The Motion Picture Director (1925)

July, 1925 himself. So, it was only by continued questioning that I was able to elicit the dozens of interesting, and in some cases hair-raising, episodes with which he entertained me during the entire trip. First Night in the Open Veldt While Johan had hunted every kind of big game with which Africa abounds, lions had been his specialty, so most of his stories had to do with these animals. Towards late afternoon I noticed Johan frequently looked towards the sun. At about five o’clock he spoke to the boys, who then hurriedly urged the mules forward into a faster pace. He planned to outspan (camp) early on this first day of our trek as it would be necessary for the boys as well as ourselves to become acquainted with the layout of our pack. We had to reach the waterhole before sundown as darkness so quickly follows in these latitudes. We outspanned at last about three hundred yards from the waterhole, Susie being the first out of the wagon with many barks and much cavorting, and though she had never been in this neighborhood before, she made as straight as an arrow for the water. The tired mules had indulged themselves in the luxury of a roll, and I say “luxury” advisedly, as they apparently got as much enjoyment out of it as does a woman when her body is freed from the corsets that have encased it all day. Johan as Boss, quickly gave his orders; one boy to guard against the mules drinking before they had sufficiently cooled off; another to fetch firewood; another to cut sufficient of the tall dry grass that was to act as our mattresses; the others to unpack bedding, cooking utensils and provisions. I had not noticed while performing my ablutions that the fireboy made three distinct piles of wood in positions that formed a triangle, the base line of which was about fifty yards in length, our wagon being in practically the center of the triangle. A small cook-fire was then lighted with sticks taken from the woodpile nearest the wagon, then the cook-boy proceeded to do his stuff.” Johan spoke to the wood-boy in Matahele, giving instructions for more wood to be brought, and quickly, as the sun was going down over the horizon. The smell of sizzling bacon now assailed my nostrils and whetted my already keen appetite, preparing me for a meal that was more enjoyable than any that I remember before or since. The long canvas community nose-bag was then stretched between two saplings and the ten mules haltered to it side by side. Another small cook-fire was lighted near the second woodpile, and inside the triangle the boys proceeded to dine on their three hundred and sixty-five day menu of “mealie pap” (cornmeal mush), which they dug from the community pot with their naked fingers. The Night By the time the meal was completed and we had disposed of our soiled dishes, full darkness had descended. The boys had spread our blankets side by side over the soft, sweet-smelling grass, replenished the fire at our feet, and, as we got into pajamas, Johan hailed the “fire boy” by pointing and giving instructions to light the third fire. I could restrain my curiosity no longer. As the boy ran with a lighted firebrand from his fire to the unlighted wood-pile, Johan was loading his pipe, and I asked facetiously: “Colonel, what is the third fire for? To keep the mules warm?” Between puffs on his pipe he uttered the one word, “Lions!” It is not my purpose to attempt to write a “suspense” tale or a “thriller” for small boys ! Ensconced as I now am in comfortable quarters in the heart of civilization, I recall with a distinct thrill the feeling that that one word gave to me on my first night in the open African veldt. After several days in such close contact with the only other white man within many miles, Colenbrander asked me to cut out the “Colonel.” And we became good chums. I called him “Johan” and he called me “Harold.” And I can look back with gratitude and appreciation to the fact that he was a man of sufficiently fine sensibilities not to show that he in any way noticed my fearsomeness on that to me memorable night. Kindliness and intelligence guided Johan in word and action. He had acted as guide to many “rookies” in the past and knew how to treat them. We now geared on our veldt-schoens or soft leather shoes, over our woolen stockings, put on our overcoats over our pajamas; each laid a loaded rifle at his side, and slipping our legs under the blankets, proceeded to smoke and talk. “Shaw,” said Johan, “let me enlighten you in the matter of the general habits of lions so that your sleep won’t be disturbed, and your nerves on edge in the morning.” He then explained that if our camp were to be attacked by anything but a man-eating lion, which usually hunts alone, that it would be attacked only by a pair, “Mr. and Mrs. Leo,” and that they would only attack in case they had been unable to procure their natural food of buck or other small deer because drought or bush-fire had driven that class of animal out of the neighborhood. It is only during a period of extreme hunger that a lion becomes sufficiently desperate to attack a human being; the natural exception to this rule being when a human inadvertently approaches a lair in which a mother is rearing her cubs. The man-eater is always either decrepit, and therefore unable successfully to pursue his natural food, or he is one that has become incapacitated for the hunt because of a wound. Unlike the hyena or the jackal, the wild lion will eat only his own “kill,” and will not touch meat that has been contaminated by the touch of any other animal. Continued on Page 27 13