by Mike Bruton
During the East Africa expeditions Margaret Smith not only acted as the chief artist but was also responsible for supervising the other artists, entertaining visitors, organising the cooking, making arrangements for eating and accommodation, and negotiating (initially using sign language) with the locals for fresh produce. This was a time-consuming and frustrating task in remote areas where there was no electricity and food was scarce, as she also had to play a full role in fish collecting, both from shore at low tide and in deeper water from boats. Once the fish had been collected she also had to help sort, illustrate, preserve and catalogue them, and develop her skills in fish identification.
In a talk given in Grahamstown in 1951 she described the conditions under which the team had to work on the East African expeditions:
‘All this work was exhausting and on return to the lighthouse they could not rest as in that hot climate fishes spoil in a very short time. Dirty and tired they often worked right through to nightfall without stop or food. After that, photographic work had to be done in pitch darkness in a small, smelly outside room with lions about. Having perpetually to be on guard while working is a severe strain. The sun is dangerous, and there were plenty of wild animals, leopards, lions, snakes, also poisonous flies, mosquitoes, parasites of many kinds, leprosy, and other diseases. The continual fear of lions on shore was especially wearing. On the water there was always anxiety and danger, storms, sharks, and currents and especially the terrible stonefish’ (Rhodes University Archive).
JLB and Margaret Smith sorting fish on Quisava Island during the 1951 expedition to northern Mozambique.
Suntan lotions were not available in the 1940s so JLB made his own lotions or placed a strip of plastic over his lower lip (which looked very strange) to reduce the risk of skin cancer (W Smith, pers. comm., 2017).
In a letter to M Tannebalm (from Keatings Pharmaceuticals, who had donated medical supplies to the Smiths) dated 21st August 1956, JLB Smith recalled the threat posed by lions in northern Mozambique:
‘Although building and harbour construction are proceeding fast this is still very much the wilds and only a few hundred yards from the Village is jungle where wild beasts abound. One farmer in the area killed [over] fifty lions last year, they plague all these people, and natives are constantly being taken by them. The peninsula of Nacala is one of their most notorious haunts, and nobody ventures out after dusk.’
During an expedition to Pinda in 1950 Smith (1951) commented ‘… and the cook-boy tells you the food is cold and that he must go as the lions took that woman over there last night’.
In northern Mozambique they also encountered shallow reefs that were teeming with eels:
‘As far as the eye could reach, there were eels, big and small, crawling and gliding all over the reef, some of them four or five feet long. Wherever you trod, eels shot out from under your feet, or heads with fang-lined mouths popped out of holes and were hastily withdrawn. It was like walking in a snake park. … [On] one occasion, my son had bent down to examine something in a pool, when the head and forepart of a huge Silver Conger came vertically out of a hole between his legs; he leapt a good three feet into the air!’ (Smith, 1968b).
They also had encounters with giant pythons. On Vamizi Island in northern Mozambique the Smiths left two local sailors, who couldn’t keep up their walking pace, to rest in a clearing in the jungle:
‘When we did get back to the sailors, they were pale with fright and almost fell on our necks with relief. They told us that soon after we had left them, an enormous python had uncurled itself from a nearby tree and, according to their story, had adopted a most threatening attitude. Lacking any weapon, they had apparently been almost paralysed with fear, but the creature eventually slipped away’ (Smith, 1968b).
On their expeditions they were also vulnerable to contracting bilharzia, hook-worm, typhus, malaria, blackwater fever and fungoid infections (Smith, 1968b), and even suffered from pawpaw poisoning!
‘It was not until some time later that I discovered that my indisposition had been due to papaw [sic] poisoning. We had been short of all fruit except papaw which grew well at Palma and both of us ate freely of these succulent delicacies, as we considered them. I have since found that papaw, despite its reputation of being easily digested, causes severe abdominal pain in some people. My wife, however, ate freely of them for a long time without any digestive disturbance, except that they turned her skin so yellow that when we returned to civilization the first doctor we met was convinced that she had jaundice. It was more than ten years before she lost that yellow tinge!’ (Smith, 1968b).
This was surely an exaggeration!
1But Margaret had confused evolution by natural selection with mutation. Like a misprint in a book, a random mutation is unlikely to lead to improvement (but it sometimes does). Mutations are random and by chance and have no bias towards ‘improving’ a plant or animal. In contrast, evolution by natural selection is very directional and not by chance and is unquestionably biased towards an improved ability to survive.
CHAPTER 13
Sea and shore dangers
Taking risks
WHILE JLB never learned to dive in spite of a lifetime’s involvement with the denizens of the deep, Margaret, who had grown up far from the sea (as JLB had done), without access even to a swimming pool, was up for the challenge.
In 1952, by now thoroughly committed to the world of ichthyology, Margaret learned how to skin dive with the help of members of the Durban Undersea Club. Her first tentative dive with goggles in Mozambique later that year opened her eyes to a whole new world:
‘We waded out, I put my goggles in position, and with my heart pounding … I put my face underwater. My breath caught up as it always did but as the new world I had entered opened up before me, my wonder, excitement and curiosity pushed the physical discomfort into the background until I could hardly spare the time to take my head out of the water and breathe.’
She was hooked and from then on took every opportunity to dive.
In January 1961, at the age of 43 years but still strong and slim, she had lessons with the experienced diver Gary Haselau, who taught her how to scuba dive (Bell, 1987)1.
Margaret described in her own inimitable style what she saw on one particular dive in Mozambique, as if the fishes were all personal friends, and from the perspective of an artist who tried to capture their colour patterns:
‘I saw unicorn fishes come nosing around the corner, rock-cods scavenging in the crevices, a sparkling shoal of Caesios passed me on business bent (elegant streamlined fishes clad in glorious blues and yellows) … there was the easily identified neat little Chromis dimidiatus [chocolate dip] whose front half is a rich deep brown and back half contrasting white, for all the world as if he’d forgotten to put on his trousers … his first cousin, Ternatensis, and Pomacentrus opercularis … handsome fish depending on good features rather than gaudy colours to express his personality … other coral fishes in transparent blues and greens … a long scintillating mauve coral fish … Anthias squamipinnis, loveliest little jewels of the sea – shapely bod, elongate elegant fins and colours that defy reproduction. As they flash below in the blue water the general impression is that of lining gold with mauve glints and the brightest of yellow … I never see them without a catch in my throat at their beauty’ (MM Smith, 1959; Richards, 1987).
Margaret did have some scary moments while diving, including a close encounter with a giant moray eel while snorkelling with William:
‘We watched in fascinated horror while he eyed us, first with the left eye and then with the right as he turned his head from side to side … [We] were buffeted by breakers on the outer rim of the coral reef where I swallowed gallons of water … and a very scratched and bruised ichthyologist decided that sometimes one had to pay a high price for one’s specimens’ (Richards, 1987).
She was also attacked by barracuda while snorkelling off Malindi in Kenya. Margaret eventually stopped scuba diving in her 60s (Ri
chards, 1987).
Peter Barnett documented many of the dangers that they encountered on their 1951 Mozambique expedition. For instance, when they arrived on the Island of Mozambique, he commented wryly that it ‘is not a popular picnic spot’ as it is ‘inhabited by thousands of snakes’. Of Pinda he remarked, ‘This was lion country, and to move into the bushlands without firearms and a guide invited possible death, especially at night’. Not far from the lighthouse the local people were constantly terrorised by lions that broke into their huts at night. ‘On one occasion two Blacks were asleep in their hut when a lion broke in. Other members of the village heard the screams of the terrified occupants and managed to frighten off the lion [by] making a great din with drums and empty tins. The two escaped with minor wounds only – that time’ (Barnett, 1953). When Smith visited Mozambique Island in December 1952, he found that a close relative of his friend, the Port Captain, had been eaten by a lion. In High Tide he wrote, ‘Even to this day (1960), the postal service from Port Amelia depends mostly on African runners and at times they and the letters have disappeared, taken by lions’ (Smith, 1968b).
Margaret Smith follows JLB and the bearers as they make their way through a narrow fissure and dense forests to the marine coast in northern Mozambique in 1951.
In Old Fourlegs Smith (1956) commented further on the lions:
‘Almost every night they tore open the natives’ flimsy huts and savagely choked their last frenzied screams. It was horrible to hear the triumphant roar that accompanied a kill; we even had one of the brutes come and cough at us early one morning from the top of a thicket-clad cliff as we worked on the reef below. In the morning we would find their pug marks near our bedroom window. It was not pleasant.’
Barnett’s first encounter with the deadly stonefish was a memorable one. While they were wading along a coral bank, JLB called him over to see a particularly vividly-coloured fish. While staring at it, he noticed ‘a peculiarly shaped piece of coral looking itself almost like a fish. Part of the coral resembled fins, a tail, and with some stretch of the imagination, even a wide, dead-white mouth. Something made me look up and I saw that the professor was smiling. “You have just seen your first stonefish”, he said.’
Smith stabbed the fish with a spear, lifted it out of the water and carried it to a dhow where he laid it on a cross beam. He then depressed the warty skin around the dorsal spine with the spear to make the poison well out. Suddenly a stream of yellowish liquid squirted high into the air and directly into one of Barnett’s eyes! Smith screamed out an order and Barnett fell backwards into the water, fully clothed, and kept his head underwater with his eyes open for as long as he could. Mercifully, no pain followed and he was not blinded. Luckily for him, the neurotoxic venom of the stonefish is only deadly if it enters the blood stream.
JLB Smith with a stonefish on the 1951 expedition to Mozambique.
The true stonefish, Synanceia verrucosa (family Scorpaenidae), known as sherova in Mozambique, has 13 dorsal spines, and at the base of each spine are two large venom sacs, one on each side. When the fish is tramped on, the skin surrounding the spines presses the venom sacs and the venom is injected through needle-sharp spines, like a snake’s fangs. The venom causes swelling almost immediately and excruciating pain that is so severe that the victim may become demented and lose consciousness (Barnett, 1953). True stonefish are regarded as the most dangerous fish in the sea as their stabs can be fatal to an adult human within two hours (Smith, 1949). The stab of the false stonefish, Scorpaenopsis diabolus, which is in a different subfamily of the Scorpaenidae (scorpionfishes) to the true stonefish, causes intense pain for one to three hours (unless treated) and is probably responsible for reports that the ‘much-maligned’ stonefish is not as dangerous as it is made out to be.
At the time of Smith’s expeditions, the only effective method of treatment for a stonefish stab was to immerse the wound in water that is as hot as the victim can tolerate for at least 90 minutes, which denatures the protein in the venom and causes it to lose its toxicity. Experiments by Australian scientists have shown that the venom rapidly loses its power if it is bathed in water at 50°C (Smith, 1968b). Subsequent research has shown that a mild acid or alkali also reduces its potency, and an injection of a solution of emetine hydrochloride in water quickly relieves the pain (Barnett, 1953; Smith, 1968b). Because of the danger of stonefishes, the Smiths and Barnett wore leggings and heavy, tin-lined boots when they waded along coral banks in Mozambique.
When JLB was stabbed by a stonefish near Pinda in 1950, Margaret was forced to treat him using the painful ‘hot water’ method, and almost certainly saved his life. Smith described the agony he had to endure in his book, High Tide:
‘During my life I have endured a good deal of severe pain, but nothing comparable with this appalling agony. … half-fainting I staggered about, unable to keep still, until my wife gave me an injection of morphine. After some time this diminished the sweating and made me sleepy, but had no effect on the pain. About three hours after the stab, my wife decided to try hot water, and within one minute of immersing the hand, the effect was dramatic. The agony was reduced to just a bad pain. … We continued the hot water treatment for some hours and the pain gradually eased … The swelling of the hand and arm increased to a maximum after three days, extending even above the elbow. … Two weeks later, my arm was back to almost normal size, but could not be used. … Even three months afterwards, the hand was still weak [and] remained weak for several years.’
Glyn Hewson also described the dramatic talk that Margaret gave about this incident:
‘I will never ever forget an audience of some 400 people rivetted in silence as she told of JLB’s unexpected encounter with the world’s deadliest fish: the stone fish. How a man came in one evening with a basket of fish on his head and told them that he had found a stone fish for them; in excitement how the professor had put his hand up to help take the basket down; in so doing, how his hand was spiked between thumb and index finger by one of the spines of the stone fish which was sitting on the very top of the pile. Within seconds, how he had crumpled to the ground where he writhed in agony as he slipped towards a coma. She systematically tried everything she knew but none of the antidotes or injections had any effect. In near panic and with rising despair, she filled a syringe with almost boiling water and injected into the puncture. It saved his life. His recovery was complete except that there was always a slight stiffness in that area of the hand thereafter.’
Margaret herself was stabbed by a scorpionfish which, while not as deadly as a stonefish, is worth avoiding (as this author himself has experienced).
While they were at Pinda, JLB attended the funeral of a local fisherman who had succumbed to stonefish poison, and he and Margaret treated a local woman who had also been stabbed:
‘The woman was lying on a grass mat writhing and emitting little moans from deep down in her throat. Her foot was already swollen and turning black at the puncture. Margaret Smith ordered that a tripot of water be boiled over the open fire, and while the men were arranging [this] the woman was moved into a crude lean-to shelter. As soon as the leg was disturbed her moans became screams terrible to hear, and then gradually subsided again to long monotonous whimpers as she was laid [down] to rest. A villager brought the pot of hot water to where the woman lay. One man gripped the leg at the calf, while a woman knelt with the patient’s head in her lap. The leg was raised, the pot tilted and the foot immersed in hot water. … The woman screamed and tried to free herself and more men were required to hold her down. They repeated this treatment for many hours, pausing only to reheat the water. When we left the pain seemed to have subsided as she no longer moaned. Later I learned that she had, at that stage, mercifully fainted. But she lived and we saw her again next day lying on the sand under a tree near her hut’ (Barnett, 1953).
Despite all the hardships, Barnett learned a great deal about fishes from the Smiths:
‘There was a fish which the professor calle
d “comic opera”. Its colouring seemed to be of no definite pattern. It was as if an artist in complete abandon had experimented with pure colour, from iridescent reds to jet black. Its expression was that of constant amazement, no doubt at its own absurdity, and its mouth was shaped and red-lipped, like an old Clara Bow’ (Barnett, 1953).
The unusual dietary habits of the Smiths were also revealed to Barnett on the expedition:
‘… the professor handed round cold chicken and bread, the latter for me alone as he considered “dead food … unworthy of his palate”. Food is very important to the Smiths, and as they train like prize fighters, there is no room for compromise as far as their diet is concerned. Basically it is an excellent diet, but it eliminates eating for pleasure and places everything on a scientific basis’ (Barnett, 1953).
As anyone who has worked in the tropics knows, you acquire exotic pets along the way. In a dingy hotel in Porto Amelia, Margaret was seen swatting flies and carefully placing them in a glass tube. When the other guests questioned her about this peculiar behaviour, she responded by opening a box and lifting out an enormous, hissing chameleon, which she had caught and tamed. At this stage, any suspicions that the other guests might have had about the sanity of the South African scientists were finally confirmed. Sadly, the chameleon came to a sticky end as quarantine regulations at South African Customs forbade its entry into the country, and it was duly pickled.
Barnett also learned that the reason why all the intricate travel, fishing and accommodation arrangements worked so smoothly on the expedition, even in the remotest reaches of Mozambique, was the goodwill that the Smiths had generated there during their previous expeditions, followed up by prolific letter writing. Between the expeditions they spent many hours writing to everybody who had helped them; from porters to local fishermen (marinheiros), hotel managers to launch skippers, port captains to lighthouse keepers (chefe de farol), administrators to governors, everyone received a letter of thanks (Barnett, 1953; MM Smith, pers. comm., 1980). Largely through Margaret’s affability, the Smiths made friends wherever they went on their expeditions. JLB’s main contribution to this cordiality was to share the fish discoveries that he made with officials and local people, and to ask them questions about fish.