Part 5
The sun shone out all through that long, arduous day with a fierce, intense heat, but there was no time for rest. I swam several creeks, which carried me hundreds of yards down stream at a pace which meant certain death if I ran against the business end of a snag; and I waded and swam for many hundreds of yards at a stretch along the track in places where it was flooded. By drinking copiously of the lukewarm water I kept off the cravings of a healthy hunger. My pipe had slipped from my pouch, and, anyhow, my tobacco and matches, which I carried inside my hat, had got wet when I dropped from the tree; and this, to me, was the greatest drawback of the situation. The sun rounded slowly towards the west, and it was fast becoming dark, when suddenly I heard the jabbering of blacks at some little distance. To climb into a thick pine tree and conceal myself in its branches was the work of a few minutes. I had hardly done so before a straggling mob of blacks passed slowly underneath; the bucks, or warriors, went first with spears and boomerangs in their hands, and the gins followed, carrying the piccaninnies and household goods slung in numerous dilly-bags over their backs. A few wretched half-tame dingoes brought up the rear, snarling and fighting with one another. It seemed strange to me that these savages should be journeying along the track, for at other times they were rather anxious to avoid it. Perhaps they did it for the sake of the novelty of the situation, naturally supposing that their enemies, the whites, would not be travelling during the wet season. There might have been fifty or sixty of them altogether in the band. To my intense annoyance they went on about a couple of hundred yards, and halted, to camp for the night, on what was evidently a drier piece of ground than usual. There was no help for it--I should have to pass the night in that tree. It would be folly to wander about in the dark; besides, I was dead tired and could hardly keep my eyes open.
[Illustration: "WHEN I THREW A PIECE OF DRY WOOD AT IT, THE REPTILE POSITIVELY REFUSED TO BUDGE."]
I unslung my knapsack, wedged myself into a sitting position among the close, dense boughs, and, in spite of the proximity of danger and a few stray mosquitoes, was asleep in two minutes. Had I descended the tree and camped on the ground, sleep must have been almost impossible on account of the insects. The blacks lit numerous tiny fires, or "smudges," to drive them off.
I awoke about an hour before dawn, stiff and chilled to the bone on account of my cramped, airy position, strapped my knapsack on my back, and descended the tree. There was a silence as of death in the blacks' camp. Taking my bearings, I made a wide detour and passed round them safely. After that I avoided the track as much as possible. I must have walked nearly thirty-five miles on the previous long day, but it should be borne in mind that it was one of continuous, determined toil.
I walked on steadily all that day, hardly pausing to rest, swimming flooded creeks and wading in places up to my armpits, but my progress was better than on the preceding day. I felt the pangs of hunger more keenly, but I continued drinking large quantities of water, and this, as I had often found before, to a certain degree stood me in good stead. At noon I came to a wild, broad water-course called Scrubby Creek, and I knew I was now within fifteen miles of my destination. I had been speculating all day as to the state of affairs at my camp--wondering if my men had deserted it, and if I should find it in the possession of the savages. If so, I should have to be wary in making my approach; I should have to follow the river down towards the sea and wait and starve until the boat came round. The prospect was not cheerful, but still I never for one moment allowed it to affect the course I was pursuing. If I failed, then I had done my level best to do what I could, and at least no soul-harrowing reflections would be mine.
I was just about to step into the swirling, hurrying current of Scrubby Creek when, happening to glance round, I saw something that made my heart throb wildly and arrested my further progress in an instant. A large number of savages were following me up, and there was not one of them but carried a spear or weapon of some sort in his hand. I wheeled about in an instant and drew my revolver, resolved to give them something more than they bargained for.
The blacks stopped short when they found they were discovered, and spread out in the form of a semicircle; then they closed in until, with their _wimmeras_, they could make sure of throwing their spears with precision and effect. I waited until I also could make sure of my man, and then, as one of them drew back his arm to lever his spear home, I raised my revolver and fired. He dropped all of a heap, like a bullock that has been knocked on the head with an axe. A spear whizzed past me and buried itself in the thick bark of a ti tree close to my head. My blood was up, but I took deliberate aim, and the savage who had thrown it also bit the dust. At eighty yards my Colt was almost as deadly as a rifle. Somewhat taken by surprise, the blacks retired, and I emptied the remaining chambers of my revolver at them with effect. I even made to follow them up, reloading as I walked, and they actually broke and ran before me.
This was exactly what I wanted, and I seized my opportunity. I turned and dived into the brown, tawny-crested creek, and by vigorous side-strokes made for a narrow, island-like strip of wooded land that stood right in the middle of the stream. I had all but passed it when I caught hold of an overhanging bough and drew myself into a thick clump of reeds and undergrowth. I stood up to the arm-pits in water. There was now some seventy yards between me and the bank I had just left--about half the distance I had yet to accomplish. As I expected, the blacks, who had rallied, now appeared on the scene. Quick as thought I placed my soft-felt hat brim downwards on the water, and away it went sailing down that boiling torrent. The blacks saw it, and thought they had me now safely enough; they directed spear after spear at it, but I noticed that none of them took effect; they ran along the bank in a great state of excitement, shouting and skipping, and in a few minutes more were out of sight. If my hat would only continue to float it might lead them quite a nice little goose-chase.
I waited for some time, and was just about to strike out for the opposite shore when, to my no little surprise and chagrin, two of the savages returned. They went for some little distance up-stream, and then made straight for my little island. Evidently they had thought there was something suspicious about my hat. Only my mouth, eyes, nose, and my revolver-hand were above water now, and I waited for them to come on.
And what a wait that was! Every moment seemed an eternity. I could hardly control the intense longing that possessed me to be up and at them. But I knew I must bide my time and make sure of both, otherwise they could easily elude me in the water, attract the attention of the other blacks, and then it would be all up with me. I knew the chances of my coming out of that creek alive were very slight indeed; but life seemed sweet just then. Every now and again a little wave would unexpectedly dash over my face, and I would be nearly suffocated. Were these savages never going to reach me? The suspense was too terrible.
They reached my island and came down the narrow strip, prodding the undergrowth with their spears. In another second they were within a few yards of where I was ambushed. Both of them saw me at the same instant, and up went their spears. Fortunately, one was almost behind the other, and this interfered with their concerted action. I fired point-blank into the grinning face of the foremost savage, and he dropped where he stood; I saw the little round hole my bullet had made right in the centre of his forehead. The flint spear-head of the second black ripped open my shirt and made an ugly gash in the fleshy part of my arm. He was within six feet of me, and I levelled my revolver at him and pulled the trigger. To my dismay the weapon snapped uselessly, and I realized that my last cartridge had been fired. In another moment that savage and I were wrestling together in deadly grips. Once he had me under water and I experienced all the first horrors of drowning, with the waters thundering in my ears. It was surely all up with me now! But by one supreme effort I pulled the rascal down, and then it was my turn. When I had done with him I knew he would give me no more trouble. Next I tore off part of my shirt into a long strip and bound it tightly round my injured arm in a rough-and-ready but effectual fashion. Then, with only one arm which was of any real use, I essayed to cross the remaining strip of hurrying flood. In a few minutes more I was on the other side, more dead than alive. Thank God! It was the last creek I had to cross.
[Illustration: "HE DROPPED WHERE HE STOOD."]
[Illustration: THE ROMANCE OF WILD ANIMAL CATCHING.]
By Harold J. Shepstone.
An interesting article describing how Mr. Carl Hagenbeck, the famous animal dealer, collects his curious merchandise. Often, to secure specimens of some particularly valuable species, special expeditions have to be organized. These are frequently away for many months, traversing thousands of miles of practically unexplored country and meeting with all sorts of exciting adventures.
A little way outside the busy shipping port of Hamburg is the pretty little suburban village of Stellingen. Here is located the largest wild-animal exchange in the world--the one place where strange and curious beasts from the four quarters of the earth are received and housed until wanted by the great zoological gardens and menageries. It is hardly necessary to add that this unique establishment is presided over by Mr. Carl Hagenbeck, famous as the most successful animal dealer the modern world has ever seen, and as the creator of a decidedly original zoological garden.
At Mr. Hagenbeck's great depôt there may be seen at any time the finest and rarest collection of animals in the world. When the writer was in Stellingen recently the value of the wild beasts gathered there was put down at fifty thousand pounds, and they certainly included almost every living creature one could name, among them being many very rare species.
Naturally, the most romantic part of the whole business is the way in which the animals are captured in their native wilds and brought--sometimes thousands of miles--to the depôt, and the object of the present article is to describe this side of a strange yet fascinating trade.
There is a vast difference between the hunter who kills for pleasure and the hunter whose business it is to capture his quarry alive. The former merely seeks his quarry, shoots it, secures a skin or horn as a trophy, and then returns. True, he meets with many adventures and has often exciting stories to tell of fights with enraged beasts. But the collector stands on a different plane; his mission is not to exterminate, but to preserve for the education and benefit of civilized man. He may rightly be described as the humane invader of the forest, jungle, desert, and plain, for he never kills unless it is necessary for self-preservation. He sets out with the determination to bring back typical specimens of the wild life of out-of-the-way parts of the earth, so that those who pursue more peaceful callings at home may obtain some idea of the characteristics and habits of the curious beasts that inhabit the more inaccessible parts of the globe.
Needless to say, the animal-catcher's task is much more difficult than that of the ordinary hunter; from first to last every quest is one long period of anxiety. The simplest part of the work, in many cases, is the capture of the beasts. Thereafter his chief concern is their welfare. He has to attend to their many and varied wants, doctor them when they are sick, and transport them safely for many thousands of miles--often across trackless and practically unexplored country. Not only must he know how to deal with the savage beast, but with the savage man as well, for to accomplish his purpose he has frequently to rely upon the natives to assist him, and he can only do this efficiently by knowing how to handle them. Indeed, there are few callings demanding more qualifications than that of the seeker after live wild animals. The modern collector is a hunter, explorer, and zoologist rolled into one.
Naturally, it is the rarer species, such as the rhinoceros, hippopotamus, giraffe, and zebra, that the dealers most prize. And here a word of explanation is necessary. A traveller returning from the wilds of Africa will tell you how he detected hippos floating down the streams and spotted giraffes on the horizon; he will also relate to you how many had been shot in the district only a short while before by some famous sportsman. Yet, if you wished to procure a live rhinoceros to-day, you would probably have to give as much as eight hundred pounds for it, and almost as much for a hippopotamus. Why, one may well ask, this enormous price for a single specimen of these creatures, when they appear to be fairly plentiful in the land of their birth? The reason is easily explained.
[Illustration: ELEPHANTS AND BABIES--THE LATTER WERE BORN ON THE WAY TO EUROPE FROM SIAM.
_From Photographs._]
To-day no hunter would dream of trying to capture a full-grown hippo or rhinoceros. Indeed, it would be practically impossible to hold such an animal, and, even were it possible to entice one into a cage, it would probably only kill itself in its frenzied efforts to escape, or refuse to eat, and so die of starvation. What the hunter endeavours to do, therefore, is to secure the young ones. This he does by hunting along the river banks until he happens to discover a hippo and her young. The thing then is to capture the calf.
Mr. Hagenbeck's hunters, or rather the natives engaged by his men, resort to two methods in catching the hippopotamus. The so-called Hawati, or water-hunters, of the Soudan, all of whom are excellent and daring swimmers, harpoon their victims at the noon hour, when they are sunk in deep slumber. Then they pull them to the bank by means of a cord attached to the harpoon, and there make them fast. The hunters use for this a special kind of harpoon, made in such a way that it does not make a deep wound. Fully three-quarters of the hippopotami exhibited in Europe have been captured in this way.
[Illustration: NEWLY-CAPTURED ELEPHANTS ENJOYING A BATH IN THE SEA OFF THE COAST OF CEYLON.
_From a Photograph._] ]
[Illustration: TRANSPORTING WILD ANIMALS DOWN A RIVER IN NORTHERN ASIA.
_From a Photograph._] ]
Hippopotamus hunts are also conducted on land. There advantage is taken of the fact that the female hippopotamus makes her young walk in front of her. The reason for this is that the beast, being well protected in the rear by its abnormally thick skin, prefers to have its offspring in front, where it can guard them better against danger. But, in spite of its affection for its children, the mother hippo has no particular desire to meet danger when it comes. So the hunters dig large pits in the forest, cover them over until they are fully concealed, and then lie in wait near by. Presently a female hippopotamus comes along with her child trotting before her. Suddenly, without warning, the young one disappears before its mother's eyes. This is too much for the old animal. She dashes away leaving the little one at the mercy of its enemies.
A fence is built at once around the pit and the captive is ensnared, thrown to the ground, and securely tied. Then it is placed on a sort of litter and carried by native carriers through the dense forest to the hunter's camp. This is arduous work, as a two-year-old hippo weighs from 1,000lb. to 1,200lb.
[Illustration: A HUNTERS CARAVAN ON THE MARCH--THE OUTFITTING OF THESE EXPEDITIONS IS A VERY COSTLY BUSINESS.
_From a Photograph._ ]
Having secured the object of his mission, the next thing the hunter has to do is to feed his prize. Now, a baby hippo will drink thirty pints of milk a day and bellow for more, so that the question of an adequate supply is very important. The nutriment is supplied by goats, which have to be brought along with the expedition. This means, of course, that the hunter's caravan is an unwieldy affair, and can only move across country very slowly. Every step it advances it increases in size, being continually added to, for in addition to collecting live animals the collector also gathers skins and other things of value to the dealer.
All the great animal collectors are agreed that the finest hunters in the world are the natives themselves. They know how to frighten and confuse the parent animals, and are quick at seizing an opportunity for snatching up the young, a thing which has to be done quickly and without the slightest hesitation, or the consequences may prove serious.
In catching giraffes the hunter engages only natives who are expert horsemen; he may recruit as few as a dozen or a corps of a couple of hundred. Scouts are sent out until a herd is sighted, and then off go the natives on their speedy Abyssinian ponies. Having come up with the herd, with yells and shouts they dash towards the animals. Frightened out of their wits by the din, the long-necked creatures turn and bolt for dear life. For some time the chase is kept up at furious speed, until one by one the young ones fall behind exhausted. Instantly they are cut off from the others by a couple of men on horseback and headed towards the camp, soon becoming entirely exhausted and falling an easy prey to their captors. Halters are then fastened round their heads and they are led and driven back to the camp. They are fed principally on goats' milk, corn, and various kinds of green stuff.
It would be practically impossible to secure a full-grown giraffe, for if you managed to corner one you could not hold it. This animal is more plentiful now than it was a few years ago, on account of the opening up of the Egyptian Soudan. Indeed, between the years 1880 and 1900 only three giraffes were imported into Europe, two coming from South Africa and one from Senegal. "I have had rather bad luck with giraffes lately," said Mr. Hagenbeck. "Out of six recently sent to us from the interior of Nubia, only one arrived alive; the remainder all died on the way. Last year, out of eight, only two reached Hamburg."
A more hardy animal, and one that is decidedly more plentiful, is the zebra--that is to say, the common mountain kind. Certain species of this beautifully-striped African horse, however, are getting very scarce, including the Grévy and Burchell. Zebras are caught by "drives." First of all, the hunter builds a large stockaded enclosure with a kind of funnel-shaped opening. As many as three to five thousand natives are then called into requisition. Some of them come mounted on their swift ponies, the majority, however, being on foot. Each man carries a harmless-looking little flag on the end of a stick. Scouts are sent out in various directions, and when they report the presence of a herd the army of natives quietly files out of camp and for hours tramps over the ground, spreading out in the form of a vast semicircle, measuring perhaps five miles across at its widest part. In this way they manage to surround the unsuspecting zebras. Then, at a given signal--generally a pistol-shot--they commence shouting and beating tom-toms, moving meanwhile towards the animals.
The frightened zebras retreat at once, dashing towards the stockade. As they approach it other animals are surprised, including, perhaps, antelope, eland, deer, buffalo, and perhaps a giraffe. The one aim of the four-footed fugitives is to get away from the cordon of yelling natives, which now surrounds them on every side. There is only one outlet, which leads into the stockade, and into this they plunge panic-stricken. Once inside, the entrance is immediately closed. At a recent drive, organized by one of Mr. Hagenbeck's hunters in German East Africa, fully four hundred zebras and a large number of antelopes and other animals were surrounded in this way. As the corral was not large enough to hold such a number the greater portion were allowed to escape, and finally eighty-five zebras and fifteen antelopes were secured.
When first captured the zebra is very wild, dashing about the stockade at lightning speed, but in a few days he recognises that it is hopeless to try to escape, and philosophically accepts the situation. In German East Africa the settlers often tame these newly-caught zebras and ride them like horses.
Curiously enough, the big cats--such as lions, tigers, and leopards--do not give the hunter so much trouble as some of the hoofed animals. In the case of lions they are now only taken when cubs. This work is done by the natives; the collector merely tells them that he is wanting lions, and in a short time they return with the desired number. These men track the lioness to her den, rushing in suddenly and raining spears upon her till she is dead. The little ones are then wrapped up in pieces of cloth and handed over to the hunter at the camp. They are fed on goats' milk--which they drink out of a bottle--and pieces of fowl until they are old enough to travel, when they are sent down to the coast in little wooden boxes on the backs of camels and shipped to Europe.
Occasionally when the cub-hunters visit a den they find both parents away, and then their task is easy. Should the mother return, however, there is at once a fierce fight, and unless she is quickly overpowered it goes hard indeed with the natives. There is no creature more fierce than one of these big cats when it comes to protecting her young, and the cries of the infuriated mother will sometimes bring her mate to the scene, and an enraged male lion strikes terror into all but the stoutest hearts.