Great White Hunters
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Great White Hunters Copyright 2015 Don Caswell This is a collection of stories distilled from the writings of fifteen different adventurous authors, all now long dead. Every effort has been made to be true to the original content while only making minor use of extracts from their writings. Any perceived errors or omissions are a consequence of summarising an adventurous life into two or three thousand words. There is no intention to mislead or change documented history in any manner or degree. I hope the reader finds these summaries interesting enough to source and read the original books. There is some wonderful reading to be had in the writings of the Great White Hunters. Aussiehunter Edition License Notes This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Table of Contents Acknowledgements Prologue Chapter 1 - J. H. Patterson Chapter 2 - John Burger Chapter 3 - Karamojo Bell Chapter 4 - Baron Bror von Blixen Chapter 5 - Jim Corbett Chapter 6 - Blayney Percival Chapter 7 - Frederick Courtney Selous Chapter 8 - Edouard Foa Chapter 9 - Kenneth Anderson Chapter 10 - John Hunter Chapter 11 - Major Robert Foran Chapter 12 - Harry Wolhuter Chapter 13 - Major A E Wardrop Chapter 14 - Denis Lyell Chapter 15 - David Blunt About Don Caswell Acknowledgements Kathy for her support and help in all things. In particular for her Adobe Photoshop skills used in the artwork of the cover. Grizz, my old hunting buddy, for supplying the zebra skin and his Heym 470 Nitro Express used on the cover. David Grayling for unearthing so many old books by the famous great white hunters. Prologue The golden age of hunting is gone and with it the Great White Hunters. Modern hunters can only look back with envy to an era where game abounded and hunting was a socially accepted sport with few restrictions. The term Great White Hunter is evocative of the Victorian era at the height of the British Empire. From a modern perspective, the writings of these famous adventurers and hunters of old can give an impression of racism. In general, though, I do not think that is really the case. While the term "native" is used a lot, I believe it is intended to be taken as its literal, dictionary meaning and not from a tarnished modern slant. Almost universally, these hunters of old wrote with admiration and respect for their "native" trackers, gun bearers and servants general, without whom the adventures could not have been had and the books subsequently written. Anyway, while various connotations that can be drawn from that era of blatant colonialism, it has to be acknowledged that the term Great White Hunter is not necessarily a universally complimentary one. However, looking past the politics and prejudices, my interest is in the hunters and the hunting and I limit my interest to that narrow focus. For my purposes, the Great White Hunters epitomise the more admirable aspects of human character. That is bravery, perseverance and a strong sense of duty. Combine that with the vast abundance of game at the time, and the birth of the modern smokeless calibres, particularly the famous Nitro-Express big game cartridges, and you have all the ingredients for some wonderful stories. Chapter One - Patterson J. H. Patterson sailed into Mombasa harbour on March 1st, 1898. He had come to take up a position as engineer on the construction of the Uganda railway. On reporting to the railway headquarters he was told that he would receive instructions in a day or two. Undaunted, Patterson found a convenient shady spot and pitched his tent. A week later found him still waiting and getting impatient as he had by this time seen all the sights that Mombasa had to offer. Fortunately that day he received his posting. He was to take over construction of the line at the railhead of Tsavo, over two hundred kilometres inland. Additionally, and although he did not know it at the time, he was to gain fame for his participation in a classic big game hunting adventure. The train arrived late in the evening at its destination. The next morning Patterson was up at first light and eager to see just what sort of place he had come to. His first impression on walking out of the rough hut in which he had spent the night was that of being surrounded by a dense growth of impenetrable scrub. On fighting through the thick, clawing bush and climbing a nearby hill Patterson found that his first impressions were not that far wrong. For as far as the eye could see the country was covered by low gnarled trees and thick undergrowth composed largely of wait-a-while thorns. The one redeeming feature of the depressing, sun-scorched country was the cool-flowing Tsavo River and the narrow belt of green trees that bordered it. Patterson had his servants pitch his camp nearby. The area was a scene of great activity with thousands of Indian and African labourers busy on pushing the railway onwards with all haste. Patterson’s job was to build a permanent bridge across the river before the wet season rains swept away the temporary structure that had been thrown across the Tsavo. Shortly after Patterson’s arrival several of the Indian labourers disappeared. Reports from other labourers that the missing men had been taken at night by lions were at first discounted. Murder was not an uncommon occurrence amongst the massed labourers and bodies were quickly disposed of by hyenas and other scavengers. Three weeks later, however, Patterson was woken at dawn with the news that one of his men had been taken by a lion during the night. He hastened to the man’s camp and could plainly see the confirming evidence in the fine dust around the tent. Patterson followed the blood trail and drag marks until, not far away, he came across the gruesome remains of the unfortunate Sikh. He resolved then and there that he would have to do everything in his power to kill the beasts responsible. That night, armed with his 303 rifle and 12 gauge shotgun he sat in a tree close-by where the remains had been found. Not long after taking up his position at dusk he was excited and a little frightened to hear the awesome roaring of the lions coming closer and closer. Suddenly the lions’ calling ceased and Patterson’s hopes were at fever pitch as he realized that this meant that the lions were stalking. His hopes were dashed however, when he heard the roar of the lions and pitiful screaming from a near-by camp. It was a dark night and with no means of illumination it would have been suicide to try to render aid, so the despondent Patterson sat in his uncomfortable perch until dawn. This was the first of many similar nights for Patterson. With a workforce of thousands living in tents scattered over thirteen kilometres of bush, the lions proved impossible to come to terms with. Among the superstitious labourers, the lions soon took on the reputations of devils as all attempts to eliminate them failed. The killers became more and more daring and had no regard for the traditional repellents of thorn barriers and fire. To add to the horror of the poor frightened men cowering in flimsy tents, the lions soon adopted the habit of dragging their victims but a few yards from their sleeping place before eating them. The survivors were subjected to the squelching of torn flesh and crunching bones as the man-eaters purred in pleasure over a meal that could last several hours. The reign of terror lasted over nine months and actually halted work on the railway for three weeks. The gravity of the situation was such that it received mention in the House of Lords, one of the few cases to do so. In all, twenty-eight Indian labourers and uncounted Africans were killed and eaten. The situation became all the more dreadful for Patterson and his workforce of several hundred when the main group of labourers moved camp further up the ever-progressing railway line. One night Patterson and a friend had their first contact with the man-eaters and a close shave with death. They had elected to spend the night in a goods wagon close to where several attacks had recently occurred. The door on the wagon was of the stable-type with only the bottom half shut. Straining his eyes in the dark and waiting to hear some indication that the lions were after a tethered bait cow, Patterson suddenly noticed a movement right in front of him. With a rush, the man-eater came at the hunters. Both fired at once. The flash and boom of the rifles turned the attack at the last moment. During this time Patterson had to keep up with a huge workload in addition to his demanding attempts to locate and kill the man-eaters. Apart from the night time sitting up in trees and other precarious locations Patterson also tried to find the lions during daylight hours when opportunity permitted. This entailed crawling through the thick undergrowth hoping, and yet dreading, to meet the man-eaters. Occasionally he would find gruesome remains of the lions’ kills. On top of all this, in a separate incident, that is in itself the stuff of ripping yarns, Patterson single-handedly faced 160 of his mutinous labourers who had signed a pact to murder him! In a very tense situation, he narrowly escaped his intended fate.