Tristan thanked Purvis and joined the circle. In the middle, the large snake was still curling and twisting as if by some magic, an invisible force was manipulating its body in the absence of a head.
It was still mesmerising those around with its deathly dance when Matondo came to him. ‘We should eat the snake tonight, sir.’ The idea unsettled Tristan slightly, and it must have shown on his face. ‘It’s good kilongo – medicine – sir, and it will inspire the men too. It will make them feel like men when they eat the animal that nearly killed their friend. Besides, this one’s delicious. Its meat is sweet, almost like the fish’s.’
Next to him, Jabari agreed and spoke to Matondo in Swahili, telling him to prepare the snake for the rest of the journey. While the group disbanded and the men started hacking away at the thicket once more, Jabari said, ‘’Tis true, Nyegere. There are people in these parts who will eat their enemy, whether it be human or animal. ‘Tis the best thing to do to settle any nerves. I last ate snake when I was a child. We captured the snakes similar to that one from burrows and trees and cooked them slowly over a fire with green leaves to create lots of smoke. I—’ The big man looked distant. ‘I can’t remember what it tastes like, but I have fond memories of the hunt and can vaguely remember the pleased look on the elders’ faces whenever we returned with one of those from the field.’
‘Well, tonight you will have your chance, my friend,’ said Tristan. ‘You and me, both.’
Another hour passed before the brush thinned out, making way for long grass which gradually grew shorter the further up the hill they travelled until finally, they arrived at the crest. A general feeling of achievement mingled with joy spread through the tide of men as more and more of them arrived on the hilltop. It was the first time in their lives that many of them had laid eyes on the Promised Land. There was a two-mile stretch of thick forest that started halfway down the hill, before the jungle made way for the largest of the lush green savannahs – a grassland – which stretched for miles further inland. Mahogany, palm and breadfruit trees were visible from the top, and various waterholes were dotted throughout, some of them surrounded by thick brush that made it the perfect ambush spot for predators. Further to the north and directly to the east, two more savannahs were visible, and each one looked as promising as the other.
But it was the animals that attracted the most attention. On the plain in front of them antelope of all kinds, including zebra and buffalo, both of which the hunters wanted, were feeding on the green grass. The men were busy staring at their unexpected prey when suddenly further down the hill, a family of antelope with striking red-brown coats and cream-coloured stripes emerged from the forest, saw the commotion at the top of the hill and quickly disappeared back to where they had come from. In the far distance, almost at the northern edge of the savannah and barely visible to the naked eye, a pride of lions lay in the shade of a large camelthorn tree as they kept out of the burning sun. With spyglass in hand, Tristan could not see any signs of the elephants that they so desperately sought, but the trails they had found had led them this way. They knew they were in the right place.
It was early afternoon when they finally reached the outskirts of the savannah. Here Tristan relied on Matondo’s advice to find the perfect site for their main camp. The guide found a small clearing, hidden in the thick jungle and well away from the open plain. The natives soon turned it into a large campsite with thick brush piled around the edges to keep any predators out. They made one entrance, and right in the middle, a firepit to deter any roaming animals of prey. While the white men pitched their tents, the natives started building shelters with young saplings for structure while bunches of palm and other broad leaves from nearby trees were used for thatching the roofs. Only the sides facing the north and east were fully covered, and when Tristan enquired, he was told that the rain came primarily from that direction. It caused him and Tayler to pitch their tents once more, changing the direction of the entrances. Purvis and the others got lucky for unknowingly, they had done it the right way around the first time, and they were quick to mock the two men for their bad luck, offering both instructions on pitching tents and ways to rid themselves of misfortune.
As soon as all the donkeys had been unloaded, they were led to the back of the camp into an enclosed area, where they were watered and fed. The setting up of the camp started in earnest, much more orderly than what Tristan had expected. Cuthbert did a great job, he thought as he watched the natives work and listened to their harmonious songs, not understanding a word, but not needing to.
By nightfall, the camp had taken on the shape of a small village. They were all done for it. The humidity and the long day’s walk started to take its toll as they took comfort around small fires that had been lit all around the camp. At the main firepit, the snake was skewered with a long pole which rested on two stands in the shape of lopsided crosses. High above the flames it slowly roasted, its fat bubbling out and dripping into the fire, filling the camp with a delicious aroma. Slabs of antelope meat soon followed and were grilled directly on the coals, while on the side, a large pot with cassava bubbled away. Matondo was right. The snake meat tasted delicious, and the guide made sure that every man got his share of the serpent.
Later that night, the five of them got together with the two interpreters and discussed their plans for the next two days. Matondo suggested that they make half-day trips with the minimum of equipment to find the closest herd of elephants. They all voted in favour of his approach.
‘We shall take one of the drums with us, sir. That way, we can talk to the people at the camp.’
‘Good plan!’ Tristan praised him in front of the others.
Matondo told them that if the elephants were from the same herd that the other hunting party had hunted further out east only weeks ago, the beasts would still be skittish and might hold even more danger than usual, especially if they sighted the foreigners. Tristan questioned him about the savannah and why the beasts would risk it out in the open, especially with so much water around now that the rainy season had started.
Then Matondo mentioned something fascinating that made the slightly intoxicated doctor’s ears prick up. ‘They return every few weeks, sir. We don’t know why. All that we know comes from stories handed down to us by our ancestors. They tell us that the same herds return to these waterholes without fail. Our elders seem to think they eat or drink the mud. I have witnessed it, but what kind of animal does this? I have seen no other, except those who like to roll around in it.’ He paused for a moment, then shared his thoughts on the matter. ‘These big animals must have big brains, sir, because they never seem to forget this place, no matter how far away they wander.’
He proceeded by telling them stories, how his ancestors used to hunt the big beasts, using pits as traps and long spears to reach the heart and lungs. He shared their triumphs and failures, the legends that had walked among his people.
The group was mesmerised by his storytelling, which lacked no animation and left almost nothing to the imagination, so vivid his descriptions. It was close to midnight when the conversation dried up, and the men headed to their tents and shelters.
Across from Tristan, on the other side of the fire, the doctor puffed away on his pipe, enjoying the freshly dried tobacco and the soothing hush that had settled over the camp. Tristan had thought hard about this and then made the suggestion. ‘Doc, would you like to look after the camp while we’re gone? It’ll give you plenty of time to find your bugs, reptiles, and so forth.’
‘That is fine with me, lad. And no, you’re not hurting my feelings. I know that I’m the worst shot among you lot.’
‘’Tis not that, doc. I need someone to look after the camp. And it allows you to wander around a bit and look for those little creatures that you’re always running after. It still confuses the hell out of our native friends. Kilawa mundelé! I hear them say. You crazy white man!’ Tristan laughed.
The doctor joined in, almost choking on his to
bacco fumes. ‘I like that. Crazy white man. That will keep them on their toes. I will do it, lad. I’d rather be off discovering a few new species than chasing after the large grey ghosts that Matondo has told us about. Besides, I prefer my prey to be alive after my hunt.’
Tristan was happy. The doctor seemed genuinely pleased with the proposed arrangement. ‘I’ll leave behind one interpreter and of course, most of the natives and the chief’s guards. When we’ve found the beasts, I need you to organise the men, help lead them to us and bring all the equipment that we’ll need.’
‘Consider it done and I’d be sure to bring my gun,’ said Purvis with a dubious grin.
Tristan did not hear the doctor’s last words. Grey ghosts. Staring into the fire in front of him, he realised that he was up against a wise and canny adversary, one that will test his own wit to its full potential. At least the other hunters had shown that they could be hunted, and he had the right people to get it done. Then, in the stillness of the night, he suddenly felt the urge to pray. It had been a while, and he did not know what to say. Just say whatever comes to you. He remembered Sissy’s words and prayed silently. Dear Lord, this is where I say, “fuck it.” I’ve done all that I could. It’s now up to you to send those grey ghosts across our path. And let our bullets fly true. Ame— And please watch over my men. Amen. There was nothing else to say, so he bid Purvis goodnight and went to bed, knowing that tomorrow would bring another day. It was the only certainty he had.
Chapter 24
‘Nyegere!’ Jabari’s loud whisper woke Tristan from his slumber. ‘Listen! Tembo!’
The crushing of trees, breaking of branches and brush getting trampled under heavy feet resounded through the dark forest, faint at first but quickly growing louder. It took Tristan mere seconds to realise the imminent danger for that noise was travelling in their direction.
‘Everybody up! Now! Get the fuck up! Hurry!’ Tristan’s shouting woke the rest of the hunting party. They had camped the night in the thick forest on the edge of a savannah, about half a day’s walk from the main camp. Most of the men rose at the sound of his voice, but those who were already awakened by the advancing commotion became petrified when they saw the bewildered face behind the foreign voice that was aimed at them. It took another couple of shouts and some translation from the interpreters to get everyone moving. Tristan called Matondo to come over to where he and Jabari were waiting, next to his tent.
‘We cannot outrun them. Not in this thick brush,’ said Jabari.
Hanlon and Tayler soon joined them. An eerie silence had fallen over the usually outspoken two as they looked around them nervously. They clutched their muskets tighter, white knuckles showing through the tanned skins and that all too familiar look on their faces – sailors preparing for battle.
‘We’ll head for the trees!’ Tristan made it clear from the outset of the expedition that the lives of his men were paramount and would supersede any other matter.
‘Our gear, sir?’ Matondo pointed to the crates and stretchers that leaned against tree trunks.
‘Weapons only! Climb the highest, thickest trees you can find and cling for your lives. Now spread the word. Quickly!’
Matondo rushed away, yelling in his mother tongue and very soon, every single native dropped his belongings, grabbed spears, bows and quivers, and headed for the trees. Tayler and Hanlon were already gone.
Tristan was the last one on the ground, and when he saw Jabari still standing next to him, he yelled, ‘Head for a tree man!’ The thundering sounds were so close now. It sounded like a thousand elephants hurtling their way.
‘I go where you go, Nyegere,’ came the defiant reply.
Tristan looked around. ‘I have a plan,’ said Tristan and started running towards the savannah where he had spotted the large umbrella-like tree the night before. Jabari followed close behind and not far behind him the sound of cracking timber travelled like gunshots through the still, dense morning air. Finally, they reached the clearing and Tristan headed straight for the large tree which overlooked large parts of the savannah to the north and the nearby waterhole.
Behind them in the forest all hell broke loose as guns exploded, elephants trumpeted and screams erupted. They heard the clang of pots, breaking of timber, followed by more gunshots and cries for help. While the two men scaled the lower branches of the tree, they looked back, only in time to see one of the porters burst through the thick vegetation, running like a possessed man across the open field, his hands thrown in the air. He was limping, which left no doubt that he had fallen from a tree. Behind him, a young elephant bull appeared, trampling bushes underneath its heavy feet, its trunk trumpeting and ears flapping as it tracked the man’s movement. Two larger beasts soon joined it, but the smaller one already had a head start. Both Tristan and Jabari screamed to get the man’s attention. All seemed lost for a few seconds as the man ran in the wrong direction, completely confused and only thinking about putting distance between himself and his gigantic pursuers. The man finally realised that there was sanctuary up the nearby tree, but the elephant had continued straight ahead and was on its way to cut the man off.
‘Kukimbia! Run!’ they both urged the poor man on.
For a wee moment, the man looked like he had forgotten about his injured leg and that he would make it as he sprinted for his life, but about five metres from the tree, the young bull caught up with him. A solid blow from the beast’s trunk sent the man flying through the air, before he landed in a heap of limbs and dust, screaming in incoherent agony. The young bull trumpeted victoriously and watched on, almost mockingly, while it waited for its flimsy opponent to get up. The barely conscious man crawled slowly, disoriented as he started running out of breath, his collapsed lungs useless under the broken ribs.
When the bull heard its two companions approach, it swung its trunk again, hitting the man’s legs so hard that Tristan could hear the bones break. Amidst the dusty commotion, screams made way for whimpers and almost as an act of mercy, the bull leaned onto its front legs and punctured the man’s chest cavity with its right tusk before lifting him. The brute force ripped open the man’s chest and stomach, sending his organs flying through the air as he was tossed against the base of the camelthorn tree. In a final act of dominance, the other two elephants joined in, and together they trampled the corpse until all that remained was red earth and an unidentifiable pulp.
All the time, while the event was unfolding below, the two men in the tree screamed at the top of their lungs to try and distract the animals. Only when the massacre underneath finally ceased did the oldest bull turn its attention upwards.
A heavy blow from a front-on head-butt reverberated up the tree trunk, making the two men hold on tighter.
‘What’s your plan?’ yelled Jabari.
‘Shoot ‘em!’ When Tristan spoke the words, the dazed look on the African’s face said it all. Below the tree was one dark grey mass. Where the fuck do I put the bullet, wondered Tristan, and he knew the very same thought was going through his friend’s mind. He remembered the advice from Matondo, “Shoot through the opening between the ribs, sir.” There was no opening between the ribs from up here.
Then out of nowhere, it came to him. ‘Pretend ‘tis a large buffalo. Shoot the spine, just behind the neck!’ Another blow to the trunk caused dead branches and loose bark to fall from above. The two men clung on for dear life, oblivious to the white thorns that tore their clothes and bit into their skin. ‘Take the large one!’
They fired almost simultaneously, at point-blank range. Underneath the tree, the largest of the three animals groaned, then slumped backwards as its hind legs gave way. The earth shuddered, and up in the tree, the two hunters yelled as their excitement and fear peaked simultaneously. The bull’s groans took on a different tone as its head tried to fight the paralysis that had spread so quickly through its body. At its side, the young bull trumpeted its frustration and lashed out at his immobile mate while up in the tree Tristan was frantically rel
oading. He looked over at Jabari, who had already dropped his first cartridge. The African’s usually steady hands were visibly shaking with hunting fever.
Tristan finished loading before him, took aim and fired at the spine of the young bull, but a nearby twig caused his shot to veer slightly off course with the bullet missing its intended target but still hitting the elephant in the back. The pain caused pandemonium as the enraged beast nearly impaled its fallen comrade then reared up on its back legs and slammed its feet into the tree’s trunk with its full weight. The violent shake caused Tristan to lose his footing and slip on the brittle bark, heading for the ground below. As he fell, he twisted his body and managed to grasp the bough that he was standing on with one hand. While his feet dangled in the air, he swung around further and got a decent grip with both hands. The musket strap was firmly gripped between hand and bark, and the butt of the musket continually bashed him in the head in his frantic efforts to pull himself to safety. Then he suddenly felt the warm breath on his calves. Below him, the young bull reached for him with its trunk and tried to get a grip around his legs. Again the beast lashed out in frustration, and a violent slap with its trunk nearly dislodged Tristan, his swinging body loosening his grip on the branch above his head.
Realising death would be imminent the longer he hung there, Tristan summoned the last of his strength and pulled himself up while he kicked with his legs to try and propel himself upwards. It was like an invisible force plucked him straight onto the branch from which he had fallen, all in one fell swoop. Only then did he become aware of the strong hand, gripped tightly around his right wrist. No words were exchanged. The African’s musket boomed, and another red hole appeared on the young bull’s back, exactly where the spine would be.
The animal staggered then fell onto its side not far from where the older bull had collapsed. Tristan finished reloading, steadied himself and fired another shot for good measure between the ribs as the animal inhaled, just like Matondo had told him.
The Fire Within Page 41