Chapter II
FROM THE GIBBET-TREE
MY brother at this time was managing an agricultural farm in
the highlands leading to Laikipia. He lived in a small stone house
which had been built by an Indian mason. The veranda in front
overlooked two hundred acres of ploughed land which grew peas,
potatoes, flax, and barley. This diminutive farm was enclosed on
one side by the rough scrub-country of the ordinary veldt and on
the other by a forest which stretched away at the foot of a tall
escarpment as far as eye could see. It was a surprise to come
suddenly upon this oasis of cultivation in the midst of a country
which still remained virginal.
Towards evening when the mists of the light rains drove across
the peas and potatoes, or hung about the brown cone-shaped
flax-stacks, the prospect would take upon itself a strangely
familiar appearance; but coincident with such reassuring impressions would come others, impressions curiously disturbing
in their suggestion of forces inimical to man's purpose. One had
but to step out of the little garden of geraniums, which my
brother had arranged and planted round the house, to find
oneself in the actual jungle, in dark, overgrown places which for
thousands of years had remained undisturbed. It was this
abrupt juxtaposition of the tamed with the untamed, at one's very
door-step, so to speak, which affected the nerves with an ever-present feeling of insecurity. One felt that oneself and one's
handful of black servants were permitted a foothold here on
sufferance only -- that in a moment of time, for a mere whim,
these stately, wicked, bearded cedar-trees might conspire with
their long-clawed parasitical creepers to obliterate one's handiwork and reassert their ancient domination. Indeed, 1 was
conscious of this feeling every single hour of my stay on that
upland farm. I came to realize what it was to live in a place where
nature was in the ascendancy.
I would sit in a shaded corner of the veranda watching the
humming-birds flitting about the petals of the coloured flowers
which in all directions expanded so passionately in the hard
tropical sunlight and then 1 would suddenly become aware that
1 was being looked at, that from behind the trellis, or from behind
the bloom of a mammoth nasturtium, a haggard and very old
chameleon was peering at me intelligently, cynically. At night it
would be even worse. Then, when the flat equatorial moon would
blandly illuminate this unregenerate section of the earth's surface
the soul of Africa would become articulate. Hyænas would moan
as they slunk along the darkened banks of the forest streams
nosing for death with heavy obtuse jowls. Leopards would cause
the pale trunks of the forest trees to echo and reëcho with the
sound of their calling. Jackals in an ecstasy of crafty expectation
would go yelping across the open veldt. From every festooned
branch of the forest the hyraxes would cry and croon to one
another, while from tiny crevices in the bark of each piece of
ancient timber the African crickets would grow strangely vocal.
Often at night when we went out to draw water from the rain-tank
at the back of the house we could hardly hear each other speak
so audible had the great continent become, that continent which
all day long lies in a dull sleep under the hypnotic rays of an evil
sun, only to grow in the high noon of midnight so wild, so
merciless, so alarmingly voluble.
Every morning I used to spend an hour or two learning the
Swahili language from my Kikuyu servant, Kamoha. He was an
extremely intelligent boy and till the day I left Africa was my
constant companion. In the afternoons I would accompany my
brother on shooting expeditions. We would cross the mountain
stream which separated us from the forest, a stream which
harboured no fish, but whose waters ran eddying through black
sunken pools over a bed of iron volcanic rock. At regular
intervals along its edge the density of the forest was broken by
narrow, well-trodden game-paths leading down to this or that
water-hole-waterholes that by day and night received a hundred
thirsty jowls, a hundred thirsty muzzles, a hundred thirsty
snouts. At each of these places, if one looked for them, one could
see silver-white bones, witnessing to the innumerable animal
tragedies that had been enacted at these terrible death traps.
Sometimes the damp mud near the water would be marked with
pointed hoofs, sometimes with the long toed footprints of
monkeys, and sometimes with the round heavy spoors of a
carnivore. We would follow one of these paths into the depths of
the forest. On each side of us the soft leaf-mould would be
cloaked with masses of maiden-hair fern. My brother would be
on the look-out for bush-buck and when one of these tough lusty
little animals fell after the report of his rifle what a clamour would
arise! The green parrots would scream, the colobus monkeys
would leap with chattering expostulations from branch to branch,
and great white-winged turkey-birds would circle above the tops
of the trees.
And then we would begin to scale the escarpment, mounting
higher and ever higher up the slippery root-covered path to find
ourselves at last once more in daylight.. Standing there on the
summit of the escarpment what a view would be presented to our
eyes-miles upon miles of open, rolling country, broken by green-bordered rivers, by the demon-haunted rush-grown stretches of
Lake El Bordossat stretching away to the distant slopes of the
Aberdare Mountains lying swart in the afternoon sun.
Often and often I have sat there on the cliff's edge and seen
zebra, kongoni, ostriches moving across the yellow plains below.
Occasionally I would make out the black unmistakable tub-like
form of a rhinoceros advancing slowly, soberly towards some
verdant refuge. I found a sheltered ledge where I would sit for
hour.s surveying that stupendous scene. I marked the place by
a dead olive tree whose naked, crooked arms held on their
topmost branches three round ant-nests which had the
appearance and size of human skulls. I could see this gibbet-tree
from a distance of several hundred yards and when once safely
ensconced the wild life of the place would continue as though I
was not there. The klipspringers would bound from rock to rock
or, with delicate legs rigid, stand poised and expectant. The rock-rabbits would scuttle from fissure to fissure. The eagles and
white-breasted hawks would sweep fiercely through the clear air
uttering strange intractable cries. And as I viewed these
unfamiliar aspects of life, so different from the sheep-meadows,
the cattle-pastures, the thatched grange-scenery of my home,
over which in autumn the ragged-winged rooks would circle, it
would seem to me as though I had been permitted by the
intervention of some extraordinary magic to contemplate the
round earth as it must have appeared when first it was moulded
and set spinning.
And then as the round sun dropped towards the horizon I would
hurry back, anxious to be through the belt of forest before dark.
It was on one of these occasions as my brother and I hastened
through some tall red grass that I tripped and fell. I had put my
foot into a round hole sunk some six inches into the ground. An
elephant had passed this way on its yearly migration to the
bamboo forests during the wet season, and at each step the enormous animal had taken, there had been left in the soggy
drenched ground a diminutive pit. Presently we came upon other
similar tracks, with large heaps of dry dung scattered here and
there, dung dropped doubtless six months before when some of
these bulky, placid, sage creatures had passed over the
escarpment on their familiar journey.
Once through the forest and across the river we felt ourselves,
with a feeling of relief, back once more in an environment upon
which human beings had at least made some impression. There
was a stir of human life. The black women were carrying water
up from the river. There was the sound of native talk, of native
laughter, and the air was tainted with the smoke of fires filtering
up through the thatch of the round huts and rising like dedicated
incense into the hollow firmament above, already tremulous and
quivering with the indefinable murmurs of the oncoming night.
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