Sensations? Distinctly Nervous, Decidedly Alert, And Somewhat
Self-Congratulatory That I Was Not More Scared.
No man can
predicate how efficient he is going to be in the presence of
really dangerous game.
Only the actual trial will show. This is
not a question of courage at all, but of purely involuntary
reaction of the nerves. Very few men are physical cowards. They
will and do face anything. But a great many men are rendered
inefficient by the way their nervous systems act under stress. It
is not a matter for control by will power in the slightest
degree. So the big game hunter must determine by actual trial
whether it so happens that the great excitement of danger renders
his hand shaky or steady. The excitement in either case is the
same. No man is ever "cool" in the sense that personal danger is of
the same kind of indifference to him as clambering aboard a
street car. He must always be lifted above himself, must enter an
extra normal condition to meet extra normal circumstances. He can
always control his conduct; but he can by no means always
determine the way the inevitable excitement will affect his
coordinations. And unfortunately, in the final result it does not
matter how brave a man is, but how closely he can hold. If he
finds that his nervous excitement renders him unsteady, he has no
business ever to tackle dangerous game alone. If, on the other
hand, he discovers that IDENTICALLY THE SAME nervous excitement
happens to steady his front sight to rocklike rigidity-a
rigidity he could not possibly attain in normal conditions-then
he will probably keep out of trouble.
To amplify this further by a specific instance: I hunted for a
short time in Africa with a man who was always eager for exciting
encounters, whose pluck was admirable in every way, but whose
nervous reaction so manifested itself that he was utterly unable
to do even decent shooting at any range. Furthermore, his very
judgment and power of observation were so obscured that he could
not remember afterward with any accuracy what had happened-which
way the beast was pointing, how many there were of them, in which
direction they went, how many shots were fired, in short all the
smaller details of the affair. He thought he remembered. After
the show was over it was quite amusing to get his version of the
incident. It was almost always so wide of the fact as to be
little recognizable. And, mind you, he was perfectly sincere in
his belief, and absolutely courageous. Only he was quite unfitted
by physical make-up for a big game hunter; and I was relieved
when, after a short time, his route and mine separated.
Well, we clambered up that slope with a fine compound of tension,
expectation, and latent uneasiness as to just what was going to
happen, anyway. Finally, we raised the backs of the beasts,
stooped, sneaked a little nearer, and finally at a signal stood
upright perhaps forty yards from the brutes.
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