Looking through my field-glasses I saw two faint lines which, beginning more than a mile away in the open plain, converged, forming a funnel. The narrow end of the funnel terminated within a quarter of a mile from my ant-heap and in a line with it.
The faint lines were really thin strips of dry palmleaf tape, which shone white in the bright sunlight. Every few yards a bight was taken round a bunch of tall, growing grass, which lent support to it and gave the impression that a one-strand fence or a barrier of some sort had been erected.
The Chief referred to the two thin lines as walls, and assured me that the antelope, if properly driven, would not break through them.
He then drew my attention to the apparent opening at the narrow end of the funnel, and asked me if I saw anything to prevent the Lechwe from escaping in that direction.
I said I could see no bar. He replied that the Lechwe couldn't either, so, when pressed, would dash for the opening.
"It is then that the sport will begin," he added.
At this I looked more carefully and saw innumerable pikes had been driven into the ground with their iron points sloping forward towards the wire end of the funnel. The grass had been carefully rearranged.
This, then, was the general plan: to drive the Lechwe into the funnel, down it, and on to the pikes at the narrow end.
In reply to my questions, he said that many thousands of beaters, drawn from the slave tribes, had been wading through the swamps for two days collecting small herds of antelope and driving them slowly forward towards the mouth of the funnel.
He drew a diagram with his stick on the side of the ant-heap to show how the beaters were disposed. He had adopted the well-known African method of envelopment—the crescent, with the horns well forward. The men who formed the horns had already reached the extremities of the funnel and were passing slowly down outside the line. The antelope, he told me, were contained in the arc of men coming forward.