While my husband was absent at the Coast, something happened to reduce his work very much in one way. The natives had been continually coming to him to be cured of those ailments to which they were subject. Indeed after one marvelous cure, under the providence of God, of a man who had a serious, longstanding problem, there was a rush of patients, some of whom came twenty to forty miles for his treatment; and he was consequently in high repute among the natives. His mode of helping the people, however, was more in the direction of good advice regarding their food and the use of water, rather than in the dispensing of drugs.
During my husband's absence on his journey to the sea, a native chief came to me in great distress one day, to see if I could do anything for a wife of his who was dying. After asking him regarding the symptoms manifested, I thought that it was probably a case in which I might be able to help.
Getting my Arabian donkey saddled, I immediately mounted, and taking a couple of the men with me, proceeded towards the village, the chieftain following in the rear. Our way lay across a very rough country interspersed with steep, wooded ravines, through which it was difficult for my brave animal to make his way. After arriving at the little village, I crawled on my hands and knees into the grass hut where the native woman lay. The inside of the hut being in absolute darkness, all I could do was to feel the patient, and the woman was so ill and in such agony that she could not answer any of my questions. I suggested to the chief that she should be carried outside, into a little secluded bower in the adjoining forest, but to this he gave a blank refusal, and said she would surely die if she was removed from the hut. Knowing that it was impossible to help the woman where she lay, I persisted in my request, and at last the chief complied with my desire and had her moved to a natural booth in the bush. After some little time I was able, with the help of the Lord, to bring relief to the poor woman, who had been for many hours in the direst agony and pending danger of losing her life. The chief told many people about the thing, and from that time forward both men and women flocked to me for help under all possible conditions, and so a portion of my husband's time was released for other much-needed work. When out on our itinerant wanderings one day, we were greatly surprised to hear the natives call a boy by the name of "Muzungu," which is the Kikamba term for "white man." My husband was so struck with the absurdity of a jet black young native being called whiteman, that he fully inquired into the cause of the seeming abnormality in their means of naming children.
It was, however, found that the boy had been born on the day we first camp on the hill where our station was eventually built; and the arrival to their country of the white-faced stranger was an event of such moment and importance to them, and also simultaneous with the birth of the child, that the coincidence resulted in this ebony-skinned youth being called Muzungu. What seemed at first to us a breach of the usual manner of obtaining names proved to be only further evidence of their unchangeable and conservative custom of calling children after circumstances associated with their birth.
They adopt much the same plan, too, in the names they give to Europeans. When the Government took over the country and the railway line was being built, the natives got in touch with various white men, and were quick to notice their varied peculiarities, as well as the variation of each facial expression, walk and manner. Almost invariably the natives gave their own names to these individuals, because of some distinguishing characteristic which came before their notice.
The natives of these parts are never able to catch the correct sound of European names, and, inasmuch as their own language is exceedingly fluent and every word, and indeed every syllable, ends in a vowel, they cannot pronounce any word which ends in a consonant. If they ever attempt to do so, they predictably add a vowel sound to the final consonant.
My husband and I once traveled a few hundred miles in the heart of Africa with a saintly Christian Missionary, who was called by the natives Bwana Kijiko, which means Mr. Spoon. After we camped with him for some time, it became quite evident why our friend bore this personal title. He was, what every traveler in Central Africa ought to be, a splendid cook. When we arrived in camp after the day's march, he was usually seen with a big spoon in his hand mixing some dough for bread or pancakes, or preparing some other nutritious food which was tempting alike to the eye and taste.
In journeying with our companion, Bwana Kijiko, my husband got a name for a few weeks, which neither he nor I deemed at all complimentary: it was Bwana Pombe or Mr. Beer. This term requires some explanation, for my husband, since he became a Christian when quite a young man, never drank alcohol.
The natives of the district, through whose country we were passing, brewed a liquid from millet grain which they called "pombe." It was of the consistency of ordinary gruel, and no doubt was a nourishing food to the natives of the district. The pombe being somewhat fermented, our valued friend used it as yeast for raising his bread.
One day after our march was over, he came to our tent and told us that there could be no bread that evening, for he had found it impossible to get any pombe with which to bake. My husband at once volunteered to remove him from the difficulty, and, taking three or four men and a small vessel for the barm, together with suitable barter goods, he scoured the district, roaming through every outlying village in search of the leavening fluid. He separated his few men, sending one to this hut and another to that, in search of the pombe. At last perseverance was rewarded, and the vessel was brought back with an adequate supply for baking several loaves of bread; but my husband had already earned his title of Bwana Pombe, which fortunately did not outlive that journey.
The more permanent name of Bwana Simba, or Mr. Lion, survived several years. This name was given to my husband, I think, because of his fearless manner in dealing with the spear-armed natives of the interior, and his courage in approaching the wild animals of the forest.
In the Ukamba country there was granted to him the name of Bwana Kivila, which means, "Master of the Carrying Chairs." For the transport of our children and myself up into the interior of the Equatorial Regions, my husband designed special carrying chairs, and had them made in London for the journey. These were found to be light, strong and comfortable, and a great improvement upon the hammock. In passing up into the interior, these chairs occupied an important position in the caravan, and as nothing of the kind had ever been seen entering that part of Central Africa before, the natives at once named my husband, Bwana Kivila—kivila being their name for a seat of any kind; and by this title he is still known among several tribes, throughout an extensive region of East Equatorial Africa.
One traveler in the same district was known as Bwana Kikombe, or Mr. Cup and Saucer, to give it a free English translation. During a time of shortage of food, he measured out the daily supply of grain to his followers in his own teacup, one cupful to each forming the ration of the day's food, which is rather a small supply for a full-grown native.
Another European friend who was rather short and fat was known by the name of Bwana Mwato which signifies Mr. Honey Barrel. The natives hollow out sections of giant tree trunks, and so chip them that they taper at the ends and bulge in the center. These, after being finally prepared, are suspended from the limbs of prominent trees in the forest, so that bees may be enticed to come and lodge in the empty wooden receptacles, and therein deposit their juicy honey, perfumed with the odor of the forest bloom. The keen-eyed natives had seen a resemblance between the physical shape of the plump stranger and that of the hollow cylinder in which their honey is stored, and hence stereotyped their thoughts in the title given.
To the natives every white man must have an title, and none could be distinguished by one of a more caloric character than that of Bwana Maji-ya-moto, or Mr. Boiling Water. One might be at a loss to know how such a name could be acquired, but in reality there is no difficulty, and in this case was doubtless contracted because of his insistence upon cleanliness.
Some men are not particularly careful about being clean in their habits, and they will cross the jungle for days even in the rainy season, without using much of either soap or water. This habit is perhaps induced in the wilds by the shortage and turbidity of water in some regions throughout the long dry seasons.
The European, however, who is particular about having his wash at the end of every day's march, and who always calls out on arrival in camp for his boiling water to prepare the bath, is laying the foundation for the honorable title of Mr. Boiling Water, which will cling to him as long as the present generation of natives shall exist.
A traveler may be as eminent a philosopher as Newton, or as profound a mathematician as the Egyptian Euclid; but if he is constantly calling out for boiling water, this is to the native a remarkable event, and the trait of a man’s character which is most apparent to his view, forms the basis of his new African name.
During the past ages it has been general, among the Akamba and other tribes, to set fire to the bush and grass over the entire area of their vast territories, twice every year at the end of each dry season. The first season of drought, which is for three months, usually ends in March, and the second, covering five months, ends with October, there being eight months in the year in which not a drop of rain may be expected to fall.
Several reasons motivate the natives in burning the surface of their country. The attacks and marauding incursions of the surrounding tribes have usually been made at those periods of the year when there is considerable cover given by the long grass and the leafy bush, as the success of a plundering expedition depends very much upon making a hidden approach and a sudden and unexpected attack. When the long grass is dry enough burn the natives fire the whole surface of the earth, so that the enemy may be deprived of cover and for this reason unable to attack them by surprise.
There are also other considerations leading them in this matter, the chief of which is the fact that the burning of the old, sun-dried grass, just before the rainy season, ensures sweet, succulent pasture for their herds of zebu cattle, and fresh herbage for their flocks of goats.
One might imagine that in these fires the trees of the nearby forest would be destroyed, and the young trees and short bush wiped out. The trees, however, are protected by fire-resisting bark, under the shelter of which the sap flows quite freely, even after the country has been swept by a forest fire, in which the flames have risen fifteen to twenty feet high. After the rains, even the low, blackened bushes and stunted scrub soon spring up as green and fresh as ever.
The natives do not burn the whole surface of the ground at once, for then a time would come when there would be nothing for their flocks and herds to eat; and indeed it would be impossible to do so, for the vegetation of the country only ripens for the fire in places, according to the moisture-retaining ability of the ground. The higher areas soon become crisp and dry with the scorching, torrid sun, and are then ready for firing, while the deep, well-watered valleys, covered with high luxuriant vegetation, remain juicy and green through many months of drought, and can only be burned when the long dry season is almost over.
During two or three months of the year immense fires spread over the land. At times, in the calm, stifling atmosphere of the day these fires burn slowly, but, with the cool breeze of evening, they become furious, and the surging flames leap and hop along on their devastating path.
From our lonely Mission Station, which was located on a hill allowing a view of fifty miles, the scenes we witnessed, during those months when the jungle around us was lit up with blazing flames, were truly magnificent. Sometimes the entire landscape of forest tableland was so lighted with the miles upon miles of rolling flame of varied brightness, that one would think several gigantic cities were ablaze. In most cases the grass huts of the natives are built beside natural clusters of fire-resisting, evergreen bush, but, if not, there is planted around their dwelling-places a belt of juicy, succulent shrub, called movoo, which is most tenacious of life and through which it is impossible for fire to pass.
Oftentimes our station was in great danger from these fires, and on several occasions we had some narrow escapes. We used every precaution possible, and had the surface removed from a six-foot belt of earth right around our station and garden. Due to the rapid jungle growth of the tropics, this extensive excavation had to be cleared of plant life twice every year. Even with all our precaution we suffered loss at times, and on one occasion the flames crossed over the cleared ground, with the result that our church building caught fire.
My husband heard the crackling roar of the flames, and, rushing down towards the building to see if all were safe, just arrived there at the moment of ignition. He was able to climb the building, and making his way along the roof, began to throw off the part where the fire had caught. It was too late. The increasing flames burnt and singed his face and soon drove him back, and in a few minutes the large building was enveloped by the fire. We were quite contented that the church had been burnt down, for we had fully determined that the next one we built would be located outside our own boundary and considered the property of the natives. For the church building and another thatched building we were about to put up, there was required a large quantity of the midribs of a species of palm which were found to be excellent for roofing purposes. To obtain these my husband got together a plentiful body of natives, and, taking our eldest little boy with him, he set out to bring home a caravan of this building timber.
There were large quantities of it within thirty miles of our station, on the banks of the Athi river; but a few miles further north, at the great falls of a tributary stream, in a deep gorge near to the meeting of these two rivers, there was a limited belt of palms which shot up heavenward to a great height, and these were considered superior to all others. In that direction the long caravan made their way for several hours without a break.
It was desirable that these men should have some flesh to supplement their small supply of grain. Near the drinking places, animals were gathered in huge numbers; but, the moment they sighted the large caravan of men, they scampered off in troops, leaving the wilderness deserted and lonely.
Some way ahead, on the backside of an empty ridge bordering the wooded jungle, there was seen a rhinoceros, with a long, straight horn of about three feet running out from his nose, while the posterior horn seemed of insignificant proportions. This pachyderm would have fed even twice the number of the caravan for several days, but, due to the position he held, it was most difficult to approach near enough to get in a sure and unfailing shot.
Leaving his little son in charge of the caravan beneath an overspreading tree, and taking only his gunbearer, my husband started off, determined to secure the rhinoceros for his large band of porters. Choosing an indirect course with the wind in his favor, he and his men crawled through the bushes in the direction of the huge beast; but progress was slow and difficult, and both the gunbearer and his leader were getting a little nervous, not yet knowing the exact position the animal occupied, or if he were moving toward them. On they pushed, however, through the thick jungle, sometimes on hands and knees and again flat on their face, while shoving the rifle on in front. As they drew closer to the spot, the breaking of a rotten twig, or the rustling of the dry leaves on the ground over which they moved, sent a thrill through their veins, fearing the nearby beast might hear the sound, and rush for them while they were unprepared.
Eventually they reached the border of a narrow, open glade and got a glimpse of the massive brute, who had evidently caught their smell, for he was wheeling about terribly enraged, and smelling the air which was already pregnant with human odor.
The sight of the huge horn on the tip of the monster's nose was so terror-inspiring that my husband thought it wise to lose no time, and immediately covered the animal and fired. The huge beast plunged towards them on being struck, and then, changing his mind, swerved off and disappeared over the ridge on which he had been sunning himself.
My husband and the gunbearer followed with hurried steps, and caught sight of the rhino in the valley below, who was now making his way through long grass at an ordinary walking pace, and leaving a red trail behind him. It was clear that the animal had been badly wounded, and it seemed hopeful that the large caravan of men would soon get a plentiful supply of meat.
While cautiously tracking the rhinoceros spoor through the long reed grass, and threading his way as silently as possible, with head bowed low so that he might not be seen by the wounded animal, my husband was suddenly clutched with a deathlike grip by the gunbearer, who sought to stop his progress, while, with the index finger of the other hand, he tragically pointed into the reeds before their feet.
My husband was struck with amazement when the native grasped him so violently by the arm; but when he cast his eyes in front and saw there, not more than nine feet distant, a huge lion, the shock was indescribable. The feline was furiously enraged and apparently prepared to spring. My husband instinctively stepped backward, with his eyes intently fixed upon the lion's glaring pupils. The native did likewise, until both were about six or seven yards from the monster. Never for a moment did they cease to concentrate their keen gaze upon the fierce and piercing eyeballs of the lion.
The magazine of my husband's rifle was full of small, steel-pointed bullets, suitable for penetrating the enormous bones of the rhinoceros. Had he fired one of these at the lion it would have gone through his soft body like a needle, and, though mortally wounded, he could have killed the two men in a moment.
Asking the Lord to direct him what to do, he felt that he ought not to fire; and, to his great relief, the lion rose up and bounded off in the direction of the wounded rhinoceros, the odor of whose bloody trail had evidently excited his feline ferocity.
This sudden meeting with the King of Beasts interfered with the further pursuit of the rhino, and my husband returned to the place where he had left the caravan with his young son. He, too, had had a thrilling experience in the time, under which he acted with great wisdom of mind. Within the space of a short time several rhinos had been seen, some of which charged down upon the waiting men. They were able to flee with the pace of gazelles hither and thither, and hide in nooks and holes or clamber up the trees, but our little man was not able thus to escape.
He looked round at the big tree behind him, and saw that it was impossible for him to climb it, as it ran up unbranched several feet from the ground. His quickness of thought under emergency, however, came to his aid, for catching hold of one of the big strong natives he asked him to stand underneath a limb of the forest giant, and, climbing the shoulders of the native, he caught hold of the bough of the tree and soon placed himself upon it in perfect safety. While there he saw four rhinoceroses, one of which charged past the tree blowing furiously as he ran wildly. The long caravan of men then pursued their path across the trackless wilderness, towards the place where the palm trees flourished.
The majestic, enchanting falls were reached in the evening and the camp pitched within five hundred yards of the roaring waters. Darkness was setting in, and as soon as the fires were lit and the two riding donkeys staked near to them for protection, the weary men were lying around munching the boiled grain which they had brought in little satchels of goat-skin. Soon the tired porters were asleep, and no bellowing of wild animals or roaring of the waters disturbed their slumbers till the dawn of the following morning.
They were then sent to cut down the long midribs which towered forty to sixty feet high, lop off their feathery ends, and land them on the plateau above the falls. This was difficult and tedious work and occupied the men many hours of the day.
While they were working, my husband and son were greatly interested and amused with a large colony of baboons, which had taken up their dwelling in the steep, rocky fastnesses on the further side of the river. With a pair of field glasses, the movements of these animals were scrutinized for hours at very close quarters. Never before had such an opportunity presented itself of witnessing the home life of these bad-mannered monkeys.
When the sun rose fairly high in the heavens, the mothers brought out their little babies from the caves for an airing and went about with them under their arm. Rarely did they take the upright stance, and that only when about to climb a ledge of rock or tree, and then they balanced themselves by catching hold of some support with one hand.
The natives were greatly amused when my husband told them that there were a few white men who thought that men were the descendants of monkeys. Some of the natives lay down on their backs and giggled with laughter at the idea. The natives are very keen zoologists, and critically and minutely observe the animal life of the forest, and are confident that the buffalo, zebra and elephant and many other four legged animals are possessed of an infinitely higher intelligence than that of any of the monkey tribes of tropical Africa. In fact, the sharp natives of the Equatorial Regions look upon the ape and other species as being stupid animals of weak intelligence, having much less cunning and cleverness than even the jackal or the wild hunting-dog of the wilderness, and they unanimously declare that the different species of monkey never mix or interbreed.
I have often been amazed that some European so called wise men regard it as incredible that the pale and dark, the red and yellow races of mankind sprung from a single pair (Adam and Eve), and yet seem to have no difficulty in believing that all mankind have been evolved from the ape. This is certainly "straining at the gnat and swallowing the camel." Or to put it another way, stupidity.
The baboon of tropical Africa is not at all a progressive animal, and does not help very much the theory of evolution, which at times has been suggested by some. The mummified forms of baboons which were swathed and embalmed in Egypt five thousand years ago are identical with the baboon of to-day, even to the shape of his finger nails.
This animal is indeed slow in availing himself of the benefits of evolution. From the vantage ground of crag or tree-top, he has witnessed for untold centuries the human native making fire with his two simple fire sticks, and then feeding the created flame by adding dry, broken branches from the jungle. When the native leaves red-hot embers in the forest and makes his way home to the grass hut, sometimes inquisitive monkeys are attracted by the fire, just as are the huge pachyderms, and will draw near to it and enjoy the heat; but throughout these long ages there is not the faintest tradition than any monkey has ever been known to place a single stick on the coals which have been kindled, though bundles of dry, forest wood have often been left by the native beside the smoldering remains of his jungle fire.
When the colony of baboons had retired to their caves for the night, and the porters of the caravan had secured large piles of midribs of palms from the islets in the tumbling river, the camp was vigorously droning with the wordy chatter of the large native following, as they sat by the fires at their evening meal of mbemba.
In that company, men of various opposing tribes mingled together for the first time in perfect harmony. Through the influence of the white man, Akamba, Kikuyu and Masai warriors, who had often thirsted for each other's blood, were now eating out of the same pot. When the evening repast was over they sat there side by side, listening to the message that God "hath made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on all the face of the earth," and that He had so loved them as to give His only begotten Son, "that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have everlasting life."
In the darkness which immediately followed the setting of the sun, the camp was kept in a feverish state of excitement owing to the unusual numbers of leopards which swarmed about the falls and were heard grunting in the bushes around the camp. Some additional logs were therefore thrown on the fires, so that the increased flames might make the camp more safe from a sudden attack of the wily animals.
Four different kinds of cunning leopards roam that wilderness, two of which, the king'alang'ala and molothi, are large and powerful beasts and very persistent enemies of the natives. These animals commit more devastation among the domestic flocks and herds than even the lion himself. Due to their insatiable thirst for blood they will kill three or four animals at a time, although they can only carry one of these away.
Soon the silent moon rose over the camp, and shed her soft silvery light through the waving fronds of palm, and shimmered on the turbulent waters of the river, turning the darkness of night into a lively scene of romantic beauty. Beside the blazing fires the natives reclined, while they chatted of their adventures and various incidents in their wild life of the jungle.
Most of them had engaged in several murdering and marauding raids. One sturdy big fellow, a Mukamba, who was covered with thirteen long scars, which appeared in different parts of the body from the head to the lower limbs, gave in short, graphic sentences his terrible experience. As he told his tale every native listened with eager ear and parted lips.
He, with a large band of other warriors who had no cows with which to buy wives, started on a raid in the neighboring country of Kikuyu, with the hope of capturing young women, or cattle with which to purchase them in their own country. Reaching the borderland, at a point where maidens were cutting firewood in the forest under the guard of some warriors, the marauders divided themselves into two groups, one of which was to surround the girls and rush them off while the other section was to attack their defenders. The story teller was in the first party, and due to the long grass they were able to crawl up unseen to within a few yards of where the girls were swinging their tomahawks, while they chanted a native song. At a given signal the attackers leaped from their cover and surrounded the girls, driving them off, while the forest rang with their shrieking screams.
Meantime, the other company of Akamba were engaged in a hand-to-hand fight with the warriors, whose duty it was to defend the maidens, and who were present in such overwhelming numbers that they soon defeated the attacking force. They then dashed after the captured women in the hope of recovering them.
At first a stand was made by the Akamba, but the oncoming host of warriors led them to realize the futility of battling against such odds, and they sought to escape. It was, however, too late: they were already partially surrounded, and the story-teller had been the first to fall, with the slashing cut of an ovyu—a long, heavy, three-foot blade- on the forehead.
For some time he lay unconscious, and then, awakening, he saw that the sun was just about going down, and knew that he had been lying there from the time the blazing sun had been in the high point. The marvel was that his eyes had not been picked out by a vulture.
He then found that all over his body were huge, gaping wounds. Shoulders and arms, ribs and buttocks were all marked with long, wide-lipped gashes. Around him he could see the lifeless forms of his comrades. He knew that to lie there any longer would mean certain death, for carnivorous beasts were already starting out on their nightly ramble.
He rose and fell, and rose and staggered and fell again. Ultimately on foot and knee he made his way into a dense thicket, and there lay awake until the light of another day dawned, and, having recovered strength, was able to make his way to his grass booth among the rugged heights. The long, white, ropy seams which marked his stalwart frame confirmed every word of his thrilling experience.
The next to speak was a broad-shouldered, strong fellow of medium height, whose name was Muzyemi, The Hunter. Before he spoke he got up to his feet, and then bending his head to his knees, he began thus:—"Tazama mwonga mwakwa" (Look ye at my back!) From the shoulders right down to the hips ran several longitudinal marks, while over the ribs on one side of the body a few large-sized, puckered scars were visible. Sitting down by the fire he told his story.
He had been out with three other warriors hunting when they sighted some zebra. While he was crawling along the bank of a dry river-bed in order to get within arrow-flight of the prey, he came suddenly upon a lion in the grass. Turning his back to flee, the beast gave him a stroke of his paw, which sent him headlong to earth, and tore his body in strips from below the loins to the top of the neck.
The lion then caught him by the flesh below the shoulder blade and carried him off in his mouth. He was thus carried for a long time, during which period he was quite conscious and suffering very little pain, and the lion, evidently to rest himself, laid him down on the brink of the dry river-course. There he lay on his side looking at the lion, while he was aware of the fact that immediately below him was the sandy bed of the dried-up stream. Every moment the native expected the teeth of the fierce beast to crunch through his skull or body, when he would take him up again in his mouth.
For a moment the lion was attracted by something behind him, and turned round his shaggy-maned head to look in that direction, when the native instantly whirled over, quick as lightning, into the sandy gully below, and fled along the dry bed as fast as a man could run away. The noble though ferocious lion never attempted to follow him, and was obliged to start on a fresh search for his evening meal.
The next adventure was from the lips of one of the flesh-eating, grain-hating tribe of Masai, the very sound of whose tribal name has often stricken with terror multitudes of the less courageous and bloodthirsty tribes of the interior. His story, however, was not of scenes of cruel carnage, which to them were quite commonplace and familiar but of which these warriors never speak.
He was a man who had charge of our donkeys, and was one of the most faithful Masai we had ever known. As he lay there in the red glow of the fire, he looked like a Grecian athlete carved in ebony. Like many of his clan, he was gifted with that natural dramatic expression which gives such a charm to some of the words of these naked sons of the wilds.
The warrior, raising his out-stretched palm before the listening camp, said that when he was a little boy, 'so high,' it was his duty every morning after sunrise to herd the zebu calves, in the green field on the border of the forest, where stood the low, flat, dung-plastered booth which to him was known as home.
When the sun rose about half way between the horizon and the high point, while the little fellow was lying on his face on the green grass, basking in the tropical sunshine, he became aware of the fact that there was something approaching behind him. Believing that the footsteps he heard on the soft, grassy turf were those of his own little herd of frisky calves, he paid no further attention, until he felt something touch his back like the hand of a man.
Then rolling himself face upwards he was terribly upset to find a huge wild elephant of the jungle standing over him, flipping his body with the long, nimble trunk. He feared to move lest the huge monster might thrust him with his ponderous, gleaming tusks, or place his broad, heavy foot upon his body and crush him to the earth. He dare not call for help, for, being a child of the wilds, he was wise enough to know that his screams would only anger the beast and speed up his own destruction. Though suffering with mortal fear, he lay calm and still, looking up at the huge monster of the forest.
In a moment or two the elephant caught the boy with his flexible trunk and lifted him up on to his back, and moved off at a walking pace with the little fellow sitting with a leg on each side of his neck. On went the mammoth emperor of the woods through open glades and sheltered dells, carrying the frightened but patient youth balanced high on his shoulders.
With the wisdom and cunning of his tribe, the young native had already begun to weigh and consider how he might make his escape. He knew that though high in air he could easily glide down the side of the animal to the ground, as he had often slipped down the ledges of rocks near to his own bush camp, but then the animal would be likely to kill him the instant he would reach the earth. With extreme acuteness and resource the Masai boy determined on grasping the first overhanging branch of a tree which might come within his reach, and then climb immediately beyond the range of the extended, strong trunk of the elephant.
Never for a moment did the gigantic animal pause on its march into the unknown depths of the wilderness. Across flowing streams and over open, undulating wooded ground, he passed with his quick long stride, but never entered underneath a low-branched tree to give the boy a chance of carrying out his plan.
A long distance had already been traveled and the sun was waning, when every hope of deliverance gone from the heart of the native boy, as the huge brute pressed forward into a low, long, treeless valley of quagmire and muddy swamp. There was then no possibility of escape either above or below. With that cool indifference which characterizes the native of the wilderness, the youth clung to the elephant while he plunged through the marshy area, although at times he had to close his eyes when the monster splashed the mud in air.
On rising from the low-lying valley, the animal made his way over a grassy plateau towards the border of a dense forest, and the terrified lad was once again filled with hope of clutching at some drooping branch and thus making good his escape. As the elephant drew near jungle, the boy braced himself up for a mighty effort to get out of the animal's reach at the first chance, but, to his amazement, the moment the beast arrived at the edge of the forest he suddenly stood still, and, raising his strong trunk over his shoulders, he caught the boy and laid him carefully down among the fallen leaves of the forest. He then swept his trunk along the ground, and gathering up the leaves into heaps, he covered with them the body of the youth, who lay perfectly still under the procedure. After the gigantic elephant satisfied himself that the boy was comfortably covered, he walked off into the forest.
When the sound of the crashing footsteps became faint, the boy rose from his leafy bed and ran as fast as his thin little legs could carry him. Avoiding the great swamp, he made his way through an open, bush country, in the direction in which he believed his village lay. When the sun was about sinking in the western sky he climbed a tree in the forest, and found that he had then only cleared the long, swampy valley which lay a short distance behind him.
Quenching his thirst at a stream, he sought a large tree in an open part of the forest, and climbing into the topmost branches he selected a safe resting-place for the night. There he sat listening to the sounds of the owls in the neighboring trees, and the roaring of the carnivores which prowled the jungle around him.
In the dawn of the morning he was on his homeward way through bushy wilderness and over hill and dale, until, weary with exhaustion, he once more climbed a giant tree to rest himself in safety. While there he heard human voices in the forest, and thinking that some plundering natives of another tribe were near at hand, he lay flat along one of the huge boughs, so that he might not attract attention if they chanced to pass close by. After a little time he could detect that the men in the forest carried the spears and shields of his own tribe, and making his way to earth he ran towards the warriors, and found that they were out in search of the boy that had been lost.
With such thrilling stories of life in the wilds, the natives entertained the camp, until the moon was high in the heavens, shedding her radiant light over the midnight countryside. It was time to go to sleep, for an early start had to be made in the morning with heavy loads of midrib timber, and the conversation was suddenly ended by the voice of my husband calling out in abrupt tones, "Kukilya twana twangu! Mamai!"—"Be silent, my children! Go to sleep!"