 The Clyde Beatty Show! The world's greatest wild animal trainer Clyde Beatty with an exciting adventure from his brilliant career. The circus means thrills, excitement, snarling jungle beasts. The circus means fun for young folks and old. But under the big top you see only a part of the story. The real drama comes behind the scenes where 500 people live as one family. Where Clyde Beatty constantly risks death in the most dangerous act on earth. This master of the big cats has journeyed to Africa and India hunting down his beasts in their native jungle. All of this is part of the Clyde Beatty story. Here in Mr. Beatty's own words is the adventure he calls God of the White Nile. Contrary to popular opinion lions and tigers in captivity do not make good performers under the big top. Actually, I consider them far more unpredictable and dangerous than those born and raised in their native jungle. For this reason I almost never use anything but jungle bred animals in my act. Most of my charges are purchased from wild animal dealers, but sometimes I mix business with pleasure and spend my vacations on extended hunting expeditions. One such memorable trip took place several years ago in Central East Africa. My wife Harriet and a group of companions journeyed with me to Cairo by air then by steamer to Djibouti, the capital of French Somaliland, situated in the Gulf of Odden. The evening before starting off into the jungle, we were dining in Djibouti's finest hotel. We were in a merry mood and eager to begin our adventure. Well eat, hardly and drink deeply comrades for tomorrow we begin dining out of tin. What? No caviar and champagne on this safari? No my lovely it'll be bully beef and beans dried, fried, and maybe on Sunday's stew, powdered, milk evaporated, potatoes dehydrated. Oh dear will somebody please pass the salad? Uh another slice of this juicy steak here. Two. Take it easy. Starting tomorrow you also have to be able to walk and walk and walk. Tomorrow has not come today is here so I think I'll have another glass of beer. Oh no! Hello Bob. Here we are trapped in the jungle with a poet laureate of Upper Sandusky. By the way you're late. Don't badger him Clyde. It's not every expedition that can boast of having a real live poet like Robert Chase Gordon along. And sit down Bob before Clyde and I eat all this wonderful food. You know I'd rather have somebody who can shoot a rifle. Sir you're speaking of the Ohio Valley Skeet Shooting Jet. Great if we run into any wild Skeet I'll call on you. Seriously Clyde what kind of country are we going into? Rugged Bob plenty rugged. How far into the interior will we go? Well we'll head west to the White Nile then south through the Masai country to Lake Victoria and wind up in Nairobi in the Kenya territory. Will we see plenty of big game? My friend you will see more wild animals than you've ever dreamed of. The biggest the most ferocious and the most dangerous beasts in the world. We return to Clyde Beatty in just a moment. And now back to Clyde Beatty's adventure entitled God of the White Nile. I suppose I was a bit over enthusiastic when I boasted to Bob Gordon about the number and quality of the big game our safari would encounter. Actually it was several weeks before we sighted any but the ordinary species of African jungle beasts. The trek into the White Nile country had been uneventful. One evening I led our guide Duke Colter away from the others who were gathered in board silence around the camp. Duke you're one of the best guides in this part of the world so don't take this as a criticism but uh why haven't we seen more game after traveling so far? I've been plenty worried about that Mr. Beatty. You suppose it's because of the exceptionally dry weather? And that may be partially it. Still we should have run into more game than we have. Well I don't mind waiting but the others are getting bored and they like some excitement. I don't blame them. There hadn't been much reward for such a rugged trip. There's something else been bothering me too Mr. Beatty. Huh? Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary? I can't say that I have except maybe the gunbearers and porters seem a bit restless. Yeah that's it. They're more than restless. I have a feeling they're afraid or something. Afraid of what? They're all natives of this territory. There shouldn't be anything around here. They don't understand. They're a superstitious lot. Plenty of things churned around inside their willy heads. We know nothing about. Well have you listened to their talk? Yeah or something definitely wrong. I noticed that as soon as we hit this district. Hmm what do they talk about? Something about a god. The god of the white Nile. You know anything about this god? They won't tell me. You see it's taboo. I see. Uh do you look for trouble with them Duke? I can't say but I do wish. I knew more about this god of theirs. They shut up like clams when I'm around. I don't suppose it'll mount anything but we better keep an eye on them. May have to do more than that. What do you mean? They've been tapping our supplies. But why? We give the boys all they want to eat. Why should they steal our supplies? They don't take any of the staples. Just the fresh meat. You mean the small game we shoot during the day? Yeah. But we shoot it for them. It's too gamey for our party to eat. They don't eat it either. That's the strange part and yet it disappears. I don't get it. Every night they wait until we're all bedded down. Then they bunch up and have a powwow. You've watched them? Yeah. So far they've done nothing but talk. Look if they have another gathering tonight let me know. I want to look in on one of those sessions myself. Mr. Beatty. Mr. Beatty. Oh it's you Duke. There's a gathering of the clan in progress. Good. Now where are they? A few hundred yards back of the trail in that big clearing. The powwow has just started. Let's go. A few minutes after Duke Colter awakened me we were hiding in the brush watching one of the strangest rituals I'd ever seen. Our native boys were squatting on their haunches in a tight circle in the center of the clearing. In the full moonlight their bodies glistened like oiled ebony. For what seemed like a long long time the eight natives sat still as statues. Suddenly one of them threw back his head raised his arms high and spoke. His voice came to us from across the clearing. Pantalizer. Pantalizer Patana. Punjika. As he spoke there was a flash of steel as eight knives were drawn and held at arm's length overhead. What was it the laser said Duke? Let's see. Pantalizer that means one has been vexed. Pantalizer Patana is we unite in agreement. Then Punjika it is not to be broken. What does it mean? Well it seems they're doing the equivalent of drawing straws. There's a dirty job to be done and one of them has to be selected. It's about it. Look they're getting on with it. The leader lowered his knife and slashed at his breast until the blade was stained crimson with his blood. Now he says one sharp knife has been lost. The leader dropped his bloodstained knife into a large skin pouch lying in the center of the circle. In turn each of the others dropped his knife into the pouch. He says eight sharp knives have been lost. The leader lifted the pouch and shook it carefully. When the knives inside were thoroughly mixed he lowered the pouch again. One by one each of them reached into the pouch withdrew a knife and placed it before him on the ground. The one who drew the bloodstained knife was the leader himself. The chosen one nodded his head in agreement. Got to his feet and marched solemnly to where a smooth heavy stake had been driven into the ground. Without another word being spoken the other natives proceeded to lash their leader securely to the stake. This completed they disappeared into the jungle leaving the chosen one alone in the moonlight. That does it. The one who slashed himself has been elected. For what? I'm afraid it's a sacrifice. A human sacrifice. But that's awful. Not to them. They're satisfying some god or other. The ones that's been vexed I suppose. Yeah. And he's probably that god of the white Nile they've been chattering about. Well this is one election I'm calling off. Oh wait. Don't need to fear. But the other natives have gone off and we can't let that man die. Nothing we can do for him. If we free him he'll run for the others. He'll kill us. The victim himself would help them. Oh or what do you suppose this god of theirs is? Well probably an animal. Evidently a beast of prey. They've been feeding with our small game. Now he requires a bigger offering. Well this has gone far enough. Don't move. I told you the natives consider this taboo. But they find out we've been watching. Well I'd hate being responsible for the consequences. You mean we've got to stay here and watch that poor man get torn to shreds by some rotting jungle beast? That's it. Well I'm not going to do it. Yes you are Mr. Bailey. Are you crazy? Put up that gun. I'm sorry but my life is more important to me than that natives. But this is fantastic. Something out of the dark ages. Remember this is the dark continent Mr. Bailey. There must be something we can do. Look I've got an idea. If you're thinking of shooting the animal forget it. They'd massacre a lot of us. No we couldn't kill it. But since they think it's a god all we have to do is prove it isn't. That my friend will be the trick of the week. There's a way. Namely we'll have to show it up. Prove it to be ineffectual and impotent against a superior being. And just who is this superior being? I don't mean to sound immodest but I can handle that animal. Duke, do you think you could sneak out of here and get back to camp without being seen? I could try. Good. Get back there and bring me that coil of wire rope in my duffel. I'm going to hog tie me a jungle god. The next 10 minutes for the longest I've ever spent the native lash to the stake in the clearing remained silent. If there was a beast of prey nearby in the jungle I knew it wouldn't be long before it put in an appearance the blood that still trickled down the man's chest would soon attract it. Suddenly I heard a ferocious snarl. My heart leaped. So this god of theirs the god of the white Nile was only a lion. I'd handled as many as 40 of them in the steel arena. Surely I could handle just one even if it was in its native jungle. If only Duke would hurry with that coil of rope. I watched the man lash to the stake. In spite of himself he was frantic with fear. The whites of his eyes flashed in the moonlight. Suddenly he glanced fearfully over his shoulder as a huge beast entered the clearing. What I saw was too fabulous to believe. It was a lion, a tremendous one but not like any lion that had ever been seen before from the tip of his twitching tail to his snarl wrinkled nose he was completely white, a white lion. No wonder the natives considered him a god. For a moment there in the moonlight I thought so too. The magnificent animal posed momentarily at the edge of the clearing then still snarling. He advanced slowly toward the terrified native. We continue with God of the White Nile after this message. And now back to Clyde Beatty and God of the White Nile. Clyde Beatty and his wife Harriet with a party of friends embarked on a safari into Central East Africa. For several weeks their journey was uneventful except for the increasing restlessness of the native gun bearers and porters. In an effort to determine the cause Clyde Beatty and the guide Duke Coulter observed a ritual in which the natives prepared a human sacrifice to placate the God of the White Nile. Now Clyde watches as a native, lashed to a stake in the center of a clearing is stalked by the most fabulous beast ever seen in the jungle a pure white lion. Slowly, majestically as if taking only what was his due the white lion advanced upon the helpless native who now was almost unconscious from fear. There was a rustling sound near me in the brush. It was Duke Coulter and in his hand was the coil of wire rope I'd sent him for. Duke, you made it just in time. Look, there's your God of the White Nile. A white lion is why it's fantastic. He's magnificent. No wonder the natives think he's a God. What are you going to do? I'm going to capture that animal alive. He's getting ready to spring at the native. Duke, I'll need your help. I'm going to distract him. When I jump out, dash over and release the native. All right, but then what? I'll do the rest. This wire rope will hold him. I'm going to rope him and use that stake as a snubbing post. What if the native won't let me save him? He's practically unconscious. Just drag him away. All right, Mr. Beatty. Ready? Ready. Here I go. I leaped into the clearing waving my coil of rope in a stick. The white lion stopped and whirled in his tracks. I moved rapidly from side to side in an effort to keep him off balance. He seemed to be confused by my actions. And then I flicked one end of the rope in the white monster's face. The animal went crazy. I ducked between him and the stake in the center of the clearing. What followed was the most fantastic maypole dance in history. I kept flicking the rope in the beast's face. When I sensed my adversary was tiring me, I worked a lazy loop into the coil of rope. In just the proper time, I slung the loop around his massive head, making sure to include one of his paws so as not to strangle him. In a flash, I made a half dozen turns around the stake with the loose end of the rope and stepped back to watch the frenzied animal lash at the vans that tied him securely to the stake. You've got him. You've got the white lion over. I've got him all right. He's the greatest prize I've ever captured. I hope that rope holds. Don't worry. That rope would hold an elephant. Look at that critter fight. That's good. He'll tire himself out and soon. Then what do we do with him? We build a cage strong enough to hold him, and then we show the natives how helpless their guard to the white Nile really is. I can't believe my eyes. Look at him. Oh, Clyde, what a beautiful animal. Why, he's, it's indescribable. Even the great poet, is it a loss for words? I certainly am. What an incredible sight. How do you account for such a thing, Clyde? He's an albino. This lack of pigmentation can occur in any pigmented species. I thought that only happened with rabbits and smaller animals. No, you've heard of white elephants, and I've actually seen an albino giraffe. I must say, though, a white lion is rare. Oh, he's a beauty. And he'll be the star attraction of my circus. Providing, of course, we can move him out of here. Don't worry, we'll move him. But you said the natives consider the white lion a god. Will they let you keep him a captive? Oh, they're very superstitious, but one of their rules demands that they keep face. When they learn their god has lost face, his power over them will be broken. Now wait, here comes Duke Coler now. Oh, he doesn't look too happy. I'd say he looks plenty worried. Duke, did you find our boys? I found them all right. We're in for it, Mr. Bitty. What's the word? You've got to turn that lion loose. Turn him loose? Oh, no, a prize like that's almost worth dying. Then you'll die all right. We'll all die. Uh-oh. Looks like you're a strategy backfired, Clyde. That's right. They insist that you release the god of the white Nile. Well, they must be made to see that this lion is like any other, except that he's a freak, a freak of nature. It's human nature to make a fetish a freak. Duke, what'll they do if I refuse to release the lion? They'll do it themselves and don't try to stop them. They must be away. There's got to be. Please, Clyde, let the animal go. For our sake, let him go. Not without another try. If it fails, I'll do what they ask. Come on, Duke. Take me to them. I followed Duke Coler for about a mile to a tiny native village hidden in the jungle. We were greeted by a half-a-hundred angry and unfriendly tribesmen. As you can see, Mr. Bitty, they're in no mood to pull over. You'd think they were a bunch of children who'd just been told there's no Santa Claus. Well, that's not far from wrong. They believed in that white lion for a long time. They were lucky to give him up. Now, you'd better stop. They're signaling it for you not to come any closer. What's the matter? They afraid I'll cast a spell on them, too? And they're not taking any chances. You stay here. I'll go and see what they have to say. Duke went forward and was greeted by much violent arm-waving and a confusion of speech. When he returned, he was shaking his head. Well, their leader says he can no longer hold the tribesmen back. If you don't release the white god immediately, you and your friends will be destroyed. Did you tell him about the lion being nothing but an albino or freak? Yes, and I think he understood. He's a pretty wise old bird, but he's having a tough time trying to hold back the young bucks. They're hot-headed and falling for your hide. I'm going to try something. If it doesn't work, I'll give in. Better make it good. Tell them that this so-called god of the white Nile has no power over me or them. Tell them I have proved this in hand-to-hand combat and that I'll do it again for all of them to see. Hey, take it easy. Aren't you taking on quite an order? Don't worry. This'll be the easiest scrap I've ever had. What about that wire rope? They won't let you use it this time. Tell them I'll face the beast without the rope or any other weapon, except that wide leather belt the chieftain has worn. You're crazy. Do as I say. I know what I'm doing. All right, but I still say you're crazy. Evidently what Duke told them I would do impressed them. They agreed to accept my boast. Now, all that remained was for me to face the white lion with nothing but a three-foot length of leather belt. You can't do this. It isn't worth it. Why, man, I wouldn't face that white monster with a cannon let alone a rotten piece of leather. Please, I tell them what was all a mistake before. It's too late. Look here, you may think I'm being foolhardy, but believe me, I know exactly what I'm doing. Before I'm through with that white god of theirs, they'll trade him off for a yellow pup. Employing all of the showmanship at my command, I carefully set the stage for my duel with the white lion. First, I insisted on a pit 30 feet square and 12 feet deep. A couple of dozen natives set to work, and in record time, the arena was ready. I carefully inspected it, and then announced dramatically that when the sun reached a point directly overhead, the battle would begin. Do you insist upon going on with this flag? Of course. There's absolutely nothing to fear. Harriet's half crazy. Somebody's going to have to tie her down to keep her from jumping into that pit with you. You take care of her, Bob. I promise that in 15 minutes, I'll climb out of that pit without a scratch. Well, Mr. Beatty, stage is set. The audience is waiting. Right. Tell my native fans I'm on my way. I've appeared in all sorts of places and before all kinds of audiences, but, well, I never expected to find myself in a situation just like this. One look at the stern-faced spectators, and I knew exactly how the Christian martyrs felt when they got the thumbs-down signal from the Romans. They squatted around the edge of the pit in stolid silence, but their expressions told me they'd like to see me torn to shreds. I signaled for the cage to be brought out. All right, Mr. Beatty, stage is at the edge of the pit. Be sure the front end is well over the edge. It's all set. Then let down the gate. All right, prod the lion. Force him to jump into the pit. There he goes. And here I go. I'm stopped. Course too late now, ma'am. Mr. Beatty jumped into the pit. He'll be killed. He'll be killed. Harriet, I told you to stay away. You'll only make Clyde nervous. Oh, this is terrible. What's he trying to prove? He's trying to prove that that creature is only an animal and not a god. Look. Look, the lion is clawing in the corner of the pit. He isn't even attacking, Clyde. I don't get it. The cat acts like he's scared. Come on, God of the White Nile. Come and get me. Clyde's dancing back and forth in front of the beast. He's got it confused. Hey, look. He's pulling out Big Cat's tail. Why doesn't it leap at him? Oh, it's lashing at him with the belt. Clyde, look out. He's going to leap. Clyde sidestepped. Cat missed him a mile. Pashed him to the side of the pit. Look. He knocked himself silly. Oh, it's amazing. Clyde's standing with one foot on the white lion's back. Oh, my. That's the saddest-looking jungle cat I've ever seen. There, men of Sherlock. What do you think of your white god now? Well, Clyde, you said you'd make that jungle god lose face, and you certainly did. Yeah, but I feel like a skunk. That's silly. Not many men would have done what you did. That cat never had a chance. The odds were stacked against him. I must admit, he looked pretty sad against you. But after all, you faced him with only a piece of leather to defend yourself. That took real courage. No, it didn't. Not really. I don't understand. That fight I had with the cat and the moonlight was on the level. He could have gotten me then. This one wasn't. I'm a little ashamed. What do you mean? That cat's an albino. At night, he can see like any other cat. Today, I fought him in the blaze of noon. He was practically blinded by the jungle sun. My gosh, I never thought of that. Albinos can't tolerate bright light. Well, I thought of it. I hated to do it, but we were all on a spot. And I had to take that advantage. Blind or not, you were still trapped in that pit with a killer. Mr. Beatty, Mr. Beatty, it worked like a charm. The natives have liquidated their jungle god. Liquidated? What do you mean? I, uh, well, I know how much you wanted to have that cat, but my enemy killed him. Oh, no. Oh, Clyde, that's too bad. How? The mighty have fallen. Sure. They thought he was a god. When they found he wasn't, they destroyed him. But it's just as well. That's right. They never would have let us take him out of here anyway. And if we'd turned him loose, the other lions would have killed him eventually anyway. You see, animals like some men can't tolerate anything different from the herd. Maybe there's a lesson in this. I don't know. Clyde will be back with a preview of our next exciting story, but now a message of interest to us all. Our next story deals with the exciting adventures the Beatty's experienced on a trip to the jungles of Malaya. Well, these are our quarters, honey. Technically known as a bamboo basher. Thatched roof, bare dirt floor. Yeah, reminds me of that motel in Albuquerque. What a thing to say. Oh, I guess we're lucky to have shelter of any kind. Clyde, is this trip really as dangerous as Lindsay tries to infer? He's been a guide in the country for a good long while, and he has typical British conservatism, so I wouldn't underestimate what he says. It's your being along that concerns him. Me? Well, I can certainly take care of myself. If there are any stray lions, tigers, or elephants in the path, I'll play like it's performance time and put them in their place. That's the kind of courage I like. Nobody's going to scare me out of a nice trek through the jungle. Well, Clyde. What's the matter? They're in the door of those eyes. My brave little wife was terrified at the sight of an innocent native boy who stared at us in curiosity. But when the going really got tough, Harriet came through like the trooper she is. I'll tell you all about our Malayan journey on our next broadcast. This story was based on incidents in the life of Clyde Beatty and the Clyde Beatty Circus. The Clyde Beatty show was produced by Shirley Thomas. God of the White Nile was written by Frank Hart Tossick. All names used were fictional, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. This is a Commodore production.