Part 8
The elephants seemed to have completely disappeared; no matter how far I extended my daily excursions, they were nowhere to be seen. At length I came across a fairly big herd, but they had taken up their stand in such an impenetrable thicket that it was quite impossible to sight them. After much creeping and crawling through the elephant and rhinoceros paths in the undergrowth I managed to get just for a few minutes a faint glimpse of the vague outline of single animals, but so indistinct that it was impossible to determine their age, size, or sex. In East Africa elephants are generally seen under these unfavourable conditions. Very seldom does one come upon a good male tusk-bearing specimen, as well-meaning but inexperienced persons, such as I myself was at one time, would desire.
There is something very exciting and stimulating in coming face to face with these gigantic creatures in the thick undergrowth. All one’s nerves are strained to see or hear the faintest indication of the whereabouts of the herd; the sultry air, the dense tangle through which we have to move, and which hinders every step, combine to excite us. We can only see a few paces around. The strong scent of elephant stimulates us. The snapping and creaking of branches and twigs, the noises made by the beasts themselves, especially the shrill cry of warning given out from time to time by one of the herd--all add to the tension. The clanging, pealing sound of this cry has something particularly weird in it in the stillness of the great forest. At such a signal the whole herd moves forward, to-day quietly without noise, and to-morrow in wild blustering flight. It is very seldom that one can catch them up on the same day, and then only after long hours of pursuit.... These forest sanctuaries, together with their own caution, have done more to stave off the extermination of the species than have all the sporting restrictions that have been introduced.
Every morning I returned to my post of observation on the hill. I could easily have killed one or other of the herd. But I did not wish to disturb the elephants, and I had also good reason for believing that there were no very large tusks among them. Morning after morning I returned disappointed to my camp, only to find my way back on the next day to my sentry-box at the edge of the forest on the hill. Days went by and nothing was seen save the back or head of an elephant emerging from the “subugo.” This “subugo” knows well how to protect its inmates.
Every morning the same performance. At my feet the mist-mantled forest, and near me my three or four blacks, to whom my reluctance to shoot the elephants and my preoccupation with my camera were alike inexplicable. Whenever the clouds rolled away over the woods and valley it was necessary to keep the strictest watch. Then I discovered smaller herds of giraffes with one or two elephants accompanying them. But this would be for a few seconds only. The heavy banks of cloud closed to again. A beautiful large dove (_Columba aquatrix_) flew about noisily, and like our ringdove, made its love-flights round about the hill, and cooed its deep notes close by. Down below in the valley echoed the beautiful, resonant, melancholy cry of the great grey shrike; cock and hen birds answered one another in such fashion that the call seemed to come from only one bird. There was no other living thing to see or hear.
But now! At last! I shall never forget how suddenly in one of the brilliant bursts of sunshine the mighty white tusks of two bull-elephants shone out in the hollow so dazzlingly white that one must have beheld them to understand their extraordinary effect, seen thus against that impressive background. Close by was a bull-giraffe. Vividly standing out from the landscape, they would have baffled any artist trying to put them on the canvas. I understood then why A. H. Neumann, one of the most skilful English elephant-hunters, so often remarked on the overwhelming impression he received from these snow-white, shining elephant-tusks. So white do they come out in the photographs that the prints look as though they had been touched up. But these astonishing pictures are as free from any such tampering as are all the rest of my studies of animal life.[11]
Before I succeeded in getting my first picture of the elephants and giraffes consorting together, I was much tempted to kill the two huge bull-elephants. They came so often close to the foot of my hill that I had plenty of opportunities of killing them without over-much danger to myself or my men. As I caught sight of that rare trio I must honestly confess I had a strong desire to shoot. This desire gave way, however, before my still keener wish to photograph them. The temptation to use my rifle came from the thought of the satisfaction with which I should see them placed in some museum. It might be possible to prepare their skins here on this very spot. In short, I had a hard struggle with myself.
But the wish to secure the photographs triumphed. No museum in the world had ever had such a picture. That thought was conclusive.
The accompanying illustrations give both the colossal beasts in different attitudes. The giraffe stands quite quiet, intent on its own safety, or gazes curiously at its companions. What a contrast there is between the massive elephants and the slender, towering creature whose colouring harmonises so entirely with its surroundings! Wherever you see giraffes they always blend with their background. They obey the same laws as leopards in this respect, and leopards are the best samples of the “mimicry” of protective colouring.
What long periods of hunger must have gone to the formation of the giraffe’s neck!
It would seem as though these survivors of two prehistoric species had come together thus, at a turning-point in the history of their kind, for the special purpose of introducing themselves by means of their photographs to millions of people. I owe it to an extraordinary piece of good fortune that I was able to take another picture of them during a second burst of sunshine which lit up the forest.
It is the event of a lifetime to have been the witness of so strange and unsuspected a condition of things as this friendship between two such dissimilar animals. The extent of my good luck may be estimated from the fact that the famous traveller Le Vaillant, more than seventy years ago, wished so ardently to see a giraffe in its natural surroundings, _if only once_, that he went to South Africa for that purpose, and that, having achieved it on a single occasion, as he relates in his work, he was quite overjoyed. Although I was aware that herds of giraffes frequented this region without fear of the elephants, it was a complete revelation to me to find an old bull-giraffe living in perfect harmony for days together with two elephants for the sake of mutual protection. I can only account for this strange alliance by the need for such mutual protection. The giraffe is accustomed to use its eyes to assure itself of its safety, whilst elephants scent the breeze with their trunks, raised like the letter S for the purpose. In these valleys the direction of the wind varies very often. The struggle for existence is here very vividly brought before us. How often in the course of centuries must similar meetings have occurred in Africa and in other parts of the world, before I was able to record this observation for the first time? These pictures are a good instance of the value of photography as a means of getting and giving information in regard to wild life.
Kilepo Hill will always stand out vividly in my memory. Elephants may still climb up to the small still lake shut in by the wall-like hillsides, as they have done for ages, to quench their thirst at its refreshing waters. For hundreds of years the Masai, for the sake of their cattle herds, contested with them the rights of this drinking-place. Then the white man came and the Masai vanished, and again the elephants found their way to the Kilepo valley. Later, white settlers came--Boers, ruthless in their attitude towards wild life--and took up their abode in the Kilimanjaro region. The day cannot now be far distant when the last of the elephants will have gone from the heart of Kilepo Hill. But these two, long since killed, no doubt, will continue to live on in my pictures for many a year to come.
XIII
A Vanishing Feature of the Velt
“When men and beasts first emerged from the tree called ‘Omumborombongo,’ all was dark. Then a Damara lit a fire, and zebras, gnus, and giraffes sprang frightened away, whilst oxen, sheep, and dogs clustered fearlessly together.” So Fritsch told us forty years ago, from the ancient folk-lore of the Ova-Herero, one of the most interesting tribes of South-West Africa.
If the photographing of wild life is only to be achieved when conditions are favourable, and is beset with peculiar difficulties in the wilderness of Equatorial Africa, one might at least suppose that such huge creatures as elephants, rhinoceroses, and giraffes could be got successfully upon the “plate.” But they “spring frightened away”! The cunning, the caution, and the shyness of these animals make all attempts at photographing them very troublesome indeed; for to secure a good result you need plenty of sunlight, besides the absence of trees between you and the desired object. And when everything seems to favour you, there is sure to be something wanting--very probably the camera itself. Fortune favours the photographer at sudden and unexpected moments, and then only for a very short while. One instant too late, and you may have to wait weeks, months, even years for your next opportunity. I would give nine-tenths of the photos I have taken of animal life for some half-dozen others which I was unable to take because I did not have my camera to hand just at the right moment. Thus it was with the photographing of the three lions I killed on January 25, 1897, and of the four others I saw on the same day, on the then almost unknown Athi plains in the Wakikuju country. Also with that great herd of elephants which so nearly did for me, and which I should have dearly liked to photograph just as they began their onrush. (I have told the story in _With Flashlight and Rifle_.) I remember, too, the sight of a giraffe herd of forty-five head which I came across on November 4, 1897,[12] about two days’ journey north-west of the Kilimanjaro. The hunter of to-day would travel over the velt for a very long while before meeting with anything similar. In earlier days immense numbers of long-necked giraffe-like creatures, now extinct, lived on the velt; the rare Okapi, that was discovered in the Central African forests a short time ago, has aroused the interest of zoologists as being a relative of that extinct species.
Within the last hundred or even fifty years, the giraffe itself was to be found in large herds in many parts of Africa. The first giraffe of which we know appeared in the Roman arena. About two hundred years ago we are told some specimens were brought over to Europe, and caused much astonishment. The Nubian menageries some years ago brought a goodly number of the strange beasts to our zoological gardens.[13] But how many people have seen giraffes in their native haunts? When, in 1896, I saw them thus for the first time, I realised how thin and wretched our captive specimens are by the side of the splendid creatures of the velt. Le Vaillant, in his accounts of his travels in Cape Colony and the country known to-day as German South-West Africa, gives a spirited description of these animals, and tells how after much labour and trouble he managed to take a carefully dried skin to the coast and to send it to Germany. That was seventy years ago. Since then many Europeans have seen giraffes, but they have told us very little about them. The German explorer Dr. Richard Böhm has given us wonderfully accurate information about them and their ways. But the beautiful water-colours so excellently drawn by a hand so soon to be disabled in Africa, were lost in that dreadful conflagration in which his hunting-box on the peaceful Wala River and most of his diaries were destroyed. Dr. Richard Kandt, whilst on his expeditions in search of the sources of the Nile, found the charred remains of the hut. “Ubi sunt, qui ante nos in mundo fuere?”
Zoological experts tell us that there are several species of giraffe inhabiting separate zoological regions. In the districts I traversed, I came across an entirely new species.... Their life and habits interested me beyond measure. I often think of them still--moving about like phantoms among the thorny bushes, and in and out the sunlit woods, or standing out silhouetted against the horizon.
Though by nature peaceful, the giraffe is not defenceless--a kick from one of its immense legs, or a blow sideways with the great thick-necked head of a bull, would be quite enough to kill a mere man. But this gigantic beast, whose coat so much resembles that of the blood-thirsty tiger, leopard, and jaguar, never attacks, and only brings its forces into play for purposes of defence. It harms no man, and it has lived on the velt since time immemorial. It is the more to be deplored, therefore, that it should disappear now so quickly and so suddenly.
I have already remarked several times on the way giraffes and other African mammals harmonise in their colouring with their environment. Professor V. Schmeil has pointed out how my opinion in this respect accords with that of earlier observers.[14] The way in which giraffes mingle with their surroundings as regards not only their colour but also their form, is especially astonishing. The illustration on page 550 proves this in a striking manner, for it shows how the outlines of the giraffe correspond exactly with those of the tree close to it.
One may spend days and weeks on the velt trying to get near giraffes without result. Far away on the horizon you descry the gigantic “Twigga”--as the Waswahili call it--but every attempt to approach is in vain. Then, all of a sudden it may happen--as it did once to me near the Western Njiri marshes, Nov. 29, 1898--that a herd of giraffes passes quite near you without fear. On the occasion in question, as is so often the case, I had not my photographic apparatus at hand. I could have got some excellent pictures with quite an ordinary camera. The giraffes came towards me until within sixty paces. They then suddenly took wildly to flight. The little herd consisted of nine head: an old very dark-spotted bull, a light-spotted cow, three younger cows with a calf each, and finally a young dark-spotted bull. Orgeich and I had been able to observe the animals quietly as they stood, as if rooted to the spot, with their long necks craned forward, their eyes fixed upon us.[15] I cannot explain why the animals were so fearless on that occasion. It was a most unusual occurrence, for ordinarily giraffes manage to give the sportsman a wide berth.
Again, it may happen, especially about midday, that the hunter will sight a single giraffe or a whole herd at no very great distance. At these times, if one is endowed with good lungs and is in training, one may get close enough to the creatures before they take to flight.
Or it may happen that you will sight giraffes about noontide sheltering under the fragrant acacia trees. I remember one occasion especially, in the neighbourhood of the Gelei volcanic hills. I had hardly penetrated for more than about a hundred and twenty paces into an acacia wood, when I suddenly saw the legs of several gigantic giraffes--their heads were hidden in the crowns of mimosa. The wind was favourable. I might within a few minutes find myself in the middle of the herd! But, a moment later, I felt the ground tremble and the huge beasts with their hard hoofs were thumping over the sun-baked ground. They crashed through the branches and fled to the next shelter of mimosa trees. Although I might easily have killed some of them, it was absolutely impossible to take a photograph. But I was at times more fortunate in snapshotting single specimens. Carefully and cautiously, I would creep forward, of course alone, leaving my people behind, until I came within about twenty paces of the giraffe. By dodging about the trees or shrubs near which it stood I have sometimes managed to obtain good pictures of the animal making off in its queer way. The utmost caution was necessary. I had to consider not only the place where the animal was but the position of the sun, and that most carefully. The possibility of photographing giraffes with the telephoto lens is very slight indeed. One’s opportunities are turned to best account by the skilful use of an ordinary hand-camera.
In this way, also, I managed to get pictures of the peculiar motion of giraffes in full flight. My negatives are a proof of the comparative ease with which native hunters may hunt giraffes with poisoned arrows. I have often met natives in possession of freshly killed giraffe flesh.
In most cases bushes and trees are a great hindrance to the taking of photographs, especially of large herds. At such times it was as good as a game of chess between the photographic sportsman and the animals. For hours I have followed them with a camera ready to snapshot, but the far-sighted beasts have always frustrated my plans. Thus passed hours, days and weeks. But good luck would come back again, and I was sometimes able to develop an excellent negative in a camp swarming with mosquitoes.
It is especially in the peculiar light attendant on the rainy season and amidst tall growths that giraffes mingle so with their surroundings. It is only when the towering forms are silhouetted against the sky that they can be clearly seen on the open velt. At midday, when the velt is shimmering with a thousand waves of light, when everything seems aglow with the dazzling sun, even the most practised eye can scarcely distinguish the outlines of single objects. By such a light the sandy-coloured oryx antelopes and the stag-like waterbuck look coal-black; the uninitiated take zebras for donkeys--they appear so grey--and rhinoceroses resting on the velt for ant-hills. But giraffes especially mingle with the surrounding mimosa woods at this hour in such a way as only those who have seen it could believe possible.
When you see these animals in their wild state, your thoughts naturally revert to the penned-up tame specimens in zoological gardens or those preserved in museums. Well do I remember that the first wild zebra I saw looked to me little like a tame specimen in a zoological garden.
The death-knell of the giraffe has tolled. This wonderful and harmless animal[16] is being completely annihilated! Fate has decreed that a somewhat near relative should be discovered in later days--namely the Okapi, which inhabits the Central African forests. It may be safely asserted that these unique animals will exist long after the complete extermination of the real giraffe. The species of giraffe, however, which has been dying out in the north and south of the African continent will be represented in the future by pictures within every man’s reach. Every observation as to their habits, every correct representation obtained, every specimen preserved for exhibition is of real value. And this I would impress on every intelligent man who has the opportunity of doing any of these things out in the wild.
Professor Fritsch saw giraffes in South Africa as late as 1863. Shortly before these lines were printed he gave a glowing account of the impression they then made on him, an impression which was renewed when he saw my pictures.
Large herds of giraffes still flourish in remote districts. My friend Carlo von Erlanger, whose early death is much to be regretted, found the animals particularly timid in South Somaliland when he traversed it for the first time. A fine stuffed specimen of these beautifully coloured giraffes is to be found in the Senckenberg Museum in Frankfort-on-Maine. An illustration gives the head of a giraffe killed by my late friend, and proves to the reader how much the two species differ--namely the South Somaliland giraffe as here depicted,[17] and that which I was the first to discover in Masailand. We have in Erlanger’s diary and in this illustration the only existing information about the presence of the giraffe in South Somaliland, a region which none but my daring friend and his companions have so far traversed.
Hilgert, Carlo von Erlanger’s companion, mentions the frequent presence of the South Somali giraffe, but says that they showed themselves so shy that the members of the expedition generally had to content themselves with the numerous tracks of the animals or with the sight of them in the far distance.
Meanwhile an effort is being made to save and protect what remains of the giraffe species in Africa. But there is little hope of ultimate success. I do trust, however, that a wealth of observations, illustrations, and specimens may be secured for our museums before it is too late. In this way, at least, a source of pleasure and information will be provided for future generations, and the giraffe will not share the fate of so many other rare creatures which no gold will ever give back to us.
With sad, melancholy, wondering eyes the giraffe seems to peer into the world of the present, where there is room for it no longer. Whoever has seen the expression in those eyes, an expression which has been immortalised by poets in song and ballad for thousands of years, will not easily forget it, any more than he will forget the strong impression made on him when he looked at the “Serafa” of the Arabs in the wilderness.