Of the four species in South Africa, the zebra is a mountain animal, and

dwells among the cliffs, while the dauw and quagga rove over the plains

and wild karoo deserts. In similar situations to these has the "white

zebra" been observed--though only by the traveller Le Vaillant--and

hence the doubt about its existence as a distinct species.

None of the kinds associate together, though each herds with other

animals! The quagga keeps company with the gnoo, the "dauw" with the

"brindled gnoo," while the tall ostrich stalks in the midst of the herds

of both!

There is much difference in the nature and disposition of the different

species. The mountain zebra is very shy and wild; the dauw is almost

untameable; while the quagga is of a timid docile nature, and may be

trained to harness with as much facility as a horse.

The reason why this has not been done, is simply because the farmers of

South Africa have horses in plenty, and do not stand in need of the

quagga, either for saddle or harness.

But though Von Bloom the farmer had never thought of "breaking in" a

quagga, Von Bloom the hunter now did.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

PLANNING THE CAPTURE OF THE QUAGGAS.

Up to this time the field-cornet had scarce deigned to notice the

quaggas. He knew what they were, and had often seen a drove of

them--perhaps the same one--approach the vley and drink. Neither he nor

any of his people had molested them, though they might have killed many.

They knew that the yellow oily flesh of these animals was not fit for

food, and is only eaten by the hungry natives--that their hides,

although sometimes used for grain-sacks and other common purposes, are

of very little value. For these reasons, they had suffered them to come

and go quietly. They did not wish to waste powder and lead upon them;

neither did they desire wantonly to destroy such harmless creatures.

Every evening, therefore, the quaggas had drunk at the vley and gone off

again, without exciting the slightest interest.

Not so upon this occasion. A grand design now occupied the mind of Von

Bloom. The troop of quaggas became suddenly invested with as much

interest as if it had been a herd of elephants; and the field-cornet had

started to his feet, and stood gazing upon them--his eyes sparkling with

pleasure and admiration.

He admired their prettily-striped heads, their plump well-turned bodies,

their light elegant limbs; in short, he admired everything about them,

size, colour, and proportions. Never before had quaggas appeared so

beautiful in the eyes of the vee-boer.

But why this new-born admiration for the despised quaggas?--for despised

they are by the Cape farmer, who shoots them only to feed his Hottentot

servants. Why had they so suddenly become such favourites with the

field-cornet? That you will understand by knowing the reflections that

were just then passing through his mind.

They were as follows:--

Might not a number of these animals be caught and broken in?--Why not?

Might they not be trained to the saddle?--Why not? Might they not serve

him for hunting the elephant just as well as horses?--Why not?

Von Bloom asked these three questions of himself. Half a minute served

to answer them all in the affirmative. There was neither impossibility

nor improbability in any of the three propositions. It was clear that

the thing could be done, and without difficulty.

A new hope sprang up in the heart of the field-cornet. Once more his

countenance became radiant with joy.

He communicated his thoughts both to the Bushman and "Bush-boys"--all of

whom highly approved of the idea, and only wondered that none of them

had thought of it before.

And now the question arose as to how the quaggas were to be captured.

This was the first point to be settled; and the four--Von Bloom himself,

Hans, Hendrik, and Swartboy,--sat deliberately down to concoct some plan

of effecting this object.

Of course they could do nothing just then, and the drove that had come

to drink was allowed to depart peacefully. The hunters knew they would

return on the morrow about the same hour; and it was towards their

return that the thoughts of all were bent.

Hendrik advised "creasing," which means sending a bullet through the

upper part of the neck near the withers, and by this means a quagga can

be knocked over and captured. The shot, if properly directed, does not

kill the animal. It soon recovers, and may be easily "broken," though

its spirit is generally broken at the same time. It is never "itself

again." Hendrik understood the mode of "creasing." He had seen it

practised by the boer-hunters. He knew the spot where the bullet should

hit. He believed he could do it easily enough.

Hans considered the "creasing" too cruel a mode. They might kill many

quaggas before obtaining one that was hit in the proper place. Besides

there would be a waste of powder and bullets--a thing to be considered.

Why could they not snare the animals? He had heard of nooses being set

for animals as large as the quaggas, and of many being caught in that

manner.

Hendrik did not think the idea of snaring a good one. They might get one

in that way--the foremost of the drove; but all the others, seeing the

leader caught, would gallop off and return no more to the vley; and

where would they set their snare for a second? It might be a long time

before they should find another watering-place of these animals; whereas

they might stalk and crease them upon the plains at any time.

Swartboy now put in his plan. It was the pit-fall. That was the way by

which Bushmen most generally caught large animals, and Swartboy

perfectly understood how to construct a pit for quaggas.

Hendrik saw objections to this, very similar to those he had urged

against the snare. The foremost of the quaggas might be caught, but the

others would not be fools enough to walk into the pit--after their

leader had fallen in and laid the trap open. They, of course, would

gallop off, and never come back that way again.

If it could be done at night, Hendrik admitted, the thing might be

different. In the darkness several might rush in before catching the

alarm. But no--the quaggas had always come to drink in day-time--one

only could be trapped, and then the others alarmed would keep away.

There would have been reason in what Hendrik said, but for a remarkable

fact which the field-cornet himself had observed when the quaggas came

to the lake to drink. It was that the animals had invariably entered the

water at one point, and gone out at another. It was of course a mere

accident that they did so, and owing to the nature of the ground; but

such was the case, and Von Bloom had observed it on several occasions.

They were accustomed to enter by the gorge, already described; and,

after drinking, wade along the shallow edge for some yards, and then

pass out by another break in the bank.

The knowledge of this fact was of the utmost importance, and all saw

that at once. A pit-fall dug upon the path by which the animals entered

the lake, would no doubt operate as Hendrik said--one might be caught,

and all the rest frightened off. But a similar trap placed upon the

trail that led outward, would bring about a very different result. Once

the quaggas had finished drinking, and just at the moment they were

heading out of the water, the hunters could show themselves upon the

opposite side, set the troop in quick motion, and gallop them into the

trap. By this means not only one, but a whole pit-full might be captured

at once!

All this appeared so feasible that not another suggestion was

offered--the plan of the pit-fall was at once, and unanimously adopted.

It remained only to dig the pit, cover it properly, and then wait the

result.

During all the time their capture was being planned, the herd of quaggas

had remained in sight, disporting themselves upon the open plain. It was

a tantalizing sight to Hendrik, who would have liked much to have shown

his marksman skill by "creasing" one. But the young hunter saw that it

would be imprudent to fire at them there, as it would prevent them from

returning to the vley; so he restrained himself, and along with the

others remained watching the quaggas--all regarding them with a degree

of interest which they had never before felt in looking at a drove of

these animals.

The quaggas saw nothing of them, although quite near to the great

nwana-tree. They--the hunters--were up among the branches, where the

animals did not think of looking, and there was nothing around the

bottom of the tree to cause them alarm. The wagon-wheels had long ago

been disposed of in the bush, partly to shelter them from the sun, and

partly because game animals frequently came within shot of the tree, and

were thus obtained without any trouble. There were scarce any traces

upon the ground that would have betrayed the existence of a "camp" in

the tree; and a person might have passed very near without noticing the

odd aërial dwelling of the hunter family.

All this was design upon the part of the field-cornet. As yet he knew

little of the country around. He did not know but that it might contain

worse enemies than either hyenas or lions.

While they sat watching the manoeuvres of the quaggas, a movement was

made by one of these creatures more singular than any that had yet been

witnessed.

The animal in question was browsing quietly along, and at length

approached a small clump of bushes that stood out in the open ground.

When close to the copse it was observed to make a sudden spring forward;

and almost at the same instant, a shaggy creature leaped out of the

bushes, and ran off. This last was no other than the ugly "striped"

hyena. Instead of turning upon the quagga and showing fight, as one

might have supposed so strong and fierce a brute would have done, the

hyena uttered a howl of alarm, and ran off as fast as its legs would

carry it.

They did not carry it far. It was evidently making for a larger tract

of bush that grew near; but before it had got half-way across the open

ground, the quagga came up behind, and uttering his shrill "couaag,"

reared forward, and dropped with his fore-hoofs upon the hyena's back.

At the same instant the neck of the carnivorous animal was clutched by

the teeth of the ruminant and held as fast, as if grasped by a vice.

[Illustration: THE QUAGGA AND THE HYENA.]

All looked to see the hyena free itself and run off again. They looked

in vain. It never ran another yard. It never came alive out of the

clutch of those terrible teeth.

The quagga still held his struggling victim with firm hold--trampling it

with his hoofs, and shaking it in his strong jaws, until in a few

minutes the screams of the hyena ceased, and his mangled carcass lay

motionless upon the plain!

One would think that this incident might have been enough to warn our

hunters to be cautious in their dealings with the quagga. Such a sharp

biter would be no pleasant horse to "bit and bridle."

But all knew the antipathy that exists between the wild horse and the

hyena; and that the quagga, though roused to fury at the sight of one of

these animals, is very different in its behaviour towards man. So

strong, in fact, is this antipathy, and so complete is the mastery of

the ruminant over the carnivorous animal, that the frontier farmers

often take advantage of these peculiar facts, and keep the hyenas from

their cattle by bringing up with the herd a number of quaggas, who act

as its guards and protectors!

CHAPTER XXXVII.

THE PIT-TRAP.

While they were watching the movements of the quaggas, Von Bloom rose

suddenly to his feet. All turned their eyes upon him as he did so. They

saw by his manner that he was about to propose something. What could it

be?

The thought had just occurred to him that they should at once set about

digging the pit.

It was near sunset--wanting only half-an-hour of it; and one would

suppose he would have done better to leave the work till next morning.

But no. There was a good reason why they should set about it at once;

and that was, that they might not be able to complete it in time if they

did not do part of it that night.

It would be no slight undertaking to dig a pit of proper size, for they

would require one that would at least hold half-a-dozen quaggas at a

time. Then there was the carrying away the earth that should come out of

it, the cutting the poles and branches to cover it, and the placing of

these in a proper manner.

To do all these things would take up a great deal of time; and they must

be all done against the return of the quaggas, else the whole scheme

would be a failure. Should the animals arrive upon the ground before the

pit was covered in and all traces of the work removed, they would make

off without entering the water, and perhaps never visit that vley again.

Such were the conjectures of the field-cornet. Hans, Hendrik, and

Swartboy, acknowledged their justice. All saw the necessity of going to

work at once, and to work they all went.

Fortunately among the "implements," were two good spades, a shovel, and

a pick-axe, and all of them could be busy at the same time. There were

baskets in which the dirt could be carried off, and thrown into the deep

channel close by, where it would not be seen. This was also a fortunate

circumstance; for to have carried the stuff any great distance, would

have made the job still heavier, and more difficult to execute in proper

time.

Having marked the outlines of the pit, they went to work with spade,

shovel, and pick. The ground proved tolerably loose, and the pick was

but little needed. The field-cornet himself handled one of the spades

Hendrik the other, while Swartboy acted as shoveller, and filled the

baskets as fast as Hans and Totty, assisted by Trüey and little Jan,

could empty them. These last carried a small basket of their own, and

contributed very materially to the progress of the work, by lightening

the labours of Hans and Totty.

And so the work went merrily on until midnight, and even after that

hour, under the light of a full moon; by which time the diggers were

buried to their necks.

But they were now fatigued. They knew they could easily complete the pit

next day; and so they laid down their implements, and after performing

their ablutions in the crystal water of the stream, retired to their

sleeping-quarters in the tree.

By early dawn they were at it again, busy as bees; and the pit

progressed so rapidly that before they stopped to take breakfast, Von

Bloom could scarce see out of it standing on his toes, and the crown of

Swartboy's woolly head was nearly two feet below the surface. A little

more digging would do.

After breakfast they went to work as briskly as ever; and laboured away

until they considered that the hole was sunk to a sufficient depth. It

would have taken a springbok to have leaped out of it; and no quagga

could possibly have cleared itself from such a pit.

Poles and bushes were now cut; and the pit was neatly covered with

these, and strewed over, as well as a large tract of the adjoining

ground, with rushes and grass. The most sagacious animal would have been

deceived by the appearance; even a fox could not have discovered the

trap before tumbling into it.

They had completed the work before going to dinner,--which,

consequently, fell late on that day--so nothing more remained to be done

but to dine, and await the coming of the quaggas.

At dinner they were all very merry, notwithstanding the immense fatigue

they had gone through. The prospect of capturing the quaggas was very

exciting, and kept the party in high spirits.

Each offered a prognostication as to the result. Some said they

would trap three quaggas at the least; while others were more sanguine,

and believed they might take twice that number. Jan did not see why

the pit should not be full; and Hendrik thought this probable

enough--considering the way they intended to drive the quaggas into it.

It certainly seemed so. The pit had been made of sufficient width to

preclude the possibility of the animals leaping over it, while it was

dug lengthwise across the path, so that they could not miss it. The lay

of the ground would guide them directly into it.

It is true that, were they to be left to themselves, and permitted to

follow their usual method of marching--that is, in single file--only

one, the leader, might be caught. The rest, seeing him fall in, would be

sure to wheel round, and gallop off in a different direction.

But it was not the intention of the hunters to leave things thus. They

had planned a way by which the quaggas, at a certain moment, would be

thrown into a complete panic, and thus forced pell-mell upon the pit. In

this lay their hopes of securing a large number of the animals.

Four was as many as were wanted. One for each of the hunters. Four would

do; but of course it mattered not how many more got into the pit. The

more the better, as a large number would give them the advantage of

"pick and choose."

Dinner over, the hunters set about preparing for the reception of their

expected visitors. As already stated, the dinner had been later than

usual; and it was now near the hour when the quaggas might be looked

for.

In order to be in time, each took his station. Hans, Hendrik, and

Swartboy, placed themselves in ambush around the lake--at intervals from

one another; but the lower end, where the animals usually approached and

went out, was left quite open. Von Bloom remained on the platform in the

tree, so as to mark the approach of the quaggas, and give warning by a

signal to the other three. The positions taken by these were such, that

they could guide the herd in the direction of the pit, by merely coming

out of the bushes where they lay concealed. In order that they should

show themselves simultaneously, and at the proper moment, they were to

wait for a signal from the tree. This was to be the firing of the great

"roer," loaded blank. Hans and Hendrik were also to fire blank shots on

discovering themselves, and by this means the desired panic would be

produced.

The whole scheme was well contrived, and succeeded admirably. The herd

appeared filing over the plain, just as on the preceding days. Von Bloom

announced their approach to the three in ambush, by repeating in a

subdued tone the words,--

"Quaggas are coming!"

The unsuspecting animals filed through the gorge, scattered about in the

water, drank their fill, and then commenced retiring by the path on

which lay the trap.

The leader having climbed the bank, and seeing the fresh grass and

rushes strewed upon the path, uttered a snorting bark, and seemed half

inclined to wheel round. But just at that moment boomed the loud

detonation of the roer; and, then, like lesser echoes, the reports of

the smaller guns on the right and left, while Swartboy shouted at the

top pitch of his voice, from another quarter.

A look back showed the quaggas that they were well-nigh surrounded by

strange enemies. But one course appeared open to them--the way they were

wont to go; and barking with affright, the whole drove dashed up the

bank, and crowded on towards the pit.

Then was heard a confused noise--the cracking of the poles--the

trampling of many hoofs--the dull sounds of heavy bodies falling

together, and mingling in a continuous struggle--and the wild snorting,

as the creatures hurried forward in affright. Some were seen springing

high in the air, as if to overleap the pit. Others poised themselves on

their hind hoofs, and wheeling round, ran back into the lake. Some

dashed off through the bushes, and escaped in that way; but the great

body of the drove came running back, and plunging through the water,

made off by the gorge through which they had come. In a few minutes not

one was in sight.

The boys thought they had all escaped; but Von Bloom, from his more

elevated position in the tree, could perceive the snouts of several

protruding above the edge of the pit.

On arriving at the spot, to their great satisfaction the hunters

discovered no less than eight full-grown quaggas in the trap--just twice

the number required to mount the party.

In less than two weeks from that time, four of the quaggas were broken

to the saddle, and perfectly obedient to the bit. Of course there was a

good deal of kicking, and plunging, and flinging, and many hard gallops,

and some ugly falls, before it came to this; but both the Bushman

Swartboy and the Bush-boy Hendrik were expert in the _manège_ of horses,

and soon tamed the quaggas to a proper degree of docility.

Upon the very first occasion when these animals were used in the hunt of

the elephant, they rendered the very service expected of them. The

elephant, as usual, bolted after receiving the first shot; but the

hunters on "quagga-back" were enabled to keep him in sight, and follow

rapidly upon his heels. As soon as the elephant discovered that, run as

he would, his pursuers had the power of overtaking him, he disdained to

fly farther, and stood to bay; thus giving them the opportunity of

delivering shot after shot, until a mortal wound brought his huge body

to the earth.

Von Bloom was delighted. His hopes were high, his benignant star was

once more in the ascendant.

He would yet accomplish his design. He would yet be rich. A few years,

would enable him to build up his fortune--to construct a pyramid of

ivory!

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

DRIVING IN THE ELAND.

Of all the family Hendrik was the hunter _par excellence_. It was he who

habitually stored the larder; and upon days when they were not engaged

in the chase of the elephant, Hendrik would be abroad alone in pursuit

of antelopes, and other creatures, that furnished their usual

subsistence. Hendrik kept the table well supplied.

Antelopes are the principal game of South Africa--for Africa is the

country of the antelope above all others. You may be surprised to hear

that there are seventy different species of antelopes over all the

earth--that more than fifty of these are African, and that thirty at

least belong to South Africa--that is, the portion of the continent

lying between the Cape of Good Hope and the Tropic of Capricorn.

It would require the space of a whole book, therefore, to give a fair

account--a monograph--of the antelopes alone; and I cannot afford that

space here. At present I can only say that Africa is the great antelope

country, although many fine species exist also in Asia--that in America

there is but one kind, the prong-horn, with which you are already well

acquainted--and that in Europe there are two, though one of these, the

well-known "chamois," is as much goat as antelope.

I shall farther remark, that the seventy species of animals, by

naturalists classed as antelopes, differ widely from one another in

form, size, colour, pelage, habits; in short, in so many respects, that

their classification under the name of Antelope is very arbitrary

indeed. Some approximate closely to the goat tribe; others are more like

deer; some resemble oxen; others are closely allied to the buffalo;

while a few species possess many of the characteristics of wild sheep!

As a general thing, however, they are more like to deer than any other

animals; and many species of them are, in common parlance, called deer.

Indeed, many antelopes are more like to certain species of deer than to

others of their own kind. The chief distinction noted between them and

the deer is, that the antelopes have horny horns, that are persistent or

permanent, while those of the deer are osseous or bony, and are annually

cast.

Like the deer the different species of antelopes possess very different

habits. Some frequent the wide open plains; some the deep forest; some

wander by the shady banks of streams; while others love to dwell upon

the rocky steep, or the dry ravines of the mountains. Some browse upon

the grass; while others, goat-like, prefer the leaves and tender twigs

of trees. In fact, so different are these creatures in habits, that

whatever be the natural character of a district of country, it will be

found the favourite home of one or more species. Even the very desert

has its antelopes, that prefer the parched and waterless plain to the

most fertile and verdant valley.

Of all antelopes the "eland," or "caana" is the largest. It measures

full seventeen hands at the shoulder--being thus equal in height to a

very large horse. A large eland weighs one thousand pounds. It is a

heavily formed animal, and an indifferent runner, as a mounted hunter

can gallop up to one without effort. Its general proportions are not

unlike those of a common ox, but its horns are straight and rise

vertically from the crown, diverging only slightly from one another.

These are two feet in length, and marked by a ridge that passes spirally

around them nearly to the tips. The horns of the female are longer than

those of the male.

The eyes of the eland, like those of most antelopes, are large, bright,

and melting, without any expression of fierceness; and the animal,

though so very large and strong, is of the most innocuous

disposition--showing fight only when driven to desperation.

The general colour of this antelope is dun, with a rufous tinge.

Sometimes ashy grey touched with ochre is the prevailing hue.

The eland is one of those antelopes that appear to be independent of

water. It is met with upon the desert plains, far from either spring or

stream; and it even seems to prefer such situations--perhaps from the

greater security it finds there--though it is also a denizen of the

fertile and wooded districts. It is gregarious, the sexes herding

separately, and in groups of from ten to a hundred individuals.

The flesh of the eland is highly esteemed, and does not yield in

delicacy to that of any of the antelope, deer, or bovine tribes. It has

been compared to tender beef with a game flavour; and the muscles of the

thighs when cured and dried produce a _bonne bouche_, known under the

odd appellation of "thigh-tongues."

Of course the eland affording such excellent meat, and in so large a

quantity, is zealously hunted for his spoils. Being only a poor runner

and always very fat, the hunt is usually a short one; and ends in the

eland being shot down, skinned, and cut up. There is no great excitement

about this chase, except that it is not every day an eland can be

started. The ease with which they can be captured, as well as the value

of their venison, has led to the thinning off of these antelopes; and it

is only in remote districts where a herd of them can be found.

Now since their arrival, no elands had been seen, though now and then

their spoor was observed; and Hendrik, for several reasons, was very

desirous of getting one. He had never shot an eland in his life--that

was one reason--and another was, that he wished to procure a supply of

the fine venison which lies in such quantities over the ribs of these

animals.

It was, therefore, with great delight, that Hendrik one morning received

the report that a herd of elands had been seen upon the upper plain, and

not far off. Swartboy, who had been upon the cliffs, brought this report

to camp.

Without losing any more time than sufficed to get the direction from

Swartboy, Hendrik mounted his quagga, shouldered his rifle, and rode off

in search of the herd.

Not far from the camp there was an easy pass, leading up the cliff to

the plain above. It was a sort of gorge or ravine; and from the numerous

tracks of animals in its bottom, it was evidently much used as a road

from the upper plain to that in which were the spring and stream.

Certain animals, such as the zebras and quaggas, and others that

frequent the dry desert plains from preference, were in the habit of

coming by this path when they required water.

Up the gorge rode Hendrik; and no sooner had he arrived at its top, than

he discovered the herd of elands--seven old bulls--about a mile off upon

the upper plain.

There was not cover enough to have sheltered a fox. The only growth near

the spot where the elands were, consisted of straggling aloe plants,

euphorbias, with some stunted bushes, and tufts of dry grass,

characteristic of the desert. There was no clump large enough to have

sheltered a hunter from the eye of his game; and Hendrik at once came to

the conclusion, that the elands could not be "stalked" in the situation

they then occupied.

Now, though Hendrik had never hunted this antelope, he was well

acquainted with its habits, and knew how it ought to be chased. He knew

that it was a bad runner; that any old horse could bring up with it; and

that his quagga--the fastest of the four that had been tamed--could do

the same.

It was only a question of "start," therefore. Could he get near enough

the bulls to have a fair start, he would run one of them down to a

certainty. The result might be different should the elands take the

alarm at a long distance off, and scour away over the plain.

To get within fair starting distance, that was the point to be

attempted.

But Hendrik was a wary hunter, and soon accomplished this. Instead of

riding direct for the elands, he made a grand circuit--until he had got

the herd between him and the cliff--and then, heading his quagga for

them, he rode quietly forward.

He did not sit erect in the saddle, but held himself bent down, until

his breast almost touched the withers of the quagga. This he did to

deceive the elands, who would otherwise have recognised him as an enemy.

In such a fashion they could not make out what kind of creature was

coming towards them; but stood for a long while gazing at Hendrik and

his quagga with feelings of curiosity, and of course some little alarm.

They, however, permitted the hunter to get within five hundred yards

distance--near enough for him--before they broke off in their heavy

lumbering gallop.

Hendrik now rose in his saddle, put spurs to his quagga, and followed

the herd at full speed.

As he had designed, so it came to pass. The elands ran straight in the

direction of the cliff--not where the pass was, but where there was

none--and, on reaching the precipice, were of course forced to turn into

a new direction, transverse to their former one. This gave Hendrik the

advantage, who, heading his quagga diagonally, was soon upon the heels

of the herd.

It was Hendrik's intention to single out one of the bulls, and run him

down--leaving the others to gallop off wherever they wished.

His intention was carried out; for shortly after, the fattest of the

bulls shot to one side, as if to escape in that way, while the rest ran

on.

The bull was not so cunning as he thought himself. Hendrik's eye was

upon him; and in a moment the quagga was turned upon his track.

Another burst carried both game and pursuer nearly a mile across the

plain. The eland had turned from a rufous dun colour to that of a leaden

blue; the saliva fell from his lips in long streamers, foam dappled his

broad chest, the tears rolled out of his big eyes, and his gallop became

changed to a weary trot. He was evidently "blown."

In a few minutes more the quagga was close upon his heels; and then the

huge antelope, seeing that farther running could not serve him, halted

in despair, and faced round towards his pursuer.

Now Hendrik had his loaded rifle in his hand, and you expect to hear

that he instantly raised it to his shoulder, took aim, fired, and

brought down the eland.

I must disappoint you, then, by telling you that he did no such thing.

Hendrik was a real hunter--neither rash nor wasteful of his resources.

He knew a better plan than to kill the eland upon the spot. He knew that

the animal was now quite in his power; and that he could drive him

wherever he pleased, just like a tame ox. To have killed the creature on

the spot would have been a waste of powder and shot. More than that, it

would have rendered necessary all the trouble of transporting its flesh

to camp--a double journey at least--and with the risk of the hyenas

eating up most of it in his absence. Whereas he could save all this

trouble by driving the eland to camp; and this was his design.

Without firing a shot, therefore, he galloped on past the blown bull,

headed him, turned him round, and then drove him before him in the

direction of the cliff.

The bull could make neither resistance nor opposition. Now and again he

would turn and trot off in a contrary direction; but he was easily

headed again, and at length forced forward to the top of the pass.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

A WILD RIDE ON QUAGGA-BACK.

Hendrik was congratulating himself on his success. He anticipated some

pleasure in the surprise he was about to create at camp, when he should

march in with the eland--for he had no doubt that he would succeed in

doing so.

Indeed, there appeared no reason to doubt it. The bull had already

entered the gorge, and was moving down it, while Hendrik and his quagga

were hurrying forward to follow.

The hunter had arrived within a few yards of the top, when a loud

trampling noise sounded in his ears, as if a band of heavy-footed

animals were coming up the gorge.

He spurred his quagga forward, in order to reach the edge, and get a

view down the ravine. Before he was able to do so, he was surprised to

see the eland gallop up again, and try to pass him upon the plain. It

had evidently received fresh alarm, from something in the gorge; and

preferred facing its old enemy to encountering the new.

Hendrik did not give his attention to the eland. He could ride it down

at any time. He was more anxious first to know what had given it the

start backward; so he continued to press forward to the head of the

ravine.

He might have thought of lions, and acted with greater prudence; but the

trampling of hoofs which still echoed up the pass told him that lions

were not the cause of the eland's alarm.

He at length reached a point where he could see down the declivity. He

had not far to look--for already the animals that were making the noise

were close up to him; and he perceived they were nothing more than a

troop of quaggas.

He was not over-pleased at this interruption to his drive; and the less

did he like it, that the intruders were quaggas--ill-conditioned brutes

that they were! Had they been game animals, he would have shot one; but

the only motive that would have induced him to shoot one of the quaggas

would have been a feeling of anger--for, at that moment, he was really

angry at them.

Without knowing it, poor brutes! they had likely given him cause for a

good deal of trouble: for it would cost him a good deal, before he could

head the eland again, and get it back into the pass. No wonder, then, he

was vexed a little.

But his vexation was not so grievous as to cause him to fire upon the

approaching herd; and, turning aside, he rode after the eland.

He had hardly left the spot, when the quaggas came out of the pass,

following each other to the number of forty or fifty. Each, as he saw

the mounted hunter, started with affright, and bolted off, until the

whole drove stretched out in a long line over the plain, snorting and

uttering their loud "coua-a-g" as they ran.

Hendrik would hardly have regarded this movement under ordinary

circumstances. He had often seen herds of quaggas, and was in no way

curious about them. But his attention was drawn to this herd, from his

noticing, as they passed him, that four of them had their tails docked

short; and from this circumstance, he recognised them as the four that

had been caught in the pit-trap and afterwards set free. Swartboy, for

some purpose of his own, had cut off the hair before letting them go.

Hendrik had no doubt it was they, and that the herd was the same that

used to frequent the vley, but that on account of the ill-treatment they

had met with, had never since shown themselves in the neighbourhood.

Now these circumstances coming into Hendrik's mind at the moment, led

him to regard the quaggas with a certain feeling of curiosity. The

sudden fright which the animals took on seeing him, and the comic

appearance of the four with the stumped tails, rather inclined Hendrik

towards merriment, and he laughed as he galloped along.

As the quaggas went off in the same direction which the eland had taken,

of course Hendrik's road and theirs lay so far together; and on galloped

he at their heels. He was curious to try the point--much disputed in

regard to horses--how far a mounted quagga would be able to cope with an

unmounted one. He was curious moreover, to find out whether his own

quagga was quite equal to any of its old companions. So on swept the

chase, the eland leading, the quaggas after, and Hendrik bringing up the

rear.

Hendrik had no need to ply the spur. His gallant steed flew like the

wind. He seemed to feel that his character was staked upon the race. He

gained upon the drove at every spring.

The heavy-going eland was soon overtaken, and as it trotted to one side,

was passed. It halted, but the quaggas kept on.

Not only the drove kept on, but Hendrik's quagga following close at

their heels; and in less than five minutes they had left the eland a

full mile in their rear, and were still scouring onward over the wide

plain.

What was Hendrik about? Was he going to forsake the eland, and let it

escape? Had he grown so interested in the race? Was he jealous about his

quagga's speed, and determined it should beat all the others?

So it would have appeared to any one witnessing the race from a

distance. But one who could have had a nearer view of it, would have

given a different explanation of Hendrik's conduct.

The fact was, that as soon as the eland halted, Hendrik intended to halt

also; and for that purpose pulled strongly upon his bridle. But, to his

astonishment, he found that his quagga did not share his intention.

Instead of obeying the bit, the animal caught the steel in his teeth,

and laying his ears back, galloped straight on!

Hendrik then endeavoured to turn the quagga to one side, and for this

purpose wrenched his right rein; but with such fierceness, that the old

bit-ring gave way--the bit slipped through the animal's jaws--the

head-stall came off with the jerk--and the quagga was completely

unbridled!

Of course the animal was now free to go just as he liked; and it was

plain that he liked to go with his old comrades. His old comrades he

well knew them to be, as his snorting and occasional neigh of

recognition testified.

At first Hendrik was disposed to look upon the breaking of his bit as

only a slight misfortune. For a boy he was one of the best riders in

South Africa, and needed no rein to steady him. He could keep his seat

without one. The quagga would soon stop, and he could then repair the

bit, and re-adjust the bridle which he still held in his hands. Such

were his reflections at first.

But their spirit began to alter, when he found that the quagga, instead

of lessening his pace, kept on as hard as ever, and the herd still ran

wildly before him without showing the slightest signs of coming to a

halt.

In fact, the quaggas were running through fear. They saw the mounted

hunter behind them in hot pursuit; and although their old comrade knew

who they were, how were they to tell what he was, with such a tall hunch

upon his back? No quagga he, but some terrible monster, they imagined,

thirsting for their lives, and eager to devour one and all of them!

No wonder they showed their heels in the best style they knew how; and

so well did they show them, that Hendrik's quagga--notwithstanding his

keen desire to get forward among them, and explain away the awkward

business upon his back--was not able to come an inch closer.

He did not lose ground, however. His eagerness to regain his

old associates--to partake once more of their wild freedom--for

he was desperately tired of civilised society, and sick of

elephant-hunting--all these ideas crowded into his mind at the moment,

and nerved him to the utmost exertion. Could he only get up into the

body of the crowd--for the herd now ran in a crowd--a few whimpers would

suffice to explain--they would come to a halt at once,--they would

gather around him, and assist both with hoofs and teeth to get "shed" of

the ugly two-legged thing that clung so tightly to his dorsal vertebræ.

It was "no go," however. Although he was so close to their heels, that

they flung dust in his face, and small pebbles in the face of his rider,

to the no slight inconvenience of the latter; although he "whighered"

whenever he could spare breath, and uttered his "couag,--couag!" in

reality calling them by name, it was "no go." They would not stay. They

would not hear.

And what did Hendrik during all this time? Nothing--he could do nothing.

He could not stay the impetuous flight of his steed. He dared not

dismount. He would have been hurled among sharp rocks, had he attempted

such a thing. His neck would have been broken. He could do

nothing--nothing but keep his seat.

What thought he? At first, not much. At first he regarded the adventure

lightly. When he was about completing his third mile, he began to deem

it more serious; and as he entered upon the fifth, he became convinced

that he was neither more nor less than in a very awkward scrape.

But the fifth mile was left behind, and then a sixth, and a seventh; and

still the quaggas galloped wildly on--the drove actuated by the fear of

losing their liberty, and their old comrade by the desire of regaining

his.

Hendrik now felt real uneasiness. Where were they going? Where was the

brute carrying him? Perhaps off to the desert, where he might be lost

and perish of hunger or thirst! Already he was many miles from the

cliffs, and he could no longer tell their direction. Even had he halted

then and there, he could not tell which way to turn himself. He would be

lost!

He grew more than anxious. He became frightened in earnest.

What was he to do? Leap down, and risk his neck in the fall? He would

lose his quagga and his saddle as well--he regarded the eland as already

lost--he would have to walk back to camp, and get laughed at on his

return.

No matter for all that; his life was in danger if he kept on. The

quaggas might gallop twenty,--aye, fifty miles before halting. They

showed no symptoms of being blown--no signs of giving out. He must fling

himself to the ground, and let quagga and saddle go.

He had formed this resolution, and was actually about to put it in

practice. He was just considering how he might best escape an ugly

fall--looking for a soft spot--when, all at once, a grand idea rushed

into his mind.

[Illustration: HENDRICK BLINDING THE QUAGGA.]

He remembered that in taming this same quagga and breaking him to the

saddle, he had been vastly aided by a very simple contrivance--that was

a "blind." The blind was nothing more than a piece of soft leather tied

over the animal's eyes; but so complete had been its effect, that it had

transformed the quagga at once from a kicking screaming creature into a

docile animal.

Hendrik now thought of the blind.

True, he had none. Was there nothing about him that would serve as one?

His handkerchief? No, it would be too thin. Hurrah! His jacket would do!

His rifle was in the way. It must be got rid of. It must be dropped to

the ground. He could return for it.

It was let down as gently as possible, and soon left far behind.

In a twinkling Hendrik stripped off his jacket. How was it to be

arranged so as to blind the quagga? It would not do to drop it.

A moment's consideration served the ready boy to mature his plan. After

a moment he bent down, passed a sleeve upon each side under the quagga's

throat, and then knotted them together. The jacket thus rested over the

animal's mane, with the collar near its withers, and the peak or skirt

upon the small of its neck.

Hendrik next leaned as far forward as he could, and with his extended

arms pushed the jacket up the animal's neck, until the skirt passed over

its ears, and fell down it front of its face.

It was with some difficulty that the rider, bent down as he was, could

retain his seat; for as soon as the thick flap of cloth came down over

the eyes of the quagga, the latter halted as if he had been shot dead in

his tracks. He did not fall, however, but only stood still, quivering

with terror. His gallop was at an end!

Hendrik leaped to the ground. He was no longer afraid that the quagga,

blinded as he now was, would make any attempt to get off; nor did he.

In a few minutes the broken bit-ring was replaced by a strong rheim of

raw leather; the bit inserted between the quagga's teeth, the head-stall

safely buckled, and Hendrik once more in the saddle, with his jacket

upon his back.

The quagga felt that he was conquered. His old associates were no longer

in sight to tempt him from his allegiance; and with these

considerations, aided by a slight dose of bit and spur, he turned his

head, and moved sullenly upon the back track.

Hendrik knew nothing about the route he should take. He followed back

the spoor of the quaggas to the place where he had dropped his gun,

which after riding a mile or two he recovered.

As there was no sun in the sky, nor other object to guide him, he

thought he could not do better than trace back the spoor; and although

it led him by many a devious route, and he saw nothing more of his

eland, before night he reached the pass in the cliff, and was soon after

sitting under the shadow of the nwana-tree, regaling a most interested

audience with the narrative of his day's adventures.

CHAPTER XL.

THE GUN-TRAP.

It was about this time that the field-cornet and his people were very

much annoyed by beasts of prey. The savoury smell which their camp daily

sent forth, as well as the remains of antelopes, killed for their

venison, attracted these visitors. Hyenas and jackals were constantly

skulking in the neighbourhood, and at night came around the great

nwana-tree in scores, keeping up their horrid chorus for hours together.

It is true that nobody feared these animals, as the children at night

were safe in their aërial home, where the hyenas could not get at them.

But for all that, the presence of the brutes was very offensive, as not

a bit of meat--not a hide, nor rheim, nor any article of leather--could

be left below without their getting their teeth upon it, and chewing it

up. Quarters of venison they had frequently stolen, and they had eaten

up the leathern part of Swartboy's saddle, and rendered it quite useless

for a while. In short, so great a pest had the hyenas grown to be, that

it became necessary to adopt some mode of destroying them.

It was not easy to get a shot at them. During the day they were wary,

and either hid themselves in caves of the cliff or in the burrows of the

ant-eater. At night they were bold enough, and came into the very camp;

but then the darkness hindered a good aim, and the hunters knew too well

the value of powder and lead to waste it on a chance shot, though now

and then, when provoked by the brutes, they ventured one.

But some way must be thought of to thin the numbers of these animals, or

get rid of them altogether. This was the opinion of everybody.

Two or three kinds of traps were tried, but without much success. A pit

they could leap out of, and from a noose they could free themselves by

cutting the rope by their sharp teeth!

At length the field-cornet resorted to a plan--much practised by the

boers of Southern Africa for ridding their farms of these and similar

"vermin." It was the "gun-trap."

Now there are several ways of constructing a gun-trap. Of course a gun

is the principal part of the mechanism, and the trigger pulled by a

string is the main point of the contrivance. In some countries the bait

is tied to the string, and the animal on seizing the bait tightens the

string, draws the trigger, and shoots itself. In this way, however,

there is always some uncertainty as to the result. The animal may not

place its body in the proper position with regard to the muzzle, and may

either escape the shot altogether, or may be only "creased," and of

course get off.

The mode of setting the "gun-trap" in South Africa is a superior plan;

and the creature that is so unfortunate as to draw the trigger rarely

escapes, but is either killed upon the spot, or so badly wounded as to

prevent its getting away.

Von Bloom constructed his trap after the approved fashion, as

follows:--Near the camp he selected a spot where three saplings or young

trees grew, standing in a line, and about a yard between each two of

them. Had he not found these trees so disposed, stakes firmly driven

into the ground would have answered his purpose equally well.

Thorn-bushes were now cut, and a kraal built in the usual manner--that

is with the tops of the bushes turned outwards. The size of the kraal

was a matter of no consequence; and, of course, to save labour, a small

one was constructed.

One point, however, was observed in making the kraal. Its door of

opening was placed so that two of the three saplings stood like posts,

one on each side of it; and an animal going into the enclosure must

needs pass these two trees.

Now for the part the gun had to play.

The weapon was placed in a horizontal position against two of the

saplings,--that is, the stock against the one outside the kraal, and the

barrel against one of the door-posts, and there firmly lashed. In this

position the muzzle was close to the edge of the entrance, and pointing

directly to the sapling on the opposite side. It was at such a height as

to have ranged with the heart of a hyena standing in the opening.

The next move was to adjust the string. Already a piece of stick,

several inches in length, had been fixed to the small of the stock, and,

of course, behind the trigger. This was fastened transversely, but not

so as to preclude all motion. A certain looseness in its adjustment gave

it the freedom required to be worked as a lever--for that was its

design.

To each end of this little stick was fastened a string. One of these

strings was attached to the trigger; the other, after being carried

through the thimbles of the ramrod, traversed across the entrance of the

kraal, and was knotted upon the opposite side to the sapling that stood

there. This string followed the horizontal direction of the barrel, and

was just "taut;" so that any farther strain upon it would act upon the

little lever, and by that means pull the trigger; and then of course

"bang" would go the roer.

When this string was adjusted, and the gun loaded and cocked, the trap

was set.

Nothing remained to be done but bait it. This was not a difficult task.

It consisted simply in placing a piece of meat or carcass within the

enclosure, and there leaving it to attract the prowling beasts to the

spot.

When the gun had been set, Swartboy carried up the bait--the offal of an

antelope killed that day--and flung it into the kraal; and then the

party went quietly to their beds, without thinking more of the matter.

They had not slept a wink, however, before they were startled by the

loud "crack" of the roer, followed by a short stifled cry that told them

the gun-trap had done its work.

A torch was procured, and the four hunters proceeded to the spot. There

they found the dead body of a huge "tiger-wolf" lying doubled up in the

entrance, and right under the muzzle of the gun. He had not gone a step

after receiving the shot--in fact, had hardly kicked before dying--as

the bullet, wad, and all, had gone quite through his ribs and entered

his heart, after making a large ugly hole in his side. Of course he must

have been within a few inches of the muzzle, when his breast, pressing

against the string, caused the gun to go off.

Having again loaded the roer, the hunters returned to their beds. One

might suppose they would have dragged the suicidal hyena away from the

spot, lest his carcass should serve as a warning to his comrades, and

keep them away from the trap. But Swartboy knew better than that.

Instead of being scared by the dead body of one of their kind, the

hyenas only regard it as proper prey, and will devour it as they would

the remains of a tender antelope!

Knowing this, Swartboy did not take the dead hyena away, but only drew

it within the kraal to serve as a farther inducement for the others to

attempt an entrance there.

Before morning they were once more awakened by the "bang" of the great

gun. This time they lay still; but when day broke they visited their

trap, and found that a second hyena had too rashly pressed his bosom

against the fatal string.

Night after night they continued their warfare against the hyenas,

changing the trap-kraal to different localities in the surrounding

neighbourhood.

At length these creatures were nearly exterminated, or, at all events,

became so rare and shy, that their presence by the camp was no longer an

annoyance one way or the other.

About this time, however, there appeared another set of visitors, whose

presence was far more to be dreaded, and whose destruction the hunters

were more anxious to accomplish. That was a family of lions.

The spoor of these had been often seen in the neighbourhood; but it was

some time before they began to frequent the camp. However, about the

time the hyenas had been fairly got rid of, the lions took their place,

and came every night, roaring about the camp in a most terrific manner.

Dreadful as these sounds were, the people were not so much afraid of

them as one might imagine. They well knew that the lions could not get

at them in the tree. Had it been leopards they might have felt less

secure, as the latter are true tree-climbers; but they had seen no

leopards in that country, and did not think of them.

They were not altogether without fear of the lions, however. They were

annoyed, moreover, that they could not with safety descend from the tree

after nightfall, but were every night besieged from sunset till morning.

Besides, although the cow and the quaggas were shut in strong kraals,

they dreaded each night that the lions would make a seizure of one or

other of these animals; and the loss of any one of them, but especially

their valuable friend "old Graaf," would have been a very serious

misfortune.

It was resolved, therefore, to try the gun-trap upon the lions, as it

had succeeded so well with the hyenas.

There was no difference in the construction or contrivance of the trap.

The gun only had to be placed upon a higher level, so that its muzzle

might be opposite the lion's heart, and the proper range was easily

obtained. The bait, however, was not carcass, but an animal freshly

killed; and for this purpose an antelope was procured.

The result was as desired. On the first night the old male lion

"breasted" the fatal string and bit the dust. Next night the lioness was

destroyed in a similar way: and shortly after a full-grown young male.

The trap then lay idle for a while; but about a week after a half-grown

"cub" was shot near the camp by Hendrik, no doubt the last of that

family, as no lions were seen for a long time after.

A great enemy to night plunderers was that same gun-trap.

CHAPTER XLI.

THE WEAVER-BIRDS.

Now that the beasts of prey had been destroyed, or driven from about the

camp, there was no longer any danger in that quarter, and the children

could be left by themselves. Totty of course always stayed with them;

while the four hunters went forth upon the chase of the elephant--each

mounted upon his quagga.

They had done so many a time, and as no harm had happened to the

children in their absence, such a course became habitual with them. Jan

and Trüey were cautioned not to stray far from the nwana, and always to

climb to the tree, should they perceive any animal that might be

dangerous. Before the destruction of the hyenas and lions, they had been

used to remain altogether in the tree, while the hunters were absent.

But this had been quite an imprisonment to them; and now that the danger

was not considered much, they were allowed to come down and play upon

the grassy plain, or wander along the shore of the little lake.

On one occasion when the hunters were abroad, Trüey had strayed down to

the edge of the water. She was alone, if we except the company of the

gazelle, which followed at her heels wherever she went. This pretty

creature had grown to full size, and had turned out a great beauty, with

large round eyes that had a lovely melting expression, like the eyes of

Trüey herself.

Well, as I have said, Trüey was alone. Jan was busy near the bottom of

the tree, working a new rod into his bird-cage, and Totty was out upon

the plain herding "old Graaf"--so Trüey and the pet springbok went

strolling along by themselves.

Now Trüey had not gone down to the water without an object. She had one.

She had gone to give her pet a drink, and collect some blue lilies for a

bouquet. All this she had done, and still continued to walk along the

shore.

On one side of the lake, and that the farthest from the nwana-tree, a

low spit of land projected into the water. It had once been but a

sand-bar, but grass had grown upon it, until a green turf was formed.

There was not over a square perch of it altogether, but it was not

square in shape. On the contrary, it was of oval form, and much narrower

nearest the land, where it formed a neck, or isthmus, not more than

three feet in width. It was, in short, a miniature peninsula, which by a

very little work with the spade could have been converted into a

miniature island--had that been desired.

Now there is nothing very remarkable about a little peninsula projecting

into a lake. In nearly every lake such a thing may be seen. But about

this one there was something remarkable.

Upon its extreme end grew a tree of singular form and foliage. It was

not a large tree, and its branches drooped downwards until their tips

almost touched the water. The pendulous boughs, and long lanceolate

silvery leaves, rendered it easy to tell what sort of tree it was. It

was the weeping or Babylonian willow--so called, because it was upon

trees of this species that the captive Jews hung their harps when they

"sat and wept by the streams of Babel." This beautiful tree casts its

waving shadow over the streams of South Africa, as well as those of

Assyria; and often is the eye of the traveller gladdened by the sight of

its silvery leaves, as he beholds them--sure indications of

water--shining afar over the parched and thirsty desert. If a Christian,

he fails not to remember that highly poetical passage of sacred writing,

that speaks of the willow of Babylon.

Now the one which grew upon the little peninsula had all these points of

interest for little Trüey--but it had others as well. Upon its branches

that overhung the water a very singular appearance presented itself.

Upon these was suspended--one upon the end of each branch--a number of

odd shaped objects, that hung drooping down until their lower ends

nearly rested upon the surface of the water. These objects, as stated,

were of a peculiar shape. At the upper ends--where they were attached to

the branches--they were globe-shaped, but the lower part consisted of a

long cylinder of much smaller diameter, and at the bottom of this

cylinder was the entrance. They bore some resemblance to salad-oil

bottles inverted, with their necks considerably lengthened; or they

might be compared to the glass retorts seen in the laboratory of the

chemist.

They were each twelve or fifteen inches in length, and of a greenish

colour--nearly as green as the leaves of the tree itself. Were they its

fruit?

No. The weeping willow bears no fruit of that size. They were not fruit.

They were nests of birds!

Yes; they were the nests of a colony of harmless finches of the genus

_Ploceus_,--better known to you under the appellation of "weaver-birds."

I am sure you have heard of weaver-birds before this; and you know that

these creatures are so called on account of the skill which they exhibit

in the construction of their nests. They do not build nests, as other

birds, but actually weave them, in a most ingenious manner.

You are not to suppose that there is but one species of weaver-bird--one

kind alone that forms these curious nests. In Africa--which is the

principal home of these birds--there are many different kinds, forming

different genera, whose hard names I shall not trouble you with. Each of

these different kinds builds a nest of peculiar shape, and each chooses

a material different from the others. Some, as the _Ploceus

icterocephalus_, make their nests of a kidney shape, with the entrance

upon the sides, and the latter not circular, but like an arched doorway.

Others of the genus _Plocepasser_ weave their nests in such a manner,

that the thick ends of the stalks stick out all around the outside,

giving them the appearance of suspended hedgehogs; while the birds of

another genus closely allied to the latter, construct their nests of

slender twigs, leaving the ends of these to project in a similar manner.

The "social grosbeak" fabricates a republic of nests in one clump, and

all under one roof. The entrances are in the under-surface of this mass,

which, occupying the whole top of a tree, has the appearance of a

haystack, or a dense piece of thatch.

All these weaver-birds, though of different genera, bear a considerable

resemblance to each other in their habits. They are usually granivorous,

though some are insectivorous; and one species, the "red-billed weaver

bird" is a parasite of the wild buffaloes.

It is a mistake to suppose that weaver-birds are only found in Africa

and the Old World, as stated in the works of many naturalists. In

tropical America, birds of this character are found in many species of

the genera _Cassicus_ and _Icterus_, who weave pensile nests of a

similar kind upon the trees of the Amazon and Orinoco. But the true

weaver-birds--that is to say, those which are considered the type of the

class,--are those of the genus _Ploceus_; and it was a species of this

genus that had hung their pendulous habitations upon the weeping willow.

They were of the species known as the "pensile weaver-bird."

There were full twenty of their nests in all, shaped as already

described, and of green colour--for the tough "Bushman's grass," out of

which they had been woven, had not yet lost its verdant hue, nor would

it for a long time. Being of this colour, they actually looked like

something that grew upon the tree,--like great pear-shaped fruits. No

doubt from this source have been derived the tales of ancient

travellers, who represented that in Africa were trees with fruits upon

them, which, upon being broken open, disclosed to view either living

birds or their eggs! Now the sight of the weaver-birds, and their nests,

was nothing new to Trüey. It was some time since the colony had

established itself upon the willow-tree, and she and they had grown well

acquainted. She had often visited the birds, had collected seeds, and

carried them down to the tree; and there was not one of the whole colony

that would not have perched upon her wrist or her pretty white

shoulders, or hopped about over her fair locks, without fear. It was

nothing unusual to her to see the pretty creatures playing about the

branches, or entering the long vertical tunnels that led upward to their

nests--nothing unusual for Trüey to listen for hours to their sweet

twittering, or watch their love-gambols around the borders of the vley.

She was not thinking of them at the moment, but of something else,

perhaps of the blue water-lilies--perhaps of the springbok--but

certainly not of them, as she tripped gaily along the edge of the lake.

Her attention, however, was suddenly attracted to the birds.

All at once, and without any apparent cause, they commenced screaming

and fluttering around the tree, their cries and gestures betokening a

high state of excitement or alarm.

CHAPTER XLII.

THE SPITTING-SNAKE.

"What can be the matter with my pretty birds?" asked Trüey of herself.

"Something wrong surely! I see no hawk. Perhaps they are fighting among

themselves. I shall go round and see. I shall soon pacify them."

And so saying she mended her pace; and passing round the end of the

lake, walked out upon the peninsula until she stood under the willow.

There was no underwood. The tree stood alone upon the very end of the

spit of land, and Trüey went close in to its trunk. Here she stopped and

looked up among the branches, to ascertain what was causing so much

excitement among the birds.

As she approached, several of the little creatures had flown towards

her, and alighted upon her arms and shoulders; but not as was their wont

when desiring to be fed. They appeared to be in a state of alarm, and

had come to her for protection.

Some enemy certainly must be near, thought Trüey, though she could see

none.

She looked around and above. There were no hawks in the air, nor on the

neighbouring trees,--no birds of prey of any kind. Had there been one in

the willow, she could easily have seen it, as the foliage was light and

thin; besides a hawk would not have remained in the tree with her

standing so near. What, then, caused the trouble among the birds? what

was still causing it--for they were as noisy and terrified as ever? Ha!

At last the enemy appears--at last Trüey's eyes have fallen upon the

monster who has disturbed the peaceful colony of weavers, and roused

them to such a pitch of excitement.

Slowly gliding along a horizontal branch, grasping the limb in its many

spiral folds, appeared the body of a large serpent. Its scales glittered

as it moved, and it was the shining of these that had caught Trüey's

eyes, and directed them upon the hideous reptile.

When she first saw it, it was gliding spirally along one of the

horizontal branches of the willow, and coming, as it were, from the

nests of the birds. Her eyes, however, had scarce rested upon it, before

its long slippery body passed from the branch, and the next moment it

was crawling head-foremost down the main trunk of the tree.

Trüey had scarce time to start back, before its head was opposite the

spot where she had stood. No doubt, had she kept her place she would

have been bitten by the serpent at once; for the reptile, on reaching

that point, detached its head from the tree, spread its jaws wide open,

projected its forked tongue, and hissed horribly. It was evidently

enraged--partly because it had failed in its plundering intentions, not

having been able to reach the nests of the birds,--and partly that the

latter had repeatedly struck it with their beaks--no doubt causing it

considerable pain. It was further provoked by the arrival of Trüey, in

whom it recognised the rescuer of its intended victims.

Whatever were its thoughts at that moment, it was evidently in a

rage--as the motion of its head and the flashing of its eyes testified;

and it would have sprung upon any creature that had unfortunately come

its way.

Trüey, however, had no intention of getting in its way if she could

avoid it. It might be a harmless serpent for all she knew; but a snake,

nearly six feet in length, whether it be harmless or venomous, is a

terrible object to be near; and Trüey had instinctively glided to one

side, and stood off from it as far as the water would allow her.

She would have run back over the narrow isthmus; but something told her

that the snake was about to take that direction, and might overtake her;

and this thought induced her to pass to one side of the peninsula, in

hopes the reptile would follow the path that led out to the mainland.

Having got close to the water's edge, she stood gazing upon the hideous

form, and trembled as she gazed.

Had Trüey known the character of that reptile, she would have trembled

all the more. She saw before her one of the most venomous of serpents,

the black naja, or "spitting-snake"--the cobra of Africa--far more

dangerous than its congener the _cobra de capello_ of India, because far

more active in its movements, and equally fatal in its bite.

Trüey knew not this. She only knew that there was a great ugly snake,

nearly twice her own length, with a large open mouth, and glistening

tongue, apparently ready to eat her up. That was fearful enough for her,

poor thing! and she gazed and trembled, and trembled and gazed again.

Angry as the cobra appeared, it did not turn aside to attack her.

Neither did it remain by the tree. After uttering its long loud hiss, it

descended to the ground, and glided rapidly off.

It made directly for the isthmus, as if intending to pass it, and

retreat to some bushes that grew at a distance off on the mainland.

Trüey was in hopes that such was its design, and was just beginning to

feel safe again, when, all at once, the snake coiled itself upon the

narrow neck of land, as if it intended to stay there.

It had executed this manoeuvre so suddenly, and so apparently without

premeditation, that Trüey looked to discover the cause. The moment

before, it was gliding along in rapid retreat, its glistening form

stretched to its full length along the earth. The next instant it had

assumed the appearance of a coiled cable, over the edge of which

projected its fierce head, with the scaly skin of its neck broadly

extended, into that hood-like form which characterises the cobra.

Trüey, we have said, looked for the cause of this sudden change in the

tactics of the reptile. She learnt it at the first glance.

There stretched a piece of smooth sloping ground from the edge of the

lake back into the plain. By this the little peninsula was approached.

As she glanced outward, she saw the springbok advancing down this slope.

It was the approach of the antelope that had interrupted the retreat of

the serpent!

Trüey, on first discovering the snake, had uttered a cry of alarm. This

cry had summoned her pet--that had lingered behind browsing upon the

grass--and it was now bounding forward, with its white tail erect, and

its large brown eyes glistening with an expression of inquiry.

It saw its mistress out upon the peninsula. Had she called it? Why had

she uttered that strange cry? They were not sounds of joyful import it

had heard. Was anything amiss? Yonder she stood. It would gallop to her

and see what was wanted; and with such thoughts passing through its

brain, the bright little creature bounded down the bank towards the edge

of the lake.

Trüey trembled for her pet. Another spring, and it would be upon the

lurking serpent--another----"Ha! it is safe!"

These words escaped from the lips of the young girl, as she saw the

springbok rise high in the air, and leap far and clear over the coiled

reptile. The antelope had observed the snake in time, and saved itself

by one of those tremendous bounds, such as only a springbok can make.

The fond creature, having passed the danger, now ran on to its mistress,

and stood with its big shining eyes bent upon her inquiringly.

But the cry that Trüey had uttered had summoned another individual. To

her horror, she now saw little Jan running down the slope, and coming

directly upon the path where the cobra lay coiled!

CHAPTER XLIII.

THE SERPENT-EATER.

Jan's danger was imminent. He was rushing impetuously forward upon the

coiled serpent. He knew not that it was before him. No warning would

reach him in time to stay his haste. In another moment he would be on

the narrow path, and then no power could save him from the deadly bite.

It would be impossible for him to leap aside or over the reptile, as the

antelope had done; for even then Trüey had noticed that the cobra had

darted its long neck several feet upwards. It would be certain to reach

little Jan, perhaps coil itself around him. Jan would be lost.

For some moments Trüey was speechless. Terror had robbed her of the

power of speech. She could only scream, and fling her arms wildly about.

But these demonstrations, instead of warning Jan of the danger, only

rendered it the more certain. He connected the cries which Trüey now

uttered with that which had first summoned him. She was in some

trouble--he knew not what; but as she continued to scream, he believed

that something had attacked her. A snake he thought it might be; but

whatever it was, his first impulse was to hurry up to her rescue. He

could do no good until close to her; and, therefore, he did not think of

halting until he should reach the spot where she stood.

Her screams, therefore, and the wild gestures that accompanied them,

only caused him to run the faster; and as his eyes were bent anxiously

on Trüey, there was not the slightest hope that he would perceive the

serpent until he had either trodden upon it, or felt its fatal bite.

Trüey uttered one last cry of warning, pronouncing at the same time the

words:--

"O, brother! back! The snake! the snake!"

The words were uttered in vain. Jan heard them, but did not comprehend

their meaning. He heard the word "snake." He was expecting as much. It

had attacked Trüey; and although he did not see it, it was no doubt

wound about her body. He hurried on.

Already he was within six paces of the dread reptile, that had erected

its long spread neck to receive him. Another moment, and its envenomed

fangs would pierce deep into his flesh.

With a despairing scream Trüey rushed forward. She hoped to attract the

monster upon herself. She would risk her own life to save that of her

brother!

She had got within six feet of the threatening reptile. Jan was about

the same distance from it on the opposite side. They were equally in

peril; and one or the other--perhaps both--would have fallen a sacrifice

to the deadly cobra; but at that moment their saviour was nigh. A dark

shadow passed under their eyes--in their ears was a rushing sound like

the "whish" of a falling body--and at the same instant a large bird

darted down between them!

It did not stay to alight. For a moment its strong broad wings agitated

the air in their faces; but the next moment the bird made a sudden

effort, and rose vertically upwards.

Trüey's eyes fell upon the ground. The cobra was no longer there.

With an exclamation of joy she sprang forward, and, throwing her arms

around Jan, cried out,--

"We are saved, brother!--we are saved!"

Jan was somewhat bewildered. As yet he had seen no snake. He had seen

the bird dart down between them; but so adroitly had it seized the cobra

and carried it off, that Jan, looking only at Trüey, had not perceived

the serpent in its beak. He was bewildered and terrified, for he still

fancied that Trüey was in danger.

When he heard her exclaim, "We are saved!" he was bewildered all the

more.

"But the snake!" he cried out. "Where is the snake?"

As he put these questions, he kept examining Trüey from head to foot, as

if expecting to see a reptile twined around some part of her body.

"The snake, Jan! Did you not see it? It was just there, at our feet; but

now--see! yonder it is. The secretary has got it. See! They are

fighting! Good bird! I hope it will punish the villain for trying to rob

my pretty weavers. That's it, good bird! Give it to him! See, Jan! What

a fight!"

"Oh, ah!" said Jan, now comprehending the situation. "Oh, ah! Sure

enough, yonder is a snake, and a wopper, too. Ne'er fear, Trüey! Trust

my secretary. He'll give the rascal a taste of his claws. There's a lick

well put in! Another touch like that, and there won't be much life left

in the scaly villain. There again,--wop!"

With these and similar exclamations the two children stood watching the

fierce conflict that raged between the bird and the reptile.

Now this bird was a very peculiar one--so much so, that in all the world

there is no other of the same kind. In form it resembled a crane, having

very long legs, and being about the height and size of a crane. Its head

and beak, however, were more like those of an eagle or vulture. It had

well-developed wings, armed with spurs, and a very long tail, with the

two middle feathers longer than the rest. Its general colour was bluish

grey, with a white throat and breast, and a reddish tinge upon the

wing-feathers. But, perhaps, the most remarkable thing about the bird

was its "crest." This consisted of a number of long, blackish plumes

growing out of its occiput, and extending down the back of its neck

nearly to the shoulders. These gave the bird a very peculiar appearance;

and the fancied resemblance to a secretary of the olden time with his

long quill behind his ear--before steel pens came into fashion--is the

reason why the bird has received the very inappropriate name of the

"Secretary-bird."

It is more properly named the "serpent-eater," and naturalists have

given it the title _Gypogeranus_, or "crane-vulture." It is sometimes

also called "the messenger," from the staid solemn manner of its walk,

as it stalks over the plain.

Of all its names that of "serpent-eater" is the best adapted to the

character of the bird. It is true there are other birds that kill and

eat serpents,--as the "guaco" bird of South America, and many hawks and

kites,--but the secretary is the only winged creature that makes

reptiles of this class exclusively its prey, and carries on a constant

war against them. It is not strictly correct to say that it feeds

exclusively upon snakes. It will also eat lizards, tortoises, and even

locusts; but snakes are certainly its favourite food, and to obtain

these it risks its life in many a deadly encounter with those of a very

large kind.

The serpent-eater is an African bird, and is not peculiar to South

Africa alone, as it is found in the Gambia country. It is also a native

of the Philippine Isles. There is some doubt whether the species of the

Philippine Isles is identical with that of Africa. A difference is noted

in the plumage, though very slight. The disposition of the crest-plumes

differs in the two, and the tail-feathers are differently arranged. In

the African species the two middle ones are the longest, while in the

serpent-eater of the Philippines it is the two outside feathers that

project--giving the bird the appearance of having a "fork" or "swallow"

tail. Some points of distinction have also been observed between the

South African bird and that of the Gambia.

The serpent-eater is, however, a very unique bird; and naturalists,

failing to class it with either hawks, eagles, vultures, gallinæ, or

cranes, have elevated it, so as to form a distinct tribe, family, genus,

and species, of itself.

In South Africa it frequents the great plains and dry karoos, stalking

about in search of its prey. It is not gregarious, but lives solitary or

in pairs, making its nest in trees,--usually those of a thick thorny

species, which renders the nest most difficult of approach. The whole

edifice is about three feet in diameter, and resembles the nests of the

tree-building eagles. It is usually lined with feathers and down, and

two or three eggs are the number deposited for a single hatching.

The serpent-eater is an excellent runner, and spends more time on foot

than on the wing. It is a shy wary bird, yet, notwithstanding, it is

most easily domesticated; and it is not uncommon to see them about the

houses of the Cape farmers, where they are kept as pets, on account of

their usefulness in destroying snakes, lizards, and other vermin. They

have been long ago introduced into the French West India Islands, and

naturalised there--in order that they should make war upon the dangerous

"yellow serpent," the plague of the plantations in those parts.

Now the bird which had so opportunely appeared between Jan and Trüey,

and had no doubt saved one or the other, or both, from the deadly bite

of the _spuugh-slang_, was a serpent-eater,--one that had been tamed,

and that made its home among the branches of the great nwana-tree. The

hunters had found it upon the plain, wounded by some animal,--perhaps a

very large snake,--and had brought it home as a curiosity. In time it

quite recovered from its wounds; but the kindness it had received,

during the period when it was an invalid, was not thrown away upon it.

When it recovered the use of its wings, it refused to leave the society

of its protectors, but remained habitually in the camp--although it made

frequent excursions into the surrounding plains in search of its

favourite food. It always, however, returned at night, and roosted among

the branches of the great nwana-tree. Of course it was Jan's pet, and

Jan was very good to it; but it now repaid all his kindness in saving

him from the fangs of the deadly cobra.

The children, having recovered from their alarm, stood watching the

singular conflict between serpent and serpent-eater.

On first seizing the reptile, the bird had caught it by the neck in its

beak. It might not have accomplished this so readily, had not the

attention of the snake been occupied by the children, thus throwing it

off its guard.

Having succeeded in seizing the reptile, the bird rose nearly in a

vertical direction to a height of many yards, and then opening his beak

permitted the serpent to fall to the ground. His object was to stun the

latter by the fall; and the more effectually to do this, he would have

carried the cobra still higher, had not the latter prevented it by

attempting to coil itself around his wings.

Upon letting fall his prey the serpent-eater did not remain in the air.

On the contrary, he darted after the falling reptile, and the moment the

latter touched the ground, and before it could put itself in an attitude

of defence, the bird "pounced" upon it with spread foot, striking it a

violent blow near the neck. The snake was still but slightly damaged,

and throwing itself into a coil stood upon its defence. Its mouth was

open to its widest extent, its tongue protruded, its fangs were erect,

and its eyes flashing with rage and poison. A terrible antagonist it

appeared, and for a moment the secretary seemed to think so, as he stood

on the ground confronting it.

But the bird soon began to advance upon it for a renewal of the attack,

though this advance was made in a cautious manner. With the pinions of

one of his strong wings spread broadly out for a shield, he approached

the reptile sideways, and, when near enough, suddenly wheeled, turning

upon his leg as on a pivot, and struck sharply out with his other wing.

The blow was delivered with good effect. It reached the head of the

snake, and seemed to stun it. Its neck dropped, the coils became

loosened. Before it could recover itself it was once more in the beak of

the serpent-eater, and trailing through the air.

This time the bird rose to a much greater height than before--as he was

not hampered by the writhing of the serpent--and as before suffered the

reptile to fall, and then darted suddenly after.

When the snake came to the ground a second time it lay for a moment

stretched at full length, as if stunned or dead. It was not dead,

however, and would once more have coiled itself; but, before it could do

so, the bird had repeatedly pounced upon its neck with his spread and

horny feet; and at length, watching his opportunity when the head of the

serpent lay flat, he struck a blow with his sharp beak so violent, that

it split the skull of the reptile in twain! Life was now extinct, and

the hideous form, extended to its full length, lay lithe and motionless

upon the grass.

Jan and Trüey clapped their hands, and uttered exclamations of joy.

The serpent-eater took no heed of their demonstrations, but, approaching

the dead cobra, bent over it, and coolly set about making his dinner.

CHAPTER XLIV.

TOTTY AND THE CHACMAS.

Von Bloom and his family had now been months without bread. They were

not without a substitute, however, as various roots and nuts supplied

them with a change of food. Of the latter, they had the ground or

pig-nut, which grows in all parts of Southern Africa, and which forms a

staple food of the native inhabitants. For vegetables they had the bulbs

of many species of _Ixias_ and _Mesembryanthemums_, among others the

"Hottentot fig." They had the "Caffir bread"--the inside pith of the

stems of a species of _Zamia_; and the "Caffir chestnut," the fruit of

the _Brabeium stellatum_; and last, not least, the enormous roots of the

"elephant's foot." They had wild onions and garlic too; and in the white

flower-tops of a beautiful floating plant, they found a substitute for

asparagus.

All these roots and fruits were to be obtained in the neighbourhood, and

no man knew better how to find them, and "crow" them up when found, than

did Swartboy the Bushman. Well might he, for in Swartboy's early days he

had often been compelled to subsist for weeks, and even months, on roots

alone!

But although they could procure a constant supply of these natural

productions, they considered them but a poor substitute for bread; and

all of them longed to eat once more what is usually termed the "staff of

life"--though in South Africa, where so many people live exclusively

upon the flesh of animals, bread is hardly entitled to that appellation.

Bread they were likely to have, and soon. When treking from the old

kraal, they had brought with them a small bag of maize. It was the last

of their previous year's stock; and there was not in all over a bushel

of it. But that was enough for seed, and would produce many bushels if

properly planted, and carefully tended.

This had been done shortly after their arrival at their present home. A

fertile spot of ground had been selected, only a few hundred yards from

the nwana-tree. It had been turned up with the spade, for want of a

plough, and the seeds planted at proper distances.

Many an hour had been given to the weeding and hoeing of it, and around

every plant a little hill of soft mould had been raised, to nourish the

roots, and protect them from the heat of the sun. The plants were even

watered now and then.

Partly on account of this attention, and partly from the richness of the

virgin soil, a splendid growth was the result; and the stalks stood full

twelve feet high, with ears nearly a foot long. They had almost ripened;

and the field-cornet intended in about a week or ten days to gather in

the crop.

Both he and all his people were anticipating pleasant feasts of

maize-bread, and "hominy," with "mash and milk," and various other

dishes, that with Totty's skill could be manufactured out of the Indian

corn.

About this time an incident occurred that nearly deprived them, not only

of their whole plot of maize-plants, but also of their valuable

housekeeper, Totty. It was as follows:--

Totty was on the platform in the great nwana-tree, which commanded a

view of the corn-patch, and also of the plain beyond, as far as the

bottom of the cliffs. She was busied about "house" affairs, when her

attention was called off, by some singular noises that came from that

direction. She parted the branches and looked through. A singular scene

was before her eyes--a spectacle of no common kind.

A body of odd-looking animals, to the number of two hundred or more, was

coming from the direction of the cliffs. They were creatures of ungainly

forms--in make and size not unlike large ill-shaped dogs--and of a

greenish-brown colour. Their faces and ears only were black, and these

were naked, while their bodies were covered with harsh coarse hair. They

had long tails, which some of them carried high in the air, and

flourished about in a very eccentric manner.

Totty was by no means alarmed. She knew what sort of animals they were.

She knew they were baboons. They were of the species known as the

"pig-faced" baboon or "chacma" (_Cynocephalus porcarius_), which is

found in nearly every part of South Africa where there are high cliffs

with caves and crevices--the favourite dwelling-places of the baboon.

Of all the monkey tribe the baboons, or dog-headed monkeys

(_cynocephali_), are the most disgusting in form and features. Who does

not feel disgust when regarding the hideous mandrill--the drill--the

hamadryas--or even the chacma? And all these are baboons. The baboons

are peculiar to Africa, and there are six well-known species of

them:--the common baboon of North Africa, the "papion" of the south and

western coast, the "hamadryas or tartarin" of Abyssinia, the "mandrill"

and "drill" of Guinea, and the "chacma" of the Cape Colony.

The habits of these animals are as disgusting as their appearance. They

may be tamed, and made "pets" of; but dangerous pets they are, as they

will, upon, the slightest provocation, bite the hand that feeds them.

Their great strength of body and jaw, and their long canine teeth, give

them a dangerous power, which they often make use of. No dog is a match

for one, and the hyena and leopard often come off second best in an

encounter with a baboon.

They are not carnivorous, however, and only tear their enemy to pieces

without eating it. Their food consists of fruits and bulbous roots,

which they well understand to dig out of the ground with the sharp nails

of their hands.

Although they will not attack man if left alone, they become dangerous

assailants when hunted and brought to bay.

Many odd stories are told of the chacma baboon among the settlers of

Southern Africa, such as their robbing the traveller of his food, and

then going off to some distance, and mocking him, while they devour it.

The natives also say that they sometimes use a stick in walking,

"crowing" for roots, and in self-defence. Also, when a young one has

succeeded in finding a choice root, and is observed by an older and

stronger one, that the latter takes it away; but, should the young one

have already swallowed it, then the bully picks him up, turns him head

downward, and shakes him until he is forced to "disgorge!" Many such

tales are current in the country of the boers, and they are not all

without foundation, for these animals most certainly possess the power

of reflection in a high degree.

Totty from her perch saw enough to convince her of this, had she been

herself inclined to philosophise. But she was not. She was only a little

curious about the manoeuvres of the animals, and she called Trüey and

little Jan up into the tree, in order that they might share the

spectacle with her. All the others were off hunting.

Jan was delighted, and ran up the ladder at once. So did Trüey and all

three stood watching the odd movements of the four-handed creatures.

They perceived that the troop was actually marching in order; not in

line, but with some understood arrangement. There were scouts upon the

wings, and leaders in front. These were baboons of greater age and size

than the others. There were calls and signals, and the change of accent

and tone would have convinced any one that a regular conversation was

going on. The females and younger ones marched in the middle for better

security. The mothers carried their infants upon their backs, or over

their shoulders. Now a mother would stop to suckle her little

offspring--dressing its hair at the same time--and then gallop forward

to make up for the loss. Now one would be seen beating her child, that

had in some way given offence. Now two young females would quarrel, from

jealousy or some other cause, and then a terrible chattering would

ensue, to be silenced by the loud threatening bark of one of the chiefs!

Thus proceeded they across the plain, chattering, and screaming, and

barking, as only monkeys can.

What were they after?

That question was answered very soon. Trüey and Jan, and Totty saw, to

their dismay, that the baboons were not out upon an idle errand. They

were after the maize-plants!

[Illustration: TOTTY IN TROUBLE.]

In a few minutes most of the troop had entered the corn-field, and were

hidden from view by the tall stems and broad leaves of the plants. A few

only could be seen,--large old fellows, that stationed themselves

outside as sentinels, and were keeping up a constant interchange of

signals. The main body was already stripping the plants of their

precious fruit.

But a singular appearance presented itself beyond the corn-field, where

a line of baboons, stationed at equal distance from one another,

extended away to the very bottom of the cliff. These had been left by a

regular manoeuvre,--a deployment--as the troop traversed the plain in

coming to the field. For what purpose?

That was soon apparent. In less than two minutes after the crowd

disappeared under the shelter of the maize-plants, the long heads in

their husks were seen showering out towards the line, as if flung by the

hand of man! Those placed at the near end of the line immediately took

them up, pitched them to the next, and these to the next, and so on,

until, in a very short while from the time a head was plucked from the

stalk, it was delivered to the storehouse of the baboons far off among

the cliffs!

Had this work gone on much longer the field-cornet would have had but a

poor gathering in harvest time. The baboons thought the corn ripe

enough, and would soon have made a crop of it, but at this moment their

operations were interrupted.

Totty knew but little of the danger she underwent, when she ran forth

with nothing but that long broom-handle to drive off a troop of chacmas.

She only thought of the loss her kind master was sustaining; and down

the ladder she hurried, and ran straight out to the corn-field.

Several sentinels met her by its edge, grinned, chattered, screamed,

barked, and showed their long canine teeth; but they only received a

blow over their ugly snouts from the broom-handle. Their cries summoned

the others; and in a few moments the poor Hottentot was standing in the

midst of an angry circle of chacmas, that were only prevented from

springing in upon her by the expert manner in which she continued to ply

the broom-stick.

But this slight weapon would not have served much longer, and Totty's

fate--that of being torn to pieces--would soon have been sealed, had not

four horsemen, or rather "quagga-men," at that moment galloped up to her

rescue.

These were the hunters returning from the chase; and a volley from their

guns at once scattered the ugly chacmas, and sent them howling back to

their caves.

After that the field-cornet looked well to his maize, until it was ready

for gathering; when it was all brought home, and deposited in safety out

of the reach of either birds, reptiles, quadrupeds, or _quadrumana_.

CHAPTER XLV.

THE WILD HOUNDS AND THE HARTEBEEST.

Since the taming of the quaggas the hunting had been attended with

tolerable success. Not a week passed without adding a pair of

tusks--sometimes two or three pairs--to the collection, which now began

to assume the form of a little pyramid of ivory standing near the bottom

of the nwana.

Von Bloom, however, was not quite satisfied with his progress. He

thought they might do far better if they had only a few dogs.

Though the quaggas were of great service to them, and with these they

were often able to overtake the elephant, yet they as often lost their

great game, and it is more easy to do so than most persons imagine.

But with dogs to join in the hunt, the result would be quite different.

It is true these animals cannot pull down an elephant, nor do him the

slightest injury; but they can follow him whithersoever he may go, and

by their barking bring him to a stand.

Another valuable service which the dogs perform, is in drawing the

attention of the elephant away from the hunters. The huge quadruped when

enraged is, as we have already seen, exceedingly dangerous. On such

occasions he will charge upon the noisy dogs, mistaking them for his

real assailants. This, of course, gives the hunter a good opportunity of

delivering his fire, and avoiding the deadly encounter of the elephant.

Now in several elephant-hunts which they had lately made, our hunters

had run some very narrow risks. Their quaggas were neither so manageable

nor so quick in their movements as horses would have been, and this

rendered the hazard still greater. Some of them might one day fall a

victim. So feared Von Bloom; and he would gladly have given for a number

of dogs an elephant's tusk a-piece--even though they were the most

worthless of curs. Indeed, their quality is but of slight importance.

Any dogs that can trace the elephant and pester him with their barking

would do.

Von Bloom even thought of taming some hyenas, and training them to the

hunt. This idea was by no means quixotic. The hyena is often used for

such a purpose, and performs even better than many kinds of dogs.

One day Von Bloom was pondering over this subject. He was seated on a

little platform that had been constructed very high up--near the top of

the nwana-tree--from which a view could be had of the whole country

around. It was a favourite resort of the field-cornet--his smoking-room,

in fact--where he went every evening to enjoy a quiet pull out of his

great meerschaum. His face was turned upon the plain that stretched from

the border of the _bosch_ as far as the eye could reach.

While quietly puffing away, his attention was attracted by some animals

standing at a distance off upon the plain. The brilliant colour of their

bodies had caught his eye.

They were of a lively sienna colour over the back and sides, and white

underneath, with a list of black upon the outside of the legs, and some

black stripes upon the face, as regularly defined as if laid on by the

brush of a painter. They had horns of very irregular shape, roughly

knotted--each curved into something of the shape of a reaping-hook, and

rising directly from the top of one of the straightest and longest heads

ever carried by an animal. These animals were far from being gracefully

formed. They had drooping hind-quarters like the giraffe, though in a

much less degree, shoulders greatly elevated, and long narrow heads. For

the rest their forms were bony and angular. Each stood five feet high,

from the fore-hoof to the shoulder, and full nine feet in length.

They were antelopes of course--that species known among Cape colonists

as the "hartebeest." There were in all about fifty of them in the herd.

When first observed by Von Bloom, they were quietly browsing upon the

plain. The next moment, however, they were seen to run to and fro, as if

suddenly alarmed by the approach of an enemy.

And an enemy there certainly was; for in a moment more the herd had

taken to flight; and Von Bloom now saw that they were followed by a pack

of hounds! I say a "pack of hounds," for the creatures in the distance

exactly resembled hounds more than anything in the world. Nay, more than

resembled, for it actually was a pack of hounds--of wild hounds!

Of course Von Bloom knew what they were. He knew they were the

"wilde-honden," very absurdly named by sapient naturalists _Hyena

venatica_ or "hunting hyena," and by others, with equal absurdity the

"hunting dog." I pronounce these names "absurd," first because the

animal in question bears no more resemblance to a hyena than it does to

a hedgehog; and, secondly, because "hunting dog" is a very ridiculous

appellation, since any dog may merit a similar title.

Now I would ask, why could these naturalists not let the nomenclature of

the boers alone? If a better name than "wilde-honden" (wild hounds) can

be given to these animals, I should like to hear it. Why, it is the very

perfection of a name, and exactly expresses the character of the animal

to which they apply it--that character, which coming under their

everyday observation, suggested the name.

It is quite a libel to call this beautiful creature a hyena. He has

neither the ugly form, the harsh pelage, the dull colour, nor the filthy

habits of one. Call him a "wolf," or "wild dog," if you please, but he

is at the same time the handsomest wolf or wild dog in creation. But we

shall name him, as the boers have done, a "wild hound." That is his true

title, let naturalists class him as they may.

His size, shape, his smooth clean coat, as well as his colour,

approximate him more to the hound than to any other animal. In the

last--which is a ground of "tan" blotched and mottled with large spots

of black and grey--he bears a striking resemblance to the common hound;

and the superior size of his ears would seem to assimilate him still

more to this animal. The ears, however, as in all the wild species of

_Canis_, are of course not hanging, but erect.

His habits, however, crown the resemblance. In his natural state the

wild hound never prowls alone; but boldly runs down his game, following

it in large organised packs, just as hounds do; and in his hunting he

exhibits as much skill as if he had Tom Moody riding at his heels, to

guide with whip and horn.

It was the field-cornet's good fortune to witness an exhibition of this

skill.

The hounds had come unexpectedly upon the hartebeest herd; and almost at

the first dash, one of the antelopes became separated from the rest, and

ran in an opposite direction. This was just what the cunning dogs

wanted; and the whole pack, instead of following the herd, turned after

the single one, and ran "tail on end."

Now this hartebeest, although an ill-shaped antelope, is one of the very

swiftest of the tribe; and the wild hound does not capture it without a

severe chase. In fact, he could not capture it at all, if speed were the

only point between the two animals. But it is not. The hartebeest has a

weakness in its character, opposite to which the wild hound possesses a

cunning.

The former when chased, although it runs in a straight line, does not

keep long in a direct course. Now and then it diverges to one side or

the other, led perhaps by the form of the ground, or some other

circumstance. In this habit lies its weakness. The wild hound is well

aware of it, and takes advantage of it by a manoeuvre, which certainly

savours strongly of reflection on his part.

Our field-cornet had a proof of this as he watched the chase. His

elevated position gave him a view of the whole ground, and he could note

every movement both of pursuer and pursued.

On breaking off, the hartebeest ran in a right line, and the hounds

followed straight after. They had not gone far, however, when Von Bloom

perceived that one hound was forging ahead of the rest, and running much

faster than any of them. He might have been a swifter dog than the

others, but the hunter did not think it was that. He appeared rather to

be running harder that they, as if sent forward to push the hartebeest,

while the rest saved their wind.

This proved to be really the case; for the dog, by a desperate effort,

having gained upon the antelope, caused the latter to turn slightly from

it original course; and the pack, perceiving this, changed their

direction at the same time, and held along a diagonal line, as if to

head the game. By this means they avoided the détour which both the

antelope and their companion had made.

The hartebeest was now running upon a new line; and as before, one of

the hounds was soon seen to head the pack, and press forward at the top

of his speed. The one that first led, as soon as the antelope turned

from its original course, fell back, rejoined the pack, and was now

lagging among the hindmost! His "turn" of duty was over.

Again the hartebeest verged from its course. Again the pack ran

obliquely, and made a second "cut" upon him--again a fresh dog took the

lead, and on swept the chase as before--the wild hounds uttering their

yelping notes as they ran.

Several times was this manoeuvre executed by the cunning dogs--until the

desired result was accomplished, and the antelope was completely

"blown."

Then, as if they felt that it was in their power, and that further

strategy was not needed, the whole pack rushed forward simultaneously,

and closed rapidly upon the game.

The hartebeest made one last despairing effort to escape, but, finding

that speed would no longer avail, the creature wheeled suddenly round,

and placed itself in an attitude of defiance--the foam falling from its

lips, while its red eyes sparkled like coals of fire.

In another moment the dogs were around it.

"What a splendid pack!" exclaimed Von Bloom. "Oh! that I had such an

one!

"Ha!" he continued, as a new thought struck him, "and why not, just such

an one?--why not?"

Now the train of reflections that passed through the mind of the

field-cornet was as follows:--

That the wild hounds might be tamed, and trained to hunting,--easiest of

all, to the chase of the elephant. He knew that this could be done, for

boer-hunters had often done it. True, the dogs must be taken young, but

where were young ones to be obtained? It is not so easy to capture the

pups of the wild hound. Until they are able to run well, their mothers

do not permit them to stray far from the caves in which they are

littered; and these are usually crevices among rocks quite inaccessible

to man. How could he obtain a set of them? He had already formed such an

intention. Where could be their breeding place?

His reflections were interrupted at this point, by very singular

behaviour on the part of the wild hounds, and which gave him a new idea

of their intelligence that quite electrified him.

When the hartebeest stood to bay, and the hounds came up, Von Bloom very

naturally expected to see the latter run in upon their game, and at once

pull it to the ground. This he knew was their usual habit. What was his

astonishment at seeing the whole pack standing off to one side, as if

they intended to leave the antelope alone! Some of them even lay down to

rest themselves, while the others stood with open jaws and lolling

tongues, but without showing any signs that they intended further to

molest the panting quarry!

The field-cornet could observe the situation well, for the antelope was

on his side--that is, towards the cliffs--while the dogs were farther

out upon the plain. Another circumstance that astonished him was, that

the dogs, after running up and around the hartebeest, had actually drawn

off to their present position!

What could it mean? Were they afraid of its ugly horns? Were they

resting themselves before they should make their bloody onslaught!

The hunter kept his gaze intently fixed upon the interesting group.

After a while the antelope, having recovered its wind a little, and

seeing the pack so distant, made a fresh start.

This time it ran in a side direction, apparently with the intention of

gaining a hill that lay in that way, and up the sides of which it no

doubt calculated upon gaining some advantage. But the creature had

hardly stretched itself, when the hounds struck out after it; and in

five hundred yards running, once more brought it to a stand. Again the

pack took station at a distance, and the hartebeest stood upon the plain

alone!

Once more it essayed to escape, and started off with all the speed that

was left in its legs--the hounds as before trooping after.

This time the antelope headed in a new direction, making for a point in

the cliffs; and as the chase now passed very near to the nwana-tree,

everybody had a fine view of it.

The hartebeest seemed to be going faster than ever, or, at all events,

the dogs did not now appear to gain upon it; and the field-cornet, as

well as all the young people, were in hopes the poor creature would

escape from its tireless pursuers.

They watched the chase, until they could just see the bright body of the

hartebeest afar off, appearing like a yellow spot upon the face of the

rocks, but the dogs were no longer visible. Then the yellow spot

suddenly disappeared like the going out of a candle, and they could see

it no more.

No doubt the antelope was pulled down!

A strange suspicion entered the mind of Von Bloom, and, calling upon

them to saddle the quaggas, he, with Hans and Hendrik, rode off towards

the place where the hartebeests had been last seen.

They approached the ground with caution; and under the shelter of some

bushes were enabled to get within two hundred yards of the spot without

being observed. A singular spectacle rewarded their pains.

Within a dozen yards of the cliff lay the body of the hartebeest, where

it had been "pulled down" by the dogs. It was already half eaten, not by

the hounds that had hunted it, but by their puppies of all ages, that to

the number of more than threescore were now standing around the carcass,

tugging away at its flesh and snarling at one another! Some of the grown

dogs that had taken part in the chase could be seen lying upon the

ground, still panting after their hard run; but most of them had

disappeared, no doubt into the numerous small caves and crevices that

opened along the bottom of the cliffs.

There was no room left to doubt the singular fact--that the wild hounds

had regularly driven the hartebeest up to their breeding-place to feed

their young, and that they had abstained from killing it out upon the

plain to save themselves the labour of dragging it from a distance!

Indeed these animals--unlike the _Felidæ_--have not the power of

transporting a large mass to any considerable distance; hence the

wonderful instinct which led them to guide the antelope to the very spot

where its flesh was wanted!

That they were in the constant practice of this singular habit was

attested, by the numerous bones and horns of large antelopes of

different kinds, that lay strewed around the place.

Von Bloom had his eye upon the young puppies, and all three made a rush

towards them. But it was to no purpose. Cunning as their fathers and

mothers, the little fellows forsook their meal at first sight of the

intruders, and darted off into their caves!

But they were not cunning enough to escape the snares, which were laid

for them every day for a week after; and, before the end of that time,

more than a dozen of them were safely domiciled in a little kennel built

especially for their use, under the shadow of the great nwana-tree.

In less that six months from that time, several of them were in the

field, and trained to the chase of the elephant, which duty they

performed with all the courage and skill that could have been shown by

hounds of the purest breed!

CHAPTER XLVI.

CONCLUSION.

For several years Von Bloom led the life of an elephant-hunter. For

several years the great nwana-tree was his home, and his only companions

his children and domestics. But, perhaps, these were not the least happy

years of his existence, since, during all the time both he and his

family had enjoyed the most estimable of earthly blessings,--health.

He had not allowed his children to grow up without instruction. He had

not permitted them to lapse into the character of mere "Bush-boys." He

had taught them many things from the book of nature,--many arts that can

be acquired as well on the karoo as in the college. He had taught them

to love God, and to love one another. He had planted in their minds the

seeds of the virtuous principles,--honour and morality,--without which

all education is worthless. He had imbued them with habits of industry

and self-reliance, and had initiated them into many of the

accomplishments of civilised life--so that upon their return to society

they might be quite equal to its claims. Upon the whole, those years of

the exile's life, spent in his wilderness home, formed no blank in his

existence. He might look back upon them with feelings of satisfaction

and pleasure.

Man, however, is formed for society. The human heart, properly

organised, seeks communion with the human heart; and the mind,

especially when refined and polished by education, loves the intercourse

of social life, and, when deprived of it, will always yearn to obtain

it.

So was it with the field-cornet. He desired to return once more within

the pale of civilised society. He desired once more to revisit the

scenes where he had so long dwelt in peaceful happiness; he desired once

more to establish himself among his friends and acquaintances of former

days, in the picturesque district in the Graaf Reinet. Indeed, to have

remained any longer in his wilderness home could have served no purpose.

It is true he had grown very much attached to his wild hunter-life, but

it was no longer likely to be profitable. The elephants had completely

forsaken the neighbourhood of the camp, and not one was to be found

within twenty miles of the spot. They had become well-acquainted with

the report of the long roer, and knew the dangerous character of that

weapon; they had learnt that of all their enemies man was the one to be

especially dreaded and shunned; and they had grown so shy of his

presence, that the hunters frequently passed whole weeks without setting

their eyes upon a single elephant.

But this was no longer an object of solicitude with Von Bloom. Other

considerations now occupied his mind, and he did not care much if he

should never spoor another of these huge quadrupeds. To return to the

Graaf Reinet, and settle there, was now the ultimatum of his wishes.

The time had at length arrived when he would be able to carry out that

design; and nothing seemed any longer to stand in the way of its full

and complete accomplishment.

The proscription against him had been long since taken off. A general

amnesty had been passed by the government, and he had been pardoned

among the rest.

It is true his property was not restored to him; but that mattered

little now. He had created a new property, as was testified by the vast

pyramid of ivory that stood under the shadow of the great nwana-tree!

Nothing remained but to transport this shining pile to a market, and a

splendid fortune would be the result.

And Von Bloom's ingenuity found the means for bringing it to market.

About this time there was dug another huge pit-trap near the pass in the

cliffs, in which many quaggas were trapped; and then, there were

stirring scenes, while these wild creatures were being broken to

harness, and trained to "trek" in a wagon.

They were trained, however, after a good deal of trouble--the old

wheels, still in prime condition, serving as the "break;" and then the

body of the wagon was let down from the tree, and once more renewed its

acquaintance with its old companions the wheels; and the cap-tent

spread its protecting shadow over all; and the white and yellow

crescents were stowed; and the quaggas were "inspanned;" and Swartboy,

mounting the "voor-kist," once more cracked his long bamboo whip; and

the wheels, well oiled with elephants' grease, again whirled gaily

along!

How surprised were the good people of Graaf Beinet, when one morning a

cap-tent wagon, drawn by twelve quaggas, and followed by four riders

mounted upon animals of the same kind, pulled up in the public square of

their little town! How astonished they were on seeing that this wagon

was "chuck" full of elephants' teeth, all except a little corner

occupied by a beautiful girl with cherry cheeks and fair flaxen hair;

and how joyed were they, in fine, on learning that the owner of both the

ivory and the beautiful girl was no other than their old friend, and

much-esteemed fellow-citizen, the field-cornet, Von Bloom!

A warm welcome met the elephant-hunter in the square of Graaf Reinet,

and, what was also of some importance, a ready market for his ivory.

It chanced just at that time that ivory was selling at a very high rate.

Some article--I do not remember what--the principal part of which

required to be constructed of pure ivory, had come into fashion and

general use in European countries, and the consequence was an increased

demand for this valuable commodity. It was a fortunate circumstance for

the returned hunter, who was at once enabled to dispose of his stock,

not only for ready money, but at such a fine price as to yield him

nearly twice the amount he had calculated on receiving!

He had not brought it all with him, as there was more than would have

loaded any one wagon. A second load had remained, hidden near the

nwana-tree, and this required a journey to be made for it.

It was made in due time, and the remainder arrived safely at Graaf

Reinet, and was there delivered to the ivory-dealers, who had already

purchased it.

The result was a splendid fortune in ready money. The field-cornet was

once more a rich man!

For the present we can follow his history no farther than to say, that

the proceeds of his great hunt enabled him to buy back his old estate,

and to stock it in splendid style, with the best breeds of horses,

horned cattle, and sheep; that he rose rapidly in wealth and worldly

esteem; that the government gave him its confidence; and, having first

restored him to his old office of field-cornet, soon afterwards promoted

him to that of "landdrost," or chief magistrate of the district.

Hans returned to his college studies; while the dashing Hendrik was

enabled to enter the profession for which he was most fit, and the very

one that fitted him, by obtaining a cornetcy in the "Cape Mounted

Rifles."

Little Jan was packed off to school to study grammar and geography;

while the beautiful Trüey remained at home to grace the mansion of her

honoured father, and look after his household affairs.

Totty still ruled the kitchen; and, of course, Swartboy was the

important man about the house, and for many a long year after cracked

his great whip, and flourished his jambok among the long-horned oxen of

the wealthy landdrost.

But enough for the present,--enough of adventure for one year. Let us

hope, boy readers, that before you and I have circled once more around

the sun, we shall make a fresh trip to the land of the boers, and again

encounter the worthy Von Bloom, his Bushman, and--

"BUSH-BOYS."

THE END.