Great White Hunters

By Don Caswell

The golden age of hunting is gone and with it the Great White Hunters. While various connotations that can be drawn around that era of blatant colonialism, it has to be acknowledged that the term Great White Hunter is not a universally complimentary one. Looking past the politics and prejudices of that era, the Great White Hunters epitomise the more admirable aspects of human character. That is, an adventurous spirit, bravery, perseverance and a strong sense of duty. Mix that with the vast unexplored wildernesses of Africa and India, the abundant big game, and you have the stuff of ripping yarns.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Don Caswell
• Release date: Dec 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311231505

Don Caswell

I am now in a phase of my life where I can devote time to developing my writing ambitions. For more than thirty years I have been a regular freelance contributor to a range of Australian, and some international, outdoor magazines.My intention is to explore different genres of novel fiction. My goal is to develop a readership that appreciates my style and stories. Above all I seek to write in a simple concise manner while telling stories that are entertaining and have a strong ring of plausibility to them.Before entering this phase of my life I enjoyed a career with major, multi-national resource companies. That gave me the opportunity to travel and work in various interesting parts of the world. Best of all, I got to work closely with a great many people of different cultures and backgrounds.At home, gardening, landscaping, bird watching, wildlife photography, camping, hunting and cooking are special interests. Family and friends are, of course, paramount. Happily married with flown adult children, my wife and I enjoy travelling to other countries and meeting local folks.Wilderness areas in particular are a great attraction. I have spent half a lifetime living and seeking adventure in the remote jungles and bush of Papua New Guinea and Australia’s Arnhem Land.I have been formally adopted into aboriginal society, attended secret ceremonies, visited sacred sites, explored hidden valleys, and investigated lost aircraft.

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Great White Hunters

Copyright 2014 Don Caswell

Published by Don Caswell at Smashwords

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 the most 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.

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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

Other books by Don Caswell

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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 around that era of blatant colonialism, it has to be acknowledged that the term Great White Hunter is not necessary a universally complimentary one.

However, looking past the politics and prejudices, my interest is in the men 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 work force 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.

The horror continued and the men took desperate actions to try and find a secure place to sleep. The camps presented what, under happier circumstances, would have been a comical sight. The bigger trees were festooned with beds lashed to any convenient branch while the tree itself was surrounded by a thick, high fence of thorn tree branches. Others slept on top of water towers or even in pits covered over with sleepers and rails. But still the toll mounted.

The District Officer notified Patterson that he was coming up with a small squad of armed sepoy guards to help in the hunt. Patterson was expecting the squad to arrive on the afternoon train and was looking forward to the company of the District Officer, one Mr Whitehead, at dinner. However Whitehead failed to show up and Patterson assumed that there had been some delay and that the askaris would arrive the next day. During his lone dinner he heard a couple of shots but thought no more of it as shots were often fired at night by nervous guards.

After dinner he took up a position for a sit-up and not long after heard the lion approach to within sixty metres and commence feeding. As his eyes got more accustomed to the dark Patterson could just make out the reflected glow of the lions’ eyes. He attempted a difficult shot that had no affect other than to make the lions remove their meal into cover.

He was puzzled by the lions’ feeding as there had been none of the usual, heartrending uproar as they dragged off another victim. Patterson assumed that some passing local had been grabbed by the man-eaters. At first light he climbed down and went to investigate the scene of the crime. As he approached the spot a pale and dishevelled Mr Whitehead staggered out of the bush.

The train had arrived late and Whitehead and his sergeant had set out with a lantern to find Patterson. One of the man-eaters had attacked them and after clawing Whitehead had carried off the askari despite the shots fired at it by the wounded officer. It was the unfortunate askari that Patterson had heard being eaten by the killers.

Patterson had built a massive trap constructed from railway sleepers and the heavy rail lines. It had two compartments, the trap itself and a separate structure to hold the bait, two of the sepoys. The men were each armed with a Martini rifle and a liberal supply of ammunition and were on strict instructions to shoot as soon as the lion entered the trap.

At nine that evening Patterson was overjoyed to hear the heavy trap door clatter shut. But he was puzzled when no shots were fired when it was plain to hear the lion raging in the trap. The sepoys had in fact been scared witless by the rush of the lion into the trap and its subsequent rage, viewed from a distance of a metre or two, had completely unnerved them.

However the two men responded to shouted encouragement and commenced a heavy fusillade. Patterson and everyone else within several hundred metres sought cover as heavy bullets seemed to fly in all directions. Incredibly, the lion was not killed and, in fact, the only outcome of the sepoys’ barrage was to shoot away enough of one of the heavy wooden bars to allow the lion to escape!

Patterson could not believe that the sepoys, who were close enough to have prodded their rifle barrels into the lion’s body, could have failed to shoot it with any of the shots they fired.

Different officers of the colony came and assisted Patterson at times but with no effect. Most voiced concern at Patterson’s choice of a light 303 and one visitor lent him a heavy double rifle. Shortly after this, a golden opportunity presented itself when one of the man-eaters made a kill in daylight. After narrowly missing a labourer the beast had contented itself with killing one of the pack donkeys.

Patterson quickly reconnoitred around the patch of scrub in which the lion was breakfasting and, after selecting the best spot for an ambush, arranged for his men to form a beat.

Patterson expected the lion to retreat along a particular path and so chose to lay in wait on the ground behind a small anthill. He waited nervously for the beat to begin and was thrilled when within seconds of the din starting a huge maneless lion emerged from cover and proceeded calmly along the path toward the ambush point.

The beast was occasionally stopping to look back over its shoulder and so failed to notice the poorly concealed hunter. After waiting until the lion was twelve metres away he moved slightly in order to get his heavy rifle on target. The lion immediately noticed the movement and itself took up a very aggressive pose and commenced to growl fiercely.

Patterson was supremely confident as he aimed between the beast’s eyes and squeezed the trigger. He was aghast when the only result was the dull click of a misfire. Patterson was receiving a vivid lesson in the disadvantages of using an untried, borrowed weapon in a dangerous situation.

The hunter was so shocked at this turn of events that for a moment forgot that he was in fact shouldering a double and so lowered the rifle with the intention of loading another round. The beaters were now very close at hand. After some indecision, the lion turned and headed for cover. Patterson by this time had recovered enough of his wits to snap the rifle to