"We propose now to go on and cross the
Zambesi just below
the Victoria Falls. I should like to have
the spray of the
water over the carriages."—Letter from
the Right Hon. C.J.
Rhodes to E.S. Grogan, Esq., September
7, 1900.[45]
These words came to my mind as I sat under the verandah of one of the newly
thatched huts which formed the camp of the Native Commissioner at
Livingstone, Victoria Falls, on a glorious morning early in July, 1903,
gazing at one of the fairest landscapes to be seen on God's earth. I was
ostensibly occupied with my mail home, but the paper lay in all its virgin
whiteness before me, while my eyes feasted on the marvellous panorama
stretching away to the south, east, and west. My heart sank as I realized
how difficult—nay, impossible—it would be for anyone with only a very
limited vocabulary and very moderate powers of description to convey to
those far away even a limited idea of this glorious vision—of these vivid
colourings intensified by the lonely grandeur of the whole scene and the
absence of human habitations.
"Constitution Hill," as the aforesaid camp had been christened, was
situated on high ground, four miles to the north of the then drift of the
Zambesi River, which, again, was several miles above the actual falls
themselves. With the advent of the railway and of the magnificent bridge now
spanning the mighty river, that drift has actually fallen into disuse, but
at the time of our visit it was the scene of much activity, and quite a nest
of stores, houses, and huts, had sprung up near the rough landing-stage on
the north side. As transport, not only for individuals and for every ounce
of food required by the vast country stretching away to the north, but also
for the huge and valuable machinery, boilers, boats in sections, etc.,
destined for the various mining companies, the only means of maintaining
communication with the struggling but promising new colony were one very
rickety steam-launch and one large rowing-boat, beside a few canoes and
native dug-outs. A fine steam-barge, which would greatly have facilitated
the passage of all kinds of merchandise, had most disastrously slipped its
moorings during one stormy night of last wet season, and had not since been
seen, the presumption being that the relentless stream had carried it to the
mighty cataract, which, like a huge ogre, had engulfed it for all time. But
this disaster had not caused anything like consternation among the small
community to whom it meant so much, and the thought occurred to one how
remarkable are the qualities of dogged perseverance, calm disregard of
drawbacks and of any difficult task before them, which makes Englishmen so
marvellously successful as pioneers or colonists. The precious barge for
which they had waited many weary months had disappeared, and there was
nothing more to be said. Such means as remained were made the most of.
Owing to this calamity, however, the stores on the north bank were
wellnigh run out of their usual stock, but I was amazed to find such
luxuries of life as eau de Cologne, scented soaps, ladies' boots and shoes,
and brightly coloured skirts. Leaving the small river township—the embryo
Livingstone—we followed a very sandy road uphill till we reached the summit
of Constitution Hill, already mentioned. There our buggy and two small,
well-bred ponies swept into a smartly-kept compound surrounded by a
palisade, the feature of the square being a flagstaff from which the Union
Jack was proudly fluttering. As a site for a residence Constitution Hill
could not well be surpassed, and many a millionaire would cheerfully have
given his thousands to obtain such a view as that which met our eyes from
the humble huts, and held me enthralled during the whole of my stay. It must
be remembered we had been travelling, since leaving the rail-head, eighty
miles north of Bulawayo, through a thickly wooded and mountainous country
where any extensive views were rare. Even when nearing the Zambesi, with the
roar of the Falls in one's ears, so little opening-up had hitherto been done
that only an occasional peep of coming glories was vouchsafed us; hence the
first glimpse of a vast stretch of country was all the more striking. I must
ask my readers to imagine the bluest of blue skies; an expanse of waving
grass of a golden hue, resembling an English cornfield towards the harvest
time, stretching away till it is lost in far-distant tropical vegetation of
intense green, which green clearly marks the course of the winding Zambesi;
again, amid this emerald verdure, patches of turquoise water, wide, smooth,
unruffled, matching the heavens in its hue, are to be seen—no touch of man's
hand in the shape of houses or chimneys to mar the effect of Nature and
Nature's colouring. If you follow with your eyes this calm, reposeful river,
now hiding itself beneath its protecting banks with their wealth of
branching trees, tall cocoanut palms, and luxuriant undergrowth, now
emerging like a huge blue serpent encrusted with diamonds, so brightly does
the clear water sparkle in the sun, you note that it finally loses itself in
a heavy, impenetrable mass of green forest. And now for a few moments the
newcomer is puzzled to account for a dense white cloud, arisen apparently
from nowhere, which is resting where the forest is thickest and most
verdant, now larger, then smaller, anon denser or more filmy, but never
changing its place, never disappearing, while the distant thunder, to which
you had almost got accustomed, strikes upon your ear and gives the
explanation you are seeking.
Yes, that white cloud has been there for centuries, and will be there
while the world lasts, in spite of trains, bridges, etc. It marks the
Victoria Falls, and is a landmark for many miles round. How amazed must the
great Livingstone and his intrepid followers have been to see this first
sign of their grand discovery after their weary march through a country of
dense forests and sandy wastes, the natural features of which could not in
the least have suggested such marvels as exist in the stupendous river and
the water-power to which it gives birth! When mentioning that great
explorer—whose name in this district, after a lapse of nearly fifty years,
remains a household word among the natives, handed down from father to
son—it is a curious fact, and one that should prove a lesson to many
travellers from the old world as well as from the new, that only on one tree
is he believed to have cut his initials in Africa, and that tree stands on
the island in the centre of the Zambesi, the island that bears his name, and
that absolutely overhangs and stems the centre of the awe-inspiring
cataract.
I must now try in a few words to give a short account of what we saw at
the Victoria Falls in July, 1903, when the breath of civilization had
scarcely touched them. To-day they are easy of access, and the changes that
have been wrought have come so swiftly that, no doubt, recent visitors will
scarcely recognize the localities of which I write. I must first ask such to
be lenient with me, and to follow me down the sandy road leading from the
Constitution Hill Compound to the Controller's Camp on the bank of the
river, about two miles nearer the Falls. There were to be seen a collection
of huts and offices, where the Controller conducted his important business
of food-purveyor to the community, and a Government inspector of cattle had
equally arduous duties to perform. I must mention that, owing to disease in
the south, cattle were then not allowed to cross the Zambesi, and horses and
dogs had to be disinfected before they were permitted to leave the south
bank. Their troubles were not even then over, as they had to be swum across
the river, and, owing to its enormous width, the poor horses were apt to
become exhausted halfway over, and had to be towed the rest of the way,
their heads being kept out of the water—an operation attended with a certain
amount of risk. It followed that very few horses were crossed over at all,
and that these animals in North-Western Rhodesia were at a premium.
From the Controller's Camp I had another opportunity to admire the river
itself, just as wonderful in its way as the Falls, and I remember thinking
of the delights that might be derived from boating, sailing, or steaming, on
its vast surface. Since that day the enterprising inhabitants have actually
held regattas on the mighty stream, in which some of the best-known men in
the annals of rowing in England have taken part. But seven years ago our
river trip was attended with mild excitements; the small skiff, carrying our
party of six, was an excessively leaky canoe, which had to be incessantly
baled out to keep it afloat, and wherein, notwithstanding our efforts, a
deep pool of water accumulated, necessitating our sitting with feet tucked
under us in Oriental fashion. Hence I cannot say we realized to the full the
enjoyments of boating as we know it at home in far less beautiful
surroundings, or as others know it there at the present time.
The principal features that struck me were, first, the colossal width of
the river. As we gazed across the translucent surface, reflecting as in a
looking-glass the fringe of trees along the edge, the first impression was
that your eyes actually perceived the opposite bank; but we were undeceived
by one of the residents, who observed that was only an island, and that
there were several such between us and the north side. Secondly, we
marvelled at the clearness of the water, reflecting the blueness above; and,
thirdly, at the rich vegetation and the intense green of the overhanging
foliage, where the graceful and so rarely seen palms of the Borassus tribe
were growing to an immense height. All was enhanced by the most intense
solitude, which seemed to accentuate the fact that this scene of Nature was
indeed as God left it. These reflections were made as we floated on in our
rickety canoe to a creek, where we landed to walk to the actual Falls. A new
path had just been cut in the wooded part of the north bank, and we were
almost the first visitors to profit by it. Formerly the enterprising
sight-seers had to push their way through the scrubby undergrowth, but we
followed a smooth track for two miles, the roar of the cataract getting
louder and louder, with only occasional peeps of the river, which was fast
losing its calm repose and degenerating into restless rapids hurrying on to
their bourne. Now and then a buck would dance across our path, pause
affrighted for an instant at the unusual sight of man, and bound away again
into the thickness beyond; and once three fine wart-hogs almost stumbled
into our party, only to gallop away again like greyhounds, before the
rifles, which were carried by the black boys behind, could be made use of.
At last we emerged suddenly, without any warning, on the northern
extremity of the cataract, which at this point measures over a mile from
bank to bank, but of which only about a quarter of that distance is visible,
owing to the blinding spray. It is wellnigh impossible to describe a scene
of such wonder, such wildness. It is awe-inspiring, almost terrible in its
force and majesty, and the accompanying din prevents speech from being
heard. Standing on a point flush with the river before it makes its headlong
leap, we gazed first on the swirling water losing itself in snowy spray,
which beat relentlessly on face and clothes, while the great volume was
nosily disappearing to unknown and terrifying depths. The sight-seer tries
to look across, to strain his eyes and to see beyond that white mist which
obscures everything; but it is an impossible task, and he can but guess the
width of the Falls, slightly horseshoe in shape, from the green trees which
seem so far away on the opposite bank, and are only caught sight of now and
then as the wind causes the spray to lift. At the same time his attention is
fixed by a new wonder, the much-talked-of rainbow. Never varying, never
changing, that perfect-shaped arc is surely more typical of eternity there
than anywhere else. Its perfection of colours seems to be reflected again
and yet again in the roaring torrent, and to be also an emblem of peace
where all is turmoil. We were hurried away to remove our wet rainproof coats
and to dry our hats and faces in the brilliant sunshine. It seemed as if the
Falls guard their beauties jealously, and do not allow the spectator to gaze
on them without paying the price of being saturated by their spray. For the
next two hours we were taken from one point of vantage to the other, and yet
felt we had not seen half of even what is known as the north side. We were
shown the barely commenced path leading right away down to the edge of the
foaming, boiling gorge, which is to be known as "The Lovers' Walk," and from
its steepness it occurred to me that these same lovers will require to
possess some amount of endurance. We examined from afar the precipitous Neck
jutting right out opposite the main cataract, its sides running sheer down
to unfathomable depths of water, which has caused this rocky formation to be
called "The Knife's Edge," and along which, up to the date of our visit,
only two men had ventured. We saw the actual site for the existing
railway-bridge, which site had only been finally selected a few days before
by two of the party who were with us.[46]
The travellers over this great work now see all we saw on that long morning,
and a great deal more besides, while the carriage windows are soused by the
all-pervading spray, thus carrying out one of Mr. Rhodes's cherished
sentiments. Finally—musing at the marvellous and confusing twists and turns
of the river, changing in character and appearance so as to be wellnigh
unrecognizable—we walked on a hundred yards, and came upon a deep, deep
gorge, rocky, barren, and repelling, at the bottom of which, sluggish and
dirty in colour, a grey stream was winding its way, not a hundred yards
wide, but of unfathomable depths; and this represented the Zambesi after
it has taken its great leap, when, bereft of all life and beauty, it verily
looks tired out. This gorge continues for forty miles, and so desolate is
the surrounding country, that not only is it uninhabited by man, but even
game cannot live there. The shadows were lengthening and the day was
approaching its close. Early on the morrow we were to leave for the northern
hunting grounds. We regained our canoe, and paddled away to our temporary
camp.
Again we were delighted with the calm beauty of that river scene, and
found it difficult to decide when it was most beautiful—whether the morning
light best gilded its glories or whether the evening lent additional calm.
We passed island after island in bewildering succession. Away towards the
drift three huge black masses were splashing in the water, which we easily
made out to be hippopotami taking their evening bath, and as we glided along
a sleepy crocodile slipped back into the water from a muddy eminence where
it had been basking in the sun. Then our canoe ran into a creek where leaves
and ferns grew in delightful confusion, and we landed in soft marshy ground
just as the sun was sinking like a red ball into the river, and giving way
to the sovereignty of a glorious full moon, which soon tinged everything
with a silver light, making glades of palms look delightfully romantic.
Civilization has since found its way to Livingstone. Engines are
whistling and trains are rumbling where then the only tracks were made by
the huge hippos and the shy buck, but they can never efface the grandeur of
the river in its size and calmness; the incomparable magnificence of the
cataract itself; the rainbow, which one cannot see without retaining a
lasting impression of its beauty; and, lastly, that cloud of white spray,
seemingly a sentinel to watch over the strength and might of the huge river,
for so many ages undiscovered.
Many who knew the Falls in their pristine solitude have gladly welcomed
there the advent of twentieth-century developments, of sign-posts, of
advertisements, of seats, of daily posts and papers; but others, some of the
older pioneers, still, perchance, give a passing sigh for the days when they
paddled about the river in a leaky canoe, and letters and telegrams were not
events of everyday occurrence.
In spite of the railway constructed since our visit, few people,
comparatively, have been to North-Western Rhodesia, and yet it is a country
of over 400,000 square miles. It was in October, 1897, that the then
administrator of the country,[47]
with five policemen, crossed the Zambesi and declared the territory to be
under the protection of Her Late Gracious Majesty, Queen Victoria. For many
years previously the natives, who are not of a particularly warlike
disposition, had been decimated, and the country laid waste, by the fierce
Matabele, who were in the habit of making periodical raids into this fair
land, and of killing the old men and the young warriors, who made but a
slight resistance; of annexing the attractive ladies as wives and the fat
cattle as prized booty, and then of retreating again south of the mighty
river without fear of reprisals. For this reason there was, in 1903, a very
meagre population for many hundreds of miles north of the Zambesi in this
direction; and of cattle, for which there is pasture in abundance, there was
hardly one to be seen. One has to travel much farther north and west to find
the densely populated valleys, whose inhabitants own Lewanika, Chief of the
Barotse, as their ruler, who look to the great white British King as their
protector, and to the Chartered Company as the immediate purveyor of their
wants.
Of these natives the chief tribes are, first, the Barotse themselves, who
are the most numerous, and who inhabit the low-lying country along the
Zambesi Valley north of Sesheke, and up to Lia-Lui, their capital.
The second in importance are the Mushukulumbwe, which, translated
literally, means "naked people." This designation was given them as a
reproach by their friends, as the male element wear no clothes; and should
they possess a blanket, they would only throw it round their shoulders
whilst standing still or sitting down. When remonstrated with by the
well-meaning missionaries on the absence of any attire, they are wont to
reply: "Are we women or children, that we should fear the cold? Our fathers
needed no clothes, nor do we." They are keen hunters and trackers,
essentially a warlike people, tall and good-looking, while the women also
are of more than average height, and gracefully made. What the men lack in
clothes they make up for in their head-dress, which has been so often
illustrated, and which is sometimes 5 feet in height. It is the result of
much care and trouble, and the cause of great pride to the wearer. Ruled
over by a number of small chiefs, they mostly own Lewanika as their
paramount chief, and to him they pay tribute. They are withal a curious,
wild kind of people, but are now becoming less afraid of, and in consequence
less hostile to, the white man, the first of whose race they saw in 1888,
when Mr. Selous[48]
penetrated into their country, and very nearly lost his life at their hands.
Now they are well-disposed, and it is safe to travel through their land with
a comparatively small escort.
Thirdly, the Batokas. These are, and always have been, a servile race.
They are lazy in disposition, for the most part of unprepossessing
appearance, and their country has the Kafue River on the east, and the
Zambesi on the south, as natural boundaries. As carriers they do fairly
well, and, while also owning Lewanika's authority, they are well aware of
the fact that this chief only rules in virtue of the support of the "Great
King" in a far-off land, whom they often hear of, but can never hope to see.
In consequence of having lived for so many generations in terror of being
raided by their more bellicose neighbours, all these tribes acclaimed with
joy the advent of their English protectors, and their demeanour is
strikingly expressive of gratitude and respect. This is evinced by their
native greeting, which consists of sitting down and clapping their hands
together in a slow rhythm whenever a white man passes. Sometimes a traveller
hears this clapping proceeding out of the immensely high and thick grass
which encloses the road, and he is by this sound alone made aware of the
presence of a human being. Their food consists entirely of grain, which they
greatly prefer to meat, even when this is offered to them. They boil this
grain, which resembles millet or canary seed, into a sort of porridge, which
they eat with the greatest gusto, and one meal a day seems to suffice them.
And now to describe the fatherland of these natives, just emerging as it
is from darkness and strife to prosperity, peace, and, quite possibly,
riches beyond the dreams of avarice, but in any case riches, sufficiently
proved to enable it to take its place ere long among the treasure-producing
territories of God's earth. Once north of the Zambesi, and with the thunder
of those magnificent Falls still ringing in one's ears, two things were
evident even to the most casual traveller—viz., the changed aspect of the
country and of its inhabitants. Of the latter and of their quaint greeting I
have already spoken. And as regards the road itself and the surrounding
landscape there is a still greater change. Instead of a track of deep sand
blocked with huge stones or by veritable chasms of soft, crumbling earth,
one finds there good roads, while numerous streams of clear running water
constantly intersect the highway. In England it is difficult to realize the
inestimable boon this plentiful supply of water is to the traveller and his
beasts, who are thereby saved the very serious necessity of frequently
having to push on, weary and thirsty, another stretch of eight or ten miles,
simply because of the oft-heard cry, "No water." The scenery itself is fair
and restful to the eye; there are no huge mountains, no precipitous dongas,
yet an ever-changing kaleidoscope which prevents any monotony. Now the road
winds for several miles through woods and some small trees; again, these are
left behind, and the traveller emerges on plains of yellow waving grass (so
high as to hide both horse and rider), resembling from afar an English
barleyfield, and broken up by clumps of symmetrically arranged trees. In
these clumps the tropical euphorbia sends up its long and graceful shoots,
reminding one of Gargantuan candelabra, and the huge "baobab," of unwieldy
bulk, seems to stand as the sentinel stretching out its bare arms to protect
those who shelter beneath. These trees are the great feature of the country,
owing to the enormous size they attain, and to the fact that, being the
slowest-growing trees known, their ages can only be reckoned by thousands of
years. Except these kings of the forest, the trees indigenous to the land
are somewhat dwarfed, but cacti of all kinds flourish, clinging to and
hanging from the branches of the mahogany and of the "m'pani" trees, looking
now and then for all the world like long green snakes. The "m'hoba-hoba"
bush, with its enormous leaves, much loved by the elephant, forms patches of
vivid green summer and winter. This shrub is supposed to have been
introduced by the Phoenicians, when these wonderful people were occupied
with their mineral workings in this land, the remains of which are to be
seen in many places. In the grass itself, and round the edge of these groups
so artistically assorted by the hand of Nature, lies slyly hidden the
"wait-a-bit" bush,[49]
according to the literal translation from the Dutch, whose thorny
entanglements no one can gauge unless fairly caught.
During July and August, which is mid-winter, the grass plains are set on
fire, in parts purposely, but sometimes accidentally. They are usually left
intact near the road, for transport oxen find plenty of pasture in the
coarse high grass which no other animal will touch; but the seeker after
game will burn miles and miles of this grass when it is sufficiently dry at
the roots. It has acted as a sheltering mantle for its four-footed
population for many months, and now the "hunters' moon" is fairly risen and
the buck must beware. Therefore, if one leaves the road for two or three
miles to the right or left, vast black plains are discovered, on which only
about a fortnight after burning a very vivid green, and, it is said, a very
sweet, grass springs up, which game of all sorts greatly love. Here they
graze in herds morning and evening, and here probably they meet their
death—but of this more anon. It took our party ten days to reach Kalomo,[50]
then the capital of North-Western Rhodesia. This included a six days' halt
in quest of game on a rocky kopje eight miles off the road—a veritable Spion
Kop, rising from a flat country and commanding views for miles round.
As regards travelling, I can only say it was very comfortable as we did
it. Riding ourselves, our baggage (divided into loads each weighing about 30
pounds) was carried by natives, who generally preceded us out of camp. The
day's journey was divided as follows: Up before the sun, and dressing by the
uncertain light of a candle lantern. It was cold enough to render no
dawdling possible, and one hurried one's toilet in order to get to the
already brightly burning fire and steaming hot coffee. The sun would just
then be showing its red head in the far east, and already the camp was in
commotion; tents were being struck, bedding rolled up, while a certain
amount of scrambling would be going on amongst the cunning blacks, each
wishing to possess himself of the lightest load. To prevent shirking, one or
two of the native police who accompanied us watched the proceeding with
lynx-like eyes, and, amid much arguing, chattering, and apparent confusion,
a long line of carriers would emerge like a black snake from the
camping-ground into an orderly string—quaint figures, some of them wrapped
in gaudy blankets, and even then shivering in the keen morning air; some
with their load on their heads, others carrying it on long sticks, all with
the inevitable native vessel, fashioned from a gourd, containing their daily
ration of grain. As a supplement to these carriers, we were also accompanied
by the (in Africa) familiar "Scotch cart." In other words, this is a strong
cart on two wheels, drawn by bullocks, and its usual pace is about two and a
half miles an hour. It apparently possesses the delightful qualification of
being able to travel on any road, no matter how rough, without breaking down
or turning over; in fact, when travelling by road in Africa, it facilitates
matters as much as the employment of a charwoman oils the wheels in an
English household, and it is therefore as much to be recommended.
We ride for an hour or so with coats tightly buttoned up, blue noses, and
frozen fingers—for the hoar-frost still lingers on the ground—but the air is
delightfully exhilarating, and we know that we shall not have to complain of
the cold long. By degrees the sun makes itself felt, and we discard first
one wrap and then another, till by ten o'clock even light overcoats are not
required. And now it is time to "off-saddle" and breakfast. The carriers
straggle in more or less in the order they left, but they gladly "dump" down
their loads, and before many minutes the fire is burning and the breakfast
frizzling. After breakfast comes the midday rest of two or three hours,
beguiled by some ancient newspapers or some dust-begrimed book. It is
remarkable that, when far away from home, the date of a newspaper is of
little import, while none are voted dull, and one finds oneself reading the
most obscure publications, and vaguely wondering how or why they reached
this distant land. At two o'clock marching orders come again. This is the
hot trek, but there is generally a cool breeze to temper the fierce rays of
the winter's sun; and when that sun gets low down on to the horizon, and
becomes a crimson ball, tingeing the world with its rosy hue, we look about
for our evening resting-place. During our journey to Kalomo, as well as on
our southward route a month later, we enjoyed the light of a glorious moon,
whose assistance to the traveller cannot be exaggerated when the short
twilight is remembered. By the moon we frequently made our camp, by the moon
we dined. Those were never-to-be-forgotten evenings, spent on that lonely
veldt all bathed in silver light. We also had excitements—much lions' spoor
on the roads by day, many scares of lions round the camps by night, when the
danger is that the horses may be taken while the camp is asleep. Every
evening our animals were put into a "skerm," or high palisade, constructed
of branches by the ubiquitous carriers with marvellous rapidity.
One dark night before the moon had risen, just as we had finished dinner
and were sitting round the fire listening to thrilling stories of sport and
adventure, a terrific noise suddenly disturbed our peaceful circle—a noise
which proceeded from a dark mass of thick bush not 200 yards away, and
recalled one's childish recollections of "feeding-time" at the Zoo. Not one,
but five or six lions, might have been thus near to us from the volume of
growls and snarls, varied by short deep grunts, which broke the intense
stillness of the night in this weird fashion. Each man rushed for his rifle,
but it was too dark to shoot, and gradually the noise died away. The natives
opined it was a slight difference of opinion between some wolves and a lion,
which animals, curiously enough, very often hunt in company, the lion doing
the killing, and the wolf prowling along behind and picking up the scraps.
It was but an incident, but it served as an uncanny reminder of the many
eyes of the animal world, which, though unseen, are often watching
travellers in these solitudes. Another night, when we were encamped in the
very heart of a rumoured "lion country," ourselves and our beasts securely
protected by an unusually high and thick "skerm," we were, to our regret,
left undisturbed; but the aforementioned Scotch cart, which rumbled away
from the sleeping camp about midnight, had a series of adventures with
Leo felis. Sniffing the fat oxen, no less than three lions followed the
waggon all night, charging close up at times, and finally causing the oxen
to stampede, in consequence of which, instead of finding the precious
vehicle, containing grain for carriers and forage for horses, at the next
outspan, we did not come up with it till evening, nearly thirty miles
farther on, when we learnt the adventures it had had.
The truth regarding lion-shooting in these parts is, that the animals are
exceedingly difficult to locate, and the finding of them is a matter of pure
luck. The traveller may, of course, meet a lion on the road by broad
daylight; but many experienced hunters, who count their slain lions by the
dozen, will tell you they were years in the country before they ever saw the
kings of beasts, and these are men who do not belittle the danger incurred
in hunting them. One old hunter is supposed to have said to an enthusiastic
newcomer, who had heard of a lion in the vicinity, and immediately asked the
old stager if he were going after it: "I have not lost any lions, therefore
I am not looking for any"; but, all the same, to kill one or more fine
specimens will ever remain the summit of the ambition of the hunter, and
unquestionably the spice of danger is one of the attractions.
At the time of which I write the township of Kalomo consisted of about
twenty white people, including the Administrator, his secretary and staff;
the Chancellor of the Exchequer, or Accountant, who controlled the purse; a
doctor, whose time was fairly well taken up; an aspiring light of the legal
profession, who made and interpreted the laws; and, finally, the gallant
Colonel and officers of the North-Western Rhodesia Native Police, a smart
body of 380 natives, officered by eleven or twelve Englishmen. To Colonel
Colin Harding, C.M.G., was due the credit of recruiting and drilling this
smart corps, and it was difficult to believe that these soldierly-looking
men, very spruce in their dark blue tunics and caps, from which depend
enormous red tassels, were only a short time ago idling away their days in
uninviting native kraals.
I was much impressed in a Kalomo house with the small details of a
carefully arranged dinner-table, adorned with flowers and snowy linen; the
cooking was entirely done by black boys, and of these the "Chinde" boys from
the Portuguese settlements are much sought after, and cannot be excelled as
cooks or servants, so thoroughly do the Portuguese understand the training
of natives. The staple meat was buck of all kinds; sheep were wellnigh
unknown, oxen were scarce and their meat tough; but no one need grumble at a
diet of buck, wild-pig, koran,[51]
guinea-fowl, and occasionally wild-duck. As regards other necessities of
life, transport difficulties were enormous; every ounce of food besides
meat, and including precious liquids, had then to be dragged over nearly 250
miles of indifferent roads; and not only groceries, but furniture, roofs of
houses, clothes—all had to be ordered six to eight months before they were
required, and even then disappointments occurred in the way of waggons
breaking down, of delays at the rail-head and at the crossing of the river.
To us who are accustomed to the daily calls of the butcher, the baker, and
the grocer, the foresight which had to be exercised is difficult to realize,
and with the best management in the world great philosophy was required to
put up with the minor wants.
As to the climate of North-Western Rhodesia in the dry season—which lasts
from April or May to November, or even later—it is ideal. Never too hot to
prevent travelling or doing business in the heat of the day, it is cold
enough morning and evening to make fur coats by no means superfluous; rain
is unknown, and of wind there is just enough to be pleasant, although now
and then, especially towards sunset or before dawn, a very strong breeze
springs up from a cloudless horizon, lasts about thirty minutes, making the
trees bend and tents flap and rattle, and then dies away again as suddenly
as it has come. Sometimes, in the early morning, this breeze is of an icy
coldness, and might be blowing straight from the South Pole. During the dry
season the traveller should not contract fever, unless he happens to have
the germs in his system, and in this case he may have been immune the whole
wet season, and then the first cold weather brings out the disease and lays
him low.
I must now devote a few words to the veldt and to its animal life as we
learnt to know it during some delightful weeks spent in camp eight miles
from the township, where game was then still abundant. There we lived in
comfortable tents, and our dining-room was built of grass held in place by
substantial sticks. The delight of those days is fresh in my memory. Up and
on our horses at dawn, we would wander over this open country, intersected
with tracks of forest. The great charm was the uncertainty of the species of
game we might discover. It might be a huge eland, or an agile pig, or a herd
of beautiful zebra. Now and then a certain amount of stalking was required,
and on one occasion a long ride round brought us to the edge of a wood, from
whence we viewed at twenty yards a procession of wildebeeste—those animals
of almost mythical appearance, with their heads like horses and their bodies
like cattle—roan antelope, and haartebeeste; but as a rule, the game having
been so little shot at, with an ordinary amount of care the hunter can ride
to within shooting distance of the animal he would fain lay low. Should they
take fright and be off, we found to gallop after them was not much use,
owing to the roughness of the veldt and the smallness of the ponies.
Occasionally we had to pursue a wounded animal, and one day we had an
exciting chase after a wildebeeste, the most difficult of all bucks to kill,
as their vitality, unless absolutely shot through the heart, is marvellous.
When we at last overtook and finished off the poor creature, we had
out-distanced all our "boys," and it became necessary for my
fellow-sportsman to ride off and look for them (as the meat had to be cut up
and carried into camp), and for me to remain behind to keep the aas-vogels
from devouring the carcass. These huge birds and useful scavengers,
repulsive as they are to look at, always appear from space whenever a buck
is dead, and five minutes suffices for a party of them to be busily
employed, while a quarter of an hour later nothing is left but the bones.
Therefore I was left alone with the dead wildebeeste and with the circling
aas-vogels for upwards of two hours, and I realized, as I had never done
before, the intense loneliness of the veldt, and something of what the
horror must be of being lost on it. Even residents have to dread this
danger.
At that season the veldt boasted of few flowers, but birds were
plentiful, especially the large ones I have mentioned as forming a valuable
addition to the daily menu, and flocks of guinea-fowl, which run along the
ground making a peculiar chuckling noise, rarely flying, but very quick at
disappearing in the long grass. The quaint secretary-bird was often to be
seen stalking majestically along, solitary and grotesque, with its high
marching action. Then the honey-birds must not be forgotten. They give voice
to their peculiar note as soon as they see a human being, whom they seem to
implore to follow them; and if they succeed in attracting attention, they
fly from tree to tree reiterating their call, till they lead the man whose
assistance they have sought to the spot where the honey is hidden, but which
they cannot reach unaided. As a rule, it is the natives who take the trouble
to obey their call and turn it to account.
The weeks slipped by all too quickly, and it was soon time to bid
farewell to Kalomo and its game-haunted flats, over which the iron horse now
winds its prosaic course on its way to the dim, mysterious North, bringing
noise and bustle in its train. In consequence the hunter and the
animal-lover have to travel farther on, but there will always be room for
all on that vast continent.
No matter what paths of life it may be the fortune of my readers to
tread, let me recommend those wearied with social bustle and the empty
amenities of present-day existence to pass a few weeks in the comparative
solitude of several pleasant companions "under the stars" in North-Western
Rhodesia, where they can still catch a glimpse of the elusive zebras, with
coats shining in the sun like burnished steel, and hear the persistent call
of the honey-bird. At night the roar of lions may now and then cause them to
turn in their sleep, and in their dreams they may have visions of the
animals that have charmed them during the day—the stately eland, the
graceful roan and sable antelopes, the ungainly wildebeeste, and the funny
old wart-hog, trotting along with high action and tail erect. Besides
gaining health and experiencing the keenest enjoyment, they will know some
of the pleasures vouchsafed to those of their countrymen whose fate it is to
live, and sometimes to die, in far-off climes—men who have helped to make
England famous, and are now, step by step, building up our mighty Empire.
Curious are the lives these men, and many like them, lead, cut off as it
were from the bustling, throbbing world. A handful of white men, surrounded
by thousands of blacks, with calm complacency they proceed, first to impress
on the natives the importance, the might, and the justice, of the great
Empire which they represent in their various capacities; then to establish
beyond question their own dignity and wisdom; and finally to make themselves
as comfortable, and their surroundings as attractive and homelike, as
possible, with such means as they can command. They are to be seen
superintending a court of justice, looked up to and trusted by the natives,
who have quickly found out that the "boss" is just, firm, and that he will
not believe a falsehood. The blacks have their native names for all these
officials, most of them showing great discernment, and some of quite an
affectionate nature.
The Commissioners, whose work is entirely among the native population,
requiring the greatest tact and patience, besides a perfect knowledge of the
language, lead, perhaps, the most arduous, as well as the most lonely,
existences. Most of the year is occupied in making tours of inspection
through their vast districts; they live continually in the open, in constant
contact with Nature, and for weeks together they never see a white man.
Almost unattended, they move fearlessly in little-known places, among an
uncivilized if friendly people, and to some extent they have their lives in
their hands. And yet they do not regard their solitary existence as anything
to occasion surprise or admiration; they realize the importance of their
mission, and wet seasons, bad attacks of fever, and impaired health, do not
quench their energy or their keenness for the great work of development. It
is true, indeed, that one and all live in anticipation of the biennial
holiday, of the seven months spent "at home," and that all events in their
lives are dated from those precious days in England; and then, when the time
comes to return to duty, they probably depart without a murmur, and very
few, if any, would exchange a life in an office, or that of any ordinary
profession in England, for the one, untrammelled and free, they lead in the
wilds of Africa. As distractions in this life which they love, they can only
look to the weekly mail and the goodly supply of illustrated papers from
home, the attentive perusal of which has made them almost as conversant as
the veriest Cockney with all the people of note and the fair women of the
time, besides giving them an intimate knowledge of passing events. As hosts
they are perfection, and all they have is at their guests' disposal. Their
incentive to the great work for ever going on, not only in their district,
but in so many far-away localities where the Union Jack flies, is the
knowledge that the dark clouds of oppression, plunder, and crime, are, in
consequence of their efforts, rolling away as mists disappear before the
rising sun.
FOOTNOTES:
[44]
Some parts of this chapter appeared in the Christmas number of the
Pall Mall Magazine, 1903, and in the Bulawayo Chronicle of
the same date.
[45]
Introduction to Mr. Grogan's work, "From the Cape to Cairo."
[46]
Sir Charles Metcalfe, Bart., consulting engineer of the Chartered
Company, and Mr. G. Pauling, contractor for the same company.
[47]
R.T. Coryndon, Esq.
[48]
"Life and Adventures in South-East Africa," by F.C. Selous.
[49]
Wacht-een-bietze.
[50]
The seat of government has since been transferred to Livingstone, on the
Zambesi.
[51]
A kind of pheasant.
