The Wanderings of an Elephant Hunter

by Walter Dalrymple Maitland Bell

LAKKAS, SHY AND NERVOUS.

BUBA GIDA’S ELEPHANT HUNTERS.

On the occasion of our first introduction to the Lakkas luckily nothing serious happened. After a few seconds of very nervous demonstrating with spears and shields, our friends-to-be rushed off in a panic, one fat youth getting a spear crossed between his legs and falling flat. As we required a guide, and as our only chance of getting one was to seize him, we secured him before he had quite recovered. He at once showed his sense by yielding quietly, although he must have been in an awful funk. This lad eventually became our voluntary guide and introducer, but for the moment we were compelled to hold him prisoner. Keeping a sharp eye on our ruffians to see that they took nothing from the huts, we passed through and finally reached the village of a man who was supposed to be the best able to show us elephant. The village, of course, was deserted, so we pitched camp bang in the centre of it. We also got our captive to shout to his friends that all was well, that we were friends and had come to hunt elephant only. This latter statement required some believing, judging by the time it took to get any answer to our overtures—which was not surprising, accompanied as we were by notorious slavers. But at last an old woman came, nosed about a bit, and left again, returning presently with the man we wanted. I have often admired the infinite capacity of the African to take things as they come with composure, but never more so than on this occasion. Here was his village in the hands of his enemies, added to this the complication and anxiety caused by the presence in their midst of two white men. So far, his dealings with white men had been anything but pleasant—a German military expedition had passed through. Yet here he was, ready for anything that might turn up, unarmed and with a face of brass—for a day or so willing to please, but, above all, willing to speed the parting guest. Elephants? Rather! Hundreds of them, all round So-and-So’s village fifteen miles further on. None here? Oh, no! They were here, but all have gone to ⸺. And what about those tracks we saw as we neared his village? Oh! those were made by some elephant which came from ⸺, but which returned to ⸺ the next morning.

It was obvious that this eagerness to get rid of us would last just as long as we remained unwelcome; that is, until we had killed an elephant and shared the meat with the natives. After that event relations might reasonably be expected to become more cordial, provided that meanwhile we could avoid fighting in any shape or form. Now, this avoiding of fighting must necessarily depend largely on the natives themselves, for of course if one is attacked one must defend oneself. Especially so among these Lakkas was this the case, for they had no powerful chiefs whom they obeyed. Indeed, they were what my companion and myself called, loosely enough, I dare say, Bolsheviks. Every man was out for himself, and to hell with everything else. No authority of any kind was obeyed. And to this total lack of cohesion or combination we undoubtedly owed the fact that we were not attacked seriously before we became friendly with them. They had developed the art of running away to a fine point by storing their grain and beer-making appliances in the thick part of the bush, by building huts, the loss of which by fire at the hands of an enemy would occasion least labour to repair, by keeping all livestock, such as goats and sheep, tethered at a convenient distance from the village, and in many other ways assisting their one trump card—instant flight.

Few people who have not experienced it can have any conception of how effective such a “barrage” can be. You perhaps wish to traverse the country. You arrive at a village. Nobody there. You proceed along a path which seems to lead in the direction in which you wish to go. It lands you in another deserted village. Now you have to camp, and water has to be found. Sometimes in the dry season this may be miles from the camp. The drawers of water must be escorted. Then you wish to purchase food for your carriers. No one to sell it. You think to take it and leave the value in kind in its place, only to discover that no food of any kind is kept in the village. All this time not a soul is seen or even heard. You give it up and pass on to some actively hostile or friendly tribe, as the case may be.

As we appeared to be so unwelcome in this village we decided to move on the next day. The chief man of the village promised to provide us with a guide to the village where elephant were reported as visiting the gardens every night. Anxious as he was to get rid of us, we reasoned that, to attain that object, he would surely provide the guide or lead us himself. We consequently liberated our captive guide, loading him with presents and promising him mountains of meat when and wherever we should kill an elephant if he would come to claim it. He stayed around for some time, and I began to hope that he would accompany us further, but he presently disappeared.

On the morrow our reasoning about the guide was completely confounded, as white men’s reasoning so often is when applied to African affairs. No guide was forthcoming, nor could the village headman be found. The village was once more completely deserted. As, however, we had been able to get the general direction from the headman before he went to bush, we broke camp and took a likely-looking path.

After much wandering from one deserted village to another we arrived in the afternoon at a large one on the edge of a slough. As usual there was not a soul to be seen, but I have no doubt that our every movement was being carefully watched. On the march some kob had been shot and a good portion of the meat reserved for any native who might venture to approach us. After we had had our meal an old man came in. He was taken no notice of by anybody—far the best way to allay suspicion. When he seemed more at his ease I gave him some buck meat. He took it and at once began to cook it, as he had seen it cut from a leg with the skin still on it. It was unlikely, therefore, to be poisoned, and besides, if he took the meat away with him he would have to share it with others. To avoid this he evidently purposed eating it in our camp.

When he had fairly got the taste of meat on his palate, I got the interpreter to work on him about elephant. At first he said there were none. We did not worry him, although we knew this to be a lie, as we had seen recent tracks that day. After some time he volunteered the information that elephant had been in the gardens the night before. I said to him that I thought I would go and kill one or two, in as indifferent a tone as I could, and that if he cared to come along he would certainly get some meat. He became quite excited then, saying he would fetch me a man who would show me where the elephant had been eating the corn in the night. Off he hurried and soon came back with several men. We were ready for them, and as they preceded us some of them ran on ahead to pick up the freshest tracks, blowing as they went their curious little signalling whistles. With these whistles they can talk over quite a distance—in fact, it is a sort of short-range wireless telegraph. We found it subsequently of great assistance, as the notes of these whistles were familiar to elephant, and they appeared not to mind them in the least.