We had not gone more than half a mile, when suddenly a single buck jumped from behind a bush, close in, and showed for an instant, in full view, as it bounded behind the cover of the jungle. One breathless instant, and it was gone, untouched. There had been no time to shoot, though we had seen enough to name it a Lesser Koodoo doe, a delicate, graceful thing, near to the size of a red deer, with prominent widespread ears. Eagerly we had realised the valued prize; keenly we realised it had vanished—alarmed, and impossible to follow. In undertone I “swore,” and Gilham muttered “bad luck,” each in mind appraising the venison’s goodly proportions, and hungry friends waiting rations in camp. Regrets were vain. More keen than ever, we moved on again, the actual sight of game whetting our appetite for a kill. But no! the Fates were unkind. At the end of two miles of careful stalking we halted, and had not fired a shot. Spoor in plenty had been encountered, principally the sharp-pointed sand-print of Mpala hoofs or the untidy scraping and burrowing of a family of wart hog. Many were fresh tracks, and promised the momentary appearance of game, but the shadow of the bush held motionless and lifeless, blank cover from which the treasures we sought had travelled at first suspicion of danger’s footfall. Twice we had flashed large flocks of guinea-fowl, magnificent birds and king of spoil for shot-gun in Africa; but, armed with rifles only, we were this day in mind to be impatient with the flutter and disturbance of their cackling, and heavy-winged rise from cover, when we rudely chanced in upon their morning breakfasting. And so, as duty demanded our presence in camp at 9 a.m., we were halted at the turning-point—empty-handed and disconsolate. Gilham wasn’t saying much. He never did when hunting, but one might judge he was mourning his luck, as none too gently he rolled an uncouth cigarette out of notepaper and rough-cut Boer tobacco. While he smoked, we decided to circle up-wind, southward to begin with, and then, when clear of our outbound line, to strike for camp over fresh ground.
GERENUK ANTELOPE KILLED
We were soon off again. The sun was now up and beginning to make itself felt in the bush. In an hour it would be stifling hot in those enclosed surroundings. We had not gone far—a half-mile or so—and we were crossing some open bush—abreast in open order—when a low whistle from Gilham, on my right, warned me to halt my cautious walk abruptly. He was not in view, but I caught the movement of his rifle rising, and almost instantly the report followed. Fifty yards ahead a buck jumped from behind a bush and stood face on, startled; fearful astonishment and bewilderment apparently making it unable to run for its life. Hurriedly, too hurriedly! I fired—and missed to the left, and off went our quarry bounding through the bush, we following at a run, not certain the animal was unscathed, and hoping it might be wounded. But the buck had vanished, and no sight of blood rewarded an inspection of his tracks. We had missed. Fools we felt, and deserved our self-condemnation—too keen! over-anxious! the certain temperament to make even the old hand miss “a sure thing.”
The buck had attracted my notice. During our fourteen months of patrolling the German-East-British-East frontier I had not seen its kind before. It was a buck like an Mpala antelope, but it stood slightly taller, and was of extremely delicate build, while the neck was noticeably very long and very slender; the horns curved back, as with the buck Mpala, but were more closely set together than with that species. Gilham named it a Gerenuk antelope.
Again we moved on, and by and by drew near to the distance from camp where we dare not fire. Suddenly a shot rang out, again from Gilham, on my right. I could neither see him nor his object as the bush was dense, and I paused anxiously. A moment, and a cheery shout rang out—“All right, come on!” and I hurried over to find my partner proudly surveying a prostrate Gerenuk doe, for, strangely enough, it was again this novel species which Gilham had spotted and dropped with a bullet high in the shoulder. It was a beautiful beast, though a doe, killed by fate of the pot-hunter’s need, slender and delightfully delicate of build, with a coat of close, short, glossy hair, dark chocolate brown, above the central sides, where a distinctive horizontal line clearly separated the darker upper parts from those a shade or two lighter below. Many were our ejaculations of joy over our prize! Here was meat at last!—and venison!—fit reward for our strenuous stalk. Proudly now we would steal in upon our camp comrades and revel in a goodly feed all round. For one day at least bully beef would not plague our palate.
Without loss of time we cut the meat up, loaded the black boy, and, carrying the remainder ourselves, we set off for camp, deciding we were now too close in to shoot further.
Nearing camp, half an hour later, we put up at intervals, singly, numbers of dainty dodging Dik Dik, the smallest African antelope, which lairs and jumps off like a British hare, and which in size it barely exceeds. These little animals are usually sought with shot-guns, and give very tricky shooting. They are a much-prized table delicacy.
Our entrance to camp was a masterpiece of secret movement, and bush-cutting parade found us on duty outwardly severe but inwardly rejoicing over our morning’s outing. And so had we a glimpse of sport in this famous big-game land while we passed on trek, keen on the trail of even bigger game.
On 9th June, the entire column—which had crossed the river from Buiko and had assembled at our bush camp on the previous day—again marched out on trek, and continued down the Pangani. In the late afternoon, the advanced troops at the head of the column engaged rear-guards of the enemy, and heavy fighting for a time ensued before the native village of Mkalamo. Our position then was about opposite Wilhelmstal and Mombo, two of the principal stations of the Usambara Railway.
ENEMY LEAVING USAMBARA RAILWAY