Volume I, Order Cheiroptera, Order Insectivora, Order Carnivora. With 18 Photogravures by the Author; 31 Coloured Plates by the Author, Archibald Thorburn, and G. E. Lodge; and 63 Uncoloured Plates by the Author, and from Photographs.

Volume II, Order Carnivora (continued) and Order Rodentia. With 21 Photogravures by the Author, H. Grönvold, G. E. Lodge, and from Photographs by D. English; 19 Coloured Plates by Archibald Thorburn and G. E. Lodge; and 33 Uncoloured Plates by the Author and from Photographs.

Volume III, Rodentia (completion), with the Hares and the Rabbit; the Cervidæ (The Deer family); the Bovidæ (the Oxen), and the Cetaceæ (Whales). With 23 Photogravures from Drawings by the Author, H. Grönvold, and E. S. Hodgson; 12 Coloured Plates by the Author, A. Thorburn, and H. W. B. Davis, R.A.; and 44 Uncoloured Plates by the Author, A. Thorburn, Sir Edwin Landseer, and from Photographs.

Ancient and modern heroes—The character of Selous—The Selous family—Edmund Selous' notes—An artistic and ancient race—Selous' parents—Family life—Selous' father—Some of his reminiscences—His mother—His uncles—Selous' childhood in London—Early schooldays—Selous' own story of his youth—His first battle—Youthful adventures—His athletic prowess—Life at Belton

He enters Rugby—Love of books of travel—Life at Rugby—Rugby football in the old days—"Butler's leap"—Excursions in Natural History—Adventures out of bounds—The Pilton Range episode—Raid on the Heronry at Coombe Abbey—A cold swim—Unjust treatment—Wanderings with the rifle—Chased by the keeper—Mr. Boughton Leigh's broad-mindedness—The ice accident at Regent's Park—The panic—A narrow escape—Canon Wilson's recollections of Selous as a schoolboy—"Williamson's" duck—Neuchâtel—Wiesbaden—His friend Colchester—A row with the forester—He flies to Salzburg—Butterfly collecting—Chamois hunting—The Franco-German War—Its unpopularity in Austria—His estimate of the German character—Visit to Vienna—Back in England

The influence of literature—Books on Africa—Thomas Baines—Baldwin—Selous lands in Africa—Leaves Port Elizabeth—Sport on the road—Arrival at Kimberley—A short expedition into Griqualand—Starts for the north—His companions—The first giraffe hunt—Lost in the bush—An unenviable position—Loses his horse—Reaches safety—His first lions—Meeting with Lobengula—The Matabele king's humour—Cigar—Elephant hunters—Piet Jacobs—William Finaughty—His life as an elephant hunter—Selous kills his first elephants—Cigar's good qualities—Selous remains in Matabeleland—Joins Wood in an elephant hunt—A great day—A fatal accident—The Dett valley—Elephant hunting—Charged by a cow—A narrow escape—A doubly loaded elephant gun—Further adventures with elephants—Return to Bulawayo—Game in the Dett valley—Selous goes north to the Zambesi—Visit to the Chobe—Begins his collection of trophies—Adventures with buffaloes—Abundance of game—His first lion—A savage charge—Arrives at Tati

Lands again at Algoa Bay—Reaches Matabeleland—Kills a fine lion—George Westbeech—Return to the Diamond Fields—Loses a fine lion—The comparative danger of hunting various wild animals—Views of experienced hunters—Adventures with buffaloes—Goes north to the Zambesi—Hunting in the Chobe delta—Sepopo's elephant drives—A charging buffalo—Selous' horse killed by a buffalo—Further adventures with buffaloes—Their speed and cunning—A depressing outlook—Visit to the Zambesi—Portuguese misrule—The Kafukwe country—An unhealthy region—Illness of Owen and Selous—Restored to health—Elephant hunting on the Hanyane river—Clarkson and Wood—The death of Quabeet—A vicious cow—Nearly crushed—Kills a lioness—Plans for the future

Intends to visit the Mashukulumbwe country—Expedition into the northern Kalahari—The Botletlie river—Adventure with lions—The difficulties of the Thirstland—The Mababe flats—Oxen nearly exhausted—Finds water—Kills two lionesses and two fine lions—Hunting on the Linyanti and Chobe—The death of French—Sick with fever—Causes of the Zulu War—The magnanimity of the Zulus—Selous' visit to Cetewayo—The story of John Dunn—McLeod of McLeod—The Swazi king's reasoning—Selous' views on the Zulu War—Sir Godfrey Lagden—Selous again goes to Matabeleland—J. S. Jameson, some details of his life—Expedition to Mashunaland—Return to England—Causes of the first Boer War—Selous' first book—Slaughter of game in South Africa—The ethics of Big Game hunting

Return to South Africa—Intends to be an ostrich farmer—Goes north again—The snake-stone—Collecting specimens of big game and butterflies—A bold lioness—Visit to Khama—Lion attacks the camp—Death of the lion—Laer's narrow escape—Kills a leopard—Reaches the Zambesi—Goes south and then returns to Mashunaland—The Manyami plateau—A savage leopard—Adventure with a lion—The hippopotamus row—A poor outlook—Visit to the Mababe—A man-eating lion—Return to Bulawayo—The white rhinoceros—A wonderful herd of elephants—A great day spoiled by a sulky horse—Frequently charged by elephants—A savage cow—Curious magnanimity to a horse—Liechtenstein's Hartebeest—A gallant sable antelope—Havoc amongst the dogs—Danger from wounded sable and roan antelopes

Expedition to Mashunaland with Messrs. Jameson, Fountaine and Cooper—A serious accident—Sets out for Barotsiland—Arrival at Wankie's—Extortion by the Batonga chiefs—Monzi—The Mashukulumbwe—Into the jaws of death—Attack on Selous' camp—Selous escapes south—Pursuit by the natives—Lucky meeting with a Wildebeest—His rifle stolen—Nearly shot—Reaches Monzi's village—A dangerous position—Marancinyan—Suspicious friendship—Moves south with guides—Meets some of his men—Their adventures—Reaches Panda-ma-tenka—Sikabenga's treachery—Crosses the Zambesi again—Wanderings in Barotsiland—Return to Bamangwato

Expedition to the Mazoe river—Reaches Tete—The extortions of Maziwa—Mapping the new country—Discovery of Mt. Hampden—Trouble with the Portuguese—The importance of Mashunaland to Great Britain—Selous' scheme of occupation—Rhodes' plans—Lobengula and Cecil Rhodes—The Charter of the British South African Company—Selous' proposed road—The pioneer expedition starts—The cutting of the road—Lobengula's ultimatum—The road complete from Tuli to Salisbury—Treaties with local chiefs—The Odzi road—The Portuguese attack Massi-Kessi—A fiasco—A night with lions—Visits the Pungwe district—A great game country—Progress in the new country—Leaves South Africa—The Hartley Hills lion—An unfortunate miss-fire—A gallant foe—Death of the lion—Lion hunters—The brothers Hill—Methods of hunting—Sir Alfred Pease—Selous' writings—The Government neglect of science—The jealousy and poverty of scientific societies—America's good example—The miserable treatment of African explorers—Selous and Rhodes—The rewards of hard work—The pioneer's only monument

Cupid at work—Engagement to Miss Maddy—Intends to visit America—Trouble in Matabeleland—History of Matabele raids—The position in 1893—Hunters enter Matabeleland—Selous returns to South Africa—Joins Col. Goold-Adams' column—Preliminary fights—Selous wounded—The first battle—The Matabele retreat north—Disaster to Major Wilson's column—Selous' prophecy—Return to England—Marriage—Honeymoon on the Danube and in Asia Minor—Hunting in the mountains of Asia Minor—Leaves again for Mashunaland—Essex vale—The new Bulawayo—The cloud of trouble—The Umlimo—The rising of the natives—The defence force—Col. Johan Colenbrander—Driven from Essex vale—Isolated engagements—The fight on the Umguzra—Selous surrounded—His horse runs away—His life saved by Capt. Windley—A narrow escape—Work on the main road—Arrival of Sir H. Plumer—Mr. Labouchere's views of the second Matabele War—The future of S. Rhodesia—The difficulties of farming there—Markets too distant—Selous attacked by Labouchere—Messrs. Rowland Ward and Co.—Their kindness to Selous—The Nyala—Expedition to the Pongolo and Usutu rivers—An unhealthy country—Return to England

Selous' restlessness and love of travel—Roosevelt on the charms of travel—Criticism of travel books—Selous as an egg collector—Second visit to Asia Minor—Short excursions at home—Goes with his wife to the Rockies—Wapiti hunting—Roosevelt on past and present hunting in N. America—Hunting chamois in Transylvania—Selous on the second Boer War—An Imperialist, but always fair—His sorrow as to the causes of the war—Personal knowledge of the Boers—An honourable foe—Their ignorance and good qualities—Selous' views on their unjust treatment—Letter to the "Speaker"—Roosevelt on the Boers—Birds'-nesting on the Danube—Hunting moose in Canada—Newfoundland caribou hunting on the railway—A poor sport—Goes into the interior—Too late for the migration—Second visit to Newfoundland—A successful expedition—Third visit to Asia Minor—First expedition to East Africa—A big game paradise—Birds'-nesting at home—First expedition to Alaska—Visit to the Ogilvy Mountains—Up the North Fork of the MacMillan—Kills a bull moose—Osborn's caribou—A great moose—Bad weather—Third trip to Newfoundland—A wet season—King George IVth Lake—A bad year for heads

A visit to Bosnia—Second expedition to Alaska—Down the Yukon—Up the South Fork of the MacMillan—Caribou, wolf and moose hunting—His sympathetic nature—Account of the MacMillan trip—Again visits Asia Minor—Financial depression—Arthur Neumann—Some details of his life—Reindeer hunting in Norway—African nature notes and reminiscences—Letters from President Roosevelt

Roosevelt's expedition to Africa—Selous' arrangements—Selous joins Roosevelt at Naples—Goes to the Northern Gwas N'yiro with MacMillan—Fails to obtain lions—Accident to Mr. Williams—Selous at Vienna—Warburton Pike—Expedition to the Bahr-el-Ghazal—Goes to Tembera—Phil Oberlander—Killed by a buffalo—Some stories of Oberlander—Selous' hunt for the Giant Elands—A hard trip—Illness and rapid recovery—Third expedition to East Africa—Judd's adventure with a lioness—Roosevelt on African hunting—Physical limitations—Selous' last buffalo—A gallant foe—Elani his Somali nearly killed—Dislike of crowds—Visit to the Channel Islands—Roosevelt on the early Normans—Heatley Noble on Selous—Their expedition to Iceland—Selous' imperturbability—His powers as a climber—Selous' idea of a good dinner—Selous on his Icelandic trip—Yearnings for Africa—Young Fred Selous—A true son of his father—His athletic prowess—An excellent airman—His untimely death

Visit to Texel Island—Intends to make expedition to the Bahr-el-Ghazal—Frustrated by the war—Selous' patriotism—Efforts to serve—Lord Kitchener thinks him "too old"—Col. Driscoll and the War Office—At last taken for service in East Africa—Selous' account of the capture of Bukoba—Letter to Heatley Noble—The position in East Africa in 1915—Letters to the author—German ascendancy—The Indian Government forces—Precarious position of the British forces—Intends to publish his experiences—Roosevelt's letters—German thoroughness—Roosevelt anxious for America to join the Allies—Letters to the author on the difficulties of the campaign—Unfortunate mistakes—The Munyamwesi—Wonderful fighters—Advance to Kilimanjaro—General Smuts in command—Description of the advance—A deadly climate in the wet season—Returns home for an operation—Again leaves for the front

The last journey—Arrival at Tanga—German East Africa in 1916—The difficulties of the campaign—Progress by General Smuts—The Royal Fusiliers go to Mikesse—A fearful march—General Smuts on the action at Beho-Beho—Selous' gallantry—His death at the head of his men—A noble life—Captain Haines on the last days of Selous—Selous' grave—General Smuts on the future of German East Africa

Untiring energy as a hunter—His modest requirements—Rifles—A story of his practical nature—Sir Alfred Pease on Selous as a hunter and naturalist—The average of shots required in various lands—Selous as a hunter—His love of the shot-gun—Perseverance to excel—The Brocklehursts—A lover of cricket—Bicycling—The triumph of physical fitness—His personal magnetism—Memory—Powers as a story-teller—Diffidence—Inclined to melancholy—The spring of perennial youth—The force of heredity—Slatin Pasha's estimation of Col. Marchand—Selous' opinion of Marchand—Powers of speech—His independence of thought and action—Literary gifts—Kindness of heart—Hatred of crowds—The perpetual call of the wild—Home-sickness—The nostalgia of travel—A great reader—His preferences in literature—Personal friends—Hospitality at home—Lewanika's fears—His attitude towards religion—Roosevelt on Selous—Selous' great influence as a pioneer—A noble life and a fitting end

Index

"... I can only say generally, that my father was a man of high and varied talents and very high character, of French, or at any rate, Jersey descent, and that he started with nothing in life, and with only such education (beyond what he owed to his mother, an uncommon woman, who probably did better for him) as an ordinary private school had afforded, equipped himself with French and Italian in perfection, entered the Stock Exchange at an early age, had a successful career there, and rose to be Chairman of its Committee. He was a fine whist and chess player (more especially, or more notedly, the latter) and was reputed, I believe, at one time, to be the best amateur player of the clarionet. Music was his constant and greatest delight, but his pen was also an instrument which (though he sought no public beyond his friends) he often used very entertainingly. He was a brilliant—often a witty—talker, with a distinction of manner, more French- than English-seeming in its light debonairness, and his individualities, traits, foibles, etc., were so many and vivid, that to write either of him or of Dr. Johnson with scanted pen, would be much the same thing. My two uncles, the artist and dramatist, who lived next door, on each side of us, would also require portraiture for anything beyond this bare statement. Both were out-of-the-canvas-stepping personalities, carrying with them atmosphere and aroma.

"My mother was an exceptionally thoughtful and broad-minded woman—more advanced, on most subjects, than where they stand now—a vivid and vital being, of great vivacity, gladness (that never was levity) and conversational powers, with a gift for the interchange of ideas (which is not, by any means, always the same thing). She was also a poet, as her little volume of collected pieces, 'Words without Music' (a modest title) testifies, at least to myself. She had joyous 'L'Allegro'-like country instincts, a deep inborn love of the beauties of nature (which[4] she sketched charmingly), and great feeling for, and interest in both plant and animal life. I underline that word, in its last connection, because killing was quite another thing for her, and her whole soul shrank away from it. But of course, as you know, what, in root and origin, may be the same, is often differentiated in the sexes, and so inherited by each. It was, I think, undoubtedly through our mother (though he did not, personally, much resemble either parent) that my brother inherited everything that made him distinctively himself. By this I mean that though much and that the best—as, for instance, his patriotism and love of truth—may have come to him from both sides, and some from the other only, it was that one that gave to it, and the whole, its original life-shaping turn. The whole was included in the blood of the Bruces of Clackmannan, representative, I believe, of the elder branch of the family that gave Robert Bruce to the throne of Scotland, but what exact position, in our family tree, is occupied by Bruce, the Abyssinian explorer, I do not quite know. However, he must have been some sort of ancestor of my brother, and Bruce, since the intermingling, has been a family name, though not given to any of us surviving infancy, owing to an idea which had arisen, through several instances of such association, that it had become unlucky. In this regard, it has been rather the patronymic, which, from one war to another, has borne the malevolent influence. None have come back, either wounded, invalided or at all. All killed outright—but this by the way. Had it not been for my mother, therefore, my brother, in all probability, would either never, or not in any preponderating degree, have felt the 'call of the wild,' for my father not only never felt it, but never was able to comprehend the feeling. There was, in fact, nothing at all in him of what was my brother's life and being. He was, in the proper evolutionary sense of the word, essentially a civilized man and a Londoner. Sport was, for him, an unknown (and much disliked) quantity, and though taking, in an air-tight-compartment sort of way, some interest in insects, he had not much about him of the real naturalist. Those feelings (imperishably[5] summed up by Jack London in the title of his masterpiece) which, coming out of a remote past, beckon back the only supposedly or but half-made-up civilized amongst us, from late into early conditions, were not, as I say, his heritage; and this was equally (or even more) the case with his brothers—my two uncles—and as far as I know or have ever heard, all the precedent members of the family. I believe, therefore, that by the intervention—merciful or otherwise—of the Bruce, Sherborn, and Holgate families, between them, my brother was saved, or debarred, from going either into the Stock Exchange or one of the settled professions. Which kind of phraseology best suits the conjuncture I know not, but I think I know what my brother's own opinion would be, since it put the particular circumstances of that event of his life, in which, of all others, he would esteem himself most happy and fortunate—I mean his death—upon a footing of certainty.

"I have alluded to my brother's independence of home (or, I think, of any) influence. I look upon him as a salient illustration of Darwin's finding that the force of heredity is stronger, in the individual, than that of education and surroundings. So far back as I can remember—at least with any distinctness—he was always just himself, with a settled determination that, in its calm, unobtrusive force (giving the idea of inevitability) had in it something elemental. He may not have lisped Africa (which was far from the family thoughts) but, if not, he, at least, came so near to it, as to have made us all almost remember that he did. He seems to have brought with him into this world 'from afar,' a mind long made up as to the part he should play in it, and his career was more than half run before any circumstance admitted by him as deflective from its true course, arose..."

"We lived in Gloucester Road, Regent's Park, in a house my father built for himself. At that time there were no other houses near, but all fields between his home and Primrose[6] Hill, some way off; but this superior state of things his children never knew. Our uncles, my father's brothers, lived on either side of us. My father was vice-Chairman of the Stock Exchange for five years, and Chairman for three, until a very serious illness obliged him to resign and give up everything in the way of work. He was a fine chess player, his name is to be seen in the games amongst those of the great players of the day. He was also a very fine clarionet player, which instrument he taught himself when very young, and I well remember his beautiful tone, far beyond that of Lazarus, the chief professional player of the day, who no doubt sacrificed tone to technique. Whenever there was a speech to be made my father was equal to the occasion, having great fluency and humour and real wit. He was a delightful talker and his memory was a store-house of knowledge and recollections that he could draw upon whenever required. He was a very genial and admirable host, very high-spirited and excitable. He could never forget the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, when the Huguenots, his forebears, were driven from France. 'They turned us out! They turned us out!' he used to say to my mother, a real thought of bitterness to him. His greatest pleasure and relaxation was a walking-tour in Switzerland, a land he specially loved. He had often been there with one or other of his brothers, or with his great friend Baron Bramwell, the famous judge. These trips must have been ideal, my father and his brothers having in themselves everything that was necessary to make them gifted in all the arts, and so appreciative of nature and everything else, and with their lively sense of humour and wide interests they were able to extract the most from all they might chance upon in their travels, those being the days before tourists flooded the country and huge hotels swamped the more interesting inns. My father loved the busy life of the City, and had no country tastes such as farming or hunting, but he delighted in the life by the river—in canoeing, specially—and in a farmer's country home in the Isle of Wight, where, when we were children, we spent the summers. He was a fine swimmer and would swim out with one or other of us on his[7] back. I well remember his energy, mental and physical, were remarkable. The loss of sight seemed only to affect his later years. His mind was clear and equal to dealing with his affairs to the last. At a very advanced age he had started tricycling and delighted in it. I think my father and my brother Fred were very dissimilar in character, interests and tastes. There was no 'call of the wild' in my father—nor, I think, in my mother, except through her imagination. My father left a few reminiscences which were never finished, as dictation tired him—he was then over eighty and blind. They are full of interesting memories which end unfortunately when he was still very young."

"I was born," writes my father, "on the 9th of March, 1802.... I was a precocious child, for I was told that I knew my letters at about two years of age, and could read at three and a half and recite on a table at about four. I perfectly recollect declaiming the quarrel between Brutus and Cassius in Shakespeare's 'Julius Cæsar.' Also I remember the announcement of the death of Nelson in October, 1805, and witnessing his funeral procession in January, 1806.[1] I was perched on the shoulders of a journeyman baker named Guesnel at the corner of Poland Street, from whence I beheld the catafalque containing the remains of the illustrious Nelson, the whole affair resembling much the interment of the Duke of Wellington, which I witnessed in 1852—forty-six years later. My brother Harry (the artist, H. C. Selous), who was thirteen months younger than I, remembers witnessing this spectacle too.... I can recollect weeping bitterly at hearing the first news of our great admiral's death, and the awe and wonder with which I looked upon the ceremony of his interment.... I was sent to school at Islington at the age of seven, and upon the master desiring me to read from a book which he gave to me he expressed himself so surprised at my reading that he told my mother he would not put me into any of the reading classes of the upper boys, as I should put them to shame. [8]I was at that time so strong and so hungry that I frequently carried some of the biggest boys round the playground (which was a large one) for an extra slice of bread and butter with which they repaid me. I was at school about a twelve-month and then came under my mother's care for instruction, and to her I owe more than I can possibly express with regard to my early education. She taught me the French language, Greek and Roman history, and the three R's—reading, writing, and arithmetic. When I was ten years, I was sent to a school called the Burlington school, where I improved my French, became a tolerable Latin scholar, and gained a smattering of mathematics. After being for two years at this academy, I was recalled to home rule and education and never had any further instruction from master or professor. At this time my brother and myself were allowed to wander about the streets uncontrolled and might have been considered as a sort of street Arabs, though we always selected our associates carefully." (Later on my father had to work very hard, very long hours, up till midnight four days in the week, but it did him no harm, and he was very strong and active. A great part of his time was occupied in reading every variety of book he could get hold of, from which he gained much general information, having an unusually good memory. Plutarch's lives were his first admired works. Pope, Addison and Johnson came next. He made the acquaintance of some of the celebrated Italian singers and learnt to speak their language fluently. All this part about the Italian singers is very interesting, and many things connected with the theatre likewise.)

"I also witnessed another performance which shocked me more than anything I ever beheld, for I was then very young. It was in 1815 or 16, I think, I happened to be rather early one day in my long walk to Great St. Helen's, which took me past St. Sepulchre's and the broad opening to the narrow streets of the Old Bailey. The sun was shining brightly across Newgate, and on chancing to look towards Ludgate Hill I saw dangling to a beam at the west side of Newgate five human beings suspended by the[9] neck. One of them was a woman, who with a feeling for symmetry had been hung in the centre. All five had white night-caps drawn over their faces to conceal the horrible convulsions of the features. I don't know what their crimes had been, people were hanged in those savage days for stealing a shilling, or even cutting a stick from a plantation. The time appointed for cutting down the bodies had nearly arrived, and the crowd had diminished to an apathetic group principally engaged in cracking nuts and jokes, and eating brandy balls all hot; but horror gave speed to my steps and I soon left hideous Newgate behind me. I recollect a great sensation caused by the execution of Fauntleroy for forgery." Here end these notes by my father.

"I think I remember rightly that at fourteen my father was not only making a livelihood for himself, but supporting his father and mother. He was most charitable and had the kindest heart in the world, and that high sense of honour which so distinguished his son. I think that though these few extracts from his reminiscences are not, perhaps, of importance, yet they throw some light on my father's character, and indirectly it may be on my brother's also, for certainly in strength of purpose, energy, and will to succeed, also in vigorous health and constitution, they were alike. They also had both a great facility for learning languages. We were amused to read in a book on African travel by, I think, a Portuguese, whose name for the moment I forget, that he came across the great hunter (I forget if he put it like that) Selous, 'somewhere' in Africa, who addressed him in the French of the 'Boulevard des Italiens!' As I think this traveller was supposed to have a lively imagination, we accepted Fred's superior accent (after so many years of never speaking or hearing French) with some grains of salt. But not very many years ago at some international meeting to do with sport, at Turin or Paris, Fred representing England, he made a speech in French, on which he was much complimented, for accent, wit, and fluency alike.[2]

"My mother,[10] like my father, had a wonderful memory, and was a great reader, from childhood, her home possessing a big library. Scott was her great delight then, and indeed always, and poetry was as nectar and ambrosia to her. She had great facility in writing herself, very charmingly, both poetry and prose, all of the fantastic and imaginative order, and she had quite a gift for painting. Considering all the calls made on her time, of home and family (social, likewise), which were never neglected, it was wonderful that she could yet find time for all her writing and painting. Her perseverance and industry in the arts that she loved were really remarkable. We children greatly benefited by her love of poetry and story, for she was a true 'raconteuse' and we drank in with delight the tales from the old mythologies of romance and adventure. She would tell us of deeds of 'derring-do' and all that was inspiring in the way of freedom and love of country. Certainly with her, as with Sir Edward Clarke, poetry was 'a never failing source of pleasure and comfort' to the last. (As it was also with me.) In the last year of her long life she could still repeat her poetic treasures with the greatest fire and spirit. She had a vigorous and original personality, with strong and decided views which she would express with energy. Her hands were full of character, strong yet most delicate, and much character in her features, with a smile that lit up her face like a ray of sunshine. Her maiden name was Sherborn—Ann Sherborn—(her mother's maiden name, Holgate).... Her relations and ancestors were county folk—gentlemen farmers some of them. The Sherborns of Bedfont near Staines, held the great tythe, and her uncle was the squire. None of the last generation married, the name has died with them and may be seen only in the little Bedfont churchyard.

"My mother's uncle (her mother's brother), William Holgate, was fond of searching out genealogies and he managed to trace the Abyssinian Braces until it joined our Bruce family tree. There were many original—and it may be eccentric—characters amongst my mother's relations and forebears, and many interesting stories that we[11] loved to hear, about them. Her genealogical tree interested us greatly, partly because the names were so curious, as it went back to the early days of history, and because of the stories connected with them, and also because if not Bruce himself, his elder brother, David King of Scotland, figured in it. Then there was Archbishop Holgate of York, who was a great rogue (I looked up his life in the Minster precincts when I was there) and hand and glove with Henry VIII in the spoliation of the monasteries, yet he redeemed himself by the establishment of Free Schools, which flourish in York to this day.

"It may be that this spirit of romance and adventure that we breathed in from our earliest years, had some influence on my brother Fred, and fired his imagination; but why from the very first there should have been the persistent desire like an 'idée fixe' for Africa, I cannot tell, unless, indeed, it might be something of 'Abyssinian' Bruce cropping up again. But as a child he would have a waggon for a toy, to load and unload, and for his school prize books he would always choose one on Africa. This desire for the dark continent remained constant in him till satisfied, and indeed to the last.

"My mother had quite an unusual interest in, and knowledge of, natural history, and my father also made some fine collections of butterflies, etc., which are still to be seen in my brother's museum. My father's youngest brother, Angiolo—a man of the most polished and courtly manners—was as dark as my father was fair. Entirely educated by his mother, there was little in which he did not excel. He had a beautiful voice and was a charming singer, often to his own accompaniment on the guitar, and was a well-known dramatist in his time, some of his plays being most successful. How well I remember the first night of his 'True to the Core,' when we all went across the river to the Surrey Theatre and helped with our feet and umbrellas in the general enthusiasm. He was a fine actor and dramatic reader, and a charming artist. We have a perfect gem of his—Don Quixote, sitting in his study—the colouring, the face and expression, the painting, are perfect, and one feels[12] that Don Quixote must have looked just so. The haggard face and the wild look in the eyes that are seeing visions. But it was unfortunate that my uncle neglected this talent altogether. My uncle, Harry Selous, was of course the artist, excelling chiefly, I think, in his beautiful outlines of the 'Pilgrim's Progress,' and his 'Metamorphoses of Ovid,' on which subjects he could draw on his imagination for ever, it seemed. It is a thousand pities they have never been produced. His illustrations of the Life of Bruce and Hereward the Wake are fine, and The Prisoners of Calais and Boadicea are well known. The latter most fine, I think. He would paint the most charming landscapes with great rapidity, and his chalk (coloured) and pencil sketches from his travels in Switzerland are charming too, and endless numbers of them. He painted some of the famous Coliseum panoramas, each in turn being painted out by the next one, which always seemed very dreadful. His original illustrations drawn on wood, were exquisite, and it was cruel to see how they were spoilt in the wood-cutting, but he valued his work so lightly that he did not seem to mind much about it. My grandfather, Gideon Slous, had a very great talent for painting, and was a fine colourist, quite like an old master, and he painted some beautiful miniatures also. He was a man of violent temper."

"One night my father on going round the dormitories to see that all was in order, discovered Freddy Selous, lying flat on the bare floor clothed only in his nightshirt. On being asked the cause of this curious behaviour he replied, 'Well, you see, one day I am going to be a hunter in Africa and I am just hardening myself to sleep on the ground.'"

"It was a damp and dismal winter's day towards the end of January, 1861, on which the boys reassembled after their Christmas holidays at a well-known school not far from London. Nevertheless, despite the gloom and the chilliness of the weather conditions outside the fine old mansion which had but lately been converted into a school, there was plenty of life and animation in the handsome oak-panelled banqueting hall within, at one end of which a great log fire blazed cheerfully. Generally speaking the boys seemed in excellent spirits, or at any rate they made a brave show of being so to keep up appearances, and the music of their laughter and of their fresh young voices was good to hear. Here and there, however, a poor little fellow stood apart, alone and friendless, and with eyes full of tears. Such unfortunates were the new boys, all of them youngsters of nine or ten, who had left their homes for the first time, and whose souls were full of an unutterable misery, after their recent partings from fond mothers and gentle sisters. The youngest, and possibly the most home-sick of all the new boys was standing by himself at some distance from the fire, entirely oblivious of all that was going on[14] around him, for he was too miserable to be able to think of anything but the home in which he had grown to boyhood and all the happiness, which it seemed to his young soul, he could never know again amidst his new surroundings.

"Now as it is this miserable little boy who is to be the hero of this story, he merits, I think, some description. Though only just nine years old he looked considerably more, for he was tall for his age, and strongly built. He was very fair with a delicate pink and white complexion, which many a lady might have envied, whilst his eyes sometimes appeared to be grey and sometimes blue. His features, if not very handsome or regular, were good enough and never failed to give the impression of an open and honest nature. Altogether he would have been considered by most people a typical specimen of an English boy of Anglo-Saxon blood. Yet, as a matter of fact, as in the case of so many Englishmen, there was but little of the Saxon element in his composition, for whilst his father came from the Isle of Jersey, and was therefore of pure Norman descent, his forebears on his mother's side were some of them Scotch and others from a district in the north of England in which the Scandinavian element is supposed to preponderate over the Saxon. But though our hero bore a Norman-French name the idea that he was not a pure-blooded Englishman had never occurred to him, for he knew that his Jersey ancestors had been loyal subjects of the English crown ever since, as a result of the battle of Hastings, Duke William of Normandy became King of England.

"It was not long before the new boy's melancholy meditations were rudely broken in upon by a handsome lad of about his own size, though he was his senior by more than a year. 'Hullo,' said young Jim Kennedy, looking roguishly into the sad, almost tearful, eyes of the young Jerseyman, 'who gave you that collar? Why, you look like Queen Elizabeth.'

"A fond mother had indeed bedecked her darling boy with a beautiful collar of lace work several inches in breadth which spread over his shoulders, but which he soon found it[15] advisable to discard as it made him the butt of every wit in the school. But though the collar was suppressed, the name of Queen Elizabeth, that august lady to whom Kennedy when first addressing him had declared that his mother's fond gift had given him a resemblance, stuck to him for many a long day.

"The laughing, jeering interrogatory, acted like a tonic on the new boy, who though of a gentle, kindly disposition, possessed a very hot temper. His soft grey eyes instantly grew dark with anger as looking his questioner squarely in the face he answered slowly, 'What is that to you, who gave me my collar?'

"'Hullo!' again said Jim Kennedy, 'you're a cocky new boy. What's your name?'

"'My name is John Leroux,' said the young Jerseyman quietly and proudly, for his father had taught him to be proud of his Norman ancestry, and had instilled into his son his own firm belief that the Normans were a superior people to the Saxons, than whom he averred they had done more for the advancement of England to its present great position, and for the spread of the empire of Britain over half the world.

"Kennedy repeated the unfamiliar name two or three times, and then with a derisive laugh said, 'Why, you're a Frenchy.' Now although it was quite true that on his father's side John Leroux was of Norman-French descent, for some reason difficult to analyse, the suggestion that he was a Frenchman filled his young heart with fury. His face grew scarlet and his fists clenched involuntarily as he answered fiercely, 'How dare you call me a Frenchy! I'm not a Frenchman, I'm an Englishman.'

"'No, you're not,' said Kennedy, 'you're a Frenchy, a frog-eating Frenchy.' Without another word young Leroux, from whose face all the colour had now gone, sprang at his tormentor, and taking him unawares, struck him as hard a blow as he was capable of inflicting full in the mouth. And then the fight commenced.

"Fifty years ago manners were rougher and ruder in these islands than they are to-day. Prize-fighting was a[16] respected and popular calling, and set fights between boys at school of all ages were of constant occurrence.

"A ring was soon formed around the combatants and though the majority of the onlookers resented what they called the 'coxiness' of the new boy and wanted to see him get a licking, there were quite a number of young barbarians whose sympathies were entirely with Leroux, for his pluck in engaging in a fight on his first day at school made a strong appeal to them. The boys were evenly matched, for though Kennedy was more than a year older, he was no taller, and little if any stronger than his opponent, who, moreover, had had a certain amount of instruction from his father in the use of his fists. The battle had lasted for some minutes, and had been waged with the greatest determination on both sides, and no very severe damage to either participant, when the door at the end of the room opened and Mr. Mann, the tall young Scotch mathematical master, strode into the room. Taking in the position at a glance, he elbowed his way through the crowd of boys, who were watching the fight, and seizing the combatants simultaneously, each in one of his strong large hands, he whirled them apart, and held them out of reach of one another, though they both strained hard to resume the fray.

"'You young rascals,' he said, 'why what on earth are you fighting about, and on the first day of the term too! Now tell me what on earth it was all about and make it up.'

"'He called me a Frenchman, and I'm not,' said young Leroux, and the stress of battle over, the poor boy commenced to sob.

"A more generous lad than Jim Kennedy never stepped, and at the sight of his adversary's distress, his dark eyes filled with tears, and as Mr. Mann relaxed his grasp on his shoulder, he at once came forward with outstretched hand to Leroux and said, 'I'll never call you a Frenchy again; shake hands and let us be friends.' And so the two tearful young Britons, each of whose faces bore some traces of the recent battle, shook hands and from that time forth, as long as they were at school together, became the most devoted of friends.[17]

"This was John Leroux's first introduction to school life. Like any other healthy vigorous boy, he soon shook off the despondency of homesickness, and became perfectly happy in his new surroundings. He worked well and conscientiously at his lessons, and played hard at all games, and was not only a general favourite with all his school-fellows, but was also beloved by all the masters in spite of the fact that his adventurous disposition was constantly leading him to transgress all the rules of the school. With young Leroux the love of nature and the desire for the acquisition of objects of natural history of all kinds was an inborn and absorbing passion. Before leaving home he had already commenced to make collections of birds' eggs and butterflies, and throughout his schooldays his interest in these and kindred subjects constantly grew. During the spring and summer months all his time that was not occupied in lessons or games was spent in birds'-nesting and collecting butterflies, whilst in the winter he trapped and skinned water rats and other small animals, and sometimes caught a stoat or a weasel. He soon became by far the best and most venturesome climber in the whole school, and there was not a rook's nest in any one of the fine old elms or oak-trees in which these birds built in the park in which the schoolhouse stood, from which he was not able to get the eggs, which for the most part he gave away to less athletic or adventurous collectors. After he had been espied on one occasion high up amongst the nests in one of the tallest elm-trees by the headmaster himself, who was genuinely alarmed for his safety, all tree-climbing in the park was forbidden. This rule was, of course, constantly broken, and by no one more frequently than by Leroux. However, as it takes some time to climb to a rook's nest, and as a boy is a conspicuous object amongst the topmost branches of a tree in the early spring before the leaves are out, our young friend was constantly being detected either by one of the undermasters or one of the men working in the grounds, who had all had strict orders to be on the watch. It was owing to this persecution, as he considered it, that Leroux conceived the idea of taking the rooks' eggs he wanted[18] at night, and with the help of Kennedy and another kindred spirit he made several raids on the rookery with perfect success when all the masters were in bed. The dormitories were on the first story and therefore not very high above the ground, and as the walls of the house were covered with ivy, it was not very difficult for an active boy to get out of the window and down or up the ivy-covered wall, with the help of the rope which Leroux brought from home in his portmanteau after one Christmas holiday. Having allowed sufficient time to pass after Mons. Delmar, the French master, had made his nightly rounds to see that all the boys were snug in bed, and all lights out, Leroux and Kennedy, who were in the same dormitory, and who had both apparently been fast asleep when the French master passed through the room, suddenly woke up and producing a candle and a box of matches from beneath their respective pillows, kindled a light and hastily made their preparations. The window having been softly opened, one end of the rope was fastened to one of the legs of the nearest bed, whilst the free end was lowered down the wall to the ground. This having been accomplished the candle was blown out, and then Leroux and Kennedy climbed down the ivy with the help of the rope. Although all the boys in the dormitory took the greatest interest in these proceedings and were ready to render any assistance necessary, a boy named Barnett always hauled up the rope as soon as the adventurers were on the ground, and hid it under the bed near the window in case of accidents until their return, for which he kept a sharp look-out. Once on the ground Leroux and his companion made their way to one or other of several large oak-trees in the park in which there were a number of rooks' nests; for these oaks were not only not as lofty as the elms, but were, moreover, much easier to climb. Kennedy, though a fairly good climber, was not the equal of Leroux in this respect, and after assisting the latter to reach the lowest branches, he always waited for his return at the foot of the tree. When the rooks were thus rudely disturbed at night, they always made what seemed to the two boys a most appalling noise, but if anyone ever heard it he never[19] guessed the true cause, or took any steps to investigate its meaning, and although during three successive years the two boys raided the rookery on several different occasions, their escapades were never discovered or even suspected. Once, however, they only just got back into their dormitory before the policeman made his nightly round. As a rule he did not make his circuit of the house flashing his lantern on all the windows until after midnight, but on the occasion in question he came much earlier than usual, and Leroux and Kennedy had only just scrambled up the ivy-covered wall, and reached their room with the assistance of the rope which the watchful Barnett had let down for them, when they saw the policeman's lantern flash round the end of the house, through their still open window, which they then closed very cautiously without making any noise. It was the policeman's nightly round of the house, which was thus so forcibly brought to his notice, that gave Leroux an idea, which he and Kennedy and Barnett, together with some other boys, subsequently acted upon with great success. This was nothing more nor less than to play a practical joke on the policeman by hanging a dummy figure out of the window one night, on which he would be sure to flash his lantern when he made his round of the house. In each dormitory there was a huge clothes-basket, not very high but very capacious, and choosing an evening when their basket was very full of clothes for the wash, Leroux and his friends, with the help of a bolster, a coat, shirt, and pair of trousers, and some of the contents of the clothes-basket, made a very good imitation of the figure of a boy. The top end of the bolster which was pinched in a little lower down by the shirt collar, made a nice round ball for the head, and on this a mask and a tow wig, which had been bought just before Guy Fawkes day, were fixed. Then the rope which had done such good service on the occasions of the raids on the rookery, was fastened round the dummy figure's neck, and the really meritorious imitation of a dead boy lowered out of the window and allowed to dangle some six feet beneath it. The head, which with its mask and wig of tow now hung over to one side, gave the somewhat[20] podgy and certainly very inanimate looking figure quite a realistic appearance. The work of preparing this figure after the French master had been round the dormitories, occupied the boys some time, and when at last, after the rope had been fastened round its neck, it was lowered out of the window, it was past eleven o'clock. The boys then took it in turns to watch for the coming of the policeman, each watcher kneeling at the window well wrapped in his bedclothes. It was Barnett who was on duty when at last the policeman came. 'Cavy,' he whispered, 'here he comes,' and all the boys, whose excitement had kept them awake, made their way to the window, across which the light of the lantern soon flashed. The result was immediate and exceeded the utmost expectations of Leroux and his companions. The policeman—a young man but lately enrolled in the force—was seen to be gesticulating and shouting at the top of his voice, evidently trying to attract the attention of those in the room above him, from which the boy figure, with its ghastly pale cardboard face, hung dangling at the end of a rope. There was, however, no response from the listening boys. Suddenly the policeman ceased his outcries, and running down the footpath turned the corner of the house. Immediately after there was a terrific banging at the front door, accompanied by loud shouting. 'Quick,' said Leroux, 'up with the window, and let's get the dummy in.' At the same time Kennedy ran to the further door of the dormitory and holding it slightly ajar, peered out on the landing, which overlooked the large hall at the end of which was the main entrance of the house from whence all the noise proceeded. And now anxious voices were heard, and lights appeared from all directions. 'Old Rex'—the headmaster—'has opened the hall door,' said Kennedy, 'and is talking to the policeman. My eye,' he continued, 'Old Cockeye's there too, she's crying out and snuffling like a good 'un.' I grieve to say that 'Old Cockeye' was the disrespectful nickname which had been given by the boys to the matron—a most exemplary lady with an unfortunate squint in the left eye. And now there was a babble of approaching voices[21] as the party in the hall rapidly ascended the staircase leading to the dormitories. Kennedy softly closed the door at which he had been listening, and already Leroux and Barnett had shut the window after having pulled up the rope with the dummy figure attached to the end of it, which was hastily thrust under the nearest bed. 'Mind we're all asleep; we don't know anything about it,' said Kennedy in a loud whisper as he jumped into his bed and composed his features into an appearance of placid innocence, which indeed was the attitude adopted by all the other boys in the room. Then the dormitory door was thrown wide open and the headmaster rushed in, candle in hand, closely followed by the policeman, the matron and two of the undermasters. At the same time the door of the other end of the room was flung open, and a strange half-clad figure, with wild eyes and candle in hand, came forward amongst the sleeping boys not one of whom, strange to say, showed the slightest sign of having been in any way disturbed by all the hubbub. 'Mon Dieu,' said Mons. Delmar, 'qu'est-ce qu'il y a donc?' as he ran to meet the headmaster. The latter was indeed a pathetic figure as he stood half-dressed looking round the room with wild eyes, his long grey hair falling over his shoulders. In his right hand he held a candlestick, whilst his left was clasped over his forehead. 'Great God,' he said, 'no—no—impossible,' as if talking to himself, and then suddenly turning to the policeman, 'Why, officer, you must be mistaken, every boy is here in his bed.'

"'I seed him, sir; I seed him with my own eyes, indeed I did,' answered the policeman.

"'Oh, deary, deary, deary me,' wailed the matron, whose unfortunate obliquity of vision had gained her so irreverent a nickname.

"'Which window was it, officer?' asked the headmaster.

"'The one near the end of the room,' replied the policeman. In another moment the window in question was thrown wide open and several heads were protruded into the cold night air.

"'There's nothing here,' said the headmaster.

"'Well, I'm ——' said the policeman, leaving it to his[22] audience to finish the sentence according to their several inclinations. At this moment an exclamation from the French master caused everyone to turn round. In his anxiety to get to the window, one of the undermasters had pushed the end of Leroux's bed sharply to one side—without however awakening its occupant—and exposed to the Frenchman's sharp eyes a portion of the rope which had been attached to the dummy figure which was the cause of all the excitement. Stooping down to catch hold of it, he at once saw the dummy under the bed, and pulled it out with an exclamation which Leroux afterwards affirmed was certainly 'sacré.'

"'Well, I'm ——' again said the policeman, without going any further, and so again leaving his hearers in doubt as to what he was. Old Rex, the headmaster, then seized Leroux by the shoulder, and shook him violently, but for some time without any other effect than to cause him to snore loudly; otherwise he appeared not only to be fast asleep, but to have sunk into a kind of comatose condition. At last, however, he could stand the shaking no longer, and so opened his eyes.

"'Do you know anything about this, Leroux?' said old Rex sternly.

"'Yes, sir,' said Leroux.

"'It was a cruel hoax,' said the headmaster.

"'I wanted to play a joke on the Bobby,' said Leroux.

"'Well, I'm ——' murmured that functionary, once more discreetly veiling any further information which might otherwise have been forthcoming by covering his mouth with his left hand.

"'Officer, these boys have played a shameful trick on you, but you did your duty. I'm sorry that you should have been disturbed in this way. Boys, I know you are all awake, I shall inquire into this matter to-morrow.' So saying, but looking very much relieved, the headmaster turned on his heel and left the room, followed by all those who had entered it with him after having been roused from their sleep by the policeman.

"Now 'old Rex,' the headmaster of the fine school at[23] which our hero acquired the rudiments of learning, was a reformer and an idealist, and corporal chastisement was never inflicted on the boys on any consideration whatever. The punishments for minor offences were various tasks during play hours, or compulsory walks conducted by old Rex himself, and which most of the boys rather enjoyed. For more serious misdemeanours the offending scholars were separated from their fellows, and placed in solitary confinement in a distant part of the house for periods ranging from a day to a week, during which they got nothing to eat or drink but dry bread with a mere trace of butter on it, and weak tea. As a sequel to the great dummy joke, the fame of which by some means was spread through all the neighbouring parishes, Leroux and Kennedy, who acknowledged that they were the ringleaders in the matter, were condemned to three days' solitary confinement, to be followed by various tasks and compulsory walks during the play hours of the following week, whilst the rest of the boys in the dormitory got off with some extra lessons to be learnt whilst their school-fellows were enjoying themselves in the playground during the next two half-holidays, and a long lecture on the heinousness of the crime, to which old Rex said with perfect truth he believed they had been willing accessories.

"After the perpetration of the dummy joke, however, the French master, whether on his own initiative or at the instigation of the headmaster, commenced to make himself a great nuisance, not only coming round the dormitories with a lighted candle as usual soon after the boys had gone to bed, but often returning later on without a candle and wearing carpet slippers. The single combats and inter-dormitory bolster-fights which were a feature of the school-life were constantly being interfered with. The door of the dormitory in which our hero slept had always to be kept ajar and a boy placed there to watch for the coming of Mons. Delmar when any fun was going on, and the suddenness with which at the single word 'cavy,' the confused noise of an animated bolster-fight was succeeded by the most deathlike stillness was truly astonishing. Before[24] Mons. Delmar could strike a light, every boy was not only in bed, but sleeping so soundly that nothing the puzzled French master could say or do could arouse them to consciousness. Various plans were discussed by the most enterprising boys in the different dormitories, with a view to discouraging these informal visits after the lights had been put out. One night a piece of cord was tied by Leroux across the gangway at about a foot from the ground between the two beds nearest the door of the room in which he slept, over which it was hoped Mons. Delmar would trip on entering. On this occasion, however, he did not enter the room at all, but after opening the door, lighted the candle he held in his hand and merely looked round, turning on his heels again without speaking a word. It was hoped that he had not noticed the string, and another opportunity might be given him of falling over it. On the next night, however, the boys in the adjoining dormitory set a trap for him by placing the large inverted clothes-basket over the half open door of the room, in such a way that it would, with reasonable good luck, be very likely to fall like an extinguisher over the head and shoulders of anyone entering the dormitory, and when Mons. Delmar presently pushed the door open, down came the large wicker basket. As it was dark it was impossible to determine exactly whether it came down over his head and shoulders or only fell on his head, but his candlestick was certainly knocked out of his hand and he swore most volubly in his own language. After having found and lighted his candle he first harangued his young tormentors, all of whom were apparently overcome by a deathlike sleep, and then went straight off to the headmaster's study. The result of his complaint was the infliction of certain tasks and compulsory walks on all the occupants of the offending dormitory, but after this there was no further spying on the boys. Poor Mons. Delmar! no doubt he had only been acting under instructions, though perhaps he entered on his detective duties a little too zealously.

"Altogether John Leroux spent four very happy years at his first school, and besides making good progress with his[25] lessons, showed great aptitude for all games and athletic exercises, especially football and swimming. Ever since the fight on the evening of the day of his first entrance to the school he and Kennedy had been the closest of friends. The two boys had paid several visits to one another's homes during the holidays, and it was chiefly because Kennedy's parents had decided to send their son to a great public school in the Midlands, for the entrance examination for which he had been undergoing a special preparation, that it was finally decided that Leroux should be sent to the same seat of learning. Up till then, however, Leroux, though well advanced for his age in all other subjects, had been spared the study of Greek, at the particular request of his father, who as a practical business man, looked upon the time spent by a schoolboy in acquiring a very imperfect knowledge of any dead language, save Latin, as entirely wasted. But to pass the entrance examination for any of our great public schools fifty years ago some knowledge of Greek was absolutely necessary, and so when Kennedy at the age of fourteen, passed into the great school, his friend Leroux who hoped to rejoin him there as soon as he had reached the same age, was in the meantime sent to the establishment of a clergyman living in a remote village in Northamptonshire to be specially coached in Greek.

"The Rev. Charles Darnell, Rector of the parish of Belton, was a short stout elderly man of a very easy-going disposition, who exercised but little supervision over the dozen pupils he was able to find accommodation for in his rambling old Rectory. But he employed a couple of good tutors well up to their work, and his son, who was a curate in a neighbouring parish and just as irascible as his father was placid in temperament, also helped to coach the boys in his charge.

"At the time of our story Belton was a small village of stonebuilt cottages, all the windows in which were of the old diamond-paned pattern. The village was dominated by an ancient and picturesque church, surrounded by yew-trees, amongst which were scattered the moss-grown tombstones of many generations of Beltonians. A feature of the[26] churchyard was the family vault of a large landowner in the neighbourhood. The present representative of this ancient family, locally known as 'old squire,' was an eccentric bachelor, who lived in a picturesque old Manor House with only two or three servants. It was said in the village that he had never been seen outside the boundaries of his estate for many years, and that he seldom walked abroad even in his own grounds till after dark.

"It was during his first term, in very early spring, that Leroux, accompanied by a fellow-pupil, took a wood-owl's eggs from a hollow ash-tree in the deserted park, and he subsequently spent many of his half-holidays birds'-nesting all over the neglected estate. He never met a keeper, nor, indeed, anyone else to question his right to be there, not even in the empty stables or in the thick shrubberies and weed-grown plots of ground near the great house which had once been gardens. There were two small lakes in the park, and in one of them during the autumn and winter months Leroux and one or two of his more adventurous fellow-students used to set 'trimmers,' on which they caught a good many pike, some of quite a good size, and now and again they shot a moorhen with a saloon pistol which belonged to a boy named Short.

"Whatever the boys caught or shot was taken to a certain cottage in the village, the residence of an old woman who was a very clever cook, and at this cottage Leroux and his friends enjoyed many a good meal of baked pike stuffed with the orthodox 'pudding,' and even found the moorhens, which the old woman skinned before cooking, very palatable.

"Belton being in the centre of a noted hunting-country, the hounds sometimes passed in full cry within sight of the Rectory, and whenever this happened the Rector's pupils were allowed by an old-established custom, even if they were in the middle of a lesson, to throw down their books and join in the run.

"During the year he spent at the Rectory Leroux worked hard at his lessons, and made good progress in Greek as well as in all other subjects which he had to get up, in view of the approaching entrance examination to the great[27] Midland school. Games were neglected at this period, as there were not enough pupils at the Rectory to make up two sides either at football or cricket, but for Leroux and his fellow-pupils of similar tastes, the old squire's deserted estate formed a most glorious playground in which they found a fine field for the exercise and development of the primitive instincts which had come down to them from their distant ancestors of palaeolithic times. The only pranks that Leroux indulged in during his year at Belton were all connected with the old church of which Mr. Darnell was the incumbent, and at which his pupils were obliged to attend the two services held every Sunday. As in many of the old churches in the remote districts of Northamptonshire at that time, there was no organ, but the hymns were sung to an accompaniment of flute, violin and 'cello, the performers on these instruments being seated in a kind of minstrels' gallery at the end of the church facing the pulpit.

"After the service on Sunday evening the musical instruments were taken by the musicians to their own homes, but one Sunday afternoon Leroux and Short—the owner of the saloon pistol—surreptitiously entered the church and thoroughly soaped the bows of the violin- and violoncello-players, and introduced several peas into the flute. That evening the music was very defective, but although the musicians knew that their instruments had been tampered with there is no reason to believe that they ever suspected that any of the Rector's 'young gentlemen' had had anything to do with the trick which had been played upon them. In future, however, the bows and the flute were removed between the services, as Leroux discovered about a month later, when he thought it was time to repeat his first successful experiment. An aged parishioner, who was always dressed in a smock-frock and grey woollen stockings, had his seat on a bench just in front of the pews where Mr. Darnell's pupils sat. This old man invariably removed his shoes on sitting down, and placed them carefully under his seat, and on several occasions during the sermon, Leroux managed to remove them with the help of a stick to the end of which a piece of wire in the shape of a hook had been attached.[28] Once the shoes had been drawn to Leroux's seat they were passed down by the other boys from pew to pew, and finally left at a considerable distance from their original place of deposition. The old fellow always made a great fuss about the removal of his shoes, which not only amused the Rector's pupils and all the younger members of the congregation, but must also have had an exhilarating influence on the spirits of their elders, upon whom the effect of the usual dull sermon always appeared to be very sedative to say the least of it. However, no public complaint was ever made, and when the old man at length took the precaution to keep his shoes on his feet during service, all temptation to meddle with them was removed."

"I am reading a new book by Mr. Livingstone. It is called 'The Zambesi and its Tributaries,' from 1858-1864. It is very interesting and is about the discovery of two large lakes. Send me two catapults." And "I am sorry to hear the rat skins are eaten, but very glad that the stoat's has not met with the same fate." Another letter shows his consideration for his parents in the matter of money and is somewhat characteristic.

"My dear Mama,

"I hope you are quite well, I am now at Rugby and very comfortable. I have a study with another boy, and we have an allowance of candles and tea and sugar, etc., given out every week, and we make our own tea and breakfast in our studies and it is very nice indeed. I have passed[30] into Upper Middle two when Lower Middle two would have done. I have to pay over some subscriptions.

"£1 subscription to the racket court.

"10s. to football club, 10s. to cricket club, 10s. for our own house subscription, all of which I am forced to pay. I have to buy a great many things which I could not help and I have spent a lot of my money on them. I will write them down to show you that not one of them was extravagance but quite the opposite.

"7s. 6d. to have my watch mended, 1s. to go to Harbro' to get my watch and come back. 1s. to have my dirty clothes washed. 2s. for a book I have to use at Rugby which I had not got. 3s. to come from Welton to Rugby after coming back to get my boxes. All these were necessary, weren't they?

"It is not my fault that there are such a lot of expenses at a public school, but it is only the first half. Please send in a registered letter, I have seen a great many boys receive them. I have passed very high, 10th out of 75, and that will partly make up to you for some of the subscriptions. Give my best love to Papa and brothers and sisters.

"In January, 1866, when John Leroux was just fourteen years of age, he easily passed the entrance examination to the great school in the Midlands and became a member of the house which his old friend Jim Kennedy had entered just a year earlier. Here he spent two and a half very happy years, and as at the end of that time he was only sixteen, he would in the ordinary course have continued his studies for at least another two years before leaving school, had it not been his father's wish that he should go abroad to learn French and German before reaching an age at which it would be necessary to settle down to the real business of life and make his own living. At the great school there were[31] three half-holidays weekly, but the boys were expected to do a good deal of preparation for the next day's lessons during their leisure time. Some boys shirked these out-of-class studies, but Leroux always did whatever was expected of him most conscientiously and often very slowly and with much labour, as he never used a crib to assist him with his Latin and Greek translations. He was not at all brilliant, but was well up in the school for his age, and had he stayed another term would have been in the sixth—the highest form in the school. However famous the great Midland school may have been fifty years ago, as a seat of learning, it was certainly not less famous for the great game of football, the playing of which was as compulsory on the scholars as the study of Greek. Primitive Rugby football was a very different affair to the highly scientific game of the present day. There was more running with the ball, far less kicking into touch, and no heeling out behind the scrimmage. Hacking was not only permissible but was one of the main features of the game, and when the ball was put down in the scrimmage the object of each side was to 'hack it through,' that is, to clear a path for the ball by kicking the shins of every one in the way as hard as possible. There were twenty boys on each side in the old Rugby game of whom the backs and half-backs only numbered five altogether—such a thing as a three-quarter back was undreamt of—so that there were fifteen forwards on each side. When anyone ran with the ball, the cry was 'hack him over,' and as often as not the runner was brought down with a neat kick on the shin. It was altogether a rough, possibly a rather brutal game; but it made the boys strong and hardy, and with the exception of badly bruised shins there were very few accidents. A young boy, on his first entrance to the big school, could only wear duck trousers at football, but if he played up, and did not flinch from the hacking, the Captain of his twenty gave him his 'flannels' and then exchanged his duck for flannel trousers. There was no school twenty, and therefore no school cap, and all the most hotly contested matches were between the different houses for the honour of being 'cock house.' Every house had its[32] own cap, but in each house, except in the case of the school house, where there was a large number of pupils, there were only a few caps in each football twenty. For instance, in Leroux's house, where there were fifty-two pupils, there were only four who had got their caps. Though one of the youngest boys in the house Leroux threw himself into the game with a zest and enthusiasm which at once compelled attention, and won him his 'flannels' in his first term, and after playing up well in the first great match in the autumn term of the same year he was given his cap. He thus got his cap whilst still in his fourteenth year, and was the youngest boy in the whole school who possessed that much-coveted prize. The only other sport besides football indulged in by the boys at the great school during the term between Christmas and Easter was that known as 'house washing.' Led by one of the oldest and strongest boys, the whole house were accustomed to spend one half-holiday every week, during the cold, damp, dreary months of February and March, in jumping backwards and forwards over a small brook or river, which at that time of the year was usually swollen by recent rain. The first jumps were taken across the narrowest parts of the stream, and here only the youngest and weakest boys got into the water. But it was a point of honour to go on taking bigger and bigger jumps, until every boy in the house had failed to reach the opposite bank and all had got thoroughly soused. The last jump was known as 'Butler's Leap.' Here the stream ran through a tunnel beneath one of the high roads traversing the district, but before doing so it ran for a short distance parallel with the road, which had been built up to the height of the bridge above it. From the brick wall on either side of the bridge low wooden barriers, perhaps two and a half feet high, had been placed on the slope of the road on either side to the level of the fields below, and it was thus possible to get a run across the whole width of the road and leap the low barrier in an attempt to reach the opposite bank of the stream, which was here over twenty feet wide, and some twenty feet below the level of the top of the bridge. A hero named Butler had either been the first boy to attempt[33] this desperate leap, or he had actually cleared the stream and landed on the opposite bank. Tradition concerning the details of the exploit varied, but whether Butler had made the great jump or only attempted it, he had immortalised his name by his daring. Now, only the biggest and most venturesome boys in each house were expected to attempt Butler's Leap, but nevertheless some of the younger ones always had a try at it, and amongst these were Kennedy and Leroux. They cleared the wooden barrier at the side of the road, and fell through the air into the stream below, but far short of the further bank, which they had to reach by swimming.

"From a perusal of the letters which Leroux faithfully wrote every week to his mother, it would seem that with the exception of the fierce football contests for 'cock' house, and occasional snowball encounters with the town 'louts'—the contemptuous appellation given by the boys at the school to all their fellow-citizens—all his most interesting experiences were connected with his passion for birds'-nesting, and the pursuit of sport, at first with a saloon pistol and subsequently with a pea-rifle, on the domains of neighbouring landowners. The master of Leroux's house was a man of very fine character and most kindly disposition, and was much beloved by all his pupils. He was always a most kind friend to Leroux, and being a teacher of natural science—it was certain experiments in chemistry which had earned for him amongst the boys the sobriquet of 'Jim Stinks'—was much drawn to him by his very pronounced taste for the study of natural history, and his practical knowledge of English birds and beasts. In his second year at the school, Leroux got into the first mathematical set in the upper school, and on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, and on every third week on Mondays as well, had no lessons in school, after 10.15 in the morning. But on these half-holidays, or almost whole holidays, all the boys in the school had to attend and answer to their names at a 'call over' which was held at the big school during the afternoon, and from which no boy could escape except with the written permission of his house-master.[34] During the summer Leroux's kindly house-master often allowed his favourite pupil to be absent from 'call over,' and he was thus able, by taking the train, to visit districts and pursue his ornithological rambles at quite a long distance from the school. On these distant excursions, however, although he paid no attention whatever to the numerous notice-boards intimating that trespassers would be prosecuted, he was never caught by a gamekeeper, though he had some good runs to escape their attentions. In the more immediate vicinity of the school, possibly the keepers were more on the look-out for birds'-nesting boys, who were often brought up by their captors before the headmaster, the great Dr. Temple, familiarly known in the school as 'Old Froddy.' This great and good man, however, always let the young trespassers off very lightly.

"One Sunday afternoon Leroux was pursued by a gamekeeper to the very doors of the chapel, and indeed it was only under the stimulus of this pursuit that he could possibly have got in in time for the service, and 'cutting chapel' meant having to write out the whole of the fourth Georgic of Virgil, which was just over 500 lines. When the bell ceased tolling, Leroux was still some distance from the chapel door, and handicapped besides with the top-hat, which all the boys always had to wear on Sunday, and a clutch of sparrowhawk's eggs twisted up in his handkerchief, on which he had to hold his hand in his coat-pocket, to prevent them from shaking together. But old Patey, who always checked off the boys at 'call over' and on their entrance to the chapel, took in the situation at a glance and held the door ajar till Leroux got inside, and then slammed it to in the gamekeeper's face. Leroux fully expected that his pursuer would wait outside till chapel was over and try and identify him as he came out, but he probably got tired of waiting or else thought it impossible to pick out the boy he had chased and of whom he had only had a back view, amongst over five hundred other boys.

"About three miles from the big school in the midst of a wide expanse of undulating meadow-land, interspersed with small woods, stood the fine old manor house of Pilton[35] Range. As there was no game preservation on this estate, there were no keepers to shoot down magpies, carrion crows, kestrels and sparrowhawks, and Leroux consequently found it a very fine hunting ground for the nests of these birds. One day soon after the Easter holidays, and during his second year at the big school, Leroux paid a visit to the Pilton Range grounds, to look at a magpie's nest which he had found building a fortnight before. He was walking along a high hedge bordering a field, about a mile away from the house, when a man dressed as a labourer climbed over a gate at the other end of the field and came walking towards him. Now Leroux had often met labouring men on the Pilton Range estate before, but had never been interfered with in any way by them, so he paid no attention to the man who was now coming towards him, but walked quietly to meet him. The heavily built labourer came slouching along, apparently without taking the slightest interest in the approaching boy, but just as he was passing him, and without having previously spoken a word, he shot out his right hand, and caught Leroux by the waistcoat just beneath the collar. 'Well, what do you want?' said Leroux.

"'You come along o' me to Mr. Blackstone'—the bailiff of the Pilton Range estate—said the labourer. Now Leroux had set his heart on visiting the magpie's nest, which he thought would be sure to contain eggs by now, and he was very averse to having his plans deranged by a visit to Mr. Blackstone. He first therefore offered to give his name to his captor to be reported to the headmaster, and when this proposition was received with a derisive laugh he pulled a letter from his coat pocket, and offered the envelope as a proof of his veracity. Possibly the heavy-looking lout who had taken him prisoner could not read. At any rate he never even glanced at the envelope which Leroux held out for his inspection, but merely repeating his invitation to 'come along o' me to Mr. Blackstone,' proceeded to walk towards the gate in the corner of the field at which he had made his first appearance. Leroux felt that he was very firmly held, for the labourer's fingers had passed through the armhole of his waistcoat, so he at first pretended to be[36] resigned to his fate, and walked quietly along beside his obdurate captor. Just before reaching the gate, however, he gave a sudden wrench, and almost got free, but on his waistcoat beginning to tear, desisted. In the struggle, however, boy and man had swung face to face, as the labourer held Leroux with his right hand clenched on the left side of the boy's waistcoat near the collar. After this Leroux refused to walk beside his captor any further, but forced him to walk backwards and pull him every step of the way, and as he was then fifteen years old and a strong heavy boy for his age, their progress was slow. Fortunately for the labourer he was able to open the gate in the corner of the field in which he had made his capture, as well as two others which had to be passed before reaching the Hall, with his left hand, for he would never have been able to have got Leroux over these gates. Leroux would have attacked the man with his fists and hacked him on the shins, but he knew that that would have put him in the wrong with the headmaster, so he just leaned back, and made his captor walk backwards and pull him along every step of the way up to the Hall. He also made a point of bringing his heels down heavily on the labourer's feet at every step. At last, however, Leroux was dragged through the open gates of the great archway leading into the courtyard of Pilton Range, where at that moment Mr. Blackstone the bailiff happened to be standing just outside his office door. He was a tall, grim-looking old man with iron-grey hair, and seemed to be leaning heavily on a thick stick he held in his right hand as if he was slightly lame.

"'I've brought un to see Mr. Blackstone,' said the perspiring labourer, still holding Leroux in his grasp.

"'You young rascal, I'd like to lay this stick about your back,' said Mr. Blackstone, brandishing that formidable weapon in front of the captive. Then putting his left hand in his waistcoat pocket, he extracted a coin with his finger and thumb which Leroux thought was a two-shilling piece and offered it to his employee, remarking, 'Here's something for you, John; I see you've had some trouble with this young rascal.'[37]

"Then addressing Leroux he said, 'Now, boy, I want your name.' The labourer received the proffered piece of silver in his left hand, but force of habit caused him, no doubt quite unconsciously, to release his hold of Leroux with his right hand at the same time in order to touch his cap to Mr. Blackstone in acknowledgment of his employer's generosity. On the instant that Leroux felt himself free he was round and through the great archway almost at a bound.

"'After him, John,' he heard the irate bailiff shout, and the discomfited labourer at once gave chase, but he stood no chance whatever of overtaking the active, well-trained boy, and when Leroux half broke, half jumped through the hedge at the bottom of the field below the Hall, he was pursued no further. After scrambling through the hedge and running in its shelter to the corner of the field he was then in, Leroux stood on the watch for some little time, and then feeling very elated at the way in which he had given the bailiff the slip, without letting him know his name, determined not to leave the Pilton Range ground without looking at the magpie's nest, he had been on his way to examine when first seized by the labourer. As he had expected he found that the nest contained a full complement of eggs, which were that evening carefully blown and added to his collection, which was even then quite the best made by any boy in the whole school. On his many subsequent visits to the Pilton Range estate, Leroux took good care never to allow any labouring man he happened to see to get anywhere near him, nor did he ever renew his acquaintance with Mr. Blackstone.

"Of all his birds'-nesting exploits, the one which Leroux himself always considered the greatest achievement was his raid on the Heronry at Tombe Abbey. Tombe Abbey was about fifteen miles distant from the big school, and it was during his second year of study there, that whilst rambling in that neighbourhood on a day when he had been excused from attending all 'callings over' by his house-master, Leroux had noticed a number of herons flying over the park in the midst of which the Abbey stood. He at once entered the sacred[38] precincts to investigate, and soon discovered the Heronry situated on an island in the middle of a large sheet of ornamental water. The twenty or thirty large nests of sticks were built as is always the case in England, high up in a grove of large trees growing on the island. Leroux watched the herons from amongst some bushes on the edge of the lake for some time and assured himself that there were young birds in most if not in all of the nests, as he could see their parents feeding them. To have swum across the lake to the island and then climb up to one or more of the nests in the hope of finding some eggs would therefore probably have been a bootless quest, and at that time perhaps Leroux would hardly have been able to have summoned up sufficient courage for such an undertaking, but all through the following months the idea of one day swimming to the island in the park at Tombe Abbey and taking some herons' eggs, grew in his mind, and when he returned to school after the following Christmas holidays, he had fully determined to make the attempt. Through reference to an ornithological work in his house-library Leroux had learned that herons are very early breeders, so he made his plans accordingly, and obtained leave from his house-master to be absent from all 'callings over' on March 7th, and hurrying to the station as soon as his mathematical lesson was over at a quarter past ten in the morning, he took the first train to the nearest station to Tombe Abbey. It was a bitterly cold day with a dull sky and the wind in the east, and when, after making his way cautiously across the park, Leroux reached the shelter of the bushes on the edge of the lake, he found that there was a fringe of thin ice all round the water's edge. In one way, however, the cold dreary day was favourable to the boy's enterprise, as no one was likely to be out walking in the park. Under cover of the bushes Leroux stripped himself to the skin, and without any hesitation waded into the ice-cold water, until it became deep enough to allow him to swim. At this time he was probably the best swimmer in the whole school, for during his first year and when only fourteen years of age he had won the second prize in the annual swimming-match, and would[39] certainly have taken the first prize the following year, but for some reason or other there was no competition. In his third year and a few months after his visit to Tombe Abbey when the competition was again revived, he met with an accident at cricket on the very morning of the race, which destroyed his chances of winning it. Once in the deep water of the lake, Leroux, swimming with a strong sidestroke, soon reached the island in the centre, and selecting the easiest tree to climb in which some of the herons' nests were built, naked as he was, he lost no time in getting up to them. There were four eggs in each of the two nests he actually inspected, and transferring these to an empty sponge-bag which he had brought with him, and which he now held in his mouth, he soon reached the ground again at the foot of the tree without having broken or even cracked a single egg. A hasty look round assured him that no one was in sight anywhere in the park, so still holding the sponge-bag containing the eight large blue eggs in his teeth, he soon recrossed the lake to the mainland, and then lost no time in pulling his clothes over his wet and shivering limbs. But though his teeth were chattering, Leroux's young heart was full of joy and exultation at the successful accomplishment of his enterprise, and he thought but little of his personal discomfort. Once dressed he soon reached the boundary of the park, and early in the afternoon was able to report himself to his house-master, though he did not think it necessary to enter into any details as to his day's ramble, and probably had it not been for the fact that the great Midland school at this time boasted a natural history society, of which Leroux was a prominent member as well as keeper of the ornithological note-book, the incident of the taking of the herons' eggs at Tombe Abbey might never have been known to anyone but a few of Leroux's most intimate friends. However, at the next evening meeting of the society, in the innocence of his heart Leroux exhibited the great blue eggs, the contemplation of which was still his chief joy. One of the undermasters, Mr. Kitchener, was that night in the chair, and this unprincipled pedagogue, after having obtained the admission from Leroux[40] that he had taken the herons' eggs himself, required him in the most unsportsmanlike manner to state exactly when and where he had become possessed of them. All prevarication was foreign to Leroux's nature, and when thus challenged he did not hesitate to tell the story of his visit to Tombe Abbey, and how he had swum across the lake and climbed to the herons' nests stark naked on a cold day in early March. The hardihood of the exploit, however, made no appeal to the mean soul of Mr. Kitchener, who not only confiscated the herons' eggs on the spot, but ordered Leroux to write out the fourth Georgic of Virgil, a very common punishment at public schools in those days, as it runs to almost exactly 500 lines. Through the good offices of his own house-master the herons' eggs were given back to Leroux, but the story of his adventure became noised abroad, even beyond the confines of the school, as he was to discover a few months later.

"Although Leroux had become the happy possessor of a saloon pistol, soon after his entrance to the school, he had never found this a very satisfactory weapon, and had determined to possess himself of something better as soon as possible. He practised rifle-shooting regularly at the butts, and in his third year shot in most of the matches for the school eleven, always doing very well at the longer ranges at which the boys were allowed to kneel or lie down, but failing rather at the 200 yards, at which range in those days even the youngest members of the rifle-corps were required to shoot standing with heavy Enfield rifles with a very hard pull. It was this excessively hard pull, combined with the weight of the long Enfield rifle, which made it so difficult for a young boy to shoot steadily standing at the 200 yards' range. During the Easter holidays before his last term at the great school, Leroux bought with his savings, augmented by a liberal present from his mother, a good pea-rifle with a detachable barrel, which could be concealed up the coat-sleeve of the right arm, whilst the stock was hidden under the coat on the other side of the body. But Leroux never used this rifle on private ground unless he was accompanied by a friend, so that in case of pursuit one[41] boy could run with the barrel and the other with the stock. There was an old disused canal not far away from the school, on the property of a local landowner named Lowden Beigh, which was a favourite resort of Leroux and his friends on Sunday afternoons between dinner-time and afternoon chapel. In the still waters of this old canal bordered with beds of reeds and rushes, and in many places overspread with waterlilies, pike were always to be found on a hot summer's day, not exactly basking in the sun, but lying motionless in the water, not more than a few inches from the surface, and Leroux had discovered that the concussion caused by a bullet fired into the water in the immediate vicinity of these fish, even though it did not touch them, was sufficient to stun them and cause them to float helpless for a short time belly upwards on the top of the water, from which they could be retrieved with a long stick. The pike which were obtained in this way were, however, be it said, always of small size. This old canal too swarmed with moorhens which afforded excellent practice with the little rifle. It was on a hot Sunday afternoon in late June, that Leroux and a great friend of his, a very tall boy who had somewhat outgrown his strength, paid what proved to be their last visit to the canal. As it so happened, where they first struck the canal they had only seen some very small pike not worth shooting at and only one shot had been fired at a moorhen, which had missed its mark. However, there was a better hunting ground beyond the bridge where the high road crossed the old canal, and this they proceeded to make for. Before entering the last field which lay between them and the high road, the little rifle was taken to pieces, and Leroux then hid the stock under the left side of his coat, his companion, whose arms were longer than his, concealing the barrel up his right coat-sleeve. The two boys then strolled leisurely along the bank of the canal, towards the gate which opened into the high road just below the bridge. They were close to this gate, in fact almost touching it, when a gamekeeper, in velveteen coat and gaiters, suddenly appeared from behind the hedge on the other side of it and stood confronting them.[42]

"'Well, young gents,' he said, 'what have you been doing along the canal?'

"'We've been looking for cuckoos' eggs in the reed warblers' nests,' said Leroux readily, and it was indeed a perfectly true answer, though it did not cover the whole scope of their operations.

"'Well, I must have your names. Mr. Lowden Beigh[3] means to put a stop to you young gents trespassing on his ground every Sunday,' said the gamekeeper, pulling out a pocket-book and pencil to take them down in. Leroux and his friend at once gave their names, and told the keeper how to spell them, for they knew that even if they were reported to the headmaster, that good old sportsman would not be likely to inflict any punishment on them for merely strolling quietly along the bank of the old canal on a Sunday afternoon, even though they had been trespassing on the property of Mr. Lowden Beigh.

"Having given up their names to the keeper the two boys proceeded to climb over the gate into the high road, and considering what they carried hidden under their coats, this was a somewhat ticklish operation.

"Leroux was nearest to the keeper, and having his right arm free probably got over the gate without arousing any suspicion in the man's mind, but the latter probably noticed the unusual stiffness of the tall boy's right arm when he was getting over the gate, though he did not immediately grasp the cause of it. However, the probable meaning of it must soon have flashed across his mind, for the boys had not walked twenty yards down the road when they heard him say, 'Darned if ye ain't got one o' they little guns with ye.' They heard no more. 'Come on,' said Leroux, and the two boys dashed off down the road at their best pace, closely pursued by the keeper, who though middle-aged was a spare-made, active-looking fellow. It was a very hot day and the two boys were in their Sunday clothes and wearing top-hats, and handicapped with the rifle, the barrel of which was rather heavy. Still at first they gained on the keeper, and at the end of a quarter of a mile had [43]increased the distance between him and them to quite fifty yards, when suddenly they came almost face to face with old 'Froddy,' the great headmaster himself, who had just emerged from a lane into the high road. With his head held high in the air and his hat on the back of his head, he came striding along all alone, at a pace of at least four miles an hour. His thoughts were evidently far from the earth he trod, and probably he never saw the boys at all, but they instantly recognized him.

"'Old Froddy, by Jove!' ejaculated Leroux; 'come on through the hedge,' and without an instant's hesitation he dashed at and broke his way into the field to the right of the road, his friend scrambling through the gap he had made in the hedge close behind him. The boys were now in a large grass field across which they started to run diagonally, the keeper following doggedly behind them, though when they gained the further corner of the field he was nearly a hundred yards behind them. As they climbed the gate into the next field Leroux's tall young friend was panting painfully, and before they were half-way across it he said he would not be able to run much further with the rifle-barrel. There was a large hayrick in the far corner of this field, so Leroux urged his companion to try and carry the rifle-barrel as far as there and then throw it down behind the rick, just as they passed it, and were for the moment hidden from the keeper. Leroux who was comparatively fresh and whom the keeper would never have caught, still stuck to the stock of his rifle, and intended to return for the barrel the next day, which happened to be one of the three-weekly Monday half-holidays. He did not think there would be much chance of its discovery before then. However, as bad luck would have it, and by an extraordinary chance, the gamekeeper saw it as he passed the rick. He had probably turned to look behind him, thinking that possibly the boys had run round the rick, and must have seen the glint of the sun on the barrel. The boys had not got very far over the next field before they heard the gamekeeper shouting, and on turning his head Leroux saw that he was standing near the gate waving something[44] over his head, which as it glinted and flashed in the sun he knew was the barrel of his rifle. It was no good running any further, the keeper had their names and half the rifle, so they walked back to him and Leroux had to surrender the other half.

"Now Leroux had great affection for this, his first rifle, and hated the idea of having it confiscated, so he tried to make terms with the keeper, and offered to give him all the money he could afford, if he would return him the rifle, and be content to report him and his friend for trespassing. The keeper refused this bribe with much apparent indignation, saying that no amount of money that might be offered to him would tempt him to swerve from his duty, which was to take the rifle straight to his master, Mr. Lowden Beigh. So the two boys walked slowly and sadly back to the school, arriving there just in time for the afternoon service in the chapel, which, however, did nothing to cheer them.

"Every day during the following week Leroux expected to be summoned to the headmaster's study and taxed with trespassing with a rifle on Mr. Lowden Beigh's land. But at the end of this time, as nothing happened, he felt convinced that the keeper had never given up the little rifle to his master at all, but had kept it himself, in the hope of being able to dispose of it for more money than had been offered him for its return. At any rate Leroux determined to write to Mr. Lowden Beigh, tell him exactly what had happened, and ask him to let him have the rifle back again at the end of the term. This he did, and the following day received an answer requesting him to call at the Hall with the friend who was with him when the rifle was taken, on the following Sunday afternoon. The two boys complied with this request and they were very kindly entertained and treated to wine and cake by Mr. Lowden Beigh. He asked Leroux if it was he who had taken the herons' eggs at Tombe Abbey, and when he admitted that it was, said, 'Why, you're the biggest poacher in the school.' He then told the boys that the keeper had never said a word to him about the rifle, but that he had demanded it from him[45] immediately on reading Leroux's letter, and then dismissed the man from his service. Finally, Mr. Lowden Beigh told Leroux that if he would again come to the Hall, the day before the big school broke up at the end of the term, he would return him his rifle, and this promise he faithfully kept.

"It was whilst he was at home during the Christmas holidays immediately preceding the commencement of his second year at the great Midland school, that John Leroux, then just fifteen years of age, was an eye-witness of, and indeed, a participant in, the terrible disaster on the ice in Regent's Park, which took place on January 15th, 1867.

"At that time he was living with his parents at no great distance from the scene of the accident, of which he wrote an account to a school friend whilst the events related were still fresh in his memory.

"As a result of a long-continued frost, the ice on the ornamental water in the park had become excessively thick, and during the early part of January, 1867, thousands of people might have been seen skating there daily. At length, however, a thaw set in, and as the ice became gradually more rotten in appearance, the skaters rapidly decreased in numbers.

"On the day of the accident Leroux went to the park alone after lunch, and on his arrival at the ornamental water, found that the ice had been broken all round the shore of the lake by the men employed by the Royal Humane Society, with the object of preventing people from getting on to the ice. At the same time several servants of the Society were doing their best to persuade the more adventurous spirits who had got on to the ice by means of planks, to leave it. At that time there were probably not more than three or four hundred people on the whole expanse of the ornamental water. At least they appeared to be very thinly scattered over it, compared with the crowds of a few days before, when the ice was sound and strong, before the thaw had set in.

"Having come to the park to skate, and being perhaps of a somewhat self-willed and adventurous disposition,[46] Leroux put on his skates, and watching his opportunity, got on to the ice, which though quite three inches in thickness, was seamed in every direction with a multiplicity of cracks, through which the water constantly welled up and ran over the surface. It was indeed evident that the solid ice-slab with which the lake had been originally covered was now formed of innumerable small pieces, really independent one of another, but still fitting closely together like the sections of a child's puzzle after they have been put in their places. Leroux himself never doubted that it was the breaking of the ice for the space of three or four feet all round the shores of the lake, which allowed room for the cracks in the unbroken ice gradually to widen until at last the whole sheet broke into separate pieces. As the skaters passed to and fro upon it, the whole surface of the ice-sheet seemed to rise and sink in response to their passage, and every moment the gaps gaped wider.

"It was getting on towards four o'clock in the afternoon, and Leroux was just then right in the middle of the lake, midway between the largest island and the bridge leading towards the Park Road, when he heard a cry behind him, and looking round saw that the ice was breaking in the direction of the bridge. It was a sight which he never forgot. Right across the whole breadth of the lake the sections into which the ice-sheet had been divided by the cracks were disengaging themselves one from another. The line of breaking advanced steadily towards where the boy was standing, each separate section of ice as the pressure was removed from behind, first breaking loose, and after being tilted into the air, again falling flat into its place. As no one fell into the water when the ice first broke up, the pressure which was the immediate cause of the catastrophe must have been exerted from a distance, and it was probably the weight of the people on the ice some way off which caused it to bulge where it first broke to such an extent as to detach some of the smaller sections which were already really separated one from another by the ever-widening cracks.

"There was a regular panic amongst the comparatively[47] small number of people between Leroux and the point near the bridge where the ice first commenced to break up, and they all went flying along as fast as their skates would carry them, straight down the centre of the lake towards the narrow channel between the two islands in front of them. At the same time there was a stampede for the shore from every part of the lake, and as the great bulk of the people then on the ice were near the edge when it so suddenly commenced to break up, most of them either got to land without assistance, or being caught in the breaking ice when within a rope's throw of the shore, were subsequently rescued; but every one who got into the water amongst the thick heavy ice-slabs at any distance from the shore was drowned, and most of these unfortunate people disappeared immediately beneath the heavy slabs of ice, between which they fell into the water, and which closed over them at once.

"When the ice first began to break up, Leroux could not help standing still for a few moments, and watching the rapidly advancing line of breakage, and then when he turned to run for it or rather skate for it, he was quite alone, and at some little distance behind the crowd of people who had first taken the alarm. Suddenly there was a wild, despairing cry ahead, and Leroux saw that the ice was breaking up in the narrow channel between the two islands. At this juncture many people undoubtedly lost their heads as they skated right into the broken ice and almost all of them at once disappeared. It was between the two islands that the greatest loss of life occurred, as of the forty-nine bodies subsequently recovered in different parts of the lake, twenty-four were found in close proximity to one another at this spot, and yet there was scarcely a head to be seen at the time of the accident above the broken ice, as the weight of the heavy slabs forced those who fell in between them under water almost immediately. Although he was only a boy of fifteen at this time, he had never missed a chance of falling through weak or rotten ice every winter since he first went to school, and these various experiences had no doubt given him a good deal of self-confidence. At[48] any rate he felt neither frightened nor flurried by the somewhat alarming circumstances of the position in which he now found himself, but quickly made up his mind as to the best course to adopt to save his life. As the ice had already broken up both before and behind him, but was still solid immediately behind him he stopped short where he was, and lay down at full length on the longest piece of ice he could see which was free from widely open cracks. He had scarcely done so, when the wave of breakage which had commenced near the bridge passed him, all the great cracks with which the ice-sheet was seamed opening to such an extent that every separate slab became detached. Many of these slabs were first tilted a little into the air, as had happened when the ice first broke up near the bridge, but they immediately fell flat again into their places, so that the whole of the ice-sheet in the central part of the ornamental water seemed to be in one piece, though in reality the cracks which divided it into innumerable small slabs were now so wide that each piece was independent the one of the other, and most of them would not have been large enough to support the weight of a man standing near their edge, without heeling over and precipitating him into the water.

"Fortunately for Leroux the ice had not been broken round the edge of the largest island in the lake to his left, and although the cracks had opened all round where he lay, as the wave of breakage passed, to such an extent as to have made it impossible to have walked or skated across the disintegrated slabs, without tilting one or other of them, and so falling into the water, yet he was only a short distance from the unbroken ice-sheet which rested on the island. The slab on which he was lying was quite large enough to bear his weight easily, and as he was out of all danger for the time being, he was able to look around and note what was going on. Directly the ice broke up there was, of course, tremendous excitement on the shore of the lake nearest the Zoological Gardens, where great crowds of people had been congregated the whole afternoon. Many gallant and successful attempts were made to rescue those who were fighting[49] for life amongst the ice-slabs; but Leroux's impression was that no one was saved who had got into the water at any considerable distance from the shore. At the spot where the largest number of people were drowned, almost everyone who fell into the water disappeared immediately. Still here and there men kept their heads above water for a long time, and all these poor fellows might have been rescued, had it not been for the breaking of a rope. It was soon realized that it would be quite impossible to save the people who were so far out amongst the ice that a rope could not be thrown to them from the shore except by some special means, and someone hit upon the idea of dragging a boat to them over the ice. Leroux saw the boat pulled up over the still unbroken ice beyond the bridge, and long ropes were then made fast to its bow and carried over the bridge to each side of the lake, where willing hands enough were ready to work them. Had the ropes only held, the boat might have been pulled from one side or the other of the lake to all those who were in the water amongst the ice-slabs at a distance from the shore; but unfortunately before the boat had been pulled far beyond the bridge one of the ropes broke, and as it was then apparently recognized that they were not strong enough to stand the strain required, the experiment was not tried again. There were only two men in the water anywhere near Leroux, and they were about half-way between where he lay and the shore of the lake. He had seen them at first trying to force their way through the ice, but the slabs were so thick and heavy that they threatened at every moment to turn over on them, and they soon became exhausted and remained quiet. At last one of them disappeared and not long afterwards only a hat on the ice remained to mark the spot where his companion in misfortune had also sunk. Leroux soon realized that there was no hope of rescue from the shore, and indeed amidst all the excitement of saving or attempting to save the lives of those who had got into the water within reach he had probably been overlooked or possibly his position had been considered hopeless.

"At length when the light was commencing to fade[50] Leroux made up his mind to try and reach the island on his left by crawling from one slab of ice to another. He fully realized that if he once got into the water he would never get out, but not being very heavy in those days, and by moving only very slowly and cautiously, and carefully selecting his route he succeeded at last in reaching the unbroken ice near the island. He had one very narrow escape, as a table of ice very nearly turned over on him before he had got sufficiently far on it to keep it flat. Luckily there was a much larger slab just beyond it, on to which he crawled without much difficulty. After crossing the island he again got on to unbroken ice and skated across it, to the shore near the lower bridge.

"By that time it was rapidly growing dusk, everybody whom it had been possible to reach with a rope from the shore had been rescued, and all the rest were still and cold beneath the ice. But although Leroux knew that a considerable number of people must have been drowned, until he saw the long list of those who had lost their lives in the next morning's 'Times' he had no idea that the disaster was so serious as it really was."

"I first heard of Selous some time in 1863, soon after I became a house-master. The master of his preparatory school at Tottenham told me that a Mr. Slous—for so the name was then spelt—was going to enter his son at my house. 'Take my advice,' was the gist of the letter, 'and say your house is full; the boy will plague the life out of you.' I wrote to enquire the nature of the plague. 'He breaks every rule; he lets himself down out of a dormitory window to go birds'-nesting; he is constantly complained of by neighbours for trespassing; he fastened up an assistant master in a cowshed into which he had chased the young villain early one summer morning; somehow the youngster scrambled out, and fastened the door on the outside, so that the master missed morning school.'[51]

"Such were his crimes; so, of course, I wrote back and said that he was the boy for me.

"His father brought him down from town, a bright-eyed, fair-haired boy of twelve or thirteen, who had no suspicion that I knew all about his iniquities. When his father departed, I had a little of the usual talk with a new boy, about work and games and so on; and then I asked him what he meant to be. 'I mean to be like Livingstone,' he replied. I had seen Livingstone when he came to Cambridge, in 1857, I think, and spoke in the Senate House, appealing for a Universities Mission to Central Africa; so we talked Livingstone and Africa, and Natural History. I soon saw that he had the fire and the modesty of genius and was a delightful creature.

"He was quite exemplary as a young member of the House and School, so far as I knew. He was 'late' for chapel sometimes in long summer afternoons; how much late I did not inquire. I guessed what he was about and he did his lines like a man.

"He was extraordinarily acute in all his senses—sight, hearing, smell, taste. He asked me, for example, one day to some brook a few miles away to watch kingfishers. We crawled up warily when we got near the spot. He could see exactly what they were catching and carrying, from a distance at which I could only see a bird flying. His power of hearing was also more than acute. One day at our table in hall I told a lady who sat next me that a nightingale had been heard singing in somebody's spinney. We decided to drive down to it after dinner, and on reaching the spot, we found Selous already there, roaming about in the spinney. I called to him, and he came to the edge of the wood. 'What are you doing there?' 'Looking for a nightingale's nest, sir.' 'But why here?' 'I heard you say at dinner that one was singing here.' Now he was sixteen or eighteen feet away, at a different table, and we were fifty in hall, talking and clattering with knives and forks. And yet he heard me distinctly. He could disentangle the voices, and listen to one, as a dog can follow one scent among many. Then as to smell and taste. He told me that when he shot a new[52] bird with his 'tweaker'—you will learn presently what the 'tweaker' was in his case—he always tasted its flesh.

"He was extremely accurate in his observation, and in his estimates of distance, size, number, etc.; in fact, he was the most truthful observer I can imagine; free from all exaggeration and egotism, and he retained this simplicity and accuracy and modesty all his life. He was a beautiful runner, a football-player with singular dash and a first-rate swimmer; but he left Rugby at seventeen, I think, so that he did not win any great athletic distinctions at school.

"But I must tell you some stories about him.

"On some great public occasion of rejoicing the streets of Rugby were decorated with flags. When my man called me at 7.0 a.m., he said, 'I think I ought to tell you, sir, that there is a broomstick and duster showing in every chimney in the house.' 'Very well,' I replied, 'go and tell Mr. Selous that they must be taken down by 12 o'clock.' He had let himself down at night out of the dormitory window that looks into the study quadrangle and had collected brooms and dusters from the studies. He had somehow clambered up waterpipes and gutters and roofs, broomsticks and all; and when I went out people in the road were admiring our extemporized decorations—duster flags and broom-handles sticking out of the chimney pots at all angles. There was another flag, of the same nature, perilously near the top of the taller of two poplars that stood close to the boys' entrance. They were all taken down by dinner-time; I never enquired how, or by whom.

"There used to be a vine, trained up the south face of the house, and one year, I think in 1868, it bore an extraordinary crop of grapes which ripened beautifully. One day at dinner I told the head of the dormitory on the second floor, over the drawing-room, that they might gather all that they could reach from the window. I forgot Selous as this was not his bedroom, but the dormitory did not forget him. An aunt of mine was sleeping in the bedroom below, and she remarked next morning at breakfast that she heard, or thought she heard, voices at night quite close to her windows. Had anything happened? I went out[53] into the garden to look, the vine was stripped more than half-way down the windows of the first floor. It was Selous, of course; they let him down somehow. I was told that he filled a pillow-case with grape-bunches, and feasted the House. Mr. C. K. Francis, the well-known Metropolitan Police Magistrate, his contemporary in my house, has told this story of Selous to the readers of the 'Daily Telegraph' (January 15th), and says that they let Selous down in a blanket.

"Of course Selous was an active member of the School Natural History Society. I must tell you about a meeting of that Society. Dr. Walter Flight, who was in charge of the minerals of the British Museum, was staying with me, and I asked him whether he would like to come as a visitor to an ordinary meeting of our Society. I knew it would be an interesting one. Selous had shortly before raided the heronry on the island at Coombe Abbey. He swam the pond from the end distant from the house, climbed several trees, took one egg from each nest, swam back and was chased, but escaped by sheer speed. Lord Craven complained to the H.M. The H.M. warned our Society pretty plainly, and our committee censured Selous. At the meeting we were going to attend, Selous, as was widely known, was going to make his defence. The room, the old Fifth Form Room, next to the School House Dining Hall, was crowded. Flight and I squeezed in. 'Are your meetings always like this?' he asked. 'You will see,' I replied, 'that the school takes a great interest in natural history.' 'I am very glad to see this,' he said.

"Exhibits were made, a paper read, and then began the real business of the evening—the official condemnation by our president, Mr. Kitchener, and Selous' spirited defence.

"Selous presented the eggs to the Natural History Society, and they were safe in the collection twenty years ago, I am told. I hope they are there still.

"He also climbed the great elm trees, which then stood in the close, for rooks' eggs. This feat was also performed at night, and the cawing of the rooks roused Dr. Temple, but Selous was not detected in the darkness.[54]

"Selous' special contribution to our Society was on birds. If I remember right his first list of birds noted at Rugby exceeded ninety. I will tell the story how one very rare bird was added to our list. It was in the very hard winter of 1867; snow was lying on the ground. In the evening, some hours after lock-up a ring at the front door came at the moment I was going to my study, the door of which is close to the front door. I opened the front door and there stood Selous, with a bird dangling from his hand. I don't know which of us was most surprised. 'Come in to the study; what have you got there?' 'Oh, sir, it's Williamson's duck; it's very rare.' (I invent the name Williamson, I know it was somebody's duck.) 'Go and fetch the bird-book from the House Library.' (I had put an excellent bird-book in several volumes into the Library for his use.) 'Leave the bird.' I examined the bird, neatly shot through the neck. He was quite right, a note in the book said that it had been occasionally seen at certain places on the East coast; only once, I think, inland as far as Northamptonshire. 'How did you get it?' 'I saw it at Swift's and followed it to Lilbourne and got it there.' 'How?' 'With my tweaker,' was the reply. 'It must be a very powerful tweaker?' I said. 'Yes, sir, it's a very strong one; I thought you would not mind my being late for once, as it's very rare.'

"Some six years later, when he came back from a four years' solitary travel and exploration in what is now called Rhodesia, or even further inland, this incident of the tweaker turned up. 'I did wonder,' he said, 'whether you were such an innocent as really to believe it was a tweaker.' 'My dear Selous,' I said, 'I knew the bird was shot, and I knew you had a gun, and the farmhouse where you kept it, but you kept it so dark and made such excellent use of it that I said nothing about it.'

"One of the most difficult problems presented to all who are in authority is: how much ought I not to know and see?"

"I think it was on this occasion that he came down to a house-supper. He had told me lots of stories about his[55] adventures in Africa during those four years. They are told in his books, every one of which is, I hope, in the School Library and well read. I asked him to tell some of them to the house. No he would not; so finally at the supper, I said that if he would not, I would, and I began with the story of his going to ask Lobengula, King of the Matabele, for leave to shoot elephants. 'You are only a boy,' the King said. 'You must shoot birds. The first elephant you hunt will kill you.' Selous jumped up. 'Oh, sir, let me tell it,' and we had a never-to-be-forgotten evening.

"But it is time to stop. One of his friends, Sir Ralph Williams, well said of him in a letter in 'The Times,' of January 10th, 'The name of Fred Selous stands for all that is straightest and best in South African story,' and I will venture to say that it stands for the same in Rugby annals.

"Worcester, 22 January, 1917."

"As for my future medical examinations I don't know how I shall come off; I do not want particularly to be a doctor, but I shall go in for that as I can't see anything else that I should like better, except sheep-farming or something of that sort in one of the colonies, but I suppose I must give up that idea; however, if I become a surgeon I do not intend to try and get a practice in England, but I should try and get a post as ship's surgeon, or army surgeon in India, if I could get any leave of absence which would give me a little time to myself, but anyhow I am certain I shall never be able to settle down quietly in England. You talked about me being at an age of irresponsibility, but I don't see that I am, as supposing I don't manage to learn these infernal languages (why was anyone fool enough to[56] build the tower of Babel?) everyone will be disgusted with me."

"Many thanks for your spiritual letter which almost tempts me to commit suicide; if I can't get good shooting and fishing in this world I'll have it in the next, if what the Chinaman says is true; but by hook or by crook I will have some in this world too, and make some rare natural history collections into the bargain. But first I must make a little money, but how? not by scribbling away on a three-legged stool in a dingy office in London. I am becoming more and more convinced every day that I should never be able to stand that and everybody I know or have ever had anything to do with says the same thing. I have a great many qualifications for getting on in one of our colonies, viz. perseverance, energy, and a wonderfully good constitution. What makes me recur to the old subject is this: I have made the acquaintance of a family here of the name of K——. I always forget their name although I know them intimately. This gentleman, a German from Brunswick, has been twenty years in Natal (where he made his fortune) and since then eight years in England, and now has become regularly English (speaking English, indeed, without the slightest accent). His wife is an Englishwoman who was born in the Cape Colony, but has always lived with him in Natal; and then he has a very large family. These people give the most splendid accounts of Natal. Firstly, they say that the climate is superb, there being no winter and it not being so hot in summer as in Germany. Then they say that the country is lovely beyond description. They do not praise Cape Colony, only Natal, which they describe as a perfect paradise. They say, too, that Natal itself is a wonderfully gay place and that the society there is very good. The wife says she can't stand Europe at all,[57] the climate is so detestable compared with that of Natal. She says that she often used to go for weeks and weeks up country with her husband and children on shooting excursions, sleeping out in tents all the time, and that taking into consideration the beautiful climate and country there is no enjoyment equal to it, and I am fully of her opinion. They travelled once three days with Dr. Livingstone, but you will hear all about it from them when you come over here."

"If I had been caught," writes Selous, "I should have got two or three months instead of a week's imprisonment, for both the lawyer and the Burgomaster to whom I spoke, said that the taking of eggs was but a small matter in the eyes of Prussian law compared with resisting an official."

"Why I feel the absence of the sun so very acutely is because, when the sun is not shining no butterflies, or none worth having, are to be got. Now this is just the time for the Purple Emperors, some specimens of which I want very much to get, and so I have been exceedingly provoked. I found out the place where the P.E.'s were to be found and for the last seven days I have been every day to that place (which is from five to six miles from Salzburg) and there I have waited from twelve to three, through rain and everything else, hoping and hoping for a passing sunbeam, as I could see them every now and then at the tops of the trees, and if the sun had but come out for a few minutes some of them would have been sure to have come down and settled in[60] the road. Well, during all the hours of watching in those seven days the sun never, never, never broke through the clouds for one instant, and each day I returned home more disappointed and more indignant against providence than the day before. I think that if this sort of thing had continued for another week I should have gone into a chronic state of melancholy and moroseness for the rest of my life, and people would have said, 'Ah, he must have had some great disappointment in early life.' These are the sort of things that rile me more than anything else, for you can't think how I put my whole soul into egg and butterfly collecting when I'm at it, and how I boil up and over with impotent rage at not being able to attain the object of my desires on account of the weather over which I have no control. However, perseverance can struggle against anything. This afternoon the sun shone out and I immediately caught two Purple Emperors (Apatura Iris), and two very similar butterflies unknown in England (Apatura Ilia), also a great many White Admirals (Limenitis Camilla), not quite the same as the English White Admiral (Limenitis Sybilla), but very like; all butterflies well worth having. If the weather will but continue fine for a few days I will soon make some good additions to my collection, but it is hopeless work collecting butterflies in bad weather. I think I must be set down as a harmless lunatic by the peasants in the neighbourhood already."

"Vive la France, à bas la Prusse," he writes to his mother (July 22nd, 1870), "your saying the war is 'likely to become a bloody butchery through all the Christian nations of civilized Europe,' is rather a startler. Since this morning I have read all the Cologne and Vienna papers for[61] the last week and you are most certainly several miles ahead of the most far-seeing and sanguinary politician, in either Austria or Prussia. You say that Bavaria has joined Prussia and Austria is likely to do so too. Bavaria cannot help itself or would not have joined Prussia. The Crown Prince of Prussia is in Munich with 15,000 Prussian troops, and the Bavarians are forced by treaty to aid Prussia or they would not do so. Prussia is the only power that is likely to take any part in the war at present. Austria most certainly will not interfere unless she is forced into it. And England and America are less likely still to do so. The post now goes to England by Trieste, by sea, of course, and supposing the war does become a bloody butchery through all the Christian nations of civilized Europe, an Italian passenger steamer would surely not be meddled with. Whatever happens, the war cannot come here, for there is nothing to be fought for in the Tyrol and no room to fight for it in the mountain valleys if there was. So that the route to Trieste and from thence to England will always be open. The people say that in 1866, when the war between Austria and Prussia was going on, they never knew anything about it here. As for the money, you can easily send a letter of credit to a bank in Salzburg or Munich and that difficulty would be got over. For several months at least it is not at all likely that any other nation will join either party, England least of all; and supposing that England were drawn into it eventually, you would surely be able to tell long before war was declared if such was likely to be the case, and send me word, for the postal communications will not be stopped until then via Trieste. It seems to me most ridiculous to predict so much when so little is known. Unless you really think in your heart of hearts that it is necessary for me to come, please let me remain here a few months longer; England taking part in the war is the only thing that can stop either letters or myself from reaching you, and surely you cannot tell me in cold blood that England is likely to be drawn into the war for months and months to come, at least all the Prussian papers declare most positively that it is not likely that either America or England will take any[62] part in the war, and surely they as a party most intensely interested would say something about it if they thought that there was the slightest chance of England assisting. Gladstone, you know, will do his utmost to keep England neutral. Austria was almost ruined by the last war, but is now rapidly increasing in wealth and if drawn into the war would be utterly ruined, so that she will do her utmost to keep out of it. Why I so particularly wish to remain here a few months longer is because if I return to England all the money and time that has been wasted in zither at any rate, if not violin lessons, will have been utterly thrown away and I shall lose a pleasure and a pastime that would have lasted me my whole life. In three or four months more, as I am working very hard at it, I shall know enough of the zither to do without a master. The violin is all very well, but it is not an instrument that one derives much pleasure from playing unaccompanied, unless one plays extremely well, whereas the zither, like the piano, needs no accompaniment. The zither I have now is not the little one you saw at Wiesbaden, but an Austrian zither which is much larger and tuned lower, and altogether a finer instrument."

"I have seen and spoken to several Bavarian soldiers in a village just beyond the Bavarian frontier, who were at Wörth and Sedan, and who have been sent back on the sick list; they say there is a great deal of sickness among the German troops, out of the 1000 men from the two villages of Schellenberg and Berchtesgaden who were all in the actions at Wörth and Sedan, not a single one has as yet been killed, so I was told, though a great many have been wounded. I see a great deal said in the English papers about the 'Francs tireurs' being little better than murderers. I think that the French ought to consider all the soldiers composing the German armies as so many burglars, and shoot them down like rabbits in every possible manner; and, moreover, as the Germans are murdering the peasants, men, women,[63] and children, for such offences as being in possession of an old sword, in every direction, I think the French would be perfectly justified in shooting every German soldier they take prisoner. After the affair at Bazeilles, I don't believe any more in the humanity of the Germans."

"I think I have seen everything that is to be seen in Vienna. The crown jewels, which I daresay you have seen, were very interesting and very magnificent. The Emperor's stables, too, I thought very interesting; he has an immense number of horses, some of them very beautiful indeed. We found an English groom there who had almost forgotten his own language; he had been away from England nine years, and so it is not to be wondered at, as I daresay he rarely speaks anything but German and never reads anything at all. The theatre in Vienna (I mean the new opera house) is most magnificent. It was only completed in 1868, so I don't suppose you have ever seen it. I believe it is acknowledged to be at present the finest theatre in the world. It is an immense size, almost as large as Covent Garden, and the decorations inside and out, and the galleries and everything appertaining to it are most beautiful and tasteful. We saw 'Martha,' 'Tannhäuser,' and 'Faust' there, and a little sort of pantomime entitled 'Flick and Flock.' I liked 'Martha' very much. They have a splendid tenor named Walter, who took the part of Lionel. I daresay you will hear him in London some day. I didn't like 'Tannhäuser' very much; I couldn't understand the story at all and there were no pretty airs in it. 'Faust' was splendid, Marguerite and Faust were, I should think, as near perfection as possible, and Mephistopheles was very good, though at first he gave me the impression of looking more[64] like a clown than the devil. The scenery in all these pieces was splendid. 'Flick and Flock' was exactly like an English pantomime with dumb show. The scenery was really wonderful; there were about half a dozen transformation scenes, none of which would have disgraced a London stage on Boxing Night."

"After a time the giraffes separated, and suffice it to say that, at the end of an hour or so, I found myself lying on my back, with my right leg nearly broken, by coming violently into contact with the trunk of a tree; and, on getting up and remounting my horse, not only were the giraffes out of sight, but nowhere could I see either of my two companions. Though, of course, my inexperience contributed much to the unsuccessful issue of this, my first giraffe hunt, yet I cannot help thinking that my horse also had a good deal to do with it, for, having been bred in the open plains[70] of the Transvaal Republic, he was quite at sea in the thick forests of the interior; and if, when going at full gallop through a thick wood, you intend to pass on one side of a tree, but your horse, being of a different opinion, swerves suddenly and goes to the other, it is awkward, to say the least of it.

"My first object was to rejoin my companions; so, not having heard a shot, and imagining they must by this time have given up chasing the giraffes, I fired as a signal, and at once heard a shot in answer far to my right, and rode in that direction. After riding some distance I again pulled up, and shouted with all my might, and then, not hearing anything, fired another signal shot, but without effect. As my horse was very tired, I now off-saddled for a short time and then fired a third shot, and listened intently for an answer, but all was silent as the grave; so, as the sun was now low, I saddled up again and struck a line for the waggon road, thinking my friends had already done the same thing. In this way I rode on at a slow pace, for my horse was tired and thirsty, keeping steadily in one direction till the sun, sinking lower and lower, at last disappeared altogether. I expected I should have reached the road before this, and, attributing my not doing so to the fact of the path having taken a turn to the right, still kept on till twilight had given place to moonlight—a fine bright moonlight, indeed, for it wanted but two nights to the full, but, under the circumstances, perhaps a trifle cold and cheerless. Still, thinking I must be close to the road, I kept on for another couple of hours or so, when, it being intensely cold, I resolved to try and light a fire, and pass the night where I was and ride on again early the following morning. Having no matches, I had to make use of my cartridges, of which I had only three remaining, in endeavouring to get a light. Breaking one of these open, I rubbed some of the powder well into a bit of linen torn from my shirt, slightly wetted, and, putting it into the muzzle of the rifle, ignited it with the cap and a little powder left in the bottom of the cartridge. So far well and good, but this was, unfortunately, almost as far as I could get; for, though I managed to induce some grass[71] to smoulder, I couldn't for the life of me make it flare, and soon had the mortification of finding myself, after two more unsuccessful attempts, just as cold and, hungry as before, and minus my three cartridges to boot. Were the same circumstances to occur again, no doubt everything would be very different; but at that time I was quite a tyro in all forest lore. It was now piercingly cold, though during the day the sun had been as hot as at midsummer in England—regular South African fashion. Still, I thought it better to pass the night where I was; so, tying my horse to a tree, I cut a little grass with my pocket knife to lie upon, and turned in. My entire clothing consisted of a hat, shirt, pair of trousers, and veldt shoes, as I had ridden away from the waggon without my coat. However, lying on my back, with my felt hat for a pillow, I put the saddle over my chest and closed my eyes in the vain hope that I should soon fall asleep and forget my cares; vain indeed, for the bitter cold crept in gradually and stealthily from my feet upwards, till I was soon shivering from head to foot as if my very life depended on it. After having worked hard at this unpleasant exercise for a couple of hours or more, watching the moon all the time, and cursing its tardy pace, I could stand it no longer; so, getting up with difficulty—for I was regularly stiffened by the cold—I ran backwards and forwards to a tree at a short distance until I was again warm, when I once more lay down; and in this manner the weary hours wore away till day dawned. During the night a couple of hyenas passed close to me, enlivening the silence with their dismal howlings. I have often thought since that they must have been on their way to drink, perhaps at some pit or spring not far off; how I wished that I had known where! I will take this opportunity of saying that the howl of the African hyena is about the most mournful and weird-like sound in nature, being a sort of prolonged groan, rising in cadence till it ends in a shriek; they only laugh when enjoying a good feed.

"At first dawn of day I once more saddled up and rode in the same direction as before. My poor horse was so tired and thirsty that he would only go at a very slow[72] pace; so I didn't make much progress. On coming to a high tree I stopped and climbed up it, and looked about me to try and recognize some landmark. On every side the country was covered with forest, and in the distance were several low ranges of hills, yet nothing seemed familiar to my eye. Right ahead, in the direction in which I had been riding, appeared a line of densely wooded hills, with one single kopje standing alone just in front of them, and thither I determined to ride. On the way I passed three beautiful gemsbuck, which allowed me to come quite close to them, though they are usually very wild; but they had nothing to fear from me, as I had no cartridges, and so could do nothing more than admire them. Thus I rode on and on, until the idea occurred to me that I must have ridden across the road (a mere narrow track) without noticing it in the moonlight, as I had constantly been star-gazing after the sun went down, so as to guide my course by the position of the Southern Cross. After a time, I at last felt so sure that this was the case, that I turned my horse's head to the right-about, and rode back again in the direction from which I had just come."

"The next morning, as soon as it was light, accompanied by the Kafir who carried my rifle, I made a start, and, though very tired and worn out from privation, managed to reach the waggons late in the afternoon, after an absence of five days and four nights. How I enjoyed the meal that[73] was hastily prepared for me, and how delightful it was to keep out the bitter cold with a couple of good blankets, I will leave the reader to conjecture."

"As soon as the day dawned, we sent a couple of Kafirs down to the water to see if any elephants had been there, and on their return in a quarter of an hour with the joyful [80]tidings that a fine troop of bulls had drunk during the night, we at once started in pursuit. We found they had come down from the right-hand side, and returned on their own spoor, feeding along nicely as they went, so that we were in great hopes of overtaking them without much difficulty. Our confidence, however, we soon found was misplaced, for after a time they had ceased to feed, and, turning back towards the N.E., had taken to a path, along which they had walked in single file and at a quick pace, as if making for some stronghold in the hills. Hour after hour we trudged on, over rugged stony hills, and across open grassy valleys, scattered over which grew clumps of the soft-leaved machabel trees, or rather bushes; but, though the leaves and bark of this tree form a favourite food of elephants, those we were pursuing had turned neither to the right nor to the left to pluck a single frond.

Selous as a Young Man, in Hunting Costume.

"After midday, the aspect of the country changed, and we entered upon a series of ravines covered with dense, scrubby bush. Unfortunately the grass here had been burnt off, but for which circumstance the elephants, I feel sure, would have halted for their midday sleep. In one of these thickets we ran on to three black rhinoceroses (R. bicornis) lying asleep. When we were abreast of them they got our wind, and, jumping up, rushed close past the head of our line, snorting vigorously. It was a family party, consisting of a bull, a cow, and a full-grown calf; they passed so near that I threw at them the thick stick which I used for a ramrod, and overshot the mark, it falling beyond them.

"Shortly after this incident, we lost the spoor in some very hard, stony ground, and had some trouble in recovering it, as the Kafirs, being exhausted with the intense heat, and thinking we should not catch the elephants, had lost heart and would not exert themselves, hoping that we would give up the pursuit. By dint of a little care and perseverance, however, we succeeded, and after a time again entered upon a more open country. To cut a long story short, I suppose it must have been about two hours before sundown when we came to a large tree, from which[81] the elephants had only just moved on. At first we thought they must have got our wind and run, but on examination we found they had only walked quietly on. We put down the water-calabashes and axes, and the Kafirs took off their raw-hide sandals, and then we again, quickly but cautiously, followed on the spoor. It was perhaps five minutes later when we at last sighted them, seven in number, and all large, full-grown bulls. W. and I walked up to within thirty yards or so, and fired almost simultaneously; he at one standing broadside, and I at another facing me. Our Hottentot boy also fired, and, as the animals turned, a volley was given by our Kafirs, about ten of whom carried guns. Not an elephant, however, seemed any the worse, and they went away at a great pace. Judging from the lie of the land ahead that they would turn to the right, I made a cut with my two gun-bearers, whilst W. kept in their wake. Fortune favoured me, for they turned just as I had expected, and I got a splendid broadside shot as they passed along the farther side of a little gully not forty yards off. The Kafir having, as he ran, reloaded the gun which I had already discharged and on which I placed most dependence, I fired with it at the foremost elephant, an enormous animal with long white tusks, when he was exactly opposite to me. My boy had put in the powder with his hand, and must have overloaded it, for the recoil knocked me down, and the gun itself flew out of my hands. Owing to this, I lost a little time, for, when I got hold of my second gun, the elephants had turned back again (excepting the one just hit) towards W. and the Kafirs. However, I gave another a bullet behind the big ribs as he was running obliquely away from me. The first, which I had hit right in the middle of the shoulder, was now walking very slowly up a steep hill, looking as though he were going to fall every instant; but, nevertheless (as until an elephant is actually dead, there is no knowing how far he may go), I determined to finish him before returning to the others. On reaching the top of the hill, and hearing me coming on not a dozen yards behind him, the huge beast wheeled round, and, raising his gigantic ears, looked ruefully [82] towards me. Poor beast, he was doubtless too far gone to charge, and, on receiving another ball in the chest, he stepped slowly backwards, and then sinking on to his haunches, threw his trunk high into the air and rolled over on his side, dead.

"During this time, the remainder of the elephants, harried and bewildered by the continuous firing of W. and our little army of native hunters, had come round in a circle, and I saw the four that still remained (for, besides the one I had killed, two more were down) coming along in single file, at the long, quick half run, half walk, into which these animals settle after their first rush. I at once ran obliquely towards them; but, before I could get near, one more first lagged behind, and then fell heavily to the ground, so that there were but three remaining. W., being blown, had been left behind; but most of the Kafirs were still to the fore, firing away as fast as they could load, from both sides. It was astonishing what bad shooting they made; their bullets kept continually striking up the ground all round the elephants, sometimes in front of their trunks, sometimes behind them, and ever and anon one would come whistling high overhead. It was in vain that I shouted to them to leave off firing and let me shoot; their blood was up, and blaze away they would.

"Just as I was getting well up alongside, the elephants crossed a little gully, and entered a small patch of scrubby bush, on the slope of the hill beyond, in the shelter of which they at once stopped and faced about, giving me a splendid chance. I had just emptied both my guns, hitting one animal full in the chest, and another, that was standing broadside to me, in the shoulder, when loud lamentations and cries of 'Mai-ai!' 'Mai mamo!' burst from my Kafir followers close behind. At the same time my two gun-carriers, throwing down their guns, ran backwards, clapping their hands, and shouting like the rest. Turning hastily round, I saw a Kafir stretched upon the earth, his companions sitting round him, wailing and clapping their hands, and at once comprehended what had occurred. The poor fellow who lay upon the ground had fired at the elephants,[83] from about thirty yards behind myself, and then ran up an ant-hill, just as another Kafir, who preferred to keep at a safer distance, discharged a random shot, which struck poor Mendose just between the shoulder-blades, the bullet coming out on the right breast. I ran up at once to see what could be done, but all human aid was vain—the poor fellow was dead. At this moment two more shots fell close behind, and a minute or two afterwards W. and our Hottentot boy John came up. One of the three elephants had fallen after my last shot, close at hand, and a second, sorely wounded, had walked back right on to W. and John, who were following on the spoor; and the two shots I had just heard had sealed his fate. The third, however, and only surviving one out of the original seven, had made good his escape during the confusion, which he never would have done had it not been for the untimely death of Mendose.

"The sun was now close down upon the western skyline, and little time was to be lost. The Kafirs still continued to shout and cry, seeming utterly paralysed, and I began to think that they were possessed of more sympathetic feelings than I had ever given them credit for. However, on being asked whether they wished to leave the body for the hyenas, they roused themselves. As luck would have it, on the side of the very ant-hill on which the poor fellow had met his death was a large deep hole, excavated probably by an anteater, but now untenanted. Into this rude grave, with a Kafir needle to pick the thorns out of his feet, and his assegais with which to defend himself on his journey to the next world, we put the body, and then firmly blocked up the entrance with large stones, to keep the prowling hyenas from exhuming it. Poor Mendose! he was an obedient, willing servant, and by far the best shot of all our native hunters.

"The first thing to be done now was to cut some meat from one of the elephants, and then get down to a pool of water which we had passed during the hunt, and make a 'skerm' for the night. On reaching the nearest carcase, which proved to be in fair condition, I was much surprised to see my Kafirs throw aside every semblance of grief, and fight[84] and quarrel over pieces of fat and other titbits in their usual manner. Even the fellow who had had the misfortune to shoot his comrade, though he kept asserting that 'his heart was dead,' was quite as eager as the rest. In the evening they laughed and chatted and sang as usual, ate most hearty suppers, and indeed seemed as if all memory of the tragedy which had occurred but a few hours before, and which at the time had seemed to affect them so deeply, had passed from their minds.

"Thus ended the best day's hunting, as regards weight of ivory, at which I had ever assisted. The next day we set the Kafirs to work with three American axes, and before nightfall the twelve tusks (not one of which was broken) were lying side by side, forming one of the finest trophies a sportsman's heart could desire to look upon. The largest pair of tusks weighed 57 lbs. apiece, and the smallest 29 lbs. and 31 lbs. respectively—a very fair lot of bull ivory."

A few days later he had an interesting day in the valley of the Dett and experienced something of the difficulties and dangers of the hunter's life.[9]

"About an hour later, we came up with them, standing some fifty yards away, on our right, under a clump of camel-thorn trees, and in a rather open place compared with the general density of the surrounding jungle. Besides the small troop of bulls we had followed, and which were nearest to us, there was a very large herd of cows standing just beyond, which, as we had not crossed their spoor, had probably drunk at Sikumi—a water-hole not many miles distant—and come to this rendezvous from the other side.

"Taking a hasty gulp of water, we at once walked towards them. As we advanced, the slight rustling of the bushes must have attracted the attention of one of the bulls, for he raised his trunk high in the air, and made a few steps forward. 'I'll take him, and do you fire at the one with the long white tusks on the left,' whispered W. 'Right you are!' was the reply, and the next moment we fired. I just had time to see my elephant fall on his knees, when he was hidden by the troop of cows that, awakened from their sleep[85] by the shots, and not knowing exactly where the danger lay, came rushing towards us in a mass, one or two of them trumpeting, and others making a sort of rumbling noise. Seizing our second guns and shouting lustily, we again pulled trigger. Our Hottentot boy John, and five of our Kafirs, who still carried guns, also fired; on which the herd turned and went off at right angles, enveloped in a cloud of dust. My gun had only snapped the cap, but my Kafir, to whom I threw it back, thinking in the noise and hurry that it was discharged, reloaded it on the top of the old charge—a fact which I only found out, to my sorrow, later on. The cloud of sand and dust raised by the panic-stricken elephants was at first so thick that we could distinguish nothing; but, running behind them, I soon made out the bull I had wounded, which I recognized by the length and shape of his tusks. He was evidently hard hit, and, being unable to keep up with the herd, he turned out, and went off alone; but he was joined almost immediately by four old cows, all with small, insignificant tusks, and, instead of running away, they walked along quite slowly, first in front of and then behind him, as if to encourage him. Seeing how severely he was wounded, I at once went after him, accompanied only by my two gun-carriers, Nuta and Balamoya, W. and the rest of the Kafirs going on after the troop. My bull was going so slowly that I had no difficulty in threading my way through the bushes and getting in front of him, which I did in order to get a broadside shot as he passed me. One of the four cows that still accompanied him walked along, carrying her head high and her tail straight in the air, and kept constantly turning from side to side. 'That cow will bother us; shoot her,' said Nuta, and I wish I had taken his advice; but her tusks were so small, and the bull seemed so very far gone, that I thought it would be a waste of ammunition. I therefore waited till he was a little in front of where I stood, and then gave him a bullet at very close quarters, just behind the shoulder, and, as I thought, exactly in the right place; but he nevertheless continued his walk as if he had not felt it. Reloading the same gun, I ran behind him, holding[86] it before me in both hands, ready to raise at a moment's notice, and, the four cows being some twenty yards in advance, I shouted, hoping he would turn. The sound of my voice had the desired effect; for he at once raised his ears and swung himself round, or rather was in the act of doing so, for immediately his ears went up my gun was at my shoulder, and as soon as he presented his broadside I fired, on which he turned again, and went crashing through the bushes at a trot. I thought that it was a last spasmodic rush and that he would fall before going very far; so, giving the gun back to Nuta to reload, I was running after him, with my eyes fixed on the quivering bushes as they closed behind him, when suddenly the trunk of another elephant was whirled round, almost literally above my head, and a short, sharp scream of rage thrilled through me, making the blood tingle down to the very tips of my fingers. It was one of the wretched old cows, that had thus lain in wait for me behind a dense patch of bush.

"Even had my gun been in my hands, I should scarcely have had time to fire, so close was she upon me; but, as it was, both my Kafirs were some fifteen yards behind, and the only thing I could do was to run. How I got away I scarcely know. I bounded over and through thorn-bushes which, in cold blood, I should have judged impenetrable; but I was urged on by the short piercing screams which, repeated in quick succession, seemed to make the whole air vibrate, and by the fear of finding myself encircled by the trunk or transfixed by the tusk of the enraged animal. After a few seconds (for I don't think she pursued me a hundred yards, though it seemed an age), the screaming ceased. During the chase, the elephant was so close behind me, that looking over my shoulder was impossible, and all that I did was to dash forward, springing from side to side so as to hinder her from getting hold of me, and it was only when the trumpeting suddenly stopped that I knew I was out of her reach. I was barelegged—as I always am when hunting on foot—and my only garment before the beast charged was a flannel shirt; but I now stood almost in puris naturalibus, for my hat, the leather belt that I wore round my waist,[87] and about three parts of my shirt, had been torn off by the bushes, and I doubt if there was a square inch of skin left uninjured anywhere on the front of my body."

"Taking a good sight for the middle of his shoulder, I pulled the trigger. This time the gun went off—it was a four-bore elephant gun, loaded twice over, and the powder thrown in each time by a Kafir with his hands—and I went off too! I was lifted clean from the ground, and turning round in the air, fell with my face in the sand, whilst the gun was carried yards away over my shoulder. At first I was almost stunned with the shock, and I soon found that I could not lift my right arm. Besides this, I was covered with blood, which spurted from a deep wound under the right cheek-bone, caused by the stock of the gun as it flew upwards from the violence of the recoil. The stock itself—though it had been bound round, as are all elephant-guns, with the inside skin of an elephant's ear put on green, which when dry holds it as firmly as iron—was shattered to pieces, and the only wonder was that the barrel did not burst. Whether the two bullets hit the elephant or not I cannot say; but I think they must have done so, for he only went a few yards after I fired, and then stood still, raising his trunk every now and then, and dashing water tinged with blood over his chest. I went cautiously up to within forty yards or so of him, and sat down. Though I could not hold my arm out, I could raise my forearm, so as to get hold of the trigger; but the shock had so told on me, that I found I could not keep the sight within a yard of the right place. The elephant remained perfectly still; so I got Nuta to work my arm about gently, in order to restore its power, and hoped that in the meantime the Kafir, whose shouting had originally brought the elephant to me, would come up and be able to go and fetch W. No doubt, if I had shouted he would have come at once, for he could not have been very far off; but had I done so the elephant might either have charged, or else continued his flight, neither of which alternatives did I desire. After a short time, seeing[88] no chance of aid arriving, and my nerves having got a little steadier, I took my favourite gun from Nuta, and, resting my elbow on my knee, took a quiet pot shot. I was, however, still very unsteady even in this position, but I do not think the bullet could have struck very far from the right place. The elephant on receiving the shot made a rush forwards, crashing through the bushes at a quick walk, so that we had to run at a hard trot to keep him in sight. He now seemed very vicious, for, hearing a dry branch snap, he turned and ran towards us, and then stood with his ears up, feeling about in all directions with his trunk to try and get our wind.

"Nuta, who up to this day had always been a most staunch and plucky gun-bearer, now seemed seized with a panic, and refused to bring me the gun any more, calling out, 'Leave the elephant, sir; this day you're bewitched, and will surely be killed.' However, as the elephant was evidently very severely wounded, I had no idea of giving over the chase as long as I could keep up, and, after bestowing a few Anglo-Saxon idioms upon Nuta, I again ran on. The bush now became very thick, and, as the elephant was going straight away, I could not get a chance of a shot. About a mile farther on, however, we came to one of those large open turf flats which occur here and there in the midst of the sinangas. It was quite a mile square, and perfectly bare, with the exception of a few large camel-thorn trees, which were scattered about in clumps. On reaching this opening, the elephant, instead of turning back into the bush, as I should have expected, kept his course, making straight for the farther side, and going at that long, swinging walk, to keep up with which a man on foot must run at a fair pace. I had now been a long time bare-headed, exposed to the heat of the fierce tropical sun, and the kick I had received from the gun had so much shaken me, that I felt dead-beat, and could scarcely drag one leg after the other. I saw that I should never be able to run up to within shot of the elephant, which was now about 150 yards ahead; so, taking the gun from Nuta, I told him to try and run right round him, and by shouting turn him back towards[89] me. Relieved of the weight of the gun, and being a splendid runner, he soon accomplished this, and standing behind the stem of a camel-thorn tree a long way in advance, holloed loudly. Accordingly, I had the satisfaction of seeing the elephant stop, raise his ears, look steadily in the direction of the noise, and then wheel round, and come walking straight back towards the jungle he had just left, taking a line which would bring him past me, at a distance of about fifty or sixty yards. I stood perfectly still, with Balamoya kneeling close behind me; for, though elephants can see very well in the open, I have always found that if they do not get your wind, and you remain motionless, they seem to take you for a tree or a stump. To this I now trusted, and as the elephant came on I had full leisure to examine him. The ground between us was as bare as a board, except that it was covered with coarse grass about a foot high, and he looked truly a gigantic and formidable beast; his tusks were small for his size, one of them being broken at the point, and I do not think they could have weighed much over 30 lbs. apiece. He came steadily on, swinging his trunk backwards and forwards, until he was about seventy yards from where I stood, when suddenly I was dismayed to see his trunk sharply raised, as if to catch a stray whiff of wind, and the next instant he stopped and faced full towards us, with his head raised, and his enormous ears spread like two sails. He took a few steps towards us, raising his feet very slowly, and bringing them down as if afraid of treading on a thorn. It was an anxious moment; he was evidently very suspicious, but did not know what to make of us, and had we remained motionless I believe he would still have turned and walked on again. 'Stand still!' I whispered between my teeth to Balamoya; but the sight of the advancing monster was too much for him—he jumped up and bolted. The instant he moved, on came the elephant, without trumpeting, and with his trunk straight down. Though very shaky just before, the imminence of the danger braced up my nerves, and I think I never held a gun steadier than upon this occasion. As he was coming direct at me, and as he did not raise his trunk,[90] his chest was quite covered; there was therefore nothing left but to fire at his head. He came on at an astonishing pace, and I heard only the 'whish, whish' of the grass as his great feet swept through it. He was perhaps twenty yards off when I pulled the trigger. I aimed a little above the root of the trunk and just between the eyes, and directly I fired I ran out sideways as fast as I could, though I had not much running left in me. Looking over my shoulder, I saw him standing with his ears still up and his head slightly turned, looking towards me; the blood was pouring down his trunk from a wound exactly where I had aimed, and, as it was inflicted by a four-ounce ball, backed by a heavy charge of powder, I cannot understand why it did not penetrate to his brain; it had half-stunned him, however, and saved my life, for, had he come on again, it would have been utterly impossible for me, fatigued as I was, to have avoided him. After standing still for a short time, swaying himself gently from side to side, he again turned and took across the flat. Nuta, seeing what had happened, instead of trying to turn him again, cleared out of his road, and, making a large circle, came back to me. Perhaps it was as well he did so."

"First, a few hundred yards higher up this valley than where we were working, a herd of nine giraffes stalked slowly and majestically from the forest, and, making their way to a pool of water, commenced to drink. These giraffes remained in the open valley until dark, one or other of them, from time to time, straddling out his forelegs in a most extraordinary manner in order to get its mouth down[91] to the water. No other animals came to drink in the pools between us and the giraffes. Possibly some got our wind before leaving the shelter of the forest, though the evening was very still. But below us, as far as one could see down the valley, the open ground was presently alive with game. One after another, great herds of buffaloes emerged from the forest on either side of the valley and fed slowly down to the water. One of these herds was preceded by about fifty zebras and another by a large herd of sable antelopes. Presently two other herds of sable antelopes appeared upon the scene, and a second herd of zebras, and five magnificently horned old koodoo bulls, whilst rhinoceroses both of the black and white species (the latter predominating in numbers) were scattered amongst the other game, singly or in twos and threes all down the valley. Of course all this great concourse of wild animals had been collected together in the neighbourhood of the valley of the Dett owing to the drying up of all the valleys in the surrounding country, and during the rainy season would have been scattered over a wide area."[10]

"On again arriving at the open valley mentioned above, I found it occupied by a large herd of two or three hundred buffaloes, that had emerged from the surrounding jungle during my absence, and were now feeding quietly down towards the river for their evening drink. Though I hardly liked to fire, for fear of disturbing elephants, some of which might, for all I knew, be within hearing, yet, on the other hand, I had a strong desire to secure a nice fat buffalo steak for supper, and at last forgetting all more prudent resolves, and sympathising with the feelings of my Kafirs who kept entreating me to shoot them a fat cow, I took my four-bore elephant-gun and advanced towards the still unconscious herd, resolved to kill one if possible. Those that were nearest were about one hundred and twenty yards from the edge of the bush, beyond which there was no shelter, save that afforded by a few large scattered goussy trees. However, by creeping cautiously forward on my hands and knees, I managed to get within eighty yards or so, when an old cow observing me, raised her head and gazed steadily towards where I crouched. There was no time to be lost, as I saw she was thoroughly alarmed, so, singling out a fine fat cow, that stood broadside on close beside her, I raised [93]my heavy gun, and taking a quick aim behind her shoulder, fired. The loud bellow that followed the shot told me she was hard hit, but I could see nothing, for the whole herd, startled by the report of the gun, rushed together in wild affright, and now stood in a dense mass, facing towards their hidden foe, effectually screening the wounded cow from my view. In another instant, seemingly satisfied that something dangerous was near, they turned about and galloped away across the valley, making for the bush on the opposite side, and on the dust raised by their many feet subsiding, I beheld the one I had wounded still standing where she had been shot, and thought she was about done for; but on seeing me step from behind a tree, she immediately wheeled round and made for the jungle.

"When the herd ran together, after I had fired, with several nasty-looking old bulls in their front, my native attendants had all retreated precipitately to the edge of the bush (with the exception of one of the Masaras, who was carrying a small gourd of water slung on an assegai over his shoulder), or I might have given the cow another shot with my second gun before she turned to run. Although evidently severely wounded, she still managed to get over the ground at a great rate, and entered the bush at least 100 yards in advance of myself and the Bushman, who were following at our best pace, the Kafirs carrying my guns being a considerable distance behind. Just within the edge of the jungle was one very thick patch, unlike the greater part, covered with foliage, and behind this the wounded buffalo turned and stood at bay waiting for her pursuers. Not thinking of this stratagem (a very common one with both buffaloes and elephants), and imagining her to be a considerable distance ahead, I ran into her very horns before I saw her, and she at the same time seeing me at once charged, with eyes on fire, and her nose stretched straight out, grunting furiously. Luckily she was not standing head on, but broadside to me, and so could not come straight at me, but had first to turn round the bush. This gave me time to spring through the bushes to one side, as she rushed past, when she immediately made at the Bushman, who, springing[94] into a small sapling, just swung his body up out of reach as she passed beneath. So close was she, that, as the calabash full of water, which he had been carrying slung on an assegai, fell to the ground behind him, she smashed it to atoms, either with her feet or horns, just as, if not before, it touched the ground. After this she turned and stood under the very slender tree on which the Bushman hung, looking up at him, and grunting furiously, but not attempting to butt the tree down, which I think she could have accomplished had she but tried. At this instant the Kafir who carried my ten-bore rifle, reaching the scene of action unperceived by the buffalo, fired at and missed her, on which she again retreated behind the bush from whence she had first charged. By this time, however, I had my second elephant-gun in my hands, and creeping up gave her another bullet on the point of the shoulder, just as she caught sight of me and was again turning to charge. On receiving this second ball, she fell to the ground, and snatching up an assegai, and followed by several of the Kafirs, we ran in and despatched her before she could rise. She proved to be a dry cow in splendid condition."

"When first they make up their minds to run, these lechwe buck stretch out their noses, laying their horns flat along their backs, and trot like an eland, but on being pressed break into a springing gallop, now and then bounding high into the air like impalas. Even when in water up to their necks they do not swim, but get along by a succession of bounds with great rapidity, making a tremendous splashing and general commotion. Of course when the water becomes too deep for them to bottom they are forced to swim, which they do well and strongly, though not as fast as the natives can paddle, and in the rainy season, when the country is flooded, great numbers are driven into deep water and speared before they can again reach the shallows where they can touch ground. It is owing to their being thus driven about and harried by the natives in canoes, I suspect, that they are so wild, as I don't think they can often have heard the sound of a gun before."

"During the intensely hot weather in September and October, just before the rains fall, elephants soon become fatigued if driven about and exposed to the fierce sun. When they get hot and tired they insert their trunks into their mouths and draw out water from their stomachs, which they dash over their breasts and shoulders to cool themselves; and when the supply of water is exhausted they will sometimes throw sand over their bodies, which one would suppose would only make them hotter than they were before. Though, as I have said, elephants get knocked up comparatively soon when hunted during the hot weather, yet, as may be imagined, it is killing work following them [96]on foot at that season, in deep sandy ground and under a tropical sun, and with nothing to drink but a very limited allowance of water carried in a gourd, which soon gets lukewarm from the intensity of the heat."[13]

"On this occasion, as Dorehill and myself were riding through a patch of bush, our ears were suddenly saluted with a muffled growling that we did not immediately interpret. The next instant, however, Hartebeest rushed forward, pointing with his assegai, and shouting, 'Isilouan! isilouan!' (lions! lions!). I saw nothing, but galloped through the bush in the direction he pointed, Dorehill heading a little to the right. A few moments later, coming to a more open part, I saw two large lionesses trotting along in front of me. Upon hearing me behind them, they both stopped, and standing broadside to me, turned their heads and looked towards me. Pulling in my horse, I jumped to the ground, upon which they started off again at a gallop. I fired at the hindermost one as she ran, and evidently struck her, for she threw up her tail and gave a loud growl. They now went into a patch of short mopani bush, beyond which the country was open forest, with no underwood. At first they trotted out into this open forest, but the wounded one not seeming to like it, turned, and squatting on the ground,[97] crept back like a cat, with her shoulders above her back, and her eyes all the time fixed upon me, until she reached a little thorn-bush, under which she stretched herself at full length, and lay watching me with her head couched on her outstretched paws. All this time the other lioness was standing in the open, and I was just going to dismount and fire at her, when, turning towards me, she trotted a few steps forwards, and then, throwing her tail two or three times straight into the air, came galloping forwards, growling savagely. Turning my horse's head I pressed him to his utmost speed, closely pursued by the lioness. I do not know how near she got, but her loud purring growls sounded unpleasantly close. As soon as the growling stopped, I knew she had given up the chase, and so rode round in a half-circle to get a view of her. She then trotted to a large mopani tree, in the shade of which she stood. When I rode to another tree about sixty yards off, she lowered her head and stood looking at me, snarling savagely, with her tail held straight in the air. I think that she had done her best to catch me, as her flanks were heaving like those of a tired dog, with the exertion of her run. Feeling sure that she would charge again as soon as she recovered her breath, I steadied myself and fired from the saddle, but missed her. She never took the slightest notice of the shot, but continued snarling and growling. Resting the butt of my rifle (a single ten-bore muzzle-loader) on my foot, I now reloaded with all expedition, and fired again, the lioness all this time having preserved the same position, standing exactly facing me. This time I struck her right in the mouth, knocking out one of the lower canine teeth, breaking the lower jaw-bone, and injuring her neck. She fell to the shot instantly, and lay quite still. I thought she was dead, but took the precaution to reload before riding up to her. On my dismounting and walking towards her, she raised herself on her fore-quarters, when I gave her a ball in the shoulder which effectually settled her. Dorehill now came up with the Kafirs. He had seen the other lions, a male and two females, for there were five altogether, but they had given him the slip in a patch[98] of thick bush. We now went to look for the one I had first wounded, but though there was a little blood under the bush where she had been lying, we could discover no further trace of her, and the ground being very hard no sign of her spoor was visible, even to the keen eyes of the Bushmen. So, after skinning the one I had killed, which was in beautiful condition, we returned to the waggons."

"As it was, however, I was peering about into the bush to try and catch sight of him, holding my rifle advanced in [100]front of me, and on full cock, when I became aware that he was coming at me through the bush. The next instant out he burst. I was so close that I had not even time to take a sight, but, stepping a pace backwards, got the rifle to my shoulder, and, when his head was close upon the muzzle, pulled the trigger and jumped to one side. The lion fell almost at my very feet, certainly not six feet from the muzzle of the rifle. Grandy and Horner, who had a good view of the charge, say that he just dropped in his tracks when I fired, which I could not see for the smoke. One thing, however, I had time to notice, and that was that he did not come at me in bounds, but with a rush along the ground. Perhaps it was his broken shoulder that hindered him from springing, but for all that he came at a very great rate, and with his mouth open. Seeing him on the ground, I thought that I must have shattered his skull and killed him, when, as we were advancing towards him, he stood up again. Dorehill at once fired with a Martini-Henry rifle, and shot him through the thigh. On this he fell down again, and, rolling over on to his side, lay gasping. We now went up to him, but, as he still continued to open his mouth, Horner gave him a shot in the head. I now examined my prize with great satisfaction. He was an average-sized lion, his pegged-out skin measuring 10 ft. 3 in. from nose to tip of tail, sleek, and in fine condition, and his teeth long and perfect. Grandy and Horner must both have missed him when they first fired, as we could find no mark of their bullets on the skin; so that when he charged the only wound he had was the one I had given him on the previous evening. This bullet had merely smashed his shoulder-blade and lodged under the skin just behind it. The bullet with which I so luckily stopped him when charging had struck him fair on the head, about half an inch above the right eye; here it had cracked the skull, but, without penetrating, had glanced along the bone and come out behind the right ear. I believe that this shot must have given him concussion of the brain and caused his death, and that when he stood up after it was merely a spasmodic action, for the shot that Dorehill gave him was[101] only a flesh wound through the thighs, and the last shot that Horner gave him in the head as he lay on the ground had passed beneath the brain-pan."

"That more accidents have happened in encounters with buffaloes than with lions is not that the former is a more dangerous animal than the latter, but because, for every lion that has been killed in the interior, at least fifty buffaloes have been brought to bay."

"I was now by my tree, watching events and putting another cartridge into my rifle. The buffalo having missed my boys, who had all climbed into or were standing behind trees, soon slowed down to a trot, but was evidently still eager for revenge, as he came round in a half-circle with nose upraised and horns laid back. I was just going to fire at him, when he must have got my wind, for he suddenly swung round and, seeing me, came on at a gallop as hard as he could. He was about one hundred yards off when he started, and when he was some sixty yards from me I fired [106]for his throat; but he neither stopped nor swerved nor showed in any way that he was hit, but came straight on. I had plenty of time, and could have swarmed up the branchless stem of the sapling by which I was standing, and got out of his reach with the greatest ease; but, as my legs were bare, I knew that such a course meant the loss of a lot of skin, so I determined to dodge him. I was young and active in those days, and full of confidence in my nerve, so, holding the stem of the tree in my left hand, I leant out as far as possible and awaited the onset. When he was very near me—so close, indeed, as to preclude the possibility of his being able to swerve and pass on the other side of the tree—I pulled my body with a sudden jerk up to and beyond the stem, and, shooting past the buffalo's hind-quarters, ran as hard as ever I could to another tree standing in the direction from which he had come. I knew that by this manœuvre I should gain a good deal of ground, as, even if my adversary had followed me, the pace at which he was going was such that he would not have been able to turn till he had got some way past the tree where I had given him the slip. Had he come round after me I should now have climbed for it; but, as I expected, when I dodged from under his very nose and shot past behind him he lost me entirely and ran straight on. He did not, however, go far, but stopped and lay down, and I killed him with another bullet."

"Putting on a third cap, I now kept it down with my thumb, and was soon once more close behind him, and had galloped for perhaps a couple of minutes more, when, entering a patch of short thick mopani bush, he stopped suddenly, wheeled round, and came on at once, as soon as he caught sight of the horse, with his nose stretched straight out and horns laid back, uttering the short grunts with which these animals invariably accompany a charge.

"There was no time to be lost, as I was not more than forty yards from him; so, reining in with a jerk and turning the horse at the same instant broadside on, I raised my gun, intending to put a ball, if possible, just between his neck and shoulder, which, could I have done so, would either [109]have knocked him down, or at any rate made him swerve, but my horse, instead of standing steady as he had always done before, now commenced walking forward, though he did not appear to take any notice of the buffalo. There was no time to put my hand down and give another wrench on the bridle (which I had let fall on the horse's neck), and for the life of me I could not get a sight with the horse in motion. A charging buffalo does not take many seconds to cover forty yards, and in another instant his outstretched nose was within six feet of me, so, lowering the gun from my shoulder, I pulled it off right in his face, at the same time digging the spurs deep into my horse's sides. But it was too late, for even as he sprang forward the old bull caught him full in the flank, pitching him, with me on his back, into the air like a dog. The recoil of the heavily-charged elephant-gun with which I was unluckily shooting, twisted it clean out of my hands, so that we all, horse, gun, and man, fell in different directions. My horse regained its feet and galloped away immediately, but even with a momentary glance I saw that the poor brute's entrails were protruding in a dreadful manner. The buffalo, on tossing the horse, had stopped dead, and now stood with his head lowered within a few feet of me. I had fallen in a sitting position, and facing my unpleasant-looking adversary. I could see no wound on him, so must have missed, though I can scarcely understand how, as he was so very close when I fired.

"However, I had not much time for speculation, for the old brute, after glaring at me a few seconds with his sinister-looking bloodshot eyes, finally made up his mind and, with a grunt, rushed at me. I threw my body out flat along the ground to one side, and just avoided the upward thrust of his horn, receiving, however, a severe blow on the left shoulder with the round part of it, nearly dislocating my right arm with the force with which my elbow was driven against the ground, and receiving also a kick on the instep from one of his feet. Luckily for me, he did not turn again, as he most certainly would have done had he been wounded, but galloped clean away.

"The first thing[110] to be done was to look after my horse, and at about 150 yards from where he had been tossed I found him. The buffalo had struck him full in the left thigh; it was an awful wound, and, as the poor beast was evidently in the last extremity, I hastily loaded my gun and put him out of his misery. My Kafirs coming up just then, I started with them, eager for vengeance, in pursuit of the buffalo, but was compelled finally to abandon the chase, leaving my poor horse unavenged."

"Once, in 1874, when hunting with George Wood near the Chobe, we came upon an old buffalo bull lying down in some long grass. My friend gave him a bullet as he lay, upon which he jumped up and stood behind some mopani trees, only exposing his head and hind-quarters on either side their stems. After eyeing us for a few seconds he turned and went off at a gallop, but before he had gone many yards, Wood fired at him with his second gun and knocked him over; he was on his legs again in a moment, and, wheeling round, came straight towards me at a heavy gallop, his nose stretched straight out and grunting furiously. When he was about twenty yards from me I fired with my large four-bore elephant-gun and struck him fair in the chest. This staggered but did not stop him, for, swerving slightly, he made straight for the Kafir carrying my second gun; this the man at once threw down and commenced climbing a tree. The buffalo just brought his right horn past the tree, and scraping it up the trunk so as to send all the loose pieces of bark flying, caught the Kafir a severe [111]blow on the inside of the knee, nearly knocking him out of the tree. The sturdy beast then ran about twenty yards farther, knelt gently down and, stretching forth its nose, commenced to bellow, as these animals almost always do when dying; in a few minutes it was lying dead."

"One cold winter morning in 1873, I left my camp before sunrise, and had not walked a quarter of a mile skirting round the base of a low hill, when, close to the same path I was following, and not twenty yards off, I saw an old buffalo bull lying under a bush. He was lying head on towards us, but did not appear to notice us. My gun-carriers were behind, having lingered, Kafir-like, over the camp-fire, but had they been nearer me I should not have fired for fear of disturbing elephants, of which animals I was in search.

"As I stood looking at the buffalo, Minyama, one of my Kafirs, threw an assegai at it from behind me, which, grazing its side, just stuck in the skin on the inside of its thigh. Without more ado, the ugly-looking old beast jumped up and came trotting out, with head up and nose extended, evidently looking for the disturbers of its peace, and as Minyama was hiding behind the trunk of a large tree, and the rest of the Kafirs had made themselves scarce, it at once came straight at me, grunting furiously. I was standing close to a very small tree, not more than six inches in diameter, but as I was unarmed, and to run would have been useless, I swarmed up it with marvellous celerity. The buffalo just came up and looked at me, holding his nose close to my feet, and grunting all the time. He then turned and went off at a lumbering canter, and I then, for the first time, saw that he had been terribly torn and scratched on the hind-quarters and shoulders by lions. Had he tried to knock my little sapling down, he might, I think, easily have accomplished it; as it was, my legs being bare, and the bark of the tree very rough, I had rubbed a lot of skin off the insides of my knees and the calves of my legs."[19]

"Having picked out a good cow for my fifth victim, I gave her a shot behind the shoulder, on which she turned from the herd and walked slowly away by herself. As I cantered up behind her, she wheeled round and stood facing me, with her ears spread and her head raised. My horse was now so tired that he stood well, so, reining in, I gave her a shot from his back between the neck and the shoulder, which I believe just stopped her from charging. On receiving this wound she backed a few paces, gave her ears a flap against her sides, and then stood facing me again. I had just taken out the empty cartridge and was about to put a fresh one in, when, seeing that she looked very vicious, and as I was not thirty yards from her, I caught the bridle and turned the horse's head away, so as to be ready for a fair start in case of a charge. I was still holding my rifle with the breech open when I saw that she was coming. Digging the spurs into my horse's ribs, I did my best to get him away, but he was so thoroughly done that, instead of springing forwards, which was what the emergency required, he only started at a walk and was just breaking into a canter when the elephant was upon us. I heard two short sharp screams above my head, and had just time to think it was all over with me, when, horse and all, I was dashed to the ground. For a few seconds I was half-stunned by the violence of the shock, and the first thing I became aware of was a very strong smell of elephant. At the same instant I felt that I was still unhurt and that, although in an unpleasant predicament, I had still a chance for life. I was, however,[118] pressed down on the ground in such a way that I could not extricate my head. At last with a violent effort I wrenched myself loose, and threw my body over sideways, so that I rested on my hands. As I did so I saw the hind legs of the elephant standing like two pillars before me, and at once grasped the situation. She was on her knees, with her head and tusks in the ground, and I had been pressed down under her chest, but luckily behind her forelegs. Dragging myself from under her, I regained my feet and made a hasty retreat, having had rather more than enough of elephants for the time being. I retained, however, sufficient presence of mind to run slowly, watching her movements over my shoulder and directing mine accordingly. Almost immediately I had made my escape she got up and stood looking for me, with her ears up and head raised, turning first to one side and then to the other, but never quite wheeling round. As she made these turns, I ran obliquely to the right or left, as the case might be, always endeavouring to keep her stern towards me. At length I gained the shelter of a small bush and breathed freely once more."

"I now turned my attention to the second lion. As, [123]owing to the grass, I could not see him clearly, I mounted my horse and gave him a shot from the saddle, as he lay half-facing me, gazing towards me with anything but a pleasant expression of countenance. Whether he realized the misfortune which had befallen his comrade or not I cannot say, but he certainly had an angry, put-out sort of look. As I fired, a loud roar announced that the bullet had struck him, and I could see that he was hard hit. He now sat on his haunches like a dog, holding his head low, and growling savagely. In this position he exposed his chest, so hastily pushing in another cartridge, I jumped to the ground before he could make up his mind what to do, and firing quickly, struck him in the centre of the breast, just under the chin. This rolled him over, and riding up, I saw that he was in his last agonies, so left him, and took a look at the first I had shot, a magnificent old lion with a fine black mane, and a skin in beautiful condition, and of a very dark colour all over. All this, which has taken so long to relate, must have occupied less than a minute of time, and the lions being both dead, I again turned my attention to the giraffes."

"After the defeat of the Zulus at Ulundi," remarked Sir Edward, "they scattered in all directions and we sent out small patrols throughout the country to search for the king. On this occasion the Zulus behaved in the most magnanimous manner. Although they could with ease have annihilated the majority of these patrols, not one was attacked, for they felt that the supreme test had been passed and their army utterly defeated. I believe that one day after the battle of Ulundi it would have been safe for an English lady to have walked across Zululand unmolested, so noble was the behaviour of the natives. I was attached to a patrol under Major Marter, K.D.G., and we came up with the king at Nisaka's kraal in the Ngome Forest.

"Cetawayo was seated in a hut attended by two of his chief wives. Marter entered the hut with myself and explained to the king that his presence was required by Sir Garnet Wolseley, and that he must come at once.[128] Cetawayo promptly refused. Marter took out his watch and stated that he would give him five minutes to decide. The black monarch still refused to move. 'I will now give you five minutes more,' said Marter, 'and then if you are still obstinate I shall set fire to the hut.'

"The King remained obdurate. Then Marter drew from his pocket a box of matches, and I still seem to see clearly the expression on Cetawayo's face as he listened to the scraping of the match on the box. Cetawayo, who was an immense man, and at the moment perfectly naked, then rose with great dignity and stalked out of the hut. Here he threw a large kaross over his shoulder and stood there looking every inch a king.

"'Where are you taking me?' he observed.

"'That I cannot tell you,' replied Marter.

"'Well, I refuse to go,' came the answer.

"The King was then seized by soldiers and put upon a litter and thus carried with his wives to a waggon which was awaiting."

"I had known Cetawayo formerly, and when he was confined in Robben Island shortly after the conclusion of the war, I thought I would go down one day when I was in Cape Town and have a chat with him. I found him much as I had known him, but more corpulent and somewhat depressed. After some general conversation I said:

"'Well, Cetawayo, what do you think of John Dunn now?'

"This I knew was a sore point with the king, for he had treated John Dunn like a brother and given him wives, slaves and lands as one of his own head indunas. Dunn had[129] afterwards deserted him and given all his help and information to Sir Garnet Wolseley.

"Cetawayo thought deeply for a few moments, and then said, 'One very cold and stormy night in winter I was seated before a large fire in my hut when there was a noise without as if someone was arriving. I asked the cause from my attendants, and they told me a white man in a miserable state of destitution had just arrived and claimed my hospitality. I ordered the slaves to bring him in, and a tall splendidly made man appeared. He was dressed in rags, for his clothes had been torn to pieces in fighting through the bush, and he was shivering from fever and ague. I drew my cloak aside and asked him to sit by the fire, and told the servants to bring food and clothing. I loved this white man as a brother and made him one of my head indunas, giving him lands and wives, the daughters of my chiefs. Now Shaunele (the sun has gone down), and John Dunn is sitting by the fire but he does not draw his cloak aside.'"

"Last year when I went in hunting I thought to have done well, as I obtained leave to hunt in a country where a few years ago elephants were very plentiful. But, alas, during the last two years Moremi's hunters from Lake Ngami have overrun the whole district and effectively driven away the elephants, so that I have again made an unsuccessful hunt. I shall now give up hunting elephants, as it is impossible to make it pay. However, I must make one more journey into the interior, which I intend to be my last. If I keep my health it will be a long one, for I intend to cross the Zambesi again and endeavour to penetrate[131] through the Mashukulumbwe country to Lake Bangwolo, for which purpose I have bought twelve donkeys that will carry my traps and make me independent to a great extent of native carriers.

"During the last four years, though I have led a life of great hardship and privation, yet I have lost much money and almost ruined a good constitution; to throw away a little more money and health after what has already gone, will not much matter, and the former I may not lose at all, for I may shoot elephants, indeed, most likely I shall. I intend publishing a book, and think that a journey into a country where no one has ever been before would greatly enhance its value. My plans are liable to modification owing to fever, tsetse flies, and various minor circumstances.

"The Zulu war is over. You think it was unjustifiable, but it was not so, for so long as the military power of the Zulus remained unbroken there could be no peace in South Africa and the white inhabitants of Natal and the Transvaal would have had an assegai constantly dangling over their heads. Sir Bartle Frere knew this, and no doubt manœuvred so as to bring on a war, a war which he knew to be inevitable sooner or later. Of course but little glory has been gained, and one cannot but admire and pity the Zulus, who made a brave but unavailing resistance to our men armed with far superior weapons. I think they are far better off than before, and are not burdened with the cruel despotism of Cetawayo. It seems that after all there will be a disturbance with the Transvaal Boers. I hope not, but of course, if they force it upon themselves, their blood will be upon their own heads. I do not admire them; mentally they are, I should think, the most ignorant and stupid of all white races, and they certainly have not one tenth part of the courage of the Zulus. Physically they are immensely big as a rule and capital shots, but there can only be one end for them to an open rupture with the British authorities, death and confiscation of property which will leave another legacy of hatred between Dutch and English inhabitants of this country for many years to come."

"Selous approached me to get the Governor's permit to proceed with firearms through a forbidden or restricted route to Matabeleland, then closed owing to political reasons. This route was dangerous to travel in consequence of the threatening attitude of Lobengula. I was able to help in a measure—who could refuse to help so bold and charming a personality?—but not to the full measure he wanted. He went away saying: 'I want you some day to come and trek with me, and enjoy as you do the beautiful big game as well as the small without killing it. Meanwhile I must away, and as a permit cannot take me over the Crocodile river, I must swim it in spite of crocodiles and Matabele.'"

"Why all the ambitions of my lifetime should have been concentrated at this time, with a seemingly prosperous issue, I know not; but I assure you that I did not accept the position without weighing well all there was for and against it. Ever since childhood I have dreamt of doing some good in this world, and making a name which was more than an idle one. My life has been a more or less selfish one, and now springs up this opportunity of wiping off a little of the long score standing against me. Do not blame me too much."[24]

"I had been lying thus upon the ground for perhaps a couple of minutes, listening to the slight noise made by my horse as he cropped the short dry herbage. Suddenly the sound ceased. For a few seconds I lay dreamily wondering why it did not recommence; but as there was still silence, I rolled quickly over on my stomach, and, looking under the bush to ascertain why my horse had stopped feeding, I saw that he was standing in an attitude of fixed attention, with ears pricked forward, intently gazing towards the road. I instantly turned and looked in the same direction, and as instantly saw on what the horse's eyes were fixed. There, not thirty yards away, and right in the open, a lioness, looking large and white in the brilliant moonlight was coming up at a quick and stealthy pace, and in a half-crouching attitude. In an instant I was on my feet, and the lioness, probably observing me for the first time, at once stopped and crouched perfectly flat on the ground. The saddle and rifle lay out in the moonlight right between me and the lioness, though nearer to me than to her. It was not a time to hesitate. I knew she must be pretty keen set, or she would have retreated upon seeing me; and I[144] felt that if I remained where I was, she would resume her journey towards my horse, which might end in my having to carry the saddle back to the Notwani. Obviously the only thing to be done was to get hold of my rifle; so I walked quickly forward into the moonlight towards where it lay against the saddle. I must confess that I did not like advancing towards the lioness, for I knew very well of what hungry lions are capable; and there is nothing like experience to damp the foolhardy courage of ignorance. However, whilst I took those dozen steps she never stirred; but just as I stooped to grasp my rifle she sprang up with a low purring growl, and made off towards some thorn-bushes to her right. I fired at her as she ran, and, though I certainly ought to have hit her, I must have missed, as she neither growled nor changed her pace. But I was fairly well pleased to have driven her off, and lost no time in loosening my horse's hobbles and saddling him again."

"The position was now this: the lion was standing with open mouth, from which blood was flowing, growling savagely, and looking like nothing but a wounded and furious lion, whilst right in front of him, and within thirty yards, stood Laer's refractory pony, backing towards the lion, and pulling with him Laer, who, of course, was looking full into his open jaws, which he did not seem to admire. I think I shall never forget the momentary glimpse I had of his face. He was at that time only a lad of about fifteen or sixteen years of age, and there is no wonder that he was frightened—but frightened he most certainly was: his hat had fallen off, his mouth was wide open, and his eyes staring, and he was pulling desperately against the horse, which was steadily dragging him nearer to the lion. I was a little to the right of Laer and a little further from the lion, but not much, and he looked alternately at the two of us. I am sure it was simply want of strength that prevented him from coming on and mauling either Laer or the pony, for before I could raise my rifle he sank down on the ground, but still kept his head up, and, with his mouth wide open, never ceased growling or roaring (I do not know which is the better word). Of course I fired as quickly as I could, the circumstances not admitting of any delay. I aimed right for his open mouth, and at the shot his head fell so [146] suddenly, and in such a way, that I knew the bullet had reached his brain."[27]

"All this time the lion had never moved, nor did he now, but lay watching me intently with his yellow eyes. Nothing stirred but his tail, the end of which he twitched slowly, so that the black bunch of hair at its extremity appeared first on one side of him, then on the other. As I raised my rifle to my shoulder I found that the fallen tree-trunk interfered considerably with the fine view I had had of him from my horse's back, as it hid almost all his nose below the eyes. In the position in which he was now holding his head I ought to have hit him about half-way between the nostrils and the eyes, which was impossible; anywhere above the eyes would have been too high, as the bullet would have glanced from his skull, so that it required a very exact shot to kill him on the spot. However, there was no time to wait, and, trying to aim so that the bullet should just clear the fallen log and catch him between the eyes, I fired. With[150] a loud roar he answered the shot, and I instantly became aware that he was coming straight at me with open mouth and flaming eyes, growling savagely. I knew it was hopeless to try to get another cartridge into my single-barrelled rifle, and utterly useless to try to mount, more especially as my horse, startled by the loud hoarse grunts and sudden and disagreeable appearance of the charging lion, backed so vigorously that the bridle (to a running ring on which a strong thong was attached, the other end being fastened to my belt) came over his head. I had a strong feeling that I was about to have an opportunity of testing the accuracy of Dr. Livingstone's incredible statement that, for certain reasons (explained by the Doctor), a lion's bite gives no pain; but there was no time to think of anything in particular. The whole adventure was the affair of a moment. I just brought my rifle round in front of me, holding the small of the stock in my right hand and the barrel in my left, with a vague idea of getting it into the lion's mouth, and at the same time yelled as loud as I could, 'Los de honden, los de honden,' which being translated means, 'Let loose the dogs.' In an instant, as I say, the lion was close up to me. I had never moved my feet since firing, and whether it was my standing still facing him that made him alter his mind, or whether he heard the noise made by my people, who, hearing my shot, immediately followed by the loud growling of the lion, were all shouting and making a noise to frighten the lion from coming their way, I cannot take upon myself to say; but he came straight on to within about six yards of me, looking, I must say, most unpleasant, and then suddenly swerved off, and passing me, galloped away."[29]

"As soon as he saw me he paid no further heed to his canine foes, but stood, with his eyes fixed on the most dangerous of his assailants, growling hoarsely, and with his head held low between his shoulders—just ready to charge, in fact. I knew my horse would not stand steady, so jumped off, and taking a quick aim fired instantly, as it does not do to wait when a lion is looking at you like this, [151]and when he may make up his mind to come at any moment. Usually they jerk their tails up over their backs, holding them perfectly stiff and rigid, two or three times before charging. They sometimes charge without doing this, but they never do it without charging. My bullet inflicted a mortal wound, entering between the animal's neck and shoulder and travelling the whole length of his body. He sat down like a dog on his haunches immediately after, and was evidently done for, as he lolled his tongue out of his mouth and growled feebly when the dogs bit him in the hind-quarters."[30]

"'It is you, Selous, who have finished the king's game.' He went on: 'But you are a witch, you must bring them all to life again. I want to see them—all, all. Let them all walk in at the kraal gate, the elephants, and the buffaloes, and the elands.'

"I stood up[152] and called out: 'All right; but when the lions come in, will you, Ma-kwaykwi, remain where you are to count them?'

"This caused a general laugh at Ma-kwaykwi's expense, and quite stopped his flow of eloquence."

"This country is now in a terrible state financially, bankrupt from Cape Town to the Zambesi. Nothing that is not exportable has any real value, for nothing can be turned into money. Thanks to my specimens I have during the last two years, in spite of more than reasonable losses, even for Africa, done very well, but all that I have made is represented by waggons, salted horses, cattle, rifles, etc., for all of which I have paid large prices, but which, if I [153]wished to realize and leave the country, would bring me in scarcely enough to pay my passage to England. It is all very well to tell a man to leave such a country and try another. It would be the wisest thing to do, no doubt, but it is a thing that few men are capable of doing. What you say of Edward Colchester (friend of his youth) returning to Australia and beginning life again at thirty-nine is not at all to the point. He would simply be returning again to his old life, for which he has never ceased to pine ever since he came home and settled down in England. I was very interested in what you told me about Spiritualism, but are you sure that William Colchester really saw his child (recently deceased) and touched and spoke to him? In Sergeant Cox's accounts of Materializations the figure seen is that of the medium, and I have never yet seen an authentic account of any other Materialization. At present I believe nothing (about Spiritualism), but am inclined towards Materialism, but at the same time I do not believe everything, and am in a state of doubt. If I felt sure—quite sure—that I was merely material, I think I should before long take a good dose of laudanum and stop the working of my inward mechanism, for life, on the whole, is a failure—to me, at any rate—who, I think, am naturally of rather a sad turn of mind, though I can quite understand it being very different to sanguine hopeful people. However, as I feel doubtful upon the subject, I certainly shall not have recourse to violent measures but shall protect my vital spark as long as I can. I think I told you about Jameson being struck down by a sort of paralytic stroke and not being able to come out this year to hunt.

"I am very sorry indeed, for being with Jameson, who is, of course, a rich man, I should have been free from the constant anxiety which now overhangs me like a black cloud as to whether I shall be able to pay my debts. It is so very easy to lose a hundred pounds in live stock, from sickness, drought, hunger, etc., and so hard, so very hard, to make it. Last year I paid Mr. Leask nearly £1600. This year I only owe a few hundreds and am at present well to the good, as I have nearly £2000 worth of property."

"I could[162] not sleep, however, and was lying under my blanket, thinking of many things, and revolving various plans in my head, when about nine o'clock I observed a man come cautiously round the end of our scherm and pass quickly down the line of smouldering fires. As he stopped beside the fire, near the foot of Paul and Charley's blankets, I saw that he was one of the two men who had accompanied us as guides from Monzi's. I saw him kneel down and shake Paul by the leg, and then heard him whispering to him hurriedly and excitedly. Then I heard Paul say to Charley, 'Tell our master the news; wake him up.' I at once said, 'What is it, Charley? I am awake.' 'The man says, sir, that all the women have left the village, and he thinks that something is wrong,' he answered. I thought so too, and hastily pulled on my shoes, and then put on my coat and cartridge-belt, in which, however, there were only four cartridges. As I did so, I gave orders to my boys to extinguish all the fires, which they instantly did by throwing sand on the embers, so that an intense darkness at once hid everything within our scherm.

"Paul and Charley were now sitting on their blankets with their rifles in their hands, and I went and held a whispered conversation with them, proposing to Paul that he and I should creep round the village and reconnoitre, and listen if possible to what the inhabitants were talking about. 'Wait a second,' I said, 'whilst I get out a few more cartridges,' and I was just leaning across my blankets to get at the bag containing them when three guns went off almost in my face, and several more at different points round the scherm. The muzzles of all these guns were within our scherm when they were discharged, so that our assailants must have crawled right up to the back of our camp and fired through the interstices between the cornstalks. The three shots that were let off just in front of me were doubtless intended for Paul, Charley, and myself, but by great good luck none of us was hit. As I stooped to pick up my rifle, which was lying on the blankets beside me, Paul and Charley jumped up and sprang past me. 'Into the grass!' I called to them in Dutch, and prepared to[163] follow. The discharge of the guns was immediately followed by a perfect shower of barbed javelins, which I could hear pattering on the large leathern bags in which most of our goods were packed, and then a number of Mashukulumbwe rushed in amongst us.

"I can fairly say that I retained my presence of mind perfectly at this juncture. My rifle, when I picked it up, was unloaded; for, in case of accident, I never kept it loaded in camp, and I therefore had first to push in a cartridge. As I have said before, between our camp and the long grass lay a short space of cleared ground, dug into irregular ridges and furrows. Across this I retreated backwards, amidst a mixed crowd of my own boys and Mashukulumbwe.

"I did my best to get a shot into one of our treacherous assailants, but in the darkness it was impossible to distinguish friend from foe. Three times I had my rifle to my shoulder to fire at a Mashukulumbwe, and as often someone who I thought was one of my own boys came between. I was within ten yards of the long grass, but with my back to it, when, with a yell, another detachment of Mashukulumbwe rushed out of it to cut off our retreat. At this juncture I fell backwards over one of the ridges, and two men, rushing out of the grass, fell right over me, one of them kicking me in the ribs and falling over my body, whilst another fell over my legs. I was on my feet again in an instant, and then made a rush for the long grass, which I reached without mishap, and in which I felt comparatively safe. I presently crept forwards for about twenty yards and then sat still listening. Standing up again, I saw that the Mashukulumbwe were moving about in our camp. It was, however, impossible to see anyone with sufficient distinctness to get a shot, for whenever one of the partially-extinguished fires commenced to burn up again it was at once put out by having more sand thrown over it.

"But I now thought no more of firing at them. I had had time to realise the full horror of my position. A solitary Englishman, alone in Central Africa, in the middle of a hostile country, without blankets or anything else but what[164] he stood in and a rifle with four cartridges. I doubt whether Mark Tapley himself would have seen anything cheerful in the situation. Could I only have found Paul or Charley or even one of my own Kafirs, I thought my chance of getting back to Panda-ma-tenka would be much increased, for I should then have an interpreter, I myself knowing but little of the languages spoken north of the Zambesi. I now began to quarter the grass cautiously backwards and forwards, whistling softly, in hopes that some of my own boys might be lying in hiding near me; but I could find no one, and at length came to the conclusion that all those of my people who had escaped death would make the most of the darkness and get as far as possible from Minenga's before day-dawn, and I decided that I had better do the same."[37]

"The Mashukulumbwe I saw had now made up the fires, upon which they were throwing bundles of grass, by the light of which I presume they were dividing my property. I turned my back upon this most melancholy spectacle and, taking the Southern Cross for my guide, which was now almost down, commenced my lonely journey."

"In endeavouring to do so to the best of my ability, I kept gradually turning more towards them, till presently my rifle lay almost behind me. It was whilst I was in this position that I heard someone behind me. I turned quickly round to clutch my rifle, but was too late, for the man whom I had heard just stooped and seized it before my[166] own hand touched it, and, never pausing, rushed off with it and disappeared in the darkness. I sprang up, and at the same moment one of the two men who had engaged me in conversation did so too, and, in the act of rising, dropped some dry grass which he had hitherto concealed beneath his large ox-hide rug on to the fire. There was at once a blaze of light which lit up the whole of the open space around the fire. My eyes instinctively looked towards the hut which I had seen the man with the gun enter, and there, sure enough, he sat in the doorway taking aim at me not ten yards from where I sat. There was no time to remonstrate. I sprang out into the darkness, seizing one of the pieces of wildebeest meat as I did so; and, as the village was surrounded with long grass, pursuit would have been hopeless, and was not attempted. My would-be assassin never got off his shot."[38]

"Paul, the Zulu,[168] got through the first rush of our assailants unhurt, but was nearly drowned in crossing the river, where he lost my single 10-bore rifle. Charley also got out of the scherm unwounded, and, making his way to the river, there fell in with two of our boys, and with their assistance crossed safely with rifle, cartridge-belt, and clothes. I found that we had all done the same thing, namely, held to the south through the night, across country. Charley said he was close to me when I shot the wildebeest; he heard the shot, and ran with the two boys in the direction, but never saw me. I fancy he must have passed me whilst I was cooking the meat, as I was then in a deep hollow. He too had been seen and pursued in the daytime near the village where my rifle was captured, but again escaped in the long grass. This had also happened to the survivor of the two Mangwato men, who, being likewise alone and unarmed, had incautiously approached a village. He said that one man got close up to him and threw three assegais at him, one of which cut his right hand. At last, however, he outran him and escaped. Neither Paul, Charley, nor the rest had gone near Monzi's, or any other village, being afraid of the inhabitants, but had kept through the veldt, and only cut into our trail beyond the hill U-Kesa-Kesa. Here Charley shot a zebra, and was shortly afterwards joined by Paul, who had then been three days without food. Farther on Charley shot another zebra, and here he and Paul remained for three days more, hoping that I would turn up, and collecting all the other survivors of our party."[39]

"When strangers came in, they saluted the chief most ceremoniously. First they would kneel down in a row, and after clapping their hands, bend their heads forward until their foreheads touched the ground, when the head was moved slowly from side to side; then, raising their heads again, they would look towards the chief, and throwing their arms quickly and wildly into the air would shout twice in unison, and in slow measured tones, the words 'So-yo, so-yo.' This ceremony would be twice repeated, when, after clapping their hands again, they would get up and retire."

"It is due to Mr. Cecil Rhodes alone," writes Selous, "I cannot too often repeat, that to-day our country's flag flies over Mashunaland. He alone of all Englishmen possessed at the same time the prescience and breadth of mind to appreciate the ultimate value of the country, combined with the strong will which, in spite of all obstacles, impelled the means and the power successfully to carry out the scheme of its immediate occupation. What the acquisition of this vast country means is as yet scarcely apparent to the great majority of Englishmen, perhaps to none who are not acquainted with the history of South Africa during the present century, or who have not watched the giant strides which have taken place in its development during the last twenty years. But, in the not distant future, when quick and easy communications into Mashunaland have been established, and the many difficulties which now hamper the development of this the youngest of British colonies have been overcome, then I think Englishmen will be able to appreciate[175] what they owe to Mr. Rhodes for inaugurating a new departure in South African history, and securing for his countrymen the first 'show in' in a country which must ultimately become a very valuable possession."

In February and March he made a flying visit to Bulawayo, where he saw Lobengula, who gave him a message for Cecil Rhodes. Writing from Palapswi, on March 26th, he says: "I got back the day before yesterday from Matabeleland and leave to-morrow for Kimberley. I am the bearer of a message from Lobengula to Mr. Cecil Rhodes. He promises to come to an understanding with Mr. Rhodes as to the opening up of Mashunaland if Rhodes will go up to Bulawayo and arrange with him personally. I am going to try and persuade Mr. Rhodes to accompany me back to Bulawayo immediately. I hope he will be able to go, and trust some satisfactory arrangement may be come to. Still, I distrust Lobengula and his people. Things are in such a condition just now regarding Matabeleland and Mashunaland that it is quite impossible to tell what may happen. Everything may be settled peaceably (or forcibly) this year. Or again, the High Commissioner may forbid any expedition to be made this year against the wish of Lobengula. The question is a very strange one. The Charter was granted to the South African Company on the strength of their having obtained a concession from Lobengula for the mineral rights in Matabele- and Mashunaland. These rights were really bought, and a lot of money was paid to Lobengula directly, and to his people indirectly, by the agents of the Company.[176] Now it seems as if Lobengula was inclined to disallow Europeans to work for gold, either in Matabele- or Mashunaland. In order to avoid trouble, the Company now wish to waive their rights in Matabeleland proper, where they would necessarily come in contact with the Matabele people, and to exploit and develop Mashunaland, a country to which the Matabele have no just title. In order to do this without coming into contact with Lobengula and his people, the Company now wish to make a road to Mashunaland that shall not touch Matabeleland at all, but pass to the south of that country, and it is quite possible that Lobengula and his people, fearing to let whites get beyond him and establish themselves in Mashunaland, will try and prevent this road being made. At present the political situation in England is a most ridiculous one as regards Mashunaland. Lord Salisbury has warned the Portuguese out of it, saying that it is to him the sphere of British influence, and now Lobengula will not allow British subjects or any white men to enter his country as long as he can keep them out. I abhor the Matabele, yet I would not have them interfered with or their country invaded without a casus belli; but that they should keep Europeans out of Mashunaland is preposterous."

From the Umshabetse river Selous wrote to his mother (July 13th, 1890): "I am here with an advanced party of the pioneer force—forty men—all mounted. We have already cut nearly 120 miles of road from the B.S.A. Company's camp on the Macloutsie river, and are now on the borders of the Banyai country. We are already far to the east of all the inhabited part of Matabeleland and are now going north-east, always keeping more than 150 miles as the crow flies from Bulawayo. So far we have seen nothing of the Matabele. We are, however, taking every precaution against surprise, and always have scouts out in front and several miles behind us on the road who do not come in till after dark. We keep watch all night, too, with relays of guards. Should a large impi come down to attack us, we shall simply abandon our waggons and retire on the main body, which is now coming on, on the road we have made. Our main body is composed of four hundred good men,[178] besides fifty native mounted scouts supplied by Khama. If we can get two hours' notice of the approach of the Matabele, just sufficient time to have all the waggons put into 'laager' on the old Boer plan, Lobengula's men can do nothing to us. If they attack us in 'laager' they must suffer fearful loss. The young men want to fight, but Lobengula and the older men want peace. However, do not be downhearted, dearest mother. Personally, I hope there will be no fighting."

"Before[180] the rainy season is over, the Company will probably have come to some definite understanding with Lobengula, who, by the by, recognized my importance in the expedition by sending down a message to Sir Henry Loch, the High Commissioner, that 'Selous had turned his oxen and his horses into his (Lobengula's) cornfields.'"

Writing from Motoko's kraal on November 16th, he says: "Before coming here, I have had no difficulty with any of the other chiefs, but here I have had a lot of worry and trouble. My great difficulty is that the whole country is really ruled, not by the chief (Motoko) but by one whom they call the 'Lion-God.' This appears to be a hereditary office, and the holder of it lives away by himself in the mountains, and is looked upon with superstitious dread and reverence by the Chief and his people. However, I have now got things on a friendly footing, but I shall have to go back to Fort Salisbury, in order to get certain articles to appease the 'Lion-God,' and then return here before I shall finally be able to conclude the treaty with Motoko. I am under engagement to the Company till the end of next August, and do not think I shall take a fresh engagement, as I am anxious to get home. Having passed the best part of my life in the wilderness and amongst savages, I should now like to see something of civilized countries, with perhaps an occasional short trip into an out-of-the-way place. If I live to be an old man, I should like to re-visit this country, thirty or forty years hence, by railroad."

"I got down here on the 13th by the new road I have made for the Company, with about twenty men and two waggon-loads of provisions, and we were astonished to hear that a fight had already taken place near Massi-Kessi on the afternoon of the 11th, and I will now tell you what has actually taken place. It appears that on the 5th of this month the Portuguese reoccupied Massi-Kessi, with a force consisting of about one hundred white soldiers and three or four hundred black troops. Thereupon Captain Heyman went over from here (Umtali Camp) to near Massi-Kessi with fifty men and a seven-pounder cannon, and a lot of Umtasa's men, to protest against the invasion of Umtasa's country. Two days later, Captain Heyman and Lieutenant Morier (a son of Sir Robert Morier, British Ambassador at St. Petersburg) went down to Massi-Kessi with a flag of truce, to interview Ferreira, the Commander of the Portuguese forces, and the Governor of Manica. Ferreira told him that he was at Massi-Kessi, in accordance with the terms of the modus vivendi which the Company's forces were breaking, by being at Umtali, and said that he would drive the Company's men out of the country. Captain Heyman then said that he had better not do anything before the expiration of the modus vivendi, to which he replied that he would attack[182] him whenever he thought fit to do so. Captain Heyman's position was on a hill about five miles from Massi-Kessi. On the 10th, I think, one of the Portuguese officers came up with a flag of truce, evidently to see what number of men Captain Heyman had with him. He only saw about fifteen, as all the rest were lying down in the long grass, and it must have been from his report that an attack was resolved upon. Captain Heyman told me that he was immensely surprised to see the Portuguese troops swarming out of Massi-Kessi at about 2 p.m. on the 11th. They advanced in two bodies, led by the Portuguese officers. Captain Heyman first fired a blank charge with the cannon to which they paid no attention, and then seeing that they meant business the firing commenced in earnest. The firing lasted two hours. The Portuguese officers did all they could to get their men on, and behaved very well indeed; but their men evidently did not relish the business, and after making two attempts to reach a hill which would have commanded Captain Heyman's position, broke and fled back to Massi-Kessi. Not a single man of the Company's force was hit, but the Portuguese lost an officer (Captain Bettencourt), and it is believed about twenty men. Early next morning Captain Heyman sent a man down to Massi-Kessi with a flag of truce, offering the services of the doctor, and when he got there he found the place deserted. For some unaccountable reason the Portuguese had deserted the place, leaving nine machine-guns, ammunition, and stores and provisions of all kinds behind them. It is thought that a panic set in amongst the black troops, and the white Portuguese were afraid to remain behind without them. The whole affair is very inglorious to the Portuguese arms, and will have a great effect on their prestige with the natives. Of course Massi-Kessi was seized and looted by the northern barbarians, and has now been blown up and destroyed. Everybody is longing for another Portuguese expedition to come up, as then there will be a chance of more loot. What will happen now it is impossible to say, but I think that the British Government must step in, and either order the Company to leave Manica, or else support it against the Portuguese, in which case they will be[183] unable to do anything of importance. They will now, I think, have great difficulty in getting up here, as the natives are all hostile to them and all their carriers will have to be brought from other parts. The country, too, is a very difficult one to travel through. I shall be very glad when things are settled, as Mashunaland will be kept back until they are. I have been down with Colonel Pennefather, as I told you, on a reconnaissance about thirty miles beyond Massi-Kessi, on the track of the Portuguese, and they have evidently beaten a hasty retreat."

"The telegraph wire is now at Fort Charter, and before the end of next month the office will be opened here in Salisbury, and Mashunaland will be in telegraph communication with the whole of the civilized world. This, if you come to think of it, is really a magnificent piece of enterprise. We are having the most lovely weather up here, although it is the middle of summer and the rainy season; nice cool cloudy days, with showers of rain occasionally, but nothing worth speaking of. The Government buildings [185]are progressing rapidly. We now have an abundance of vegetables here. Everything thrives marvellously, potatoes, cabbage, onions, shalots, radishes, lettuces, etc. etc. Wheat sowed in August last by the head of the Africander Bond deputation, ripened and was cut in four months and a few days from the date of sowing, and has been sent down to Cape Town. Major Johnson's agricultural expert pronounced it to be as fine a sample of wheat as he had ever seen, and says he will be able to raise two crops a year. In fact, the country is now proved to be an exceptionally fine one for both agriculture and stock-farming, in spite of Mr. Labouchere and Lord Randolph Churchill. The gold prospects are also improving, and many of Mr. Perkins' prognostications have already been falsified. I think there is no doubt that this country will have a grand future, but the development will be very slow for some time yet; in fact, until a railway has been made from the East coast, at least as far as Manica. Once this railway has been built, however, the country must be developed very quickly, I think. All impartial persons agree that the climate on this plateau is cooler and altogether more enjoyable than that of Kimberley and many other parts of civilized South Africa; but, of course, directly one leaves the plateau and gets into the low bush-country towards the Zambesi, the East coast, or the Transvaal, fever is rife during the rainy season. Unfortunately, most of the gold-belts are in this unhealthy zone, and until the bush is cut down, the land cultivated, and good houses are built round the mines, miners will suffer from fever in the bad season; but this is the same in all new countries. I am now going down to make a road from Manica to the other side of Massi-Kessi, so as to be ready from our side to meet the tramway or railway which the Mozambique Company have undertaken to make from the Pungwi river. My intention is to leave the Company's service in June next, and in August I shall go down to the East coast, and hope to be in Johannesburg in October, and in England before the end of the year. I do not intend to re-visit Mashunaland for several years, but I shall have considerable interests there, which will increase in value as the[186] country develops. I intend to visit America, to see the World's Fair, in 1893, and should like to visit Japan at the same time. I consider myself independent, as I can live on the £330 a year which my de Beers shares produce, and I have a good many more properties which may turn out valuable."

"As the shooting-hole between the overhanging branches of the tree behind which I sat only allowed me to get a view directly over the carcase of the ox, I arranged another opening to the right, which gave me a good view up the waggon-road along which I thought the lion would most likely come, and I placed the muzzle of my rifle in this opening when I entered my shelter. As the night was so light, I thought it very likely that my vigil might be a long one; for even if he did not wait until the moon had set, I never imagined that the lion would put in an appearance until after midnight, when the camp would be quite quiet. Under this impression, I had just finished the arrangement of my blankets,[187] placing some behind me and the rest beneath me, so as to make myself as comfortable as possible in so confined a space, and was just leaning back, and dreamily wondering whether I could keep awake all night, when, still as in a dream, I saw the form of a magnificent lion pass rapidly and noiselessly as a phantom of the night across the moonlight disc of the shooting-hole I had made to the right of the tree-stem. In another instant he had passed and was hidden by the tree, but a moment later his shaggy head again appeared before the opening formed by the diverging stems. Momentary as had been the glimpse I had of him as he passed the right-hand opening, I had marked him as a magnificent black-maned lion with neck and shoulders well covered with long shaggy hair. He now stood with his forelegs right against the breast of the dead ox, and, with his head held high, gazed fixedly towards my waggon and oxen, every one of which he could, of course, see very distinctly, as well as my boy John and the Kafirs beside him. I heard my horse snort, and knew he had seen the lion, but the oxen, although they must have seen him too, showed no sign of fear. The Kafirs were still laughing and talking noisily not fifty yards away, and, bold as he was, the lion must have felt a little anxious as he stood silently gazing in the direction from which he thought danger might be apprehended.

"All this time, but without ever taking my eyes off the lion, I was noiselessly moving the muzzle of my little rifle from the right-hand-side opening to the space that commanded a view of his head. This I was obliged to do very cautiously, for fear of touching a branch behind me and making a noise. I could see the black crest of mane between his ears move lightly in the wind, for he was so near that had I held my rifle by the small of the stock I could have touched him with the muzzle by holding it at arm's length. Once only he turned his head and looked round right into my eyes, but, of course, without seeing me, as I was in the dark, and, apparently, without taking the slightest alarm, as he again turned his head and stood looking at the waggon as before. I could only see his head, his shoulder being hidden by the right-hand stem of the tree, and I had made up my mind to[188] try and blow his brains out, thinking I was so near that I could not fail to do so, even without being able to see the sight of my rifle. I had just got the muzzle of my rifle into the fork of the tree, and was about to raise it quite leisurely, the lion having hitherto showed no signs of uneasiness. I was working as cautiously as possible, when without the slightest warning he suddenly gave a low grating growl, and turned round, his head disappearing instantly from view. With a jerk I pulled the muzzle of my rifle from the one opening and pushed it through the other just as the lion walked rapidly past in the direction from which he had come. He was not more than four or five yards from me, and I should certainly have given him a mortal wound had not my rifle missed fire at this most critical juncture, the hammer giving a loud click in the stillness of the night. At the sound the lion broke into a gallop, and was almost instantly out of sight."

"John was looking about near the edge of this shallow water, and I had turned my horse's head to look along the bank higher up, when the unmistakable growl of a lion issued from the bushes beyond the rivulet, and at the same time John said, 'Daar hij' (there he is). I was off my horse in an instant to be ready for a shot, when he turned round and trotted away, and John ran to try and catch him. I thought the luck was all against me, as I expected the lion would make off and get clean away; but I ran forward, trying to get a sight of him when he suddenly made his appearance in the bush about fifty yards away, and catching sight of me, came straight towards me at a rapid pace, holding his head low and growling savagely. I suppose he wanted to frighten me, but he could not have done a kinder thing. He came right on to the further bank of the little stream just where it formed a pool of water, and stood there amongst some rocks growling and whisking his tail about, and always keeping his eyes fixed upon me. Of course, he gave me a splendid shot, and in another instant I hit him, between the neck and the shoulder, in the side of his chest,[189] with a 360-grain expanding bullet. As I pulled the trigger I felt pretty sure he was mine. With a loud roar he reared right up, and turning over sideways fell off the rock on which he had been standing into the pool of water below him. The water was over three feet deep, and for an instant he disappeared entirely from view, but the next instant regaining his feet stood on the bottom with his head and shoulders above the surface. I now came towards him, when again seeing me, he came plunging through the water towards me, growling angrily. But his strength was fast failing him, and I saw it was all he could do to reach the bank, so I did not fire, as I was anxious not to make holes in his skin. He just managed to get up the bank, when I finished him with a shot through the lungs, to which he instantly succumbed."[44]

"Some years ago Lord Delamere had, I think, killed between fifty and sixty lions. Many of these (over twenty) were killed in Somaliland. Some of these were 'ridden,' and others may have been killed at night, but Delamere was, nevertheless, a keen and fearless hunter."

"The Somaliland method of hunting (i.e. following a fresh spoor on hard ground till the lion was viewed) was, in my opinion, the best test of skill and sporting qualities, since you tracked and did the whole thing on your own initiative. Personally, I enjoyed most the B.E.A. work. You saw much more of the beasts, and I loved galloping and rounding them up for others to kill as much as I enjoyed anything in my whole life."

"I lent my rifle (a ·256 Mannlicher) to a friend, also my horse to gallop and 'round up' a lion, whilst I kept watch on a bush where another had hidden, not being able—owing to dongas—to get round him. My friend soon jumped off and fired two or three shots at the first lion, which worked round and came and lay down under a thin thorn-bush less than a hundred yards from my position. I then went towards the bush and the lion charged me. I fired twice with a 10-bore gun at about sixty and fifteen yards, and the beast—a very fine black-maned lion—fell dead to my second barrel.

"My friend now came up, and to my disgust said excitedly, 'My lion!' I said, 'Mine, I think?' He said, 'No; I had first blood!' I had no idea the lion had been hit, but when we examined him there was a ·256 hole in his back ribs. I was rather sore, as I had stood the racket; but it was the rule. I killed the second lion in a quarter of an hour. We did not quarrel, however, and he gave my daughter the skin of the first lion, which was nice of him."

"The natives around my farm all remember him, though it is well over twenty-five years since he was last here; and it is a pretty good testimony to his character, that wherever he travelled amongst natives, many of whom I have talked to about him, he was greatly respected and esteemed as a just man. We, settlers of Rhodesia, will always have this legacy from him, that he instilled into these natives a very good idea of British justice and fairness."

"I reached[201] here last Sunday and met Dr. Jameson. News has just come in that the Matabele have attacked a patrol near Fort Victoria, and in a fortnight's time the Company's forces will be in a position to retaliate. At Dr. Jameson's request I have remained with the force here, which in case of necessity will co-operate with the Mashunaland column and attack the Matabele simultaneously from the West, when they advance from the East. In the meantime I am going on a small scouting expedition with two companions to examine the country along the western borders of Matabeleland."

"Owing to the miserable state of the oxen, a portion of the waggons did not get up to us on November 1st, but were left behind at a distance of about three miles from our main column and the oxen sent on to the water. After drinking they were sent back at once, and early on the morning of November 2nd the waggons came on. Soon afterwards we heard heavy firing and knew that the convoy was attacked. As there were but few men with the convoy, assistance was urgently needed, we knew, and the alarm was at once sounded and the horses called in. I got hold of my horse long before the troop horses came in, and, saddling him up, galloped back alone to help the fellows with the waggons. They were not far off, and were being attacked on all sides by the Matabele, who were keeping up a hot fire and closing in on both flanks and from the rear. Our fellows were[202] sticking to it well, though in small numbers. My appearance, I think, checked the Matabele a little, as, seeing one horseman gallop up, they naturally thought more were at hand. However, as I was very near them, and firing away at them, they fired a lot of shots at me. The whistling of the bullets made my horse very restive, and presently one of them hit me. The wound, however, is not dangerous. The bullet struck me about three inches below the right breast, but luckily ran round my ribs and came out behind, about eight inches from where it entered. The Matabele came right up to our camp, some being shot within three hundred yards of the laager with the Maxim. They were then beaten off and a good many of them killed, and had it not been that they got into a lot of thickly wooded hills close behind our camp their loss would have been much heavier. Our loss was two white men killed, and three wounded, including myself, and of our native allies two killed and several wounded. Before I came up the Matabele had captured a waggon, which they burnt, and killed Corporal Mundy, who was in charge of it. Sergeant Adahm was killed and two other men wounded after the Matabele had been driven off from the camp and whilst they were fighting them in a hill.

"Yesterday we pushed on and took up a splendid position here, where if we are attacked we shall be able to give a good account of ourselves."

"Our column advancing from the West had very great difficulties to contend with, as the whole country on that side is covered with thick bush and broken hills. Had the Matabele here made a determined opposition we could never have got through, and should probably have met with a disaster. But the large army opposed to us retired without fighting as soon as they heard that the King's forces had made an unsuccessful attack on the laager near[204] Bulawayo, and so we came in here (Bulawayo) without further trouble.

"So the campaign is virtually over, and the fair-haired descendants of the northern pirates are in possession of the Great King's kraal, and the 'Calf of the Black Cow'[47] has fled into the wilderness."

"I am still here, but hope to get away now in a few days. My wound is getting on famously, and will be soon quite healed up. If I had not been in such good health it might have given a lot of trouble and taken a long time. These people (the Matabele) are thoroughly cowed and demoralized, and must be having a very bad time of it, as they are now living in the bush and must have very little to eat, and heavy rain is falling every day and night, which will not add to their comfort. The King has fled to the north, but his people seem to be dropping away from him, and I don't think he knows exactly what to do. Yesterday messengers came in here from him saying he was willing to submit, as he did not know what else to do and could go no further. If he surrenders he will, of course, be well treated, but removed from Matabeleland. His people evidently now wish to surrender and live under the government of white men, but there are such a lot of them that they will take up the whole country, and it would, I think, be much better if the King would go right away across the Zambesi and form a new kingdom for himself, just as his father fled from the Boers of the Transvaal and established himself in this country. If he would do that a large number of his people would go with him and the warlike element in this country would be removed, whereas, if they once come back, although they will be very humble at first, they may give trouble again later on."

"On August 16th, 1894, accompanied by the keepers MacColl and Nottman, I visited Loch Spelve in search of seals and otters. Skirting the shores of the loch in a small boat, we soon espied two seals lying out on a rock. They, however, winded us and slipped into the water, when we were still a long way off. We then went ashore and put the three terriers into a cairn which the keepers knew otters to be partial to, and from the behaviour of the dogs we soon became aware that one of the animals was somewhere about. Knowing that if the dogs succeeded in drawing the otter from the rocks it would make for the sea, I took up my position amongst the slippery seaweed covered with stones near the water and waited full of expectation. However, the otter resisted all the overtures of the terriers and would not bolt. Then MacColl, the wily, produced some evil-smelling fuse and, setting light to it, pushed it into a hole amongst the stones. The effect was magical, for the otter bolted at once almost between MacColl's legs. Instead, however, of coming towards the sea, it made back through the wood and took refuge in another cairn. From the second place of refuge another piece of fuse soon dislodged it, and this time making for the sea, it came past me in the open, travelling over the seaweed-covered rocks at no great pace. My first barrel knocked it over, but it quickly recovered itself, only to be again knocked down by my second left-hand barrel. This time it lay dead, and proved to be a fine bitch otter in excellent coat, weighing 14½ lbs. and measuring 3 ft. 6 ins. in length."

"A few bullets were again beginning to ping past us, so I did not want to lose any time, but before I could take my pony by the bridle he suddenly threw up his head and spinning round trotted off, luckily in the direction from which we had come. Being so very steady a pony, I imagine that a bullet must have grazed him and startled him into playing me this sorry trick at such a very inconvenient moment. 'Come on as hard as you can, and I'll catch your horse and bring him back to you,' said Windley, and started off after the faithless steed. But the steed would not allow himself to be caught, and when his pursuer approached him broke from a trot into a gallop, and finally showed a clean pair of heels.

"When my pony went off with Windley after him, leaving me, comparatively speaking, planté là, the Kafirs thought they had got me, and commenced to shout out encouragingly to one another and also to make a kind of hissing noise, like the word "jee" long drawn out. All this time I was running as hard as I could after Windley and my runaway horse. As I ran, carrying my rifle at the trail, I felt in my bandolier with my left hand to see how many cartridges were still at my disposal, and found that I had fired away all but two of the thirty I had come out with, one being left in the belt and the other in my rifle. Glancing [215]round, I saw that the foremost Kafirs were gaining on me fast, though had this incident occurred in 1876 instead of 1896, with the start I had got I would have run away from any of them.

"Windley, after galloping some distance, realized that it was useless wasting any more time trying to catch my horse, and like a good fellow came back to help me; and had he not done so, let me here say that the present history would never have been written, for nothing could possibly have saved me from being overtaken, surrounded, and killed. When Windley came up to me he said, 'Get up behind me; there's no time to lose,' and pulled his foot out of the left stirrup for me to mount. Without any unnecessary loss of time, I caught hold of the pommel of the saddle, and got my foot into the iron, but it seemed to me that my weight might pull Windley and the saddle right round; as a glance over my shoulder showed me that the foremost Kafirs were now within a hundred yards of us, I hastily pulled my foot out of the stirrup again, and shifting my rifle to the left hand caught hold of the thong round the horse's neck with my right, and told Windley to let him go. He was a big, strong animal, and as, by keeping my arm well bent, I held my body close to him, he got me along at a good pace, and we began to gain on the Kafirs. They now commenced to shoot, but being more or less blown by hard running, they shot very badly, though they put the bullets all about us. Two struck just by my foot, and one knocked the heel of Windley's boot off. If they could have only hit the horse, they would have got both of us.

"After having gained a little on our pursuers, Windley, thinking I must have been getting done up, asked me to try again to mount behind him; no very easy matter when you have a big horse to get on to, and are holding a rifle in your right hand. However, with a desperate effort I got up behind him; but the horse, being unaccustomed to such a proceeding, immediately commenced to buck, and in spite of spurring would not go forwards, and the Kafirs, seeing our predicament, raised a yell and came on again with renewed ardour.

"Seeing[216] that if I stuck on the horse behind Windley we should both of us very soon lose our lives, I flung myself off in the middle of a buck, and landed right on the back of my neck and shoulders. Luckily I was not stunned or in any way hurt, and was on my legs and ready to run again, with my hand on the thong round the horse's neck in a very creditably short space of time. My hat had fallen off, but I never let go of my rifle, and as I didn't think it quite the best time to be looking for a hat, I left it, all adorned with the colours of my troop as it was, to be picked up by the enemy, by whom it has no doubt been preserved as a souvenir of my presence among them.

"And now another spurt brought us almost up to John Grootboom and the five or six colonial boys who were with him, and I called to John to halt the men and check the Matabele who were pursuing us, by firing a volley past us at them. This they did, and it at once had the desired effect, the Kafirs who were nearest to us hanging back and waiting for those behind to join them. In the meantime Windley and I joined John Grootboom's party, and old John at once gave me his horse, which, as I was very much exhausted and out of breath, I was very glad to get. Indeed, I was so tired by the hardest run I had ever had since my old elephant-hunting days, that it was quite an effort to mount. I was now safe, except that a few bullets were buzzing about, for soon after getting up to John Grootboom we joined the main body of the colonial boys, and then, keeping the Matabele at bay, retired slowly towards the position defended by the Maxim. Our enemies, who had been so narrowly baulked of their expected prey, followed us to the top of a rise, well within range of the guns, but disappeared immediately a few sighting shots were fired at them.

"Thus ended a very disagreeable little experience, which but for the cool courage of Captain Windley would have undoubtedly ended fatally to myself. Like many brave men, Captain Windley is so modest that I should probably offend him were I to say very much about him; but at any rate I shall never forget the service he did me at the risk of[217] his own life that day on the Umguza, whilst the personal gallantry he has always shown throughout the present campaign as a leader of our native allies has earned for him such respect and admiration that they have nicknamed him 'Inkunzi' (the bull), the symbol of strength and courage."

"As for the gold, there is every reason to believe that out of the enormous number of reefs which are considered by their owners to be payable properties, some small proportion at least will turn up trumps, and, should this proportion only amount to two per cent, that will be quite sufficient to ensure a big output of gold in the near future, which will in its turn ensure the prosperity of the whole country."

"Test shipments of frozen meat have already been made from Rhodesia to England, and the results were favourably reported on by experts. It would seem, in short, that South Africa and Rhodesia may well become successful competitors in the meat supplies of the world, and this Company has already secured an early start in this development of an[220] important industry. We have recently added sheep-breeding to our ranching operations, although at present on a small scale only."

"Do not[221] resign your position as any kind of brass hat to come out here, if making money is your aim and object. Even our wealthiest farmers are not on the way to being plutocrats. After all, we are 6000 miles from our best market. But should fate or fortune land you here, you who love the sky and the open road, and the starry solitudes of an African night, the clear-cut outline of granite hills against a sapphire sky and the fragrance of a flower-jewelled veld, the whirr of startled birds and the crash of game as it bounds through the bush, I think you would find it difficult to return to the troglodyte life of London.—Ethel Colquhoun Jollie." ("The Field," April 6th, 1918.)

"... After all, there is nothing that in any way comes up to home and wife and children, in spite of the penalty one has to pay for having given hostages to fortune. I know just exactly how you feel about the 'two hearts.' Having a wife and six children, of whom I am very fond, I have found it more and more difficult to get away; for the last eight years, indeed, my hunting trips have merely been short outings. I am of course very much interested in my work here; but I cannot say how I long at times for the great rolling prairies of sun-dried yellow grass, where the antelopes stand at gaze, or wheel and circle; for the splintered cottonwoods on the bank of some shrunken river, with the wagon drawn up under them, and the ponies feeding round about; for the great pine forests, where the bull elk challenge, and the pack-train threads its way through the fallen timber. I long also for the other wilderness which I have never seen, and never shall see, excepting through your books, and the books of two or three men like you who are now dead. It may be that some time I can break away from this sedentary life for a hunt somewhere; and of all things possible to me, I should like to take this hunt among the big bears of Alaska, and try to work out their specific relationship. But I don't know whether I shall ever get the chance; and of course this sedentary life gradually does away with one's powers; though I can walk and shoot a little yet. Politics is a rather engrossing pursuit, and, unfortunately, with us it is acute in the Fall, at the very time of the best hunting; and as my children grow older I am more and more concerned with giving them a proper training for their life-work, whatever it may be. I don't yet accept the fact that I shall never get the chance to take some big hunt again, and perhaps it may come so I shall be able to; and meanwhile I do revel in all the books about big game, and when I can get out to my ranch even for ten days, I[226] enjoy it to the last point, taking an old cow-pony and shambling off across the grassy flats for a few days' camping, and the chance of an occasional prong-buck.

"I am glad you like to chat with me even by letter. Ever since reading your first book I have always wanted to meet you. I hope I may have better luck next year than I had this. You will of course let me know if you think I can be of any help to you in your Canadian trip.

"The Colonel X. whom I wrote to you about is, I am quite sure, what we should term a fake, although I also have no doubt that he has actually done a good deal of big game hunting; but I am certain that, together with his real experiences, he puts in some that are all nonsense. Did you ever read the writings of a man named Leveson, who called himself 'the Old Shikari'? He was undoubtedly a great hunter; yet when he wrote about American big game, I know that he stretched the long bow, and I am very sure he did the same about African big game. He everywhere encountered precisely those adventures which boys' books teach us to expect. Thus as soon as he got to Africa, he witnessed a vicious encounter between black rhinoceroses and elephants, which would have done credit to Mayne Reid; exactly as Colonel X. relates the story of a fearful prize-fight, in which a captive English Major slays a gorilla, against which he is pitted by a cannibal king—dates, names and places being left vacant.

"What do you know of that South African hunter and writer named Drummond? He wrote very interestingly, and gave most vivid descriptions of hunting-camps, of the African scenery, and of adventures with Hons and buffaloes; but his remarks about rhinoceroses made me think he was not always an exact observer, especially after I had read what you said.

"By the way, did I ever mention to you that Willie Chanler's party was continually charged by black rhinoceroses, and his companion, an Austrian named Von Höhnel, who stayed with me once, was badly mauled by one."

"Your letter made me quite melancholy—first, to think I wasn't to see you after all; and next, to realize so vividly how almost the last real hunting-grounds in America have gone. Thirteen years ago I had splendid sport on the Big Horn Mountains which you crossed. Six years ago I saw elk in bands of one and two hundred on Buffalo Fork; and met but one hunting expedition while I was out. A very few more years will do away with all the really wild hunting, at least so far as bear and elk are concerned, in the Rocky Mountains and the West generally; one of the last places will be the Olympic Peninsula of Oregon, where there is a very peculiar elk, a different species, quite as big in body but with smaller horns, which are more like those of the European red deer, and with a black head. Goat, sheep, and bear will for a long time abound in British Columbia and Alaska.

"Well, I am glad you enjoyed yourself, anyhow, and that you did get a sufficient number of fair heads—wapiti, prong-buck, black-tail, and white-tail. Of course I am very sorry that you did not get a good sheep and a bear or two. In the north-eastern part of the Park there is some wintering ground for the elk; and I doubt if they will ever be entirely killed out in the Park; but in a very short while shooting in the West, where it exists, will simply be the kind that can now be obtained in Maine and New York; that is, the game will be scarce, and the game-laws fairly observed in consequence of the existence of a class of professional guides; and a hunter who gets one good head for a trip will feel he has done pretty well. You were in luck to get so fine a prong-buck head.

"Do tell Mrs. Selous how sorry I am to miss her, as well[231] as you. I feel rather melancholy to think that my own four small boys will practically see no hunting on this side at all, and indeed no hunting anywhere unless they have the adventurous temper that will make them start out into wild regions to find their fortunes. I was just in time to see the last of the real wilderness life and real wilderness hunting. How I wish I could have been with you this year! But, as I wrote you before, during the last three seasons I have been able to get out West but once, and then only for a fortnight on my ranch, where I shot a few antelope for meat.

"You ought to have Hough's 'Story of the Cowboy' and Van Dyke's 'Still Hunter.' Also I think you might possibly enjoy small portions of the three volumes of the Boone and Crockett Club's publications. They could be obtained from the 'Forest and Stream' people at 346 Broadway, New York, by writing. Have you ever seen Washington Irving's 'Trip on the Prairie,' and Lewis and Clarke's Expedition? And there are two very good volumes, about fifty years old, now out of print, by a lieutenant in the British Army named Ruxton, the titles of which for the moment I can't think of; but I will look them up and send them to you. He describes the game less than the trappers and hunters of the period; men who must have been somewhat like your elephant-hunters. When I was first on the plains there were a few of them left; and the best hunting-trip I ever made was in the company of one of them, though he was not a particularly pleasant old fellow to work with.

"Now, to answer your question about ranching; and of course you are at liberty to quote me.

"I know a good deal of ranching in western North Dakota, eastern Montana and north-eastern Wyoming. My ranch is in the Bad Lands of the Little Missouri, a good cattle-country, with shelter, traversed by a river, into which run here and there perennial streams. It is a dry country, but not in any sense a desert. Year in and year out we found that it took about twenty-five acres to support a steer or cow. When less than that was allowed the ranch became overstocked, and loss was certain to follow. Of course where hay is put up, and cultivation with irrigation attempted,[232] the amount of land can be reduced; but any country in that part of the West which could support a steer or cow on five acres would be country which it would pay to attempt to cultivate, and it would, therefore, cease to be merely pastoral country.

"Is this about what you wish? I have made but a short trip to Texas. There are parts of it near the coast which are well-watered, and support a large number of cattle. Elsewhere I do not believe that it supports more cattle to the square mile than the north-western country, and where there are more they get terribly thinned out by occasional droughts. In Hough's book you will see some description of this very ranching in Texas and elsewhere. I really grudge the fact that you and Mrs. Selous got away from this side without my even getting a glimpse of you."

"Come here yourself as soon as you can. Vous serez toujours le bienvenu. A damned newspaper reporter (an American, who came here whilst I was in London, and would not go away until he had seen me) said I have got some good wapiti heads, but I only got one fair one. I got four wapiti bulls altogether, but two had very small heads—not worth taking. I got four mule-deer stags, one with a very nice head and a second not at all bad. I also shot another lynx; but I had very unfortunate weather, hardly[233] any snow, and when I left the Mountains the wapiti were still up in their early autumn range."

"By the way, I was in the winter range of the deer (Colorado), and I have never seen them so numerous. They were all black-tail (mule-deer). Every day I saw scores, and some days hundreds. There were also elk (wapiti). I did not shoot either deer or elk, of course; but I saw elk-antlers shot last fall, ranging from 52 to 56 inches in length. I think you were a few years ahead of time (although only a few years) when you stated that already bigger antlers could be secured in Hungary than in the Rockies."

"This war is a most deplorable business; but of course, as you say, we must bring it to a successful conclusion now at whatever cost; but think what South Africa will be like when it is over. However, it is useless talking about it. My letters to the 'Times' have raised a great deal of ill-feeling against me in this country."

"I am very depressed about this war. It is a bad business, and justice is not on our side. There was a lot of dirty work done by the capitalists to bring it about, and no good can come of it for this country. I have seen several letters written by Jan Hofmeyr during the last few months, beginning before the war. They are very interesting, and I hope will be published some day. They seem to explode the idea of the leaders of the Cape Africanders having been in a conspiracy of any kind with the Pretoria lot."

"I have left your circular so long unanswered because I have been thinking over it very deeply, and because, although I realize most fully the force of all the arguments that can be used against the annexation of the Boer Republics, I still think that those who sign the protest ought to be able to propose some scheme of settlement which holds out a better prospect of future peace. I personally can think of no such scheme. Had honourable terms been offered to the Boers, and the independence of their countries been assured to them with certain necessary limitations, immediately after the occupation of Pretoria, there might have been great hope for the future peace of the country, but all that has occurred, not only in the Transvaal and Orange State, but also in the Cape Colony, must have caused such a feeling of exasperation amongst the Dutch Africanders against the British Government, that I cannot but feel that the granting of a limited independence to the Boer Republics would not now produce rest or peace. Things have gone too far for that now, and it seems to me that Great Britain will only be able to hold South Africa in the immediate future by force. I am of course convinced of the truth of all you say in the protest, that the annexation of the Boer Republics is 'contrary to the public declarations of Her Majesty's Ministers, alien to all the best traditions of a freedom-loving country, burdensome to the resources of the nation, and wholly distasteful to the majority of our fellow-subjects in South Africa,' but that does not blind me to the fact that the race hatred that has been engendered by this war is so deep and so terrible that the granting of independence to the Boer Republics would be more immediately disastrous to British supremacy in South Africa than unjust annexation accompanied by the garrisoning of the country with large numbers of troops. [239]Annexation or no annexation, I firmly believe that sooner or later the people who actually live in South Africa—as distinguished from those whose only interest in the country is the exploitation of its mineral wealth—will govern the country, and, if they wish it, have their own flag, and throw off all allegiance to Great Britain. I would gladly sign any protest against the policy which brought about the war, one of the results of which is this ill-omened annexation of independent states, but I am beginning to think, with John Morley, that annexation was an almost necessary result of a war pushed to the bitter end. I am very sorry to have troubled you with so long a letter, but I wish you to understand that, although my views as to the iniquity of the policy which brought about the war will always remain the same, and although I think the annexation of the two Boer Republics a piece of injustice and a national disgrace, and would most willingly have signed a protest against it three months ago, I now feel the exasperation caused by the war is so great that the independence of the Boer Republics might very possibly be used against British supremacy in South Africa. It is a very distressing outlook, and I can see no light in the future; but still I do not feel justified in signing the present protest. I beg to thank you for the last two leaflets you sent me, Nos. 53 and 54. The publication of Colonel Stonham's evidence, as to the humanity of the Boers, ought to have a very good effect if it could be made widely known."

"Should it, however, be determined to erase the Boer Republics from the map of Africa and to carry on the war to the point of practically exterminating the able-bodied male population of these two sparsely-peopled States, let it not be thought that the surviving women will bring up[240] their children to become loyal British subjects. Let Englishmen remember that the men who prophesied that within a short time after the war was over the Boers would become reconciled to the British, whom they would then have learnt to respect, are the same people who also told us that the war would be a very short and simple campaign, as the Boers were a degenerate, cowardly race, who could no longer shoot at all well, and who would be sure to disperse to their homes after the first battle, if only a hundred of them were killed. These were the sort of predictions which were very commonly heard in this country a few months before the war commenced, and they were the utterances of men wholly ignorant of the Boer character.

"As showing that there are people whose opinions are entitled to respect who think differently, I will now quote from memory a passage in a letter lately written by a well-known and well-educated Dutch Africander to a friend in this country: 'Those people who expect that the Boers will soon forgive and forget this war, and settle down quietly under the British flag, are most terribly mistaken. I think I know my own countrymen, and I believe that if, after this war is over, the independence of the Republics is destroyed, the historic episode of Hamilcar making Hannibal swear eternal enmity to Rome will be re-enacted in many a farmhouse throughout the Transvaal and Orange Free State. The Boer women will teach their children to hate the very name of England, and bid them look forward to the day when their country will be freed from British domination.' These words, even if the idea they express is somewhat exaggerated, are worthy of attention when it is remembered how rapidly the Boers increase in numbers and fighting strength." ("The Speaker," 1900.)

"It makes me melancholy to see the Boer War hanging on. Your limit of eighteen months (the time Selous stated it would last)[241] is rapidly approaching. Of course there can be only one ending; but it is a dreadful thing to have the ending come only by the exhaustion of the country and of the fighting men. How I wish you could be made administrator of all South Africa. Somehow I feel that you could do what no other man could do, and really bring about peace. I begin to be afraid you have been right about this war. I hope we shall see things go right hereafter."

"I appreciate very deeply the trouble you have taken in writing to me; although in a way your letter has made me feel very melancholy. My idea of the questions at issue has been mainly derived from the 'Spectator,' a paper that I take and always like, and which impresses me as being honestly desirous of getting at the true facts in any given case. I paid especial heed to what it said because of its entire disapproval of Cecil Rhodes and the capitalist gang. Moreover, a friend of mine, Ferdinand Becker, who was in the Transvaal and who saw very clearly the rights and wrongs of each side, and for whose judgment I have great respect, insists that as things actually were the war was inevitable, that there had to be a fight, and that one or the other race had to be supreme in South Africa. By the way, much of the pro-Boer feeling here is really anti-English, and as I have a very warm remembrance of England's attitude to us two years ago, I have of course no sympathy with such manifestations. So I thought after Montague White's visit to me that I should like to hear the other side from someone whom I could thoroughly trust, and I appealed to you. It is largely an academic curiosity on my part, so to speak, for the answer of the English Premier to the communication of transmissal sent by President McKinley with the letters from the Presidents of the two Republics shows that any mediation would be promptly rejected. I do not suppose that the end can be very far distant now, unless there is a formidable uprising in the Cape Colony, for it would look as[242] if there had never been fifty thousand Boers under arms, and Roberts has four times that number of troops in South Africa. Evidently the Boers are most gallant fighters, and quite as efficient as they are gallant.

"I had been inclined to look at the war as analogous to the struggles which put the Americans in possession of Texas, New Mexico, and California. I suppose the technical rights are about the same in one case as in the other; but, of course, there is an enormous difference in the quality of the invading people; for the Boers have shown that they have no kinship with the Mexicans. In Texas the Americans first went in to settle and become citizens, making an Outlander population. This Outlander population then rose, and was helped by raids from the United States, which in point of morality did not differ in the least from the Jameson raid—although there was at back of them no capitalist intrigue, but simply a love of adventure and a feeling of arrogant and domineering race-superiority. The Americans at last succeeded in wresting Texas from the Mexicans and making it an independent Republic. This Republic tried to conquer New Mexico but failed. Then we annexed it, made its quarrels our own, and did conquer both New Mexico and California. In the case of Texas there was the dark blot of slavery which rested on the victors; for they turned Texas from a free province into a slave republic. Nevertheless, it was of course ultimately to the great advantage of civilization that the Anglo-American should supplant the Indo-Spaniard. It has been ultimately to the advantage of the Indo-Spaniard himself, or at any rate to the advantage of the best men in his ranks. In my regiment, which was raised in the South-West, I had forty or fifty men of part Indian blood and perhaps half as many of part Spanish blood, and among my captains was one of the former and one of the latter—both being as good Americans in every sense of the word as were to be found in our ranks.

"If the two races, Dutch and English, are not riven asunder by too intense antagonism, surely they ought to amalgamate in South Africa as they have done here in[243] North America, where I and all my fellows of Dutch blood are now mixed with and are indistinguishable from our fellow Americans, not only of English, but of German, Scandinavian, and other ancestry.

"The doubtful, and to my mind the most melancholy, element in the problem is what you bring out about the Englishman no longer colonizing in the way that the Boer does. This is a feature due, I suppose, to the enormous development of urban life and the radical revolution in the social and industrial conditions of the English-speaking peoples during the past century. In our Pacific States, and even more in Australia, we see the same tendency to the foundation of enormous cities instead of the settlement of the country districts by pioneer farmers. Luckily, America north of the Rio Grande and Australia definitely belong to our peoples already, and there is enough of the pastoral and farming element among us to colonize the already thinly-settled waste places which now belong to our people. But the old movement which filled the Mississippi valley at the beginning of this century with masterful dogged frontier-farmers, each skilled in the use of the rifle and axe, each almost independent of outside assistance, and each with a swarm of tow-headed children, has nearly come to an end. When Kentucky, at the close of the eighteenth century, was as populous as Oregon 100 years later, Kentucky did not have one-tenth of the urban population that Oregon had when she reached the same stage. Now, urban people are too civilized, have too many wants and too much social ambition, to take up their abode permanently in the wilderness and marry the kind of women who alone could be contented, or indeed could live in the wilderness. On the great plains of the West, when I was in the cattle business, I saw many young Easterners and young Englishmen of good families who came out there; but not one in twenty, whether from the Atlantic States or from England, married and grew up as a permanent settler in the country; and the twentieth was usually a déclassé. The other nineteen were always working to make money and then go home, or somewhere else, and they did not have their womankind[244] with them. The 'younger son' of whom Kipling sings is a picturesque man always, and can do very useful work as a hunter and explorer, or even a miner, but he is not a settler, and does not leave any permanent mark upon any true frontier-community with which I am acquainted. After the frontier has been pushed back, when the ranchman and the cowboy and the frontier-ganger, who are fitted for the actual conditions, have come in, then the 'younger son' and the struggling gentleman-adventurer may make their appearance in the towns. Of course, there are exceptions to all of this, but as a rule what I have pointed out is true. I have seen scores—perhaps hundreds—of men from Oxford and Cambridge, Harvard and Yale, who went into cattle-growing on the Great Plains, but they did just as I did; that is, worked with greater or less success at the business, gained an immense amount of good from it personally, especially in the way of strength and gratifying a taste for healthy adventure, learned much of human nature from associating with the men round about, and then went back to their own homes in England or New York or Boston, largely because, when it came to marrying and bringing up children, they could not well face the conditions; and so the real population of the future in the valleys of the upper Missouri, the Platte, and the Rio Grande, will be composed of the sons of their companions, who were themselves descendants of small farmers in Texas, Missouri, and Illinois, or of working-men from Scandinavia and Germany.

"Pardon this long letter, which has wandered aside from the thesis with which it started. I hope that the language of the more highly civilized people will, in spite of the evil influences of to-day, gradually oust the 'Taal' or whatever you call Boer Dutch in South Africa, and that when the conquest of the two Republics is succeeded by the full liberty which I understand the Cape Dutch enjoy, there will come a union in blood as well as in that between the two peoples who are so fundamentally alike.

"I am looking forward to the receipt of the three books you have been so very kind as to send me. I do know a certain amount about the Boers from the time of their great[245] trek onward, for it has always seemed to me to be one of the most fascinating bits of modern history."

"I am back from Newfoundland. I had a short but very successful little trip into quite new country, thanks to my canoes, and shot the five stags my licence entitled me to kill very quickly. I have got one really remarkable head, a second, very handsome, with beautiful double brow-antlers, and very fine tops; and a third, a pretty regular head of medium size—the other two not much to boast about. But my two good heads are really fine, and when you see them you will never rest till you go to my new ground and get more like them. I can give you all particulars when we meet, and have arranged that my guide—hardly the right word, as we got into country where he had never been in his life and where he says no one has ever yet hunted, except a few Micmac Indians who were out after caribou, but trapping beavers along the rivers—shall keep himself unengaged for you up to June next."

"I got back from Asia Minor last week, with a good series of eggs of the White-tailed Eagle and one Lämmergeier's egg. I found two Lämmergeiers' nests, both with young birds, but I got an addled egg which I was able to blow. I had no shooting, though I made an attempt to get a shot at a stag, but there was so much snow in the[248] mountains that the Turks would not take pack-ponies in for fear of getting snowed up."

"My trip to East Africa last year (1902-1903) cost me just £300, but I think I did it cheaper than most people. I got fairly good heads of Coke's, Neumann's, and Jackson's Hartebeests, Topis, Impala, Bushbucks, Oribis, Steinbucks, and Cavendish's Dik-diks. I did not get a Jackson's Wildebeest as, although there were thousands all along the line when I went up country, when I came back to try to get one, they had migrated south. I saw lots of Common and Defassa Waterbucks, but no good heads, so never shot one. Also hundreds of Elands. I did not actually see a Rhino., but often got quite fresh spoor; but I did not want to shoot one of these animals as I have good specimens from South Africa."

"I have just finished my egg-collecting season. I got a Dotterel's nest on the top of Ben Wyvis, also a couple of Ptarmigans' nests, which are difficult to find. I got too several nests of Grasshopper Warbler, Wood Wren, and Pied Flycatcher in Northumberland, but I had a very good local man to help me."

"During the last few days I have been marking King-fishers' nests on the Thames and Water Rails' nests in Thatcham Marsh, for Major Stirling (of Fairburn), who has been very kind to me in Scotland and helped me to get all sorts of good eggs. I have got him two Kingfishers' nests marked that I am sure have eggs in them, and also two Water Rails' nests. One of these had six eggs in it yesterday. We go to Wargrave for the Kingfishers to-morrow, and to Thatcham for the Water Rails on Thursday. On Friday I am off to North Wales, where I hope to get a[250] Chough's nest. During the first half of May I shall be here, and will come over to see you during that time. On May 15th I start for Ross-shire, to get Crossbills, and then on to Orkney to get eggs of Hen Harrier, Short-eared Owl, Twite, etc. On May 26th I must be at Ravenglass, in Cumberland, to get a couple of clutches of Sandwich Terns' eggs (by permission), and the next day on the Tyne for Pied Flycatchers, Grasshopper Warblers, etc. Then back to Orkney early in June for Merlins, Black Guillemot, Eider Duck, etc. Then I think I shall try for a Scoter's nest near Melvick, in Sutherlandshire, and I wind up the season with a trip to St. Kilda with Musters to get eggs of Fork-tailed Petrel and Fulmar. Are there any old orchards about you? If so, we might look them over for a Hawfinch's nest about May 10th. I am not going to lend any of my heads to the Crystal Palace people. They wrote to me about it, but I have declined to send them any heads."[55]

"I am now home again from my egg-collecting trip to the north. I have had a fairly successful season. I got two Choughs' nests in North Wales in April, and several Water Rails' near here in a nice little swamp I know of. In Orkney I got Hen Harrier, Short-eared Owl, Merlin, Eider Duck, Dunlin, Golden Plover, Rock Pipit, and Twite. I have also taken this year in Northumberland and Cumberland nests of Wood Wren, Grasshopper Warbler, Pied Flycatcher, Great Spotted Woodpecker, Sandwich Tern, and Shell Duck. Now I want a nest of Lesser Spotted Woodpeckers. There are a few about here, but I cannot find out where they nest. I am going to the Crystal Palace to-morrow, and shall see your Caribou heads there I hope. Now I want you to help me. I am President of our village cricket-club, and have got together a team to play them on July 9th (Saturday). I am experiencing great difficulty in getting an eleven together. Will you help me and play for me on that day? If so, please come here in time for lunch. We do not play till 2.30 p.m. Now can you come? Do, if you can, and bring another man with you. Please let me know about this as soon as possible, as I must now begin to hustle to get my team together. Isn't it sad to think that poor old Sir Philip Brocklehurst has gone? If we ever go to Swythamley again, things can never be as they were in the old Squire's time. I feel his loss very much. If you are at home now I should like to come over and see you and have our usual 'crack,' my dear Johnny."

"What with people coming to see us here, garden-parties, cricket, political meetings, etc., there seems to be no time for anything. I hope you will have a good time Whale-hunting in August in the Shetland Isles. Write us a good account of it and make some good pictures."

"My dear Johnny,—Just a line to tell you that I got home again from the Yukon country yesterday (November 7th). I shall have a lot to tell you about it when we meet. The original trip that I was invited to join fell through, as neither the governor of the Yukon Territory was able to go nor my friend Tyrrel who invited me to join the party. There was a lot of delay, and eventually three Canadians, three Americans, and myself hired a small flat-bottomed steamer to take us up the Pelly and MacMillan rivers. This took much longer than was expected, and it was not till[254] August 30th that we got to the furthest point to which the steamer could take us. Then we all split up, and an American (Charles Sheldon, an awfully good fellow, whom I hope I shall be able to bring over to see you one of these days) and myself (we had chummed up on the steamer) tackled the north fork of the MacMillan river. We had each a twenty-foot canoe and one man. My man was a French half-breed, and Sheldon's a white man, both first-rate fellows. We had a very 'tough' time getting the canoes up the river, as the stream was fearfully strong and the water very cold. We were in the water most of every day for six days, often up to our waists, hauling the canoes up with ropes. Then we reached the foot of a big range of mountains. The day we left the steamer bad weather set in and we had 18 days of filthy weather, sleet and snow, and the whole country covered with snow. On September the 6th or 7th we packed up into the mountains, carrying everything on our backs to close up to timber-line (about 5000 feet in this northern country, the point where we left the timber being about 2500 feet above sea-level). No Indians to pack, no guides, no nothing, and damned little game either, though we were in an absolutely new country, where there are no Indians at all, and only four trappers in the whole district, and these men never go up into the high mountains. There were any quantity of beavers up the north fork of the MacMillan. The trappers have not yet touched them and they are wonderfully tame. We could find no sheep rams in the mountains, only small flocks of ewes and kids. Moose after September 18th were fairly numerous, but by no means plentiful. I only saw three caribou, one a very good bull, whose head will, I think, interest you. I believe it is the kind that Merriam calls Osborn's caribou, a very large heavy animal, with horns rather of the Barren Ground type, but finely palmated at the top. I shot four bull moose and spared two more. One of my moose has a right royal head, and pays me well for all my trouble. The spread across the palms, with no straggly points, is 67 inches, and it has 41 points (23+18). My second best head measures 58½ inches across the palms, with 22 points (11+11). I boxed my heads[255] in Vancouver, and hope to get them some time next month, and you must come and see them as soon as they are set up."

"By the time you get this letter I shall be at home again, or at any rate in London. I have to commence my lecturing on December 4th, but if I can get a spare day before then I will come over and see you. My experience in Newfoundland was much the same as yours. I saw a lot of caribou, but no very large heads. I had, too, terribly bad weather, almost continuous rain and sleet storms on the high ground near George IV Lake. By-the-bye, Mr. Howley tells me that to the best of his belief I am the third white man who has visited that lake. The first was Cormack, who named it a long time ago, and the second Mr. Howley, who was there in 1875. The caribou in the country between King George's Lake and the head of the Victoria river live there. I saw [256]non-travelling deer there, all the herds were stationary, feeding or lying down in one spot all day long. Lots of trees too along the river, where the stags had cleaned their horns. Packing in from Lloyd's river to the north-west, I struck some splendid caribou-ground. Here the deer were all on migration southwards. As a matter of fact, I did very little systematic hunting, but a lot of tramping, always carrying a 40 lb. pack myself. I have got one very pretty head of 36 points, very regular and symmetrical, but not large. In a storm of driving sleet it looked magnificent on the living stag. I have another head I like, and some others of lesser merit, one of them for the Natural History Museum. I have preserved a complete animal for them."

"The first part of your letter awoke afresh all my sympathy for you and poor Mrs. Millais in your sorrow for the loss of your dearly beloved child. I suppose you can never hope to forget what you once possessed and can never have again, nor would you wish to do so; but time is merciful, and whilst never forgetting the sweetness of disposition of your dear child, the sorrow for her loss will gradually hurt you less and less. At least I trust it will be so. I am so glad to hear that you have got such a splendid lot of caribou heads this year. You well deserve them, for you have taken a lot of trouble to get them. You must now have quite a unique collection of Newfoundland caribou heads. I got one good moose this year 63½ inches spread (measured by Mr. Burlace the other day) and another pretty head of 52 inches spread. Besides these two I only saw one other bull moose—a fair-sized head. I saw a good many caribou, but no large heads. Every big bull I saw seemed to have a well-grown head. On August 29th I saw a single old bull and shot him. The next day I saw another bull with ten cows and shot him. These heads were both in velvet, but fully grown out and the velvet just ready to peel off. On September 1st I saw another single bull and[259] shot him; and on the following day got another close to camp. Both these bulls had their horns quite clean of velvet, not a shred left on any part. I then went away to another range of mountains to look for sheep and moose, returning again to the caribou-ground about the middle of September. On my first day I came across four splendid old bulls all together. They all had big heads, and I got close to them and could have shot them all, but I let two of them go after killing the other two, which seemed to me to have the finest horns. Whilst I was skinning the animals I had shot (with my half-breed Indian) three more big bulls and a hornless cow came and lay down on a knoll about 400 yards away. One of these seemed to have very large horns; but I thought that six was enough, so I let them alone. I think three or four of the heads I have got are pretty good, but much better no doubt could be got if one waited till they got into large herds after the rutting season. Burlace makes my longest head 57¼ inches, another is 55 inches, and two others just over 51 and 50. Two of them have an inside spread of 48 inches. One head is of quite a different type to the other five. It is only about 40 inches long and very like a Newfoundland head with beautiful tops. Besides the caribou and moose I only got two wolves—very fine ones, and one of them black. I saw no bears at all, and only female sheep. I am going away on Saturday, December 1st, lecturing (with a two days' interlude at Beville Stanier's), and shall not be home again from Scotland till December 15th. On December 17th I go away again till the 20th; but after that I shall be at home for a long time. Let me know when you get your heads home, and I will then come over to look at them, and you must come and see my Yukon heads as soon as I get them from Ward's."

In June he wrote: "I was very pleased to see the letter you wrote to the 'Field' about poor Arthur Neumann. I had thought of writing something myself, but did not know[260] him as well as you did. I shall never cease to regret his loss. I look upon him as the last of the real genuine hunters of African big game."

"Although friends of many years' standing, Selous and I only did one shooting-trip together, and that was after Reindeer in Norway. We sailed from Hull to Stavanger in August, 1907, and marched in with pack-ponies a few miles from the head of the Stavanger Fjord to Lyseheien, where a small shooting-box had been recently erected.

"Owing[261] to a five years' close season which had just terminated we found the reindeer fairly numerous, and not too difficult to approach, but as they always feed up-wind, and cover a lot of ground, we had some days to walk long distances before spying any.

"We arrived at Lyseheien a few days before the opening of the season, and spent the time walking after ryper, of which we used to get 12 or 15 brace a day, and although Selous was never a good shot with the gun, he showed the same keenness after the birds as he did for any form of sport. He had to leave Norway a few days before I did, in order to see his boys before they returned to school.

"We were quite successful on this trip, and secured thirteen stags between us, with some good heads among them. When not hunting, we beguiled the time with some French novels Selous produced, and I never knew of his liking for this kind of literature before.

"We both enjoyed the trip thoroughly, and were surprised to find so wild and unfrequented a hunting ground within about three days journey of London."

"It is a misfortune that in England and America the naturalists should at the moment have gotten into an absolutely fossilized condition of mind about such things as protective coloration. Both the English and the American scientific periodicals are under the control of men like Professor Poulton and others who treat certain zoological dogmas from a purely fetichistic standpoint, exactly as if they were mediæval theologians. This is especially true of their attitude toward the doctrine of natural selection, and incidentally toward protective coloration. There is much in natural selection; there is much in protective coloration. But neither can be used to one-twentieth the extent that the neo-Darwinians, such as Mr. Wallace and the rest, have used them; indeed these neo-Darwinians have actually confused the doctrine of natural selection with the doctrine of evolution itself.

"Heller is coming home soon. He has just written me from Berlin, where he saw our friend Matzchie who, you doubtless remember, has split up the African buffalo into some twenty different species, based on different curves of the horns. Matzchie told Heller that he had read my statement that of the four bulls I shot feeding together near the Nairobi Falls, the horns, according to Matzchie's theory, showed that there were at least two and perhaps three different species (among these four bulls from the same herd). Well, Matzchie absolutely announces that doubtless there were two species among them, because the locality is on the border-line between two distinct types of buffalo, that of Kenia and that of the Athi! I think this is one of the most delightful examples of the mania for species-splitting that I have ever seen. On the same basis Matzchie might just as well divide the African buffalo into a hundred species as into twenty; and as for the elephant he could make a new species for every hundred square miles.

"Apparently[263] your 'African Nature Notes' was 'hoodooed' by my introduction and the dedication to me; but I cannot help hoping that you will now publish a book giving your experiences in East Africa and up the White Nile. Without the handicap of my introduction, I think it would do well! Seriously, the trouble with your 'African Nature Notes' is that it is too good. The ideal hunting-book ought not to be a simple record of slaughter; it ought to be good from the literary standpoint and good from the standpoint of the outdoor naturalist as well as from the standpoint of the big game hunter. Stigand's books fulfil both the latter requirements, but he has not your power to write well and interestingly, and he has a rather morbid modesty or self-consciousness which makes him unable to tell simply and as a matter of course the really absorbingly interesting personal adventures with which he has met. Unfortunately, however, the average closet naturalist usually wants to read an utterly dry little book by some closet writer, and does not feel as if a book by a non-professional was worth reading—for instance, I was interested in London to find two or three of my scientific friends, who knew nothing whatever about protective coloration in the field, inclined to take a rather sniffy view of your absolutely sound and, in the real sense, absolutely scientific, statement of the case. On the other hand, the average man who reads hunting-books is too apt to care for nothing at all but the actual account of the hunting or of the travelling, because he himself knows no more about the game than the old Dutch and South African hunters whom you described used to know about the different 'species' of lion and black rhinoceros. Nevertheless I am sure that your 'African Nature Notes' will last permanently as one of the best books that any big game hunter and out-of-doors naturalist has ever written. Charles Sheldon was saying exactly this to me the other day. By the way, I hope he will soon write something about his experiences in Alaska. They are well worth writing about. I am much irritated because Shiras, some of whose pictures I once sent you, will not make any use of his extraordinary mass of notes and photographs of[264] American wild game and the rarer creatures of the American forests and mountains.

"I am sending you herewith a rather long pamphlet I have published on the subject of protective coloration. Thayer answered the appendix to my 'African Game Trails,' in a popular Science Monthly article, re-stating and amplifying his absurdities. Men like Professor Poulton treat him with great seriousness, and indeed Professor Poulton is himself an extremist on this subject. I thought it would be worth while going into the subject more at length, and accordingly did so in the bulletin of the American Museum of Natural History, and I send you a copy. I shall also send one to Stigand. Do write me about your experiences."

"I have been delighted with all the pieces you sent me, and have read and re-read them all. Do go on with your lion article. I earnestly wish you would now write a book describing a natural history of big game. You are the only man alive, so far as I know, who could do it. Take S.'s book, for instance, which you sent me. It is an excellent book in its way, but really it is only a kind of guide-book. The sole contribution to natural history which it contains is that about the wolves and the big sheep. But you have the most extraordinary power of seeing things with minute accuracy of detail, and then the equally necessary power to describe vividly and accurately what you have seen. I read S.'s book, and I have not the slightest idea how the sheep or the ibex or the deer look; but after reading your articles I can see the lions, not snarling but growling, with their lips covering their teeth, looking from side to side as one of them seeks to find what had hurt it, or throwing up its tail stiff in the air as it comes galloping forward in the charge. I can see the actual struggle as the lion kills a big ox or cow buffalo. I can see the buffalo bulls trotting forward, stupid and fierce-looking, but not dangerous unless molested, while[265] they gaze from under their brow-armour of horn at the first white man they have ever seen. I can see wild hounds, with their ears pricked forward, leaping up above the grass to see what had shot at the buffalo they were chasing.

"I was immensely interested in your description of these same wild hounds. And what a lesson you incidentally give as to the wisdom of refraining from dogmatizing about things that observers see differently. That experience of yours about running into the pack of wild hounds, which, nevertheless, as you point out, often run down antelopes that no horse can run down, is most extraordinary. I am equally struck by what you say as to the men who have run down cheetahs on horseback. Judging from what Sir Samuel Baker saw for instance, cheetahs must be able to go at least two feet to a horse's one for half a mile or so. I wonder if it is not possible that the men who succeeded in running them down were able to get a clear chase of two or three miles so as to wind them. If different observers had recorded the two sets of facts you give as to the speed of the wild hounds under different conditions, a great many people would have jumped to the conclusion that one of the two observers, whose stories seemed mutually contradictory, must have been telling what was not so.

"Let me thank you again for the real pleasure you have given me by sending me these articles. Now do go on and write that book. Buxton and I and a great many other men can write ordinary books of trips in which we kill a few sheep or goat or bear or elk or deer; but nobody can write the natural history of big game as you can."

"My dear Selous,[266] I could not help being a little amused by your statement that my 'magnificent behaviour, splendid pluck and great constitutional strength have made a great impression.' Come, come, old elephant-hunter and lion-hunter! Down at the bottom of your heart you must have a better perspective of my behaviour after being shot. Modern civilisation, indeed, I suppose all civilization is rather soft; and I suppose the average political orator, or indeed the average sedentary broker or banker or business-man or professional man, especially if elderly, is much overcome by being shot or meeting with some other similar accident, and feels very sorry for himself and thinks he has met with an unparalleled misfortune; but the average soldier or sailor in a campaign or battle, even the average miner or deep-sea fisherman or fireman or policeman, and of course the average hunter of dangerous game, would treat both my accident and my behaviour after the accident as entirely matter of course. It was nothing like as nerve-shattering as your experience with the elephant that nearly got you, or as your experience with more than one lion and more than one buffalo. The injury itself was not as serious as your injury the time that old four-bore gun was loaded twice over by mistake; and as other injuries you received in the hunting-field."

"Perhaps you remember the walk we took down Rock Creek, climbing along the sides of the Creek. On Saturday [268] I took fifty officers of the general staff and War College on that same walk, because I thought the older ones might need a little waking up. I was rather pleased to find that they all went pretty well, even when we waded the Creek where it was up to our armpits, and climbed the cliffs. My dear Selous, it does not seem to me that I would have taken this trip (to Africa) without your advice and aid, and I can never begin to thank you for all you have done."

"Three cheers! I am simply overjoyed that you are going out. It is just the last touch to make everything perfect. But you must leave me one lion somewhere! I do not care whether it has a black mane or yellow mane, or male or female, so long as it is a lion; and I do not really expect to get one anyhow.[59] I count upon seeing you on April 5th at Naples. It makes all the difference in the world to me that you are going, and I simply must get to MacMillan's during part of the time that you are there.

"I have written Sir Alfred Pease that I shall leave Mombasa just as soon as I can after reaching there; go straight to Nairobi, stay there as short a time as possible, and then go direct to his ranch. I particularly wish to avoid going on any hunting-trip immediately around Nairobi or in the neighbourhood of the railroad, for that would be to invite reporters and photographers to accompany me, and in short, it would mean just what I am most anxious to avoid.

"Do let me repeat how delighted I am that you are to be with me on the steamer, and I do hope we will now and then meet during the time you are in British East Africa. I should esteem it an honour and a favour if you would accompany me for any part of my trip that you are able, as my guest."

"My dear Sir Alfred,

"Since I received your letter I have heard again from President Roosevelt. He tells me that he has heard from Mr. Buxton,[60] and that Mr. Buxton thinks that he ought not to engage a white man to manage his caravan. He quotes me the following passage from Mr. Buxton's letter: 'If you wish to taste the sweets of the wilderness, leave the Cook tourist element behind, and trust to the native, who will serve a good master faithfully, and whom you can change if not up to your standard.' The President then goes on to say that he is puzzled; but that his own judgment now 'leans very strongly' towards engaging a white man, and as I know that several men who have recently travelled in East Africa have also strongly advised him to do so, I feel sure that he will decide to engage Judd or a man named Cuninghame, who has also been strongly recommended to him. I must confess that I fail to follow Mr. Buxton's argument. The objection to being a Cook's tourist is, I always thought, because one does not like to be one of a crowd with many of whom you may be entirely out of sympathy, and how on earth the fact that he had a white man to look after all the details of his caravan, instead [270]of a native headman, would give his trip the flavour of a Cook's tour, or prevent him in any way from tasting the sweets of the wilderness, I entirely fail to understand. Rather, I think, it would enhance the sweetness and enjoyment of his trip by relieving him of all the troublesome worries connected with the management of a large caravan. First of all, I believe that both Judd and Cuninghame would have a wider knowledge of the whole of East Africa than any native headman. The President would say, 'Now I want to go to the Gwas N'yiro river, where Neumann used to hunt, or to the country to the north of Mount Elgon, or to the country where Patterson saw all those rhinoceroses, giraffes and other game last year.' His manager would then work out the amount of provisions it would be necessary to take for such a trip, the number of porters necessary, engage those porters, and in fact make all the necessary arrangements to carry out the President's wishes. He would then arrange the loads, attend to the feeding of the porters, the pitching of camp every evening, and give out stores to the cook, and generally take all the petty details of the management of a caravan off the President's hands. As regards hunting, the manager of the caravan would never go out with the President unless he asked him to do so. He, the President, would go out hunting with his Somali shikari, a staunch Masai or other native to carry his second rifle, and natives to carry the meat and trophies of any animal shot. Of course, if when going after lions, elephants or buffaloes, he would like to have his white manager with him, all well and good, and it would be an advantage if such a man was an experienced hunter and a steady, staunch fellow who could be depended on in an emergency. Now, as I have said before, I feel sure that the President will finally decide to engage either Judd or Cuninghame, and the question is which is the better of those two men. I know neither of them—for although I seem to have met Cuninghame years ago, I do not remember him. I never heard of Judd until Bulpett spoke to me about him, nor of Cuninghame, until the President wrote and told me that Captain and Mrs. Saunderson had strongly advised [271]him to engage him. He was also advised to engage Cuninghame by an American who was lately in East Africa, and now I have just got a letter from Cuninghame himself, a copy of which I enclose you to read. Please return it to me as I have sent the original to the President and asked him to get Mr. Akeley's opinion. As soon as I received this letter from Cuninghame, I went to London and saw Mr. Claude Tritton. He (Mr. Tritton) told me he knew both Judd and Cuninghame well, and thought them both thoroughly competent men. What do you think about it? Do you know Cuninghame, or can you find out anything as to the relative value of these two men—Judd and Cuninghame? MacMillan evidently knows both of them, and he is coming home in a month or six weeks' time. I have written all this to the President, and asked him to wait until we find out more about the two men; but suggesting that should he finally decide to engage either Judd or Cuninghame, leaving it to us to decide which was the better man, we should wait to hear MacMillan's opinion, but then write and engage one or the other, and ask him to pick out himself the best Somali shikaris, gun-carriers and special native headmen, whom he could have ready by a given date (this is your suggestion, and I think an excellent one, as probably both Judd and Cuninghame know some good and reliable men and have had them with them on hunting-trips). In the meantime I told the President that I would answer Cuninghame's letter, in a strictly non-committal way, but telling him that I would write again in a couple of months' time, and that he might be wanted to manage the President's early trips. Let me know what you think of all this. I am now convinced that the President will take either Judd or Cuninghame with him. My arguments may have had some weight with him, for I am strongly in favour of his doing so, but other people have also given him the same advice. On the other hand, he has heard Mr. Buxton's arguments on the other side, and he may decide to be guided by them. But Mr. Buxton's views are, I think, not generally held by men who have travelled extensively in Africa, and I think the President will finally decide to engage either Judd or [272]Cuninghame, and if so we must try and ensure his getting the best man. I trust that the weather is now somewhat better in Scotland, and that you have had some good sport.

"P.S.—As Cuninghame is now starting on a trip which will last three or four months, he will be back at Nairobi early next month, and if engaged by the President, would then have plenty of time to look out for Somalis, and other picked natives, before the President's arrival in Africa."

"My dear Johnny,

"Just a line to bid you good-bye before I start for East Africa. I would have written to you long ago, but I have been continually looking forward to coming over to see you before I left England; but the bad weather has always prevented me from doing so. I am going out to East Africa at the very worst time of year, as heavy rains have still to come in May and June. The consequence will be that when I get there the whole country will be smothered in long grass, just as it was when I was in East Africa last, game will be very scattered, and there will be a very small chance of getting a lion. I would never have entertained the idea of going at this season but for the fact that I am going out as the guest of Mr. MacMillan (who has a large ranch near Nairobi), and my expenses will be very small. It just came to this, that I had to go now—as President Roosevelt wanted me to meet him at Naples and travel with him to Nairobi—or not at all; but I don't look forward to much success, and the risk of getting fever is always very much greater when hunting in the rainy season, than in dry weather. Very heavy rains have been falling this season all [273]over North and South Rhodesia, and in British Central Africa, as well as in East Africa. Every trip I have made during the last few years has been marred by rain. My last trip to East Africa was very much spoilt by rain and long grass, then the trip to Sardinia, as well as the last ones to Yukon and Newfoundland, were much spoilt by rain. I hope that you have now quite recovered from the effects of the pleurisy you caught last year in British Columbia. Are you going anywhere this year I wonder?"

"Warburton Pike wishes me to tell you that he will show you round the Exhibition. The Hungarian, Austrian and old German stags' heads are simply wonderful, but there are so many that it is bewildering. Weidmann's Heil."

"My Dear Johnny,

"Just a line in frightful haste to thank you for your kind letter and all your good wishes. If I am successful in finding the Elands, I fear I shall not be able to get a head for my own collection, as if I get permission to shoot more than those I want for the N.H. Museum, I must get a specimen for Rothschild, who will give me £70 for it, and I don't think they will let me get one for Rothschild and another for myself in addition to those I want for the Museum. I have, however, first to find the Elands and then shoot and preserve them, and to do the latter all by myself, with only raw savages to help me will be a hard job in the climate of the [276]Lado, where I am going to look for my game. I shall probably be more sure of finding the Elands to the south of Wau, in the Bahr-el-Ghazal Province, but the journey there would be much more expensive, and my means are very limited. I hope to get a free passage from Khartoum to Lado in the Government steamer. I have been very much interested in Buxton's new Koodoo-like antelope, but what nonsense it is to call it a 'Mountain Inyala.' It does not resemble an Inyala in any way. It is of course quite a distinct species. I don't know if I shall be able to get anything for myself at all this trip. The white-eared Kob and Mrs. Gray's Kob are only found near Lake No, near the junction of the Bahr-el-Ghazal with the Nile, but going by steamer to and back from Lado, the steamer does not stop there, only steams through their district, and there is only one steamer a month. I shall look forward very much to seeing your new book on American big game on my return from the Sudan. With your own illustrations it cannot fail to be a very attractive and interesting work. The climate of the Lado they tell me is bad, unhealthy, intensely hot and enervating, but I hope I keep pretty well, and come back all right."

"MacMillan lunches here Thursday. I am very glad you are going out with him to Africa. He is a trump! I am rather amused at your saying that you will not take any risks with lion now, and that you do not think your eyes are very good. I would not trust you!—seriously. I always wished to speak to you about the time that you followed the lioness which crouched in a bush, and then so nearly got Judd, who was riding after you. I think you were taking more of a chance on that occasion than you ought to have taken. It is not as if you had never killed a lion, and[280] were willing to take any chance to get your first specimen. That I could quite understand. But you have killed a great many, and you ought not to do as poor George Grey did last year, and get caught through acting with needless recklessness.[62] I know you will not pay any heed to this advice, and, doubtless, you regard me as over-cautious with wild beasts, but, my dear fellow, at your age and with your past, and with your chance of doing good work in the present and future, I honestly do not think you ought to take these risks unless there is some point in doing so.

"You say you are too old for such a trip as that with MacMillan. Nonsense! It is precisely the kind of trip which you ought to take. Why, I, who am far less hardy and fit, would like nothing better than to be along with you and MacMillan on that trip. But you ought not to take such a trip as that you took on the Bahr-el-Ghazal. It would have meant nothing to you thirty years ago; it would mean nothing to Kermit now; but you are nearly sixty years old, and though I suppose there is no other man of sixty who is physically as fit as you, still it is idle to suppose that you can now do what you did when you were in the twenties. Of course I never was physically fit in the sense that you were, but still I was a man of fair hardihood, and able to hold my own reasonably well in my younger days; but when I went to Africa I realized perfectly well, although I was only fifty, that I was no longer fit to do the things I had done, and I deliberately set myself to the work of supplying the place of the prowess I had lost by making use of all that the years had brought in the way of gain to offset it. That is, I exercised what I think I can truthfully say was much intelligence and foresight in planning the trip. I made it for a great scientific National museum (which was itself backed by private capital), and made it at the time when the fact that I had been President gave me such prestige that the things were done for me which ought to have been done, but were not done, for you last [281]spring. Then I took along Kermit, who, in the case of the bongo and koodoo and Northern Sable, was able to supply the qualities that I once had had and now lacked. In consequence, while everything was done to make my trip successful and comparatively easy, I am yet entitled to claim the modest credit that is implied in saying that I took advantage of the opportunities thus generously given me, and that I planned the trip carefully, and used the resources that my past had given me, in the way of notoriety or reputation, to add somewhat to my sum of achievement. On your trip you also had genuine bad luck, and the trip was not long enough, and the opportunities were not sufficiently numerous, to allow the good and bad luck to even up, as they will on such a long trip as mine. For instance, it was simply luck in my case that got me some of my game; but then it was simply luck, also, that I did not get some other things; and so it about evened up.

"My own physical limitations at the moment come chiefly from a perfectly commonplace but exasperating ailment—rheumatism. It not only cripples me a good deal, so that I am unable to climb on or off a horse with any speed, but it also prevents my keeping in condition. I cannot take any long walks, and therefore cannot keep in shape; but I am sufficiently fortunate to have a great many interests, and I am afraid, sufficiently lazy also thoroughly to enjoy being at home; and I shall be entirely happy if I never leave Sagamore again for any length of time. I have work which is congenial and honourable, although not of any special importance, and if I can keep it for the next seven or eight years, my youngest son will have graduated from college, so that all the children will be swimming for themselves, and then I am content not to try to earn any more money.

"Fond though I am of hunting and of the wilderness and of natural history, it has not been to me quite the passion that it has been to you, and though I would give a great deal to repeat in some way or some fashion, say in Central Asia or in Farther India, or in another part of Africa, the trip I made last year, I know perfectly well that I[282] cannot do it; and I do not particularly care for smaller trips. If it were not for our infernal newspaper-men, I should go off for a week or two this fall bear-hunting in the Louisiana cane-brakes; but I know I should be pestered out of my life by the newspaper-men, who would really destroy all my pleasure in what I was doing. I have found that I have to get really far off in the wilderness in order to get rid of them, even now, when I am no longer a person of public prominence. I never cared for the fishing-rod or the shot-gun, and I cannot afford to keep hunters. But you, my dear fellow, are still hardy, and you can still do much. I have never understood why your 'African Nature Notes' did not have a greater financial success. It is a book which will last permanently, and will, I am sure, have an ever-increasing meed of appreciation. I re-read it all last winter, and Sheldon, as I think I told you, mentioned to me the other day that he regarded it as the best book of the kind that had ever been written.

"Kermit is, at the moment, in New Brunswick getting moose, caribou, and beaver for the National Museum. I think I told you that he got four sheep, three of them for the Museum, on his recent trip into the Mexican desert. He made it just as you have made so many of your trips, that is, he got two Mexicans and two small pack-mules, and travelled without a tent, and with one spare pair of shoes and one spare pair of socks as his sole luggage. Once they nearly got into an ugly scrape through failure to find a water-hole, for it is a dangerous country. Kermit found that he could outlast in walking and in enduring thirst, not only the Mexicans but the American prospectors whom he once or twice met."

"My dear Johnny,—I wonder where you are and what you are doing. Some one told me the other day that you were going to Africa on a shooting-trip this year. I had quite an interesting time with MacMillan, and got a few nice things to add to my collection. I got three nice Lesser Koodoos on the lower Gwas N'yiro river as well as Gerenuks, good Beisa, and Impala—though nothing exceptional—very good specimens of the small races of Grant's Gazelle—notata and Brighti—Grévy's zebra, the reticulated giraffe, a good bushbuck, a striped hyena, two buffalo bulls, and a lot of Dik-diks (of two distinct species and, I think, possibly three). I don't know whether you have seen two letters of mine in the 'Field'[63] for June 8th and 15th, but if you have, you will have read my account of a rather interesting experience I had with a lion. This was the only lion I actually [284]fired at, though I saw four lionesses one day, and tracked a lion and lioness on another occasion for a long distance and got close to them, but, owing to the thickness of the bush, could not see them. That was the trouble on the lower Gwas N'yiro river. The bush was so frightfully thick along the river, and outside, too, very often, that it required great luck to get a lion in the daytime, and they would not come to baits at night. The bush was simply awful for buffaloes. Let me know what you are doing and I will try and come over to see you one of these days."

"He only received this one terrific blow, though he was pushed to the bottom of the gully—only a few yards—in front of the buffalo's knees and right under its nose, but [285]my bullet had for a moment partially paralysed it. I got another cartridge into the chamber of my rifle as quickly as possible, and, turning to the buffalo, somehow got a second bullet into its hind-quarters, which brought it down altogether. When I was again ready to fire, the buffalo was on its knees, with its hind-legs doubled in under it, in the bed of the gully a few yards below me, and Elani was under its great neck between its nose and its chest, with one arm outstretched and his right hand on the buffalo's shoulder, so that I had to shoot carefully for fear of hitting it.

"Elani then pushed himself with his feet free of the buffalo, whilst I stood where I was, ready to put in another shot if necessary, and it was, for the brave and determined bull partially recovered from the shocks its nervous system had received, though the mists of death were already in its eyes." Another bullet finished this gallant old bull. Elani the Somali was little the worse for his severe handling.

Writing to Chapman, September 26th, 1912, he says: "Don't worry about our visit to Hexham the other day. We got through the time quite easily. I can always pass an hour or two reading, very comfortably, but what I dislike more than anything else in English life is the crowds of people everywhere.... The crowds spoil all the pleasure of going to a cricket- or football-match or a theatre. It is always such a trouble getting away. I am already longing to be in Africa again. If only Mrs. Selous would be happy there, I would rather live in East Africa than in this country."

"I was very disappointed not to see you yesterday, as I was looking forward to a good crack with you. I have not yet heard the cuckoo, but the cuckoo's mate has been here in the garden since April 2nd. There are several pairs of snipe on Whitmoor Common (just below Worplesdon village) this year. They are now in full 'bleat.' There are also a number of Redshanks, the first I have ever seen here."

"I was greatly interested in your account of your visit to the home of your people in the Channel Islands, and then to Normandy. Of course, the Channel Islands are the last little fragment of the old Duchy of Normandy. I was always pleased by the way in which their people, when they drink the health of the King, toast him as 'The Duke.' It is the one fragment of the gigantic British Empire which owes fealty to the Royal House of England primarily as the representative of the still older ducal line of Normandy. Moreover, the people of the Channel Islands have always seemed to me, like the French Huguenots, to combine the virile virtues of the northern races with that[287] quality of fineness and distinction which are far more apt to be found in France—at least in old France—than among our northern Teutonic peoples.

"Indeed, those cathedrals represent the greatest architecture this world ever saw, with the sole exception of Greece at its best. All that you say about the Normans is true. What they accomplished in government, in war, in conquest, in architecture, was wonderful beyond description. No adequate explanation of the Norman achievements during the eleventh and twelfth centuries has ever been or ever can be made. As you say, it was their conquest of England and the Scotch lowlands that gave to the English their great push forward; and they gave this push in many different lands. The handful of Norman adventurers who went to Italy fifty years before the conquest of England speedily conquered South Italy and Sicily and part of Greece, and ruled over Saracen, Italian and Byzantine alike. The handful of Norman adventurers who conquered Ireland, thereby for the first time brought that country into the current of European affairs. It was the Normans to whom we owe the great 'Song of Roland.' They formed principalities and dukedoms in the Holy Land and the Balkan Peninsula. They set their stamp on the whole contemporary culture of Western Europe, just as their kinsfolk, who, as heathens, conquered heathen Russia, were the first to organize the Slav communities of Eastern Europe. In a way, the action of the Normans in the eleventh and twelfth centuries (for by the thirteenth century their importance had vanished) represented the continuation, culmination, and vanishing of the tremendous Norse or Scandinavian movement which began about the year 800, and ended in the latter part of the eleventh century, when its Norman offshoot was at the zenith of its power and influence. There are many things about these people and their movements which are hard to explain. Wherever the Norsemen went, they became completely merged with the people they conquered, and although they formed a ruling caste they lost all trace of their own language and traditions. The Norse invaders became[288] Sicilians in Sicily, Russians in Russia, Frenchmen in Normandy, Irishmen in Ireland, English- and Scotchmen in Great Britain. They furnished kings to England, Scotland and Sicily, and rulers to a dozen other countries, but they always assimilated themselves to the conquered people, and their blood must always have been only a thin strain in the community as a whole. When the Normans came over to conquer England, I believe that they represented the fusion, not only of Scandinavians and Franks, but of the old Gallo-Romans, whose language they took. A great many of the adventurers were base-born. King William himself was the bastard son of a tanner's daughter. Cooks and varlets, if vigorous enough, founded noble families. Quantities of Bretons and Flemings accompanied the Normans to England. Their language was purely French, and their culture was the culture of Latin Europe. They had lost every trace of the Norse language, and every remembrance of Norse literature and history. In William's army there seems to be no question that any man of fighting ability came to the front without any regard to his ancestry, just as was true of the Vikings from whom the Normans were descended; yet these people were certainly not only masters of war and government, but were more cultured, more imaginative, more civilized and also more enterprising and energetic, not only than the English but than any of the other peoples among whom they settled. In England two centuries and a half later, their tongue had practically been lost; they had been completely absorbed, and were typical Englishmen, and their blood must have been but a thin thread in the veins of the conquerors of Cressy and Agincourt. Yet this thin thread made of the English something totally different from what they had been before, and from what their kinsmen, the low Dutch of the Continent, continued to be. It is all absorbingly interesting."

"Well do I remember our first meeting, which was destined to prove the beginning of a close friendship of more than twenty years—I was working on the lawn when I saw a picturesque figure dressed in shooting-clothes and the ever-present 'sombrero' walking towards me. Off came the hat and 'Good morning, sir, my name is Selous. I am just beginning to arrange my collection of eggs and was advised at the Natural History Museum to call on you, as they say your method of keeping a collection was good.'

"How odd it seemed to me that this hero of a thousand hairbreadth escapes should start egg-collecting once more at his time of life (he was then about forty-five). I was soon to learn that the energy he has always thrown into his hunting-trips was to be given equally to this new pursuit—it was not really new, as he had collected as a boy at Rugby, and in Germany, but years spent away from home had seriously damaged the spoils of early days. I showed him my collection, and on hearing that he wanted to start with even the commonest species, we went off and collected what nests I knew. How interested I was to see the care with which this man, who could handle four-bore rifles as tooth-picks, yet retained the delicacy of touch which enabled him to wrap in cotton-wool such small eggs as those of Blue Tits and Chiffchaffs! He told me he was off to Asia Minor for a few days, and then on to the plains of Hungary. This programme would have been sufficient for most men, but there were some days to spare, the season was short, so I recommended him to go to the Isles of Scilly; the owner being an old friend, I was sure I could get him leave. He went, and subsequently wrote me a long letter mentioning[290] all the different species he had found, which fairly made my mouth water!

"Unlike some collectors, Fred Selous, if he knew where a good thing was to be found, made it his delight to share that knowledge. Perhaps to the detriment of the species, but greatly to the joy of his friends. Jealousy was unknown to him, his pleasure was always to help others, regardless of trouble; had he been to any part of the world where you had not, he would make it his business to give you the minutest details so that you could go there almost blindfold! I know this from personal experience, as it was thanks to him I went birds'-nesting into Andalusia and Hungary, besides many little trips in these Isles. If he had been lucky with some rare species in a foreign country, he would press his duplicates on anyone interested, and more than this, it was difficult to prevent him handing out eggs he really could not spare. His own large collection was purely personal. I believe there were only some Bearded Vultures' eggs in it that he did not take with his own hands. These came from Sardinia, where he had been after Mouflon—he had seen the birds, but was too soon for eggs. If I found a nest on this property which he wanted, he would never let me take the eggs and send them to him, he would bicycle over to lunch (twenty-three miles each way) and take them with his own hands!

"I had long wished to visit Iceland on a nesting-trip, and in the early spring of 1913, wrote asking Selous if he would come. To my great joy I found that he had already arranged to go there, and it was soon fixed up that we should go together. What a glorious time we had, and how much I owe to his companionship, invariable good temper and knowledge of travel! The ship we went out in was a smelly beastly thing, the weather cold, sea rough and food vile. The latter bothered Fred not at all, he often said he could live on any food that would support a human being, and from subsequent experience I believe he was right. He liked some things better than others, but anything would do. I only saw him beaten once; we had had an eight-hour ride in vile weather, at last we arrived at the farm where we[291] were to spend the night. Fred loved meat, and our host produced a plate of stuff that might have been thin slices of mutton. Fred attacked it, and I watched developments! In place of the Aldermanic smile I expected, the face contracted, the mouth opened, a sharp word escaped, and later on the first course of his dinner turned out to be pickled Guillemot of the previous season! But to return to our ship. Fred didn't smoke, the rest of the company did to a man, rank Danish cigars, which made even a good sailor wish he had never left home. We were driven into the dining saloon, the only place where there was some peace, though the smell of ponies and cod took the place of vile cigars. Here Fred used to spend his day reading, his favourite book being 'Tess of the D'Urbervilles.' One day he complained bitterly of the light, and for the first time I noticed that this wonderful man was reading small print without glasses—aged, I think, sixty-three, and as long-sighted as anyone I ever met. All things come to an end in time, and after what seemed a month, and was really three days, we arrived at Reykjavik, starting the following day on our trip. The first trek was a short one, only twenty miles, but quite long enough for me, as next day I could hardly climb on the pony, whereas Selous jumped on like a boy, and during the whole of our journey, above 1000 miles on pony back, never once felt stiffness. We did well from an ornithological point of view, finding some forty-six different kinds of nests, and bringing home over 1000 eggs, not one of which was broken, thanks mostly to the careful packing of our friend. Selous had the greatest objection to getting his feet wet unnecessarily, and when crossing those rapid rough rivers would take his feet out of the stirrups and somehow curl them up behind him, it was a wonderful performance, and how he kept his balance with the pony stumbling and regaining his feet as only an Icelander can, fairly beat me. Once, when crossing an extra bad place, full of boulders and in a flooded condition, his pony got on the top of a flat rock under water; when he went to crawl down on the other side, there was the inevitable hole from back-wash—down went the pony, the jerk pulling Fred over on to his ears—I[292] thought he must have fallen into the boiling cauldron—No; a short scramble, the pony righted himself and there was Fred as peaceful as ever, didn't even look round! When we were safe on the far side, I said to him, 'If you had gone off then, you would not have stopped till you got to the sea.' His reply was, 'Yes, but I didn't.'

"I was very anxious to get on to the Island of Grimsey, one of the European breeding places of the Little Auk. It is situated some sixty-five miles from Akureyri, and I was told motor fishing-boats went there sometimes. I told our guide to telephone on and find out if such a boat could be hired, the reply came back that a small one would be available. The terms were settled, and the boat was to be ready the following evening, to start by 9 p.m. About 8 o'clock, we went to the quay to inspect our ship, when to my horror I was shown a single-cylinder thing not as large as a moderate Thames pleasure-launch, a free-board about 10 inches, no cabin, no deck. I'm bound to confess my heart failed me, it didn't seem quite good enough to trust ourselves to a sixty-five mile trip in a little tub with two youths (one of whom had a withered hand) and a very doubtful looking compass! Not so Fred, he never raised the least objection to a North Sea trip in a ship dependent on a single plug, which might become sooty any moment! In due time we started, and after watching the midnight sun, my shipmate remarked, 'I think I shall turn in.' 'Turn in where?' 'Oh, the cockpit will do.' It was full of rusty old chains, he could just get into it and lie curled up in a sort of knot on the rug, and here he passed a dreamless night, never moving until I called him as the boat touched land about 8.30 a.m. On landing, the first thing was to find out where the Little Auk might breed. The Parson told us he knew a man skilled in such matters. With a total population of 72 souls, 13 of which were belonging to the Parson, it ought not to be difficult to find the tastes of any unit of the congregation (especially after eighteen years' residence). In a short time a fisherman arrived with a coil of rope and a crowbar; the latter he drove into the ground, tied the rope to it and heaved the end over the[293] rock. Our friendly Parson then waved towards the sea, remarking, 'There you are, how do you like it? The birds breed in the rocks at the bottom.' Honestly I did not like it, but Fred remarked, 'Thank you, that will do well,' and without another word seized the rope and was soon at the bottom. I had to follow, the Parson looking down from the top very much like the picture of Nebuchadnezzar looking down at Daniel in the lions' den. The Little Auk was not there, only Puffins inhabited that part of the island, and we had to regain the top as best we could. Later on we were shown a spot where the bird really did breed, and two eggs rewarded us for the long journey. We left again the same evening in a thick fog, Selous curling himself up once more on the rusty chains, and utterly oblivious to the fact that it was just a toss-up if our helmsman ever found the mainland again or not. A short time after this event we were resting at a farmhouse, and as usual asked if the boys knew of any nests. One of them replied that there was a Merlin's nest with five eggs in some rocks a few miles from the farm. Off we started, and all went well until we came to the face of a nasty crumbling steep place. The farm-boy, with only a pair of shoes made from raw sheepskin, made no bones about it and dashed up to the top. I was next, and after going up a certain distance could find no foothold and had to stop where I was. Selous was a little below me, and, when he reached my none too comfortable seat, I suggested that it was no place for me, and that the boy who was at the nest might as well bring down the eggs. This was not Fred's way of doing things, he simply remarked, 'I think I'll go a little further.' He did, right up into the nest, returning with the five eggs, and this too with a pair of long, heavy Norwegian field-boots on. I felt a proper weakling, but our friend never once rubbed it in by word or deed. Of side he had none, and the possibility of hurting anyone's feelings was absolutely repugnant to him always. During our long rides in Iceland, he told me many things about his life in Africa in the earlier days. How I wish I could have taken down the stories he related! To hear him talk was like listening to someone reading a book. He was[294] never at a loss for a word or the name of a place. Perhaps we would have been riding together in silence for some time, then Fred would turn round with the remark, 'Do you know,' he then would start and tell me something of his early days in Africa, what may never have been published, things he did for which others got the praise. I fear this most unselfish of men was far too often made use of. Not that Selous did not see through the schemes of various impostors; he did, but as he would never have done a dirty trick to a living soul, he could not believe they would to him. His fondness for tea was a fine advertisement for this indigestible drink. He told me that in his early camping days in Africa, he used to throw a handful of tea in the pot before starting off to hunt, let it simmer all day, freshening it with another handful in the evening. The tea-leaves were never emptied! The first time he stayed with me I saw him making very bad weather of a glass of champagne; on asking if he would prefer something else, the prompt reply came—'Tea.' Ever after that he was provided with his pet drink, and it used to interest me to see how he invariably left the spoon in the cup, a relic of old veldt days where manners were unknown. Fred's ideas on food were different to most people's. One evening after a wretched eight hours' ride in pouring cold rain, just as we neared the farm where we were to rest, I said, 'How would you like to dine with me at the Ritz to-night? A little clear soup, a grilled sole, lamb cutlets and green peas, mushrooms on toast and a bottle of Champagne 94?' 'Thanks very much, but if I had my choice of what I should like best, it would be good fat moose and tea.'

"I think it was not generally known that Selous held strong views about what he called Psychic Force, for during the whole of our long friendship I only once heard him let himself go on this subject, and I am bound to confess that coming from a man like him whose every word was truth, anyone who heard him relate what he had seen take place in his own home with only his brothers and sisters present, could not but help owning that he was in the presence of something beyond his understanding. His conversation was[295] always worth listening to, but like all brave men, it was difficult to get him to talk. If he liked those present, he would often delight his audience and yarn on for hours, if he didn't, he was civility and politeness itself, but no yarns! His little sayings, without an atom of side, always amused me. The last time but one that I saw him when on leave, I remarked on his close-cropped beard. 'Yes,' he said, 'it looked so white in the bush, they seemed as if they were always shooting at it.'

"When war broke out I had not seen him for some little time. I was killing rabbits in the park, and on looking up saw Fred. He was furious, he had hoped to be sent to France as a 'Guide,' but the scheme fell through, and he feared he would not get a job. How cross he was! Shortly after I received a wire that he was coming over to lunch. He arrived radiant as a boy home from school, the reason being that he was to go to Africa with a contingent of 150 men with the rank of lieutenant, at the age of sixty-three! And yet there are conscientious shirkers who also call themselves 'Englishmen.' The last time I saw him he lunched here on the way from Gloucester when he had been to say good-bye to his boy in the Flying Corps, and was just starting for his return to Africa. In the midst of all he had to do, and the rush of settling his affairs, he heard of our own trouble. Sitting down at once, he found time to write one of the most sympathetic, charming letters one pal may write to another. It came straight from that great heart which knew no fear, but loved his neighbour far better than himself."

"Just a line to tell you that Heatley Noble and I got back from Iceland a few days ago. We had a lot of cold, disagreeable weather, but got a nice lot of eggs; indeed, practically everything that one can get in Iceland, except the Purple Sandpiper. When we got to where they were, it was too late, and we only found a pair with young. We got some eggs which were taken a fortnight earlier. We found the Red-necked Pharalope breeding in hundreds at Myvatn[296] and other places, and we also took several clutches of Grey Pharalope which we found breeding in some numbers in two districts. We got all the Iceland ducks at and near Myvatn, including the Harlequin, Barrow's Golden Eye, Scaup, Long-tailed Duck, Scoter and several others. Whooper Swans were plentiful in some parts of the south and west, but not in the north, and we saw a good many Great Northern Divers, and got several clutches of eggs. We went out to the island of Grimsey, thirty miles north of the north coast of Iceland and just within the Arctic circle, and got the eggs of the Little Auk there; and also Snow Buntings, which were extraordinarily abundant on the island. Redwings and Mealy Redpolls we got in the birch scrub in the north. But I will tell you all about our trip when we meet. The boys came home on Wednesday, and we are all going to Scotland on August 9th. I don't yet know when the show will come on at which I shall have to speak, but I hope that it will not be before October. I found the Sandpipers' and Wheatears' eggs on my arrival home."

"During the long waits at grouse-driving the other day, I was always wishing myself in the forests on the slopes of Mount Kenia, collecting butterflies, for there every moment was full of excitement. I am sorry to tell you that my dear old mother's health—she is now in her eighty-eighth year—is such that it will henceforth be impossible for me to leave England again on any long trip during her lifetime. She is not ill, but she has lost strength terribly during the last three months, and I do not think her life can be much further prolonged. So now all hope of going to the Sudan this winter is gone, and as at my age every year tells heavily against me, I doubt whether I shall ever get a giant Eland for the Natural History Museum."

"I went there yesterday (Rugby) to see the football match against Cheltenham College. Freddy played for Rugby. He has played in every out match for the school this term, against the Old Guard, the Oxford A, the old Rugbeians, and Cheltenham College, so I think he is now definitely in the first fifteen. As he is now only fifteen years of age, and will not be sixteen till April 21st next, I think that is rather good; indeed, I think he must be the youngest boy in the school fifteen, and so may some day be Captain of the Rugby fifteen. He plays forward, and weighed 11 stone 10 lbs."

"I was up at 15,000 ft. over the German lines, when I saw Captain Selous take a dive at a German machine some 2000 feet below. What actually happened I do not know, but all at once I saw both wings of the machine collapse, and he fell to the earth like a stone."

"It is a severe blow to the squadron to lose him, for he was beloved by officers and men alike. In fact, his popularity extended to a much greater area than his own aerodrome. In the short time that I have known him I have been struck with the courage and keenness of your son—always ready for his jobs, and always going about his work with the cheeriest and happiest of smiles. He was the life and soul of the mess."

"Before seeking enrolment in the Legion of Frontiersmen, I went to one of the biggest Life Insurance Companies in London and was examined by their chief medical officer, and I have got a splendid certificate of health. After saying that he found all my organs perfectly sound he goes on, 'his heart in particular, considering the active life he has led, is in excellent condition. He is also remarkably active and muscular and in my opinion fit for service anywhere.' I may say that Colonel Driscoll has not yet got his authority from the Government to get his men together, though he has enrolled several thousand and is prepared to come forward at a moment's notice. I fear that there will be frightful delay, as I have good reason to believe that none of our troops have yet left England and the Government will attend to nothing until they have got all their regular forces to the front. However, if the war goes on for any time they will want all the men they can get, and I fully expect that the Legion of Frontiersmen will get to the front sooner or later, but perhaps not till the Colonial forces arrive in England."

"I believe this war will be a terrific business, and that we shall have to send something like a million of men out of the country before it is over, so that sooner or later I think I shall get into the fighting line. Freddy will not be old enough to volunteer until April 21st next, when he will be seventeen, and I fully expect that he will be wanted. If I should be eliminated it would not matter a bit as I have had my day, but it would be a pity if so promising a boy got scuppered at the outset of his life."

"It[301] passes my understanding why the War Office will not give the order to Colonel Driscoll to take some of his men, who are all well disciplined and can shoot, to the front at once.... I am afraid that Lord Kitchener has no intention of employing anything in this war but regular troops.... Driscoll offered to take 1000 men to British East Africa to invade and take German East Africa,[67] but this offer was also refused."

In October, Colonel Driscoll thought there was no chance of being employed. "I personally," writes Selous to Chapman, October 23rd, 1914, "do not think he will ever be employed at all, so I determined to make an application direct to the War Office for service at the front with the Army Service Corps, or as an interpreter, or for any kind of work in which a good knowledge of French and some German might be useful. I got two letters of introduction to two members of Parliament who are working at the War Office and was sympathetically received by them. I took my health certificate with me. My application for service was submitted straight to Lord Kitchener, and I have got his reply from H. J. Tennant, M.P.: 'I spoke to Lord Kitchener to-day about you and he thought that your age was prohibitive against your employment here or at the seat of war in Europe.' Well, I suppose that is the end of it, for I put no faith in Driscoll's belief that sooner or later his services will be required, so I suppose that neither you nor I will be allowed to serve our country in this war. We are looked upon as useless old buffers."

In November, 1914, he was doing special constable at Pirbright and was rather depressed that he could get nothing better to do, and that his boy Freddy would soon have to go into training as a soldier. He hoped his son would be able to join the Egyptian Army and have "a good time in the Sudan or the King's African Rifles. As I can do nothing that really matters, I often feel that I should like to go right away—say to the Belgian Congo—hunting and collecting for a year. But until the war is over, or nearly over, I am afraid I shall not be able to leave here, as besides being enrolled myself as a special constable, I have now undertaken to do a lot of work under the 'Defence of the Realm' Act. I feel it is all unnecessary fuss and bother, as even if a raid could be made on the East coast of England, no invasion could take place south of the Thames until the French are conquered and crushed, and the Germans take possession of all the Channel ports opposite our south-eastern shores, and further until our Navy has lost command of the seas. Personally I don't believe that either of these disasters can ever happen, so I must do what the Government requires. Anyhow I feel that it is a waste of energy." (Letter to Chapman, November 11th, 1914.)

"I know absolutely nothing about the 'Legion of Frontiersmen' as far as service is concerned, but Colonel Driscoll has always promised me that if he was sent abroad, he would take me with him as 'Intelligence Officer.' After last September, when he offered to take 1000 or 2000 men to East Africa and his services were declined by the War Office and the Colonial Office, I tried to get a job myself with the Army Service Corps in France. I went to the War Office and saw Mr. Tennant and said that I could speak French, a good deal of German and make the Flemish people understand my South African Dutch. Mr. Tennant laid my application and my very excellent bill of health before Lord Kitchener, who wrote me the next day simply saying that 'my age was prohibitive against giving me any employment either here or at the seat of war in Europe.' After that I gave up all hope of being able to do anything and settled down as leader of the special constables of Pirbright, and also did work for the 'Defence of the Realm' Act. In December, however, I got a letter from Colonel Driscoll saying, 'If I am ordered out—as is very probable—to East Africa, will you come with me?' I wired at once to say I[303] would be ready at very short notice, and went to see him. I found that the War Office had sent for him and asked him how long it would take him to get together 1000 men for service in East Africa. He said that the War Office had already got 3000 men, originally enrolled in the Legion, who when they found that they could not be employed in a body had enlisted in the new army. However, he undertook to get 1000 men by the end of January, and I can vouch that he was working very hard to accomplish this, when he got a letter from the W. O. (who had told him to get on with the enlistment of the men) saying that for the present his services would not be required, as they were in communication with the Government of India as to getting more troops for East Africa from there. Everything seemed over again, but about three weeks ago, I got another letter from Driscoll saying, 'Are you available for service at once?' The W. O. had come to him again and asked him to get 1000 men together by February 10th. I have been helping him since then in getting notices in the papers, and receiving the names of men willing to serve in East Africa. Colonel Driscoll wanted and still wants to take me with him as Intelligence Officer, so I went last Monday to the War Office and saw Major Guest (who was with Major-General Lloyd the other day when he inspected Driscoll's men) and asked him about maps of German East Africa, and Major Guest then told me that they were not going to give Driscoll an Intelligence Officer. He told me that Driscoll would just have to put down the names of his officers and submit them to the W. O. for acceptance or rejection. As I told Major Guest, this would mean that my name would certainly be rejected on account of my age. I then saw Driscoll again, and found him very much discouraged, as he said that not only had the W. O. refused to allow either a signalling officer, a transport, or an intelligence officer[68] on his strength, but they also wanted to impose some men of their own choosing on him as officers, whom he does not know, thereby obliging him to dismiss some of his company officers, who[304] have served with him, and whom he does know. I think it quite possible that Driscoll may resign, but he will not do so until he has got the men the War Office want. As far as I am concerned I now think my chances of going to Africa with this force are small, although Major Guest told me that General Lloyd was in favour of letting me go. I know absolutely nothing about the Legion of Frontiersmen in this country, nor do I believe that there is the slightest chance of the Germans landing any force in this country, as long as our Navy remains in being."

On February 4th, 1915, he went to see Colonel Driscoll, who said the War Office had stretched the age-limit in his case, that he would take him to East Africa as Intelligence Officer. "I hope I shall not prove too old for the job and break down," he writes. Colonel Driscoll expected to have two or three months' training and leave for East Africa in April. On March 7th, Mrs. Selous went to Havre to work in the Y.M.C.A. hut there. Selous then left for London. "It was thought that I would start for East Africa with an advance contingent before she left for France," but he was delayed, waiting for the whole regiment to go together. Writing to Chapman, March 21st, 1915, he says: "I understand that we are to start for East Africa next Saturday, or very soon afterwards. Well, good-bye, old friend. These troublous times will be over some day and then if we are still both alive and have any vitality left, we must do that Nile trip."

"The battalion (25th Royal Fusiliers) concentrated at Kajiado soon after landing at Mombasa, when it was inspected by General Tighe, then Commanding in East Africa. I accompanied Tighe on this inspection, and we formed a very high opinion of the officers and men. They were an unpolished lot but real good business-like men who meant fighting.

Mt. Kilimanjaro from the North.

"Selous was then in front of his platoon, looking very serious and standing strictly to attention. We recognized [305] each other at once and were soon deep in the question of the validity of the Nakuru Hartebeest and the breeding of the Harlequin Duck in Iceland. We both forgot we were on parade, much to the amusement of Selous' platoon, who still stood rigidly to attention throughout the discussion.

"Selous' company was indeed a mixed lot and contained men from the French Foreign Legion, ex-Metropolitan policemen, a general of the Honduras Army, lighthouse keepers, keepers from the Zoo, Park Lane plutocrats, music-hall acrobats, but none the less excellent stuff and devoted to their officers."

It was about midnight on June 21st, 1915, or very early on the morning of June 22nd, that we approached an island in the bay of Bukoba, which, as the captain of our ship no doubt knew very well, and as we were to find out on the following day, was only about half a mile from the town, and the fine wireless installation close to the Lake shore. We had been going very slowly and quietly for some time before nearing the island, and the intention of our commander-in-chief may have been to land his forces in the dark, without the knowledge of the Germans. But the guard on the island were wide awake, and either heard or saw our steamer approaching, as they immediately sent up six blue lights, one after the other, which illuminated the whole island, and of course, warned the Germans in Bukoba that a hostile British force was about to attack the town. They no doubt thought that this attack would be made in the bay itself, under cover of the ships' guns, as we found later that all their trenches and block-houses along the shores of the bay had been manned. After the flashlights[306] had gone up, and it was evident that a surprise attack on the town was no longer possible, all our ships retired in the darkness for some little distance, but before daylight again approached the coast, at a point some three miles to the north of Bukoba, from which they were hidden by a point of land. We all stood to arms on the crowded decks at 4 a.m., and silently waited for daylight. At the first streak of dawn, about 5.30, the disembarkation of our men (400 of the 25th Battalion Royal Fusiliers) commenced. My Company, A, was the first to land, a somewhat slow process, as the heavy row-boats only travelled very slowly and our ship was further than it looked from the shore. From within a few yards of the water's edge to the base of a precipitous slope, some 200 yards distant, which in places was a sheer cliff, some 300 or 400 feet high, the ground was covered with bush and large banana-plantations, amongst which were scattered a few large and comfortable-looking native huts. Had the Germans only known that we were going to attempt a landing at this spot and brought a machine-gun to the top of the cliff, or had they even lined the top of the cliff with riflemen, they would probably have been able to kill every man in the closely packed boats, and sunk the latter before they reached the shore. Luckily they did not know where we were going to land, until too late, for once on shore, we worked our way as quickly as possible through the banana-plantations, and gained the top of the cliff unopposed. We were only just in time, however, as we were soon engaged with the enemy's forces, which, having now become aware of our intentions, were rapidly advancing to meet us. The disembarkation of B, C, and D Companies (100 men each) of our battalion was now proceeding rapidly, and the advance towards the town commenced.[69]

It [307] is impossible for me to attempt to give any general idea of the whole engagement, which lasted for two days, and I can only tell you some of my own experiences and impressions. We fought in a long thin skirmishing line, which extended from the sea to over a mile inland, and slowly and gradually pushed our opponents back towards Bukoba. On the right of our frontiersmen were 300 men of the Loyal North Lancashire regiment, and somewhere—I believe near the sea-shore, though I must confess that I never saw them—was a contingent of the King's African Rifles—native African troops, commanded by white officers. Our whole force was supported by four guns of an Indian Mountain Battery (the 28th) and four machine-guns. The forces opposed to us were undoubtedly very inferior to ours numerically, and consisted, I think, entirely of well-trained and well-armed native and Arab troops, commanded by German commissioned and non-commissioned officers, and a number of German civilian sharpshooters (men who no doubt have done a lot of big game hunting) armed with sporting rifles, fitted with hair-triggers and telescopic sights. With these rifles they used soft-nosed expanding bullets.[70] They had two cannons, I do not know of what calibre,[71] but of quite a considerable range and two machine-guns. But in another way our opponents had a very great advantage over us, as they had the benefit of the most splendid cover, banana-plantations, patches of thick bush, and bits of ground strewn with rocks, against which we had to advance in the open. Many bullets seemed to pass very close to me, whilst others were much too high. Several times, too, a machine-gun was turned on my platoon, but the range was quite 2000 yards and my men were very scattered, and the rocks and stones gave us good cover between our advances. Presently two of our own machine-guns came up, and searched the hill-side for the enemy's gun, firing all along the crest of the hill. I do not know if they actually put any of the German machine-gun contingent [308] out of action, but they certainly caused them to withdraw their gun.

In the course of the day I had a rather curious experience. I was expecting to see the men of C Company on my right, when I suddenly saw two men dressed in khaki and wearing helmets amongst the rocks, less than 200 yards away from me on my right. There were also two or three natives in khaki with them. I said to Corporal Jenner, who was close to me, "Those must be two of our men with some of the native carriers," and we stepped out into the open. We were immediately fired on, but still I could not bring myself to fire back at them, and thinking that they were our own men and that seeing us suddenly, where they did not expect any of our men to be, they had mistaken us for Germans, I took off my helmet and waved it to them. One of them at once removed his helmet and waved it back to me. I was just putting on my helmet again, when the Germans—for they were Germans—fired at me again, and then dived in amongst the rocks. Their bullets appeared to whistle very close past me, though they may not have been as near as they seemed. At one point a lot of the enemy whom my platoon had gradually forced out of the rocks had to cross the open valley below, but they were then a long way off, and though we expended a lot of ammunition on them I only saw one drop. We also killed one black soldier at close quarters in the rocks, and I have his rifle, which I shall keep as a souvenir.

About 5 o'clock our whole force advanced across the open valley below the ridges we had taken nearly the whole day to clear. To do this we had to get through a swamp, intersected by a small river, which was much more than waist deep. Having negotiated this, we then took possession of two rocks, hills from which we drove the enemy just before it got dark. I was standing beside a stone on the top of the first hill, when a bullet struck a small dead stump just in front of and within a yard of me. Where the bullet afterwards went I don't know, but it sent a large chunk of dead wood against my chest, and another against a man just behind me, which hit him in the groin. He evidently[309] thought he was hit and fell to the ground with a groan. But he was no more hit or hurt than I was, and soon recovered his composure. We had had a very hard day, having had nothing to eat, and not even a cup of coffee before leaving the ship. Provisions were to have been sent on shore for us, but if they were, we never got them. I had a hard biscuit and a lump of cheese in my pocket, but these were ruined in the swamp. General Stewart and his Staff joined us in the evening, and one of his staff gave Major Webb, Lieutenant Hargraves and myself each a small sausage. Colonel Kitchener (Lord Kitchener's brother) was with General Stewart's Staff, and he introduced himself to me, and was as nice as possible. He insisted on giving me a few thin biscuits which I shared with my two company officers. The day had been intensely hot and muggy, but the night was clear and there was a good moon. Colonel Driscoll wanted to go on and take the town by storm in the night; but General Stewart thought it better to wait until the morning. Most of our men were, I think, very much exhausted, but I, I think, was in as good shape as any of them. I really was not tired at all. We passed a most uncomfortable night.[72] As soon as the dew began to fall it got very cold, so cold that we could not sleep at all. We were wet through too up to our chests. During the night someone set light to some native huts in the banana-plantation below our hill, so I took advantage of the blaze and went down there, and stripping stark naked dried all my things before going up the hill again. Whilst I was doing this our dead were taken past on stretchers. The wounded had been taken on to our hospital-ship in the afternoon.

Before dawn on the morning of June 23rd, we all stood to arms again on the top of the hills we had occupied the previous evening, and very glad we all were when at last day broke and the long, cold, dreary, sleepless night was past. We had nothing to eat, and nothing to drink but the [310]water in our water-bottles, and again commenced the day's work on empty stomachs. Soon after daybreak, our signaller brought a message to Colonel Driscoll from General Stewart, telling him to send an officer and twenty men through the bush and banana-plantations below the hill, in order to find out the line taken by the road (which we could plainly see passing below our hill and entering the plantations) through the swamps which lay between us and the town of Bukoba, and then to approach as near the town as possible in order to ascertain what forces were defending it. Colonel Driscoll and Major Webb did me the honour to select me to lead this patrol, and I lost no time in selecting twenty good men of my own platoon to accompany me. After getting off the hill we advanced in single file along the road, I leading, and my men following, with intervals of about six paces between them. We followed the road, and it was somewhat jumpy work, passing along the edge of several banana-plantations, and patches of bush, as they afforded such ideal cover for sharpshooters of the type we had encountered on the previous day. However, there were none there, and we presently emerged on to an open plain covered with grass about two or two and a half feet high, and saw the road running through it straight in to the town. All along the road were posts at intervals of fifty yards or so supporting a telegraph or telephone wire which was probably connected up with some fort from which we had compelled the enemy to retire on the previous day.

On emerging into the open beyond the plantations at the foot of the hill, we were perhaps twelve or fifteen hundred yards from the wireless installation and the nearest houses. The sea-shore was perhaps half a mile to our left, and between us and the lake ran a reedy swamp, which we could see ran to within some 500 yards of the wireless installation and then curved to the right, the straight road we were on going right across it over a bridge. I now followed the road across the open ground, searching both to right and left and straight in front for any signs of the enemy. But we could see nothing and hear nothing, and I began to think that possibly Bukoba had been deserted during the night, and that I and my[311] patrol might walk right into it unopposed, But as we approached the bridge over the swamp, I saw the opportunities it offered for an ambush, and so passed the word down my line of men telling them to leave the road, and keeping their relative positions, edge off to the left, in the direction of the swamp. We had hardly commenced this movement, when we were fired on from somewhere near the bridge. "Down," I shouted, and my command was obeyed with the utmost alacrity. The bullets whistled past us, but no one was hit, and we then crawled through the grass to the swamp, and then again advanced along its edge until we were within about 600 yards of the wireless installation. Along the swamp we usually had good cover, but whenever I tried to reconnoitre and raised myself above the grass to get a good look round I was fired on, I could not tell exactly from where. Two or three times a machine-gun was turned on us, but except when trying to reconnoitre we were pretty safe, and the bullets really whizzed over us. I expected that our whole battalion would have received orders to advance on the town shortly after my patrol had shown that there were no enemy forces on this side of where the road crossed the swamp. But before this happened the enemy's gun positions were shelled both by the Indian Mounted Battery on the hill, and by the guns on our ships, which were now closing in on the Bay of Bukoba. The Germans returned the fire of the Mountain Battery most pluckily with two guns mounted on the hill behind the town, but did not reply to the fire of the ships' guns. This artillery duel had gone on for some time when about 9 o'clock a terrific storm burst over the area of the fighting, accompanied by torrential rain and partial darkness. In a few minutes my men and I, and all who were exposed to its violence, were soaked to the skin. The rain, however, was luckily, if not exactly warm, not cold and gave us no sense of chill.

When the storm was over, the big guns again opened fire. Several hours had now passed since I left the hill on which our battalion had passed the night, and I wondered why no general advance had been made on the town. I[312] did not think that it would be either wise or right to advance any further with only twenty men, as I knew there was a machine-gun in front of us, somewhere near the wireless installation, and it was impossible to tell what forces were still holding Bukoba and waiting to open fire from the shelter of the houses on any men advancing against it. So I sent one of the men with me—a South African named Budler—and my native boy Ramazani, with a note to Colonel Driscoll that there was a good line of advance towards Bukoba, along the edge of the swamp where my men were lying. My men met Colonel Driscoll and learnt from him that a general advance was in fact then taking place. C Company soon came up and took up their position a little beyond me along the reed-bed, and I learnt that Major Webb with the rest of A Company was advancing on our right, and then B and D Companies were still further to the right. The Adjutant, Captain White, then came along and thought that some of us ought to cross to the further side of the swamp. This was at once done by the men of C Company, some of my men with myself as their leader, and Captain White himself. The stream in the middle of the swamp was quite deep and we all got wet up to our breasts. Just before we crossed the swamp Lieutenant Miles of the King's African Rifles came up with a machine-gun, with which he opened fire on one of the houses near the wireless installation, from which we thought that a German machine-gun had been firing at us. This proved to be right, but unfortunately the German gun got the range of our gun first, and when three of his men had been wounded, one very severely, Lieutenant Miles had to withdraw his gun into the shelter of the hollow formed by the reed-bed. German sharpshooters, firing from we could not tell exactly where, were now sending some bullets disagreeably close to us as we lay flat just beyond the swamp. These bullets, fortunately in no great number, seemed to ping past us only a few inches above our bodies. Presently Sergeant-Major Bottomly of C Company came across the swamp, and lay down alongside of me, or at least separated from me by just a yard, my black boy Ramazani lying between us,[313] but a little lower down, so that his head was on a line with my hips. I just said a word to Bottomly, and then turned my head away from him again to look in the direction from which the bullets were coming. Almost immediately my black boy Ramazani touched me, and said: "Master, soldier hit, dead." I had never heard a sound, but turning my head I saw poor Bottomly lying on his back, stone dead, with a bullet through his head. I noticed a large signet ring on his right hand, as his arm hung limp across his body. His head and face were nearly covered by his helmet, but the blood was trickling down over his throat, and I knew that he must have been shot through the brain and killed instantaneously.

Our ships had now crept right into the Bay of Bukoba, and as they fired on the town, or the enemy's gun positions, their shells came screaming and whistling over us. The machine-guns were going too with their wicked rattle, and bullets from snipers' rifles came with an unpleasant sound, sometimes apparently within a few inches of our bodies, which were just then pressed as close to the ground as possible. I thought, as I lay there only a yard away from the blood-stained corpse of poor Sergeant-Major Bottomly, listening to the peculiar noise of each kind of projectile as it found its invisible course through the air above and around me, that I could recall various half-hours of my life passed amidst much pleasanter surroundings. And yet what a small and miserable thing this was, after all, in the way of a battle compared with the titanic combats which have been taking place in Europe ever since the greatest war in history commenced last August. I can well understand how the nerves of any man, however strong, may be shaken to pieces, by the awful clamour of the giant shells and the concentrated fire of many machine-guns, and countless numbers of rifles, and the terrible havoc wrought by these fearful weapons of destruction.

As the advance of the companies of our battalion on the right seemed to be very slow, and we did not know exactly what opposition lay in front of us, Colonel Driscoll asked me to call for three or four volunteers, and crawl forwards[314] in order to make a reconnaissance. I took four men of my own platoon who were close to me. We had not proceeded far when a shot was fired at us from somewhere to our right. This bullet seemed just to skim over us. We immediately lay flat, and wriggling to the left got shelter in a slight hollow of the ground. Along this hollow we advanced to within some three hundred yards of the house nearest to the wireless installation, when several shots were fired at us, and we could also hear talking beyond the rising ground to our left. We could see no sign of the enemy near the wireless installation, nor anywhere down the main street of the town, and I think that Bukoba was at that time already deserted, except for a few sharpshooters who were covering the evacuation, so I at once crawled back to make my report to Colonel Driscoll. On our way we passed some of Major Leitch's men (C Company) and on my reaching Colonel Driscoll and making my report, he asked me to collect the rest of my own men, and then took one of the four men with me to guide him to where Major Leitch was, as he wanted to speak to him. Almost immediately after I had parted from him, my man, Private Mucklow (from Worcestershire), was shot dead alongside of Colonel Driscoll, as he had incautiously stood up. This, I think, was almost if not absolutely the last shot fired by the enemy, and no opposition whatever was made to the advance upon, and occupation of the town by our battalion. I think that both their machine-guns had been put out of action by shells from the Indian Mounted Battery, but they were carried away. They abandoned one of their pieces of artillery, however. We found it with four oxen ready yoked to drag it away, but a shell from our battery had killed one of the oxen and so in their hurry the Germans abandoned the gun. The sappers destroyed most completely the wonderful structure of the wireless installation, which was something like a small Eiffel Tower, and nearly if not quite 200 feet high, with immensely strong concrete foundations. It must have cost a great deal of money to construct in Germany and then convey over so many thousands of miles of land and sea to the very heart of Africa all the component parts[315] of this wonderful example of material civilization, but I suppose the destruction of this wireless installation was the chief object of this expedition to Bukoba.

Immediately upon entering the town my company was sent on to the hill behind it to guard against any attack, and the men of the Loyal North Lancashire regiment presently worked round along the ridge of the higher hills beyond, and posted pickets on all points of vantage. I therefore did not actually witness the destruction of the wireless installation. Neither I nor my men had had anything to eat since the previous evening and very little since the evening before we left the ship, but we got some bananas in the plantations on the hillsides below us, though only a few of them were ripe. My men, however, brought me two fine large ones quite ripe and of a most delicious flavour.

There was a sort of arsenal on the hill we were guarding, and this was blown up about 5 o'clock, an immense amount of ammunition being destroyed. The houses of the German residents, probably Government officials for the most part, were very well and comfortably built and furnished. The arsenal in the town was set alight and great quantities of ammunition and some dynamite destroyed. A good deal of beer and wine and provisions of various kinds was discovered in Bukoba, but I saw no drunkenness amongst our men.

Just at sundown the order came from General Stewart that our battalion was to parade and march to the jetty and re-embark at once. But at first we had to bury our dead. A great grave was dug in the sandy soil, between the burning arsenal and the Governor's house, and in it were laid three deep the bodies of six Britons, still swathed in their blood-stained clothes, who had given their lives for King and Country, far, far away from their native land and all who held them dear. These men had all been killed outright, but two more who had died of their wounds after being taken to the hospital-ship were brought ashore and buried within sound of the murmuring waters of the great inland lake. Altogether our casualties amounted to twenty; 8 killed and 12 wounded. The re-embarkation of our battalion took a very long time, and it was not till 2 a.m.[316] on the morning of June 24th that my company, A, at last got on board. Until then we had been sitting and lying about on the jetty in our wet clothes, without food, fire, or warm tea or coffee.

Before midday on the 24th our flotilla started back across the lake for Kisumu, which we reached on the evening of the 25th. The authorities had made our men intensely uncomfortable on board the steamer by putting a lot of mules on the crowded decks with them. They were able to rest and get food at Kisumu, and about six o'clock on the evening of the 26th we started by train for Nairobi. Again the authorities packed our men like sardines into miserable third-class carriages made for natives. They could surely have given us two trains and so allowed our tired men a little space to stretch themselves. We arrived at Nairobi at 6.30 on the evening of the 27th, and were packed off again at 7 o'clock for Kajiado. One would have thought that as our men had come out from England to fight for East Africa, and that as we had just returned from a successful attack on an enemy's stronghold, and as our time of arrival in Nairobi had been telegraphed on ahead, that something might have been done by the townspeople on behalf of our tired and hungry men; or that even some kind of official welcome might have been accorded them. But not a bite of food for man or officer was to be had on our arrival at Nairobi, and not even hot water could be obtained to make tea with.

Leaving Nairobi on the evening of June 27th, we reached our camp at Kajiado early the following morning, and our first expedition against the Germans was at an end.

"Since our fight at Bukoba we have made an attack on a German post in British territory on the road from Voi to Taveta. Our attack in this case failed, as our information seems to have been all wrong, and the Germans were found to be more strongly posted than had been supposed. An Indian Punjabi regiment was badly cut up, the Colonel killed and the Adjutant wounded and taken prisoner. The native porters, carrying ammunition and equipment of all kinds, threw down everything and cleared as soon as the first shots were fired, and the Germans took possession of everything, including the dead and wounded. They buried the Colonel with full military honours, and allowed the Adjutant to send word that he was being well looked after. There were several other units engaged in this affair, 500 Rhodesians, some of the Loyal North Lancs, and three companies of the K.A.R.; but the casualties in all these contingents were very small, only the Indian regiment apparently having got up against the machine-guns. Things are now at a standstill out here, and when there will be another move it is impossible to say. Botha had 50,000 men, and equipment of all kinds to conquer the Germans in South-West Africa, and he did his job splendidly. Here we have under 2000 white troops, some 2000 African blacks and a considerable number of Indians, most of them very much demoralized as they caught it badly at Tanga and Jasin. The Germans are said to have 4000 or 5000 white men in G.E.A. and nearly 20,000 very well trained black troops under German officers.[73] They are, too, splendidly equipped in every way, and have no end of machine-guns and ammunition. Even if we had a large army here, we could not move it across country to the vital points in G.E.A., as the difficulties of transport would be insurmountable. The only way would be to take Dar-es-Salaam and Tanga, and then advance [318]methodically up their railways, as Botha did in S.W. Africa. For this we should require at least 20,000 or 30,000 men, and as we are not likely to get them, in my opinion we shall be stuck out here until peace is made in Europe. I hope to God that will be before many months are over, or all our young men will be killed. I hope and trust your sons are still alive. I often think of them and of your and Mrs. Noble's terrible anxiety. There has been a lot of sickness—fever and dysentery—both amongst the officers and men of this battalion, but only two deaths—two privates died of dysentery. I think that I am the only one of our officers who has not suffered at all from either bad diarrhœa, dysentery or fever. I have been quite well all the time, and have never been an hour off duty. Bukoba was rather hard, scarcely any food for two days and nights, up to our chests in the swamps, and then lying out in our wet clothes without fire or blanket. I did not suffer any after-effects at all, I am glad to say, and have now got into very good condition. The long marches do not tire me at all, and the men now say that when I fall out no one will be left standing in the battalion. This is, of course, nonsense, but as far as standing fatigue, sun, thirst, etc., I think that I am really better than most of them. Three of our officers have been found unfit for further service, and there are some others who are weak constitutionally, and will never be able to stand any really hard work. So we are very short of officers, and whether Colonel Driscoll's recommendation in my favour for good conduct in the field is attended to or not, I shall very likely get to be a captain before long, as I am the senior subaltern in the battalion. I don't know my drill very well, but my men, I hear, say they have great confidence in me, and will go anywhere with me; but once I am through with this job, no more military duty for me. I hate all the drill and routine-work, and I shall be far too old to take part in any other war after this one."

[319] "My dear Johnny,

"Your letter of October 31st reached me here three days ago, and I was very pleased to get it and to hear all your news. It is now more than seven months since we landed at Mombasa, on May 4th, and we have had a wearing, trying time ever since. Only one of our officers has been killed, but there has been much sickness both in our battalion and the Loyal North Lancs regiment, which came here from India, and several of our men have died from dysentery or fever, and several of our officers have been invalided home. I think that I am the only officer who has not been in hospital. So far I have not been ill at all and I have never yet been a day off duty or had a day's leave. I have never applied for leave, but if I can last out for a few months longer, and during that time we are able to push the Germans back over their own frontier, and are then able to force them to give in, I want to get a couple of months' leave, and go to Uganda, after those fine water-bucks on the Semliki river. We were first of all on the high veldt in the game reserve on the Magadi railway, and there the climate was very fine, but for the last four months we have been in this comparatively low hot country, protecting the Voi-Maktau railway, and hunting German patrols and dynamiting parties, in the most frightful bush. I was out in command of 30 rifles to the west of the Teita Hills towards the Tsavo river, and tracked a German dynamiting party for two days, and at one time was very close to them, but the bush was simply awful and they got off (without bombing the Uganda line) by moonlight, when we could no longer follow their tracks. The day after I got back from this 11 days' patrol, I was sent out again with 70 rifles and 120 porters to examine the courses of the Mwatate and Bura rivers, and see how far they carried water, and if there were any German patrols about. I was out 7 days on this patrol. These patrols are not all pure joy, as the heat of the sun is now very great, and heavy rain falls almost every night. We can carry no tents or any kind of protection against the weather, and we had three very[320] bad nights during the two patrols, lying in the soaking rain and mud all night. Every night heavy thunder-storms break all round about, but they are very local and we have been lucky in not getting into the middle of more of them at nights. We often get soaked in the daytime, but dry again as soon as the storm is over. This bush-work is very trying, as the German black askaris are very much better at it than heavily equipped white men, many of whom have always lived in towns before coming out here. They are recruited from fighting tribes—mostly Manyamwesi—and are not only very brave, but very well armed. We have met with some nasty knocks in this district, but have also ambushed the enemy now and again, and inflicted heavy punishment on them. A party of the Lancs were ambushed and badly cut up 6 miles from here not long ago, losing 2 officers and nearly 20 men killed, and when Lieutenant Dartnell of ours was killed,[74] the mounted infantry to which he was attached were ambushed and suffered severely. On the other hand, the mounted infantry with two companies of Baluchis not long afterwards waylaid a party of the enemy, and killed over 30 of them, and one German officer. Only yesterday, the Boer force from the Uas n'gishu (Belfield's Scouts) 100 men under Major Arnoldi, went out from Maktau, and meeting a German force coming towards Maktau from their strongly fortified position at M'buyuni, 13 miles away, attacked them, and killed two white Germans and over 20 askaris, and took prisoners 4 white Germans (2 wounded). The Boers had only one casualty, which was unfortunately their leader Major Arnoldi. He was only wounded in the shoulder, but fell from his saddle, and his foot unfortunately catching in his stirrup had his brains knocked out against a tree. In all the time I have been out here I have only taken part in one incident of interest. That was the journey up to [321] and across the Victoria Nyanza, and the attack on and capture of Bukoba on the western side of the lake. 400 of our men took part in this adventure, and it was we men of the 25th Fusiliers who did everything that was done. I was then a lieutenant in A Company, and led my platoon on the first day, and conducted a very risky patrol of 20 men early on the second day, and a reconnaissance later—more risky still—with four men who volunteered for the job. We had two days' fighting, and, as I was always in front, I had personally some very narrow escapes. I may tell you privately, but keep it to yourself, that Colonel Driscoll was very pleased with my conduct at Bukoba, and told me that he had recommended me for promotion and something more, but as I have never heard anything more about it, no notice was taken, I suppose, of Colonel Driscoll's recommendation. I should certainly have liked my name to have been mentioned in despatches. However, it can't be helped, and I may get another chance. I have got my promotion to captain, but that came to me in the natural course of events, as a Captain Williams was invalided home, and I was the senior subaltern. You may possibly have heard that there have been disasters out here, but if the whole truth about everything out here is ever known it will be a revelation to most people. It was certainly an evil day for British East Africa when the Indian Government took over the defence of this country.[75] With the exception of the Baluchis and the Cashmiris all the other Indian troops have failed badly out here, and have proved very inferior to either our own K.A.R.'s or the German native askaris. The attack on, and capture of Bukoba by our men is the only success on any considerable scale yet scored by the British out here. I do not say it was much, but at any rate we carried out what we were set to do, and captured the town of Bukoba and destroyed the very fine wireless installation. We hear that a British general from France is on his way out here as G.O.C., and that large numbers of troops [322]are coming here both from South Africa and other parts. Something is undoubtedly in preparation, but I suppose it will be another two months before everything is in readiness for a big advance. And the Germans may move first, as they have four times as many men as we have, and many more guns and machine-guns. We are now in a camp built by the North Lancs and some Indian troops, or rather two camps a mile apart. Sickness has reduced our battalion to about 700 men, and of these many are weak and ill, and I don't think we have more than 400 men who are really strong and capable of marching 20 miles in the hot sun, with their heavy equipment. Our whole battalion, after having been continually split up and sent in batches all over the country, were at last brought all together again here under Colonel Driscoll; three companies in the one camp and one in the smaller camp a mile away. But last week the Colonel in command at Maktau got nervous and ordered Colonel Driscoll to send half his battalion there. Now we are left in this very large camp with under 200 rifles—counting all our black scouts—and all the tailors, cobblers, barbers, commissariat and orderly-room people. We haven't a gun of any kind, nor even a single machine-gun, and the camp itself is in a hollow commanded by higher ground on all sides. We have another 100 or 150 rifles in the smaller camp a mile away. Well, news came a few days ago that a large enemy force with several Hotchkiss guns and many Maxims was advancing on Kisigau, from which an Indian garrison was driven some time ago. We had another small garrison at Kisigau of 50 K.A.R.'s. The Germans have again captured the place after killing or wounding 40 of the garrison. The remainder made their escape. When the G.O.C. and the other generals at Nairobi and Voi heard of this advance on Kisigau, they thought the Germans intended making a determined attack on the railway line, and sent 1500 troops—Rhodesians, North Lancs, K.A.R.'s, and Indians—down to Voi to march from Maungu to Kisigau, leaving Maktau very short of men, though they there have plenty of guns, a[323] mountain battery and machine-guns, and the place is very strongly fortified. At the new station Mashoti, between here and Maktau, only 100 men have been left, but they have guns and machine-guns, and are in a very well constructed camp in a very good position. If we are attacked here by any considerable force with guns and machine-guns we can do nothing, and shall probably all get scuppered. We were fully expecting an attack yesterday, last night, or this morning, as we got a message from Maktau that a large force was approaching. The last rumour is that 10,000 men are advancing on Maktau. At the same time, if the Germans are going to do anything worth while, now is their chance, before the new troops get here. They know everything about us from their Arab and native spies. Well! if the Germans know the state of this place and do not attack it, they will be great fools. The whole position is farcical. This is a very important point, as if it is taken, the water supply to Maktau and Mashoti will be cut off, and yet we have been left with only a few rifles and not a single gun or machine-gun to defend an immense perimeter. Well! all we can do is to 'wait and see,' as Mr. Asquith would say. I am afraid that the war will go on for some time yet, and thousands more of our men will be killed before it is over. I have two young nephews at the Front in France now and I think a third has gone to Serbia with the Motor Transport. My eldest son Freddy will not be eighteen till next April, but I expect he will be sent out soon after then, as he is big and strong for his age. If he goes out and gets killed[76] it will break his mother's heart and mine too, if I should live to come home, and it will be the same for you and your wife if you lose Geoff;[77] but I pray God he will be spared to outlive this terrible war. I suppose the Germans cannot now possibly win the war; but can the Allies absolutely crush them before their finances are exhausted? The war will soon probably be costing us[324] £6,000,000 a day instead of £5,000,000. How long can we stand that? We seem to have made some terrible mistakes and miscalculations, especially in the Dardanelles and the Balkans. However, like everyone else out here, I suppose I am despondent. Perhaps the heat down here is depressing. This place has the reputation of being very unhealthy in the rainy season, and I fear our men will suffer very much during the next two months. Your naval work must be very interesting, and you must tell me all about it, if we ever meet again. I was very sorry to hear that poor Gerald Legge[78] had been killed. But who is going to be left alive when this war is over?

"Well! good-bye, old friend, and with very kind regards to Mrs. Millais and all your family and wishing Geoff the best of good luck, yours ever,

"P.S.—I have not seen Judd yet. He was scouting down on the German border for some months after the war broke out, but has been on his farm near Nairobi for the last six months."

"MY DEAR SELOUS,

"I have received your letter of February 23rd and send this to Nairobi. I am exceedingly glad you have gone to British East Africa. I am sorry to say that very reluctantly I have come to the same conclusion that you have about the purposes and conduct of Germany. The behaviour[325] of her armies in Belgium and in the North of France was, I think, the inevitable result of the kind of doctrine that has been preached by those high in authority in Germany and which was typified by the Emperor's famous advice to his troops in China to 'behave like Huns.' A man cannot direct soldiers to behave like Huns and then escape responsibility for the swinish horrors that follow. From my book you have already seen how strongly I have spoken as to the failure of the United States and other neutrals to do their duty when the Hague Conventions were violated. You cannot speak any more strongly than I have spoken.

"One genuine surprise to me was the strength that the Germans have shown in their colonies.[79] I agree with you that the attitude of the Boers has been one of the finest tributes imaginable to the justice with which England has behaved in South Africa. I have sent your letter to Kermit. It will make him eager to be beside you under Driscoll. I most earnestly hope that you won't be used as a transport officer. Tarlton writes me that he was not allowed to go to the front either. I would a good deal rather trust Tarlton and you in a fight than most of the men who are technically entirely fit because of their youth and physical soundness.

"I have not the heart to write to you about ordinary things while you are in the midst of this terrible struggle. As I have said in an article I recently wrote, I do not believe in neutrality between right and wrong; and I am very sorry that the United States is not in the struggle. If there were a war, my four boys would go, although I suppose that the two younger ones would have to go as enlisted men; and I should ask permission to raise a division of nine regiments of the same type as the regiment I commanded in Cuba. They were men in whom your soul would have delighted. They were much of the stamp of the Hills of British East Africa—by[326] the way, if you see them give them my warm regards, as also to Newland and any other friends you meet. I am delighted to hear about your son.

"DEAR SELOUS,

"Your letter of July 11th has just come. I congratulate you with all my heart. It is simply first-class to have you a fighting officer in the fighting line, leading your men in the very work that you are particularly and peculiarly fitted to do. I was wholly unable to understand Lord Kitchener refusing you a commission. It seemed to me to be an instance of following the letter that kills instead of the spirit that gives life. The Germans have used Von Hindenburg,[80] who was away over the legal age-limit for generals; and he has been their best general. There is undoubtedly a certain type of bureaucrat who would have thought it more important to observe the rule by keeping him at home than to have secured his leadership in victory. Of course, I personally believe in universal military service, and in the most rigorous application of military law during a war. If I had control in East Africa—or in Great Britain or the United States, for that matter!—I would make every man do whatever was best for the nation, whether this meant that he was to fight or to produce ammunition or to produce coal, and I would treat the man who sought to make a profit out of the war or who went on a strike so as to avoid doing his duty in the war just as summarily as I would treat the soldier who flinched in a fight.

"I am so pleased that MacMillan is with you and is doing so well with the commissariat. Give him my heartiest regards. I wish to heaven Kermit and I were with you, [327]or at least that Kermit[81] was with you, and that I was helping in the trenches in Flanders, where I would be of more service.

"I send you herewith two articles I have just written in reference to what I regard as the frightful misconduct of my own country. The trouble is that the men at the head of our Government are doing just exactly what the men at the head of your Government did up to a year and a quarter ago; and they treat the words of men like myself precisely as your men treated Lord Roberts—I do not mean to compare myself to Lord Roberts in this matter, but the attitude of the governmental authorities toward him and toward me has been the same.

"That was a first-class little fight at Bukoba. If the Germans keep sinking boats with our citizens on them, sooner or later I cannot help thinking our citizens as a whole will themselves insist on fighting. The professional pacifists have done this country a damage that cannot be over-stated. If you come through all right and if, in the event of war, I come through all right, I shall look forward eagerly to seeing you when the war is over and asking for more details about what you tell me concerning the attitude of so many people in British East Africa and in Nairobi, for I am immensely puzzled over it. Pray present my warmest regards to MacMillan and my hearty congratulations as well, and also present my respects and congratulations to Colonel Driscoll."

"I don't wonder that you feel a little bit concerned about the war. Moreover, I am not certain that the theory that France and England are to act as anvil and Russia as hammer will work out. It looks to me as if, unit for unit, the Russians had shown a marked inferiority to the Germans, French,[328] and English. They have enormous numbers and great endurance, and these may become decisive factors in the end. I do hope that your army will increase in numbers, however, to the point of being able to become formidable as an offensive factor.

"I have a great admiration and respect for the Germans. I wish to heavens that this country would wake up to the hideous damage, moral and physical, caused by the deification of mere industrialism, of softness and of self-indulgence. National acceptance of the need of hard labour, of facing risk, and of the exercise of foresight is necessary to national greatness. If I must choose between a policy of blood and iron and one of milk and water—especially of skimmed milk and dishwater—why I am for the policy of blood and iron. It is better not only for the nation, but in the end for the world. But my admiration for the Germans does not blind me to the fact that for the last fifty years their development along the lines of policy advocated by Frederick the Great and Bismarck, and so enthusiastically championed by Carlyle, has resulted in their becoming a very grave menace to every nation with which they are brought in contact. I immensely admire German industrial, social, and military efficiency; but I abhor the kind of militarism which has resulted in such cynical contempt for international morality and such appalling ruthlessness in war. I think it folly for a man not to admire the German efficiency; and utter weakness for him not to realize that that efficiency may be used against his own nation and take steps accordingly. I wish I were in the war myself!"

"My dear Johnny,

"After a long interval we got a mail here yesterday, and it brought me your letter of January 5th. This[329] is the second letter I have received from you, so I think I must have missed one, and it may have gone down in the ill-fated 'Persia,' which had mails for East Africa on board. I have not much news to give you, nor much time to write it, as we are now just getting ready for a move forward. After over five months of hard grinding work in the very hot sun, guarding the line from Voi to near Mombasa, and from Voi to Maktau, on the way to Taveta, and many patrols without any kind of shelter all through the heavy rains of December and January, we were sent up to Kajiado on the Magadi railway, and then on here about a fortnight ago. We are now camped just over the German border, and go on to Longido, 18 miles ahead, very shortly. You will have seen in the papers that General Smith-Dorrien was taken ill in South Africa, and that General Smuts has taken his place as G.O.C. out here. He will, I think, commence the offensive against the Germans immediately, but if the Germans have the forces they are said to have, and if all their native troops remain loyal to them, we shall have a devil of a job. I hear that General Smuts, who arrived in the country a week ago, and has already been to Longido by motor-car, fully realizes that this affair will be a much more difficult business than the South-West Africa campaign. There the Germans had no native troops, and Botha had ten men for every man the Germans could muster. Then the country in German S.W. Africa was much easier to work in than this dense tropical bush, which lends itself at every yard to ambushes and is everywhere very much in favour of the defending forces. Water is a great difficulty here, too, and the greater part of German East Africa between our border and the Dar-es-Salaam, Tanganyika railway, except round Kilimanjaro and other high mountains, seems to be very waterless. There is only one permanent water between Kajiado and this camp, over 50 miles, and the transport animals have to do a trek of over 30 miles without water. However, we have this year had no dry season, for since it commenced to rain in November, it has been raining off and on ever since, not sufficiently to fill the water-holes, but quite[330] enough to make things very uncomfortable, and to keep the grass growing, which I am afraid is all in favour of the Germans, as it makes good cover for their ambushes everywhere. The German officers out here seem to be very fine soldiers, and what people do not realize, their black troops are not only as brave as any Zulus, but splendidly led and well armed and supported with any number of machine-guns. No better men could be found in the whole world, and personally, in this bush-covered, overgrown, but still hot and waterless country, I would much sooner have to fight against Germans from the Fatherland than these well-trained and elusive blacks. If we could only gain some success a lot of them might desert. But all the successes have been on their side up to now (except at Bukoba), and they must be full of confidence. A fortnight ago, just before General Smuts reached this country, an attack was launched against a German position not far from Taveta, by three regiments of South Africans, supported by a regiment of Baluchis and some Rhodesians. The situation was only saved from complete disaster by the Baluchis and the Rhodesians. I enclose a reference to the affair in the Nairobi paper, but it has been very unfortunate, and is a very bad beginning to the new campaign now opening, as it will keep the German black troops loyal to their masters, and fill them with renewed confidence. Smuts' generalship may prove superior to all the difficulties he will have to contend with, but I expect he now realizes that he is up against a much more difficult proposition than he had expected. When we advance from our most forward base—Longido—we are not to carry any kind of tents or shelter from the weather, and as the heavy rains now seem to be setting in (we are having heavy thunder-storms with soaking rain now every day or night) we are likely to have a very bad time, and most of us who are still fit will be sure to go down with fever or dysentery, as the heavy rains may last all through March, April, May, and June. Well! the future is on the knees of the gods, and we must take the luck they send us. Lately we have been practising attacks on positions, advancing in bush formation under General Sheppard, an awfully[331] nice man, who I think will command the brigade to which we are attached. I am now in command of A Company of the 25th Fusiliers, and in all our manœuvres A and B Companies have to lead the advance, so I expect we shall have to do the same when it comes to actually attacking any German position. When we landed at Mombasa on May 4th last our battalion was nearly 1100 strong and there were 273 men in A Company. Now we have lost more than half our officers, and have not more than 400 men fit to march and fight. This is the effect of the climate. In A Company we can muster about 100 fit men, and three officers (myself and two men raised from the ranks). Well! I hope that this accursed war will be over by next August, and I think it will, as by that time Germany will surely be exhausted, as well as some of the Allies. By April, I see it is stated, that the war will be costing us £6,000,000 a day. How long can we stand that? What I cannot understand is, where are our armies of millions of men, and all the stores of munitions we are making and buying from America. We are said to have now 5,000,000 of men well armed and equipped, and yet we do not appear to have more than 1,000,000 in France and Flanders, nor more than 500,000 in Salonika and Egypt together. In Mesopotamia and East Africa, we have only a few hundreds of British troops, all the rest being Indians and South Africans. Well! I hope I shall live through this show, and come home again, as I want to see my wife again, and watch my boys' careers. I believe that Freddy will pass out of Sandhurst this month. I was very pleased to hear that all is so far going well with you and yours. May your boys be spared to you and their mother whatever happens. With very kind regards to all of you."

"My dear Johnny,

"It is a long time now since I last heard from you, but I trust that all is still going well with you and yours. On the day after to-morrow we shall have been a whole solid year[332] out here, as we landed at Mombasa on May 4th, 1915. Of that year we have been over six months in the low unhealthy bush-country, doing heavy marches in the hottest hours of the day, and lying out on patrols with no shelter or protection whatever from the weather, all through the heavy rains of December and January last. As I never had any fever, diarrhoea or dysentery, but was always well, I did more of this patrol work than any other officer in our battalion, and it meant long marches too, sometimes following small parties of Germans trying to blow up the Uganda railway. In common with all the other white troops serving on foot out here, our battalion has suffered terribly from the climate, and is now almost quite used up. The Loyal North Lancs regiment has been out here eighteen months; but they have had two strong drafts from home to make good their losses. However, they have now been sent or are just about to go to Wynberg, near Cape Town, to recruit, and from there will probably be sent home. Four of our officers and a lot of our men have also been sent there. The Rhodesian regiment which first came out here has also suffered very badly from the climate, and has now been sent to the escarpment near Nairobi to recruit. The South African troops which have only just come out here are also suffering a lot from fever and dysentery, and Van Deventer is said to have lost about 1400 horses (from horse-sickness) out of the 2000 he had six weeks ago. The condition of our battalion is simply lamentable. When we came up from the low country at the end of February to Kajiado (5800 feet above sea-level) Colonel Driscoll tried to collect all his men from the various hospitals and convalescent homes in the country. We had landed at Mombasa on May 4th, 1915, with 1127 rifles, and we mustered at Kajiado about 700 on February 1st, 1916; but of these many were no longer of any use for marching in the hot sun. From Kajiado we went to Longido, and were incorporated with Colonel Stewart's Brigade, which had to march right round Kilimanjaro, and meet General Smuts' much larger force at Moschi. As far as our Brigade was concerned only 449 of the 691 who had left Kajiado were found[333] to be fit enough for the heavy marching in front of us. Starting from Longido late in the morning of March 5th, we marched 9 miles under a very hot sun to Sheep Hill. There was there no shelter from the sun, and we passed a very unpleasant day. We were told to rest and sleep, as we had a long night-march of 20 miles before us. We marched all night long except from 12 to 2 a.m., and did not get to the water until after midday the next day, and the distance registered in General Stewart's motor-car was 30 miles instead of 20. We had other very long marches in the very hot sun, in choking clouds of fine lava-dust, churned up by the heavy transport. The Germans had prepared to dispute our advance along the main road from Longido to New Moschi, which passes N'gara Nairobi. But under the guidance of a Boer settler in German East Africa, named Pretorius, we left the road soon after leaving Sheep Hill and travelled across country to Boma N'gombi, 15 miles from New Moschi (the railway terminus), on the road to Aruscha. The Germans, whose main forces were trying to hold back Smuts' big columns advancing on Taveta, apparently had not sufficient forces to come out and attack General Stewart's column, so we got through with nothing more than a little sniping. Arrived at Boma N'gombi, we got into communication with General Smuts through our wireless, and General Stewart was ordered to send a picked force by a forced march to join up with one of his forces at Masai Kraal, and then advance together to New Moschi. About half of our 449 men (many of whom were now badly knocked up) were considered fit for this advance and I led 55 men of my A Company, the 55 fittest men of the 282 of A Company who had stepped ashore at Mombasa less than a year before. The night we left Boma N'gombi heavy rain came on and we marched in rain and mud and pitch darkness for many miles along an old abandoned waggon-road. Before daylight we joined up with some mounted scouts, who informed us that the Germans had evacuated New Moschi and gone off down the railway, and that South African troops had occupied both New Moschi and Old Moschi (where I am now writing on the[334] slopes of Kilimanjaro and six miles by road from New Moschi in the plain below us). The day after we got to New Moschi, we were sent off with part of General Stewart's Brigade, under Colonel (now Brigadier-General Sheppard) to co-operate with the S. African forces against the Germans, who had retired from Taveta towards the Ruwu river. A night march of 16 miles brought us to Newi Hill on the road to Taveta, and after a march of a few miles the next afternoon we got in touch with the E.A.M.R., and shortly afterwards a few German snipers. We pushed them back and then entrenched as well as we could. That night they sniped us a bit, but did no harm. The bush was very thick all round our camp, but it was nearly full moon. We heard the attack on one of the S.A. Brigades to our left, and also the heavy German gun (a 4.1 naval gun from the 'Königsberg') firing both at this brigade and at Van Deventer's Brigade, which had advanced down the railway line from New Moschi to Kahi station. These brigades, I believe, ought to have got in touch with us, but they did not do so. During March 20th we improved our trenches and prepared for a night attack, which in fact started at 8.45 and was kept up till 1 a.m. The black troops, under German officers, behaved very pluckily, and time after time answered the bugle call to advance on our camp. Our Maxims kept them off. Fortunately they had no machine-guns with them, and though they fired thousands of shots at our camp they did very little damage, as almost all the bullets went pinging over us. Soon after 1 a.m. we heard their bugle sounding the 'assemble' and they drew off. In the morning the dead just in front of our machine-gun commanding the road were collected and laid out in a row—like pheasants or hares after a drive—but the bush was not searched for the rest of the dead, as we had to push on and attack the Germans who were entrenched across the road a few miles on ahead on the Soko river. They held us off all day, and we had about 200 casualties, as the South African Brigades on our right and left which were to have enveloped them could not or did not come up. The men of our battalion (about 50 of each of our 4 companies) were in reserve, but late in[335] the afternoon A, C, and D Companies had to go forward to support an Indian regiment. I was in command of my 50 men of A Company. We really could do nothing but lie very flat, trying to dig ourselves in with bayonets and fingers, being under the sweeping fire of three or four machine-guns. The lie of the ground just saved us when lying flat, and the bullets just swept over us in bouquets. We only had 17 casualties, and only 2 men killed dead. So far our battalion has not had much fighting, but we have gone through much hardship, fatigue, and exposure. You will wonder how I have stood it all at my age. But the fact remains that from May 4th, 1915, to February 6th, 1916, I never took leave or a day's rest, and was never a single day off duty or away from my company. From February 6th to the 12th I had to lie up, as I had jiggers in one of my toes, and the inflammation went to my groin. Since then I have never been a day away from my company again up till to-day, and have never put my leg over a horse, but done all the marching with the men, carrying my rifle, 50 or 60 rounds of ammunition, water-bottle, glasses and haversack with food—at least 20 lbs. altogether. But the men have usually had to carry 150 rounds of ammunition. Still, considering that I shall be sixty-five at the end of this year I have stuck it out remarkably well, and am one of the very few in the battalion who has never yet had a day's illness, for inflammation caused by jiggers cannot be called illness. But now I am beginning to be troubled with hæmorrhoids and another trouble. I have kept this in check out here for a whole year with astringent ointment, but during the last month it has got much worse and it may oblige me to come home on leave for an operation. The wet and damp of the last month here may have had something to do with the aggravation of my trouble.

"General Smuts was very lucky. He was just given time to carry out his operations round Kilimanjaro and drove the Germans down the line towards Tanga before the rain set in. We have been up here (about 300 men, of whom 100 have been in hospital and a lot more ill in camp, as the hospital is full) for nearly a month and it has rained almost[336] day and night all the time, and we have lived in a sea of vile sticky mud. One of our officers as near as possible died of dysentery, but he is now much better. We—both officers and men—have had nothing but bare army rations since leaving Longido on March 5th last. However, we are now leaving this place, and going to M'buyuni, near Maktau, on the Voi-Taveta Railway, as the railway is now through to New Moschi—but from Taveta to Moschi it is very uncertain, as the heavy rains keep washing parts of the line away. The Germans blew up their naval 4.1 gun at the Ruwu river after firing all the 70 rounds at our camp and the two S.A. Brigades. They put the shells very close to our camp but did not hit it, but they dropped one amongst Van Deventer's men and killed five or six men and horses. After the fighting at the Soko and round Kahe on March 20th and 21st, the Germans retired down the Tanga Railway, and are said to be entrenching at various places. Nothing further can be done on our side until the rains are over, as all transport of a railway line is now almost impossible. Horses, mules, and men are all suffering terribly from the climate, and diseases of man and beast, and the frightful thick bush will help the Germans very much if they intend to fight on till the bitter end. Van Deventer has had a fresh lot of horses sent to him, and is now near the main German Railway from Dar-es-Salaam to Lake Tanganyika. The Belgians ought, too, soon to be co-operating from the Congo. We have just got the terribly bad news of General Townshend's surrender to the Turks in Mesopotamia, and the outbreak in Ireland. My son Freddy passed out of Sandhurst on April 6th and is, I expect, now attached to the Royal West Surrey regiment. The Commandant at Sandhurst has written to my wife speaking in very high terms of praise about him; but, alas, I may never see him alive again if this accursed war goes on much longer. And you and poor Mrs. Millais must now be most anxious about your eldest boy too. Well! of course their country comes first for them and for us, and we must all try and do our duty, but it will break our wives' hearts if either of them loses her boy, and it will take all the joy of life out of us [337] too. Well! I have written you an unconscionably long letter, but it has hardly ever stopped raining now for more than an hour or so at a time for two days and nights, and we are enveloped in thick mist, and there is nothing to do but read and write. The weather gets worse and worse, that is the rain gets more incessant. Everything is saturated with moisture, and my blankets seem quite wet when I get into them at night. It is the constant unending wet and damp I think that gets to the men's stomachs and bowels and gives them dysentery. The slopes of Kilimanjaro may be a health resort in the dry season, but they are not much of a place to live in during the heavy rains. And the natives say that the rains will go on until the middle or end of June. Well! once more good-bye, old fellow, and with very kind regards to Mrs. Millais and your children, and trusting that all is well with all of them."

"To-day is the anniversary of our landing at Mombasa on May 4th, 1915. Since writing to you two days ago I have seen a good doctor, as my trouble with piles is getting bad. He says I must have an operation soon, as if I went on long hard marches now I might get into a state which would require an immediate operation or serious consequences to me might happen. He advises me strongly to go home and have the operation there, as he does not think there is a really skilful surgeon out here. In all probability, therefore, as soon as I get to the big camp at M'buyuni, I shall be again examined, and a board of medical men will recommend that I shall be given three months' leave of absence to go home and have this operation, so I may be home almost as soon as this letter. Really it does not much matter, as our battalion is played out, used up, and they will probably not find more than 300 men fit for duty, and these only fit for garrison-duty on the lines of communication. The forward movements to the Dar-es-Salaam line will I think be carried out by Smuts' mounted forces and his 1000 motor bicyclists and armoured motors, as soon as [338] the rains are over and the country becomes possible for transport. During the rains I believe the railway will be pushed on from New Moschi towards the main German railway line. Well! good-bye again."

"It's very different when you get down to the plains and the bush. I don't think any words could describe that. A vast and almost impenetrable forest so thick that when an aeroplane goes up the observer sees nothing but a great green carpet below him. And wild animals, mind you, as well as wild devils to fight; the sun burning your very flesh; the flies intolerable.

"Imagine a camp at night under these conditions. Round and about the lions are roaring from hunger. Hyenas prowl in the hope of snapping up a sentry or leaping in and carrying off a wounded man. I have known a man with a temperature of 105 Fahrenheit stagger up in the morning and insist upon continuing the march. It was the old spirit of my Scouts ever unquenchable.

"The natives—the old natives, as I have said—were always on our side. What would have happened to us if they had not hated the German like the devil I cannot tell you. But they followed us through the bush, often for miles, brought us food and attached themselves to us as servants, who were quite ready to carry rifles upon occasion. This was very helpful, for sometimes at night, when the [339] force was absolutely without provisions, we had to send men scouting in native villages, and they could easily have been betrayed. Nothing would have been easier for a treacherous native than to have sneaked out while two or three of our men were in his hut and to have warned the nearest camp of Askaris. It never happened. The loathing of the Blonde Beast was too universal.

"All this sounds bad enough, but believe me, it gives you but a poor account of what it cost us to win 'German East.'"

"The war has now entered upon a very difficult phase. As von Lettow-Vorbeck—a very able and determined man—the German commander, has been allowed to escape with considerable forces well equipped with machine-guns, into the wilderness towards the Portuguese border. We hold all the ports, all the towns, plantations, etc., and both the railway lines—but von Lettow still commands a force, it is thought, of over 1000 whites and several thousand trained black troops, well found in arms and ammunition. The wastage from fever and dysentery has been terrible, and, as the heavy rains will come on, where the Germans are, very shortly now, if Smuts cannot round them up quickly it will be impossible to continue this campaign for months. He is busy repairing roads and railways[341] and getting up supplies to near the Front, and we are expecting to get forward again at any moment. With the latest drafts our battalion has had 1400 men out here. All we have left of them are 149 at Kijabe (but these must mostly be unfit for further hard service) and 394 here, of which latter number 101 are sick. Two have died in hospital this week. Of the two fine Rhodesian regiments, it is said that only 68 are fit. The North Lancs Regt. has wasted to nothing, in spite of many drafts. The position is now most difficult, and unless a decision can quickly be arrived at, this campaign may drag on for months and have to be finished by black troops, as another month in a heavy rainy season, without shelter and short rations, will lay out all the white troops still left.

"During the period March-September, 1916, General Smuts captured the region from Kilimanjaro to Dar-es-Salaam, whilst the Belgians gradually occupied the western part of German East Africa, from the Great Lakes to Tabora, and General Northey the south-west part of the country. The Germans were thus restricted to the south, the south-centre and south-eastern regions, except the actual coast-line.

"After evacuating Tabora the German troops in that region, who were under General Wahle, retired south-east towards Mahenge, a government station on a high plateau centrally situated between the northern end of Lake Nyasa and the sea at Kilwa. Part of the enemy force which had opposed General Smuts also retreated to Mahenge, its commanding officer being Major Kraut. In its retreat General Wahle's force harried, and was harried by, General Northey's columns. Wahle broke through the British lines and joined Kraut, who was being threatened from the north by General Van Deventer, the commander of General Smuts' Second Division. In the closing days of 1916 and the beginning of 1917 a combined effort was made by Generals Van Deventer and Northey to 'round up' the Germans holding the Mahenge plateau. The movement promised success, but, in the words of General Smuts, the enemy 'eventually[342] escaped through the dense bush and forest under cover of darkness, and eluded pursuit.'

"Meantime the main enemy force, under Colonel von Lettow-Vorbeck, upon whom the Kaiser in November, 1916, conferred the Ordre Pour le Merite, had been driven by General Smuts to the region of the Rufigi, south of Dar-es-Salaam. At this period General Smuts reorganized his forces, and, in view of the extremely unhealthy character of the country in which further operations were to be conducted, as many as possible of the white troops from South Africa were sent home, over 12,000 leaving East Africa between the middle of October and the end of December, 1916. They were replaced by newly raised battalions of King's African Rifles and by a Nigerian Brigade under General Cunliffe. On January 1, 1917, General Smuts began a new offensive in the Rufigi area, his object being to cut all connection between the enemy in the Rufigi and Mahenge regions and either to envelop the enemy on the Rufigi or to deal a heavy blow as he escaped south. The last object was accomplished; a heavy blow was inflicted upon von Lettow-Vorbeck's force, but it was not brought to a decisive engagement. This brief campaign was ended in March by the advent of the rainy season. While it was in progress General Smuts was summoned to England to represent South Africa in the special sittings of the War Cabinet. He relinquished his command on January 20, 1917, being succeeded by Major-General A. R. Hoskins, C.M.G., D.S.O., who had previously commanded the First Division."— "The Times History and Encyclopædia of the War," the campaign in German East Africa (III), pp. 397-398.

"We are now marching to Kissaki, and from there will probably[343] advance and attack the Germans on the Rufigi river. Very heavy rains have now set in, and we have had rather a bad time of it, and our detachment has shrunk from 384 to 170, with which we march to-day. We hear the bridge over the Rufigi river has been washed away by the floods and the German forces cut in two."

"We are on the eve of an attack on the Germans out here. Their lines here are quite close to ours, our forces are gathering, and we shall now attack their lines in several places simultaneously in a few days. Our forces are terribly depleted principally from sickness. The German forces are sure to be entrenching, and as they still have a number of machine-guns, it may be no child's play attacking their positions, and we may meet with heavy losses."

"The troops, which had to march through most difficult country, got in touch with the enemy again on the afternoon of the 3rd, and at 10.30 a.m. on January 4th Sheppard's Brigade caught up the chief enemy force as it was retiring from Beho-Beho. A sharp engagement followed, but though severely handled the enemy 'again slipped past,' to use General Smuts' phrase. The brunt of the action was borne by the 25th Royal Fusiliers (the Legion of[344] Frontiersmen). During the fight Captain F. C. Selous fell at the head of his company. He was buried under the shadow of a tamarind tree, beside the graves of members of his company who fell at the same time. Thus ended the life of the most distinguished of the hunter-naturalists of recent years, the man who had opened up thousands of miles of South Central Africa. Throughout the campaign, though well over sixty, he had set an example of endurance and devotion to duty unexcelled by any member of the force. As stated in Chapter CLXXXIII, he had already been given the D.S.O. in recognition of his services. None knew better than Selous the dangers and difficulties of the campaign. Writing home from Tanga in November, 1916, he set forth some of these difficulties, adding: 'I shall try and hold out to the end, if possible, or, at any rate, as long as my health and strength last. General Smuts is now working ... for the next forward movement, and when he is ready the remnants of my battalion will join him.'"

"Our force moved out from Kissaki early on the morning of January 4th, 1917, with the object of attacking and surrounding a considerable number of German troops which was encamped along the low hills east of Beho-Beho (Sugar Mountain) N.E. of the road that led from Kissaki S.E. to the Rufigi river, distant some 13 miles from the enemy's position. The low hills occupied by the Germans were densely covered with thorn-bush and the visibility to the west was not good. Nevertheless, they soon realized the danger of their position when they detected a circling movement on the part of the 25th Royal Fusiliers, which had[345] been detailed to stop them on the road leading S.E., the only road, in fact, by which they could retreat. They must have retired early, for their forces came to this point at the exact moment when the leading company of Fusiliers, under Captain Selous, reached the same point. Heavy firing on both sides then commenced, and Selous at once deployed his company, attacked the Germans, which greatly outnumbered him, and drove them back into the bush. It was at this moment that Selous was struck dead by a shot in the head. The Germans retreated in the dense bush again, and the Fusiliers failed to come to close quarters, or the enemy then made a circuit through the bush and reached the road lower down, eventually crossing the Rufigi."

"I did not actually bury Captain Selous, but I was present at his funeral. I think I had better give you his doings from about the end of August. He came out for the second time about the end of August, 1916, and landed at Mombasa (via the Cape) with a draft of about 400 new men for the 25th R. Fusiliers. He took these up the Uganda Railway to a small detail camp called Korogwe, in the Usambara Valley. After waiting there for a week or two, he brought the draft to Tanga, when to his intense disgust he was held up for nearly eight weeks. In the meantime the original part of the regiment was trekking down the centre of the country towards the German Central Railway. Whilst at Tanga, he lived in a house with Captain MacMillan, whom you probably know. It was here that he heard he had been awarded the D.S.O. Whilst we were waiting here, he frequently gave the men lectures on his early life in South Africa, to their intense delight. Here I first met him. He was literally adored by the men. From a boy he had always been a hero of mine, and to my great joy I actually met him. He wore a double Terai grey slouch hat, slightly on the back of his head. Khaki knickerbockers, with no puttees, bare legs, except for his socks, and shirt open at the neck, with a knotted handkerchief round the neck to[347] keep the sun off, with a long native stick in his hand. He had a rooted objection to wearing a cork helmet. It is impossible to forget the impression he made. He was as straight as a guardsman, with a broad deep chest, with a beautiful healthy look in his face.

"We left Tanga, on board an armed merchantman, at the end of November, and after calling in at Zanzibar for a few hours, arrived at Dar-es-Salaam. At Zanzibar I went ashore with him and had breakfast at the English club. We were landed at Dar-es-Salaam at about 10.30 at night and went into the local detail camp. He remained there about a week and was then sent up to take up the draft he had brought out to Kissaki, which is about 100 miles south of the German Central Railway, where the rest of the regiment was waiting.

(Here I went down with fever, and so had to stay behind for two weeks.)

"He went by train to Mikessi, about 150 miles up the Central Railway, and from there started with his draft of 400 men to reach the regiment. He reached Kissaki in a fortnight. This is practically the last point where any life exists, except game, in this part of the country. In many ways it is terrible country; there are no names, save such names as we gave it, no roads. It is covered with thick elephant-grass, six to eight feet high, and very thick thorn-bush and swamp. Although I was one of them, I honestly think that the sufferings of the troops in this horrible trek have hardly been exceeded by any in the war. There was only filthy water, we marched on half-rations, with no bread at all, only flour being issued and occasionally biscuit. The whole country was poisonous with fever and 'blackwater'; hardly any natives live here, as it is too poisonous. Most of the men went sick and died like flies. It was just south of Kissaki he caught the regiment up. He was just as cheerful as a schoolboy.

"The day he was killed, I passed him in the morning with his company, I was driving an armoured machine-gun, as the driver was ill. As I passed him, I shouted out, 'I shall be back and have tea with you to-day, sir,' for we[348] used to joke him about his habit of drinking tea with every meal.

"That was the last I saw of him. There was some fighting in the bush during the day, and when I came back in the afternoon I was greeted with the news of his death. I was just in time to see him buried. He was sewn up in a blanket, and buried with five other men of the R. Fusiliers. I was told he was first wounded in the right arm, which was broken, but was bandaged up, and he remained with his company.[83]

"A little later he was again hit in the mouth and was killed instantaneously and apparently painlessly.

"A little space was cleared in the bush and he was buried, at one of the most impressive services I have ever attended, the same day in the afternoon. I intended to photograph the spot, but next day I went down with a bad attack of blackwater fever, and the next few weeks are a complete blank to me. My memory is still somewhat out of gear. My diary and camera were missing when I came round, and so all my exact records are going to some scamp. He is buried about 60 miles south of Kissaki, in a nameless spot, but if you will wait a month or two I may yet be able to get you some photographs and further details.

"As I said before, he was always my hero as a boy in books, and he remains so now. He had all that simplicity and modesty of great men. He was the easiest of all men to cheat, but yet no one ever dared to do it. He was a moral antiseptic in a country where men are not saints. Anything mean or sordid literally shrivelled up in his presence.

"Although[349] I am a young man, my fate has led me to travel in all our white colonies, and I can honestly say that of all the men I have met, good or bad (and they have been mostly good), no one has ever left me with the impression of being a 'whiter' man, or who was a more perfect English gentleman.

"The geographical position of his grave is approximately lat. 7 deg. S., long. 38 deg. E. It is not near any village but lies only a few yards to the east of the main road leading south from Mikesse, on the Central Railway to the Rufigi river, from which it is about 10 miles distant. There is a stream crossing the road at this point. It was here that the gallant 25th Royal Fusiliers were camped on the day (January 4, 1917) when Selous was killed. It was to this spot that the fallen hero was carried.

"The graveyard is situated close by the old camp, and contained at the time of my visit seven simple wooden crosses. Besides the one in memory of Captain Selous are those of Sergeant Knight, Lance-Corporal Evans, and Privates Taylor and Evans, all of the Royal Fusiliers, who were killed on the same day. The other two graves are those of privates of the British West Indies Regiment who died at the same place months later. The precise spot where Selous was fighting when he was first wounded was pointed out to me. It was among some small knolls which lie about a mile to the north, on which the present camp, known as Chogawali, has since been built....

"The stream running by the spot where Captain Selous' remains are laid to rest is the last fresh water met with along the road before reaching the Rufigi. It is for the most part a wild inhospitable district—the haunt of a great variety of big game, including elephants, giraffes, and rhinos. Not more than four miles away is a warm salt spring running down into a salt lake, where hippos, wild ducks, egrets, and[350] numerous other wild fowl abound. But despite these alleviations it can hardly be called a fascinating part of the country, and the object of most people who have seen it will be to avoid it carefully in the future."

"The campaign is not over to-day (August 1st, 1918), and it is by no means impossible that Von Lettow breaks north again into his old colony.[84] He is an exceptional man of iron will and great personality. I met him in Tanga in November, 1914, and he then declared that even though we might drive him from his colony he would fight to the last, and that he would never be taken alive."

"The Germans," he remarked, "are not in search of colonies after the English model. Not colonies, but military power and strategic positions for a great Central African Empire, comprising not only her colonies before the war, but also all[351] the English, French, Belgian, and Portuguese possessions south of the Sahara and Lake Chad, and north of the Zambesi river in South Africa.

"Towards this objective she was steadily marching even before the war broke out, and she claims the return of her lost African colonies at the end of the war as a starting-point from which to resume the interrupted march. This Central African block was intended in the first place to supply the economic requirements and raw materials of German industry, and in the second and far more important place to become the recruiting ground of vast armies. The natural harbours on the Atlantic and Indian Oceans were to supply the naval and submarine bases from which both ocean routes would be dominated and British and American sea-power be brought to naught.

"No fresh extension of Prussian militarism to other continents and seas should be tolerated, and the conquered German colonies can only be regarded as guarantees for the security of the future peace of the world. The premature or unwise restoration of German East Africa to its former owners might have consequences reaching far beyond the confines of the African continent. Perhaps I may be allowed to express the fervent hope that a land where so many of our heroes lost their lives may never be allowed to become a menace to the future peaceful development of the world."

"It would be easier to write more fully of Selous, if he had occasionally 'broken out' and 'bucked' a bit—his very modesty and reserve and his care about what he said and his delightful simple-heartedness concerning his own achievements[85] were something difficult to cope with—much as they added to the charm and attractiveness of the man and fortified one's confidence in him. To me that he was absolutely true and the pure stuff was what made him stand out. Personally I never saw him do anything brilliant—I have seen many men shoot better, quicker, and so on, but no man who got so much or at any rate any more interest out of all that pertains to a hunter's and naturalist's life. He was a rather deliberate than quick observer, as far as I can judge, but when he had reached a conclusion you might lay your money he was right. I remember one day being rather inclined (being myself of an eager, quick, and perhaps impatient nature) to think him tiresome. He was with me at Kilanga (my B.E.A. farm), and said, 'Now I want to get a good Kongoni' (Coke's Hartebeest)—we were standing where there were always hundreds, and often thousands, in sight. We regarded Kongoni like the flocks on a hundred mountains. The old bulls' heads were much alike; in early days I had measured perhaps a dozen, and did not find that any one was much more interesting than another. I said I didn't know that I could help him, 'they were much of a muchness.' He asked me questions about measurements and weights and so on, most of which I could not answer. I told him there were [356]plenty to choose from, and off he went and spent the whole of a hot day trying to find a 'specimen' worth having. He returned at night with a head and neck, and then the inquisition began again after measuring and remeasuring, and after a time (perhaps he was two hours messing about with his Kongoni head in the evening, after a tiring day, when I wanted him to come in and sit down) he came to the conclusion that there was not much difference between his head and the horns lying about of those we had shot for meat. He went to Juja (MacMillan's), and a few days after showed me two other heads he had got there, and no doubt had given the same exertion and examination to get, and with not much different result. It is well for science that there are such men, and some of my neighbours were amazed at this man, whose great reputation had reached them, and had expected to see him galloping after lions and shooting them from the saddle, etc., bothering himself over Kongoni heads, but I must say I admired immensely this persistence to get at a definite knowledge about a common beast."

"I got home yesterday evening, having bicycled all the way from Gloucester—about 100 miles—in pouring rain most of the way, and over heavy, muddy roads, in just twelve hours, including stoppages for breakfast and lunch. I am not at all tired to-day, and next year, if I can get a fine day, I shall see if I cannot do 120 miles between daylight and dusk." Not bad for fifty-seven years of age.

"It was curious," writes his sister, Mrs. A. Jones, "that for all my brother's splendid health, great and varied interests, and good spirits—though not of the wildly elated kind—there was a strain of sadness in his nature, and he had not the love of life that would have seemed so natural—though there seemed to be so much in his life to live for. I have often heard him say that he would not mind dying at all, or would as soon die as live, or some expression to that effect. He was very philanthropic, and accepted any reverse of fortune or disappointment with calmness and fortitude. He suffered much, I think, through his views on the Boer War, but he was steadfast and true to his beliefs and principles always, and in this he showed a fine and noble spirit. This high sense of honour and integrity shone out like a bright star from a very feebly lit world in this respect. To me he was ever the most loving and tender brother, and his loss I shall ever lament."

"It is now nearly thirty years since I first met my old friend, Fred Selous. At that time I was living at Klerksdorp, in the Transvaal, and among my friends were some who in former years had lived in the interior; such as Mr. Thomas Leask, Mr. Alec Brown, and several others. I was therefore in the right atmosphere for hearing thrilling stories of African adventure, in which men like Hartley the hunter and Westbeech the trader had played a prominent part. For this little town had for years been the refitting station for men from the north, and because of this we always seemed in close touch with the regions beyond. One day I met Mr. H. C. Collison, and soon after I heard Mr. G. A. Phillips ('Elephant Phil') describe realistically an encounter with a lion. But there was one name around which a halo of peculiar distinction had already gathered, for I noticed that when these men spoke of Selous it was always with a note of personal affection; they not only admired him as a successful hunter, but they evidently loved him as a well-tried friend. And when I actually met him I soon recognized the charm of his simple and winning personality. The friendship which was then begun quickly ripened into an intimacy which lasted until the day of his death. I was only a young Wesleyan minister, and he was the famous hunter, and yet we had many things in common, and what attracted me most was his unaffected manner and genuine honesty of thought and conduct. How well I remember his first visit to my little parsonage, his stories of travel and adventure told with such quiet and characteristic modesty, and our long talk on Spiritualism and kindred subjects. He was one of the best conversationalists I have ever met, he could listen as well as speak, he had kept up his reading all through his wanderings, and his lonely life in the African veldt had given him many opportunities for keen and original reflection.

"About the date to which I refer he was making preparations for leading the pioneers of the Chartered Company [371] into Mashunaland, and he kindly invited me to accompany him, offering me the use of one of his own waggons. To my great regret I had to decline, but the following year (1891) I was appointed to represent the Wesleyan Church in the new Colony, and by the end of September I found myself established in the small town of Salisbury. One of the first to give me a welcome was Fred Selous, who was then employed by the Government in making roads and helping to open out and settle the country.

"It is impossible in these few lines to say very much about my friend, but by giving two or three simple incidents I may help the reader to see Selous as I saw him. His hatred of boasting and exaggeration was very marked. One day he called on me in Salisbury and asked me to go to his house, as he had something to show me. He had just returned from Hartley Hills, and whilst there had shot his largest lion. How modestly he told the story, and with what interest I looked upon the skin of the huge beast (now mounted at Worplesdon). His humility was always as conspicuous as his bravery. Nor would he condone any false pretensions in others. He was once having breakfast in my waggon, and a gentleman who was outspanned near by asked me to introduce him to the great hunter. I did so, and immediately Selous began to ask him about certain incidents in a book he had published some time before. The replies, I could see, were not satisfactory and the subject was dropped. What amused me later was the surprise of the visitor that such a quiet and unassuming man should be the famous personage whose name was revered by every man who carried a gun. But such a person could not possibly understand Selous, who, neither in speech nor in print, would ever make a statement which he could not verify. His veracity was unimpeachable, and his 'Hunter's Wanderings' was the favourite text-book of every amateur. His word could be taken for every trivial detail; as I once heard an old hunter remark, 'Whatever Fred Selous says is absolutely true.' This was not a cheap testimony in a country where the imagination so often colours the records of personal adventure.

"He[372] was never afraid to express his opinions, however unpopular they might be at the time. We were both in Bulawayo when word came from the south that Dr. Jameson had invaded the Transvaal with a few hundred men. An open-air meeting was held in the town, and Selous was one of the speakers. There was great excitement and we hardly knew what to believe. In the afternoon I rode out with him to his farm (Essexvale), about twenty miles from Bulawayo, and spent a few pleasant days in his home, but I remember how strongly he expressed his doubts as to the genuineness of the message of distress from Johannesburg. When I got back to town I heard of the capture of Jameson by Cronje, and later events proved that the doubts of my friend were amply justified.

"Selous was thought by some to have been rather critical as regards the work of the missionaries, but from various conversations I had with him I am convinced that his criticisms applied only to those whose methods were more idealistic than practical. Among his warmest friends were those devoted men who had toiled for years in Matabeleland, and who had succeeded in raising the physical and moral status of the natives. That he was always in sympathy with all good work was evident. Soon after going to Salisbury I was engaged in building a small church and the other denominations were also doing their best for the new community, all of us working together in the most friendly spirit. One day Selous said to me, with a touch of hesitation, 'By the way, Shimmin, I wish you would do me a favour. Would you give this small donation to Canon Balfour, of the Church of England, and this to Major Pascoe, of the Salvation Army, and keep the other for your own building-fund. You are all doing good work, and I want to help you.' And he handed me three five-pound notes. It was a good proof of his broad and liberal outlook and of his recognition of the practical benefits of the Christian Church.

"This sketch is necessarily very brief and imperfect, and, as I write, my memory brings before me many scenes which are associated with my old friend. I think of the fashionable [373] crowd in the Imperial Institute, with the Duke of Fife in the chair, and Selous giving a lecture in his own inimitable style. I was very proud of him, but that evening, as I sat with Mrs. Selous and Miss Rhodes, I somehow felt that the speaker was closer to me than to any of that admiring audience, for he and I had been together in the African wilds.

"And now he sleeps in the land he loved so well. At an age when most men would seek retirement and rest, he went forth to fight for justice and righteousness, and in that cause he made the supreme sacrifice of his life. Fred Selous was one of God's true and valiant gentlemen.

"He lived the simple creed of sincerity and trust. Fearless for the right and dauntless in the face of danger, he won the hearts of men, and by the influence of his strong and genuine character he gave to us all a higher and purer conception of the inherent nobility of our common humanity.

"There was never a more welcome guest at the White House than Selous. He spent several days there. One afternoon we went walking and rock climbing alongside the Potomac; I think we swam the Potomac, but I am not sure. Another afternoon we rode, going over some of the jumps in Rock Creek Park, as well as those rail-fences that we were sure were not wired, in striking across country.

"What made Selous so charming a companion was his entire naturalness and lack of self-consciousness. There are persons who pride themselves on a kind of ingrowing modesty which forbids them to speak of anything they have themselves done, or else causes them to speak of it in such a bald fashion that they might as well keep silent. This [374] really represents extreme self-consciousness, and it is only one degree less obnoxious than the self-consciousness which shows itself in boasting and bragging. Yet, rather curiously, the exhibition of this particular kind of morbid self-consciousness is a source of intense pride to many otherwise intelligent persons.

"Selous was as free from this vice as from its opposite. He never boasted. He was transparently truthful. But it never occurred to him not to tell of his experiences, and he related them very simply but very vividly, and with the attention to minute details which marks the born observer and narrator. When my children were little I had now and then read to them aloud some of the more exciting extracts from Selous' hunting adventures. At the time that he visited me at the White House they were older, and I got him to tell them two or three of the adventures himself. He made us actually see everything that had happened. He not only spoke simply and naturally, but he acted the part, first of himself, and then of the game, until the whole scene was vivid before our eyes. He would stand and bend forward, and then he would instantly identify himself with the lion or buffalo or elephant, and show what it did in its turn.

"It was on this visit that he promised me that he would write out some of his observations on the life histories of African big game. I felt that it would be a real misfortune if this record were not preserved in permanent form; for Selous had the eye of a faunal naturalist of the highest type.

"But our conversation was far from being confined to natural history and hunting. His reading had been done rather late in life, and only along certain lines, but he had the same unerring eye in history and literature that he had in the hunting-field. Naturally he liked what was simple and straightforward, and the old Scotch and English ballads appealed very strongly to him. His people had originally come from that last fragment of the old-time Norman Duchy, the Channel Islands; and he was keenly interested in the extraordinary deeds of the Normans.

"It was through Selous and Edward North Buxton that [375] I made my arrangements for my African hunting-trip. Much to my delight, Selous went on the ship with us from Naples to Mombasa. He was, of course, a delightful travelling companion. He was very much interested in the way in which the naturalists who were with me did their collecting, being much impressed by the scientific efficiency they showed. Whenever possible I would get him talking about some of his past experiences; and then gradually other acquaintances would stroll up and sit in an absorbed circle, while he not only told but acted the story, his keen, simple, fearless blue eyes looking up at us from time to time, while his hands moved with a vivacity we are accustomed to think of as French rather than English.

"After landing in Africa I saw him but once or twice. Of course my hunting was that of a tyro compared to his, and he took a kind of elder brother's interest in what I did and in my unimportant successes.

"Later I spent a night with him at his house in Surrey, going through his museum of hunting-trophies. What interested me almost as much was being shown the various birds' nests in his garden. He also went to the British Museum with me to look into various matters, including the question of protective coloration. I greatly valued his friendship; I mourn his loss; and yet I feel that in death as in life he was to be envied.

"It is well for any country to produce men of such a type; and if there are enough of them the nation need fear no decadence. He led a singularly adventurous and fascinating life, with just the right alternations between the wilderness and civilization. He helped spread the borders of his people's land. He added much to the sum of human knowledge and interest. He closed his life exactly as such a life ought to be closed, by dying in battle for his country while rendering her valiant and effective service. Who could wish a better life or a better death, or desire to leave a more honourable heritage to his family and his nation?