![Share to Learn
John Congdon
Sharing ideas has a weird side effect that people don’t often
discuss.
With in-person events starting back up, we finally took the opportunity to
restart our local user group, SDPHP. I highly encourage everyone to find a
local community to be a part of, learn from, talk to, and share ideas with.
We go to presentations, conferences, online videos, etc… to learn from
people that are sharing their ideas. But what happens behind the scenes—
the people sharing those ideas learned along the way. EVERY SINGLE
TIME that I’ve ever presented from my user group, given a conference
presentation, written a blog post, or shared information in any meaningful
way, it has forced me to dive deeper into the topic before sharing. That deep
dive is called learning… I’ve learned about new things just because I
wanted to share information that I already knew.
My most recent example is around Event Sourcing. This technology or idea
isn’t new; however, the way we use it for our applications has some great
benefits, and I have been taking advantage of that in some small way for a
couple of years now. So while I wanted to share how I was using it, I also
took the opportunity to learn more and weave that into my presentations.
Share some small piece of something you have worked on lately with co-
workers, speak at a local user group, submit to talk at php[tek] next year, or
write for this very magazine. Be amazed at what you learn just because you
want to share.
And now this month’s articles …](https://image.slidesharecdn.com/27669056-250518060417-95b9a3d7/85/Phparchitect-Box-Of-Php-Eric-Mann-Eric-Van-Johnson-Chris-Tankersley-9-320.jpg)
Phparchitect Box Of Php Eric Mann Eric Van Johnson Chris Tankersley
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- 8. TITLE 1. Share to Learn 2. A Guide to Practical Usage of PHP FFI 3. Problem in a Box 4. PHP Puzzles: Grade Deviations 5. Education Station: 12 Factor Applications: Parts 1-6 6. The Workshop: What Ben Uses 7. Set Up 8. DDD Alley: “Depend” toward Stability 9. Security Corner: InfoSec 102: Phishing 10. News: New and Noteworthy 11. News and Noteworthy 2023-03 12. Artisan Way: Laravel 10: New Features and Upgrade Impacts 13. PSR Pickup: PSR-17: HTTP Factories 14. finally{}: Nothing Lasts Longer
- 9. Share to Learn John Congdon Sharing ideas has a weird side effect that people don’t often discuss. With in-person events starting back up, we finally took the opportunity to restart our local user group, SDPHP. I highly encourage everyone to find a local community to be a part of, learn from, talk to, and share ideas with. We go to presentations, conferences, online videos, etc… to learn from people that are sharing their ideas. But what happens behind the scenes— the people sharing those ideas learned along the way. EVERY SINGLE TIME that I’ve ever presented from my user group, given a conference presentation, written a blog post, or shared information in any meaningful way, it has forced me to dive deeper into the topic before sharing. That deep dive is called learning… I’ve learned about new things just because I wanted to share information that I already knew. My most recent example is around Event Sourcing. This technology or idea isn’t new; however, the way we use it for our applications has some great benefits, and I have been taking advantage of that in some small way for a couple of years now. So while I wanted to share how I was using it, I also took the opportunity to learn more and weave that into my presentations. Share some small piece of something you have worked on lately with co- workers, speak at a local user group, submit to talk at php[tek] next year, or write for this very magazine. Be amazed at what you learn just because you want to share. And now this month’s articles …
- 10. We’ve all heard the expression, ‘think outside the box’, but this month, Ed Barnard is giving us a feature article all about putting the problem in a box. If you struggle with debugging your code (and who doesn’t, really?), I highly recommend reading this. Ed gives us his experience of using an intuitive approach to solve coding problems. We move on from there to our next feature article, A Guide to Practical Usage of PHP FFI, contributed by Bohuslav Šimek. This article breaks down the benefits of using FFI, including the added benefits of FFI vs. using PHP extensions alone. Bohuslav gives us a great example of FFI and Duckdb, pointing out some of the drawbacks of converting code. Lure—check; hook—check; fishing pole—check, now let’s climb aboard as Eric Mann takes us into the world of phishing in his latest security column, ‘InfoSec 102: Phishing’. Eric explains the common terms used in the security world and how understanding them can be helpful to you. Over in Artisan Way, Matt Lantz shares the latest Laravel news with us. This month he’s taking a closer look at the new features of Laravel 10. Matt breaks down some of the potential impacts of upgrading and gives us a look at Pennant, the feature flag released in the new Laravel 10 package. We’re getting an introduction to application patterns from Chris Tankersley this month in Education Station. In his article, ‘12 Factor Applications: Parts 1-6’, Chris discusses the history and the tenants of 12 Factor Applications—sharing how they can be applied today. This month’s PSR Pick Up column, ‘PSR 17: HTTP Factories’ by Frank Wallen, is taking a closer look at how to standardize the creation of an HTTP Request and Response. The factory will help to ensure that we are handling requests and various response types in a consistent manner. Oscar Merida takes us back to school again this month with standard deviation. In his latest puzzles column, ‘Grade Deviations’, he explains how standard deviation is used to calculate grades. Oscar also gives us a new puzzle, maze rats, so be sure to check it out.
- 11. In the column, Finally, this month, Beth Tucker Long brings us ‘Nothing Lasts Longer’, sharing some wisdom gained from tried and true experience. She shares how writing the ‘ideal’ code seems like the obvious goal; however, sometimes, the code that fixes the problem is the best choice.
- 12. A Guide to Practical Usage of PHP FFI By Bohuslav Šimek In this article, practical examples will teach you how to communicate with external libraries using PHP FFI. Together, we will navigate common challenges and explore the rising star of the database world, DuckDB. PHP 7.4 introduced many exciting features, such as typed properties, preloading, and the foreign function interface (FFI). Some of these features have been highly anticipated, like typed properties, while others were more surprising. Regardless, it is clear that out of all the features mentioned, FFI is the least self-explanatory. So, what is FFI? According to Wikipedia, it is “a mechanism by which a program written in one programming language can call routines or make use of services written in another.” However, this is just a book definition and doesn’t tell us what real-world problems it can solve. Therefore, a more relevant question to ask might be: What problems does FFI solve in the real world? FFI can be helpful if you want to reuse code that has been written in a different programming language. For example, you might have a connector to a database that has not yet been ported to PHP. Another potential use of FFI is to speed up certain parts of your code. For instance, you might write an algorithm in a programming language that performs better for a specific task, such as completing complicated scientific calculations. Additionally, FFI can allow you to do things that are not supported in your language, such as communicating with hardware or directly accessing memory. You may be wondering, “Can’t we already do all of this with PHP extensions?” The answer is yes. We can accomplish all of the tasks mentioned above using PHP extensions. However, FFI still has its advantages, such as easier usage, maintenance, deployment, and better portability across PHP versions. The main reason for this is that everything can be done in plain PHP, so there is no need to set up a compilation toolkit or change deployment procedures.
- 13. Note: All of the provided code samples require a minimum version of PHP 8.1 and an operating system of Linux or Windows with WSL. They cannot be run on standard Windows or Mac OS. The complete source code is available at https://phpa.me/github-kambo, along with a prepared Docker image. First Steps We can illustrate the basic usage of FFI by rewriting the abs() function, which returns the absolute value of a given number: (See Listing 1) Listing 1. The first step is to create a proxy object between the library and PHP. One of the main challenges with FFI is mapping functions from one programming language to another. The authors of FFI in PHP handled this by parsing a raw C function definition. Therefore, the first argument of the cdef() function contains a function declaration in C language. The second parameter is the name of the library from which the function will be called. In this case, we are using functions from the standard C library. But what if we want to use more functions? Do we have to put them all in the cdef() call? No, there is another way to load these definitions, which is by using the FFI::load() function. This function loads a file with all of the definitions and returns an instance of the FFI object. It expects just one parameter: the path to the so-called header file. Header files are a concept that does not exist in PHP. Header files contain functions, declarations, structures, and macro definitions to be shared between multiple source files. This is important because C requires a forward declaration for all used functions, structures, or enums. Function signatures in PHP and C are quite similar, as PHP is a C-style language. However, there are some differences: <?php $ffi = FFI::cdef( // function declaration in C language 'int abs(int j);', // library from which the function will be called 'libc.so.6' ); var_dump($ffi->abs(-42)); // int(42)
- 14. Variable types must always be defined. The return type is declared before the function name. Some data types are not supported in PHP and vice versa. The function is then called through a method with the same name on the proxy object. Simple data types like int, float, and bool are automatically converted during the function call. A header file can also contain macro definitions. In C, a macro is a fragment of code that has been given a name. Before compilation, the macro is evaluated and replaced by the code it represents. Macros are often used to define constants and create short, simple functions. However, FFI does not support C preprocessor directives, and they cannot be included in the header file loaded by FFI. All of these things may seem complicated and a bit dry, so it would be better to demonstrate them using a practical example. One such example is DuckDB. Duckdb DuckDB is an in-process, column-based, SQL OLAP database written in C++ that has no dependencies and is distributed as a single file. It can also be described as “The SQLite for Analytics” with a PostgreSQL flavor. Its main strength is its columnar-vectorized query execution engine, which makes it particularly well-suited for performing analytical queries. However, DuckDB does not have direct support for PHP, making it an ideal use case for the PHP Foreign Function Interface (FFI).
- 15. Random documents with unrelated content Scribd suggests to you:
- 16. First we investigated the place of the eyes, and there, sure enough, was a blood trail. We followed but a few yards to find a large striped hyæna—a magnificent beast, yellow gray, with black stripes on his shoulders, and beautiful mane and bushy gray tail. He measured from nose to tail four feet eight inches. We skinned and decapitated him, a long and horrid business, and then took up our none too pleasant loads and departed. We passed the remains of the dead oryx, but there was little left of him. The hyænas had been feasting all the night, and now the vultures were picking his bones. It was still darkish as we took our way campwards, the mad rush of the ponies being clearly visible to us. Through bushes, anyhow, helter skelter they had pelted. I had to stop and rest frequently, as my load was more than a little heavy, though Clarence carried as much, and more, than he ought. The rifles alone were no light weight, and when it came to the slain animals as well we found them all a bit of a trial. In some thick grass a great wart-hog rose up before me, and after giving me a look from his tiny fierce eyes, lost himself again. I flung my load down, all but the very necessary rifle, and went after him. He made some ugly rushes in the long grass, but I dodged and chased him to clearer country, until I could get in a shot which, raking him, ended his career as a perfect king of his kind. I did not want to take his tusks merely, as I desired his head to be a complete trophy. But when Clarence strenuously refused to touch the creature I knew I could not then, tired as I was, play butcher myself. So I had to be contented with digging out his huge tushes. And a very messy job it was too. We took up our loads again, and went back over the ground over which we had chased the oryx the evening before. I was progressing wearily enough when I almost stepped on a yellow snake, with a dark head, lying near a thorn bush. It was only about eighteen inches long, but quite long enough to make me jump some feet, all encumbered as I was. Clarence looked genuinely surprised.
- 17. “You not afraid of aliphint,” he said, a thing we had about as much chance of meeting as the man in the moon; “what for you ’fraid now?” I told him women have a long-standing quarrel with serpents: that a serpent once spoiled the happiness of a woman and turned her out of a garden where she fain would be. “She cousin of yours?” he asked, with true Somali inquisitiveness. “Very distant,” I answered. Cecily and a couple of hunters met us quarter way. She told us the ponies rushed into camp in the early morning, as I had thought they would. She had not been unduly anxious about me, knowing I was with Clarence, and guessing we were bushed. They never heard the shots at all. I did enjoy my breakfast, and never had a cup of tea that tasted half so good. The thought of all that pork wasting in the near vicinity bothered us no end. Very greedy, I know. But, you see, dainties were not often to be had. We ordered out a couple of ponies, and rode back to the scene of my early morning encounter with the wart-hog to find him, marvel of marvels, intact. Though a thwarted looking vulture of business-like appearance flapped off and sat down in stone’s throw. They have a mighty contempt for man, these birds, or else it is they recognise they aren’t worth powder and shot. Cecily evolved the idea of converting half the wart-hog into bacon, putting it into pickle, and promising it would equal the finest home cured. The ham was to be a treat to which we should look forward for weeks. We pickled it all right, or what seemed like all right to us, rubbing it daily with handfuls of salt as we had seen ham cured at home. And then one day, when a meal was badly wanted, and the larder was empty of all else, we essayed to cut the treasured ham and fry it in slices. Cecily inserted a knife. The resultant odour was appalling.
- 18. So were the awful little maggots that rose in hundreds. Clearly we didn’t know how to pickle ham, or else the ham of wart-hog would not take salt as our pig at home does. We could see the line to where the pickle had penetrated. Below chaos! Ruefully we had a funeral of our looked-for supper, and fell back on the never-failing “Elizabeth Lazenby.”
- 19. Y CHAPTER VII—ANOTHER UNCOMFORTABLE NIGHT I see a man’s life is a tedious one. I have tired myself; and for two nights together have made the ground my bed Cymbeline ou can imagine with what joy I looked forward to a good night’s rest after the previous twelve hours’ vigil, and therefore it is the more amusing to remember that, as Fate would have it, I had an even more occupied time during the midnight hours than ever. We had started to march, after returning to camp with the wart-hog, as we had news of splendid “khubbah” some miles off, given to us by a Somali who came in riding his unkempt pony. The Somali ponies, by the way, are never shod. The ground was very bad going, and over one bit of sandy waste I thought we never should get. The camels sank in up to their knees at every forward move, then deeper, and at last so deep—it was almost like an American mud-hole—I began to fear consequences. The absurd creatures made no attempt to extricate themselves, but simply, when they found the place a perfect quagmire, settled down like squashed jellies. It was too ridiculous for words, and I laughed and laughed. Everybody talked at once, and nobody did anything. At last we all, even the Somali who brought us the news of the distant game, and who seemed to like us very much, for we never got rid of him again lent a hand, and began to unload the laden camels, carrying the goods to terra-firma. some sixty yards away.
- 20. The moment the camels considered their loads lightened they condescended to heave themselves up a little. After loading up again we proceeded but a little way, indeed but a few hundred yards, when the whole thing repeated itself. The camels were embedded once more. Cecily and I decided to go on and leave them all to it, and try and get any sport that might be had, ordering the men to release the camels from this new quagmire of theirs, and to afterwards form zareba close to the place, I was really glad to ride away from the whole thing, confusion and everything. The disorganised, unsettled feeling I got reminded me of that which comes to one at home during the annual upheaval known as the spring-cleaning. The green grass was springing up with the recent rains, and our little ponies made light of the muddy going. The spoor of all sorts of game was everywhere apparent, and we were most interested to see traces of ostrich, although we did not that day come across any, indeed they are rather difficult creatures to see. We separated, as was our wont, Cecily taking Clarence, and I the Baron, whom we had now, in spite of his romancing propensities, promoted to second in command. He had great acumen when he chose to display it, and was no sort of a coward. But then, in spite of what some travellers say, the average Somali rarely is. They are frightful “buck-sticks,” but I never saw any cowardice to disprove their boasting stories. After leaving the ponies with two syces we went off at right angles, and after a long and heavy walk I came on a bunch of aoul, who winded me and darted away like lightning. Their flight started a great prize, whom I had not noticed before, so much the colour of the reddish-brown earth was he. A dibatag buck. He fled too a little way, but then halted, appearing to think the sudden fright of the aoul unnecessary. I was crouching low behind a small bush, and took most careful aim. Off went the long-necked creature again, its quite lengthy tail held erect. He stood and faced me. He apparently mistrusted the bush, but had some weakness for the spot. It was a very long shot, but I tried it. The bullet found a billet, for I heard it tell, but the buck sprang feet into the air and was off in a moment. I
- 21. took to my heels and ran like mad. I don’t know how I ever imagined I was to overtake the antelope. The Baron tore along behind me. I ran until I was completely winded, but I could see a strong blood-trail, so knew the antelope was hard hit. I ran on again, and we were now in very boggy ground, or rather surrounded by many oozy-looking water holes. It was a very shaky shot I got in next time. The dibatag dashed on for a few paces, and then took a crashing header into—of course—the largest pool in the vicinity. The Baron and I danced about on the edge in great vexation, but I did not mean to lose my splendid prize even if I had to go in after him myself. Satisfying myself that the water was not deep, I bribed the avaricious Somali to go in and help lift the animal whilst I rendered active assistance on dry land, and this was done. The Baron went in with a very bad grace, at which one cannot be surprised, and after prodigious splashing and any amount of exertion, for the buck was an immense weight, I held the dibatag out of the water whilst the Baron extricated himself, together with many leeches, from the pool. Then we both heaved together, and the buck was mine. The Baron now began to make such a fuss about his loss of blood caused by the leeches who would not let go I told him to go home to camp and put salt on them and then recover, and ordered him meanwhile to send the syce back to me with my pony. I sat down and admired my dibatag, and was mightily pleased with my luck. For this antelope is very shy and difficult to stalk as a rule. Dibatag is, of course, the native name, but somehow the one most commonly used everywhere. The correct name is Clark’s Gazelle. The tail is really quite lengthy, and the one sported by my prize measured twelve-and-a-half inches. His horns were good and touched nine-and-three-quarter inches. Only the bucks carry horns. The dibatag was so large we had the greatest difficulty in packing him on to the pony as I wanted to do, so we finally skinned him, keeping his head and the feet, which I afterwards had mounted as bell-pulls.
- 22. Going back to camp I came on Cecily, who recounted her adventures—not a quarter so interesting as mine, though, for she had drawn blank. It would be boring for any one to have to wade through stories of stalks that came to nothing. “What’s hit is history, but what’s missed is mystery,” though, of course, each several excursion teemed with myriad interests for us on the spot. Sometimes I spoored for hours without getting a shot, involving a great knowledge of the habits of animals, keen eyes and judgment, all of which Clarence possessed in a high degree. Then his ability to speak English, even imperfectly, was such an advantage, and we beguiled many an hour in conversation. I wonder if we human beings will ever be able to hunt for its own sake, without the desire for its cruel consummation. Much though I love the old primitive instinct of pursuing, I am not able to forgo the shot, and particularly when I want a lovely pair of horns. I suppose we keep the balance, and if we did not kill the lions and leopards would get the upper hand. But often I wished when I was flushed with success, and I saw my beast lying dead, that I had not done it. It seemed so cruel, and all antelope are so very beautiful. Of course,
- 23. we had to kill for food as well as sport, and I think we spared generously on the whole, for we could have trebled the bag. I began to feel tired of the actual killing as soon as I had perfect specimens of each sort, and always preferred the nobler sport of more dangerous game. I think if I went again I could in most instances deny myself the shot, and content myself with watching and photographing. As it was, I often lay for an hour and watched game, after crawling to within fifty yards. On one occasion an aoul and I eyed each other at twenty paces, and so motionless was I he could neither make head nor tail of me. The camp was in a turmoil and every camel-man shouting at the top of his voice—the one thing I do object to in Somalis. Their very whispers almost break your ear-drum, and I suppose a loud voice is the result of many centuries of calling over vast spaces. Three of the camels, heavily laden, had turned aggressive, bitten several men, and shaken the dust of the place off their feet. Of course, the levanting camels proved to be the ones loaded up with our tents and bedding. They had a very excellent start before anyone thought it necessary to go in pursuit. It was all gross carelessness, as a loaded camel is easy enough to stop if the stopping is done by its own driver. There was nothing for us to do in the matter, and supper seemed the main object just then. The cook served us up some soup and broiled chops, and we topped up with some delicious jam out of the useful little pots from the A. and N. Stores, holding enough for a not very greedy person. Cecily voted for blackberry, and I sampled the raspberry. Night fell, and still no returning camels. I rode out a little way, but the going was too impossible in the dark. My pony was a gallant little beast, a bit of a stargazer, but I prefer a horse with his heart in the right place, wherever his looks may be. I was by this time aching all over, and there was nothing to do but make provision for as comfortable a night as might be. We collected
- 24. what spare blankets we could, and lay down near one of the fires. Though so weary I could not sleep, and the camp was never silent for a moment. The fires were kept high, and shots fired at intervals to guide the wandering camel-men. The men lay about or sat about the watch-fires, and in the middle of the night two of them began to fight. In the lurid light the scene was sufficiently realistic to be unpleasant. They began with loud words, progressed to blows, and then advanced to spears. Thinking that rifles would probably be the next resource, I got up and called on the men to desist. They took no more notice of me, naturally, than if I had never spoken. And as the now thoroughly awakened camp appeared to be going to take sides in the business, I got my “express” and shrieked out loudly that I then and there meant to make an end of both the combatants. Although they were not supposed to understand English, they translated enough from my resolute manner and threatening gestures to know that I would put up with no nonsense. They ceased the combat as suddenly as they began it, but not before camel-man No. 1 had jabbed camel-man No. 2 in the fleshy part of his thigh. I told Clarence to hold No. 1 in durance vile whilst No. 2 had to be attended to with as much care as if we really sympathised with him.
- 25. All my desire was to be able to shoot both of them on sight. I was so tired I could hardly see, and too aching to do more than drag myself around. We had to dress the man’s wound for fear of consequences, and went on messing away with him until the first signs of dawn saw the return of the prodigals, travel-stained and weary. The camels promptly sank down and began chewing the cud composedly. Really the camel is the most philosophical of all living things! Next morning I held a court-martial of sorts on the offenders, and threatened them both with the loss of the promised bonus to be given at the end of the trip provided all things pleased us. I also docked them of some pay. This had the desired effect, and battles, except wordy ones, were “off” henceforward. The wound by rights ought to have been stitched, but we rather shied off doing it. The dressing was pantomime enough; I nearly lost my temper many times. An expedition like ours is a grand field on which to practise repression, and I was for ever trying conclusions with my capabilities in that direction. Out early near here one morning we came on an astonishing sight —an oryx lying down in a thorn patch, and all around him, like familiars of a witch, crouched jackals, the length of one of their kind apart, watching with never flinching stare the centre of attraction. We cantered up, and the jackals reluctantly made off. One big fellow struck me as unlike his brethren, and a bit of a prize. So, reining in the pony, I jumped to the ground, losing a lot of time in the process, and fired with rather a shaky hand. The result was I hit the loping animal in the leg only, laming it, causing it to howl terribly, and causing me much shame for my unskilled aim. I pursued my quarry, because I could not leave it out wounded, and overtook it just as it fled into a lair of thick adad bushes. Dismounting, I let the pony stand, and going to the bushes I stooped down to peer in, laying my rifle on the sand. A flare of green eyes and snarling teeth, a flat yellow head shot out as a snake strikes. My coat sleeve was gripped in a gin of white fangs, but only the incisors cut into my flesh—caught by the left arm in a flash.
- 26. Before worse could happen I pulled my shikar pistol from my belt, and in the tussle—for we neither of us took things lying down—the weapon went off anyhow. My enemy sank inert, still gripping my sleeve. He was hit mortally, and died in a moment or two. My arm began to smart a trifle, and I had some difficulty in dragging the wolf-creature from its deep-in lair. It was a wolf, not large—no bigger than a jackal, and much smaller than a hyæna. Its coat was marked with brown, and right down the middle of the back was a fine upstanding length of hair that formed a black-tipped mane or ridge. The tail was long and thick, very black on the lower part and very yellow at the upper. The fore feet were five-toed; I counted them carefully. It was a bit of a struggle to lift the carcase across the pony, and I had to walk, holding it on, to the place where I left Cecily. She was watching over the departed oryx, and vultures sat around her wistfully regarding the feast that might have been. In the side of the dead antelope an arrow still stabbed, and marks of a whole flight were in evidence all over the glossy coat. Some Midgans hunting without dogs had missed their quarry somehow. Cecily had put the big bull out of his pain, and there we were with an embarras de richesse miles from camp and alone. The oryx had very finely turned horns, and it seemed a sin to waste them. We set off to decapitate him with the only implement we had, a very small shikar knife. It took a long time in the doing, and we were so hot and tired and sick by the end of the performance, I thought we must be struck with the sun. The water in our bottles was quite hot. The instant we left the carcase of the oryx the vultures came from all sides, hanging over it with legs poised to alight, screaming as they flapped along the ground and settled on the bushes around. We took it in turns to ride the spare pony; the other was a beast of burden for our spoils. A flock of quail ran ahead and disappeared beneath the khansa. The walking one walked, and the riding one rode, and at last we had to take our coats off. The heat grew insufferable, the sun blazed a-shimmer through the purple-blue coverlet of the sky. Even the sun loving sun-birds kept in the shade
- 27. of the bushes. My rifle—best of playthings—took on a pound or two in weight. Cecily wears perpetually a single-stone diamond ring, given her by a friend now in Purgatory, if everyone gets their deserts, as we are told is the invariable rule. The sun danced on the exquisite stone, and as she moved her hand a glinting light flickered from it on the sand here and there, like a will-o’-the wisp. Our pony shied—actually pretending to possess nerves—at a porcupine, who suddenly rustled his quills like the upsetting of a box of pens. The oryx head fell off, and the mettlesome steed backed on to it, damaging the horn near the tip against a sharp stone. A small kink, but a pity. Cecily made the pony walk up to our friend of the quills, but as it seemed likely to result in the wolf being chucked off also, we abandoned horse-training notions for the present. Getting back to camp, we found the men lining up for their devotions, so waited patiently until they were over. Everybody’s creed, or form of it, should be respected, because each separate religion, multitudinous though they are, is but one religion, and a part of the vast whole. The seeming difference in all sects are merely the individual temperamental superstitions. It does not matter, therefore, if we worship Allah or Joss, Buddha or Mrs. Eddy. “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” To certain people certain names for religion are necessary—to others the “Religion Universal” serves. Now, our chef belonged to—I am sure—the Peculiar People, and didn’t know it, and called himself a Mussulman of the Shafai sect. He must have been peculiar to think he deceived us into believing he was a cook, ever had been, or ever would be. Some people are born cooks, some achieve cooking, and some have cooking thrust upon them. Our satellite was of the latter kind. We bought a couple of sheep that night from a passing caravan, but told the men they would be the last we should provide if the animals could not be despatched in a quicker, more humane manner. The “hallal” slash across the throat seems only to be really
- 28. efficacious if the animal to be killed is in full possession of its senses. They might easily be stunned first. When we killed antelope for meat the shikari always satisfied himself first that the animal was alive before he bothered to give the “hallal.” This seems rather an Irishism, but you understand how I mean. Somali sheep are never shorn, for their wool attains no length. This is another of dear Nature’s wise arrangements. I do not like to imagine the condition of any poor sheep in the Somali sun with a coat on like unto the ones grown by our animals at home. The number of sheep in Somaliland is as the sands of the sea. Such vast flocks would be large even in an avowedly sheep-producing country where the rearing of them is reduced to a fine art. The Somali animals thrive and multiply with hardly any attention. They never grow horns, and have the most extraordinary tails, huge lumps of fat, which wax all very fine and large if the pasturage is good, and dwindle at once if the herbage is scanty. Carefully fostered, the sheep raising industry could support the country. The export at present is as nothing to what it might be engineered into.
- 29. T CHAPTER VIII—A BATTLE ROYAL Take that to end thy agony Henry V Our happiness is at the height Richard III he Somalis, as I have explained before, are almost entirely a nation of nomads, and the only settled villages or townships are those run by Sheiks or Mullahs, or whatever name they elect to be known by. These men are Mahomedans with an eye to business, religious, influential, knowing the value of education, and are often quite learned. We marched into the vicinity of some hundreds of huts, and sent Clarence on ahead to present our compliments to the Mullah and express our desire to call on him. We also sent along a consignment of gifts likely to appeal to a learned man—a Koran, a tusba, and a couple of tobes, for even a Mullah has to have clothes, anyway, in Somaliland. I don’t know whether our sending presents first was correct, or whether we should have waited for the Mullah to weigh in. We debated the point, and decided any one with an extra sensible mind would think a bird in the hand worth two in the bush any day of the week. This village, if our men’s talk was to be believed, was full of Mullahs, not one Mullah. We concluded that all the wise and religious-minded men must have banded together to live as monks do, save that celibacy was not the fashion. The Mullah lost no time in sending us return offerings in the shape of three sheep, and harns and harns of milk. He also asked us to go
- 30. and see him in his karta, as owing to some infirmity he could not wait on us. All this was very correct and nice. I should think this Mullah had been trained in the way he should go. We put in an appearance that same afternoon, hardly able to push through the crowds that lined up in readiness for our advent. The Mullah received us at the door of his hut, a smiling, urbane personage. I saw no sign of infirmity, but of course I couldn’t ask what it was. The Mullah would be about fifty years old, so far as I can judge, and he had the tiniest hands and feet. His face was full of intelligence, his eyes deep set and alert. In colour he was of the Arab shade, and some Somalis are almost black. He was exceedingly gracious, and received our credentials, or passport so to speak, with serene smiles. He barely read them. I suppose he could. All the Mullahs can read Arabic. Myriads of children—our hosts we concluded—sat and squatted and lay about the earth-floor, two circles of them. Cecily says they went three times round, but no, two large circles. The Mullah asked a great many questions about England—who we were when we were at home? how it was two women could come so far to shoot lion, and why we wanted to?—to all of which we replied as clearly and comprehensively as we could through Clarence. Then more personal questions were asked. Were we married? “Say no, Clarence.” “No,” said the stolid shikâri. The Mullah reflected a little. Didn’t we think we ought to be? A dreadful flick on the raw this. If we married how many husbands are we allowed? I instructed Clarence to say that is not so much how many you are allowed as how many you can get. Cecily broke in and said that it was enough to puzzle any Mullah, and that Clarence must explain that one husband at a time is what English women are permitted, but it is very difficult in the present overcrowded state of the marriage market to obtain even one’s rightful allowance, hence our lonely forlorn condition. The Mullah looked really sorry for us. He
- 31. said he would like to give us another sheep, and that he did not think he would care to live in England, but he approved of the English he had seen. “Best people I see.” We thanked him, salaamed, and left. We were then followed by a pattering crowd who dodged in front of us, peering into our faces, and when we smiled, smiled back crying “Mot! Mot! io Mot!” over and over. It was quite a triumphal progress. At our own camp we found the place invaded by every invalid of the Mullah settlement waiting in serried rows for us to cure them. Why every English person, or European rather, is supposed to possess this marvellous in-born skill in medicine I cannot tell. Some of the complaints presented I had never heard of, much less seen, and even our learned tome of a medical work failed to identify many. It was very pathetic, as we were so helpless. The poor things regarded the book as some saviour come to succour them. There was enough occupation before us to keep a doctor busy for weeks, that much we could see. We only dared venture on the simplest plain-sailing cases, and even if we had used up our entire stock of medicine and remedies required for our own use it would have been a drop in the ocean of trouble here. We gave presents as a consoler to the worst of the invalids, and then, lest they should all return again on the morrow, we folded our tents like the Arabs and silently stole away. One of our own men required our attention after this. He showed all the symptoms of ptomaine poisoning, and ferreting into the matter I found that—well fed as he was—he had gone after the contents of a tin of beef I had my doubts of, and which I threw away over the zareba fence, and had consumed the stuff. I was exceedingly vexed, because I had told all the men standing about at the time that the tin was bad and would poison any one. Is it not odd that people—especially men—always want and like that which is denied them? If we could only get at the truth of it, I expect we should find that in taking the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden Eve did it at the express wish of Adam who wanted it badly, and had
- 32. not the moral courage to take it for himself. By the way, it may not be generally known that quite a lot of learned people claim that Eden existed in Somaliland. To return to the subject in hand again. Just imagine a well-looked- after camel-man deliberately going and making a meal of doubtful meat just because it was forbidden him. Ah, well! is it not said that “the dearest pleasure of the delicately nurtured is a furtive meal of tripe and onions”? Perhaps our follower took the beef as a surreptitious dish of that kind. The analogy may seem a little “out,” but it is there if you look for it. One day, somewhere about this time, I was fortunate enough to witness a great and splendid sight, a battle to the death between two bull oryx. I had been lunching on sandwiches of their kind—alas! their poor brother!—and was resting awhile on the verge of a thick bit of country, a natural clearing with thick thorn cover around. I kept very silent—I was in fact very sleepy—when I heard the war challenge of some genus buck, imperious and ringing, and not far away. It was replied to instantly. Again it sounded louder and nearer. I raised myself and looked about. From out the dense brushwood, but a few hundred yards away, and from opposite sides, sprang a fine up-standing oryx. Crash! And the great bulls were at each other. Clawing with hoofs and teeth and rapier horns. Then backwards they would sidle, and each taking a flying start would come together with a sickening crash, and all the while each tried every possible tactic to drive the merciless horns home. I held my breath with excitement, as in theirs I was permitted to creep almost up to the panting, foam- flecked warriors. I could have shot both, but as I was strong so was I merciful. It was a great and glorious struggle, and the laurels should be to the victor. For quite a long time it was impossible to tell which was the stronger, but at last the right-hand buck—for, oddly enough, though they circled round each other each always charged from the side from which he commenced to give battle—began to show signs of tremendous stress, and the telling blows of his opponent wore him down more and more. No longer was he able to parry the lunges of his infuriated foe, who, like lightning, took
- 33. instant advantage of the on-coming weakness of the stricken buck, and rushing in on a flying charge like a whirlwind, inserted his rapier-like horns into his enemy’s side and gored him unmercifully. This is where I came in. I would not shoot the victor, for he had won his battle in fair fight. It was the survival of the fittest. As he shook his dripping horns and looked at me with blood-shot eyes and frothing muzzle, I saw he was a youngster in the height of his prime, and that the stricken buck was old. The victor and I looked at one another, and I threw my rifle up. A charge from a maddened oryx would be no simple thing. But I did not want to take his life unless compelled. A soft, low whinnying noise in the bush: he was off, and I was forgotten. Cherchez la femme, even in oryx land! I walked up to the dying buck, and Clarence, who had seen the whole thing also, hurried up and asked me if he might “hallal” quickly and save the meat. A Somali could not be expected to appreciate sentimental reasons, so I did not urge mercy towards the utterly vanquished, mostly because the kindest course was to put the beast out of pain. His horns were the horns of a mighty fighter, and his shield bore the cuts and indents of many battles. But his day was over, and his harem passed to a new lord. The ground was all ploughed up with the scuffle. The head of the dead oryx was poor. It looked old, and was moreover the worse for strenuous living, being in parts hairless. As I now had better heads, I took his shield merely, as a souvenir of the great fight. It is now a little tea-tray from which I peacefully drink tea.
- 34. We struck camp next day, and trekked along the borders of the Ogaden country. That night we had a camel looted. A camel seems a bit of an undertaking to run off with, as more often than not he won’t move when you want him to. I suspect there was some collusion on the part of the camel-man in charge, but I never could bring it home to one of them. Our clothes were now in a shocking state of repair, or disrepair. What with wait-a-bit thorns, drenching rain, torrid sun, wriggling on the ground, kneeling and grovelling about, we were the most awful scarecrows you ever saw. But we were intensely happy. That is the wonder of the wild. One forgets clothes—and that is much for a woman to say—newspapers and letters. What was going on in the world we knew not, nor did we care. I cannot conceive the heart of man desiring more than was ours just then. The glories of the jungle were all for us; every dawn brought something new, and everywhere we could trace the wonders of the world in which we lived: each morning come on romance in footprints, tragedy in massed spoor, “sermons in stones, and good in everything.” It is not to be thought that all things went smoothly. In a big caravan of the kind such an idyllic condition of things would be well- nigh impossible. There were the most awkward disagreeablenesses and unpleasantnesses of all sorts to bother us. I hate sporting books
- 35. full of grumbling and tales of discomforts. Nobody asked the sportsman to undertake the job, and nobody cares if he “chucks” it. Therefore why write reams about miseries when there are so many things to make up for them? No life is all couleur de rose; but we can make light of the darkness, “walk in its gardens, and forget the rain.” Ostrich spoor was now all about, but they are the most difficult of all things to come on at close quarters. I stalked odd birds, birds in twos, birds in trios for hours, but never came within any sort of range. All the natural history as told to me in childish days about the ostrich burying its head in the sand and imagining itself hidden I found very much of a nursery romance. The ostrich takes no chances, and, so far from burying its head, has to thank the length of its neck for much of its safety. After days of wriggling about on the flanks of ostrich, in the front and in the rear, I confided my chagrin to Clarence. He said he had a Plan. I told him I was delighted to know that, and would he unfold it at once? It seems very ridiculous, but just because I could not bag an ostrich the bird seemed to me the be-all and end-all of the trip. I am a woman all over, it seems. Well, Clarence’s idea was this: Ostrich never eat at night; therefore, if you persistently chase the same ostrich for two or three days consecutively it follows, of course, that the bird must give in sooner or later—sooner, Clarence hoped—from want of food and exhaustion. Or, if a hen ostrich could only be procured—just as though I was not prepared to welcome her—it would not be long before I should have a near view of a cock bird, who would come along with a view to a possible introduction to Miss Ostrich. She was to be tied to a thorn bush behind which I should be ensconced. It did not seem at all a sporting thing to do. Love’s young dream should not be made a potent factor in a deadly business of the kind. Love spells life, not death.
- 36. The other idea did not commend itself to me either with any gusto. I had no mind myself to go riding after ostrich as though it were a trophy beyond price. Neither did I want to detail any of the men for the job. It was just as well we did not trouble for—such are the chances of hunting, when the position of things may change from success to failure, from failure to success in the blinking of an eyelid—I suddenly came on two birds—two grey hens—one afternoon as I was returning from a fruitless expedition after a lion that must have left the neighbourhood a week before. One hen was picking the new grass that was everywhere springing up, the other was playing sentry. And very well she did it too, marching up and down with head erect and alert eyes. They had not winded us. We were covered by fairly dense wait-a-bit. The birds, however, were entirely out of range. I was now on foot, and flung myself down, as had Clarence. We then raised ourselves sufficiently to cut as silently as we could a bunch of the awful prickly grass, all mixed with thorn spikes, and though it scratched me like fun, and I heard my poor garments ripping away, I took the screen from Clarence and holding it well in front of me wriggled to the edge of the open country in front of me. I did feel absurd, and how was I to get within range of those knowing birds, all encumbered as I was too, with my weapon and my wait-a-bit? It was wait-a-bit! I took half an hour to crawl a few yards. But the birds still went on picking the grass in the peculiar way they have, taking turns at sentry-go. They had great doubts about this small tuft that had grown up in a day, mushroom-like, and it was only when sentry turned and paced the other way I could progress at all. The bird who was doing the eating did not trouble itself so much. At last, wonderful to relate, I really got within range, and then it was a toss up which bird to choose. I really considered it an embarras de richesse, and told myself that both belonged to me! Sentry presented the best mark, and as she turned and came towards me I drew a bead on her breast and fired. She fell—plop! But her companion simply took a sort of flying run, very quaint to watch, and vanished in the instant on the horizon. This is, I know, a prodigious fuss about shooting an ostrich; but I found them harder to come on and account for than the king of beasts himself. Some of
- 37. my ostrich found its way to the stock-pot, and a portion was roasted. We were quite unable to get our teeth through it. Cecily said I had undoubtedly shot the oldest inhabitant. The stewed ostrich, after being done to rags, was eatable, but no great treat. The next day I was taking a breathing space in between moments of stalking an aoul with peculiarly turned horns, a regular freak amongst aoul, when I suddenly heard that weirdest of sounds, the hunting call of a hyæna when the sun is high. I got up and gazed about, and at some distance there flashed into my vision a disabled buck, I could not then tell of what variety, haltingly cantering and lurching along. The hyæna was on his track, running low, but covering the distance between them magically quickly. In shorter time than I can write it the hyæna sprang on to the haunches of the spent buck, and down, down it sank, with head thrown back, into a pitiful heap, the fierce wolf-like creature worrying it at once. I threw up my rifle, in the excitement I had been allowed to approach very near, and the hyæna paid toll. He was a mangy brute of the spotted variety, but the strength of his teeth was amazing. He hung on to a piece of the aoul long after death. I kept his head, but the skin was useless. The buck was an old aoul, evidently in shocking condition and run down generally. He was dead, or I would have put him out of his misery. I took the head for the sake of the horns. These measured on the curves seventeen and a half inches. Just here Clarence when out spooring, came on an ostrich nest just about to hatch out, and nothing would do but we must go then and there to see it. We penetrated some wait-a-bit and then came on the nest with seven eggs therein. Next we hid ourselves, waited awhile, and had the pleasure of seeing the father ostrich return to the domicile. I don’t know where the mother could be. We never sighted her. Perhaps she was an ostrich suffragette and had to attend a meeting. We did not want to go too near the nest, or go too often, but we could not help being very much interested. Our consideration was quite unnecessary. The eggs hatched out, the broken eggs told the tale, but some prowling jackal or hungry hyæna had called when the parents were away and annexed the
- 38. entire seven. Housekeeping in the jungle has its drawbacks. It must be really difficult to raise a family. It was quite strange that Clarence, who was a born shikari, versed in the ways of the wild, and master of the jungle folk, was not at all what I call a safe shot. I never felt that I could depend on his rifle if we got into a tight hole. My uncle says times must have changed, for in their days together Clarence was very reliable with a rifle. But I don’t see why a man, so often out in the jungle, should go off as a shot—rather, one would think, would he improve, like grouse, with keeping. We did a most amusing stalk one day here. On a Sunday—I know it was a Sunday, because ever since we lost the only almanac we had with us we notched a stick, Crusoe fashion—Cecily and I decided to part company and go our ways alone, and taking our ponies rode off in opposite directions. After some time I tethered my steed and left him for the syce to attend to, and then I mooned along slowly until I must have traversed a mile or so. I lay down awhile, and then a bunch of aoul crossed my front, a Speke’s Gazelle with them but not of them, for he held himself well aloof, and seemed by his very bearing to say he was only with them by accident. The aoul moved on, but the Speke began to feed, and I realised then he carried a head worth having, and I must take it an’ I could. I was out of range, and it meant a careful stalk. I hoped he would not notice me if I wriggled to the next clump of wait-a-bit, which showed the crassness of my ignorance! Of course, he knew something was afoot, and I had to lie still for ages ere I deceived him into passivity again. The ground was like a razor’s edge; small stones and sharp-edged flints cut into my poor knees, but I crept nearer by twenty paces. The sunlight danced again on his shining coat, and all his thoughts were hemmed in now by a little patch of green grass he had come on. He consumed this while I squirmed from point to point, and then with a whisk of his tail he was off again. A brisk run brought him in view once more, and all this time my presence had never really irked him. Aha! I pretty well had him. A few paces more when, wonder of wonders, he saw some danger
- 39. signal in quite another quarter and dashed away, this time with no halting. He was gone for ever. I rose and stretched myself, when a distant bush of wait-a-bit yielded up another figure, doing the same thing. It was Cecily. And we had both been stalking the self-same buck for hours—spoiling the other’s chances every time. We laughed and laughed, for who could help it? On our walk back to camp we found the vacated hole of a wart- hog. They dig these entrenchments for themselves, and back into them so that they face any danger that may come—a most wise and sound policy. The hole only just admits piggy; there is not one inch to spare. Living as they do on roots, it can well be understood that the flesh is really much more appetising than that of the home- grown porker. Their only drawback as a welcome addition to our larder was this refusal of the Somalis to have anything to do with pig. I am quite sure they ran this phase of Mahomedanism for all it was worth, thereby saving themselves labour, for I never could see any very strong leanings towards any other teachings of their religion.
- 40. V CHAPTER IX—DEATH OF “THE BARON” My very friend has got his mortal hurt In my behalf, my reputation stain’d Romeo and Juliet A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse, Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaubed in blood, All in gore blood Romeo and Juliet ery often we made detours from the main caravan, rejoining it at a given spot, and this spirit of “wanderlust” brought us into a nice quandary one fine day. Going by the map and guided by the compass, Clarence was to arrive with the whole outfit at a precise place by nightfall, and we two, tired of the two-and-a-half miles an hour pace, did an excursion on sport intent, taking our own way to meet the caravan. We, with three hunters on the ever-willing ponies, left camp early, and going easily soon put a good distance between ourselves and the slow-coach camels. Dik-dik popped up everywhere, but ’twas no use disturbing the jungle for such small game. Water-holes next loomed ahead, and into the mud the Somalis precipitated themselves to drink and dabble. It was really not fit to swallow, and sudden death would seem to be the probable result. Not at all! It gave a sudden impetus to our men, who grew quite lively, game for anything, as they chanted invitations to imaginary animals to come and be shot. All the song was of the
- 41. “Dilly, Dilly, come and get killed” pattern, and was for the most part addressed to a rhinoceros who lived in fancy. “Wiyil, Wiyil, Mem- sahib calls you,” was the bed-rock of the anthem, and like our home- made variety one sentence had to go a long way. We found a track made by tortoises innumerable who evidently marched in solid phalanx to the water-holes. We followed the trail for a long way, but it seemed to be taking us to a Never-never land, so we turned, giving up the idea of discovering the source of the path. But in a tiny lake, as big as a bath and as shallow, we came on three tortoises swimming. They drew in their ugly snake-like heads with a sideway motion beneath their armour-plate residence, and there was nothing left to see but a flat, dirty, yellow carapace. They were quite small, and we pulled one out with a deft noose thrown by the second hunter. Each man took off his turned-up sandals and rested one bare foot at a time on the shelly back, “to make strong the feet.” They did this very solemnly, and, of course, in turns, mounting their ponies when the superstitious rite was well over. We saw a very immature gerenük standing on his hind legs to feed on the young tops of a thorn bush. It went off at a crouching trot, stopping after a short run to turn and stare. It even returned a few paces, with unparalleled impudence, to gaze. It was a youngster of last season. The gerenük mother is not the highest type of jungle matron, frequently abandoning a little one to fend for itself weeks before it has been taught the ways of the jungle. And so it is that gerenük fawns are a great mainstay in the lion dietary. We let our youthful friend investigate us to his liking, after which he trotted off. Gerenük seldom or never gallop, and get up nothing like the speed of an oryx for instance.
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