A DAY ON THE VELDT 



CRAWLING out of my blankets early one morning in the 

 middle of January, 1906, and peering through the tent 

 door, I saw that a dense white mist had settled over the fiat 

 plains of the Nairobi River, by which my friend, Howard 

 Fuguet, and myself were camped. A heavy, glistening dew 

 covered the ground, and the mist shut out the view completely. 

 Through this was audible the steady roaring of the falls of the 

 Nairobi River, which flowed through a papyrus swamp above 

 camp and then dropped several hundred feet in a beautiful 

 cataract bordered by thick tropical foliage. 



In every direction stretched the gently undulating grass 

 veldt of the highlands of British East Africa, and it was out 

 into this that I directed my course, armed with a 9mm. Mauser 

 and followed by two Swahilis to bring in the results of the 

 chase. That there was an abundance of game was plainly 

 evident, for at short intervals I would get a momentary^ view 

 through the mist of an indistinct and inquisitive row of harte- 

 beest heads, followed by snorts and the retreating thud of many 

 galloping feet dying away in the distance. After an hour of 

 steady tramping through the short, dripping grass we saw the 

 hot African sun dispel the fog and reveal the monotonous flat, 

 brown plains stretching away in every direction. To the east 

 of us, miles distant, the mass of Doinyo Sabuk raised its flat 

 top above the surrounding country. 



Not a tree or bush was visible, but the veldt was enlivened 



lOI 



