IN WILDEST AFRICA

From a Photograph by Nicola Perscheid, Berlin.

IN WILDEST AFRICA
BY
C. G. SCHILLINGS
AUTHOR OF “WITH FLASHLIGHT AND RIFLE IN EQUATORIAL EAST AFRICA”
TRANSLATED BY
FREDERIC WHYTE
WITH OVER 300 PHOTOGRAPHIC STUDIES DIRECT FROM THE AUTHOR’S
NEGATIVES, TAKEN BY DAY AND NIGHT; AND OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS
Vol. I
London
HUTCHINSON & CO.
PATERNOSTER ROW
1907

LION STUDY. Preface

I never dreamed that my book With Flashlight and Rifle—alike in its German and its English and American editions—would receive everywhere so kind a welcome, or that it would make for me so many new friends, both at home and abroad.

I have been encouraged by this success to give a fresh series of my studies of African wild life and of my “Nature Documents,” as Dr. Ludwig Heck has designated my photographs, in the present work.

I should like to express my gratitude once again to all those who, in one way or another, have furthered my labours in connection with these two books, especially to Dr. Heck himself and the other men of eminence and learning whose names I mentioned in my preface to With Flashlight and Rifle. A complete list of all my kind helpers and well-wishers would be too long to print here. I am deeply indebted, too, to the many correspondents—men of note and young schoolboys alike—who have written to me to express their appreciation of my achievements. Their praises have gone to my heart. I owe a special word of thanks to President Roosevelt, who smoothed the way for my book in the United States by his reference to me in his own volume Outdoor Pastimes of an American Hunter. I take the more pleasure in discharging this debt in that I had long derived intense enjoyment from President Roosevelt’s masterly descriptions of wild life and sport in America. President Roosevelt has always been one of the foremost pioneers in the movement for the preservation of nature in all its forms, and has made every possible use of the resources placed at his disposal by his high position to further this end.

This new book of mine is in form a series of impressions and sketches, loosely strung together; but it will serve, I hope, indirectly to win over my readers to the one underlying idea—the idea upon which I harp so often—of the importance of taking active steps to prevent the complete extermination of wild life.

Like With Flashlight and Rifle, this supplementary work can claim to stand out from the ranks of all other volumes of the kind as regards the character of its illustrations. All those photographs which I have taken myself are reproduced from the original negatives without retouching of any kind. Every single one, therefore, is an absolutely trustworthy record of a scene visible at a given hour upon the African velt by day or by night. I insist upon this point because herein lie both the value and the fascination of my pictures.

In his introduction to the English edition of With Flashlight and Rifle Sir Harry Johnston declares that that work was “bound to produce nostalgia in the lines of returned veterans”; I trust that In Wildest Africa will bring also to such readers a breath from the wilderness awaking in them memories of exciting experiences on the velt. Above all, I trust that its appeal will be not to grown readers alone, but that it will have still stronger attractions for the coming generation.

A preface should not be too long. I shall conclude with the expression of the hope that I may be able presently to secure a new collection of “Nature Documents.”

C. G. SCHILLINGS.

YOUNG DWARF ANTELOPE.

C. G. Schillings, phot.

BLACK-HOOFED ANTELOPES. Contents of Vol. I

GULLS. List of Illustrations in Vol. I

A GIRAFFE PHOTOGRAPH, TAKEN IN THE SHIMMERING LIGHT OF THE VELT. I
The Spell of the Elelescho

On the afternoon of January 14, 1897, a small caravan of native bearers, some fifty strong, was wearily making its way across the wide plain towards its long-wished-for goal, Lake Nakuro, which was at last coming, into sight in the far distance. The appearance of the bearers and their worn-out clothing showed plainly that the caravan had made a long journey. And so it was. Weakened by fever, I was coming from the Victoria Nyanza in the hope of making a quicker recovery in this more elevated district. As is the way when one is convalescent, life seemed to me something doubly beautiful and desirable now that, after lying seriously ill for weeks, I was recovering from the fever. I had been all but despaired of by the English officers who had kindly taken care of me, Mr. C. W. Hobley and Mr. Tompkins, to whom I owe a debt of gratitude. I had caught the disease in the marshes of the Nyanza and in my tramp through the wild Sotik and Nandi country, then unexplored or very little known. During the last few days our march had once more been imperilled by hostile tribes, the rebel Wakamassia, but this danger was all but past now that we were entering the uninhabited region of the Nakuro, Elmenteita and Naiwasha Lakes, in the district known to the Masai as En’aiposha.

MY “BOYS”—BODY-SERVANTS AS DISTINGUISHED FROM BEARERS—AMUSED THEMSELVES AT MOSCHI BY ORGANISING WHAT IS CALLED A “GOMA.”

Endless undulating, expanses of grassy country, unadorned by a single tree, had made our last days of marching not too pleasant. Now there was a marked downward incline of the grass-covered plateau; it gradually changed to a barren plain of volcanic origin, and the view extended over the wide glittering lake.

Filling a far-stretching hollow, and lost to view on the horizon, it lay at our feet, a welcome sight.

MY BEARERS LOST NO OPPORTUNITY OF INDULGING IN THE ENJOYMENT OF A BATH.

The camp was pitched beside a parched-looking ’msuaki tree on the banks of a brook which at this time of the year was a turbid torrent pouring itself down towards the lake. Some time before, bush and grass fires had raged in the neighbourhood and destroyed the old grass, and here, it would seem, a heavy rainfall had conjured forth for us a new carpet of grass that was fresh and luxuriant. The remarkable luxuriance of the grass lands in the district had already been specially noticed, and compared to the richest pastures of the Swiss Alps, by the discoverer of, and first traveller in, this region, Dr. G. A. Fischer, an explorer who, alas! so soon fell a victim to the climate.

Fischer—in 1883—was the first to visit the neighbouring Lake Naiwasha. How the situation has changed since then! At that time, and thus only twelve years before I first camped there, the warlike Masai still held these wide uplands as absolute masters.

A MASAI ol’ moruan (i.e. OLD MAN) ANSWERING MY QUESTIONS ABOUT THE ELELESCHO PLANT.

Oscar Baumann, an explorer who did good service, was one of the first to traverse their inhospitable dominions. It was some years after Fischer’s journey that Baumann made his way into the region of the Nile sources, during his famous expedition to legend-haunted Ruanda (now better known to us through Dr. Richard Kandt’s researches). I made his acquaintance at the Austrian Consulate at Zanzibar. He, also, was snatched away in his early years by the Sphinx of Africa, the treacherous climate.

C. G. Schillings, phot.

MASAI ol’ morani AND TWO YOUNGER MASAI IN MY CAMP. THE TYPICAL COSTUME OF THE WARRIOR DIFFERS CONSIDERABLY FROM THAT SHOWN IN THE ILLUSTRATION AT THE END OF THE CHAPTER, WHICH REPRESENTS A MASAI ALREADY INFLUENCED BY CIVILISATION.

His journey, only a few years before my stay here, cost his numerous and strongly armed caravan hard fighting with the natives. And now I am camping here with a few men in an unfortified camp!

Fischer was quite convinced that he could not venture upon his exploring journey without the support of the Mohammedan trading caravans, but he had finally to start alone with 230 bearers. Yet, notwithstanding all difficulties, he successfully accomplished his task. But how different from those of to-day were the circumstances under which a journey was made into unknown Masailand at that time! The Masai warrior was then still sovereign master in his own land; he was still “Ol open l en gob” (“Lord of the land”) in the full sense of the word. And all the chivalrous poetry that has been so pathetically brought home to us by the fate of the North American Indians, was also not alien to his warlike character. Then came the moment when he had to face the firearms of the Europeans. His fate was sealed, like that of the lion and the leopard.

Then, too, tribute had to be arranged for on all sides. Not only some of the petty chiefs in the neighbourhood of the coast, but the Masai too, must receive costly payments. Thus, for example, Dr. Fischer had to hand over to the chief Sedenga at ‘Mkaramo on the Pagani River, to obtain permission for the passage of his caravan, 100 pieces of cloth, each six yards long, an axe, 100 leaden bullets, one ten-pound keg of gunpowder, two large coils of brass wire, and eight pounds’ weight of artificial pearls!

Only two kinds of caravans were known to the Masai, slave caravans and trading caravans, which busied themselves with collecting the coveted ivory tusks. The Arab traders knew how to combine the two objects: the slaves, the “black ivory” of the trade, were forced to carry the white ivory down to the coast.

The strength of these trading caravans, well equipped with firearms, always amounted to several hundred men; but under certain circumstances these numbers were considerably increased, so that caravans of a thousand men or even more were not rare. It took Fischer long months to recruit his caravan. The bearers did not like to undertake the dangerous journey with the first white man who started for that region. The jealousy of the Arab traders was also at work. They feared that the channels of the ivory traffic, which they carefully kept secret, might be revealed.

The German explorer carried through his expedition under the greatest difficulties. He returned home only to succumb soon after to the extraordinary hardships he had endured.

Fischer’s researches were of special importance in connection with the ornithology of Masailand.[1] His journey gave to science some thirty-six hitherto unknown species of birds. Such a result must indeed command our respect, when we consider the difficulties with which the traveller had to contend, and especially when we remember that his available resources were comparatively trifling, beside, for instance, the abundant help that was at the disposal of the English explorers of the same period. The Geographical Society of Hamburg rendered him the service of making the execution of his plans possible, and for the same object Fischer expended all the money he had earned in the active practice of his profession as a doctor on the island of Zanzibar. He saw the activity he had devoted to the service of scientific ideals richly rewarded by the results he obtained. And then he had soon to succumb to the treacherous climate. But if his life was cut short, how quickly the power of the Masai warriors was broken, the very power that had so harassed him, and made his journey so difficult and dangerous. That terrible scourge, the cattle plague, probably introduced from India, suddenly destroyed the greater part of the herds of the Masai, and at the same time blotted out vast numbers of the Masai themselves from the list of the living.

C. G. Schillings, phot.

A memento mori OF THE AFRICAN VELT.

DWARF GAZELLES ON THE VELT. IN THE EDDYING WAVES OF DAZZLING LIGHT ONE COULD NOT KEEP ONE’S EYES OPEN FOR MORE THAN A SECOND AT A TIME.

The fates of these pastoral people and of their property (the countless herds of cattle) were so closely bound together, and these warlike herdsmen had become so dependent on their droves of cattle, that once these were ruined they could not survive, but died in a few days of famine.

In the lapse of little more than a year the cattle plague and the Black Death had swept over the Masai uplands. Hungry vultures hovered over scenes of horror. The herds of cattle fell under the strange pestilence. Agonised by slow starvation, the herdsmen followed them to death. I have often found lying together, in one narrow space, the countless white bleached bones of the cattle and the skull of their former owner. It would be an old camping-ground, with its fence of thorns (zereba) long rotted away, and it was now a strangely impressive Golgotha. These heaps of bones, still to be seen in 1897, were soon after dissolved in dust and scattered by the winds.

Where are the Masai of those days?

Suddenly they stand boldly before me, as if they had sprung up out of the ground! It is no illusion. But why do my bearers show no fear? Why does no uproar break out in the camp?

C. G. Schillings, phot.

MASAI HERDSMEN.

It is plain enough that no one troubles himself about the appearance of these figures, for they come, not threatening and demanding tribute, but conscious of the overpowering might of the European. True, a few months ago, not so far from my camp, their warriors surprised and destroyed a caravan of nearly a thousand coast folk. But, generally speaking, they do not care to have to reckon with the superior weapons of Europe. They even accept some food from me. And in this matter they are not so dainty as they used to be in former times, when the warriors—obedient to strict dietary laws—lived only on the meat and milk of their herds. Of course, here we have to deal with only a small number of them. Yonder, on the wild uplands, there still live a not inconsiderable number of Masai, who having saved their herds, or got them together again, keep as far away as may be from the Europeans and their uncanny weapons.

The Masai warriors, with their wives, children, and herds, seem to me to be fit accessories for this desert landscape. In the evening, dances amuse us till late in the night, and many a wordy skirmish breaks out as some of my bearers who, thanks to former journeys, have some knowledge of the Masai tongue, gossip with these nomads of the wilderness. The coast folk think themselves high as the heavens above the “savage” Masai. The Masai warriors, in return, despise the burden-bearing coast folk, count them as “barbarians,” and scornfully call them “il’meek.”

But the times have changed, and so it comes to pass that my people too join in the dance, which lasts late into the night: that songs of the warriors and the women—“‘Singolioitin loo-‘l-muran” and “Loo-‘ngoroyok”—ring out through the darkness, the chorus finding a manifold echo with its oft-repeated “Ho! He! Ho! Na! He! Hoo!” It is a “Leather Stocking” kind of poetry, and indeed the redskins of the New World and the Masai here in Dark Africa seem to me alike. The former had to yield to civilisation, the same fate awaits the latter.

No one had the least anxiety about the night. We quietly allowed the Moran[2] to bivouac near the camp. Our march through the wild highlands of the Wasotiko and the Wanandi had deadened our sense of such dangers. We could have no forebodings of the fierce struggle lasting for years that was yet to come between the English troops and those peoples, or imagine how warlike and skilled in self-defence they were. The presence of hundreds of spear- and club-armed warriors in the camp had become an almost daily experience, and great was the surprise of the English officers, later on, when they heard that the great caravan, which I had joined, had had the good fortune to pass through these districts without any fighting.

For me my serious illness had all at once interrupted the austere and wild delights of this life of the march and the caravan. But I had now become doubly responsive to the joys of travel amid light and air, freedom and endless space; doubly responsive also to the changing impressions derived from my week of marching through lonely primeval forests, bamboo thickets, and grassy plains—scenes in which, as my friend Richard Kandt, the discoverer of the source of the Nile, so strikingly remarks,[3] every plant, every stone, seems to cry out again to one in the vast solitude but one word: “The desert! the desert!”

C. G. Schillings, phot.

YOUNG MASAI DANCING AND SINGING NEAR MY CAMP.

In the early morning hours of January 15 there was a light continuous rainfall. A short march of only two hours brought us to our camping place on the shore of Lake Nakuro.

Far away extended the panorama of the lake, which lay before us filling its hollow bed, with its banks at this season of the year yielding fresh pastures to numberless herds of wild animals, and its waters affording rest and food to countless members of the feathered tribe. I had hardly ever seen greater numbers of the pretty little dwarf gazelles (Gazella thomsoni, Gthr.). Thousands and thousands more of these graceful creatures showed themselves on the fresh, green, grassy meadows of the lake margin, or scattered over its pebble beds of obsidian, augite, and pumice-stone. Wherever one turned one’s gaze it fell again and again upon these beautiful gazelles, which in many ways reminded one of wild goats at pasture, and were so strangely trustful that they often allowed the spectator to come quite close to them. Marked as are the colours of its hairy covering, the dwarf gazelle does not stand out boldly from the background, whether this be a plain blackened by bush-fires, or the mere bare ground, dun-coloured and brown, or land covered with soft green grass. But how clearly defined are its brown, black, and white, when we look closely at the hide of a specimen we have secured, or see it in a museum.

Darker spots in the distance far away from us we take to be larger wild animals. The field-glass shows that they are hartebeests, and a great number of waterbuck; and still farther off there is a moving mass that shimmers and is half lost in the glare of the morning sun. There are zebras, and yet more zebras, moving like living walls! Strange effects of light actually give us the impression of something like a wall or rampart, made up of the living forms of the zebras—the deep shadows they throw come out black, their flanks are lighted up in the dazzling sunshine, and they shimmer with all colours and with ever-changing effect.

Here by the lake we have the characteristic mark of the wilderness: dwarf gazelles and zebras, zebras and dwarf gazelles in greater and greater multitudes! Wherever the eye glances it falls upon these two species, and the numerous waterbuck and Grant’s gazelles, and the hundreds of hartebeests, are in a sense mere points of relief for the sight amidst these vast crowds. Bathed in the shimmering light this multitude of animals mingles together. Wherever I make my appearance there is for awhile movement in the mass of wild creatures, which otherwise are grazing quietly. I have long since left the camp a considerable distance behind me. I am following One of the rhinoceros—or hippopotamus—tracks leading to the lake margin, lost, so to speak, in this multitudinous animal life, and once more I have the feeling of finding myself, as it were, in the midst of a vast flock of sheep, and the impression that all the creatures about me are not “wild beasts,” but rather tame domestic animals that have been driven out here to graze on the pastures under the supervision of a herdsman.

BEARERS ON THE MARCH. THE FIGURE ON THE RIGHT IS AN ILLUSTRATION OF THE WAY IN WHICH THEY SOMETIMES RELIEVE THE STRAIN ON THEIR SHOULDERS BY CARRYING THEIR LOAD AT ARMS’ LENGTH OVER THEIR HEAD. A HUNDRED PACES A MINUTE IS AN AVERAGE RATE FOR A HEAVILY LADEN BEARER.

C. G. Schillings, phot.

TRANSPORT BEARERS IN DIFFICULTIES.

THE AUTHOR BEING CARRIED ACROSS A SWAMP.

The mass of animals surges and undulates to and fro. Some old bulls of the heavily horned hartebeest species seem to have undertaken the duty of sentinels. They stand apart fixed and motionless, watching attentively the strange appearance of the approaching man, and then make away in a long striding gallop, with heads bent well down, to increase the distance between themselves and the suspicious object, ready all the while to give the alarm signal for a general stampede by loud snorting. In this district we do not find the flat-horned hartebeest of the Kilimanjaro (Bubalis cokei, Gthr.), but the species named after its discoverer, Jackson (Bubalis jacksoni). Long and stately horns distinguish this variety of a remarkably formed species of antelope, which is widely distributed throughout Darkest Africa. To my great delight I succeeded in bringing down a specimen of a much more interesting species, Neumann’s hartebeest[4] (Bubalis neumanni, Rothsch.), then only known by one or two examples.

HOW MULES AND ASSES ARE GOT ACROSS A RIVER.

C. G. Schillings, phot.

TWO OF MY WANDOROBO GUIDES.

C. G. Schillings, phot.

A HALT OF MY CARAVAN ON THE VELT. ON THE LEFT CAPTAIN MERKER, THE EXPLORER OF THE MASAI COUNTRY AND THE GREAT AUTHORITY ON THE RACE; NEAR HIM, WEARING A TROPICAL HELMET, STAFF-SURGEON KÜNSTER, WHO LATER SERVED IN THE SOUTH-WEST AFRICAN CAMPAIGN.

Overwhelming in its vastness, its rich variety of colour, form, and movement is the picture of animal life thus displayed.

Moving along the hollows of the plateau hour after hour, looking out from its ridges, now with the field-glass, now with unaided sight, I find the whole grassy expanse covered with these wild creatures. Hundreds and hundreds more of zebras alternate with larger or smaller herds of Grant’s gazelles. Near them, but keeping apart, and all around them the dwarf gazelles are swarming. Here and there one sees the proudly uplifted head of a stately waterbuck, adorned with splendid branching horns, and not far off his hornless doe, both of them in form and action greatly reminding one of the stag, of our northern lands. Occasionally the eye catches sight of splendid black-plumed cock ostriches here and there on the plateau. They watch the traveller carefully, and are accompanied by their mates, which are very much more difficult for the eye to make out owing to their plain grey plumage. On all sides there are whole herds of brown hartebeests grazing, resting, or making for some more distant spot with their characteristic long striding gallop. And now one suddenly comes upon a herd of giant eland antelopes, brownish yellow, and adorned with white cross-stripes. Conscious of their mighty strength, there is not much shyness about them; but they know not the danger they run from the long-range weapon of the European.

Think of all this animal life, bathed in the fulness of the tropical sunlight! All depths and shades of colour play before our eyes. Strongly cast shadows, ever changing with the position of the sun, alter again and again the whole appearance of this world of life, and from minute to minute it presents new riddles to any one who has not had years of experience in the wilderness. When the glittering light of the midday hours is tiring and confusing the sight, one often can hardly tell for certain whether it be a living multitude stretching out in the distance before one, or whether the play of the sunlight is imparting a semblance of life to scattered clumps of thorn bushes.

Four rhinoceroses which I now descry moving across the plain in the distance, and a flock of ostriches which I can plainly make out with the field-glass, change shape and colour so often that it is astonishing to see them. According to their movements and position with respect to the sun they appear to be of a blending blue and grey, or intensely black, and then again almost invisible and the colour of the earth, but always changing, always different from what they were the moment before.

To realise all this one must in fancy place oneself in the condition of exaggerated susceptibility to nervous excitement that results from the intensity of the light, together with the climate, and the unusual degree of hardship. All this produces the greater effect because one has to do one’s work in solitude and loneliness, and is cut off from all interchange of ideas with one’s fellows.

Here, where the flora makes so poor a display, the fauna is abundant. What a sight it affords for the ornithologists!

C. G. Schillings, phot.

MASAI WARRIORS, ARMED WITH THE LONG SPEARS WHICH HAVE COME INTO USE WITH THEM DURING THE LAST GENERATION OR TWO. IN FORMER DAYS, ACCORDING TO HOLLIS, THEY USED SPEARS WITH SHORTER BLADES.

Amongst the herds of zebras our European stork together with its smaller African cousin, the Abdim stork, is stalking in hundreds over the plain hunting for locusts. In company with the storks I saw also great flocks of the handsome crested crane engaged in the same occupation. Or they rose in heavy flocks over the valleys with loud and strangely discordant cries. Under the scanty shadows of the mimosas the splendid giant bustards take their stand at midday, erect, solemn, stiff-necked. At this time they are not very wary, but in the coolness of the morning and in the evening hours they soon get away to a safe distance, either running with their quick mincing step, or spreading their strong pinions for a short flight along the ground. Their smaller relative, Otis gindiana, Oust., rose before me in the air, often throwing somersaults on the wing like a tumbler pigeon. There is hardly any other bird of its size that has such a mastery of flight. Sea-eagles circled by the margin of the lake uttering their beautiful clear-sounding cries. Heedless of their presence thousands of splendid rose-red flamingoes soared up into the deep blue dome of the sky, or lined the margin of Nakuro, like a garland of living lake-roses, in company with great flocks of ducks, geese, and waterside birds of many kinds. Out of the clumps of acacias, and from between the thickets of ‘msuaki bush by the lake, guinea fowl and francolins rise, strung out in clattering flying lines, and in the morning hours handsome sandfowl that have come from far-off regions of the plateau sail by the margin of the lake. Altogether an overwhelmingly rich picture of warmly pulsating life and activity! The sight of it all is indeed quite capable of impressing one with the idea of flocks of wild creatures that have been completely tamed; and once this idea has suggested itself, the impression is so strong that for many minutes one can believe in it!

Amidst all this wealth of “wild” life, which here seems hardly to deserve the name of “wild,” it is much easier to understand how primitive man in other continents gradually secured domestic animals for his use, from the vast range of choice thus presented to him.

But a strange feeling comes over the observer when he remembers that out of all this wealth of animal life the African has never been able to link one single creature permanently to himself. He obtained his cattle and also his goats and sheep from Asia. The camel may be left out of account, for its connection with the human race is lost in the mystery of primitive times. We may say that the fauna of Africa has not given a single species to the group of our domestic animals. It is sad and humiliating to reflect that the men of to-day cannot accomplish what was done in the dim past—granted that it took endless ages in the doing.

There were times, as I have said, when I could not get rid of this impression of tame herds of animals. And this was all in a land, and a district, that left one nothing to desire in the way of primitive wildness. What, then, must it have been in early days when man was not yet waylaying the beasts of the wilderness, or at least had not yet employed the poisoned dart and spear, the pitfall and the snare? It must have been a veritable Garden of Eden. But here, far and wide, there is nothing to be seen of man, only something that evokes conjectures as to his former presence.

C. G. Schillings, phot.

GROUP OF MASAI, SHOWING THE HEAVY IRON ORNAMENTS WORN BY THE MARRIED WOMEN. IN THE BACKGROUND, ONE OF THEIR HUTS, PLASTERED OVER WITH EARTH.

For suddenly from a height I notice a number of large mounds, formed of stones, such as only the hand of man could have built up. Under the secure protection of these masses of rock—rough hillocks of heaped up stones—men, who were once chiefs and elders of the Masai, sleep their everlasting sleep. Their resting-places have been so placed that they are not visible from any considerable distance, but are hidden away in the hollows of the ground. Out there in the wilderness, beneath the bright blue sky, these simple old monuments speak to me most impressively of the mighty harmony of everlasting change. As chance will have it, I find not far from the graves a human skull shining brightly in the sunlight and resting on a projecting rock. It must have lain here very long, as if keeping a look out on the old tomb of ol ‘loiboni, the departed “wizards” of the Masai. The empty eye-holes stare at the ancient grave.

But this symbol of the least is not obedient to the spell of death that whispers here all night long, for it has had to give shelter and protection to the rearing up of new life. As my hand grasps the skull, now brittle with decay, a family of mice takes to flight from inside of it. They had set up their home in this bony palace, and built their nest there.

And as if the Masai, resting probably for centuries under these heaps of stone, had left their herds to me, once more there surges around me this sea of animals. Near at hand they are sharply defined against the ground, but farther off in the glittering light they grow indefinite. How the whole flood of life contrasts with the grim volcanic barrenness of the landscape!

At this moment my impression of vast shepherd-guarded herds is deepened by the sudden appearance of some spotted hyenas, scattering among the volcanic pebble beds, and then running away over the plain, and seeming to play the part of the shepherds’ dogs.

But where are the herdsmen of all these herds? Immediately there comes an answer to my question. Yonder, by the margin of the lake, in the distance, I see little wreaths of smoke rising. The idea they give me of herdsmen on the watch is to be quickly dissipated by a report, not a loud one, followed by puffs of powder-smoke that vanish quickly in the air. The shooting does not disturb the animals that surround me. But then the report is hardly audible, the little puffs of smoke barely perceptible to the eye. I must find out who is disturbing the peace. It is perhaps a caravan making for the Victoria Nyanza. For we are upon the new “road” to the lake—a road which is indeed still in the region of projects, but which soon will be plainly marked with railway metal.

The smoke puffs appear at markedly regular intervals and as quickly disappear. I cannot understand it. For a long time I keep my attention anxiously fixed on these proceedings, all the while hurrying towards this remarkable apparition. At last my field-glasses enable me to descry a man, who from time to time drops on one knee to take aim.

C. G. Schillings, phot.

A PARTY OF MY TRUSTY COMPANIONS.

What in the world is he after?

As we draw closer, I am extremely surprised at seeing that the man does not allow himself to be in the least disturbed in his proceedings. Now his bullets begin to whistle unpleasantly near me. I fire in the air, once, twice.... Now his attention is attracted, and simultaneously I perceive a number of dark objects near the marksman. They seem to be his companions, black men, and squatting on the ground.

From the background there emerge now great numbers of such objects—it must be a large caravan.

The distance between us is diminished so that one can see plainly.... Now we can shout to each other.... At last I learn that the hunter is marching with his long caravan of bearers to the great lake. He has been putting out all his exertions to shoot some wild animals. But although he has many surprisingly interesting hunting adventures to tell of as the result of his three months’ march from the coast to this point, that task seems to have been beyond his powers! With a well-aimed shot he has stretched on the ground just one single dwarf gazelle!!

After shaking hands, he bewails the fact that he has a rifle that shoots so baldly. He says its system is absolutely worthless, especially against wild animals.

Our fleeting acquaintance is broken off in a few minutes. He is the first newly arrived European that I have met for a long time, but I have not too much sympathy for this class of sportsmen. So my new acquaintance goes off, still blazing away freely. He has been urged on by my information that his camping and watering, place for the day is a long way off, and that the borders of the lake seem to me to be fever-haunted.

A queer kind of shepherd, in truth, for these wild herds! I fear he would be very like a wolf, or rather—to be zoologically and geographically precise—a leopard, in sheep’s clothing!

Again I was alone; the disturber of my peace had not frightened away the animals. So, as I was regaining strength rapidly, I decided to halt here for a few days. This meant having to provide for oneself in the most primitive way, for I was short of some of the most necessary provisions and supplies. But in such conditions the decision was not difficult to take. I shall not easily forget the days I spent there.

The plateau of the volcanic lakes Naiwasha, Elementeita and Nakuro, standing nearly 6,000 feet above the sea, presents to the spectator all the austere, stern, and strange charm peculiar to the Masai uplands.

Some ten years have gone by since that expedition of mine, and all is now changed. Up to that time only the natives had lived in these districts. Few Europeans had penetrated into these solitudes; but now a track of iron rails links the Indian Ocean with the Central African Lake basin, and the shrill whistle of the locomotive sounds in the equatorial wilderness. Wherever the influence of the railway extends, the Masai, whom I then learned to know, have disappeared. Reservations have been assigned to them, like the Indians of North America.

C. G. Schillings, phot.

BEARERS MAKING THEIR WAY THROUGH HIGH GRASS.

My former companion on my travels, Alfred Kaiser, describes, not without a certain feeling of sadness, how he saw them once more, not long, ago, under these new conditions, already to a great extent changed by European influence—and changed in a way that was not at all to their advantage. Using, instead of the beautiful Masai dialects, some mangled fragments of English, they scornfully refused objects of barter that were eagerly coveted ten years ago, and insisted on coined money. They no longer wore their native ornaments, but were dressed in European second-hand clothes. In a word they were stripped of all the wild and primitive beauty that had once distinguished them.

It is a hard fate, when a rude aboriginal people is all of a sudden brought into touch with those of a high degree of civilisation.

As the former lord of the land[5] was deprived of his rights, so the same fate, more or less, befalls the splendid animal world that lends its charm to these solitudes.

But then—ten years ago! I had been given back to life after sharp suffering, and all that I was now allowed to see in such rich abundance spoke to me in a more than ordinarily impressive language, a language that seemed to me to have an enduring charm.

And how clearly must this language have sounded in the times of the primitive past!

So we may here attempt a picture of the wild life of the lake margin in former days, on the lines of the sketches I have already traced out of the life and activity of the wild herds of the plateau, as I still could see them....

Out of the many memories of those days, that still work on me like magic, there is one above all that has a special meaning, for me: “Elelescho!”

But what is “Elelescho”? the reader will ask. “Elelescho”[6] is the name of a peculiar plant, perhaps it would be more correct to say a bush, that has in many ways set its mark on the flora in the very heart of the Masai region. Ranges of hills covered with silvery-leafed Elelescho, the spicy smell of Elelescho, the water at the camping place redolent of Elelescho—and also, in consequence, tea, coffee, cocoa tasting of Elelescho—that is a memory that remains fixed firmly in one’s thoughts of this home of the wild herds and of the Masai. It Was these disappearing nomads who gave the bush its beautiful name.

Possibly the musical sound of the name has not a little to do with reconciling us in memory to the plant. For the bush itself has in process of time monotonous effect not very to the senses, but for this very reason all the stronger and more enduring. Its character is connected by strong links of memory with our experiences of those days, and the sound of its name awakes rose-coloured recollections. For just as it is not given to man to remember exactly the nature of intense bodily pains, so fancy, looking backwards, kindly blots out much that was hard and little that was pleasant in the life we have led. Thus it is that this strange bush, with its silver-grey leaves and aromatic odour, is capable, as hardly anything else is, of awakening in the mind of the traveller a kind of nostalgia—nostalgia for the wilderness, to which he is drawn by so much of beauty and of hardship. We have gained very little by learning that botanists recognise our plant as one of the Compositæ, and name it Tarchonantus camphoratus, L. It is to be found also in other parts of Africa; and Professor Fritsch reported, as early as 1863, that he found it growing in Griqualand, then still an unsettled country, where it was called the “Mohatla.” It would be a pity if its beautifully sounding Masai name were not preserved for future times, and I must do my best to save “Elelescho” from such oblivion.

C. G. Schillings, phot.

THE CARAVAN ON THE MARCH.

One must have learned the word with its sweet-sounding pronunciation from the lips of a proud, handsome, slender Masai warrior in order to understand how so seemingly slight a thing can imbue one’s impression of a whole land.

The Elelescho is as prominent in those regions as the oak and beech or fir in Germany, or as the juniper, the heath, and the broom, and has the same influence on the landscape. But it has a greater and deeper influence upon the imagination, because it so dominates those solitudes, that to him who has long travelled in them the mere memory of it evokes a vivid picture of their once familiar aspect. The strong scent of the Elelescho plant leads the Masai to wear the leaves of the bush as a decoration round their ears for the sake of its perfume. It belongs thus to the plants that because of their scent are used as ornaments by warriors and maidens: “Il-käk ooitaa ‘l muran oo ‘n—— doiye ‘l—— orôpili.”[7] So there pass before us Masai maidens, and Masai warriors decked with Elelescho leaves and Elelescho branches, and received with sympathetic smiles by the caravan leaders—who, however, unlike the Masai, think very little of it. Very simple and naïve are the relations of these natives with nature around them. Only the obvious, the actually useful, comes into their thoughts, and for my black companions the Elelescho always recalls only memories of poor desert regions of the waste—regions in which they must often endure hunger and suffer many hardships. Far different is the influence of the Elelescho region on my feelings. For me this bush is symbolically linked with the plunge into uninhabited solitudes, with self-liberation from the pressure of the civilisation of modern men and all its haste and hurry.

We wish to feel once more, and to give ourselves up fully to, the spell of the Elelescho—the charm of the Elelescho thickets, that are also in South Africa in the lands about the Cape the characteristic mark of the velt, now so lonely, but once alive with hundreds of thousands of wild herds.

A wonderful night has come on.

The moon—in a few days it will be at the full—sheds its beams in glittering splendour over Lake Nakuro.

The little camp is soon wrapped in silence. The weary bearers sink into deep and well-earned slumber. Only the sentries, pushed far out, are on the alert. It was but a few days since the rebel Wakamassia hillmen were a source of danger to us, and nightly precautions are not yet forgotten. The moonbeams flicker ghost-like over the lake. Night-jars give forth their songs close to the camp all round us. Strange sounds and cries ring out from the throats of the waterfowl on the lake margins, and not far away one hears the snorting of the hippopotami. Jackals and spotted hyenas prowl round the camp, betraying themselves by their voices. The hyena’s howl and jackal’s wailing bark mingle strangely with the deep bass note of a bull-hippopotamus. Here in the wilderness there is hardly any sound that is louder than the mighty voice of these giants of the water.[8]

C. G. Schillings, phot.

A HERD OF ZEBRAS TAKING REFUGE FROM THE HEAT OF THE MIDDAY SUN.

C. G. Schillings, phot.

FLAMINGOES ON THE MARGIN OF A LAKE. THEY MUST BE VERY LONG-LIVED BIRDS, SOME OF THEM NOW LIVING IN THE COLOGNE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS HAVE BEEN THERE THIRTY YEARS.

A strange feeling came over me. Amid all the ever-varying sensations of the last year my capacity for enjoyment, my sensitiveness to outside impressions, had been developed and enhanced. A short time since I was between life and death, struggling with the treacherous infection of fever. Now I was well. I was breathing the air some three thousand feet higher than the place where I lay ill near Victoria Nyanza. I was again in a region whose vast volcanic solitudes contrasted strongly with its abundance of highly developed organic life, and exercised a strange influence upon me.

Is there such a place as Europe? Is it possible that thousands of miles away there is a centre of civilisation whose teeming millions would fain imprint their image on the whole earth, and even lay covetous hands on this far-off wilderness, and that in time this must happen?

A world of which I myself am a unit! How strange that I can delight so deeply in all this wild charm! And how quickly the wishes of men change! A while ago, in the long nights of fever, I had but one desire—that my heart, my heart alone, should not be buried in a foreign soil, but be taken back to the Fatherland.

And now, only a few weeks after my recovery, how different seems to me all I may hope for from Fate, and how much more complex, how much more difficult to accomplish!

I yield myself up entirely to the spell of the wilderness, to the mood of the night.

That was ten years ago, before the Europeans had banished it—when it ached on the senses like the nocturne of some great tone-poet. But I know well that to-day it is no longer in existence; Lake Nakuro is now only a lake like any other, and the railway whistle wakes its echoes.

That night the spell must have been exceptionally strong. It seemed to me as though I were under some charm, as if I were carried back into the far-off times. There came before my mind much of what the lake had seen in the long vanished past. The lands around me heaved and quaked. Mighty earth-shaping forces were doing their work. I seemed to see before my eyes what happened here in primeval times—how volcanic forces, strange, boundless, and terrible, had built up and given form to the country around me here, destroying all living things, and yet at the same time preparing the conditions for the hotly pulsating waves of life of later days. In my mind I saw pass before me wondrous mighty forms of the animal world of the past, long since extinct. Then—suddenly I started up. What was that?

C. G. Schillings, phot.

FLAMINGOES FLYING DOWN TO THE LAKE MARGIN.

ALFRED KAISER (IN ARAB COSTUME).

A loud trumpeting ran in my ears! Elephants! Were there still extant such herds of elephants as those that I saw coming down there to the lake to drink, rolling themselves in the mud of its banks, and openly making friends with the hippopotami? Just as in the daytime I had noticed the different kinds of antelopes and the zebras, so here I saw again the elephants and hippopotami living their life close together, moving round or beside each other without fear or hesitation. The herd, numbering many hundred heads, was guided to its drinking-place silently and slowly by its aged leader, a female elephant of most exceptional size. Many young elephants were there in company with their mothers. Some very little ones, only a few weeks old, played with their comrades, or knowingly imitated the movements of the older animals in the water, while the old ones took care to prevent the tender young creatures from taking any harm.

But it all seemed somehow impossible! Veterans among the most experienced black elephant-hunters had assured me that such huge herds were not to be met with. And if I saw aright in the shimmering moonlight, what a great mass of hippopotami were moving about there before me! And now, paying, no attention to the elephants that were peacefully bathing farther out in the muddy water, they clambered on to the land, and began to graze like cows on the bank among some more of the elephants. It was exactly the same friendly relation that I had seen between the dwarf gazelles and the zebras during the day. Could I be only dreaming? Such a multitude of huge creatures here close to my camp—it could hardly be a reality!

GROUP OF GNUS. HARTEBEESTS IN THE BACKGROUND.

C. G. Schillings, phot.

NILE GEESE ON THE LOW BANK OF THE NATRON LAKE (LAKE NAKURO). DWARF GAZELLES IN THE BACKGROUND.

A HERD OF GRANT’S GAZELLES.

C. G. Schillings, phot.

CRESTED CRANES AND ZEBRAS.

And now I perceived that a second herd of elephants, some hundreds strong, was approaching the water. In a straight line these still more giant-like colossi came down to the lake margin—all of them, as I now clearly perceived, bulls with mighty tusks, and amongst them some quite enormous tuskers, obviously patriarchs of the herd, and carrying some hundreds of pounds’ weight of ivory that glittered afar in the moonlight.

The two herds greeted each other with their curious cries, difficult to describe, and then the newcomers began to bathe and drink.

My attention was especially arrested by some of the elephants, clearly visible in the moonlight, keeping apart from the rest. Standing together in pairs they caressed each other with their trunks, while the enormous ears which are such an imposing decoration of the African elephant stood out from their heads, so as to make them look larger than ever.

My wonder increases! Numerous herds of giraffes, hundreds strong, come down to the lake, and this, too, not far from the elephants, and without any fear.

And now there is again a new picture! A herd of innumerable buffaloes. With their great formidable heads turned watchfully towards the rest of the crowd, they too are coming for a refreshing bath. Their numbers still increase. It is a sight recalling, surpassing even, the descriptions given by the first travellers over the velt regions of Cape Colony.

How did all this accord with the reports I had received of the scarcity of elephants? with the destruction of the buffalo by the cattle plague? With my own previous experiences? The most authoritative of my informants had assured me that in this district the elephant was to be found very rarely, the buffalo hardly ever!

Suddenly with mysterious swiftness the night is gone, and the day breaks. I search for and find the tracks of my giant guests of the night. I had made no mistake. Monstrous footprints are sharply impressed in the mud, the ground looks as it had been ploughed up, and in the midst of the plain, not very far from the lake, there are actually hundreds of mighty elephants standing near some ol-girigiri acacias. As I begin to watch them, they suddenly become restless. In their noiseless way they make off at an extremely quick rate, and soon disappear behind the nearest ridge.

Round about me I see herds of zebras, hartebeests, and wild animals of all kinds in vaster numbers even than those yesterday. The deep bellow of the wild buffalo breaks upon my ear. I can see long-necked towering giraffes in the acacia thickets. The snorting of numerous hippopotami sounds from the lake. Some of these burly fellows are sunning themselves on its margin; and quite close to them several rhinoceroses are grazing peacefully in the midst of their uncouth cousins.

I am surprised, too, at seeing a troop of lions disappearing into the bush, after having made a visit to the water. They are so close to me that I can plainly see by the shape of their bodies that they are going home after having had an abundant repast.

C. G. Schillings, phot.

A CAMP ON THE VELT.

The behaviour of my people puzzles me. I had no opportunity for questioning them as to why they were not more impressed by this unexpected spectacle, for my attention was suddenly arrested by the appearance of a lengthy caravan of bearers, that seemed as if it had emerged before my eyes from the trampled ground. There is new life and movement among the herds of wild animals. Slowly, defiantly, or in swift-footed fear, each according to its kind, all these wonderful creatures seek safety from the approaching crowd.

A robust negro marches at the head of the caravan. He carries a white flag inscribed all over with texts from the Koran. Hundreds of bearers come steadily in. Each carries a load of nearly ninety pounds’ weight, besides his cooking gear, sleeping-mat, gun and powder-horn. At regular intervals grave-looking, bearded Arabs march among the bearers. Two stately figures, riding upon asses and surrounded by an armed escort, are evidently the chiefs, and a great drove of asses with pack-saddles laden with elephant tusks brings up the rear. Very quickly the numerous party establish their camp, and I now remark that hundreds of the bearers are also laden with ivory. It is clearly a caravan of Arab ivory-traders.

After the usual greetings—“Sabal kher” (“God bless thee”), and “Salaam aleikum,” questions are asked in the Swahili language: “Habari ghani?” (“What news?”) I now learn that the party of travellers set out some two years ago from Pangani on the coast to trade for ivory in the Masai country. I am surprised to hear the Arabs tell how, although theirs is one of the first caravans that have made the attempt, they have penetrated far into the inhospitable and perilous lands of the Masai. Their journey has been greatly delayed, for they have had to fight many battles with the Wachenzi, the aborigines of the districts through which they marched. “But Allah was with us, and the Unbelievers had the worst of it! Allah is great, and Mohammed is his prophet!”

Every one set busily to work. In the turn of a hand the camp was surrounded with a thorny zereba hedge, and made secure.

And now I had personal experience of what has passed, times without number, in the broad lands of the Masai;—armed detachments from the caravan started on raids for far-off districts. The timid Wandorobo, that strange subject tribe of the Masai, brought more and more ivory to the camp to sell it to the traders, after long and obstinate bargaining. It was remarkable how clever were the people of the caravan in dealing with these timid wild folk, and how well they knew how to gain their confidence.[9] This confidence, however, was not made use of in trade and barter for the advantage of the natives. But thanks to the methods and ways of managing the natives, as the traders understood them, we saw that the wild folk were quite satisfied, and this was the main point.

C. G. Schillings, phot.

NATIVE SETTLEMENT WITH PALISADE AND ZEREBA (HEDGE) ON THE MIDDLE COURSE OF THE PANGANI RIVER. (PROTECTIVE CHARMS ARE PLACED OVER THE GATEWAY AND IN FRONT OF IT, IN THE FOREGROUND OF THE PICTURE.)

But what patience is required in trade of this kind! A white man could never develop such Oriental patience. Again and again a tusk would be endlessly bargained over, till at last, often after days of chaffering, it passed into the possession of the caravan. The natives were of course bent on getting the tusks, sooner or later, into the camp. At the very outset they had sent in a most exact description of them, and then envoys from the caravan had to go and inspect them, often at a distance of several days’ march from the camp.

Every day a great number of Masai warriors appeared in the camp. Men belonging to many kraals, owners of great herds of cattle, camped near the lake. There were not infrequent skirmishes, especially at night time. The young warriors, the Moran, made attempts at plunder, and were beaten off with broken heads. But, on the whole, this hardly disturbed the good understanding. “It is their testuri (custom),” thought the experienced and fatalistic coast folk, and they accepted it as an unavoidable incident of the trade. But festivals were also arranged, with dance and song. In the still moonlit nights the strange chant rang out in a high treble far over the plain, and sounded in the rocky hills, and festivity and rejoicing reigned among the warriors, the girls, and the women.

But by day one saw their busy life displayed, all the bucolic poetry of grazing herds of cattle with their spear-armed herdsmen. There was a great deal to be done, and in each and every task the Masai girls and women showed themselves, like the men, excellent guardians and attendants of their herds.

In the neighbourhood of the Masai kraals the wild animals of the plain mingled freely with the tame cattle of the Masai, knowing well that the Masai folk would not shoot them. The wild animals were exposed only to the attacks of the Wandorobo. But these latter bore themselves very shyly in the presence of their over-lords, the Masai, and went off to far distant hunting grounds, so that the wild animals were hardly ever disturbed by a hunter.

The young Masai warriors also began to devote themselves to hunting for ivory. With great courage, and often with no small display of dexterity, they killed a large number of elephants, allured by the high prices offered by the caravans. But they kept the beautiful tusks carefully hidden, buried in the earth till the moment when they had successfully arranged a sale. The buried treasure was easy to conceal. At the place where the tusks were put away the grass was set on fire and burned up over a considerable area, and then no eye could distinguish the slightest indication of the buried treasure.

The Elmoran also made use of a method of hunting which is employed in other parts of Africa, namely, to slip quietly up to an elephant, and with a single powerfully delivered sword-cut sever the tendon Achilles. But few indeed were daring enough to attempt this, and these were strong, brave, and well-trained warriors. Such an exploit won for them high respect among their comrades of the clan.

C. G. Schillings, phot.

ELAND-ANTELOPES RALLIED IN A GROUP BEFORE TAKING TO FLIGHT.

C. G. Schillings, phot.

A HERD OF WHITE-BEARDED GNUS. IN THE BACKGROUND ONE OF THE CHARACTERISTIC HILLS OF THE MASAI UPLANDS.

While the Masai warriors thus took their share in elephant-killing, and the Wandorobo stuck to their long, trusted poisoned darts and poisoned spears, the caravan folk attacked the elephants with powder and iron bullets,[10] and slew whole hecatombs of them.

“Nowadays,” the leader of the caravan told me, “the chase is easier and less dangerous, and your firearms also give the man from the coast the power of hunting and killing the Fihl (elephant). For example, you know, sir, that my half-brother, Seliman bin Omari, is not a practised hunter. And yet, believe me, he and his people have brought down many, many elephants.”

But his banker on the coast, the Hindoo Radda Damja, certainly never hears one word of any elephant being killed by Seliman’s people:

“No one is so clever as he is at knowing nothing about elephants when questions are asked. The ivory is always something traded for with the natives, far, far away in the interior,” he adds, with a cunning wink. “The main point is that we all get pembe (ivory), and he gets plenty of it! I would like to work the business as he does, but, sir, I am not so clever in preparing amulets, and moreover, I don’t know as much as he does of the ways of the elephant.

“But it’s a pity that in all parts of the country the ivory is becoming very scarce, so one has to be going always farther into the interior, and one must try to find new ivory districts.”

Thus my Arab informant talked a long time with me. He told me much that was interesting and much that was new to me. He told me of caravans that had been massacred, cut off to the last man by the natives in remote districts: and again of caravans that had been not one or two,—no, as long as six years on the march, that had buried a lot of ivory and gradually got it down to the coast. Time counts for nothing here, for the people—that is to say, those who are not slaves—receive only the one lump sum agreed upon for the journey, no matter how long it lasts. His friends, with caravans mustering many hundreds, had carried hundreds and hundreds of barrels of gunpowder into the interior, they had sought everywhere for new districts abounding in ivory, and the result had been the slaughter of the elephants on all sides. Nevertheless he had not much to tell me of men having enriched themselves by this trade. However, this did not apply to the traders on the coast, who advanced the money. These lent money to the caravan leaders, who went into the interior, at the high rate of interest usual in the East, and thus became rich men. They had, of course, also many losses. It happened not seldom that one of their debtors was “lost” in the interior, which means that he simply did not come back, but chose to pass the rest of his life in exile. And in that case it would be a difficult matter for the creditor to take proceedings against him.

C. G. Schillings, phot.

A MASAI DANCE—THE PHOTOGRAPH SHOWS THE PLAITED QUEUE WORN BY THE YOUNG WARRIORS (EL MORAN), WHO LEAP AS HIGH IN THE AIR AS THEY CAN. THE YOUNG WOMEN, WHOSE HEADS ARE CLIPPED COMPLETELY BARE, SING AND DANCE ROUND THEM.

Then my informant told me how many of the elephant hunters still living had been carrying on their business already for a long time before any Europeans whatever thought of making a prolonged stay in the country. He told me also much that was interesting about the old trade routes extending far through Africa, and even to the Congo. He had friends and relatives who had already traversed these routes many times, and journeyed from the east coast even to the Congo, long before any European traveller. Many of the people of his caravan were able to tell from memory each day’s journey as far as the Congo, and give exact information about the chiefs who held sway in each district, and the possibility of getting supplies of various kinds of provisions, such as maize, millet, bananas, or other products of the country.

I cannot exactly say how long he had talked with me about elephants and elephant-hunting, about the ivory trade, and many other things. I only know one thing—that after some time his talk became more and more difficult for me to understand, that I strove in vain against an ever-increasing weariness, and that at last I saw neither the Arab nor the caravan—in a word, saw nothing more, felt nothing more.

I fell into a deep sleep in which, in my dreams, I had a lively argument with some Europeans, who would not believe so many elephants, buffaloes, and other wild animals had formerly been here, and who kept on objecting strongly that it was impossible that all this could have been the case so short a time ago.

When I woke up again I found myself in my lounging-chair, a primitive piece of furniture of my own construction. My black servant stood before me, and asked me if I would not rather go to bed.

I rubbed my eyes—it had all been a dream, then; the spell of Elelescho must have inspired me with it. How foolish to yield to this spell! But men will perhaps so yield to it when all this has become “historical” and the Masai and their lives and deeds have, like the Redskins of America, found their Fenimore Cooper.

Then may the spell of the Elelescho exert its rightful power; then may it make famous the slender, sinewy, noble Masai ol-morani as, amidst his fair ones, his “doiye,”[11] he leads the song-accompanied dance as he goes out to war, and reigns the free lord of the wilderness! But to-day he bears on his brow the significant mark of an inexorable fate—that of the last of the Mohicans.

The spell of the Elelescho has departed from Lake Nakuro, once so remote from the world.

The lake is no longer remote.

Iron railway lines link it with the Indian Ocean. Vanished from it is the spell that I once felt both waking and sleeping; gone is the poetry of the elephant herds, the Masai, the Wandorobo, and the caravan life in all its aspects; gone all that I saw there. The traveller, if he would learn to know the primitive life and ways, whether of men or of the animal world, if he would know the primeval harmony that speaks to him in an overpowering language peculiar to itself, must press on into the wilderness farther away from these tracks. This harmony, whose special character is day by day disappearing, day by day is in an ever increasing measure destroyed, cannot be recalled under the new, the coming system, the system that abandons itself to restlessness—that, in a word, which we call modern industry, modern civilisation.

A HERD OF WHITE-BEARDED GNUS AT CLOSE QUARTERS.

C. G. Schillings, phot.

A MORE DISTANT VIEW OF THEM.

THEY SHOW THEIR DISQUIET BY SWINGING THEIR TAILS.

C. G. Schillings, phot.

FINALLY THEY DECIDE TO BEAT A RETREAT.

C. G. Schillings, phot.

EFFECTS OF HEAT AND MIRAGE.

To-day one may perhaps read in the East African Gazette that Mr. Smith, the railway engineer, favoured by extraordinary luck on a hunting expedition, has seen one solitary bull elephant not far from Lake Nakuro! This is something quite out of the ordinary, and Mr. Smith is to be congratulated. Unfortunately his efforts during many years to have even one young East African elephant sent to London have been without any result. A young animal is no longer to be found. In the same number of this newspaper, under another heading, we read the report that the export of ivory this year by the Uganda Railway has been utterly disappointing; the quantity carried has been terribly small, hardly worth mentioning!

I had a talk lately with a travelling companion who had spent some time with me in the wilderness ten years ago, and who had just revisited those distant lands, availing himself of the railway. Alfred Kaiser, a widely travelled man, recalled to me the life we had lived together, when there was yet hardly a trace of European influence among the people of the interior by Lake Victoria. In memory we saw again the inhabitants of then hardly known Sotikoland receiving us mistrustfully on their frontier, thousands strong. Their glittering spears sparkle in the morning sun; chiefs, ministers, and court ladies of the Wakawiróndo appear in camp in most primitive costume; club-armed warriors regard us with the most open distrust; cowry shells and artificial pearls form their costume and are used as their money; sudden attacks and fighting are quite in the order of the day.

And now, only ten years later, Kaiser has seen the Masai at Lake Nakuro, English-speaking caricatures of civilisation.

A feeling of something like resentment comes upon the traveller who has had to pay toll for his journey with the ceaseless sweat of his brow, when he thinks that now any one can reach Lake Nakuro in a few days from the coast. It is true that the over-anxious globe-trotter is kept in check by only too well justified fears of the treacherous malaria and the sleeping-sickness that has made such terrible progress of late. Otherwise the railway journey from Mombassa to the Victoria Nyanza, and then down the Nile to Cairo, would be a much-travelled route.

I have tried to describe, in brief outline, the rapid, unwelcome change of our time, the result of European civilisation forcing its way in. As I describe things, so they were half a century ago, and even yet ten years ago, when I stayed by the shores of Nakuro, and no railway had yet been made there.

To-day one can no longer find the old spell of the Elelescho there, or anywhere else where the white man has penetrated.

The traveller probably sees only a shrubby plant.

It covers many a ridge, and the lonely plains of the uplands, and sends afar its spicy perfume. The botanists call it Tarchonantus camphoratus, L. They class it among the Compositæ.

C. G. Schillings, phot.

A HOT DAY IN THE GREAT RIFT VALLEY.

But here it can no longer exercise any spell.

That has flown far, far away, into the interior. There, where the white man has not yet come, it still prolongs its existence.

How long, yet will it be before it has entirely departed?

GROUP OF MASAI—THE WARRIOR ON THE LEFT DRESSED IN A COSTUME IMPROVISED OUT OF A COLOURED BED QUILT.

ONE OF THE OLDEST “NATURE DOCUMENTS” FROM THE HAND OF MAN. PREHISTORIC SKETCH OF A MAMMOTH ON A FRAGMENT OF IVORY.
(From L. Reinhardt’s work Der Mensch zur Eiszeit in Europa.) II
From the Cave-dweller’s Sketch to the Flashlight Photograph

The mysterious charm of wild nature, undisturbed, almost untouched, by the hand of man,—the charm inherent in all that I have in mind when I talk of “the spell of the Elelescho”—explains the keen and profound interest with which my pictures of animal life were received at home.

In these days, when even electricity has been harnessed by men, there is a feeling that the knell has been sounded of all that is wild, be it man or beast. And however unpretending and inadequate the little pictures might be that I had won from the wilderness, yet all nature-lovers felt that they had here before them authentic, first-hand records revealing secrets which the eye of man had never before looked upon, or had had but scant opportunity for studying.

These pictures were the first to show really wild animals in full freedom, just as they actually live their life on velt and marsh-land, in bush, forest, air, and water. They showed nature in its unalloyed reality, and therefore a peculiar stamp of truth and beauty must have imprinted itself upon them. They came, too, as a surprise, for in many points the hitherto accepted representations of the animal world and those given by my photographs did not agree.

Mere subject counts for so much in a picture with most people that it takes them a long time to appreciate a work of art the subject of which does not at the first glance appeal to them. This applies peculiarly to my African photographs. It is not a very easy matter for the eye to grasp the movements of the varying forms of animal life in their natural freedom. Often their appearance is so blended with their surroundings that it requires long practice to distinguish the individual characteristics of each, the fleeting graces of their momentary aspects.

I could not, therefore, help feeling a certain apprehension that every one would not at once be able to understand and decipher my pictures in my book, With Flashlight and Rifle. It is necessary when one looks at them to understand, in some degree, how to read between the lines; one must make an effort to grasp their more elusive features; in short, one must devote oneself to the study of them with a certain gusto, a certain intelligence. There was a further difficulty arising from the fact that the illustrations could be reproduced only by a process in which unfortunately much of the finer detail of the originals is lost. The use of the process, however, was necessary for various reasons.

There can be only two ways of securing the best possible result in the execution of pictures of such subjects. The ideal method would be for heaven-sent artists, after years of study, to give us works of this class, and combine in these masterpieces the strictest truth with the finest craftsmanship. But this requires a thorough study of each separate species of animal seen from afar and at close quarters—and how is this possible, seeing that one gets only momentary glimpses? The other method is that of photography, the picture on the negative, which can claim the advantage of documentary accuracy, and at the same time leaves a certain scope for the artistic sense of the operator. So the greatly improved photographic methods of to-day can step in, at least as a substitute and makeshift, in the absence of works of art such as the genius of one man may give us. Considering the extreme difficulty of taking portraits of living animals in their wild, timid state, such pictures can only in a few instances lay claim to technical photographic perfection. But at least so far as my own taste goes, a certain lack of sharp definition in the picture (often deliberately sought for in taking other objects) is not only no disadvantage, but is even desirable. As a confirmation of this idea of mine, I may mention the opinion of an American journalist, who declares that my picture of a herd of wild animals given on page 327 of With Flashlight and Rifle to be the most perfect thing of the kind he has seen, and the most pleasing to him, and compares it to the work of a Corot.

PICTURE OF A FEMALE HIPPOPOTAMUS FROM LE VAILLANT’S BOOK OF TRAVELS, PUBLISHED MORE THAN A HUNDRED YEARS AGO.

It must be noted that if the animals are drawn so as to stand out separated from the landscape which is a needful accessory of the picture, and brought forward into the foreground in an obviously selected pose, they must appear unnatural to the eye of the expert. Such pictures cannot fail to give an unnatural impression, for in the freedom of the wilderness the animal world never presents itself in this way to the eyes of man. In their full significance as masterpieces of nature, all the various aspects of the animal world are first manifested to us in close connection with their environment. It has been a keen satisfaction to me to find that many world-renowned artists have appreciated warmly the beauty of these photographs, and have given expression to this feeling. I have been told, for instance—what I myself had already noticed—that numbers of the pictures, especially, those showing birds on the wing, bear a great resemblance to certain famous works of Japanese painters[12] of animal life, works that seem to dive into the secrets of nature. It has been brought home to me, indeed, both by hundreds of letters and thousands of opinions expressed in conversation, that the pictures have excited almost universal interest, and that my labours have not been in vain.

Fully to enjoy the peculiar beauty of such photographs of living wild animals, the best way is undoubtedly to see the pictures considerably magnified by means of the magic lantern. On account of the special character and strangeness of most of the objects shown, I have the lantern slides lightly tinted. This colouring can be done without in the least altering the picture in its details, and its object is merely to secure greater effectiveness. Approval from all sides, both from artistic circles and from the public, satisfies me as to the correctness of this proceeding. Only in this way do photographic pictures shown by transmitted light produce the full impression of beauty and naturalness; they seem to transport the spectator directly to the far-off wilderness.

There must be some good reason for the widespread interest manifested in these pictures of the life and ways of animals, some of them still so little known, and all of them living in remote solitudes. It seems to me that the cause is deep-seated—that deep down in the heart of the highly-cultured civilised man there are involuntary yearnings after the sensations of wild, healthy, primeval nature. The progress of mankind from the so-called barbaric stage to the highest civilisation has been accomplished in so short a time, in comparison with the whole period of man’s existence, that it is easy to understand how such a longing may survive. In every man there must be something of this craving for light and air and primeval conditions.

Camelo-pardus feu Giraffe.

A GERMAN PICTURE OF THE GIRAFFE DATING FROM ABOUT TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO.

“The conflict of man with the animal world,” says Wilhelm Bölsche, “has passed away unsung and uncelebrated. The civilised man of to-day has hardly a recollection of the endless lapse of time during which mankind had to struggle with the beasts of the earth for mastery.” Let us for a few moments turn our gaze backwards to that far past. In epochs that the learned date back by hundreds of thousands of years, we find attempts made by the cave-dwellers to execute artistic representations of nature as they saw it. The artist of prehistoric times set to work with his rude instruments to draw in merest outline on a smooth rock-face, on a tusk taken in the chase, or on some such material, the things that had particularly attracted his thoughts or stimulated his efforts. Specimens of these primitive works of art have been handed down to us. In the first place there are pictures of animals, scratched upon ivory, and notwithstanding all their crudeness, sketched with sufficient ability to enable us to-day to recognise with certainty the objects which the artist tried to depict. Such sketches scratched on ivory, showing various kinds of animals (some of them now extinct) and forming the oldest documents of the animal-sketcher’s art, have been found in the caves of the south-west of France, in the old dwelling-places of the so-called “Madeleine” hunters of La Madeleine and Laugerie Basse. The museum at Zurich also possesses similar primitive documents from the Kesslerloch cave, near Thaingen, in the canton of Schaffhausen.

HOTTENTOT HUNTERS—A SKETCH DATING FROM 200 YEARS AGO.

(Some South African tribes actually hunt the lion on foot with javelins, and I have myself more than once observed the courage of the East African natives in similar circumstances.)

It is indeed not surprising that the cave-dweller of those days took his models from the ranks of the animal creation. All his thoughts and efforts were directed to the chase; he had no resources but in this pursuit, and he had to carry on, day and night perhaps, a fierce struggle for existence with wild beasts. One can thus follow the development of the human race through the course of time from the primitive sketches of beasts down to our own days, in which it has been reserved for the hand of man to execute masterpieces inspired by genius, and in which man makes the sun to serve him in depicting and preserving representations of all that lives and moves, creeps and flies. By means of the sketches of animals laboriously scratched on pieces of ivory by the Cave men of Southern Europe, we make the acquaintance of the long-haired prototypes of the living elephants of to-day. These animals were the most coveted big game in Europe. Clearly recognisable sketches of reindeer tell us that a climate like that of the northern steppes prevailed at the time; others of horses show that the wild horse was then to be found in Europe; those of the aurochs prove the existence of that animal. There is a remarkably close resemblance between the style of all these drawings and that of the rude sketches made by the Esquimaux of our own day. Some such Esquimaux sketches of animals on walrus tusks, at the most a hundred years old, are to be found in the Berlin Ethnographical Museum. Interesting, too, are the sketches of giraffes from the hands of ancient Egyptian artists. They show us that the artist of those days in drawing animals allowed a loose rein to his fancy and imagination. Thousands of years must separate these representations of animals from the sketches of Asiatic wild life which Sven Hedin discovered at Togri-sai-Tale near Lôb-nor. They are scratched on bright green slate, and depict yaks, wild asses and tigers, and the hunting of them with bow and arrow. They appear to be of the same kind as the animal-sketches made by the South African Bushmen, discovered by Fritsch in the year 1863. These cave pictures show us various members of the fauna of Cape Colony, which has already been to so great an extent exterminated. During the period of the Middle Ages a more perfect style of representing animals was gradually evolved, but even about the year 1720 we find representations that are inaccurate to an incredible extent, and, indeed, so recently as the early part of last century, one sees in the travels of the French naturalist Le Vaillant, in the picture of a female hippopotamus, a proof that the development of animal-drawing had as yet made little progress.

ANCIENT EGYPTIAN REPRESENTATIONS OF GIRAFFES AND OTHER ANIMALS. (THE BIRD AT THE TOP ON THE LEFT IS PLAINLY RECOGNISABLE AS THE SHOE-BILLED STORK—BALAENICEPS REX. NOW IT SEEMS ONLY TO BE FOUND IN THE MARSHES OF THE UPPER NILE. I HAVE TO THANK PROFESSOR HOMMEL OF MUNICH FOR THESE ILLUSTRATIONS, WHICH ARE TAKEN FROM “MONUMENTS ET MÉMOIRES DE L’ACADÉMIE DES INSCRIPTIONS ET BELLES LETTRES.”)

SKETCHES OF ANIMALS MADE BY THE BUSHMEN. (DISCOVERED IN SOUTH AFRICA BY PROFESSOR G. FRITSCH IN THE ‘SIXTIES, AND REPRODUCED BY HIS KIND PERMISSION.)

But what a difference in drawing and technique has come about in less than a hundred years! One need only compare the pictures of those times with the works of our own days, to be convinced that, besides artistic execution, there is now an increasingly exacting demand for the precise truth. Indeed, one of the first points to be insisted on is that photographic pictures shall not be altered, worked up—in word, in any way “retouched.” Only on this condition can they really claim to be—that which in a special sense they ought to be—true to nature, absolutely trustworthy “nature-documents.” This distinguishes the photograph from works of art executed by the hand of man, which must conform to each individual conception of the artist.

It is a hard saying that the modern cultured man is becoming, continually more and more estranged from nature. But in this matter let us take the standpoint of the optimist, who says to himself that there must be a reaction—a conscious, deliberate return, which indeed will represent the result of the highest stage of culture. There is an increasing perception of the existence in our home landscape of an ideal worth, that we have not yet been able sufficiently to estimate. To-day already there is a movement on all sides, and the demand is heard, ever stronger and clearer, for the protection of the beauties of nature. We must protect Nature in the widest sense of the word. And even if, in the stern progress of evolving civilisation, much that remains in the treasury of primitive nature must be destroyed, we shall be able long to preserve and rejoice in much else.

A SMALL HERD OF FEMALE BLACK-TAILED ANTELOPES RUNNING AWAY THROUGH HIGH GRASS.

And here come into play the healthy desire of man in his primitive state, the cry for light and air, and all the beauty of nature. It is hardly a hundred years since we in Europe learned to value the landscape beauties of unspoilt nature. English writers of travels a century ago still spoke of Switzerland with aversion; it was for them a horrible, dismal mountain country. And it is easy to understand how man in his hard struggle for the necessaries of life regarded, and was forced to regard, nature around him as on the whole unfriendly and menacing. But since those times there has been a change for the better, even though it cannot be denied that many men require very specially adjusted spectacles to enable them to enjoy this or that beauty of the nature around them! Thus the landowner feels a pleasing satisfaction at the sight of his cornfields. And yet these cornfields are hardly anything else but an artificially formed bit of bare velt, on which at certain times a short-lived vegetation grows up, whilst at other times the naked soil presents itself to the eye—uninviting, stripped of all adornment, arid and empty. Thus, too, the man who loves wine feels that well-cultivated vineyards are a beautiful sight; but it may be doubted whether he would do so if, say, only cotton-pods grew on the vines! In ancient times, as Humboldt shows, with the Greeks and Romans, as a rule, only country that was “comfortable to live in” was called beautiful, not what was wild and romantic. Yet Propertius[13] and many others praise the beauty of nature left to itself, in contrast with that which is embellished by art. Then we have a long way to travel through the Middle Ages, when the Alps are described to us as “dismal” and “horrible,” till we come to the nature-studies of Rousseau, Kant, and Goethe. At first there were very few to sympathise with them. Their view gradually prevailed, in spite of many backward eddies. Thus Hegel had only one impression of the Swiss Alps, that of a performance tiresome on account of its length—a judgment not far removed from that of the Savoyard peasant who declared that people who took any interest in snow-covered mountains must be insane.

On the other hand, we find in Eastern Asia, and especially among the Japanese, from the earliest times, the most ardent love for nature, and there even the poorest knows how to adorn his home with flowers, and to turn the beauty of the landscape to similar account.

A great part of the interest felt in natural beauty is perhaps to be traced to extraneous considerations. On the other hand, here in Germany we see most of our people full of feeling for our glorious forests and for our German scenery in general. We have to face the prospect, however, of a silenced countryside—a countryside without song or music.[14] That is a matter for anxiety. Insects, birds, quadrupeds, life and movement should be a part of the landscape. This idea should continue to attract more and more adherents. German thought and feeling are altogether in unison on this subject, and it is to be hoped that the cry for the protection of the beauties of nature, for the preservation of the plant and animal worlds, and all that is picturesque in our native landscape, may continue to find expression. The League for the Preservation of the Homeland in Germany gains daily new supporters.

C. G. Schillings, phot.

BEARERS ON THE MARCH.

Men like Professor Conwentz and many others have been working for years in this direction, and carrying on a most successful propaganda. This action for the preservation of the Homeland, taken in the highest and broadest sense of the word, must tend to evoke and foster the love of nature and its beauties in ever wider circles.

In other countries, too, steady progress is being made towards the same goal, and the importance of these considerations has long been recognised. In England and in America a way has recently been found to give practical effect to the idea of the protection of the beauties of nature by measures well calculated for this end. In this connection, too, a refined æsthetic culture is gaining ground. I do not at all close my eyes to the difficulty of regulating the conditions bearing on this matter. But in this connection we must not shrink from decisive measures. Those who come after us will be the first to prize and esteem these measures at their full value.

What I have here described as something to be desired and worth striving for at home must also hold good for the whole world—the preservation of all that is characteristic, all that belongs to primitive nature, wherever it is to be found.

The beauties of nature are most abundant, and in our time they are all—all—threatened with destruction and in need of protection. Where we can save and preserve any of them, our hands should not remain idle.