our own generation. He had served many 
years in Parliament; he had for some years 
been a magistrate in a peculiarly respon¬ 
sible post in the Transvaal; he had jour¬ 
neyed and hunted and explored in the 
northern Sahara, in the Soudan, in Somali¬ 
land, in Abyssinia, and now he was ranch¬ 
ing in East Africa. A singularly good rider 
and one of the best game shots I have ever 
seen, it would have been impossible to have 
found a kinder host or a hunter better fitted 
to teach us where to begin our work with 
African big game. 
At Kapiti Station there was little beyond 
the station buildings, a “compound” or 
square enclosure in which there were many 
natives, and an Indian store. The last was 
presided over by a turbaned Mussulman, 
the agent of other Indian traders who 
did business in Machakos-boma, a native 
village a dozen miles distant; the means of 
communication being two-wheeled carts, 
each drawn by four humped oxen, driven 
by a well-nigh naked savage. 
For forty-eight hours we were busy ar¬ 
ranging the outfit, and the naturalists took 
much longer. The provisions were those 
usually included in an African hunting or 
exploring trip, save that, in memory of my 
days in the West, I included in each pro¬ 
vision box a few cans of Boston baked 
beans, California peaches, and tomatoes; 
we had plenty of warm bedding, for the 
nights are cold at high altitudes, even under 
the equator. While hunting I wore heavy 
shoes, with hobnails or rubber soles; khaki 
trousers, the knees faced with leather, and 
the legs buttoning tight from the knee to 
below the ankle, to avoid the need of leg¬ 
gings; a khaki-colored army shirt; and a 
sun helmet, which I wore in deference 
to local advice, instead of my beloved 
and far more convenient slouch hat. My 
rifles were an army Springfield, 30-calibre, 
stocked and sighted to suit myself; a Win¬ 
chester 405; and a double-barrelled 500- 
450 Holland, a beautiful weapon presented 
to me by some English friends. 
Kermit’s battery was of the same type, 
except that instead of a Springfield he had 
another Winchester shooting the army am¬ 
munition, and his double-barrel was a 
Rigby. In addition I had a Fox No. 12 
shot-gun; no better gun was ever made. 
There was one other bit of impedimenta, 
less usual for African travel, but perhaps 
almost as essential for real enjoyment even 
on a hunting trip, if it is to be of any length. 
This was the “pigskin library,” so called 
because most of the books were bound in 
pigskin. They were carried in a light alumi¬ 
num and oilcloth case, which, with its con- 
403 
