In Africa Part 26

We steamed out of Hongkong in a chilling wind and at once plunged into a fog, but the next morning we ran into smooth seas and warm weather. A full moon hung over the empty waste of waters and the nights were gorgeous.

As we neared the coast of Luzon I became much excited, for in my memory were those vivid, expectant days of old when our little American fleet crossed this selfsame stretch of sea to find and destroy the Spanish s.h.i.+ps. I lived over again those boding days when the air was electric with impending danger.

It was long before daylight when the _Yuen Sang_, at half-speed, arrived at Corregidor. The captain wished to report his number to the signal station, and we had to wait until light had come before the s.h.i.+p could enter. So the engines were stopped and for an hour we drifted on under the s.h.i.+p's momentum. The silencing of the engines on a s.h.i.+p is always ominous, and just now, with the dim bulk of Corregidor looming grimly before us, it seemed as if there was something particularly sinister about our stealthy approach.

From five o'clock onward we stood on the bridge, our voices unconsciously hushed as we spoke. Here was where the _Baltimore_ had dropped a Greek fire life preserver and for a long time it had bobbed about on the tumbling sea, weird and terrifying to those who didn't know what it was. There was where the soot in the McCulloch's funnel had suddenly blazed up like the chimney of a blast furnace. And over there on the lower edge of the black bulk of the island was where a little signal light had flared up and then died out, leaving every man on our s.h.i.+ps tense with expectant dread, and all about us here had reigned a silence so penetrating that it in itself was harder to bear than the thunder and flash of guns.

And still we drifted on, nearer and nearer to Boca Chica, the northern pa.s.sage into Manila Bay. Dawn and light came slowly. In poetry the dawn of the tropics may come up like thunder and the transition of darkness to light may be startling and sudden, but in my own experience the tropic dawn comes slowly and pervadingly. First a faint grayness, gradually growing brighter until the sun shoots up joyous and golden in its glory, painting the skies with flaming banners and penciling the tips and edges of clouds with the fires of morning. When we lazily drifted in toward Corregidor from the China Sea that morning, it was light enough to see distinctly for nearly an hour before the sun rose.

Presently a fluttering string of signal flags appeared on the top of the island, and a moment later our engines resumed their throbbing and we headed boldly into Boca Chica. Here on the left was Mariveles Bay, the scene of the famous German s.h.i.+p, _Irene_, incident, which electrified the world.

Every point that rose before my eyes was pregnant with historic memories and suggestions. I was thrilled and yet I half-dreaded my return to Manila, for fear that the peace and commercialism of the present days would be disappointing to one who knew it when each day was filled with trouble and threats of trouble; when the city lay always as if under an impending cloud and when the borders of the bay rang with the thunder of guns and the sputter of musketry.

As the _Yuen Sang_ steamed across the twenty-five miles of the bay it seemed as if it were only yesterday that I had been there. The waters were gla.s.sy and smooth, just as the bay used to be every morning of the long blockade, when the air was still and the broad glistening water was tranquil and at rest.

The surprises came in Manila. Great changes had taken place in the harbor, new breakwaters were where there had been none before, new buildings were up, and still more were building. Big electric cars rushed along where formerly the snail-like horse cars crept painfully by. The city was unbelievably clean and the main streets were full of busy life.

I visited the old houses where we had once lived in economical splendor, with servants and carriages and expenses that were microscopic as compared to those of the present day. Upon all sides were the visible evidences that some day Manila will be the finest city of the Orient if the time ever comes when capital may feel a.s.sured that our occupation has some prospect of permanence.

In my old days I used to know a beautiful Mestiza girl in Manila. She was very pretty and very nice. I used to draw pictures of her and struggle bravely with the Spanish language. And she was kind and patient with my efforts to learn. Her name was Victoria and she kept a little shop where she and her ancestors for generations before had sold silk jusi and pina cloth. I visited her often there and sometimes went out to her home, a beautiful big Spanish house in Calle Zarigoza.

I determined to find her and went over to her shop. Fatal mistake! Ten years and the tropics work many changes in the soft-eyed daughters south of the fifteenth degree of lat.i.tude.

I once read a story by Pierre Loti, a sad and haunting story of how he sought, after years of absence, to find an old-time sweetheart in Stamboul. He didn't find her and he should be grateful for his failure.

[Drawing: _Ten Years After_]

I found Victoria. She recognized me at once, although I hardly knew in her the slender, pretty Victoria of old. Her eyes were soft and nice, but smallpox had pitted her nose and cheeks and the deadly incubus of flesh had upholstered her in many soft and cus.h.i.+ony folds. I asked her if she had married and she said she never had, which information I matched with promptness. She spoke English quite well and seemed prosperous and--yes, motherly. There's no other word for it, although she is now hardly thirty.

It was a terrible disappointment, a collapse of delightful memories, and as I walked away from her little silk shop with a vague promise to call again I knew perfectly well that I should never go back.

I left Manila after less than two days and rolled and plunged and tumbled back across the China Sea to Hongkong. I bought a little chow dog puppy from the Chinese steward on board, but I suppose it will grow up and get fat one of these days, too. Allison Armour and his nephew, Norman Armour, were with us and in Hongkong the latter bought two chow dog puppies to send home. They looked exactly like teddy bears. Later he resolved that the trouble and risk were too great, inasmuch as he was not returning by the Pacific, so he gave them to me. And with three chow dogs and my friend Stephenson I embarked on the _Asia_ for the twenty-eight day trip to Frisco.

The s.h.i.+p was jammed and we found a little fat man consigned to the sofa in our state-room. He was pleasant looking, but we little realized what hours of nocturnal horror were in store for us. He was the champion snorist of the five continents. He could snore in all keys, all languages, all directions, and it was like trying to sleep in the same room with a fog-horn. Nothing could waken him and he went to sleep before he struck the bed. And from that moment on through the night he tried the acoustic properties of that end of the s.h.i.+p to the utmost.

After two or three nights of sleeplessness we resolved to rebel, mutiny, revolt, and if necessary joyfully to commit justifiable homicide.

[Drawing: _Never an American Flag_]

One night Stephenson turned on the light and reached for his cane. "What are you going to do? Kill him?" I asked eagerly. But he only poked at the quivering form to awaken it, and merely succeeded in changing the key from B flat to a discord of minors.

At Yokohama somebody got off and by buying an extra berth we moved into another state-room and slept for twenty-four hours. We called him "Snoring Cupid," because of his cherubic appearance and proficiency in snoring.

It was the cherry blossom season in j.a.pan. Through the constant rain we saw the hillsides pink with loveliness. But it was cold and disheartening and after five days in j.a.pan we turned with relief to the voyage homeward. And it was very pleasant. Lots of pleasant things happened, but nothing more.

It is good to be back where the American flag is a familiar sight and not a curiosity. We saw thousands and thousands of merchant s.h.i.+ps, but except in Manila and Honolulu we never saw a solitary American flag on one of them.

And that's the end of our hunting trip. We are now back where we have to pay two or three times as much for things as we did in the Orient. A cigar that costs three cents gold in Manila costs twelve and one-half cents gold in San Francisco! But--never mind. A pleasant time was had.

CHAPTER XXII

WAYS AND MEANS. WHAT TO TAKE AND WHAT NOT TO TAKE, INFORMATION FOR THOSE THAT WISH, INTEND OR HOPE TO HUNT IN THE AFRICAN HIGHLANDS

When one returns to America after some time in the African game country, he is a.s.sailed by many questions from others who wish, intend, or hope to make a similar trip. Almost without variation the questioner will ask about the cost, about the danger from fever and sickness, about snakes and insects, about the tempers of the tribes one encounters, and then, if he be a specialist, he will ask about the rifles and the camp equipment. As these familiar and oft repeated inquiries have been made by friends who had read my African letters, I must a.s.sume that the features of an African hunting trip, about which people are most curious, were very imperfectly answered in the preceding chapters.

Hence, this supplementary chapter, dealing briefly with the ways and means of such a trip, is added for the enlightenment of such readers as may be planning a journey into those fascinating regions of Africa where I have so recently been.

As to the cost of a trip of three or more months in the field I should say that about one thousand dollars a month would amply cover the total expenses from New York back to New York. This amount would include pa.s.sage money, guns, ammunition, landing charges, commissions, camera expenses on a reasonable scale, tents, customs--in fact all the incidental items which are not customarily included in the estimate given by the Nairobi outfitters. These firms, chief of which are the Newland, Tarlton and Company, Limited, which directed Colonel Roosevelt's _safari_, and the Boma Trading Company, which directed the Duke of Connaught's hunt, agree to outfit a party at a cost of about five-hundred dollars a month for each white man. For this amount they furnish everything except your ammunition, clothes, medicines, camera supplies, export and import duties, mounting of trophies, pa.s.sage money to and from Africa, and such items. To particularize, they agree to supply for this amount, a complete outfit of tents, foods, porters, camp attendants, gunbearers, horses, mules or ox teams, as may be required, and a native head-man or overseer.

One who wished to do so could telegraph ahead to have one of the Nairobi outfitting firms prepare a one, two or three months' hunt, or _safari_, and then, with only a suit-case he could arrive, with the certainty that everything would be in readiness. There would be no worry or concern about any feature of that part of the work. He would be relieved of the anxiety of preparation, and it is hardly likely that he would ever regret having taken this course. The dealings of our _safari_ with Messrs. Newland and Tarlton were most satisfactory in all respects and the charges they made were entirely reasonable. To the one who desires to make this trip in this, the simplest way, there is the need of giving only one suggestion: Let him write to one of the outfitting firms, stating the length of time that he can spend in the field, the cla.s.s of game that he chiefly wishes to get, the number of white men in his party, and the season of the year that he plans to be in Africa. The outfitters will then answer, giving all the particulars of cost and equipment. This is the course that I should recommend for the average hunter who has had no previous experience in Africa. It will save him the trouble of making an endless amount of preparation, much of which will be useless because of his ignorance of conditions in that field of sport.

In the case of our own _safari_, we bought our guns, tents, ammunition, foods and entire equipment in London and had it s.h.i.+pped to Nairobi. This equipment contemplated a trip of six months in the field, and included sixty-five "chop boxes" of sixty pounds each, containing foods. These chop boxes were of wood, with lids and locks, twenty of which were tin lined for use in packing specimens later in the trip, and all marked with bands of various colors to identify their contents. The boxes contained the following supplies:

TWENTY CASES (RED BAND)

Two tins imperial cheese.

One pound Ceylon tea.

One three-quarter pound tin ground coffee.

One four-pound tin granulated sugar.

Two tins ox tongue.

One tin oxford sausage.

Two tins sardines.

Two tins kippered herrings.

Three tins deviled ham (Underwood's).

Two tins jam (a.s.sorted).

Two tins marmalade (Dundee).

Three half-pound tins b.u.t.ter.

Three half-pound tins dripping.

Ten half-pound tins ideal milk.

Two tins small captain biscuit.

Two tins baked beans, Heinz (tomato sauce).

One half-pound tin salt.

One two-pound tin chocolate (Army and Navy).

Two parchment skins pea soup.

One one and one-half pound tin Scotch oatmeal.

TWENTY CASES (BLUE BAND)

Two tins baked beans (Heinz) (tomato sauce).

One tin bologna sausage.

One tin sardines.

One tin sardines, smoked.

Two one-pound tins camp, pie.