The African Constabulary

by Unknown Author

Originally published in Jo-Jo Comics #28 in 1949.

I tossed from one side of the bed to the other trying to find a soft spot on that mattress. Chief Logo of the Waimbi tribe had sent it to me a week ago as a present on my twenty eighth birthday. Filled with bits of wool and dried grass it really should have been comfortable. What was disturbing me at the moment was a nightmare that seemed exceedingly real. I was again hunting elephants. In front of me was an old bull as large as a steamship. His enormous ears were outspread at right angles and his eyes were gazing directly at me. I fired once from my double .577 and what do you think happened? Instead of a bullet coming out of the barrel, three beautiful butterflies flew directly at the elephant. The big beast began to laugh. He raised his front right foot into the air and began to knock on the ground. 

The knocking began to get louder and louder and when I awoke, I could hear some one rapping at my door. “Who is it?" I asked in a yawning tone. "Captain Birchell, open at once. Limba has important message for you." It was my orderly, a member of the Waimbi tribe. I hastily threw a bathrobe over myself and opened the door. He saluted and informed me that Major Simonds wanted me at head quarters at once. 

While dressing I cursed the day when I had joined the African Constabulary. I had been doing fairly well hunting elephants. Then came the chance to become an officer at one jump. Perhaps it was the feeling that people would address me as "Captain John Birchell" that hit my vanity. I had one more year to go and then back to London and civilization. 

Major Simonds was a real old timer in the service. He had fought through the entire Boer War and was twice decorated for bravery under fire. He wore the long old fashioned drooping mustache and what remained of his once black hair was immaculately plastered on his head. “Bad news, bad news for you Captain Birchell," he began. "Ralph Winters escaped from jail and was last seen by one of the natives on the trail through the jungle." 

I sort of grinned. “What's bad about that? No white man has ever been able to get through that jungle alive to the Belgian Congo. If he manages to reach the Elephant district, he will be mangled beyond recognition." 

The major sighed slightly. "You have to leave at once and bring him back alive." I. couldn't have been more shocked had someone dropped a bucket of ice cold water all over me. “Why go after him?" I protested in no uncertain tone of voice. "The unwritten rule has always been that if a prisoner tries to escape through the jungle, we just let nature take care of him." 

The major lifted a long white envelope from his desk. “This came from Nairobi twenty minutes after Winters broke jail. As you know he was convicted of killing two natives for their gold. He claimed that it was his partner Jeff Doughtery who was the killer and that he knew nothing about it. Doughtery was fatally hurt in a brawl in a free-for-all fight in Nairobi. Before he died in the hospital he made a complete confession absolving Winters from any blame whatsoever in the killing." 

Nice state of affairs. To go after an es caped convict, find him, beg him to return with me as a free man. Provided of course, that the elephants didn't get to him first. I went back to my quarters and found Limba was getting my equipment ready. "You carry the heavy rifle," I suggested, "and get Basha to carry the light rifle. Three porters will take care of the food box and the water. We leave within the hour." 

I opened my desk and took out two elephant pistols and after having loaded them, stuck them into my belt. If an elephant pistol sort of puzzles you, I think I better do a bit of explaining. Back in 1907, the famous elephant hunter, Gregory McDonghall found himself on the ground with an elephant charging him. There wasn't enough time to get his rifle into firing position and he surely would have been trampled to death. But one of his gun bearers shot the elephant between the eyes, the bullet penetrating the brain, thus instantly dropping the beast and saving McDonghall's life. The Scotsman felt he never wanted to be caught in such a situation again. So he took an old double barreled .577, cut the barrels down, and worked out a pistol grip. Of course the recoil was enough to knock you to Kingdom Come. When I met him in Capetown in 1911, he presented me with a pair of these pistols for having introduced him to the woman he later married. To keep the records straight, she was my sister. 

Before I entered the jungle trail, Major Simonds gave me a bit of advice. "The law about hunting elephants still applies to you. Only if you are attacked, as a representative of the law, can you kill an elephant in self defense. I assume that is the only reason your gun bearers are carrying the rifles and you your elephant pistols. Bring back Ralph Winters alive and then you can start your two month's vacation in Nairobi." I sort of felt like telling my superior to jump into the lake. Only one wasn't handy. How could I take a vacation without the necessary money? 

When you track a man down, we simply follow the old Waimbi technique. That means five hours of double time marching and one hour rest. From time to time as we proceeded along the trail, Limba would point to the ground and show me some broken twigs or crushed leaves. “Man step here," was all he would say. At the end of the third day we reached the Elephant preserve. And there seated on a rock, with a most helpless expression on his face, was Ralph Winters. I would say he was a chap of about twenty-two, medium build, brown eyes and wavy black hair. His clothing was in rags and he was bleeding from scratches when he had fallen on the ground in sheer exhaustion. We fed him and tended his wounds. When I told him he was a free man, he merely laughed. 

“Just one more joke, eh?" he said in a voice that bordered on hysteria. "If I had a rifle, know what I would do? Make a dash through the Elephant preserve and believe me, I would reach the Congo." Limba had placed the elephant gun against the tree. Out of sheer desperation; he seemed to have dynamic energy, 

and in a second, he had that gun in his hands. "Follow me, and I'll kill you," he shouted. There was nothing else I could do but let him go away from the camp. Twenty minutes later we heard two shots and we knew what that meant. Winters had met the elephant herd. Limba had only his native knife, Basha had the light rifle, and I had only my elephant pistols. I didn't have to tell them what to do. They followed at my heels almost instinctively. We caught up with Winters in a clearing. He had killed one elephant and two others were nearby, roaring in rage. “Give me that rifle," I shouted, “my man has bullets for it!" I saw one of the elephants charge at Winters. Out came my first pistol and I fired both barrels in rapid succession. It seemed as though my right arm was being torn out of its socket. That took Winters out of danger and he rushed to Limba handing him the gun. While it was being reloaded, the other elephant charged. With my left hand I aimed the second pistol. Both shots missed vital parts of the elephant and he charged directly at me. Fortunately Limba fired in time and we now had three dead beasts on our hands. 

It took a week of rest and massage to get both of those arms back into condition. “It's a pleasure to take care of you, Captain," said Ralph Winters, who never left my bedside during that entire time. “Funny thing," he re marked, “now that I am free to go, I sort of want to stay." 

"You'll have to do it alone," I pointed out, "because I am taking my vacation.” Then I sort of remembered, lack of cold cash. He read my mind and laughed. 

"Your natives went back into the jungle and returned with six ivory tusks. They belong to you and the Major signed a document giving you legal title to them. That means you'll have more than enough money for your vacation." What I then said was only natural, “Will you help me forget all this at Nairobi as my guest?" His answer was in the affirmative and we certainly had two swell months of it. Later when Winters went back home he wrote me a nice letter of thanks. And when my time was up, what do you think I did? You guessed it—took another three years with the African Constabulary. 

END