The poison with which their points are imbued is procured from the juice of some plant at present unknown, and two or three coatings are given before the weapon is considered to be sufficiently envenomed. The Fans appear to be unacquainted with any antidote for the poison, or, if they do know of any, they keep it a profound secret. The reader may remember a parallel instance among the Bosjesmans, with regard to the antidote for the poison-grub.
Besides these arrows, they use others about two feet in length, with iron heads, whenever they go in search of large game; but in warfare, the little arrow is quite strong enough to penetrate the skin of a human being, and is therefore used in preference to the larger and more cumbrous dart.
The only defensive weapon is the shield, which is made from the hide of the elephant. It varies slightly in shape, but is generally oblong, and is about three feet long by two and a half wide, so that it covers all the vital parts of the body. The piece of hide used for the shield is cut from the shoulders of the elephant, where, as is the case with the pachyderms in general, the skin is thickest and strongest. No spear can penetrate this shield, the axe cannot hew its way through it, the missile knife barely indents it, and the crossbow arrows rebound harmlessly from its surface. Even a bullet will glance off if it should strike obliquely on the shield. Such a shield is exceedingly valuable, because the skin of an elephant will not afford material for more than one or two shields, and elephant-killing is a task that needs much time, patience, courage, and ingenuity. Moreover, the elephant must be an old one, and, as the old elephants are proverbially fierce and cunning, the danger of hunting them is very great.
Like other savages, the Fan has no idea of “sport.” He is necessarily a “pot-hunter,” and thinks it the most foolish thing in the world to give the game a fair chance of escape. When he goes to hunt, he intends to kill the animal, and cares not in the least as to the means which he uses. The manner of elephant hunting is exceedingly ingenious.
As soon as they find an elephant feeding, the Fans choose a spot at a little distance where the monkey vines and other creepers dangle most luxuriantly from the boughs. Quietly detaching them, they interweave them among the tree trunks, so as to make a strong, net-like barrier, which is elastic enough to yield to the rush of an elephant, and strong enough to detain and entangle him. Moreover, the Fans know well that the elephant dreads anything that looks like a fence, and, as has been well said, may be kept prisoner in an enclosure which would not detain a calf.
When the barrier is completed, the Fans, armed with their spears, surround the elephant, and by shouts and cries drive him in the direction of the barrier. As soon as he strikes against it, he is filled with terror, and instead of exerting his gigantic strength, and breaking through the obstacle, he struggles in vague terror, while his enemies crowd round him, indicting wound after wound with their broad-bladed spears. In vain does he strike at the twisted vines, or endeavor to pull them down with his trunk, and equally in vain he endeavors to trample them under foot. The elastic ropes yield to his efforts, and in the meanwhile the fatal missiles are poured on him from every side. Some of the hunters crawl through the brush, and wound him from below; others climb up trees, and hurl spears from among the boughs: while the bolder attack him openly, running away if he makes a charge, and returning as soon as he pauses, clustering round him like flies round a carcass.
This mode of chase is not without its dangers, men being frequently killed by the elephant, which charges unexpectedly, knocks them down with a blow of the trunk, and then tramples them under foot. Sometimes an unfortunate hunter, when charged by the animal, loses his presence of mind, runs toward the vine barrier, and is caught in the very meshes which he helped to weave. Tree climbing is the usual resource of a chased hunter; and, as the Fans can run up trees almost as easily as monkeys, they find themselves safer among the branches than they would be if they merely tried to dodge the animal round the tree trunks.
The Fans also use an elephant trap which is identical in principle with that which is used in killing the hippopotamus,—namely, a weighted spear hung to a branch under which the elephant must pass, and detached by a string tied to a trigger. The natives are assisted in their elephant-hunting expeditions by the character of the animal. Suspicious and crafty as is the elephant, it has a strong disinclination to leave a spot where it finds the food which it likes best; and in consequence of this peculiarity, whenever an elephant is discovered, the Fans feel sure that it will remain in the same place for several days, and take their measures accordingly.
When they have killed an elephant, they utilize nearly the whole of the enormous carcass, taking out the tusks for sale, using the skin of the back for shields, and eating the whole of the flesh. To European palates the flesh of the elephant is distasteful, partly on account of its peculiar flavor, and partly because the cookery of the native African is not of the best character. M. du Chaillu speaks of it in very contemptuous terms. “The elephant meat, of which the Fans seem to be very fond, and which they have been cooking and smoking for three days, is the toughest and most disagreeable meat I ever tasted. I cannot explain its taste, because we have no flesh which tastes like it, but it seems full of muscular fibre or gristle; and when it has been boiled for two days, twelve hours each day, it is still tough. The flavor is not unpleasant; but, although I had tried at different times to accustom myself to it, I found only that my disgust grew greater.”
Whether elephant meat is governed by the same culinary laws as ox meat remains to be seen; but, if such be the case, the cook who boiled the meat for twenty-four hours seems to have ingeniously hit upon a plan that would make the best beef tough, stringy, tasteless, and almost uneatable. Had it been gently simmered for six hours, the result might have been different; but to boil meat for twenty-four hours by way of making it tender is as absurd as boiling an egg for the same period by way of making it soft.