preservative powder known as taxidermine, the young collector put it
beside the other to dry. Guy, while at school, had been a fair amateur
bird-skinner, even with no more aid than the small blade of his
pocket-knife. Before leaving England he had bought a small case of
instruments at Rowland Ward's in Piccadilly, for the more careful
manipulation of skins. He had also procured at the same place an
excellent book, known as "The Sportsman's Handbook to Practical
Collecting," which gave him all sorts of useful information on the
preparing and setting up of skins, from birds and small mammals to the
biggest of big game. By the aid of this book he was able to settle at
once the sex of the bird he skinned, a matter of much importance to all
collectors. In addition to these birds, he skinned and prepared an
Angola kingfisher; a rufous-necked falcon (_Falco ruficollis_); a red
and black weaver-bird (_Ploceus oryx_), a very handsome species, seen
near the river in large numbers; and a pink-billed lark. To all of
these skins, after having got them ready, Guy affixed a label with short
particulars, showing the species, sex, and when and where they were
shot.
Towards four o'clock Mr. Blakeney and Tom returned to the wagon. They
had had an excellent day's sport, and Tom was in a state of high
exultation, having run down and shot a fine gemsbuck cow, carrying a
splendid pair of horns, measuring no less than thirty-eight and a half
inches in length. Mr. Blakeney had secured from the same troop a good
bull. It is a somewhat remarkable fact that the females of these grand
antelopes carry longer and finer horns than do the males. In most
species of African antelopes the converse is the case; and in many
specimens, such as the water-bucks, the koodoo, the reedbuck, steinbuck,
klipspringer, and others, the females are hornless.
In two days' time Guy had recovered from his toss by the rhinoceros, and
was longing to be in the saddle again. They had reached the second
range of mountains, and, after a long and hard day of trekking up and
down hill, had surmounted the pass by which Poeskop guided them, and
outspanned on the farther side. The spoor of elephants had been found
near this camp, and next day was to be devoted to a hunt, if the party
could come up with a herd. Poeskop alleged that this country was full
of "oliphant," as he called them in Boer Dutch, and attributed their
plenty to the growth of a favourite tree, the machabel, which grew in
this locality.
After much discussion it was settled that they should hunt on foot. The
ponies wanted a rest, and, to the uninitiated, shooting elephants from
the saddle is not an easy matter. Moreover, so far as they knew, none
of their nags had ever been in pursuit of these animals, and it was by
no means certain that they would behave properly in the presence of such
formidable beasts of chase. At dawn next morning they had breakfasted
and were away. Mr. Blakeney carried his .500 express, a weapon powerful
enough, with solid bullets, to account for the heaviest game. Tom, who
was to accompany his father so soon as the hunt began, was armed with a
double Africander rifle, carrying Martini-Henry bullets. Guy was armed
with a .303, in which his uncle had a good deal of confidence; but
Poeskop, who was to accompany him, carried the Paradox eight-bore in
case of necessity. The Bushman had the strictest injunctions to stick
close to his young master, and to hand the spare rifle instantly in case
of a charge. All were clad in their lightest kit. They anticipated
much walking, and probably a good deal of running. They wore,
therefore, no more than flannel shirts, old breeches or flannels cut
down to the knees, and velschoens. Their legs and arms were bare, their
heads protected by the usual broad-brimmed felt hats. Poeskop appeared
in nothing but an old shirt and a pair of velschoens. An odd little
figure he cut, indeed, loaded as he was with the weight of a heavy
rifle. The Bushman stepped out briskly, however, and by the end of the
day his masters were fain to confess that, in spite of severe exertions,
he was as fresh and as fit as any of them.
For three miles Poeskop conducted the little party along the lower slope
of the mountain. Finding the spoor he expected, he led them at a rapid
walk, with an occasional jog trot, on the tracks of the gigantic game.
They descended to the level ground; and presently, after another hour
had elapsed, the Bushman whispered that they were approaching the troop.
They were now in a fairly level piece of country, the open parts of it
consisting of grass veldt. There was a good deal of timber and bush.
On the whole, the veldt seemed favourable for hunting: it was not too
open, and in case of pursuing or charging elephants, as Mr. Blakeney had
carefully explained to the two lads, there were plenty of opportunities
for dodging behind bush and tree-trunks, and so evading a charge.
The wind was light. Poeskop picked up a handful of dry sand and let it
run through his fingers. The direction was all right, and the falling
sand was puffed gently towards them. On they went, now stepping with
the greatest caution so as not to break a twig or make any kind of
unnecessary noise. Now they crossed the bed of a dry streamlet,
negotiated some more bush and timber, and then suddenly, in a great
opening of the forest, dotted here and there with islets of heavyish
bush, came upon the herd. It was a wonderful spectacle. Sixty or
seventy elephants, big and little, but most of them full-grown bulls and
cows, were shambling slowly along; some plucking at clumps of bush, some
tearing at branches of trees; two or three, with their huge gleaming
tusks, stripping the bark from some good-sized timber and conveying it
to their mouths. One or two great cows were caressing with their trunks
some half-grown babies that moved alongside them.
With a motion of his hand Mr. Blakeney signified that he and Tom would
take a big bull that was engaged in stripping a tree of its bark. Guy
nodded, and indicating that he would go farther up the herd for his
shot, turned back into the shelter of the forest and ran swiftly along.
As he ran he heard the loud report of two barrels from his uncle's
rifle; then Tom's Martini rattled out twice. In an instant the forest,
but a moment before so silent and so peaceful--for the elephant moves
with singularly noiseless tread--was in an uproar. Wild trumpetings
conveyed the danger signal from one to another. The great beasts massed
more closely together and moved on. Yet, at present, they were no more
than walking quickly. They had not broken into a run.
Guy skirted the glade, and reached the point he had aimed at just in the
very nick of time. As he crouched behind a patch of bush the troop came
right past him, within fifteen yards. He let two or three cows and
calves go by, and then, as a huge bull with immensely long tusks
shuffled up, looking, as Guy thought, like some gigantic mammoth of the
primeval world, the lad knew that the supreme moment had come. Raising
his .303 very gently, he took aim for that part of the great beast's
skull which lies between the eye and the orifice of the ear, and let
drive. To his immense astonishment the mighty beast went down like a
shot rabbit. The tiny sporting bullet had pierced the brain, and the
elephant never moved again. Full of confidence now, Guy rapidly worked
another cartridge into the breech, and seeing that a bevy of big
elephants, which were following hard upon the great bull, had swerved to
the right, he left his concealment and ran in after them. Picking out
the best bull he could see, he ranged up within twenty paces, and, not
being able to get the head shot, fired for the shoulder.
This time the result was nothing like so encouraging. The great brute
wheeled round with astonishing quickness, and with a trumpet that
sounded to Guy like the scream of a dozen railway engines rolled into
one, charged instantly. There was nothing for it but flight; and good
runner as Guy was, he always said afterwards that never had he sprinted
so fast as he did over the fifty yards of open ground across which the
wounded bull now chased him. Poeskop, who was twenty or thirty yards
behind as Guy fired, had turned short as the beast turned, and doubled
back into some bush, and for the present was safe; but Guy, with the
elephant following upon his heels, trumpeting wickedly as it ran, felt
that he was in a very tight place indeed. Nearer and nearer came the
great brute. The lad felt that each moment the monster's trunk would
come slipping round his waist. A clump of trees and some bush stood
just before him. How he accomplished it he never quite knew; but he
reached the shelter, dodged round a tree like a rabbit, slipped behind
some bush, and crouched close to the earth. As he expected, the
elephant thundered on; and before it could check its impetus and turn,
Guy had crept farther away.
But the bull had by no means yet done with him. It turned short in its
tracks so soon as it had pulled up, and, with ears held at right angles
to its head, looking, as Guy in his place of concealment thought to
himself, for all the world like a pair of mighty sails hoisted to the
breeze, and its trunk searching the air closely for the scent of its
enemies, trotted quickly back. If by chance the beast got his wind, Guy
knew quite well that he would have to sustain another charge, and the
monster would be on top of him. Suddenly the brute halted thirty yards
away from where the lad crouched, and again carefully tested the
atmosphere with its trunk. Poor though its vision is, there is no
creature in the world which has such marvellous scenting powers.
"I have it! I have it!" screamed the monster. In the puzzling eddies
of air, that are almost always to be found in forest country, some faint
whiff of Guy's presence had reached the infuriated beast; and now, with
a trumpet that shook the leafage and rang far through the woodland, the
great beast came crashing through trees and bush straight for Guy's
place of concealment. Guy looked around. It was too dangerous to
attempt to run now; in the thorn bush and scrub where he crouched he was
too deeply involved to have any decent prospect of escape. He must
stand the charge, and trust to his bullet turning the brute. Almost in
the twinkling of an eye, as it seemed, the bull was within ten yards.
Guy had his rifle up and his finger on the trigger. Then, before he had
time to pull, came the loud report of the Paradox, twenty paces to his
left. Poeskop, good fellow that he was, had come to the rescue. Struck
full in the ribs, and raked through and through by the eight-bore
bullet, the bull was instantly diverted from his charge upon Guy, and
now turned, trumpeting yet more fiercely, for the smoke of the big bore.
As he turned Guy gave him a good shot, which raked him obliquely behind
the shoulder. Flesh and blood, even the flesh and blood of the mightiest
land mammal in the world, was not able to stand against the three wounds
which it had now received; and the bull, feeling very sick, turned away
from its revenge, and sought shelter in the forest again.
Poeskop crept up to his young master's side.
"Now, Baas Guy," he said, his narrow eyes gleaming with the light of
battle and the fierce instincts of the savage hunter, "we shall have
him. Come along!"
Throughout this somewhat trying episode Guy had never once lost his
head. Now he felt as cool as possible. Something told him the danger
was past and the victory near. They ran on in the wake of the elephant,
and presently, going more cautiously, came up with it again. The bull
could go no farther. He was standing in a little clearing among some
machabel trees, swaying from side to side, the blood dropping from his
mouth.
"He is very sick, baas," whispered Poeskop. "He will die soon."
"I can't wait," returned the lad. "I shall put him out of his misery."
"Pas op!" whispered the Bushman. "You can never trust an elephant. He
may charge again."
But Guy was not to be gainsaid. Creeping within thirty paces of the
sick monster, he took careful aim for the head shot again, between the
eye and the ear, and pulled trigger. The bull knelt quietly down upon
his fore-legs, his hind-legs sank under him, and there, resting in that
attitude, he gave up the ghost.
"He is dood, baas," cried Poeskop joyfully. "You have done well. Two
good bulls for your first elephant hunt is as much as any man can
desire. This bull's teeth will weigh forty pounds apiece; the other's
are much heavier. Hark!"
As he spoke there came sounds of firing in front of them, first one
shot, then two others.
"Come on, Poeskop!" cried Guy. "They are still hard at it. We may come
in for more of the fun."
Threading their way through the forest, they trotted for a long half
mile, and then heard, not far in front, the scream of an angry elephant.
Guy was beginning to get somewhat more accustomed to the sound; yet, as
he was always afterwards ready to admit, there are few things in nature
more awe-inspiring than the trumpet of a wounded or infuriated elephant.
They moved forward very cautiously for another few yards, and then came
on the edge of more open ground. To the right they saw an elephant,
manifestly a cow and wounded, shambling towards them. She was going
slowly, and every now and again would stop, spread out her huge ears,
and thrust out her trunk. Twice she picked up dust with her trunk, and
blew it over her shoulders as if bathing herself.
"She is far gone," whispered the Bushman. "We can finish her as she
goes by."
She was now within less than thirty yards of them, and as she came past
each saluted her with a bullet. The cow staggered, came on, thought
better of it, and then turned to make off. As she turned, Tom Blakeney
ran out into the open, fifty yards away, and gave her yet another
bullet. He stood and reloaded quickly, ready to turn and run for the
shelter of the woodland if she should charge again. But the big cow was
finished. She staggered as Tom's Martini bullet struck her, tried to
save herself, and then with a heavy crash fell over on to her side,
stone dead.
"Hurrah!" shouted Tom, taking off his hat and flinging it up into the
air. "I thought I should never get her. I've been after her nearly
half an hour. Thanks for your help, Guy. Where's the pater?"
"Here, my boy," replied Mr. Blakeney, with a smile, as he too emerged
from the forest. "I have been running on your spoor the last ten
minutes. I was afraid you might get into trouble. However, you've got
your cow, and very nice teeth she has. They weigh more than twenty
pounds apiece, I should say."
Tom and his father were now joined by Guy and Poeskop. They held
consultation and compared notes. It had been a great and successful
hunt. Mr. Blakeney had brought down a big bull and a cow with good
teeth. The tusks of the bull he estimated to weigh at least fifty
pounds apiece, those of the cow about eighteen pounds apiece. Leaving
Tom's dead cow, they now made their way back to the two bulls shot by
Guy. Of these the smaller and more troublesome one, which had hunted Guy
so unmercifully, carried teeth weighing some forty pounds apiece; while
the huge male, so easily bagged at the youngster's first discharge,
showed a truly magnificent pair of tusks.
"My word!" said Mr. Blakeney, as he contemplated the gigantic
proportions of the beast, and its long, massive, gleaming tusks, with
their splendid curves; "that's a grand fellow indeed. You seldom come
across such a pair of teeth as that--seventy pounds apiece, if they
weigh an ounce! I congratulate you, Guy. Your first elephant is a
prize indeed! Now, tell me how it all happened."
Guy described his adventures: his easy success with the great bull, and
the thrilling time he had had with the second.
"Well," said his uncle, "I'm not by any means sure that I am justified
in letting you two lads begin elephant hunting so soon. But you've done
right well. Thank goodness, you escaped that second bull, Guy. A
wounded elephant is one of the most formidable beasts in the world, and
you never quite know what may happen when one is charging you. You are
born to be lucky, Guy," he continued, "I do believe. But keep your
head, and don't be too venturesome. They say the life of a professional
elephant hunter averages no more than half a dozen years. I can well
believe it. There are so many risks, and the labour is so enormous.
Well, now, I reckon that these five elephants we have bagged will yield
some four hundred pounds of ivory, which at ten shillings a pound will
bring in two hundred pounds. Not a bad morning's work that, eh?"
"Father," interrupted Tom, with wild eyes and streaming face--for he was
still, as indeed they all were, suffering from the effects of the great
hunt--"I don't want to sell my tusks. I should like to take them home
to mother, and have them hung up in the dining-room at Bamborough, over
the sideboard or somewhere."
"So you shall, my boy," said Mr. Blakeney, with pleased face. "That's
an excellent suggestion. But whatever your mother will say to me for
allowing you to be hunting elephants in this way, I don't know."
Leaving Poeskop, who carried his native hatchet, to begin the task of
chopping out the tusks of the slain elephants, Mr. Blakeney returned
with the two lads to the wagon. The oxen were inspanned, and a trek was
made that afternoon to the scene of the hunt. Here a fresh camp was
formed, and the whole of the next day was spent in chopping out the
remaining tusks and packing them away on the wagon.
*Chapter IX.*
*IN THE THIRST-LAND.*
"Baas," said Poeskop, on the evening of that day, as his masters sat
together as usual at their cheery camp fire, "I saw something this
morning which I didn't understand. I don't like it."
"What was it, Poeskop?" said Mr. Blakeney, looking with an amused smile
at the Bushman's serious face, puckered just now into innumerable
wrinkles.
"Well, my baas," returned Poeskop, "it was this. When I first went out
this morning, at sun-up, to start cutting out the rest of the teeth, I
found the spoor of some one who had been prowling round our camp and
looking at all our elephants."
"Only some wandering native, I suppose," said Mr. Blakeney. "It's quite
natural. This is a very thinly inhabited country, but there must be
some tribe or other in the neighbourhood, even if they were only Bushmen
or Berg Damaras. There's no harm in that, if they take nothing; and the
ivory is all right, anyhow."
"Nay, baas," replied Poeskop, "it's not a _kaal_ [naked] Kaffir. There
are no natives within forty miles of us. What I did find was spoor of a
man wearing velschoen. He's not a white man, but a Hottentot or Griqua.
I don't like it, baas. There is some one spying upon us."
Mr. Blakeney knit his brows and thought. He was a little disturbed at
Poeskop's intelligence; but after all they were a strong party, whom few
would care to attack. And besides, who wanted to attack them? Then
somehow the figure of Karl Engelbrecht rose before his mind's eye.
"What's your mind running on, Poeskop?" he queried. "A Dutchman?"
"Ja, baas," said the little man sententiously. "It is just that."
"And the Dutchman is Karl Engelbrecht?" he queried again.
"Ja, baas," said the Bushman quietly. "It is Karl Engelbrecht."
Mr. Blakeney thought a good deal over this circumstance, and determined
for the future to keep a sharper lookout. Hitherto, although they were
now in the lion veldt, it had not been deemed necessary to keep a watch
at night. It is not the custom to do so. So long as fires are
maintained, and some one awakes periodically to keep them supplied with
wood, it is thought sufficient, and the whole camp is usually to be
found wrapped in slumber. Hunters sleep light, and arms are always at
hand; and the presence of a marauding lion or leopard, or any other
member of the Carnivora, is soon announced by the savage barking of the
wagon dogs, or by a disturbance among the oxen and horses.
For the future some one of the party was awake during the long night
hours. All took their turns, and the guard was changed thrice during
the time of darkness. So much Mr. Blakeney conceded to Poeskop's alarm
and his own suspicions.
For the next few days, after the completion of the elephant hunt, they
trekked through beautiful forest country, much of it adorned with wide
and open grass glades, reminding the boys very much of an English deer
park. They saw an immense quantity of elephant spoor, and several
troops of the beasts themselves, but they were now anxious to press on;
they had no room in the wagon for more ivory, and it was therefore
decided to hunt the great pachyderms no more for the present. If they
could not carry the ivory, it would be criminal waste of life to shoot
the beasts that bore that precious commodity. And so they moved forward
steadily on their way, determined, if by chance they returned by that
route, to have at least one more good day of hunting. They had cleared
the forest region, and had now entered upon a piece of thirst-land,
which, as Poeskop informed them, would take three long days and three
nights of travel to negotiate. Not a drop of surface water lay along
this stretch of desert, and it would be tough work to get the oxen
through without loss of life.
On the second morning of the long thirst, after trekking great part of
the night through heavy sand, the two boys and Mr. Blakeney were sitting
at breakfast. Seleti and Mangwalaan, who had been herding the oxen
while they fed, presently came in with their charges, and the order was
given to inspan. Seleti brought news that a big troop of eland had been
feeding close to the camp during the night. They had not gone by very
long. Would the baases not like to hunt? Eland meat--here the
Bechuana's eyes sparkled--was very good; better than elephant, better
even than giraffe. The two lads were at once on their feet.
"Pater, we haven't shot eland, either of us," cried Tom eagerly. "May
we go? We shall probably be gone no more than an hour, and we can soon
pick up the wagon."
"Very well," said Mr. Blakeney. "Be off, and shoot a couple of eland if
you like. Shoot cows for preference. We want some good meat, so bring
in as much flesh as your ponies can carry. You had better take Poeskop
with you, Guy; you're not yet a practised veldt man like Tom, and I
wouldn't like you to get lost in this thirst-land. Tom can pick out
spoor and knows his whereabouts, and can always hit off the wagon-trail
and find his way, if you get separated."
"All right, uncle," said Guy. "We shall be back soon. Good-bye."
The lads took their rifles and bandoliers, saddled their ponies quickly,
and were in such a hurry to be gone, believing the eland to be quite
close, that they took with them neither coats nor water-bottles, but
just rode gaily off, calling to Poeskop, who was still saddling his
pony, to follow them. Seleti had given them the direction in which the
elands had been grazing, and it was not very long before they had found
traces of the animals they sought.
"That must be eland spoor," said Tom, pointing to a quantity of
footprints, which showed that a large herd had gone by. "I never saw it
before, but there's no mistaking it. It looks something like a buffalo
spoor, or, better still, that of Alderney cattle."
Just then Poeskop, who had heard Tom's remark, rode up.
"Ja, baas," he said. "That is eland spoor right enough. It is a big
troop, seventy or eighty at least. Something has startled them: they are
running."
"That's a nuisance," rejoined Tom. "We may have to ride farther than we
thought."
"Never mind," added Guy. "Once we get up to them, we shall soon run
them down. At least, all the books I have ever read on African sport
speak of eland as being very easily ridden in to."
They moved rapidly on the spoor, now walking their horses at a brisk
pace; but the troop had, by some means or other, been thoroughly
alarmed, and had trotted ahead of them, without halting, for miles, bent
manifestly on seeking more secluded pastures. It was not until twelve
o'clock, after a short off-saddle to rest their nags, that the hunters
came up with them. They were riding through a thickish belt of mopani
forest, a tree which grows as a rule in light, gray, tufaceous soil, and
abounds in "thirst" country. Suddenly Guy whispered to his
companions,--
"Look! these must be elands."
Tom and Poeskop turned their heads quickly, and saw, through the trees
on the right, some two hundred yards ahead, a number of big,
fawn-coloured forms disappearing into the woodland.
"Ja, those are elands, baas," answered Poeskop. "They are running; we
must hartloup."