He lay for some time contemplating his beautiful pet. But sleep at

length overcame him, and the image of the ourebi melted before his eyes.

Beyond this Jan could tell little of what happened to him. He was

awakened by a sudden jerking at his wrist, and hearing the antelope

scream. But he had not quite opened his eyes, before he felt himself

dragged violently over the ground.

He thought at first it was Swartboy playing some trick upon him; but as

he passed the fire, he saw by its light that it was a huge black animal

that had seized the ourebi, and was dragging both him and it along.

Of course he then began to scream for help, and caught at everything he

could to keep himself from being carried away. But he could lay hold of

nothing, until he found himself among thick bushes, and these he seized

and held with all his might.

He could not have held out long against the strength of the hyena; but

it was just at that moment that Swartboy came up with his fire-brand,

and beat off the ravisher with a shower of blows.

When they got back to the light of the fire they found that Jan was all

right. But the poor ourebi--it had been sadly mauled, and was now of no

more value than a dead rat.

CHAPTER XXIV.

A HOUSE AMONG THE TREE-TOPS.

Von Bloom now reflected that the hyenas were likely to prove a great

pest to him. No meat, nor anything, would be safe from them--even his

very children would be in danger, if left alone in the camp; and no

doubt he would often be compelled to leave them, as he would require the

older ones upon his hunting excursions.

There were other animals to be dreaded still more than the hyenas. Even

during that night they had heard the roaring of lions down by the vley;

and when it was morning, the spoor showed that several of these animals

had drunk at the water.

How could he leave little Trüey--his dear little Trüey--or Jan, who was

not a bit bigger--how could he leave them in an open camp while such

monsters were roving about? He could not think of doing so.

He reflected what course he should pursue. At first he thought of

putting up a house. That would necessarily be a work of time. There was

no good building material convenient. A stone house would cost a great

deal of labour--as the stones would have to be carried nearly a mile,

and in their hands too. That would never do, as Von Bloom might only

remain a short while at that place. He might not find many elephants

there, and of course would be under the necessity of going elsewhere.

Why not build a log-house? you will say. That would not be so much of a

job, as part of the country was well wooded, and they had an axe.

True, part of the country was wooded, but in a particular manner. With

the exception of the nwana-trees, that stood at long distances

apart--and regularly, as if they had been planted--there was nothing

that deserved the name of timber. All the rest was mere "bush,"--a

thorny jungle of mimosas, euphorbias, arborescent aloes, strelitzias,

and the horrid zamia plants, beautiful enough to the eye, but of no

utility whatever in the building of a house. The nwanas, of course, were

too large for house-logs. To have felled one of them would have been a

task equal almost to the building of a house; and to have made planks of

them would have required a steam saw-mill. A log-house was not to be

thought of either.

Now a frail structure of poles and thatch would not have given

sufficient security. An angry rhinoceros, or elephant, would level such

a house to the ground in a few moments.

Suppose, too, that there were man-eaters in the neighbourhood. Swartboy

believed that there were, and that that region was notorious for them.

As it was not far from Swartboy's native country, Von Bloom, who had

reason to believe what the Bushman told him, was inclined to credit

this. What protection would a frail house afford against the man-eater?

Not much, indeed.

Von Bloom was puzzled and perplexed. He could not commence his hunting

excursions until this question was settled. Some place must be prepared,

where the children would be safe during his absence.

While revolving the subject in his mind, he happened to cast his eyes

upward among the branches of the nwana-tree. All at once his attention

became fixed upon those huge limbs, for they had awakened within him a

strange memory. He remembered having heard that, in some parts of the

country, and perhaps not very far from where he then was, the natives

live in trees. That sometimes a whole tribe, of fifty or more, make

their home in a single tree; and do so to secure themselves against

savage beasts, and sometimes equally savage men. That they build their

houses upon platforms, which they erect upon the horizontal branches;

and that they ascend by means of ladders, which are drawn up after them

at night when they go to rest.

All this Von Bloom had heard, and all of it is positively true. Of

course the reflection occurred to him, why could he not do the same? Why

could he not build a house in the gigantic nwana? That would give him

all the security he desired. There they could all sleep with perfect

confidence of safety. There, on going out to hunt, he could leave the

children, with the certainty of finding them on his return. An admirable

idea!--how about its practicability?

He began to consider this. If he only had planks to make a staging or

platform, the rest would be easy. Any slight roof would be sufficient up

there. The leaves almost formed a roof. But the flooring--this was the

difficulty. Where were planks to be got? Nowhere, in that neighbourhood.

His eye, at that moment, chanced to fall upon the wagon. Ha! there were

planks there. But to break up his beautiful wagon? No--no--no! Such a

thing was not to be thought of. But stay! there was no need to break it

up--no need to knock out a single nail. It would serve every purpose

without breaking a splinter off it. The fine vehicle was made to take to

pieces, and put up again at will.

He could take it to pieces. The broad bottom alone should remain whole.

That of itself would be the platform. Hurrah!

The field-cornet, excited with the development of this fine plan, now

communicated it to the others. All agreed that it was just the thing;

and as the day was before them, they made no more ado, but set about

carrying out the design.

A ladder thirty feet long had first to be constructed. This occupied a

good while; but at length a stout rough article was knocked up, which

served the purpose admirably. It gave them access to the lowermost limb;

and from this they could construct steps to all the others.

Von Bloom ascended, and after careful examination chose the site of the

platform. This was to rest upon two strong horizontal limbs of equal

height, and diverging very gradually from each other. The quantity of

thick branches in the great tree afforded him a choice.

The wagon was now taken to pieces--a work of only a few minutes--and the

first thing hauled up was the bottom. This was no slight performance,

and required all the strength of the camp. Strong "rheims" were attached

to one end, and these were passed over a limb of the tree, still higher

up than those on which the staging was to rest. One stood above to guide

the huge piece of plankwork, while all the rest exerted their strength

upon the ropes below. Even little Jan pulled with all his might--though

a single pound avoirdupois weight would have been about the measure of

his strength.

The piece was hoisted up, until it rested beautifully upon the

supporting limbs; and then a cheer rose from below, and was answered by

Swartboy among the branches.

The heaviest part of the work was over. The boxing of the wagon was

passed up, piece by piece, and set in its place just as before. Some

branches were lopped off to make room for the cap-tent; and then it was

also hauled up, and mounted.

By the time the sun set, everything was in its place; and the aërial

house was ready for sleeping in. In fact, that very night they slept in

it, or, as Hans jocularly termed it, they all went to "roost."

But they did not consider their new habitation quite complete as yet.

Next day they continued to labour upon it. By means of long poles they

extended their platform from the wagon quite up to the trunk of the

tree, so as to give them a broad terrace to move about upon.

The poles were fast wattled together by rods of the beautiful

weeping-willow (_Salix Babylonica_), which is a native of these parts,

and several trees of which grew by the side of the vley. Upon the top of

all, they laid a thick coating of clay, obtained from the edge of the

lake; so that, if need be, they could actually kindle a fire, and cook

their suppers in the tree.

To make a still finer flooring, they procured a quantity of the material

of which the ant-hills are composed; which, being of a glutinous nature,

makes a mortar almost as binding as Roman cement.

After the main building had been finished off, Swartboy erected a

platform for himself, and one for Totty in another part of the ample

nwana. Above each of these platforms he had constructed a roof or

screen, to shelter their occupants from rain or dew.

There was something odd in the appearance of these two screens, each of

which was about the size of an ordinary umbrella. Their oddity consisted

in the fact that they were ears of the elephant!

CHAPTER XXV.

THE BATTLE OF THE WILD PEACOCKS.

There was no longer anything to hinder the field-cornet from commencing

the real business of his new life, viz., the hunting of the elephant. He

resolved, therefore, to begin at once; for until he should succeed in

"bagging" a few of these giant animals, he was not easy in his mind. He

might not be able to kill a single one; and then what would become of

all his grand hopes and calculations? They would end in disappointment,

and he should find himself in as bad a condition as ever.

Indeed worse: for to fail in any undertaking is not only to lose time,

but energy of mind. Success begets genius, courage, and

self-reliance--all of which contribute to new successes; while failure

intimidates and leads to despair. In a psychological point of view it is

a dangerous thing to fail in any undertaking; and, therefore, before

undertaking anything, one should be well assured of its being possible

and practicable.

Now Von Bloom was not sure that the great design he had formed was

practicable. But in this case, he had no choice. No other means of

livelihood was open to him just then; and he had resolved to make trial

of this. He had faith in his calculations, and he had also good reason

to hope he would succeed; but the thing was yet untried. No wonder he

was in haste to begin the business--in haste to know what were his

chances of success.

By early day, therefore, he was up and out. Hendrik and Swartboy only

accompanied him, for he could not yet bring himself to leave the

children with no other protection than Totty--almost as much a child as

themselves. Hans, therefore, remained by the camp.

At first the hunters followed the little rivulet that ran from the

spring and vley. They did so, because in this direction there was more

"bush;" and they knew that elephants would be more likely to be found in

woods than in open places. Indeed, it was only near the banks of the

stream that any great quantity of wood was to be seen. A broad belt of

jungle extended upon each side of it. After that, there were straggling

groves and clumps; and then came the open plains, almost treeless,

though covered with a rich carpet of grass for some distance farther. To

this succeeded the wild karoo, stretching eastward and westward beyond

the reach of vision. Along the north, as already mentioned, trended the

line of "bluffs"; and beyond these there was nothing but the parched and

waterless desert. To the south there lay the only thing that could be

called "woods;" and although such a low jungle could lay no claim to the

title of "forest," it was, nevertheless, a likely enough haunt for

elephants.

The trees consisted chiefly of mimosas--of several species, upon the

leaves, roots, and tender shoots of which the great ruminant loves to

browse. There were some "cameel-doorn" trees, with their shady

umbrella-like tops. But above all rose the massive heads of the nwanas,

giving a peculiar character to the landscape.

The hunters noticed, as they went on, that the channel of the rivulet

became wider and larger, and that at times--no doubt after great

rains--a large quantity of water must have run in its bed, forming a

considerable river. But as the channel grew larger, the reverse was the

case with the quantity of running water. The farther down they proceeded

this became less and less; until, at the distance of a mile from camp,

the current ceased altogether.

For half-a-mile farther on they found water in stagnant pools, but none

running. The wide, dry channel, however, continued on as before; and the

"bush" extended on both sides without interruption, so thick that they

could only make way by keeping in the channel itself.

As they walked along, several kinds of small game were started. Hendrik

would gladly have taken a shot at some of these, but his father would

not permit him to fire just then. It might frighten away the great

"game" they were in search of, and which they might fall in with at any

moment. On their return Hendrik might do his best; and then the

field-cornet intended to assist him in procuring an antelope, as there

was no fresh venison in the camp. This, however, was a consideration of

secondary importance, and the first thing to be done was to try and get

a pair of tusks.

There was no objection to Swartboy using his bow, as that silent weapon

would cause no alarm. Swartboy had been taken along to carry the axe and

other implements as well as to assist in the hunt. Of course he had

brought his bow and quiver with him; and he was constantly on the watch

for something at which to let fly one of his little poisoned arrows.

He found a mark at length worthy of his attention. On crossing the plain

to avoid a large bend in the channel, they came upon a glade or opening

of considerable size, and in the middle of this glade a huge bird

appeared standing erect.

"An ostrich!" exclaimed Hendrik.

"No," replied Swartboy; "um ar da pauw."

"Yes," said Von Bloom, confirming Swartboy's statement, "it is the

pauw."

Now a "pauw" in the Dutch language is a "peacock." But there are no

peacocks in Africa. The peacock in its wild state inhabits only Southern

Asia and the islands of the Indian Archipelago. The bird they saw, then,

could not be a peacock.

Neither was it one. And yet it bore some resemblance to a peacock, with

its long heavy tail and wings speckled and ocellated in a very striking

manner, and something like the "marbled" feathers that adorn the

peacock's back. It had none of the brilliant colours, however, of that

proudest of birds, though it was quite as stately, and much larger and

taller. In fact, its great height and erect attitude was why Hendrik at

first glance had taken it for an ostrich. It was neither peacock nor

ostrich, but belonging to a different genus from either--to the genus

_Otis_ or bustard. It was the great bustard of South Africa--the _Otis

kori_--called "pauw" by the Dutch colonists, on account of its ocellated

plumage and other points of resemblance to the Indian peacock.

Now Swartboy, as well as Von Bloom, knew that the pauw was one of the

most delicious of fowls for the table. But they knew at the same time

that it was one of the shyest of birds,--so shy that it is very

difficult to get even a long shot at one. How, then, was it to be

approached within range of the Bushman's arrow? That was the point to be

considered.

Where it stood, it was full two hundred yards from them; and had it

perceived them, it would soon have widened that distance, by running off

two hundred more. I say running off, for birds of the bustard family

rarely take to wing, but use their long legs to escape from an enemy. On

this account they are often hunted by dogs, and caught after a severe

chase. Although but poor flyers, they are splendid runners,--swift

almost as the ostrich itself.

The pauw, however, had not observed the hunters as yet. They had caught

a glimpse of it, before appearing out of the bushes, and had halted as

soon as they saw it.

How was Swartboy to approach it? It was two hundred yards from any

cover, and the ground was as clean as a new-raked meadow. True, the

plain was not a large one. Indeed, Swartboy was rather surprised to see

a pauw upon so small a one, for these birds frequent only the wide open

karoos, where they can sight their enemy at a great distance. The glade

was not large, but, after watching the bustard for some minutes, the

hunters saw that it was resolved to keep near the centre, and showed no

disposition to feed in the direction of the thicket on either side.

Any one but a Bushman would have despaired of getting a shot at this

kori; but Swartboy did not despair.

Begging the others to remain quiet, he crept forward to the edge of the

jungle, and placed himself behind a thick leafy bush. He then commenced

uttering a call, exactly similar to that made by the male of the kori

when challenging an adversary to combat.

Like the grouse, the bustard is polygamous, and of course terribly

jealous and pugnacious, at certain seasons of the year. Swartboy knew

that it was just then the "fighting season" among the pauws, and hoped

by imitating their challenge to draw the bird--a cock he saw it

was--within reach of his arrow.

As soon as the kori heard the call, he raised himself to his full

height, spread his immense tail, dropped his wings until the primary

feathers trailed along the grass, and replied to the challenge.

But what now astonished Swartboy was, that instead of one answer to his

call, he fancied he heard two, simultaneously uttered!

It proved to be no fancy, for before he could repeat the decoy the bird

again gave out its note of defiance, and was answered by a similar call

from another quarter!

Swartboy looked in the direction whence came the latter; and there sure

enough, was a second kori, that seemed to have dropped from the region

of the clouds, or, more likely, had run out from the shelter of the

bushes. At all events, it was a good way towards the centre of the

plain, before the hunter had observed it.

The two were now in full view of each other; and by their movements any

one might see that a combat was certain to come off.

Sure of this, Swartboy did not call again; but remained silent behind

his bush.

After a good while spent in strutting, and wheeling round and round, and

putting themselves in the most threatening attitudes, and uttering the

most insulting expressions, the two koris became sufficiently provoked

to begin the battle. They "clinched" in gallant style, using all three

weapons,--wings, beak, and feet. Now they struck each other with their

wings, now pecked with their bills; and at intervals, when a good

opportunity offered, gave each other a smart kick--which, with their

long muscular legs, they were enabled to deliver with considerable

force.

Swartboy knew that when they were well into the fight, he might stalk in

upon them unobserved; so he waited patiently, till the proper moment

should arrive.

In a few seconds it became evident, he would not have to move from his

ambush; for the birds were fighting towards him. He adjusted his arrow

to the string, and waited.

In five minutes the birds were fighting within thirty yards of the spot

where the Bushman lay. The twang of a bowstring might have been heard by

one of the koris, had he been listening. The other could not possibly

have heard it; for before the sound could have reached him, a poisoned

arrow was sticking through his ears. The barb had passed through, and

the shaft remained in his head, piercing it crosswise!

Of course the bird dropped dead upon the grass, less astonished than his

antagonist.

The latter at first imagined he had done it, and began to strut very

triumphantly around his fallen foe.

But his eye now fell upon the arrow sticking through the head of the

latter. He knew nothing about that. He had not done that! What the

deuce----

Perhaps if he had been allowed another moment's reflection, he would

have taken to his heels; but before he could make up his mind about the

matter, there was another "twang" of the bowstring another arrow

whistled through the air, and another kori lay stretched upon the grass!

Swartboy now rushed forward, and took possession of the game; which

proved to be a pair of young cocks, in prime condition for roasting.

Having hung the birds over a high branch, so as to secure them from

jackals and hyenas, the hunters continued on; and shortly after, having

re-entered the channel of the stream, continued to follow it downward.

CHAPTER XXVI.

UPON THE SPOOR.

They had not gone above an hundred yards farther, when they came to one

of the pools, already spoken of. It was a tolerably large one; and the

mud around its edges bore the hoof-prints of numerous animals. This the

hunters saw from a distance, but on reaching the spot, Swartboy, a

little in the advance, turned suddenly round, and, with rolling orbs and

quivering lips, clicked out the words,--

"Mein baas! mein baas! da klow! spoor ob da groot olifant!"

There was no danger of mistaking the spoor of the elephant for that of

any other creature. There, sure enough, were the great round

tracks--full twenty-four inches in length, and nearly as wide--deeply

imprinted in the mud by the enormous weight of the animal's body. Each

formed an immense hole, large enough to have set a gate-post in.

The hunters contemplated the spoor with emotions of pleasure--the more

so that the tracks had been recently made. This was evident. The

displaced mud had not yet crusted, but looked damp and fresh. It had

been stirred within the hour.

Only one elephant had visited the pool that night. There were many old

tracks, but only one fresh spoor,--and that of an old and very large

bull.

Of course the tracks told this much. To make a spoor twenty-four inches

long, requires the animal to be a very large one; and to be very large,

he should be a bull, and an old one too.

Well, the older and larger the better, provided his tusks have not been

broken by some accident. When that happens they are never recovered

again. The elephant does cast his tusks, but only in the juvenile state,

when they are not bigger than lobster's claws; and the pair that

succeeds these is permanent, and has to last him for life--perhaps for

centuries--for no one can tell how long the mighty elephant roams over

this sublunary planet.

When the tusks get broken--a not uncommon thing--he must remain

toothless or "tuskless" for the rest of his life. Although the elephant

may consider the loss of his huge tusks a great calamity, were he only a

little wiser, he would break them off against the first tree. It would,

in all probability, be the means of prolonging his life; for the hunter

would not then consider him worth the ammunition it usually takes to

kill him.

After a short consultation among the hunters, Swartboy started off upon

the spoor, followed by Von Bloom and Hendrik. It led straight out from

the channel, and across the jungle.

Usually the bushes mark the course of an elephant, where these are of

the sort he feeds upon. In this case he had not fed; but the Bushman,

who could follow spoor with a hound, had no difficulty in keeping on the

track, as fast as the three were able to travel.

They emerged into open glades; and, after passing through several of

these, came upon a large ant-hill that stood in the middle of one of the

openings. The elephant had passed close to the ant-hill--he had stopped

there awhile--stay, he must have lain down.

Von Bloom did not know that elephants were in the habit of lying down.

He had always heard it said that they slept standing. Swartboy knew

better than that. He said that they sometimes slept standing, but

oftener lay down, especially in districts where they were not much

hunted. Swartboy considered it a good sign that this one had lain down.

He reasoned from it that the elephants had not been disturbed in that

neighbourhood, and would be the more easily approached and killed. They

would be less likely to make off from that part of the country, until

they--the hunters--had had a "good pull" out of them.

This last consideration was one of great importance. In a district where

elephants have been much hunted, and have learnt what the crack of a gun

signifies, a single day's chase will often set them travelling; and they

will not bring up again, until they have gone far beyond the reach of

the hunters. Not only the particular individuals that have been chased

act in this way; but all the others,--as though warned by their

companions,--until not an elephant remains in the district. This

migratory habit is one of the chief difficulties which the

elephant-hunter must needs encounter; and, when it occurs, he has no

other resource but to change his "sphere of action."

On the other hand, where elephants have remained for a long time

undisturbed, the report of a gun does not terrify them; and they will

bear a good deal of hunting before "showing their heels" and leaving the

place.

Swartboy, therefore, rejoiced on perceiving that the old bull had lain

down. The Bushman drew a world of conclusions from that circumstance.

That the elephant had been lying was clear enough. The abrasion upon the

stiff mud of the ant-heap showed where his back had rested,--the mark of

his body was visible in the dust, and a groove-like furrow in the turf

had been made by his huge tusk. A huge one it must have been, as the

impression of it testified to the keen eyes of the Bushman.

Swartboy stated some curious facts about the great quadruped,--at least,

what he alleged to be facts. They were,--that the elephant never

attempts to lie down without having something to lean his shoulders

against,--a rock, an ant-hill, or a tree; that he does this to prevent

himself rolling over on his back,--that when he does by accident get

into that position he has great difficulty in rising again, and is

almost as helpless as a turtle; and, lastly, that he often sleeps

standing beside a tree with the whole weight of his body leaning against

the trunk!

Swartboy did not think that he leans against the trunk when first taking

up his position; but that he seeks the tree for the shade it affords,

and as sleep overcomes him he inclines towards it, finding that it

steadies and rests him!

The Bushman stated, moreover, that some elephants have their favourite

trees, to which they return again and again to take a nap during the hot

mid-day hours,--for that is their time of repose. At night they do not

sleep. On the contrary, the hours of night are spent in ranging about,

on journeys to the distant watering-places, and in feeding; though in

remote and quiet districts they also feed by day--so that it is probable

that most of their nocturnal activity is the result of their dread of

their watchful enemy, man.

Swartboy communicated these facts, as the hunters all together followed

upon the spoor.

The traces of the elephant were now of a different character, from what

they had been before arriving at the ant-hill. He had been browsing as

he went. His nap had brought a return of appetite; and the wait-a-bit

thorns showed the marks of his prehensile trunk. Here and there branches

were broken off, stripped clean of their leaves, and the ligneous parts

left upon the ground. In several places whole trees were torn up by

their roots, and those, too, of considerable size. This the elephant

sometimes does to get at their foliage, which upon such trees grows

beyond the reach of his proboscis. By prostrating them of course he gets

their whole frondage within easy distance of his elastic nose, and can

strip it off at pleasure.

At times, however, he tears up a tree to make a meal of its roots--as

there are several species with sweet juicy roots, of which the elephant

is extremely fond. These he drags out of the ground with his trunk,

having first loosened them with his tusks, used as crowbars. At times he

fails to effect his purpose; and it is only when the ground is loose or

wet, as after great rains, that he can uproot the larger kinds of

mimosas. Sometimes he is capricious; and, after drawing a tree from the

ground, he carries it many yards along with him, flings it to the

ground, root upwards, and then leaves it, after taking a single

mouthful. Destructive to the forest is the passage of a troop of

elephants!

Small trees he can tear up with his trunk alone, but to the larger ones

he applies the more powerful leverage of his tusks. These he inserts

under the roots, imbedded as they usually are in loose sandy earth, and

then, with a quick jerk, he tosses roots, trunk, and branches, high into

the air,--a wonderful exhibition of gigantic power.

The hunters saw all these proofs of it, as they followed the spoor. The

traces of the elephant's strength were visible all along the route.

It was enough to beget fear and awe, and none of them were free from

such feelings. With so much disposition to commit havoc and ruin in his

moments of quietude, what would such a creature be in the hour of

excitement and anger? No wonder there was fear in the hearts of the

hunters, unpractised as some of them were.

Still another consideration had its effect upon their minds,

particularly on that of the Bushman. There was every reason to believe

that the animal was a "rover,"--what among Indian hunters is termed a

"rogue." Elephants of this kind are far more dangerous to approach than

their fellows. In fact, under ordinary circumstances, there is no more

danger in passing through a herd of elephants than there would be in

going among a drove of tame oxen. It is only when the elephant has been

attacked or wounded, that he becomes a dangerous enemy.

With regard to the "rover" or "rogue," the case is quite different. He

is habitually vicious; and will assail either man or any other animal on

sight, and without the slightest provocation. He seems to take a

pleasure in destruction, and woe to the creature who crosses his path

and is not of lighter heels than himself!

The rover leads a solitary life, rambling alone through the forest, and

never associating with others of his kind. He appears to be a sort of

outlaw from his tribe, banished for bad temper or some other fault, to

become more fierce and wicked in his outlawry.

There were good reasons for fearing that the elephant they were spooring

was a "rover." His being alone was of itself a suspicious circumstance,

as elephants usually go, from two to twenty, or even fifty, in a herd.

The traces of ruin he had left behind him, his immense spoor, all seemed

to mark him out as one of these fierce creatures. That such existed in

that district they already had evidence. Swartboy alleged that the one

killed by the rhinoceros was of this class, else he would not have

attacked the latter as he had done. There was a good deal of probability

in this belief of the Bushman.

Under these impressions, then, it is less to be wondered, that our

hunters felt some apprehensions of danger from the game they were

pursuing.

The spoor grew fresher and fresher. The hunters saw trees turned bottom

upward, the roots exhibiting the marks of the elephant's teeth, and

still wet with the saliva from his vast mouth. They saw broken branches

of the mimosa giving out their odour, that had not had time to waste

itself. They concluded the game could not be distant.

They rounded a point of timber--the Bushman being a little in the

advance.

Suddenly Swartboy stopped and fell back a pace. He turned his face upon

his companions. His eyes rolled faster than ever; but, although his lips

appeared to move, and his tongue to wag, he was too excited to give

utterance to a word. A volley of clicks and hisses came forth, but

nothing articulate.

The others, however, did not require any words to tell them what was

meant. They knew that Swartboy intended to whisper that he had seen "da

oliphant;" so both peeped silently around the bush, and with their own

eyes looked upon the mighty quadruped.

CHAPTER XXVII.

A ROGUE ELEPHANT.

The elephant was standing in a grove of _mokhala_ trees. These, unlike

the humbler mimosas, have tall naked stems, with heads of thick foliage,

in form resembling an umbrella or parasol. Their pinnate leaves of

delicate green are the favourite food of the giraffe, hence their

botanical appellation of _Acacia giraffæ_; and hence also their common

name among the Dutch hunters of "cameel-doorns" (camel-thorns).

The tall giraffe, with his prehensile lip, raised nearly twenty feet in

the air, can browse upon these trees without difficulty. Not so the

elephant, whose trunk cannot reach so high; and the latter would often

have to imitate the fox in the fable, were he not possessed of a means

whereby he can bring the tempting morsel within reach--that is, simply

by breaking down the tree. This his vast strength enables him to do,

unless when the trunk happens to be one of the largest of its kind.

When the eyes of our hunters first rested upon the elephant, he was

standing by the head of a prostrate mokhala, which he had just broken

off near the root. He was tearing away at the leaves, and filling his

capacious stomach.

As soon as Swartboy recovered the control over his tongue, he ejaculated

in a hurried whisper:--

"Pas op! (take care!) baas Bloom,--hab good care--don't go near um--he

da skellum ole klow. My footy! he wicked!--I know de ole bull duyvel."

By this volley of queer phrases, Swartboy meant to caution his master

against rashly approaching the elephant, as he knew him to be one of the

wicked sort--in short, a "rogue."

How Swartboy knew this would appear a mystery, as there were no

particular marks about the animal to distinguish him from others of his

kind. But the Bushman, with his practised eye, saw something in the

general physiognomy of the elephant--just as one may distinguish a

fierce and dangerous bull from those of milder disposition, or a bad

from a virtuous man, by some expression that one cannot define.

Von Bloom himself, and even Hendrik, saw that the elephant had a fierce

and ruffian look.

They did not stand in need of Swartboy's advice to act with caution.

They remained for some minutes, gazing through the bushes at the huge

quadruped. The more they gazed, the more they became resolved to make an

attack upon him. The sight of his long tusks was too tempting to Von

Bloom, to admit for a moment the thought of letting him escape without a

fight. A couple of bullets he should have into him, at all events; and

if opportunity offered, a good many more, should these not be

sufficient. Von Bloom would not relinquish those fine tusks without a

struggle.

He at once set about considering the safest mode of attack; but was not

allowed time to mature any plan. The elephant appeared to be restless,

and was evidently about to move forward. He might be off in a moment,

and carry them after him for miles, or, perhaps, in the thick cover of

wait-a-bits get lost to them altogether.

These conjectures caused Von Bloom to decide at once upon beginning the

attack, and without any other plan than to stalk in as near as would be

safe, and deliver his fire. He had heard that a single bullet in the

forehead would kill any elephant; and if he could only get in such a

position as to have a fair shot at the animal's front, he believed he

was marksman enough to plant his bullet in the right place.

He was mistaken as to killing an elephant with a shot in the forehead.

That is a notion of gentlemen who have hunted the elephant in their

closets--though other closet gentlemen--the anatomists--to whom give all

due credit--have shown the thing to be impossible, from the peculiar

structure of the elephant's skull and the position of his brain.

Von Bloom at the time was under this wrong impression, and therefore

committed a grand mistake. Instead of seeking a side shot, which he

could have obtained with far less trouble--he decided on creeping round

in front of the elephant, and firing right in the animal's face.

Leaving Hendrik and Swartboy to attack him from behind, he took a

circuit under cover of the bushes; and at length arrived in the path the

elephant was most likely to take.

He had scarcely gained his position, when he saw the huge animal coming

towards him with silent and majestic tread; and although the elephant

only walked, half-a-dozen of his gigantic strides brought him close up

to the ambushed hunter. As yet the creature uttered no cry; but as he

moved, Von Bloom could hear a rumbling gurgling sound, as of water

dashing to and fro in his capacious stomach!

Von Bloom had taken up his position behind the trunk of a large tree.

The elephant had not yet seen him, and, perhaps, would have passed on

without knowing that he was there, had the hunter permitted him. The

latter even thought of such a thing, for although a man of courage, the

sight of the great forest giant caused him for a moment to quail.

But, again, the curving ivory gleamed in his eyes--again he remembered

the object that had brought him into that situation; he thought of his

fallen fortunes--of his resolve to retrieve them--of his children's

welfare.

These thoughts resolved him. His long roer was laid over a knot in the

trunk--its muzzle pointed at the forehead of the advancing elephant--his

eye gleamed through the sights--the loud detonation followed--and a

cloud of smoke for a moment hid everything from his view.

He could hear a hoarse, bellowing, trumpet-like sound--he could hear the

crashing of branches and the gurgling of water; and, when, the smoke

cleared away, to his chagrin he saw that the elephant was still upon his

feet, and evidently not injured in the least!

The shot had struck the animal exactly where the hunter had aimed it;

but, instead of inflicting a mortal wound, it had only excited the

creature to extreme rage. He was now charging about striking the trees

with his tusks, tearing branches off, and tossing them aloft with his

trunk--though all the while evidently in ignorance of what had tickled

him so impertinently upon the forehead!

Fortunately for Von Bloom, a good thick tree sheltered him from the view

of the elephant. Had the enraged animal caught sight of him at that

moment, it would have been all up with him; but the hunter knew this,

and had the coolness to remain close and quiet.

Not so with Swartboy. When the elephant moved forward, he and Hendrik

had crept after through the grove of mokhalas. They had even followed

him across the open ground into the bush, where Von Bloom awaited him.

On hearing the shot, and seeing that the elephant was still unhurt,

Swartboy's courage gave way; and leaving Hendrik, he ran back towards

the mokhala grove, shouting as he went.

His cries reached the ears of the elephant, that at once rushed off in

the direction in which he heard them. In a moment he emerged from the

bush, and, seeing Swartboy upon the open ground, charged furiously after

the flying Bushman. Hendrik--who had stood his ground, and in the

shelter of the bushes was not perceived--delivered his shot as the

animal passed him. His ball told upon the shoulder, but it only served

to increase the elephant's fury. Without stopping, he rushed on after

Swartboy, believing, no doubt, that the poor Bushman was the cause of

the hurts he was receiving, and the nature of which he but ill

understood.

It was but a few moments, from the firing of the first shot, until

things took this turn. Swartboy was hardly clear of the bushes before

the elephant emerged also; and as the former struck out for the mokhala

trees, he was scarce six steps ahead of his pursuer.

Swartboy's object was to get to the grove, in the midst of which were

several trees of large size. One of these he proposed climbing--as that

seemed his only chance for safety.

He had not got half over the open ground, when he perceived he would be

too late. He heard the heavy rush of the huge monster behind him--he

heard his loud and vengeful bellowing--he fancied he felt his hot

breath. There was still a good distance to be run. The climbing of the

tree, beyond the reach of the elephant's trunk, would occupy time. There

was no hope of escaping to the tree.

These reflections occurred almost instantaneously. In ten seconds

Swartboy arrived at the conclusion, that running to the tree would not

save him; and all at once he stopped in his career, wheeled round, and

faced the elephant!

Not that he had formed any plan of saving himself in that way. It was

not bravery, but only despair, that caused him to turn upon his pursuer.

He knew that, by running on, he would surely be overtaken. It could be

no worse if he faced round; and, perhaps, he might avoid the fatal

charge by some dexterous manoeuvre.

The Bushman was now right in the middle of the open ground; the elephant

rushing straight towards him.

The former had no weapon to oppose to his gigantic pursuer. He had

thrown away his bow--his axe too--to run the more nimbly. But neither

would have been of any avail against such an antagonist. He carried

nothing but his sheep-skin kaross. That had encumbered him in his

flight; but he had held on to it for a purpose.

His purpose was soon displayed.

He stood until the extended trunk was within three feet of his face; and

then, flinging his kaross so that it should fall over the long cylinder,

he sprang nimbly to one side, and started to run back.

He would, no doubt, have succeeded in passing to the elephant's rear,

and thus have escaped; but as the kaross fell upon the great trunk it

was seized in the latter, and swept suddenly around. Unfortunately

Swartboy's legs had not yet cleared the circle--the kaross lapped around

them--and the Bushman was thrown sprawling upon the plain.

In a moment the active Swartboy recovered his feet, and was about to

make off in a new direction. But the elephant, having discovered the

deception of the kaross, had dropped it, and turned suddenly after him.

Swartboy had hardly made three steps, when the long ivory curve was

inserted between his legs from behind; and the next moment his body was

pitched high into the air.

Von Bloom and Hendrik, who had just then reached the edge of the glade,

saw him go up; but to their astonishment he did not come to the ground

again! Had he fallen back upon the elephant's tusks? and was he held

there by the trunk? No. They saw the animal's head. The Bushman was not

there, nor upon his back, nor anywhere to be seen. In fact, the elephant

seemed as much astonished as they at the sudden disappearance of his

victim! The huge beast was turning his eyes in every direction, as if

searching for the object of his fury!

[Illustration: SWARTBOY IN A PREDICAMENT.]

Where could Swartboy have gone? Where? At this moment the elephant gave

a loud roar, and was seen rushing to a tree, which he now caught in his

trunk, and shook violently. Von Bloom and Hendrik looked up towards its

top, expecting to see Swartboy there. Sure enough he was there, perched

among the leaves and branches where he had been projected! Terror was

depicted in his countenance, for he felt that he was not safe in his

position. But he had scarce time to give utterance to his fears; for the

next moment the tree gave way with a crash, and fell to the ground,

bringing the Bushman down among its branches.

It happened that the tree, dragged down by the elephant's trunk, fell

towards the animal. Swartboy even touched the elephant's body in his

descent, and slipped down over his hind-quarters. The branches had

broken the fall, and the Bushman was still unhurt, but he felt that he

was now quite at the mercy of his antagonist. He saw no chance of escape

by flight. He was lost!

Just at that moment an idea entered his mind--a sort of despairing

instinct--and springing at one of the hind-legs of the quadruped, he

slung his arms around it, and held fast! He at the same time planted his

naked feet upon the sabots of those of the animal; so that, by means of

this support, he was enabled to keep his hold, let the animal move as it

would!

The huge mammoth, unable to shake him off, unable to get at him with his

trunk--and, above all, surprised and terrified by this novel mode of

attack--uttered a shrill scream, and with tail erect and trunk high in

air, dashed off into the jungle!

Swartboy held on to the leg until fairly within the bushes; and then,

watching his opportunity, he slipped gently off. As soon as he touched

_terra firma_ again, he rose to his feet, and ran with all his might in

an opposite direction.

He need not have run a single step; for the elephant, as much frightened

as he, kept on through the jungle, laying waste the trees and branches

in his onward course. The huge quadruped did not stop, till he had put

many miles between himself and the scene of his disagreeable adventure!

Von Bloom and Hendrik had by this time reloaded, and were advancing to

Swartboy's rescue; but they were met right in the teeth by the

swift-flying Bushman, as he returned from his miraculous escape.

The hunters, who were now warmed to their work, proposed to follow up

the spoor; but Swartboy, who had enough of that "old rogue," declared

that there would be not the slightest chance of again coming up with him

without horses or dogs; and as they had neither, spooring him any

farther would be quite useless.

Von Bloom saw that there was truth in the remark, and now more than ever

did he regret the loss of his horses. The elephant, though easily

overtaken on horseback, or with dogs to bring him to bay, can as easily

escape from a hunter on foot; and once he has made up his mind to

flight, it is quite a lost labour to follow him farther.

It was now too late in the day to seek for other elephants; and with a

feeling of disappointment, the hunters gave up the chase, and turned

their steps in the direction of the camp.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE MISSING HUNTER, AND THE WILDEBEESTS.

A well-known proverb says that "misfortunes seldom come single."

On nearing the camp, the hunters could perceive that all was not right

there. They saw Totty with Trüey and Jan standing by the head of the

ladder; but there was something in their manner that told that all was

not right. Where was Hans?

As soon as the hunters came in sight, Jan and Trüey ran down the rounds,

and out to meet them. There was that in their glances that bespoke ill

tidings, and their words soon confirmed this conjecture.

Hans was not there--he had gone away hours ago--they knew not where,

they feared something had happened to him,--they feared he was lost!

"But what took him away from the camp?" asked Von Bloom, surprised and

troubled at the news.

That, and only that could they answer. A number of odd-looking

animals--very odd-looking, the children said,--had come to the vley to

drink. Hans had taken his gun and followed them in a great hurry,

telling Trüey and Jan to keep in the tree, and not come down until he

returned. He would be gone only a very little while, and they needn't

fear.

This was all they knew. They could not even tell what direction he had

taken. He went by the lower end of the vley; but soon the bushes hid him

from their view, and they saw no more of him.

"At what time was it?"

It was many hours ago,--in the morning in fact,--not long after the

hunters themselves had started. When he did not return the children grew

uneasy; but they thought he had fallen in with papa and Hendrik, and was

helping them to hunt; and that was the reason why he stayed so long.

"Had they heard any report of a gun?"

No--they had listened for that, but heard none. The animals had gone

away before Hans could get his gun ready; and they supposed he had to

follow some distance, before he could overtake them--that might be the

reason they had heard no shot.

"What sort of animals were they?"

They had all seen them plain enough, as they drank. They had never seen

any of the kind before. They were large animals of a yellow-brown

colour, with shaggy manes, and long tufts of hair growing out of their

breasts, and hanging down between their fore-legs. They were as big as

ponies, said Jan, and very like ponies. They curvetted and capered about

just as ponies do sometimes. Trüey thought that they looked more like

lions!

"Lions!" ejaculated her father and Hendrik, with an accent that

betokened alarm.

Indeed, they reminded her of lions, Trüey again affirmed, and Totty said

the same.

"How many were there of them?"

"Oh! a great drove, not less than fifty." They could not have counted

them, as they were constantly in motion, galloping from place to place,

and butting each other with their horns.

"Ha! they had horns then?" interrogated Von Bloom, relieved by this

announcement.

Certainly they had horns, replied all three.

They had seen the horns, sharp-pointed ones, which first came down, and

then turned upwards in front of the animals' faces. They had manes too,

Jan affirmed; and thick necks that curved like that of a beautiful

horse; and tufts of hair like brushes upon their noses; and nice round

bodies like ponies, and long white tails that reached near the ground,

just like the tails of ponies, and finely-shaped limbs as ponies have.

"I tell you," continued Jan, with emphasis, "if it hadn't been for their

horns and the brushes of long hair upon their breasts and noses, I'd

have taken them for ponies before anything. They galloped about just

like ponies when playing, and ran with their heads down, curving their

necks and tossing their manes,--aye, and snorting too, as I've heard

ponies; but sometimes they bellowed more like bulls; and, I confess,

they looked a good deal like bulls about the head; besides I noticed

they had hoofs split like cattle. Oh! I had a good look at them while

Hans was loading his gun. They stayed by the water till he was nearly

ready; and when they galloped off, they went in a long string one behind

the other with the largest one in front, and another large one in the

rear."

"Wildebeests!" exclaimed Hendrik.

"Gnoos!" cried Swartboy.

"Yes, they must have been wildebeests," said Von Bloom; "Jan's

description corresponds exactly to them."

This was quite true. Jan had correctly given many of the characteristic

points of that, perhaps, the most singular of all ruminant animals, the

wildebeest or gnoo (_Catoblepas gnoo_). The brush-like tuft over the

muzzle, the long hair between the fore-legs, the horns curving down over

the face, and then sweeping abruptly upward, the thick curving neck, the

rounded, compact, horse-shaped body, the long whitish tail, and full

flowing mane--all were descriptive of the gnoo.

Even Trüey had not made such an unpardonable mistake. The gnoos, and

particularly the old bulls, bear a very striking resemblance to the

lion, so much so that the sharpest hunters at a distance can scarce tell

one from the other.

Jan, however, had observed them better than Trüey; and had they been

nearer, he might have further noticed that the creatures had red fiery

eyes and a fierce look; that their heads and horns were not unlike those

of the African buffalo; that their limbs resembled those of the stag,

while the rest corresponded well enough to his "pony." He might have

observed, moreover, that the males were larger than the females, and of

a deeper brown. Had there been any "calves" with the herd, he would have

seen that these were still lighter-coloured--in fact, of a white or

cream colour.

The gnoos that had been seen were the common kind called by the Dutch

colonists "wildebeests" or wild-oxen, and by the Hottentots "gnoo" or

"gnu," from a hollow moaning sound to which these creatures sometimes

give utterance, and which is represented by the word "gnoo-o-oo."

They roam in vast flocks upon the wild karoos of South Africa: are

inoffensive animals, except when wounded: and then the old bulls are

exceedingly dangerous, and will attack the hunter both with horns and

hoof. They can run with great swiftness, though they scarce ever go

clear off, but, keeping at a wary distance, circle around the hunter,

curvetting in all directions, menacing with their heads lowered to the

ground, kicking up the dust with their heels, and bellowing like bulls,

or indeed like lions--for their "rout" bears a resemblance to the lion's

roar.

The old bulls stand sentry while the herd is feeding, and protect it

both in front and rear. When running off they usually go in single file,

as Jan had represented.

Old bulls hang between the rear of the herd and the hunter: and these

caper back and forward, butting each other with their horns, and often

fighting apparently in serious earnest! Before the hunter comes within

range, however, they drop their conflict and gallop out of his way.

Nothing can exceed the capricious antics which these animals indulge in,

while trooping over the plain.

There is a second species of the same genus common in South Africa, and

a third inhabits still farther to the north; but of the last very little

is known. Both species are larger than the wildebeest, individuals of

either being nearly five feet in height, while the common gnoo is scarce

four.

The three kinds are quite distinct, and never herd together, though each

of them is often found in company with other animals. All three are

peculiar to the continent of Africa, and are not found elsewhere.

The "brindled gnoo" is the other species that inhabits the South of

Africa. It is known among the hunters and colonists as "blauw

wildebeest" (blue wild-ox). It is of a bluish colour--hence the name,

and "brindled," or striped along the sides. Its habits are very similar

to those of the common gnoo, but it is altogether a heavier and duller

animal, and still more eccentric and ungainly in its form.

The third species is the "ko-koon" of the natives. It approaches nearer

to the brindled gnoo in form and habits; but as it is not found except

in the more central and less-travelled portions of Africa, less is known

about it than either of the others. It is, however, of the same kind;

and the three species, differing widely from any other animals known,

are entitled to form a distinct and separate genus.

They have hitherto generally been classed with the antelopes, though for

what reason it is hard to tell. They have far less affinity with the

antelope than with the ox; and the everyday observations of the hunter

and frontier boer have guided them to a similar conclusion--as their

name for these animals (wild-oxen) would imply. Observation of this

class is usually worth far more than the "speculations" of the

closet-naturalist.

The gnoo has long been the favourite food of the frontier farmer and

hunter. Its beef is well flavoured, and the veal of a gnoo-calf is quite

a delicacy. The hide is manufactured into harness and straps of

different sorts; and the long silky tail is an article of commerce.

Around every frontier farm-house large piles of gnoo and springbok horns

may be seen--the remains of animals that have been captured in the

chase.

"Jaging de wildebeest" (hunting the gnoo) is a favourite pastime of the

young boers. Large herds of these animals are sometimes driven into

valleys, where they are hemmed in, and shot down at will. They can also

be lured within range, by exhibiting a red handkerchief or any piece of

red cloth--to which colour they have a strong aversion. They may be

tamed and domesticated easily enough; but they are not favourite pets

with the farmer, who dreads their communicating to his cattle a fatal

skin-disease to which the gnoos are subject, and which carries off

thousands of them every year.

Of course Von Bloom and his companions did not stay to talk over these

points. They were too anxious about the fate of the missing Hans, to

think of anything else.

They were about to start out in search of him, when just at that moment

my gentleman was seen coming around the end of the lake, trudging very

slowly along, under the weight of some large and heavy object, that he

carried upon his shoulders.

A shout of joy was raised, and in a few moments Hans stood in their

midst.

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE ANT-EATER OF AFRICA.

Hans was saluted by a volley of questions, "Where have you been? What

detained you? What has happened to you? You're all safe and sound? Not

hurt, I hope?" These and a few others were asked in a breath.

"I'm sound as a bell," said Hans; "and for the rest of your inquiries

I'll answer them all as soon as Swartboy has skinned this 'aard-vark,'

and Totty has cooked a piece of it for supper; but I'm too hungry to

talk now, so pray excuse me."

As Hans gave this reply, he cast from his shoulders an animal nearly as

big as a sheep, covered with long bristly hair of a reddish-grey colour,

and having a huge tail, thick at the root, and tapering like a carrot; a

snout nearly a foot long, but quite slender and naked; a very small

mouth; erect pointed ears resembling a pair of horns; a low flattish

body; short muscular legs; and claws of immense length, especially on

the fore-feet, where, instead of spreading out, they were doubled back

like shut fists, or the fore hands of a monkey. Altogether a very odd

animal was that which Hans had styled an "aard-vark," and which he

desired should be cooked for supper.

"Well, my boy," replied Von Bloom, "we'll excuse you, the more so that

we are all of us about as hungry as yourself, I fancy. But I think we

may as well leave the 'aard-vark' for to-morrow's dinner. We've a couple

of peacocks here, and Totty will get one of them ready sooner than the

aard-vark."

"As for that," rejoined Hans, "I don't care which. I'm just in the

condition to eat anything--even a steak of tough old quagga, if I had

it; but I think it would be no harm if Swartboy--that is, if you're not

too tired, old Swart--would just peel the skin off this gentleman."

Hans pointed to the "aard-vark."

"And dress him so that he don't spoil," he continued; "for you know,

Swartboy, that he's a tit-bit--a regular _bonne bouche_--and it would be

a pity to let him go to waste in this hot weather. An aard-vark's not to

be bagged every day."

"You spreichen true, Mynheer Hans,--Swartboy know all dat. Him skin and

dress da goup."

And, so saying, Swartboy out knife, and set to work upon the carcass.

Now this singular-looking animal which Hans called an "aard-vark," and

Swartboy a "goup," was neither more or less than the African ant-eater.

Although the colonists term it "aard-vark," which is the Dutch for

"ground-hog," the animal has but little in common with the hog kind. It

certainly bears some resemblance to a pig about the snout and cheeks;

and that, with its bristly hair and burrowing habits, has no doubt

given rise to the mistaken name. The "ground" part of the title is from

the fact that it is a burrowing animal,--indeed, one of the best

"terriers" in the world. It can make its way under ground, faster than

the spade can follow it, and faster than any badger. In size, habits,

and the form of many parts of its body, it bears a striking resemblance

to its South American cousin the "tamanoir," which of late years has

become so famous as almost to usurp the title of "ant-eater."

But the "aard-vark" is just as good an ant-eater as he,--can "crack" as

thick-walled a house, can rake up and devour as many termites as any

"ant-bear" in the length and breadth of the Amazon Valley. He has got,

moreover, as "tall" a tail as the tamanoir, very nearly as long a snout,

a mouth equally small, and a tongue as extensive and extensile. In claws

he can compare with his American cousin any day, and can walk just as

awkwardly upon the sides of his fore-paws with "toes turned in."

Why, then, may I ask, do we hear so much talk of the "tamanoir," while

not a word is said of the "aard-vark?" Every museum and menagerie is

bragging about having a specimen of the former, while not one cares to

acknowledge their possession of the latter! Why this envious

distinction? I say it's all Barnum. It's because the "aard-vark's" a

Dutchman--a Cape boer--and the boers have been much bullied of late.

That's the reason why zoologists and showmen have treated my

thick-tailed boy so shabbily. But it shan't be so any longer; I stand up

for the aard-vark; and, although the tamanoir has been specially called

_Myrmecophaga_, or ant-eater, I say that the _Orycteropus_ is as good an

ant-eater as he.

He can break through ant-hills quite as big and bigger--some of them

twenty feet high--he can project as long and as gluey a tongue--twenty

inches long--he can play it as nimbly and "lick up" as many white ants,

as any tamanoir. He can grow as fat too, and weigh as heavy, and, what

is greatly to his credit, he can provide you with a most delicate roast

when you choose to kill and eat him. It is true he tastes slightly of

formid acid, but that is just the flavour that epicures admire. And when

you come to speak of "hams,"--ah! try his! Cure them well and properly,

and eat one, and you will never again talk of "Spanish" or

"Westphalian."

Hans knew the taste of those hams--well he did, and so too Swartboy; and

it was not against his inclination, but _con amore_, that the latter set

about butchering the "goup."

Swartboy knew how precious a morsel he held between his

fingers,--precious, not only on account of its intrinsic goodness, but

from its rarity; for although the aard-vark is a common animal in South

Africa, and in some districts even numerous, it is not every day the

hunter can lay his hands upon one. On the contrary, the creature is most

difficult to capture; though not to kill, for a blow on the snout will

do that.

But just as he is easily killed when you catch him, in the same

proportion is he hard to catch. He is shy and wary, scarce ever comes

out of his burrow but at night; and even then skulks so silently along,

and watches around him so sharply, that no enemy can approach without

his knowing it. His eyes are very small, and, like most nocturnal

animals, he sees but indifferently; but in the two senses of smell and

hearing he is one of the sharpest. His long erect ears enable him to

catch every sound that may be made in his neighbourhood, however slight.

The "aard-vark" is not the only ant-eating quadruped of South Africa.

There is another four-footed creature as fond of white ants as he; but

this is an animal of very different appearance. It is a creature without

hair; but instead, its body is covered all over with a regular coat of

scales, each as large as a half-crown piece. These scales slightly

overlie each other, and can be raised on end at the will of the animal.

In form it resembles a large lizard, or a small crocodile, more than an

ordinary quadruped, but its habits are almost exactly like those of the

aard-vark. It burrows, digs open the ant-hills by night, projects a long

viscous tongue among the insects, and devours them with avidity.

When suddenly overtaken, and out of reach of its underground retreat, it

"clews" up like the hedgehog, and some species of the South American

armadillos--to which last animal it bears a considerable resemblance on

account of its scaly coat of mail.

This ant-eater is known as the "pangolin," or "manis," but there are

several species of "pangolin" not African. Some are met with in Southern

Asia and the Indian islands. That which is found in South Africa is

known among naturalists as the "long-tailed" or "Tem-minck" pangolin

(_Manis Temminckii_).

Totty soon produced a roasted "peacock," or rather a hastily-broiled

bustard. But, although, perhaps, not cooked "to a turn," it was

sufficiently well done to satisfy the stomachs for which it was

intended. They were all too hungry to be fastidious, and, without a word

of criticism, they got through their dinner.

Hans then commenced relating the history of his day's adventure.

CHAPTER XXX.

HANS CHASED BY THE WILDEBEEST.

"Well," began Hans, "you had not been gone more than an hour, when a

herd of wildebeests was seen approaching the vley. They came on in

single file; but they had broken rank, and were splashing about in the

water, before I thought of molesting them in any way.

Of course I knew what they were, and that they were proper game; but I

was so interested in watching their ludicrous gambols, that I did not

think about my gun, until the whole herd had nearly finished drinking.

Then I remembered that we were living on dry biltongue, and would be

nothing the worse of a change. I noticed, moreover, that in the herd of

gnoos there were some young ones--which I was able to tell from their

being smaller than the rest, and also by their lighter colour. I knew

that the flesh of these is most excellent eating, and therefore made up

my mind we should all dine upon it.

I rushed up the ladder for my gun; and then discovered how imprudent I

had been in not loading it at the time you all went away. I had not

thought of any sudden emergency,--but that was very foolish, for how

knew I what might happen in a single hour or minute even?

I loaded the piece in a grand hurry, for I saw the wildebeests leaving

the water; and, as soon as the bullet was rammed home, I ran down the

ladder. Before I had reached the bottom, I saw that I had forgotten to

bring either powder-horn or pouch. I was in too hot a haste to go back

for them, for I saw the last of the wildebeests moving off, and I

fancied I might be too late. But I had no intention of going any great

distance in pursuit. A single shot at them was all I wanted, and that in

the gun would do.

I hastened after the game, keeping as well as I could under cover. I

found, after a little time, that I need not have been so cautious. The

wildebeests, instead of being shy--as I had seen them in our old

neighbourhood--appeared to have very little fear of me. This was

especially the case with the old bulls, who capered and careered about

within an hundred yards' distance, and sometimes permitted me to

approach even nearer. It was plain they had never been hunted.

Once or twice I was within range of a pair of old bulls, who seemed to

act as a rearguard. But I did not want to shoot one of them. I knew

their flesh would turn out tough. I wished to get something more tender.

I wished to send a bullet into a heifer, or one of the young bulls whose

horns had not yet begun to curve. Of these I saw several in the herd.

Tame as the animals were, I could not manage to get near enough to any

of these. The old bulls at the head always led them beyond my range; and

the two that brought up the rear, seemed to drive them forward as I

advanced upon them.

Well, in this way they beguiled me along for more than a mile; and the

excitement of the chase made me quite forget how wrong it was of me to

go so far from the camp. But thinking about the meat, and still hopeful

of getting a shot, I kept on.

At length the hunt led me into ground where there was no longer any

bush; but there was good cover, notwithstanding, in the ant-hills, that,

like great tents, stood at equal distances from each other scattered

over the plain. These were very large--some of them more than twelve

feet high--and differing from the dome-shaped kind so common everywhere.

They were of the shape of large cones, or rounded pyramids, with a

number of smaller cones rising around their bases, and clustering like

turrets along their sides. I knew they were the hills of a species of

white ant called by entomologists _Termes bellicosus_.

There were other hills, of cylinder shape and rounded tops, that stood

only about a yard high; looking like rolls of unbleached linen set

upright--each with an inverted basin upon its end. These were the homes

of a very different species, the _Termes mordax_ of the entomologists;

though still another species of _Termes_ build their nests in the same

form.

I did not stop then to examine these curious structures. I only speak of

them now, to give you an idea of the sort of place it was, so that you

may understand what followed.

What with the cone-shaped hills and the cylinders, the plain was pretty

well covered. One or the other was met with every two hundred yards; and

I fancied with these for a shelter I should have but little difficulty

in getting within shot of the gnoos.

I made a circuit to head them, and crept up behind a large cone-shaped

hill, near which the thick of the drove was feeding. When I peeped

through the turrets, to my chagrin, I saw that the cows and younger ones

had been drawn off beyond reach, and the two old bulls were, as before,

capering between me and the herd.

I repeated the manoeuvre, and stalked in behind another large cone, close

to which the beasts were feeding. When I raised myself for a shot, I was

again disappointed. The herd had moved off as before, and the brace of

bulls still kept guard in the rear.

I began to feel provoked. The conduct of the bulls annoyed me

exceedingly, and I really fancied that they knew it. Their manoeuvres

were of the oddest kind, and some of them appeared to be made for the

purpose of mocking me. At times they would charge up very close--their

heads set in a menacing attitude; and I must confess that with their

black shaggy fronts, their sharp horns, and glaring red eyes, they

looked anything but pleasant neighbours.

I got so provoked with them at last, that I resolved they should bother

me no longer. If they would not permit me to shoot one of the others, I

was determined they themselves should not escape scot-free, but should

pay dearly for their temerity and insolence. I resolved to put a bullet

through one of them, at least.

Just as I was about raising my gun to fire, I perceived that they had

placed themselves in attitude for a new fight. This they did by dropping

on their knees, and sliding forward until their heads came in contact.

They would then spring up, make a sudden bound forward, as if to get

uppermost, and trample one another with their hoofs. Failing in this,

both would rush past, until they were several yards apart; then wheel

round, drop once more to their knees, and advance as before.

Hitherto I had looked upon these conflicts as merely playful; and so I

fancy most of them were. But this time the bulls seemed to be in

earnest. The loud cracking of their helmet-covered foreheads against

each other, their fierce snorting and bellowing, and, above all, their

angry manner, convinced me that they had really quarrelled, and were

serious about it.

One of them, at length, seemed to be getting knocked over repeatedly.

Every time he had partially risen to his feet, and before he could quite

recover them, his antagonist rushed upon him, and butted him back upon

his side.

Seeing them so earnestly engaged, I thought I might as well make a sure

shot of it, by going a little nearer; so I stepped from behind the

ant-hill, and walked towards the combatants. Neither took any notice of

my approach--the one because he had enough to do to guard himself from

the terrible blows, and the other because he was so occupied in

delivering them.

When within twenty paces I levelled my gun. I chose the bull who

appeared victor, partly as a punishment for his want of feeling in

striking a fallen antagonist, but, perhaps, more because his broadside

was towards me, and presented a fairer mark.

I fired.

The smoke hid both for a moment. When it cleared off, I saw the bull

that had been conquered still down in a kneeling attitude, but, to my

great surprise, the one at which I had aimed was upon his feet,

apparently as brisk and sound as ever! I knew I had hit him

somewhere--as I heard the 'thud' of the bullet on his fat body--but it

was plain I had not crippled him.

I was not allowed time for reflection as to where I had wounded him. Not

an instant indeed, for the moment the smoke cleared away, instead of the

bulls clearing off also, I saw the one I had shot at fling up his tail,

lower his shaggy front, and charge right towards me!

His fierce eyes glanced with a revengeful look, and his roar was enough

to have terrified one more courageous than I. I assure you I was less

frightened the other day when I encountered the lion.

I did not know what to do for some moments. I thought of setting myself

in an attitude of defence, and involuntarily had turned my gun which was

now empty--intending to use it as a club. But I saw at once, that the

slight blow I could deliver would not stop the onset of such a strong

fierce animal, and that he would butt me over, and gore me, to a

certainty.

I turned my eyes to see what hope there lay in flight. Fortunately they

fell upon an ant-hill--the one I had just emerged from. I saw at a

glance, that by climbing it I would be out of reach of the fierce

wildebeest. Would I have time to get to it before he could overtake me?

I ran like a frightened fox. You, Hendrik, can beat me running upon

ordinary occasions. I don't think you could have got quicker to that

ant-hill than I did.

I was not a second too soon. As I clutched at the little turrets, and

drew myself up, I could hear the rattle of the wildebeest's hoofs behind

me, and I fancied I felt his hot breath upon my heels.

But I reached the top cone in safety; and then turned and looked down at

my pursuer. I saw that he could not follow me any farther. Sharp as his

horns were, I saw that I was safe out of their reach."

CHAPTER XXXI.

BESIEGED BY THE BULL.

"Well," continued Hans, after a pause, "I began to congratulate myself

on my fortunate escape; for I was convinced that but for the ant-hill I

would have been trampled and gored to death. The bull was one of the

largest and fiercest of his kind, and a very old one too, as I could

tell by the bases of his thick black horns nearly meeting over his

forehead, as well as by his dark colour. I had plenty of time to note

these things. I felt that I was now safe--that the wildebeest could not

get near me; and I sat perched upon the top of the central cone,

watching his movements with perfect coolness.

It is true he did everything to reach my position. A dozen times he

charged up the hill, and more than once effected a lodgment among the

tops of the lower turrets, but the main one was too steep for him. No

wonder! It had tried my own powers to scale it.

At times he came so close to me in his desperate efforts, that I could

have touched his horns with the muzzle of my gun; and I had prepared to

give him a blow whenever I could get a good chance. I never saw a

creature behave so fiercely. The fact was, that I had hit him with my

bullet,--the wound was there along his jaw, and bleeding freely. The

pain of it maddened him; but that was not the only cause of his fury, as

I afterwards discovered.

Well. After several unsuccessful attempts to scale the cone, he varied

his tactics, and commenced butting the ant-heap as though he would bring

it down. He repeatedly backed, and then charged forward upon it with

all his might; and, to say the truth, it looked for some time as though

he would succeed.

Several of the lesser cones were knocked over by his powerful blows; and

the hard tough clay yielded before his sharp horns, used by him as

inverted pick-axes. In several places I could see that he had laid open

the chambers of the insects, or rather the ways and galleries that are

placed in the outer crust of the hill.

With all this I felt no fear. I was under the belief that he would soon

exhaust his rage and go away; and then I could descend without danger.

But after watching him a good long spell, I was not a little astonished

to observe that, instead of cooling down, he seemed to grow more furious

than ever. I had taken out my handkerchief to wipe the perspiration off

my face. It was as hot as an oven where I sat. Not a breath of air was

stirring, and the rays of the sun, glaring right down and then

reflecting up again from the white clay, brought the perspiration out of

me in streams. Every minute I was obliged to rub my eyes clear of it

with the handkerchief.

Now, before passing the kerchief over my face, I always shook it open;

and each time I did so, I noticed that the rage of the wildebeest seemed

to be redoubled! In fact, at such times he would leave off goring the

heap, and make a fresh attempt to rush up at me, roaring his loudest as

he charged against the steep wall!

I was puzzled at this, as well as astonished. What could there be in my

wiping my face to provoke the wildebeest anew? And yet such was clearly

the case. Every time I did so, he appeared to swell with a fresh burst

of passion!

The explanation came at length. I saw that it was not the wiping off the

perspiration that provoked him. It was the shaking out of my

handkerchief. This was, as you know, of a bright scarlet colour. I

thought of this, and then, for the first time, remembered having heard

that anything scarlet has a most powerful effect upon the wildebeest,

and excites him to a rage resembling madness.

I did not wish to keep up his fury. I crumpled up the handkerchief and

buried it in my pocket--preferring to endure the perspiration rather

than remain there any longer. By hiding the scarlet, I conceived a hope

he would the sooner cool down, and go away.

But I had raised a devil in him too fierce to be so easily laid. He

showed no signs of cooling down. On the contrary, he continued to

charge, butt, and bellow, as vengefully as ever--though the scarlet was

no longer before his eyes.

I began to feel really annoyed. I had no idea the gnoo was so implacable

in his rage. The bull evidently felt pain from his wound. I could

perceive that he moaned it. He knew well enough it was I who had given

him this pain.

He appeared determined not to let me escape retribution. He showed no

signs of an intention to leave the place; but laboured away with hoof

and horns, as if he would demolish the mound.

I was growing very tired of my situation. Though not afraid that the

bull could reach me, I was troubled by the thought of being so long

absent from our camp. I knew I should have been there. I thought of my

little sister and brother. Some misfortune might befall them. I was very

sad about that, though up to that time I had little or no fears for

myself. I was still in hopes the wildebeest would tire out and leave me,

and then I could soon run home.

I say, up to that time I had no very serious fears for myself--excepting

the moment or two when the bull was chasing me to the hill; but that

little fright was soon over.

But now appeared a new object of dread--another enemy, as terrible as

the enraged bull--that almost caused me to spring down upon the horns of

the latter in my first moments of alarm!

I have said that the wildebeest had broken down several of the lesser

turrets--the outworks of the ant-hill--and had laid open the hollow

spaces within. He had not penetrated to the main dome, but only the

winding galleries and passages that perforate the outer walls.

I noticed, that, as soon as these were broken open, a number of ants had

rushed out from each. Indeed, I had observed many of the creatures

crawling outside the hill, when I first approached it, and had wondered

at this--as I knew that they usually keep under ground when going and

coming from their nests. I had observed all this, without taking note of

it at the time--being too intent in my stalk to think of anything else.

For the last half-hour I was too busy watching the manoeuvres of the

wildebeest bull, to take my gaze off him for a moment.

Something in motion directly under me at length caught my eye, and I

looked down to see what it was. The first glance caused me to jump to my

feet; and, as I have already said, very nearly impelled me to leap down

upon the horns of the bull!

Swarming all over the hill, already clustering upon my shoes, and

crawling still higher, were the crowds of angry ants. Every hole that

the bull had made was yielding out its throng of spiteful insects; and

all appeared moving towards me!

Small as the creatures were, I fancied I saw design in their movements.

They seemed all actuated with the same feeling--the same impulse--that

of attacking me. I could not be mistaken in their intent. They moved all

together, as if guided and led by intelligent beings; and they advanced

towards the spot on which I stood.

I saw, too, that they were the soldiers. I knew these from the workers,

by their larger heads and long horny mandibles. I knew they could bite

fiercely and painfully.

The thought filled me with horror. I confess it, I never was so

horrified before. My late encounter with the lion was nothing to compare

with it.

My first impression was that I would be destroyed by the termites. I had

heard of such things--I remembered that I had. It was that, no doubt,

that frightened me so badly, I had heard of men in their sleep being

attacked by the white ants, and bitten to death. Such memories came

crowding upon me at the moment, until I felt certain, that if I did not

soon escape from that spot, the ants would sting me to death and eat me

up!"

CHAPTER XXXII.

A HELPLESS BEAST.

"What was to be done?" continued Hans. "How was I to avoid both enemies?

If I leaped down, the wildebeest would kill me to a certainty. He was

still there, with his fierce eye bent upon me continually. If I remained

where I was, I would soon be covered with the swarming hideous insects,

and eaten up like an old rag.

[Illustration: HANS BESIEGED BY A WILDEBEEST.]

Already I felt their terrible teeth. Those that had first crawled to my

feet I had endeavoured to brush off; but some had got upon my ankles,

and were biting me through my thick woollen socks! My clothes would be

no protection.

I had mounted to the highest part of the cone, and was standing upon

its apex. It was so sharp I could scarcely balance myself, but the

painful stings of the insects caused me to dance upon it like a

mountebank.

But what signified those that had already stung my ankle, to the numbers

that were likely soon to pierce me with their venomous darts? Already

these were swarming up the last terrace. They would soon cover the apex

of the cone upon which I was standing. They would crawl up my limbs in

myriads--they would----

I could reflect no longer on what they would do. I preferred taking my

chance with the wildebeest. I would leap down. Perhaps some lucky

accident might aid me. I would battle with the gnoo, using my gun.

Perhaps I might succeed in escaping to some other hill. Perhaps----

I was actually on the spring to leap down, when a new thought came into

my mind; and I wondered I had been so silly as not to think of it

before. What was to hinder me from keeping off the termites? They had no

wings--the soldiers have none--nor the workers neither, for that matter.

They could not fly upon me. They could only crawl up the cone. With my

jacket I could brush them back. Certainly I could--why did I not think

of it before?

I was not long in taking off my jacket. I laid aside my useless gun,

dropping it upon one of the lower terraces. I caught the jacket by the

collar; and, using it as a duster, I cleared the sides of the cone in a

few moments, having sent thousands of the termites tumbling headlong

below.

Pshaw! how simply the thing was done! why had I not done it before? It

cost scarcely an effort to brush the myriads away, and a slight effort

would keep them off as long as I pleased.

The only annoyance I felt now was from the few that had got under my

trousers, and that still continued to bite me; but these I would get rid

of in time.

Well--I remained on the apex, now bending down to beat back the soldiers

that still swarmed upward, and then occupying myself in trying to get

rid of the few that crawled upon me. I felt no longer any uneasiness on

the score of the insects--though I was not a bit better off as regarded

the bull, who still kept guard below. I fancied, however, that he now

showed symptoms of weariness, and would soon raise the siege; and this

prospect made me feel more cheerful.

A sudden change came over me. A new thrill of terror awaited me.

While jumping about upon the top of the cone, my footing suddenly gave

way--the baked clay broke with a dead crash, and I sank through the

roof. My feet shot down into the hollow dome--till I thought I must have

crushed the great queen in her chamber--and I stood buried to the neck.

I was surprised, and a little terrified, not by the shock I had

experienced in the sudden descent. That was natural enough, and a few

moments would have restored my equanimity; but it was something else

that frightened me. It was something that moved under my feet as they

'touched bottom,'--something that moved and heaved under them, and then

passed quickly away, letting me still farther down!

What could it be? Was it the great swarm of living ants that I pressed

upon? I did not think it was. It did not feel like them. It seemed to

be something bulky and strong, for it held up my whole weight for a

moment or two, before it slipped from under me.

Whatever it was, it frightened me very considerably; and I did not leave

my feet in its company for five seconds time. No: the hottest furnace

would scarce have scorched them during the time they remained inside the

dark dome. In five seconds they were on the walls again--on the broken

edges, where I had mounted up, and where I now stood quite speechless

with surprise!

What next? I could keep the ants off no longer. I gazed down the dark

cavity; they were swarming up that way in thick crowds. I could brush

them down no more.

My eyes at this moment chanced to wander to the bull. He was standing at

three or four paces distance from the base of the hill. He was standing

sideways with his head turned to it, and regarding it with a wild look.

His attitude was entirely changed, and so, I thought, was the expression

of his eye. He looked as if he had just run off to his new position, and

was ready to make a second start. He looked as if something had also

terrified him!

Something evidently had; for, in another moment, he uttered a sharp

rout, galloped several paces farther out, wheeled again, halted, and

stood gazing as before!

What could it mean? Was it the breaking through of the roof and my

sudden descent that had frightened him?

At first I thought so, but I observed that he did not look upward to the

top. His gaze seemed bent on some object near the base of the

hill--though from where I stood I could see nothing there to frighten

him.

I had not time to reflect what it could be, before the bull uttered a

fresh snort; and, raising its tail high into the air, struck off at full

gallop over the plain!

Rejoiced at seeing this, I thought no more of what had relieved me of

his company. It must have been my curious fall, I concluded; but no

matter now that the brute was gone. So seizing hold of my gun, I

prepared to descend from the elevated position of which I was thoroughly

tired.

Just as I had got half down the side, I chanced to look below; and there

was the object that terrified the old bull. No wonder. It might have

terrified anything,--the odd-looking creature that it was. From out a

hole in the clay wall protruded a long naked cylindrical snout, mounted

by a pair of ears nearly as long as itself, that stood erect like the

horns of a steinbuck, and gave to the animal that bore them a wild and

vicious look. It would have badly frightened me, had I not known what it

was; but I recognised it at once as one of the most inoffensive

creatures in the world--the 'aard-vark.'

His appearance accounted for the retreat of the bull, and also explained

why the ants had been crawling about on my first reaching their hill.

Without saying a word, or making the slightest noise, I clubbed my gun;

and, bending downward, struck the protruded snout a blow with the butt.

It was a most wicked blow; and, considering the service the creature had

just done me in frightening off the wildebeest, a most ungrateful

return. But I was not master of my feelings at the moment. I did not

reflect--only that I liked aard-vark flesh--and the blow was given.

Poor fellow! It did the job for him. With scarce a kick he dropped dead

in the opening he had scraped with his own claws.

Well--my day's adventures were not yet ended. They seemed as though they

were never to end. I had got the aard-vark over my shoulders, and was

about heading homeward, when, to my astonishment, I observed that the

bull-gnoo--not the one that had besieged me, but his late

antagonist--was still out upon the plain where I had last seen him! I

observed, moreover, that he was still in a sort of half-lying,

half-kneeling attitude, with his head close to the ground!

His odd movements seemed stranger than anything else. I fancied he had

been badly hurt by the other, and was not able to get away.

At first I was cautious about going near him--remembering my late narrow

escape--and I thought of giving him a wide berth, and leaving him alone.

Even though wounded, he might be strong enough to charge upon me; and my

empty gun, as I had already proved, would be but a poor weapon with

which to defend myself.

I hesitated about going near him; but curiosity grew strong within me,

as I watched his queer manoeuvres; until at length I walked up within a

dozen yards of where he was kneeling.

Fancy my surprise on discovering the cause of his oblique movements. No

hurt had he received of any kind--not even a scratch; but for all that,

he was as completely crippled as if he had lost his best pair of legs.

In a very singular manner was he rendered thus helpless. In his struggle

with the other bull, one of his fore-legs had, somehow or other, got

passed over his horn; and there it stuck--not only depriving him of the

use of the limb itself, but holding his head so close to the ground that

he was quite unable to stir from the spot!

At first I designed helping him out of his difficulty, and letting him

go. On second thoughts, I remembered the story of the husband-man and

the frozen snake, which quite changed my intention.

I next thought of killing him for venison; but having no bullet, I did

not like to beat him to death with my gun. Besides the aard-vark was my

load to camp, and I knew that the jackals would eat the bull up before

we could go back for him. I thought it probable he would be safer left

as he was--as these ravenous brutes, seeing him alive, might not so

readily approach him.

So I left him with his "head under his arm," in hopes that we may find

him there to-morrow."

So ended Hans's narrative of his day's adventures.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE ELEPHANT'S SLEEPING-ROOM.

The field-cornet was far from satisfied with his day's work. His first

attempt at elephant-hunting had proved a failure. Might it not be always

so?

Notwithstanding the interest with which he listened to Hans's narrative

of the day's adventures, he felt uneasy in his mind when he reflected

upon his own.

The elephant had escaped so easily. Their bullets seemed to have injured

him not the least. They had only served to render him furious, and

dangerous. Though both had hit him in places where their wounds should

have been mortal, no such effect was produced. The elephant seemed to go

off as unscathed, as if they had fired only boiled peas at him!

Would it be always so?

True, they had given him but two shots. Two, if well directed, may bring

down a cow-elephant and sometimes a bull, but oftener it requires ten

times two before a strong old bull can be made to "bite the dust."

But would any elephant wait until they could load and fire a sufficient

number of shots?

That was an undecided point with our tyro elephant-hunters. If not, then

they would be helpless indeed. It would be a tedious business spooring

the game afoot, after it had once been fired upon. In such cases the

elephant usually travels many miles before halting again; and only

mounted men can with any facility overtake him.

How Von Bloom sighed when he thought of his poor horses! Now more than

ever did he feel the want of them--now more than ever did he regret

their loss.

But he had heard that the elephant does not always make off when

attacked. The old bull had shown no intention of retreating, after

receiving their shots. It was the odd conduct of Swartboy that had put

him to flight. But for that, he would no doubt have kept the ground,

until they had given him another volley, and perhaps his death-wound.

The field-cornet drew consolation from this last reflection. Perhaps

their next encounter would have a different ending. Perhaps a pair of

tusks would reward them.

The hope of such a result, as well as the anxiety about it, determined

Von Bloom to lose no time in making a fresh trial. Next morning,

therefore, before the sun was up, the hunters were once more upon the

trail of their giant game.

One precaution they had taken, which they had not thought of before. All

of them had heard that an ordinary leaden bullet will not penetrate the

tough thick skin of the great "pachyderm." Perhaps this had been the

cause of their failure on the preceding day. If so they had provided

against the recurrence of failure from such a cause. They had moulded a

new set of balls of harder material,--solder it should have been, but

they had none. They chanced, however, to be in possession of what served

the purpose equally well--the old "plate" that had often graced the

field-cornet's table in his better byegone days of the Graaf Reinet.

This consisted of candlesticks, and snuffer-trays, and dish-covers, and

cruet-stands, and a variety of articles of the real "Dutch metal."

Some of these were condemned to the alembic of the melting-pan; and,

mixed with the common lead, produced a set of balls hard enough for the

hide of the rhinoceros itself--so that this day the hunters had no fears

of failure upon the score of soft bullets.

They went in the same direction as upon the preceding day, towards the

forest or "bush," as they termed it.

They had not proceeded a mile when they came upon the spoor of elephants

nearly fresh. It passed through the very thickest of the thorny

jungle--where no creature but an elephant, a rhinoceros, or a man with

an axe, could have made way. A family must have passed, consisting of a

male, a female or two, and several young ones of different ages. They

had marched in single file, as elephants usually do; and had made a

regular lane several feet wide, which was quite clear of bushes, and

trampled by their immense footsteps. The old bull, Swartboy said, had

gone in advance, and had cleared the way of all obstructions, by means

of his trunk and tusks. This had evidently been the case, for the

hunters observed huge branches broken off, or still hanging and turned

to one side, out of the way--just as if the hand of man had done it.

Swartboy further affirmed, that such elephant-roads usually led to

water; and by the very easiest and shortest routes--as if they had been

planned and laid open by the skill of an engineer--showing the rare

instinct or sagacity of these animals.

The hunters, therefore, expected soon to arrive at some watering-place;

but it was equally probable the spoor might be leading them from the

water.

They had not followed it more than a quarter of a mile, when they came

upon another road of a similar kind, that crossed the one they were

spooring upon. This had also been made by a number of elephants--a

family most likely--and the tracks upon it were as recent as those they

had been following.

They hesitated for a moment which to take; but at length concluded upon

keeping straight on; and so they moved forward as before.

To their great disappointment the trail at last led out into more open

ground, where the elephants had scattered about; and after following the

tracks of one, and then another without success, they got bewildered,

and lost the spoor altogether.

While casting about to find it in a place where the bush was thin and

straggling, Swartboy suddenly ran off to one side, calling to the others

to follow him. Von Bloom and Hendrik went after to see what the Bushman

was about. They thought he had seen an elephant, and both, considerably

excited, had already pulled the covers off their guns.

There was no elephant, however. When they came up with Swartboy, he was

standing under a tree, and pointing to the ground at its bottom.

The hunters looked down. They saw that the ground upon one side of the

tree was trampled, as though horses or some other animals had been tied

there for a long time, and had worn off the turf, and worked it into

dust with their hoofs. The bark of the tree--a full-topped shady

acacia--for some distance up was worn smooth upon one side, just as

though cattle had used it for a rubbing-post.

"What has done it?" asked the field-cornet and Hendrik in a breath.

"Da olifant's slapen-boom" (the elephant's sleeping-tree), replied

Swartboy.

No further explanation was necessary. The hunters remembered what they

had been told about a curious habit which the elephant has--of leaning

against a tree while asleep. This, then, was one of the sleeping-trees

of these animals.

But of what use to them, farther than to gratify a little curiosity? The

elephant was not there.

"Da ole karl come again," said Swartboy.

"Ha! you think so, Swart?" inquired Von Bloom.

"Ya, baas, lookee da! spoor fresh--da groot olifant hab slap here

yesterday."

"What then? you think we should lie in wait, and shoot him when he

returns."

"No, baas, better dan shoot, we make him bed--den wait see um lie down."

Swartboy grinned a laugh as he gave this piece of advice.

"Make his bed! what do you mean?" inquired his master.

"I tell you, baas, we get da oliphant sure, if you leave da job to ole

Swart. I gib you de plan for take him, no waste powder, no waste

bullet."

The Bushman proceeded to communicate his plan, to which his

master--remembering their failure of yesterday--readily gave his

consent.

Fortunately they had all the implements that would be necessary for

carrying it out,--a sharp axe, a strong rope or "rheim" of raw-hide, and

their knives--and they set about the business without loss of time.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

MAKING THE ELEPHANT'S BED.

To the hunters time was a consideration. If the elephant should return

that day it would be just before the hottest hours of noon. They had,

therefore, scarce an hour left to prepare for him--to "make his bed," as

Swartboy had jocosely termed it. So they went to work with alacrity, the

Bushman acting as director-general, while the other two received their

orders from him with the utmost obedience.

The first work which Swartboy assigned to them was to cut and prepare

three stakes of hard wood. They were to be each about three feet long,

as thick as a man's arm, and pointed at one end.

These were soon procured. The iron-wood which grew in abundance in the

neighbourhood, furnished the very material; and after three pieces of

sufficient length had been cut down with the axe, they were reduced to

the proper size, and pointed by the knives of the hunters.

Meanwhile Swartboy had not been idle. First, with his knife he had cut a

large section of bark from the elephant's tree, upon the side against

which the animal had been in the habit of leaning, and about three feet

from the ground. Then with the axe he made a deep notch, where the bark

had been removed--in fact, such a notch as would have caused the tree to

fall had it been left to itself. But it was not, for before advancing so

far in his work, Swartboy had taken measures to prevent that. He had

stayed the tree by fastening the rheim to its upper branches on the

opposite side, and then carrying the rope to the limbs of another tree

that stood out in that direction.

Thus adjusted, the elephant's tree was only kept from falling by the

rheim-stay; and a slight push, in the direction of the latter, would

have thrown it over.

Swartboy now replaced the section of bark, which he had preserved; and

after carefully collecting the chips, no one, without close examination,

could have told that the tree had ever felt the edge of an axe.

Another operation yet remained to be performed--that was the planting

of the stakes, already prepared by Von Bloom and Hendrik. To set these

firmly, deep holes had to be made. But Swartboy was just the man to make

a hole; and in less than ten minutes he had sunk three, each over a foot

deep, and not a half-inch wider than the thickness of the stakes!

You may be curious to know how he accomplished this. You would have dug

a hole with a spade, and necessarily as wide as the spade itself. But

Swartboy had no spade, and would not have used it if there had been

one--since it would have made the holes too large for his purpose.

Swartboy sunk his holes by "crowing"--which process he performed by

means of a small pointed stick. With this he first loosened the earth in

a circle of the proper size. He then took out the detached mould, flung

it away, and used the point of the "crowing stick" as before. Another

clearing out of mould, another application of the stick; and so on, till

the narrow hole was deemed of sufficient depth. That was how Swartboy

"crowed" the holes.

They were sunk in a kind of triangle near the bottom of the tree, but on

the side opposite to that where the elephant would stand, should he

occupy his old ground.

In each hole Swartboy now set a stake, thick end down and point upwards;

some small pebbles, and a little mould worked in at the sides, wedged

them as firmly as if they had grown there.

The stakes were now daubed over with soft earth, to conceal the white

colour of the wood; the remaining chips were picked up, and all traces

of the work completely obliterated. This done the hunters withdrew from

the spot.

They did not go far; but choosing a large bushy tree to leeward, all

three climbed up into it, and sat concealed among its branches.

The field-cornet held his long "roer" in readiness, and so did Hendrik

his rifle. In case the ingenious trap of Swartboy should fail, they

intended to use their guns, but not otherwise.

It was now quite noon, and the day had turned out one of the hottest.

But for the shade afforded by the leaves, they would have felt it very

distressing. Swartboy prognosticated favourably from this. The great

heat would be more likely than anything else to send the elephant to his

favourite sleeping-place under the cool shady cover of the cameel-doorn.

It was now quite noon. He could not be long in coming, thought they.

Sure enough he came, and soon, too.

They had not been twenty minutes on their perch, when they heard a

strange, rumbling noise, which they knew proceeded from the stomach of

an elephant. The next moment they saw one emerge from the jungle, and

walk, with sweeping step, straight up to the tree. He seemed to have no

suspicion of any danger; but placed himself at once alongside the trunk

of the acacia--in the very position and on the side Swartboy had said he

would take. From his spoor the Bushman knew he had been in the habit of

so standing.

His head was turned from the hunters, but not so much as to prevent them

from seeing a pair of splendid tusks,--six feet long at the least.

While gazing in admiration at these rich trophies, they saw the animal

point his proboscis upward, and discharge a vast shower of water into

the leaves, which afterwards fell dripping in bright globules over his

body!

Swartboy said that he drew the water from his stomach. Although

closet-naturalists deny this, it must have been so; for shortly after,

he repeated the act again and again--the quantity of water at each

discharge being as great as before. It was plain that his trunk, large

as it was, could not have contained it all.

He seemed to enjoy this "shower-bath;" and the hunters did not wonder at

it, for they themselves, suffering at the time from heat and thirst,

would have relished something of a similar kind. As the crystal drops

fell back from the acacia leaves, the huge animal was heard to utter a

low grunt expressive of gratification. The hunters hoped that this was

the prelude to his sleep, and watched him with intense earnestness.

It proved to be so.

As they sat gazing, they noticed that his head sunk a little, his ears

ceased their flapping, his tail hung motionless, and his trunk, now

twined around his tusks, remained at rest.

They gaze intently. Now they see his body droop a little to one

side--now it touches the tree--there is heard a loud crack, followed by

a confused crashing of branches--and the huge dark body of the elephant

sinks upon its side.

At the same instant a terrible scream drowns all other sounds, causing

the forest to echo, and the very leaves to quake. Then follows a

confused roaring, mingled with the noise of cracking branches, and the

struggles of the mighty brute where he lies kicking his giant limbs

along the earth, in the agonies of death!

The hunters remain in the tree. They see that the elephant is down--that

he is impaled. There will be no need for their puny weapons. Their game

has already received the death-wound.

The struggle is of short duration. The painful breathing that precedes

death is heard issuing from the long proboscis; and then follows a deep

ominous silence.

The hunters leap down, and approach the prostrate body. They see that it

still lies upon the terrible _chevaux de frisé_, where it had fallen.

The stakes have done their work most effectively. The elephant breathes

no more. He is dead!

It was the work of an hour to cut out those splendid tusks. But our

hunters thought nothing of that; and they were only the more pleased to

find each of them a heavy load--as much as a man could carry!

Von Bloom shouldered one, Swartboy the other, while Hendrik loaded

himself with the guns and implements; and all three, leaving the carcass

of the dead elephant behind them, returned triumphantly to camp.

CHAPTER XXXV.

THE WILD ASSES OF AFRICA.

Notwithstanding the success of the day's hunt, the mind of Von Bloom was

not at rest. They had "bagged" their game, it was true, but in what

manner? Their success was a mere accident, and gave them no earnest of

what might be expected in the future. They might go long before finding

another "sleeping-tree" of the elephants, and repeating their easy

capture.

Such were the not very pleasant reflections of the field-cornet, on the

evening after returning from their successful hunt.

But still less pleasant were they, two weeks later, at the retrospect of

many an unsuccessful chase from which they had returned--when, after

twelve days spent in "jaging" the elephant, they had added only a single

pair of tusks to the collection, and these the tusks of a cow elephant,

scarce two feet in length, and of little value!

The reflection was not the less painful, that nearly every day they had

fallen in with elephants, and had obtained a shot or two at these

animals. That did not mend the matter a bit. On the contrary, it taught

the hunter how easily they could run away from him, as they invariably

did. It taught him how small his chances were of capturing such game, so

long as he could only follow it afoot.

The hunter on foot stands but a poor chance with the elephant. Stalking

in upon one is easy enough, and perhaps obtaining a single shot; but

when the animal trots off through the thick jungle, it is tedious work

following him. He may go miles before halting, and even if the hunter

should overtake him, it may be only to deliver a second shot, and see

the game once more disappear into the bushes--perhaps to be spoored no

farther.

Now the mounted hunter has this advantage. His horse can overtake the

elephant; and it is a peculiarity of this animal, that the moment he

finds that his enemy, whatever it be, can do that thing, he disdains to

run any farther, but at once stands to bay; and the hunter may then

deliver as many shots as he pleases.

Herein lies the great advantage of the hunter on horseback. Another

advantage is the security the horse affords, enabling his rider to avoid

the charges of the angry elephant.

No wonder Von Bloom sighed for a horse. No wonder he felt grieved at the

want of this noble companion, that would have aided him so much in the

chase.

He grieved all the more, now that he had become acquainted with the

district, and had found it so full of elephants. Troops of an hundred

had been seen; and these far from being shy, or disposed to make off

after a shot or two. Perhaps they had never heard the report of a gun

before that of his own long roer pealed in their huge ears.

With a horse the field-cornet believed he could have killed many, and

obtained much valuable ivory. Without one, his chances of carrying out

his design were poor indeed. His hopes were likely to end in

disappointment.

He felt this keenly. The bright prospects he had so ardently indulged

in, became clouded over; and fears for the future once more harassed

him. He would only waste his time in this wilderness. His children would

live without books, without education, without society. Were he to be

suddenly called away, what would become of them? His pretty Gertrude

would be no better off than a little savage--his sons would become not

in sport, as he was wont to call them, but in reality a trio of

"Bush-boys."

Once more these thoughts filled the heart of the father with pain. Oh!

what would he not have given at that moment for a pair of horses, of any

sort whatever?

The field-cornet, while making these reflections, was seated in the

great nwana-tree, upon the platform, that had been built on the side

towards the lake, and from which a full view could be obtained of the

water. From this point a fine view could also be obtained of the country

which lay to the eastward of the lake. At some distance off it was

wooded, but near the vley a grassy plain lay spread before the eye like

a green meadow.

The eyes of the hunter were turned outward on this plain, and just then

his glance fell upon a troop of animals crossing the open ground, and

advancing towards the vley.

They were large animals--nearly of the shape and size of small

horses--and travelling in single file; as they were, the troop at a

distance presented something of the appearance of a "cafila," or

caravan. There were in all about fifty individuals in the line; and they

marched along with a steady sober pace, as if under the guidance and

direction of some wise leader. How very different from the capricious

and eccentric movements of the gnoos!

Individually they bore some resemblance to these last-named animals. In

the shape of their bodies and tails, in their general ground colour, and

in the "brindled" or tiger-like stripes that could be perceived upon

their cheeks, neck, and shoulders. These stripes were exactly of the

same form as those upon a zebra; but far less distinct, and not

extending to the body or limbs, as is the case with the true zebra. In

general colour, and in some other respects, the animals reminded one of

the ass; but their heads, necks, and the upper part of their bodies,

were of darker hue, slightly tinged with reddish brown. In fact, the

new-comers had points of resemblance to all four--horse, ass, gnoo, and

zebra--and yet they were distinct from any. To the zebra they bore the

greatest resemblance--for they were in reality a species of zebra--they

were quaggas.

Modern naturalists have divided the _Equidæ_, or horse family, into two

genera--the horse and the ass--the principal points of distinction

being, that animals of the horse kind have long flowing manes, full

tails, and warty callosities on both hind and fore limbs; while asses,

on the contrary, have short, meagre, and upright manes, tails slender

and furnished only with long hairs at the extremity, and their hind

limbs wanting the callosities. These, however, are found on the

fore-legs as upon horses.

Although there are many varieties of the horse genus--scores of them,

widely differing from each other--they can all be easily recognised by

these characteristic marks, from the "Suffolk Punch," the great London

drayhorse, down to his diminutive little cousin the "Shetland Pony."

The varieties of the ass are nearly as numerous, though this fact is not

generally known.

First, we have the common ass, the type of the genus; and of this there

are many breeds in different countries, some nearly as elegant and as

highly prized as horses. Next there is the "onagra," "koulan," or "wild

ass," supposed to be the origin of the common kind. This is a native of

Asia, though it is also found in the north-eastern parts of Africa.

There is also the "dziggetai," or "great wild ass," of Central and

Southern Asia, and another smaller species the "ghur" found in Persia.

Again, there is the "kiang" met with in Ladakh, and the "yo-totze," an

inhabitant of Chinese Tartary.

All these are Asiatic species, found in a wild state, and differing from

one another in colour, size, form, and even in habits. Many of them are

of elegant form, and swift as the swiftest horses.

In this little book we cannot afford room for a description of each, but

must confine our remarks to what is more properly our subject--the wild

asses of Africa. Of these there are six or seven kinds--perhaps more.

First, there is the "wild ass," which, as already stated, extends from

Asia into the north-eastern parts of Africa, contiguous to the former

continent.

Next there is the "koomrah," of which very little is known, except that

it inhabits the forests of Northern Africa, and is solitary in its

habits, unlike most of the other species. The koomrah has been described

as a "wild horse," but, most probably, it belongs to the genus _asinus_.

Now there are four other species of "wild asses" in Africa--wild horses

some call them--and a fifth reported by travellers, but as yet

undetermined. These species bear such a resemblance to one another in

their form, the peculiar markings of their bodies, size, and general

habits, that they may be classed together under the title of the zebra

family. First, there is the true zebra, perhaps the most beautiful of

all quadrupeds, and of which no description need be given. Second, the

"dauw," or "Burchell's zebra," as it is more frequently called. Third,

the "congo dauw," closely resembling the dauw. Fourth, the "quagga"; and

fifth, the undetermined species known as the "white zebra," so called

from its pale yellow, or Isabella colour.

These five species evidently have a close affinity with each other--all

of them being more or less marked with the peculiar transversal bands or

"stripes," which are the well-known characteristics of the zebra. Even

the quagga is so banded upon the head and upper parts of its body.

The zebra proper is "striped" from the tip of the nose to its very

hoofs, and the bands are of a uniform black, while the ground colour is

nearly white, or white tinged with a pale yellow. The "dauws," on the

other hand, are not banded upon the legs; the rays are not so dark or

well defined, and the ground colour is not so pure or clean-looking. For

the rest, all these three species are much alike; and it is more than

probable that either "Burchell's" or the "congo dauw" was the species to

which the name of "zebra" was first applied; for that which is now

called the "true zebra" inhabits those parts of Africa where it was less

likely to have been the first observed of the genus. At all events, the

"congo dauw" is the "hippotigris," or tiger-horse, of the Romans; and

this we infer from its inhabiting a more northerly part of Africa than

the others, all of which belong to the southern half of that continent.

The habitat of the zebra is said to extend as far north as Abyssinia;

but, perhaps, the "congo dauw," which certainly inhabits Abyssinia, has

been mistaken for the true zebra.