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The Land of Footprints-Part5_Stewart Edward White(1873-1946)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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own campfire. In the field he pointed out game that I did not

see, and waited imperturbably the result of my shot.



As I before stated, the result of that shot for the first five

days was very apt to be nil. This, at the time, puzzled and



grieved me a lot. Occasionally I looked at Memba Sasa to catch

some sign of sympathy, disgust, contempt, or-rarely-triumph at a



lucky shot. Nothing. He gently but firmly took away my rifle,

reloaded it, and handed it back; then waited respectfully for my



next move. He knew no English, and I no Swahili.

But as time went on this attitude changed. I was armed with the



new Springfield rifle, a weapon with 2,700 feet velocity, and

with a marvellously flat trajectory. This commanding advantage,



combined with a very long familiarity with firearms, enabled me

to do some fairish shooting, after the strangeness of these new



conditions had been mastered. Memba Sasa began to take a dawning

interest in me as a possible source of pride. We began to develop



between us a means of communication. I set myself deliberately to

learn his language, and after he had cautiously determined that I



really meant it, he took the greatest pains-always gravely-to

teach me. A more human feeling sprang up between us.



But we had still the final test to undergo-that of danger and

the tight corner.



In close quarters the gunbearer has the hardest job in the world.

I have the most profound respect for his absolute courage. Even



to a man armed and privileged to shoot and defend himself, a

charging lion is an awesome thing, requiring a certain amount of



coolness and resolution to face effectively. Think of the

gunbearer at his elbow, depending not on himself but on the



courage and coolness of another. He cannot do one solitary thing

to defend himself. To bolt for the safety of a tree is to beg the



question completely, to brand himself as a shenzi forever; to

fire a gun in any circumstances is to beg the question also, for



the white man must be able to depend absolutely on his second gun

in an emergency. Those things are outside consideration, even,



of any respectable gunbearer. In addition, he must keep cool. He

must see clearly in the thickest excitement; must be ready



unobtrusively to pass up the second gun in the position most

convenient for immediate use, to seize the other and to perform



the finicky task of reloading correctly while some rampageous

beast is raising particular thunder a few yards away. All this in



absolutedependence on the ability of his bwana to deal with the

situation. I can confess very truly that once or twice that



little unobtrusive touch of Memba Sasa crouched close to my elbow

steadied me with the thought of how little right I-with a rifle



in my hand-had to be scared. And the best compliment I ever

received I overheard by chance. I had wounded a lion when out by



myself, and had returned to camp for a heavier rifle and for

Memba Sasa to do the trailing. From my tent I overheard the



following conversation between Memba Sasa and the cook:

"The grass is high," said the cook. "Are you not afraid to go



after a wounded lion with only one white man?"

"My one white man is enough," replied Memba Sasa.



It is a quality of courage that I must confess would be quite

beyond me-to depend entirely on the other fellow, and not at all



on myself. This courage is always remarkable to me, even in the

case of the gunbearer who knows all about the man whose heels he



follows. But consider that of the gunbearer's first experience

with a stranger. The former has no idea of how the white man will



act; whether he will get nervous, get actually panicky, lose his

shooting ability, and generally mess things up. Nevertheless, he



follows his master in, and he stands by. If the hunter fails, the

gunbearer will probably die. To me it is rather fine: for he does



it, not from the personal affection and loyalty which will carry

men far, but from a sheer sense of duty and pride of caste. The



quiet pride of the really good men, like Memba Sasa, is easy to

understand.






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