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Here it is. I apologize for the punctuation, but I didn't want to spend that much time fixing it. I hope you enjoy it.

February 28, 2004

Quest for the Lado

Bill Stewart

The German steamer, Africa Star, was hot and horridly humid below deck. In the late evening my older brother, Captain Frederick Crawford, and I were sitting on deck watching a meteor shower, trying to avoid the mosquitoes and the urge to sleep, without going below deck where one had to spend the night in a claustrophobic compartment in a musty, narrow bed. We had just departed from Port Said, the smoke stack huffing and puffing as the steamer gained speed, on our way again to Mombassa in British East Africa. Port Said was the first solid ground we had under our feet for three weeks since leaving Birmingham, and a dirty seaport, the streets lined with stained white-plastered buildings and dilapidated tin sheds. After a short stroll through the market area and partaking of warm beer, the only two beers we could find, we had made our way back to the ship.
Frederick and I had spent several weeks before leaving England on the 1st of April, 1904, planning our kit and supplies for an extended trip to the Semliki River and the tributaries of the Nile in western Uganda. We hoped to experience some shooting of big game, such as rhinoceros, buffalo, and elephant. We both wondered if we could find enough porters in Mombassa for a safari of at least six-months.
“Frederick, do you suppose we have brought enough ammunition?,” I asked while waiting for the ocean breeze to sweep the mosquitoes back to the disappearing shore.
“We have four hundred rounds for each of our rifles, including a Winchester .22 automatic,” replied Frederick. “We have enough ammunition, Arthur. What we do not have are enough porters. We will need at least one hundred. I cannot bear to hold my eyes open any longer. I am off to sleep, in the hole.”
It would be almost two more weeks before we arrived at Mombassa. The days, and nights, became increasingly hot. The sun’s glare was even worse, as we finally past the outer islands of Mombassa. The heat somewhat more bearable by the time we finally reached the port at Mombassa. Our supplies were unloaded on the dock, where a native, that worked for the Customs House, and could speak English, greeted us. After paying the ten percent import duties, the port official, a Mr. Symth, directed us towards a dilapidated hotel.
“I will arrange for your supplies to be stored,” the official said, he being most helpful. “Meet here in the morning about 9 o’clock and I will have someone to help you to secure porters.”
“Mr. Smyth, we will require a headman for an elephant safari in Uganda. Is that possible?,” I inquired.
“Right,” Smyth agreed, “I will find you an experienced headman.”
After our first night in Mombassa, in a hotel that was much better than the hole of the African Star, we met Smyth on the dock where he introduced a native man, Twenda, who knew where to secure at least five porters that we needed before we reached Uganda. Twenda, a Somali, showed finely defined features.
“Twenda,” I asked, “you will be our neopara (headman), at a pay of 50 rupees per month.” Twendo smiled and nodded in approval. “How long will it take to find five native porters for our elephant safari?” I continued. Somalis are known to be troublesome, but Twendo eventually proved to be competent at his tasks and kept peace amongst the porters.
“One or two days, Bwana,” was Twenda’s prediction. “But we will need one hundred porters for elephants.”
“Frederick, tell Twenda we cannot afford fifty porters at 10 rupees per month,” I exclaimed.
“Arthur, old boy, you had better arrange for more funds, unless you plan to take the place of fifty porters,” Frederick chided.
“One hundred porters then, Twenda, but we will wait until we reach Uganda to secure all the porters that we will need. Make certain the five you find here in Mombassa are of hardy stock,” I finally agreed.
While Twenda was busy seeking our five porters, Frederick and I spent the next two days gathering medical supplies, such as potassium permanganate for wounds and snake bites, and netting to ward off the mosquitoes. We secured passage on the Uganda Railway for travel to Lake Victoria, where we would have to go by steamer to Kampala in Uganda, on the border of Uganda and British East. Frederick and I would have a sleeper car on the railway and a flat bed car for Twendo, the porters, and our supplies.
After Twendo had finally secured porters, we arranged for the supplies to be loaded onto the train the next morning, a Monday. Both Frederick and I were anxious to get started and when the stars were just beginning to fade in the eastern sky we stood at the station, but the train does not leave until 11 a.m., and only on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. But before noon, Frederick and I were finally off on our journey to Nairobi on the 12th of May, and eventually to reach Lake Victoria and Kampala.
During the twenty-four hours required to complete the journey by train to Nairobi, we were amazed at the number of game animals that frequented the plains. Rhinoceros, zebra, antelope, and giraffe abounded. The great numbers of game just whetted our appetite for the hunting fields in western Uganda and the Congo.
After arriving in Nairobi, rather then continuing on to Kisumu at Lake Victoria, we spent the night in the Norfolk Hotel, a gathering place for hunters going on safari. After the poor accommodations of the African Star and the hotel in Mombassa, both Frederick and I much appreciated the excellent food and drinks at the Norfolk.
The next morning we boarded the train again for the noon departure to Kisumu, arriving the next day at 9 a.m. The day before and this morning we continued to see game animals everywhere we looked from the back of the sleeper car.
After arriving on the shores of the beautiful Lake Victoria, we secured passage on the next steamer to Entebbe, a trip of seventeen hours.
A lad from the steamer steerage crew came to our hotel in Kisumu to fetch us early on the morning of our departure for Kampala. We had just finished our breakfast meal.
“Come, Frederick, we are on our way to Entebbe,” I insisted as I grabbed my kit. Frederick and I soon quickly followed in the early morning shadow of the crewmember that led the way.
During the trip to Entebbe we were scorched on the deck of the steamer during the day and molested by mosquitoes at evening before reaching shore again. At Entebbe the next morning we secured our baggage and supplies and again paid import duties for our equipment and rifles.
Frederick and I had to wait two days for Twendo and the agent in Entebbe to secure enough porters. In the mean time, Frederick and I set about sorting out the supplies we had acquired and arranging loads of sixty pounds for each porter. We also secured our licenses, £50 each, which allowed great numbers of game, with two elephant allowed per license, but not a giraffe. The plan was to also obtain a license for elephant in the Congo.
“Arthur, we should be able to travel the standard eighteen miles a day with experienced porters, if we leave camp each morning before dawn,” Frederick predicted. I doubted we could travel that many miles everyday under the blazing African sun.
“I am hesitant to hope for eighteen miles a day,” I replied. “We still have two months to get to the Albert Nile, and six months of hunting before we must start our journey back to Mombassa.”
Though we had hoped to make a journey of eighteen miles a day, we only managed what we estimated to be twelve miles. The porters were hard working and seemed to be in good spirit. Each day the time required setting up camp shortened, and the cook, Moane, was becoming more efficient preparing the evening meals and the food for the next days trek. Though the sun beat down unmercifully upon us each day, our safari was becoming more organized and we traveled a little bit further than each previous day, though our legs remained weary and eyes blurry. One reason that we couldn’t travel far each day was the need to find game for the porters and ourselves.
“Frederick, I am exhausted from the heat,” I pleaded. “Please have camp set up while I go in search of an impala or hartebeest for dinner. The porters are also in need of nyama.”
Frederick and I had heard about the vast herds of elephant in the Lado Enclave, in the Belgian Congo, across the Albert Nile from Uganda, which was our ultimate destination. The elephant hunters there were collecting vast amounts of ivory, or at least that was what we were told by some hunters that had returned to England with a fancy amount of funds.
“Arthur, we will be reaching the Murchison Falls in a month,” Frederick advised, full of excited anticipation. “Twenda says that some of the porters say we will find elephant near the falls.”
“First we need to find natives that know the country and can serve as our trackers and gun-bearers,” I told my brother, trying to quiet this enthusiasm. “We also need to find someone familiar with the Nile and Lado Enclave.”
It took six weeks to reach the Murchison Falls and Lake Albert. At one of the villages we passed, Twendo negotiated with some natives to reward them with gifts if they could find guides and trackers. We decided to camp near the village to rest the porters and ourselves, and to trade for fresh vegetables. Twendo found two trackers and two gun bearers that stated they knew the country to the west, and could guide us still further to the Wati Hills of the Congo.
We were in search of native trackers and gun bearers that could hunt, as most natives are only involved in agriculture, growing the crops needed every year for the survival of the village. Twendo came to our dining table one evening a few days later.
“I have found two trackers, Bwana,” began Twendo. “They are Ndorobos that came here by another safari from British East Africa. Their names are Ntondo and Shumba. They say that they have great experience at locating elephants.”
“Twendo, I hope that they stand fast when we encounter elephants,” I added. “Frederick, you must talk to our new trackers and decide who will be your tracker.”
After talking with Ntondo and Shumba around the campfire that evening, Frederick chose Ntondo and I, Shumba. Shumba was quite aged and had been a tracker for Baldwin when he first discovered the Victoria Nile. Shumba was a tall native, as black as coal, and talked of his many hunting experiences. I showed him how to load the double rifles, at which he was most adept.
Several days were spent shooting our rifles, finding antelope and zebra for our porters and villagers that we passed on our journey. Ntondo and Shumba could find the track of any wounded animals, even over rocky, hard earth.
It took us four long days to find fresh elephant spoor, each day leaving camp before dawn and each day searching in a new direction, returning in the dark. The next day Ntondo found a large track, which he said was a bull and would have great ivory. Ntondo and Shumba set upon the large track, as the big bull that had passed this spot last night and was worth following. It was now mid-morning and hopefully the bull would find a large tree to rest under as the scorching sun warmed up the savannah to the boiling point. Even with short pants, the heat was becoming unbearable.
After three long hours we finally stopped for tea. We built a small fire and put the teapot on to boil using the water that Twendo was carrying. As I put a pinch of sugar into my tea, I noticed that the drifting puffs of smoke were headed in the direction we had come, keeping our quarry upwind.
As we drank our refreshing tea, a crack of a tree branch told Ntondo and Shumba that the bull was very close, but must not have either heard us, nor winded us.
“Bring up our rifles, Twendo,” I hastened to tell him. “The elephant is just here in the forest.”
Frederick and I grabbed our new .450 caliber rifles, hoping to quickly close with the bull. We marched on the track behind Ntondo and Shumba for several hundred yards as the bull fed along at a slow pace. Ntondo and Shumba were the first to spot the elephant, which only appeared as a large gray mass to Frederick and I about seventy-five yards ahead in the forest. Both Frederick and I shook with excitement in encountering our first elephant. The bull was standing quietly beneath the shade given by a large baobab tree, on the other side of a small dambo in the forest. Ntondo and Twendo both bent over to grab a handful of parched dry dirt. The dust that slipped between the fingers of Twendo’s hand drifted slowly back to Frederick and I.
“The wind is against our faces,” I reassured Frederick. “Let us get closer to the bull.”
“Bwana, watch closely the cows and calves that are with the bull,” added Shumba. The bull had joined up with several cows with their calves, which I could not make out but I believed Shumba that they were somewhere ahead.
“Take the bull when we get close, Arthur,” Frederick offered, “and I will watch the cows for you.”
We slowly and quietly proceeded along the edge of the dambo through the short grass. The bull seemed oblivious to us closing the distance to twenty yards, and equally oblivious to the noisy trumpeting of the cows and calves. The bull had shifted his position such that he was now directly facing us, with his head slightly lowered, as if weary from carrying his tusks, which looked enormous in weight, though I had never weighed any tusk. I was not certain where to shoot the bull, but assumed that it would be similar to the antelope, through the shoulder and just hope for the best. Though the brain shot was always reported as being very effective, I was uncertain as to how to locate the brain within the bull’s skull.
“We will find out if the new cartridge is suitable for elephants,” as I raised the .450 NE cordite double rifle. I placed the ivory bead front sight high on the bull’s shoulder. I could see the streaked sunlight through the overhead branches glimmer off his tusks as I pressed the trigger.
The bull stumbled and almost fell from the shot but recovered and charged off through the bush. The cows started making a terrible din with trumpeting and screaming that seemed to surround us. Twendo stood his ground which I believe help reassure Ntondo and Shumba to also stand fast, but I could see that they were as nervous and uncertain as Frederick and I.
“Quickly, let us go back through the forest until the cows leave us to our prize,” I whispered. Without any hesitation, we rushed back through the forest for at least a quarter of a mile. We could still hear the cows plainly, but after about a half an hour, they’re screeching grew more faint as they went off and left their monarch of the forest.
I sent Shumba for the rest of the porters that we had left behind. After several hours, Ntondo had the tusks finally chopped out. We had no method to weigh the tusks, as our scale only measured up to sixty pounds. So we balanced some of the porters’ loads on a long pole with the tusks on the other end. By adjusting the distance between a porter’s load of sixty pounds and the pivot point, we estimated the tusks at eighty pounds each.
While the tusks were being removed from our first elephant, a crowd of villagers from near and far had gathered around the bull. The natives had heard the shot from my rifle, and quickly realized that nyama might be close by for the taking. As was the custom, a signal would be given for the natives to start to take the elephant meat.
“Twendo, Ntondo and Shumba must be allowed to first remove the meat they desire,” I instructed. “Only after they are satisfied are you to give the signal to the villagers that they can have the elephant.”
Once Ntondo and Shumba walked away from the carcass, Twendo waved his hand, and the onslaught began. The crowd of local natives that had assembled raced to the elephant, the men hacking away the meat as fast as possible, throwing chunks to their wives and children, armed with baskets for the meat. Half covered with blood and gore, the natives dissected the bull within a brief time. The surrounding tree limbs reeked of strips of elephant meat and the smoke from the fires used to preserve the free bounty.
Our first elephant encounter had been a great success, and we could offset some of our expenses with our newfound income from the ivory. We could sell the ivory for 10s per pound at Masindi, and we still had three additional elephant on our licenses.
After our newly found taste of elephant hunting, we continued to head west to the Albert Nile in search of ivory. After three more weeks we finally reached our destination, with the Belgian Congo across the river. Frederick had been successful at taking his two elephants on the journey, but none of the bulls had ivory weighing as much as our first bull.
We camped on the Uganda side of the river. We had obtained permits to enter Uganda at Entebbe, but did not have permission to enter the Belgian Congo. The Lado Enclave, the area of the Belgian Congo across the Nile from Uganda, was already famous among elephant hunters for big ivory. We discovered that the Belgian authorities would only allow two elephants a year on license, and many of the hunters on the Uganda side were crossing the Nile and poaching elephants to increase their profits. Also, the Uganda tax on ivory was much less than that in the Congo.
“Frederick, we must decide whether to proceed to Mombassa or extend our safari,” I queried. “We have expended our funds and our food supplies are short.”
“What are our options?,” asked Frederick.
“If we leave now, we can make it to Mombassa with just enough money for food, if we sell all the ivory” I started. “Or, if we stay, we must also cross the Nile and poach ivory to provide for supplies and food. Our porters are growing restless and many want to return to their homes. Only if we can keep them well fed do we have a chance of keeping them, and we need them to transport our ivory.”
“If we cross the Nile, there is the danger of being captured by the Belgian’s,” countered Frederick. “And we have been very fortunate not to have come down with the fever or sleeping sickness. We are taking many risks if we cross into the unhealthy forests of the Congo.”
“Well, I leave it to you, Frederick,” pretending to objective about our future plans. “The Belgian’s, though, have failed to find but a few poachers. There are many other hunters in the Congo, but there is always the chance of failure to find big bulls, being captured, or getting the fever.”
“We may never have another chance of finding elephants that are obtainable in the Congo, Arthur,” Frederick continued. Though concerned, Frederick seemed to be interested in hunting in the Lado, and he had been as keen as I to tackle the king of the jungle.
“Then it is settled, Frederick,” I almost shouted. “Tomorrow we make preparations for poaching elephants across the river.”
The next day found Frederick and I making plans for selling any ivory we obtained at Masindi on the Uganda side. We also obtained several large native dugout canoes that would be needed to smuggle the ivory back across the Nile. We would hide the canoes in the reeds along the Nile when we reached the Congo side, and use them again on our way back across the Nile to Uganda.
“Twendo, tell Ntondo and Shumba that we will leave at midnight tonight,” I called out. “Have enough provisions for a months stay, but do not load the canoes until after darkness. We will only take twenty porters with us. You can return to this camp for more porters if we need them to carry ivory.”
“Yes, Bwana,” Twendo said with the anticipated excitement of another new adventure. “I will have everything ready at midnight.”
We slowly paddled across the Nile in complete darkness, as the moon had not yet risen. It was most important that the Belgian outposts and troops be avoided. Passing back and forth across the Nile could prove to be fraught with difficulties.
After reaching the Congo shore, we hid the canoes in dense reeds. We marched for the rest of the night and for several hours after the new dawn broke. About 11 in the morning we finally stopped for a rest and hot tea. Our safari then continued to the west until darkness fell, when we set up a temporary camp.
“We should march two or three more days before we set up a camp,” I told Frederick. “We should then be far from the Belgian authorities.”
Frederick did not reply, and seemed to be bothered by the heat from the campfire.
“Frederick, what bothers you?’” I asked.
“I believe I have caught the fever, Arthur,” Frederick replied hesitantly. “I am being to sweat profusely and becoming dizzy. I am going to lie down in my tent.”
I found Frederick several times tossing in his bed and delirious with headache pain. By morning, though, Frederick seemed to have recovered so that we could continue to march to the interior of the Congo.
Frederick had recovered enough such that we marched on for several days until reaching a small clear stream, which showed much sign of elephant. I decided that we would make our permanent camp here along the stream and set about Twendo and the porters to erect the tents and make grass huts for storing our supplies and the ivory that we hoped to obtain. By the end of the third day, we had made a comfortable camp but Frederick came down with another attack of fever.
The next morning I had to leave Frederick in camp as he was still down with the fever. Twendo, Ntondo, and Shumba led the way as we searched to the north for fresh sign of elephant. In only six days we were able to take four elephants in the Lado whose tusks averaged 104 pounds. The Congo was proving to be an elephant hunter’s paradise. When we returned to camp on the sixth day, Frederick was only just recovering from the fever.
“Do you feel strong enough to travel?,” I asked Frederick. “We have taken much ivory from this camp but there is now very little sign of any big bulls.”
“I can travel,” Frederick assured me. “Where are we headed now?”
“I don’t know which way to go,” I admitted to Frederick, “but Twendo says the natives have told him that big elephant can be found further south. We must be careful to keep avoiding any Belgian posts and their troops.”
Since Frederick had now recovered, at least for the present, the next day we started on a two day journey to move the camp about thirty miles to the south, having found another clear stream for the new camp. Again we found much sign of big bulls. It was fortunate that we had quickly found a new camp early in the day, as Frederick was again feeling ill from the fever. After the tents were erected, Frederick came walking up to our cooking campfire.
“Arthur, I cannot proceed on our safari any further,” Frederick weakly announced. “I fear that I have not been of much assistance in obtaining our ivory. Can you carry on without me?”
“We must get you back to Uganda soon, Frederick, before you are too weak to travel,” I warned. “If you are not recovered again from the fever by tomorrow morning, we will start for the Nile.”
We had camped near a native village that was a short distance to the south and downstream. It was not long until the village chief, Awabensane, with a few of his sub chiefs, came to visit me in my tent, bringing a skinny chicken along with a calabash of honey. Moane made off with the chicken, such as it was, but the honey was much appreciated, as it was a great addition to our hot tea. The chief’s gifts were rewarded in turn with several yards of Americani calico cloth.
I asked the chief whether there were any elephant about, but he claimed there were no elephant, though we had seen recent fresh elephant spoor not very far before we came upon his village. Usually natives were very helpful in finding elephant for the free nyama if the nzungu (white man) could find the elephants. I was puzzled by this rigmarole of the chief.
“Arthur!,” came a weak call from Frederick. “We have many natives in camp.”
I walked from my tent to see that many natives had gathered in our camp. I called for Shumba to tell me what the sudden crowd was doing in our camp.
“They have only come to see the nzungus,” Shumba tried to reassure me.
Though we had camped many times near native villages, Frederick seemed concerned, though I didn’t know whether it was the natives or the fever. Neither Ntondo nor Shumba seemed to be bothered by the presence of so many local native men and women, and went about trading beads for mealie meal and bananas. The chief and his sub chiefs shortly departed our camp, though many of the natives continued to mill about our camp. Awabensane had promised to return in the morning with more honey, expecting more gifts in exchange.
Usually the local natives are honest about the whereabouts of elephants or other game, as the white hunter brings the hope of free nyama, of which the native never seems to be satiated. Even though Awabensane’s large group of followers seemed to be overstaying their welcome in our camp, I dismissed the idea of trouble with the villagers.
“Frederick, come have some tea,” I called out. “The honey that Awabensane has given us is excellent and it may help your fever.”
“Moane should have our meal soon,” Frederick reported, as he arrived at the table by the fire. “I do not trust these natives. There are still many here in camp.”
“I do not believe there is any trouble brewing, Frederick,” I replied as Moane was approaching with dinner, followed closely by Twendo.
“Be watchful of treachery by the Awembas, Bwana,” Twendo warned me as he approached the campfire out of the darkness. “One woman confessed to me that the chief was most desirous of your rifles.”
“Are you certain, Twendo?,” I asked. “I noticed no hostility from Awabensane or his men.” As a matter of fact, we had not experienced any trouble with any of the villages we had encountered after a journey of already several hundred miles.
“Yes, Bwana. Be watchful of these heathens,” Twendo insisted.
Twendo had proven to be most reliable and cognizant of any trouble amongst the porters and ably managed to put a stop to disagreements amongst our men. If Twendo were seriously worried, it would be wise for all of us to be concerned about our immediate safety.
“Twendo, please be sure all the local natives leave our camp as soon as possible,” I instructed.
After the native villagers had left I decided to put it up to Frederick as to whether we should be watchful of any plans for our undoing by Awabensane. Frederick had come down with the fever again as soon as he had finished our meal, and went to his tent where he was suffering from pain and profusely sweating. Up until a month ago we had been free of the fever but now one of us had contracted the fever. I had not been yet affected, but knew that it would be impossible to avoid it much longer.
“Frederick, can you hear me?,” I started.
“Yes, Arthur, why have you come to my tent tonight when I am in such torment?,” as Frederick acknowledged my intrusion. “Has a porter bolted from camp?”
“No, Frederick, all the porters have showed their allegiance to us,” I exclaimed to my delirious brother. “I am concerned, though, about treachery that Twendo believes we may experience from the village.”
“Then, maybe we should bolt ourselves,” Frederick consciously and rationally replied, “before it is too late.”
“I believe, Frederick, you are a wise brother,” I stated as I left his side to make the arrangements. I explained to Twendo that we would make our fires very large that night.
“Tell Ntondo and Shumba that we will leave camp just after the moon rises,” I instructed Twendo. “Make certain that you have the porters keep ever so quiet and be ready to leave camp at my signal.”
Some of our supplies would need to be left behind so as to travel as fast as possible. I decided to make a large circle around the village and continue south, believing that Awabensane may first suspect that we had retreated along our path we made to his village.
“Shumba, Ntondo, make a machan for Bwana Frederick,” I told our trackers. “We will have to carry the Bwana tonight.”
I roused Frederick about what I guessed would be about an hour before the moon would light our way out of camp. Ntondo led him to his machan and I hoped he would survive our escape from the possible attack by Awabensane and his warriors.
If we could avoid trouble with the Awembas, we might be able to eventually find another camp and good elephant country, but only if Frederick could recover from these bouts of fever.
“Remember, Twendo, all must be absolutely quiet as we depart this camp,” I insisted, as the light of the half-moon began to filter through the forest canopy. We silently left camp in single file, circling a long way around the village, heading south, parallel to a native path but a hundred yards off to the right to attempt to hide our spoor. Once past the village, with no sign of any warriors, we started to move rapidly through the forest, the porters not lagging behind for obvious reasons. I took one last look as we disappeared into the nyika and saw the flicker of the village fires, still burning brightly as we disappeared into the night.
We marched steadily until dawn, at least six hours of tortuous travel for Frederick. We stopped at a small, clear stream and I had Moane fix some tea. Frederick seemed to be recovering from his bout with the fever, and I helped him up from the machan. Frederick drank large quantities of tea, but could only feebly walk.
“I am sorry, Frederick, but we must keep on the march today,” I warned. “I do not know whether the Awenbas are following, or how close they might be on our spoor if they are following.”
“Find a hill, Arthur, to see if we are being followed,” pleaded Frederick. “I want you make good your escape, even if I don’t survive the fever.”
“Don’t worry, we will make good our escape and find big elephant to hunt again,” trying to comfort Frederick. “Twendo, let us keep on the march,” I ordered as we again hastily commenced our journey with Frederick again carried in the machan, to what was unknown country.
As the sun beginning to lessen its intense heat upon our hunting safari party in the late afternoon, we approached a swamp and a large kopje (rocky hill) next to it. I climbed the hill and used my glasses to search for pursuers. I could not see any natives out to the horizon of long grass.
Frederick was wearily walking toward me as I again reached our party at the foot of the hill.
“Arthur, my water has turned black,” sighed Frederick. “You must go on without me.”
“I will not leave you here,” I tried to assure Frederick. “We will camp here until you recover.”
Twendo had the porters set up camp. I helped Frederick to his cot and hoped that his now blackwater fever did not mean what I knew it did, Fredericks impending death. Worried about Frederick, I told Twendo that we must start for the Nile by noon the next day.
“We will hunt for tembo in the morning,” I called out to Ntondo and Shumba, as I tried to remain optimistic about Frederick. There were enough porters to carry more ivory before we made our way back across the Nile to Uganda. The campfire had died to but glowing embers as I rose from my chair to find my bed for the night. All of the night I was consumed as to how Frederick was fairing.
“Bwana, Bwana, wake up!,” Twendo called out. “Bwana, elephants are near. I have heard rumblings and branches breaking.”
“Yes, Twendo, I am coming,” I replied to Twendo. “First, I must see about Bwana Frederick.”
The moon was low in the western sky and the eastern sky was just a faint sliver of pink as I hastily rose from my bed and hurried to Frederick’s side, tripping over a tent rope when reaching his tent.
“Frederick, Frederick, how are you feeling?,” I called out.
As Fredrick opened his eyes, I continued, “We must take you to the mission hospital in Uganda.”
“No, I am feeling much better,” Frederick murmured. “Let us continue hunting.”
“Twendo!,” I called out.
Twendo hurriedly came running through the darkness to Fredericks’s tent, followed by Ntondo and Shumba.
“Today you must start for the Nile,” I told Twendo.
“No, no, Arthur,” Frederick retorted. “I insist that we carry on hunting as we had planned.”
As I stared at Frederick I was racked with guilt. Guilt over Frederick, who could be, within weeks, succumbing to blackwater fever.
“Frederick, let me find this one last elephant and then we will leave for the mission hospital,” I decided, waiting for Frederick’s approval. He gave me a nod to go hunting this one last day.
“You must stay here in camp,” I told Frederick. “The bull should be close and I will not have to follow very far.”
“I am fine,” replied Frederick, though he looked too weak to stand much less to follow elephant spoor.
“Please stay in camp,” I reiterated to Frederick. “I don’t want to have to worry about both you and the elephants.”
I started after the elephants with Ntondo and Shumba. We had not traveled far through the dense brush and scattered trees when Ntondo raised his right hand, pointing. With his left hand, he was motioning for me to come forward, while he and Shumba retreated behind.
The bull was only 30 yards away, slowly walking away on a narrow an elephant path, pushing aside the tall grass, which closed in behind him as he proceeded. I caught short glimpses of ivory as his head swaggered from side to side. I could not tell how big the tusks might be, but I needed to take this elephant quickly so I could get Frederick to hospital. The bull disappeared into high grass but I could hear him as he rustled through it.
“Wait here,” I warned the trackers, when I noticed I had more followers, Frederick and Twendo.
“Jesus, Frederick,” I whispered. “What are doing here? Go back to camp. I will take this bull now and we can leave for Uganda.”
Frederick refused and waited on the elephant path with Twendo as I hurried after the bull. I tried to proceed as quietly as possible, shaking my ash bag frequently, stopping to watch the wisps of ash spiral straight downward to the grass at my feet.
Suddenly, I realized that I could not hear the bull anymore. I cautiously parted the stand of grass immediately to my front with the barrel of my .416 and found the baggy, motionless stern of the bull barely eight feet away. The bull was fully alert, with his ears widespread, searching for any sign of danger. I could have touched the bull with the rifle barrel.
At that instant the bull must have got my wind or heard the parting of the grass. He began to spin around on his hind feet, and in a blur brought his trunk and tusks swinging fast to the spot where I stood.
It happened so quickly that before I could react, the bull’s right tusk slammed into my chest, knocking me through the sea of grass for fifteen feet, landing on my back, while my rifle was sent flying. I was still conscious and saw the bull hesitating for a few moments, but he was now thoroughly alarmed, and rushed headlong back along the path he had taken, headed straight for the spot where I had left Frederick.
My chest was burning with pain, but I managed to regain my feet and grasped my rifle that had landed by my head.
“Frederick! Watch out, the bull is coming,” I screamed with all my might, though my chest was pulsating with pain, as now I saw one of my ribs poking through my jacket. I heard no response from Frederick.
I raced as fast I could after the bull, which disappeared into the grass as I fired at his spine at twenty yards. At my shot the bull was swallowed up by the grass, followed by a loud crash that shook the ground.
Racing through the grass overhanging the path, I came upon the bull lying on its side with its head up against one of the scattered trees, still shaking from the impact.
I pushed my way through the grass, to make certain the bull was dead. I came upon a sight that made my throat choke with vile.
Poor Frederick, unable to run, had been pinned by the bull’s headlong fall, the right tusk shattering, splintered into a hundred fragments, with Frederick impaled with the tip of the tusk, imbedded in the trunk of the tree.
As Twendo and the trackers came running back, I saw that I was covered with blood, and now suffering from excruciating pain.
Twendo helped me back to camp. Ntondo and Shumba carried the body of Frederick. After dressing my wounds as best I could, I had Frederick buried under a large Acacia tree. Dazed from a morphine shot, I found myself trying to justify my mistakes that cost Frederick his life. I could not find within myself an appropriate eulogy for Frederick.
As I lay sweating profusely in my cot, I wondered whether I would recover or soon join my brother under that damn tree. Frederick and I had been on a great adventure, a quest for ivory, but had cost us many hardships, including Frederick’s life.
The Wati Hills of the Lado Enclave were just a distant, hazy shadow as sleep began to overcome my pain.

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Bill Stewart

Once you have been amongst them, there is no such thing as too much gun.

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