The "u'Donnawannagothaire" scenario was a two evening Jungle Battle, a mixture of role-playing and colonial wargaming, using Bart Wood's Battlefield Africa rules. There was plenty of action for the nine players who joined in the fun.
The scenario also provided a chance to showcase the NUTS group's growing collection of Darkest Africa era soldiers, primarily Old Glory or Foundry figures. As shown in the pictures Craig's 10' X 6' table was filled with a variety of scratch built or converted terrain, including jungle flora, forests, Tarzan's tree house, villages, rivers, a waterfall, an ancient temple, caves, riverboats, piers, etc., mostly made by Tom and Jim, and supplemented by commercial accessories (HLBSC and others).
This battle report is in story format, told from the vantage point of each of the players, rather than a turn-by-turn listing of the cold hard facts. IMHO it is more fun to use your imagination to get immersed in the adventure (we actually made the Tarzan player give his yodeling cry before his animals could respond to his commands). Besides, every game will different.
The morning began with Bogart's river steamer docking at the Everlasting Hope Mission compound deep in the wilds of u'Donnawannagothaire. The Jungle Princess was a welcome sight for Reverend Black, bringing much needed supplies and new missionaries to replace those lost to fever, cannibals and other jungle beasts. Escorting them were a handful of tough-looking gunmen and adventurers, hired by the Christian Society. Experience told Black that such men could be a mixed blessing; they must be kept busy and kept away from strong drink and friendly native girls.
Even less of a blessing was the arrival of an agnostic English gentleman, Sherlock Holmes, and his entourage. Holmes insolently insisted on the immediate presence of Tarzan, Lord Greystoke (as if Black had any control over that wildman) and use of the mission's boats to visit the village of the heathen pygmies, vicious little demons who had accounted more than one missionary death. Holmes claimed to be in Africa to determine the potential use of pygmy poison in the London murder of a Lord Barksalott. "Well," said Black, "the poison is certainly potent enough, but the only way the pygmies part with it is via the tips of blown darts or fired arrows!" The Reverand did his Christian duty to warn off Holmes and even denied use of the rowboats boats; if Holmes wanted to swim across the crocodile infested river, that was his business. The good Reverend shepherded his flock to the dock to restock the compound.
Not far away, Jane, Lady Greystoke, was proudly showing off her tree-house home to her former sorority sisters. The panorama was remarkable. From the highest platform, one could see how three streams joined to form the river and watch it flow down past the bustling dock. Although the mission house obscured most of the compound, the conical grass roofs and animal pens were visible. The far southern side of the mission was bordered by thick jungle, but to the west the land spread out into open veldt with teeming herds of oryx, wildebeast, zebras, elephants, rhinos, and buffalo. For them, life centered on the waterhole. Turning north, there were great boulders, caves, and a line of cliffs, over which poured a beautiful waterfall-you could hear the muffled roar, and almost feel its refreshing spray. Up on the highland, through the timber, there was an occasional flash of white, where the lost temple stood near the palisade of the Massai who guarded it.
Tarzan had forbidden Jane to go to the plateau, but these were sights worth seeing, and she couldn't disappoint her old friends. Their must see list included seeing the Pristine Falls, tasting the waters of the mythical Fountain of Youth flowing from the Twilight Temple, meeting savage natives, visiting the Elephant Graveyard, and photographing a few trophy animals, including lions, leopards, elephants, rhinos, hippos, giraffes, cape buffalo. It was a delight for Jane to see her friends and actually share multi-syllabic conversation not infused with the sanctimonious bombast of the missionaries.
Miss Gertrude, one of the larger matrons chaperoning the young women, was exhausted by the climb and decided to stay behind. She would rest and guard the tree house, while the others, arm in arm, and with weapons loaded, descended the stairs, rejoined their bearers, posed for a picture, then set off across towards the Pristine Falls. There was a tense moment at the ford, where they encountered a troop of young mostly-naked Massai warriors, but these recognized Jane as Tarzan's mate and the two parties passed without incident. The natives were armed with shields and spears-and were otherwise well equipped-but the gals suppressed their giggles until the youths were out of earshot.
Down river, the Wa-Craiga cannibals were having a dangerous encounter of their own. The noisy passage of the Jungle Princess had aroused them from their usual lethargic morning routine. That steamboat, with its ample store of white meat, may have safely eluded their grasp, but they could hear another one coming! A host of warriors quickly climbed into canoes and began to paddle down stream.
Suddenly, the murky water in front of the chief's large craft erupted in spray as a huge hippo surged up and crashed into them. Another attacked from the side. The lead canoe exploded into splinters and falling crewmen. Two were mauled and crushed immediately. The others desperately swam for the shore, racing nearby crocodiles, and reached it-all save one who was grasped by huge reptilian jaws and dragged, screaming and splashing wildly, back under the dark waters. The remaining canoes quickly back paddled upstream.
The whole hippo herd was now fully riled and they turned to face the next trespasser. But the Zimbabwe Bob was no flimsy native craft. It was a sturdy steamer chartered by Black Bart and his gang. Bart had witnessed the demolition of the cannibal canoe, but was confident in his firepower and the ability of this boat to withstand any blows from the beasts. When the captain wavered, Bart put a gun to his back, and ordered 'full steam ahead'. Lining the railings, with rifles and pistols blazing, Bart's gang gleefully rode the bucking steamer into the herd, killing and wounding several of the monsters. But some withstood the hail of bullets.
Bellowing and thrashing, they butted and smashed into the sides and bottom of the boat, knocking the passengers off their feet. Thick planks cracked and split, and water began to gush in. The captain steered the damaged craft to the shore. Better to take their chances in the jungle! The men leapt over the side and nervously splashed to the bank. Fortunately, the crocodiles were already midstream, feasting on dead and dying hippos.
Black Bart's men reached the apparent safety of a jungle path, but one frenzied young hippo pursued them and attacked their rear. Windwalker calmly emptied his pistol into its gaping maw, dodged its slashing tusks, and finished the beast with his huge Bowie knife. He screamed out his terrifying Apache war cry. Fearing the worst, his comrades ran for their lives, bursting at last through the edge of the jungle and crossing a narrow clearing to seek sanctuary behind the mission's palisade.
But Reverend Black's ability to provide sanctuary was getting shakier by the moment. In the west a dust cloud announced the arrival of a large force of Zanzibari slavers, eager to plunder this last virgin pocket of Africa. Impervious to conversion, armed with scimitars and muskets, and dragging a small, brass field piece, they headed directly for the compound. In there way stood just one man-and a herd of elephants. Tarzan, Lord Greystoke, had been busy in the jungle, setting traps to slow down a colonial invasion force. But heeding Cheetah's warning, Tarzan raced across the veldt, yodeling his feral war-cry, to confront the more immediate threat posed by the slavers. Trantor, the bull elephant, heard and obeyed his master's command. Rising up from the waterhole he charged the approaching Arabs with his pack of pachyderms close behind. The terrified Zanzibaris fled south toward the shelter of the jungle.
Satisfied for the moment, and assuming that lane was probably still sleeping in, Tarzan turned towards the compound to rendezvous with Sherlock Holmes.
Notwithstanding the Reverend's displeasure, Tarzan was on good terms with the little people across the river. In fact, his friend Sherlock felt that Greystoke's introduction would be the key to unlock the mystery of pygmy poison. However, when Trantor saw Tarzan's curious departure, he halted his herd and turned back to bathe. The Arabs were still in full flight.
The Zanzibaris' hasty retreat landed them in tall grass at the edge of the jungle where two Cape Buffalo and a Rhino were grazing. The startled beasts charged the disordered mob, crushing and trampling a number of men, before being shot and sabered down. The gunners and wagoneers at the rear of the column halted in the shade of an acacia tree, only to be pounced on by a huge leopard. The big cat killed one man and badly clawed another, before a lucky shot from a shaky musket knocked it to the ground. The crewmen swarmed around the snarling beast, clubbing it with musket butts and ramrods until it lay still.
Diksahn, the Zanzibari leader, tried to regroup his force. Then, from the jungle ahead, came the sound of many voices; commands were barked in English, repeated in pidgin, and answered in native gibberish. Europeans were here! Not wanting to be caught in the open, Diksahn quickly ordered his men to deploy just inside the jungle border.
Suddenly he heard fearful cries and thundering hoof beats drumming on the ground behind him. Stampede! Lion's were chasing the herd right into his position. Fortunately, his musketeers felled a couple of wildebeasts, and the lions also caught a victim, so the rest of the herd pulled up short. But any element of surprise was lost; the English would not be caught unawares. What a terrible beginning to Diksahn's last great expedition!
But the British were having problems of their own. Half of the expedition, including its impatient financier, Lord Greediswyne, was aboard a commandeered river steamer; the other half was forcing a passage along narrow jungle paths. Colonel Grove, the leader, was having great difficulty keeping his two sections in contact. Seeing the carnage and havoc wrought by the herd of hippos, his boat's captain decided not to run that gauntlet and steered his boat to the shore, next to the battered Zimbabwe Bob, then began to offload men and supplies.
His skirmish line in the flora had run afoul of the fauna, but his men were giving worse than they received. A charging rhino claimed one life, but the beast was brought down. Two men were attacked by a panther, but managed to survive unscathed. A giant boa constrictor lunged out of the foliage, but was spotted, shot, stabbed and hacked to death. Then on the main track, two soldiers fell into a pit trap; one was impaled on poison stakes and died horribly, screaming in agony. The other miraculously landed unharmed and quickly scrambled out across the body of his companion. A bypass would have to be carved from the jungle, large enough for the cannon and supply wagon. The delays were maddening! The conquest had to be accomplished quickly-a fait accompli-before protests from the missionaries could reach the coast. It had taken months-and the death of an opposing British ministerto get approval for the expedition. And the day was wearing on.
Grove could now see patches of blue sky-the end of the jungle must be nearing. Suddenly muskets barked out ahead, signaling new dangers. Natives? Zanzibari slavers, perhaps? Fighting slavers could legitimize the expedition, but he would still have to proceed with caution.
On the far side of the river, it seemed a promising day for the pygmies. One hunting party had killed an orxy and were dragging its carcass back to camp. Another had killed a dangerous crocodile that prowled the shore too close to their forest. There would be good eating for a week! If only the sickness would stop. The favorite wife and son of Ka-riss, the chief, both lay in his hut, stricken with fever, too weak to move. Where was the white witchdoctor Tarzan had promised to bring?
Then came a warning cry from look-outs at the south end of the forest. Cannibals were coming-fast, a horde of them! Why now? There had been little trouble with the big people for months, just the occasional small scale raid and retaliation. This was much more. Ka-riss' people could be wiped out! The chief quickly summoned all available warriors to the south edge of the woods, but they were hopelessly outnumbered. If Tarzan and his friends were really coming to help, now was the time! Well, Ka-riss' warriors would do what they could to stem the flood so his villagers and sick family could get away. As the alarm spread the non-combatants fled north.
One cannibal column skirted the forest on its river side, dodging crocodiles. The other war party burst into the forest.. When they reached the pygmy camp, they looted what they could and set the huts ablaze. Passing through the trees to open country, they saw a handful of the miserable little people fleeing toward a ford in the stream. One luckless pygmy had fallen into a swarm of army ants. He screamed as the voracious insects ripped and tore away his flesh. It would be too difficult to skirt the ants to hope to catch the fleeing survivors, so the cannibals halted. Besides, there was plenty of action nearer the river.
The young Massai, who had passed Jane's party, were out seeking adventure and looking to perform acts of bravery. Some were keen to steal cattle or take slaves, others to try out the white men's river craft, some just to see the strange mad-men who controlled the compound. But the warriors had also brought ivory to trade, just in case the villagers were too well-armed.
When they arrived outside the missionary compound, the Massai found the dockside bustling, and manned by big men with firearms. From their midst came two wild-eyed old men waving their magic writings and calling out horrible sounds. They must be possessed!
Several younger tribesmen were terrified by the incantations and fell to the ground, groveling for mercy. The possessed white men came closer, still yelling and waving and pointing to the palisade. Some of the terrified warriors started that direction, but the witchdoctor roared out defiance. He kicked the cowardly converts, rousing three of nine--the other six fled to the compound--and rallied his men to attack. A sharp rap of his gnarled knobkerry on the heads of the old white demons was enough to subdue each of them, so his loyal tribesmen quickly dragged them off, heading for the plateau. They would be sacrificed to appease the gods and replenish the fountain.
The bodyguards had fired a few shots then fled into the compound, so those young warriors who remained began to rampage through the crates and barrels on the dock. The Jungle Princess had shoved off, but there were rowboats and rafts to be stolen. A few Massai jumped into a rowboat and fumbled with the oars and finally made it move upstream, but could not catch the steamboat. Shots fired from that vessel killed one warrior, and he fell overboard, nearly capsizing the boat. There was a huge splash as a crocodile lunged from a nearby bank and quickly reached the corpse, dragging it under. The horrified survivors shrank back and paddled for the far shore.
Frustrated by their failed attempt to attack the white men in the riverboats, the Wa-Craiga regrouped at the gate of their stockade. Something had to be done to feed the masses who had gathered to kill and feast on white men. But until the hippos settled down, crossing the river was too risky. The only other source of food on the near side was the tribe of little men-yielding meat that was wiry and tough-but it was still meat. So the cannibals pounded a new rhythm on their drums and made a frenzied rush towards the pygmy forest.
The little people met them on the edge of the trees with nasty poisoned darts and arrows, but the cannibal shields stopped many projectiles, and the little men were no match for a full-sized swarm of spearmen in hand-to-hand combat. The cannibals took no live prisoners; they would roast some victims immediately and smoke the others for future use.
Two other warriors leapt onto the cargo raft and cut it loose from the pier, then watched helplessly as it began to drift downstream, towards a fleet of cannibal canoes!
There was turmoil in the compound as well. The capture of Reverend Black and Elder White by the Massai left the settlement in chaos. Sister Kate desperately called the appalled villagers and bodyguards to try to organize a rescue.
Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson were distracted by fracas on the dock, and the plight of the pygmies across the river. Holmes thought he caught a glimpse of Tarzan, uncharacteristically hiding on the pier, and did not notice the stealthy approach of Black Bart, who placed a pistol to the back of the Englishman's head and pulled the trigger.
Just as Bart fired, Sherlock instinctively ducked and the bullet merely grazed his skull. Pulling a pistol of his own, he wounded his would-be assassin. Bart quickly retreated, and the two exchanged a couple of more shots, but the compound was full of screaming native civilians, and neither had a clear shot, so they disengaged. Holmes remembered seeing Lord Greediswyne in port and deduced the significance of the attack. He would not be caught off guard again. The fat lord would be brought to justice.
Bart gathered his men to the other side of the village. He'd had his chance at Holmes. A sneaky, cheap shot was one thing, but taking on the well-armed escort was not his intent. The bounty was not high enough for that and this compound was too small for the both of them. There was sure to be easier prey. According to the professor, the elephant burial ground should be not too far distant. And of course, by now, his old girlfriend (sole heiress to a rich father) might need rescuing.
The sun was directly overhead when lane and her friends reached the Pristine Falls and felt its refreshing spray. As their photographer, Phil Ash, unpacked his camera for the group picture, the party was joined by the dashing Captain Elwood, who had been hired to lead the expedition. Two days ago he had been stricken with fever. Not wanting to delay their tour, the gals had left him in the care of the missionaries, confident that Jane could lead them anywhere they wanted to go. Reverend Black had been more than happy to see half-naked lane and the vixens depart and promised to look after the Captain. Fortunately, Elwood's fever had broken by mid-morning. He was livid to learn that the expedition had left, and, despite the protests of the doctor, climbed off his cot, picked up his pack, packed his pistols and staggered out of the station.
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© Copyright 2003 Hal Thinglum
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