Excerpt from Brotherhood of the Trees By Richard St. Barbe Baker
(Original spelling, punctuation and grammar retained.) Chapter V
A Buffalo Hunt
One evening one of the young forest dwellers came to my tent with unaccustomed haste to tell me that his brother had just been killed by a buffalo. It appeared that several of them, armed merely with bows and arrows, had attempted to shoot the ‘King’ of a dangerous herd; for in every herd there is a leader or King who is generally the strongest and fiercest of them all. This wild buffalo had charged at sight, knocked down his victim and full of rage at having been hunted proceeded to vent it upon this unfortunate man. The poor fellow was terribly smashed up and died a short while afterwards. The tragedy was recited to me in detail, and as I listened to the lurid story, a great feeling of pity came over me; added to that was a strong desire to exterminate the brute who had taken from me one of my forest friends, and in the hearing of all present I promised to hunt down the buffalo and have revenge. Turning to the boy I said, ‘I have heard your story. You will sleep under my tent flap to be near at hand, and to-morrow very early we will start out together; and I will not rest until I have slain the buffalo which killed your brother.’ Dismissing the carriers who were standing round the camp fire I sent them to bed and quickly turned in myself, while the tired boy curled himself up under the flap of my tent and was soon asleep. Next morning we were away long before dawn. Our route took us through the little camp where the boy had lived. His mother came out to meet us, and standing in the morning moonlight with hands outstretched she called upon the God of the Forest to give skill to the hunters. We first went to the scene of the tragedy and carefully noted the footmarks of the buffalo and from there set out along a well beaten game trail leading towards the drinking place – a water hole in the forest – which was frequented by the herd. Here my guide was confident that he would find the spoor of the buffalo. Carefully he walked round the water hole, every now and again stooping close to the ground to make a more thorough inspection of some hoof mark. Soon he measured with his closed hand the width of an exceptionally large impression made in the damp sand by the buffalo. I had been leaning against a tree close by, watching his investigations with interest, but for the moment taking no actual part in them. I could see now that he had found what he was looking for, and from this stage onwards there was no hesitation. At once he gave me the direction and in a few seconds we were following hard on the track of the savage beast which, not many minutes before had been drinking at this very hole. It was dawn and easy, even for me, to see in which direction he had gone. Although there were other buffalo in the herd this lad had got the culprit properly marked down and no time was lost in following up the track. Now and again the tracker would stoop and pluck a blade of grass which had recently been bruised by the foot of the animal in passing. Such is the skill of these sons of the forest that they can readily tell by examination of such a blade how long ago the game has passed. As we proceeded the bush became more and more dense, and although we were following in the trail of the buffalo, at times we had to crawl on our hands and knees to get through the entanglement of scrub. We followed with the greatest care and precaution, fearful lest the sound of a breaking twig should betray our presence, for we knew full well that if the buffalo scented us first there would probably be another tragedy: a charge by the infuriated buffalo, a short sharp shock, and all would be over with one or both of us. While I was leading the way, with great caution following stealthily the now well defined track, my follower suddenly caught at my shirt sleeve bringing me to an abrupt standstill. With every muscle tense he silently drew himself up close to me. I could feel his heart beating as, intently peering over my shoulder, he raised his chin slightly protruding his lips to indicate the direction of the quarry. There, not ten paces away, stood the King of the herd – the man-killer. Although we were so close to him, my view was obscured by the dense scrub and all I could clearly see were his nose and the tips of his horns which indicated that they were enormous. For the rest, all that was visible was the merest outline of his huge body. The instinct of self-preservation caused me involuntarily to look around for a tree behind which to shelter, but a glance showed me that there was nothing of the kind in the immediate vicinity. It was indeed a tight corner. In my endeavour to get a shoulder shot a twig snapped and our lives hung in the balance for the next few moments. There was a terrific snort and for a terrible two seconds it seemed as though the whole herd were charging down on upon us, but what actually happened was that they most unexpectedly cleared off in the opposite direction. I got up from my crouching position and measured ten paces from where I had been to the foot marks of the buffalo. Apparently his cow had been lying in front of him and the remainder of the herd on the other two points of their triangle. It is a well known fact that in these forests buffalo, when they lie up for the day, always make this formation, one of them taking turn to stand and be on guard at his point of the triangle until relieved by another, so that from whichever way an enemy may approach he will be observed by one of the three standing animals and the alarm will be given.
I was unwilling to return to camp after having been so close to the quarry without having fired a shot. However, the brother of the dead boy protested that it would be impossible to get another chance of coming close to the herd again that day, so I decided to return to camp. The bereaved mother came to welcome me as a victor and it was hard to have to confess myself defeated. Somehow I felt I had failed her, and I determined then and there that I would not return a second time without having made the buffalo pay the penalty for the killing of her son. That night I could not sleep, and the next morning the hunt started even earlier than before. It was an easy matter to reach the water-hole and pick up the spoor from there and follow up the buffalo into the forest. This time I had made up my mind that I would shoot if only I saw so much as a square inch of him at which to aim. After a wonderful exhibition of tracking on the part of my guide we eventually came upon the herd, and this time good fortune was on my side, for my bullet found its mark. As we followed up, after a few minutes pause, we came upon the blood spoor which proved that although the herd had vanished the buffalo had been wounded. I continued in hot pursuit for about an hour, though fully conscious that I was taking big risks, for a wounded buffalo is prone to circle round and hunt the hunter. By this time the sun was high in the heavens and soon we were tracking in great discomfort owing to the intensity of the heat. It was now several hours journey from water, and in a part of the forest which was quite unknown to me. Anxious lest I should get hurt, four of my men had taken upon themselves to follow me at a distance, and as we were slackening our pace these men came up to me and at once suggested that it was high time to give up the chase and return to camp. In the circumstances it seemed foolish to continue the pursuit, but I would not listen to them, for I was determined to get the buffalo. We had now come to a small opening made by a wind-felled tree, and here we sat down to rest for a few minutes, all the time with ears strained for any sound of breaking twigs which might indicate the whereabouts of the buffalo. Just then a little bird burst into song. It seemed to me that he was singing ‘Embali kidogo, Embali kidogo’ (a little farther on, a little farther on). Turning to my followers I whispered, ‘Do you hear what the little bird says? Embali kidigo, Embali kidigo. Shall we continue or return?' These good fellows just looked hard at each other and, after a slight pause, by general consent decided to continue the chase. Once more we pushed on along the same old trail, with the sun all the time getting hotter and hotter. Another hour passed and although I felt that we must now be very close to our prey my followers again began to talk of camp, one of them reminding me that we were traveling all the time in the opposite direction. For the second time we sat down to rest, and I quietly told them that whatever happened, for my part I was determined to catch up with the wounded buffalo and finish him off. Secretly I was in a quandary, for I knew that unless I could persuade them to continue with me there would be very little chance of my ever being able to get back to camp. On the other hand, what seemed to me more important than anything else at the moment was success, for if I had returned unsuccessful, I felt that I should have lost my chance of making good with my friends, the forest dwellers. Not knowing the country, I realized my entire dependence upon the knowledge of these four bushmen, and yet I hardly dared to give them a direct order to continue when it might be a question of life or death for them. While I was turning over the situation in my mind one of them picked up something from the ground, and I said, ‘What is that?’ It was a tiny tick. The boy knew that it had been brushed off the buffalo’s back by an overhanging branch. I placed it on the open palm of my hand and in a flash I had an inspiration. Looking into their faces I said, ‘Let the tick decide. If, when I place it on the ground, it walks in the direction of camp we will return but if it walks in the direction of the buffalo we will continue.' With brightened faces all agreed that this was a very good idea, for it was ‘Shauri ya Mungo’ (God’s business) to decide. I put the tick on the ground and all eyes were turned upon the oracle. The insect remained motionless for a moment and then, in the intense silence, it seemed that he deliberately made off in the direction taken by the buffalo. Without another word each man rose to his feet and the chase was continued. We had not gone very far when we realized that we were close upon our quarry. In the distance I heard a breaking twig and simultaneously a gentle pull at my sleeve made me look round cautiously. My hunter friend was staring back on our track where there was an ominous crashing of bush as the buffalo, who had circled round, suddenly turned and charged down upon us. Dropping on my knee I fired just in time. The shot staggered him, he swerved from his course and fell, but was instantly on his feet and with lowered head again dashed onwards towards me. There was not a moment to be lost for he was now almost on top of me. I had no time to take careful aim, but as good fortune would have it my shot found its mark and the great ‘King’ of the herd lay dead at our feet. The news of the kill spread far and wide in the mysterious wilderness way, and the forest dwellers hastened from their remotest fastnesses to meet the returning hunters. For my part I hastened back by the forest track and found the bereaved mother reclining with her back against the trunk of a giant tree, her hands folded in front of her in quiet contentment; with eyes glistening with tears of joy she welcomed us back from the chase. No mere words were spoken, but her ‘Thank you’ was none the less eloquent for all that.
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