240 THE GAME OF BRITISH EAST AFRICA. 



It is almost incredible what small spaces this animal manages to pass through or under 

 in its pathways choked with undergrowth and fallen trees. It puts its head low down, lays 

 its horns along its back, and crouches its legs to pass along. In this attitude the whole fore- 

 part of its body is shaped like a wedge, with the nose as the point. It seldom seems to jump 

 obstacles, but prefers to push through or under them, differing in this respect from the bushbuck, 

 which will jump over obstacles that the bongo will crouch his large body beneath. It will almost 

 always go under an object rather than over. For instance, fallen trees are strewn plentifully 

 about the forest, some lie on the ground, but most are raised a little way off the ground in the 

 centre or at one end by their branches. If a tree of this sort is lying across the path and there is 

 a space underneath it of about two and a half feet, the bongo will probably go underneath rather 

 than jump or climb over the trunk. 



In the thick undergrowth in which they live their paths afford the only means of 

 passageway. These old paths appear to be used by the animals when moving about, though 

 whilst feeding they generally make new paths so as to get at fresh vegetation. They do not 

 seem to frequent salt-licks as do other animals, but just paw up any red earth and 

 eat it. Where they have done this little shallow basins in the ground may be seen. They will 

 often return again and again to some favourite tree for its pith when it is rotting. A beaten 

 track may be seen to the tree, and hoofmarks all round. They gnaw off all the bark and 

 decayed wood they can get at, and then leave the tree for a while until it has decayed further. 

 If the dead tree is still standing they will, when they have eaten all they can get within reach, 

 then stand up on their hindlegs and put their forelegs against the tree to reach up farther. In 

 this way they will obtain feeding at a height of eight feet or more. 



With regard to this, an instance has come into my mind that shows what facile liars are 

 natives. I used to wonder why whenever natives went out by themselves they were pursued by 

 rhinos and buffaloes, or saw a lion, a kudu, or other rare animal, whereas when they went out 

 with me such things rarely occurred. It was some time before I realised that a native sees no 

 difference whatever between direct and indirect evidence. Therefore, if he saw a lion, or if he 

 saw some spoor of a lion or the kill of a lion, he would equally well come back and say that he 

 had seen a lion, and no other native would call him a liar, because to their mind it is the same 

 thing. That is, if there was a spoor there must have been a lion at some time. Only in the first 

 case, if he had really seen a lion he would have probably returned and said that it chased 

 him. Again, it would not occur to a native that he was a liar, because lions sometimes do 

 chase people and so he might have been chased, and so he has a right to say that he was 

 chased by a lion. 



Well, I noticed in the forest a tree as described above to which bongo used to go at night 

 to gnaw the bark. I noticed it very carefully, there was a broken dead tree standing, and round it 

 a little trodden circle of bongo hoofmarks, whilst it was gnawed to a distance of rather over my 

 height. The spoor was several days old. 



An old man in my camp was despatched next day to get something from some villages 

 outside the forest. On his return he told me that on his way he had seen seven bongo playing 

 round a tree, and that he had watched them for upwards of an hour, and that they had finally 

 gone off without seeing him. I asked him to take me to the place where he had seen these 

 animals, and he took me to my tree, which I again examined carefully and found no fresh spoor 

 whatever, but only that which I had observed on the day previous. The only excuse the old man 

 gave was that he thought that the spoor was fresh. . . 



