To-day we have again waited patiently to see the wilderness gradually come to life in the hours of the afternoon. And we have not been disappointed.
Out from the shadows of scattered groups of trees there march great herds of the white-bearded gnus, that remind one so of small buffaloes. Slowly they make their way to the more open grazing ground and disperse themselves over it. But careful watch is kept by a few of them—the bulls that lead the herds, experienced old fellows! Under their guardianship the herd feels itself perfectly safe. There is also an unusually large drove of the wonderfully graceful impallah or black-tailed antelope. What a remarkable contrast is presented as the herds mingle together! The gnus, strongly built, haughty in their bearing, conscious of their strength against all animal foes, stand out wonderfully amongst their almost too graceful comrades, the impallah-antelopes. We can plainly distinguish that the females and those that are accompanied by young ones keep more together, while the bucks of the impallah-antelopes keep apart and look after their safety.
Now a dark black mass slowly separates itself from a large group of trees. It is followed by several forms that do not so easily catch the eye. Our field-glasses tell us that a small flock of ostriches has come to mix with the wild species already noted. Now there are perhaps well over three hundred head of these three kinds of wild animals united together in one gathering. They are used to come together in the most friendly way, without apparently taking much notice of each other. For a long time the sight of these creatures, all so different, holds us fascinated. But our optical instruments must restlessly explore the distance for new sights of the animal kingdom; and at the same time there are even better instruments of investigation at work—the eyes of my black companions.
C. G. Schillings, phot.
HERD OF BLACK-HOOFED ANTELOPES.
C. G. Schillings, phot.
A HERD OF BLACK-HOOFED ANTELOPES PHOTOGRAPHED AFTER STALKING THEM WITH THE CAMERA FOR HALF AN HOUR.
“Pharu, bwana!” now whispers one of my men, and points cautiously with his arm down to a certain point on the plain. His caution, however, is not necessary, for it is at a distance of at least a thousand yards that his sharp eyes have distinguished the outlines of two almost invisible rhinoceroses that are moving slowly through a group of acacias. What an effect that word “pharu” has upon me! For once more there has come close to me one of those strange, mighty beings that really belong to a time long passed, and which, like the elephant, the giraffe, the zebra, the gnu, and a few other forms, lend to the wilderness the charm of primeval days. Naturally still stronger is the effect of the cry of “Tembo!” on the hunter and the watcher amid such scenes. “Elephant!” This name electrifies even the weariest traveller. But when the word is “Twigga!” (“Giraffe!”)—even here in Europe the strange, slender-necked creature, moving in some acacia wood all flooded with the sunlight, comes up bodily before me—bodily and plainly to be seen, but alas, only in imagination!