuck is at home.

As a rule, they confine themselves to the arid, scrub-covered plains, but
sometimes wander into the forests. If the sun is not shining full upon them
—when they look almost white—the pale grey colour of their coats
harmonises wonderfully well with all their surroundings, for the soil on
which they stand is generally much the colour of their hides, whilst the
parched and thorny scrub around them is always of a pale neutral tint, for it
is usually leafless, and even when in leaf the leaves are rather grey than
green.
Like the striping of the zebra, the brilliant black and white markings of the
gemsbuck's face can be plainly seen when near at hand, but are
inconspicuous at any distance over four hundred yards, and the presence of
these animals is often first betrayed by the sun glinting on their long black
horns. The sight of the gemsbuck is very keen, and the Bushmen say that,
like the ostrich, he trusts more to this sense for his safety than to scent,
which is no doubt the case as long as he is in country of an open character.
There is no more splendid sight than that of a herd of gemsbucks galloping
over the arid wastes of their desert home; for, owing to the fact that the
cows have longer horns than the bulls, every individual member of the herd
looks as if it carried a head worth winning. They run at a steadier pace than
any other animal with which I am acquainted, holding their heads rather
low, so that their long black horns stand well up, only slanting slightly
backwards. As they gallop, their long bushy black tails almost sweep the
ground, as they swing from side to side.
In comparing the speed and endurance of various species of South African
antelopes, it is first of all necessary to eliminate all cows heavy with calf, as
these are so heavily handicapped that they do not afford any criterion of the
real powers, under ordinary circumstances, of the species to which they
belong. Every one who has ridden after sable and roan antelopes in August
or September knows how easy it is at that time of year to bring the heavier
cows to a standstill, but I have never yet been able to gallop down a bull of
either species, though I have had many a good try.
The gemsbuck is often spoken of as the fleetest and most enduring of all the
South African antelopes. My own experience is not sufficient to justify me
in dogmatising on this subject, but all those I have shot I have galloped
after, and I have also had a considerable experience in riding after most
other South African antelopes; and my verdict is, that although gemsbuck

run with great speed and endurance, they are inferior in these respects to the
tsessebe, Cape hartebeest, Lichtenstein's hartebeest, blue and black
wildebeest, and to the blesbok. I should put their running powers much on a
par with those of the sable and roan antelope.
Gemsbucks being usually found in open country, as a rule get a good start,
and I can well believe that a man mounted on a horse in low condition or
only grass-fed would never get up to them at all; but a good South African
shooting pony, in hard condition and fed regularly morning and evening on
maize, ought to carry a twelve-stone man up to a herd of gemsbucks every
time.
I have twice found gemsbucks in company with a herd of Burchell's zebras,
and on both occasions in very open ground. On sighting me the former
animals at once took the lead and galloped off, closely followed by the
latter. On the first occasion they had a long start, and husbanding my horse,
I only drew up to them gradually. There were only four gemsbucks—three
cows and a bull—and about a dozen zebras; and these latter, when I at
length drew up within a hundred yards, entirely prevented my getting a shot
at the more coveted game. The horse I was riding had a very good turn of
speed, so I then let him out as hard as he could go, and galloped right
through the zebras, which scattered to either side of me, and then reforming
in one herd, went off by themselves. The gemsbucks were now going at
their utmost speed, and when I had passed the zebras were still sixty or
seventy yards in front of me. The bull was only to be distinguished from the
cows by his somewhat heavier build and shorter though stouter horns.
Pulling my horse in as quickly as possible, I jumped to the ground, and
aiming for the centre of the black patch which bedecks the hind-quarters of
these antelopes, fired. My shot, as it turned out, struck him exactly right, an
inch or so above the root of the tail, and must have broken or injured the
vertebral column, as his hind-quarters gave way at once, bringing the
doomed animal into a sitting position, from which he was unable to recover
himself. My after-rider, a light-weight Griqua lad, was now close up behind
me, so shouting to him to despatch the bull (whose head I wanted for my
own collection), I galloped on after the cows, the best of which I wished to
secure for our National Museum of Natural History, for which I had already
got a good bull.

"THE GEMSBUCKS WERE NOW GOING AT THEIR UTMOST
SPEED, AND WHEN I HAD PASSED THE ZEBRAS WERE STILL
SIXTY OR SEVENTY YARDS IN FRONT OF ME."
They had now, however, got a long start, and as the chase soon led me
across a succession of broad sandy ridges entirely free from all vegetation
but a little coarse grass, the going became terribly heavy, and I began to
think I should never get within shooting distance again. At last, however,
the gemsbucks got out of the heavy sand and raced into a broad open plain,
where the ground was fairly firm. They were still going strong, and were
some three hundred yards ahead of me. I now made what I knew would
have to be my last effort, and gradually drew nearer and nearer to the
hindmost antelope, until at length I was not more than 120 yards behind it.
Just then the leading gemsbuck swerved somewhat to the left, and the other
two following in its tracks, gave me—for I had pulled in and jumped to the
ground directly I saw the leader turn—a somewhat better chance for a shot
than had been offered as long as the chase had remained exactly tail-on-end.
Had I missed I should have pulled in and given up the hunt, as I did not
want to overtire my horse; but I distinctly heard the bullet tell, and so
remounted and galloped on again. For the next half-mile the wounded
animal showed no signs of being hit, but held on close behind her

companions. Presently, however, she began to fall behind, and suddenly
coming to a halt, turned broadside and stood looking at her pursuer. She let
me ride up to within fifty yards of her without moving, and it was only
when, after having pulled in and dismounted, I had given her a shot through
the heart, that she made a short rush forward and then rolled over dead.
I was now at least two miles from where I had disabled the bull, and as I
knew that it would be a long time before my after-rider could come up with
the Bushmen, I set to work to skin the animal just killed. She was a
beautiful beast, but it was a terribly hot job skinning so large an animal
without any assistance in the open shadeless plain, for it was already past
midday and the heat of the sun was simply intense, and I was somewhat
hungry and very thirsty as well, since I had left my waggon (which was
standing at a pool of water on the road between Bamangwato and the
Mababi) just at daybreak. At last my task was ended, and I then
disembowelled the carcase of the dead antelope, and covered it as well as I
could with dry grass, an operation that took some time, as grass only grew
in scanty tussocks anywhere near at hand. I was also careful to throw sand
over all the blood-stains on the ground, these precautions being necessary to
keep off vultures, for although none of these birds were at the moment in
sight, I was afraid that they might collect and destroy the meat after I had
left, and before the Bushmen came for it.
I have satisfied myself over and over again that, in South Africa at least,
vultures are guided to their food entirely by sight, and not at all by scent;
for should an animal be killed in the midst of dense bush, it will often lie
there for days, untouched by vultures, no matter how many of these birds
may be circling about overhead; but unless the carcase of an animal killed
on an open plain should be quickly hidden from view with branches of trees
or grass, it will not remain long unvisited, for one or other of the vultures
constantly flying round, perhaps at such a height as to be invisible to the
human eye, is sure to spy it ere long, and then—something in its mode of
flight no doubt suggesting that it is bent on serious business—is itself seen
and followed by others, which in their turn are observed, till all the vultures
in the neighbourhood are presently assembled at the feast. The Bushmen
say that it is useless covering up a carcase and leaving blood-stains on the
ground round about, as vultures can see these signs of slaughter at an