TROPICAL RUMINANTS AND EQUIDÆ.
The Camel--Its Paramount Importance in the great Tropical Sandwastes--
Its Organisation admirably adapted to its mode of Life--Beauty
of the Giraffe--Its Wide Range of Vision--Pleasures of Giraffe
Hunting--The Antelopes--The Springbok--The Reedbok--The Duiker--
The Atro--The Gemsbok--The Klippspringer--The Koodoo--The Gnu--
The Indian Antelope--The Nylghau--The Caffrarian Buffalo--The
Indian Buffalo and the Tiger--Dr. Livingstone’s Escape from a
solitary Buffalo--Swimming Feats of the Bhain--The Zebra--The
Quagga--The Douw.
There is a sea without water and refreshing breezes, without ebb and
flood, without fishes and algæ! And there is a ship which safely
travels from one shore to the other of that sea, a ship without sails
or masts, without keel or rudder, without screw or paddle, without
cabin or deck!
This ship, so swift and sure, is the Dromedary, and that sea is the
desert; which none but he, or what he carries, can pass.
In many respects the vast sandy deserts of Africa and Asia remind one
of the ocean. There is the same boundless horizon, the same unstable
surface, now rising, now falling with the play of the winds; the same
majestic monotony, the same optical illusions, for as the thirsty
mariner sees phantom palm-groves rise from the ocean, thus also the
sandwaste transforms itself, before the panting caravan, into the
semblance of a refreshing lake. Here we see islands, verdant oases
of the sea--there, oases, green islands of the desert; here, sand
billows--there, water waves, separating widely different worlds of
plants and animals; here, the ship, the camel of the ocean--there, the
dromedary, the ship of the desert!
But for this invaluable animal, the desert itself would ever have
remained impassable and unknown to man. On it alone depends the
existence of the nomadic tribes of the Orient, the whole commercial
intercourse of North Africa and Southwest Asia; and no wonder that the
Bedouin prizes it, along with the fruit-teeming date-palm, as the most
precious gift of Allah. Other animals have been formed for the forest,
the water, the savannah; to be the guide, the carrier, the companion,
the purveyor of all man’s wants in the desert, is the camel’s destiny.
Wonderfully has he been shaped for this peculiar life, formed to
endure privations and fatigues under which all but he would sink. On
examining the camel’s foot, it will at once be seen how well it is
adapted for walking on a loose soil, as the full length of its two toes
is provided with a broad, expanded, and elastic sole. Thus the camel
treads securely and lightly over the unstable sands, while he would
either slip or sink on a muddy ground. He can support hunger longer
than any other mammiferous animal, and is satisfied with the meanest
food. Frugal, like his lord the wiry Bedouin, the grinding power of his
teeth and his cartilaginous palate enable him to derive nutriment from
the coarsest shrubs, from thorny mimosas and acacias, or even from the
stony date-kernels, which his master throws to him after having eaten
the sweet flesh in which they are imbedded.
For many days he can subsist without drinking, as the pouchlike
cavities of his stomach--a peculiarity which distinguishes him
from all other quadrupeds, perhaps, with the sole exception of the
elephant--form a natural cistern or reservoir, whose contents can be
forced upwards by muscular contraction, to meet the exigencies of the
journey. It is frequently believed that this liquid remains constantly
limpid and palatable, and that in cases of extreme necessity camels
are slaughtered to preserve the lives of the thirsty caravan; but
Burckhardt never heard of the Arabs resorting to this expedient, nor
did he think it likely they would do so, as their own destruction must
be involved in that of the beast on which they rode, and the lukewarm
liquid thus obtained, besides affording a very poor supply, would be
sufficiently nauseous to make even a Tantalus turn away disgusted.
But the ‘ship of the desert’ is not only provided with water for
the voyage, but also with liberal stores of fat, which are chiefly
accumulated in the hump; so that this prominence, which gives it
so deformed an appearance, is in reality of the highest utility--
for should food be scarce, and this is almost always the case while
journeying through the desert, internal absorption makes up in some
measure for the deficiency, and enables the famished camel to brave
for some time longer the fatigues of the naked waste. This is so well
known to the Bedouin that the first thing he examines about his camel
when preparing for a long journey is the hump: should he find it large
he knows that the animal will endure considerable fatigue even with a
very moderate allowance of food, for he believes in the proverb that
the ‘camel can subsist for an expedition on the fat of its own hump.’
Yet all mortal endurance has its limits, and even the camel, though
so well provided against hunger and thirst, must frequently succumb
to the excess of his privations, and the bleached skeletons of the
much-enduring animal strewed along the road mark at once the path of
the caravan and the dreadful sufferings of a desert-journey.
[Illustration: BACTRIAN CAMEL.]
[Illustration: DROMEDARY.]
While the Bactrian Camel with a double hump ranges from Turkestan
to China, the single-hump camel or dromedary, originally Arabian,
has spread in opposite directions towards the East Indies, the
Mediterranean, and the Niger, and is used in Syria, Egypt, Persia, and
Barbary, as the commonest beast of burden. It serves the robber, but
it serves also the peaceful merchant, or the pilgrim, as he wanders to
Mecca to perform his devotions at the prophet’s tomb. In long array,
winding like a snake, the caravan traverses the desert. Each dromedary
is loaded, according to its strength, with from six hundred to a
thousand pounds, and knows so well the limits of its endurance, that it
suffers no overweight, and will not stir before it be removed. Thus,
with slow and measured pace, the caravan proceeds at the rate of ten or
twelve leagues a day, often requiring many a week before attaining the
end of its journey.
When we consider the deformity of the camel, we cannot doubt that
its nature has suffered considerable changes from the thraldom and
unceasing labours of more than one millennium. Its servitude is of
older date, more complete, and more irksome, than that of any other
domestic animal--of older date, as it inhabits the countries which
history points out to us as the cradle of mankind; more complete, as
all other domestic animals still have their wild types roaming about in
unrestrained liberty, while the whole camel race is doomed to slavery;
more irksome, finally, as it is never kept for luxury or state like so
many horses, or for the table like the ox, the pig, or the sheep, but
is merely used as a beast of transport, which its master does not even
give himself the trouble to attach to a cart, but whose body is loaded
like a living waggon, and frequently even remains burdened during sleep.
Thus, the camel bears all the marks of serfdom. Large naked callosities
of horny hardness cover the lower part of the breast and the joints of
the legs, and although they are never wanting, yet they themselves give
proof that they are not natural, but that they have been produced by an
excess of misery and ill-treatment, as they are frequently found filled
with a purulent matter.
The back of the camel is still more deformed by its single or double
hump than its breast or legs by their callosities; and as the latter
are evidently owing to the position in which the heavily burthened
beast is forced to rest, it may justly be inferred that the hump also,
which merely consists of an accumulation of fat, did not belong to the
primitive animal, but has been produced by the pressure of its load.
Even its evident use as a store-house for a desert journey may have
contributed to its development, as Nature is ever ready to protect its
creatures, and to modify their forms according to circumstances; and
thus, what at first was a mere casual occurrence, became at length,
through successive generations, the badge and heir-loom of the whole
race.
Even the stomach may, in the course of many centuries, have gradually
provided itself with its water-cistern, since the animal, after a
long and tormenting privation, whenever an opportunity of satisfying
its thirst occurred, distended the coats of that organ by immoderate
draughts, and thus, by degrees, gave rise to its pouch-like cavities.
The hardships of long servitude, which have thus gradually deformed the
originally, perhaps, not ungraceful camel, have no doubt also soured
its temper, and rendered its character as unamiable as its appearance
is repulsive. ‘It is an abominably ugly necessary animal,’ says Mr.
Russell, in a letter dated from the camp of Lucknow; ‘ungainly, morose,
quarrelsome, with tee-totalling propensities; unaccountably capricious
in its friendships and enmities; delighting to produce with its throat,
its jaws, its tongue, and its stomach, the most abominable grunts and
growls. Stupidly bowing to the yoke, it willingly submits to the most
atrocious cruelties, and bites innocent, well-meaning persons, ready
to take its part. When its leader tears its nostril, it will do no
more than grunt; but ten against one it will spit at you if you offer
it a piece of bread. For days it will march along, its nose close to
the tail of the beast that precedes it, without ever making the least
attempt to break from the chain; and yet it will snort furiously at the
poor European who amicably pats its ragged hide.’
The camel seems to have been rather harshly dealt with in this
description; at any rate, it may plead for its excuse that it would be
too much to expect a mild and amiable temper in a toil-worn slave.
Which of all four-footed animals raises its head to the most towering
height? Is it the colossal elephant, or the ‘ship of the desert’?
No doubt the former reaches many a lofty branch with its flexible
proboscis, and the eye of the long-necked camel sweeps over a vast
extent of desert; but the Giraffe embraces a still wider horizon, and
plucks the leaves of the _mokaala_ at a still greater height. A strange
and most surprising animal, almost all neck and leg, seventeen feet
high against a length of only seven from the breast to the beginning
of the tail, its comparatively small and slanting body resting on
long stilts, its diminutive head fixed at the summit of a column; and
yet, in spite of these disproportions, of so elegant and pleasing an
appearance, that it owes its Arabic name, _Xirapha_, to the graceful
ease of its movements.
The beauty of the giraffe is enhanced by its magnificently spotted
skin, and by its soft and gentle eyes, which eclipse even those of the
gazelle, and, by their lateral projection, take in a wider range of the
horizon than is subject to the vision of any other quadruped, so as
even to be able to anticipate a threatened attack in the rear from the
stealthy lion or any other foe of the desert.
[Illustration: GIRAFFES AND ZEBRAS.]
The long tail, adorned with a bushy tuft of flowing black hair, no
doubt renders it good service against many a stinging insect; and the
straight horns, or rather excrescences of the frontal bone, small
as they are, and muffled with skin and hair, are by no means the
insignificant weapons they have been supposed to be. ‘We have seen
them wielded by the males against each other with fearful and reckless
force,’ says Maunder, in his excellent ‘Dictionary of Animated Nature,’
‘and we know that they are the natural arms of the giraffe most dreaded
by the keeper of the present living giraffes in the Zoological Gardens,
because they are most commonly and suddenly put in use. The giraffe
does not butt by depressing and suddenly elevating the head, like the
deer, ox, or sheep, but strikes the callous obtuse extremity of the
horns against the object of his attack with a sidelong sweep of the
neck. One blow thus directed at full swing against the head of an
unlucky attendant would be fatal.’
The projecting upper lip of the giraffe is remarkably flexible, and its
elongated prehensile tongue, performing in miniature the part of the
elephant’s proboscis, is of material assistance in browsing upon the
foliage and young shoots of the prickly acacia, which constitute the
animal’s chief food.
With feet terminating in a divided hoof, and a ruminant like our ox,
the giraffe has four stomachs, and an enormous intestinal length of
288 feet, a formation which bears testimony to the vast and prolonged
powers of digestion necessary to extract nutrition from its hard and
meagre diet.
Ranging throughout the wide plains of Central Africa from Caffraria to
Nubia, the giraffe, though a gregarious animal, generally roams about
only in small herds, averaging sixteen in number, from the young animal
of nine or ten feet in height, to the dark chestnut-coloured old male,
towering to a height of upwards of eighteen feet. Notwithstanding the
rapidity with which it strides along, the fore and hind leg on the
same side moving together, instead of diagonally as in most other
quadrupeds, yet a full gallop quite dissipates its strength; and the
hunters, being aware of this, always try to press the giraffes at once
to it, knowing that they have but a short space to run before the
animals are in their power. In doing this the old sportsmen are careful
not to go too close to the giraffe’s tail; ‘for this animal,’ says Dr.
Livingstone, ‘can swing his hind foot round in a way which would leave
little to choose between a kick with it and a clap from the arm of a
windmill.’
Captain Harris, in his ‘Wild Sports of Africa,’ gives us an animated
picture of a giraffe hunt, breathing the full life and excitement of
the chase.
‘Many days had now elapsed since we had even seen the camelopard,
and then only in small numbers, and under the most unfavourable
circumstances. The blood coursed through my veins like quicksilver
therefore as, on the morning of the 19th, from the back of Breslar,
my most trusty steed, with a firm-wooded plain before me, I
counted thirty-two of these animals industriously stretching their
peacock-necks to crop the tiny leaves which fluttered above their
heads in a mimosa grove that beautified the scenery. They were within
a hundred yards of me; but having previously determined to try the
_boarding_ system, I reserved my fire.
‘Although I had taken the field expressly to look for giraffes, and
had put four of the Hottentots on horseback, all excepting Piet had
as usual slipped off unperceived in pursuit of a troop of _koodoos_.
Our stealthy approach was soon opposed by an ill-tempered rhinoceros,
which, with her ugly calf, stood directly in the path, and the
twinkling of her bright little eyes, accompanied by a restless rolling
of the body, giving earnest of her intention to charge. I directed Piet
to salute her with a broadside, at the same moment putting spurs to my
horse. At the report of the gun, and the sudden clattering of hoofs,
away bounded the giraffes in grotesque confusion, clearing the ground
by a succession of frog-like hops, and soon leaving me far in the rear.
Twice were their towering forms concealed from view by a park of trees,
which we entered almost at the same instant, and twice, in emerging
from the labyrinth, did I perceive them tilting over an eminence
immeasurably in advance. A white turban that I wore round my hunting
cap, being dragged off by a projecting bough, was instantly charged by
three rhinoceroses, and, looking over my shoulder, I could see them
long afterwards, fagging themselves to overtake me. In the course of
five minutes the fugitives arrived at a small river, the treacherous
sands of which receiving their long legs, their flight was greatly
retarded; and after floundering to the opposite side, and scrambling to
the top of the bank, I perceived that their race was run. Patting the
steaming neck of my good steed, I urged him again to his utmost, and
instantly found myself by the side of the herd. The stately bull being
readily distinguishable from the rest by his dark chestnut robe and
superior stature, I applied the muzzle of my rifle behind his dappled
shoulder with the right hand, and drew both triggers; but he still
continued to shuffle along, and being afraid of losing him, should I
dismount, among the extensive mimosa groves with which the landscape
was now obscured, I sat in my saddle, loading and firing behind the
elbow, and then, placing myself across his path, until the tears
trickling from his full brilliant eye, his lofty frame began to totter,
and at the seventeenth discharge from the deadly-grooved bore, like a
falling minaret bowing his graceful head from the skies, his proud form
was prostrate in the dust. Never shall I forget the tingling excitement
of that moment. At last then, the summit of my hunting ambition was
actually attained, and the towering giraffe laid low. Tossing my
turbanless cap into the air, alone in the wild wood, I hurraed with
bursting exultation, and, unsaddling my steed, sank exhausted beside
the noble prize I had won.’
In a similar strain of triumph Gordon Cumming describes his first
giraffe hunt: ‘Galloping round a thick bushy tree under cover of which
I had ridden, I suddenly beheld a sight the most astounding that a
sportsman’s eye can encounter. Before me stood a troop of ten colossal
giraffes, the majority of which were from seventeen to eighteen feet
high. On beholding me they at once made off, twisting their long
tails over their backs, making a loud switching noise with them, and
cantering along at an easy pace, which, however, obliged my horse to
put his best foot foremost to keep up with them. The sensations which
I felt on this occasion were different from anything that I had before
experienced during a long sporting career. My senses were so absorbed
by the wondrous and beautiful sight before me, that I rode along like
one entranced. At every stride I gained upon the giraffes, and after
a short burst at a swinging gallop, I was in the middle of them, and
turned the finest cow out of the herd. On finding herself driven from
her comrades and hotly pursued, she increased her pace and cantered
along with tremendous strides, clearing an amazing extent of ground at
every bound, while her neck and breast coming in contact with the dead
old branches of the trees were continually strewing them in my path. In
a few minutes I was riding within five yards of her stern, and firing
at the gallop I sent a bullet into her back. Increasing my pace, I next
rode alongside, and placing the muzzle of my rifle within a few feet
of her, I fired my second shot behind the shoulder; the ball, however,
seemed to have little effect. Once more I brought her to a stand, and
dismounted from my horse. There we stood together alone in the wild
wood. I gazed in wonder at her extreme beauty, while her soft dark eye,
with its silky fringe, looked down imploringly at me, and I really
felt a pang of sorrow in this moment of triumph for the blood I was
shedding. Pointing my rifle towards the skies, I sent a bullet through
her neck. On receiving it she reared high on her hind legs and fell
backwards with a heavy crash making the earth shake around her. A thick
stream of dark blood spouted out from the wound, her colossal limbs
quivered for a moment and she expired. No pen nor words can convey to
a sportsman what it is to ride in the midst of a troop of gigantic
giraffes--it must be experienced to be understood. They emitted a
powerful perfume, which in the chase came hot in my face, reminding me
of the smell of a hive of heather honey in September.’
After man, the giraffe’s chief enemy is the lion, who often waits
for it in the thick brakes on the margin of the rivers or pools, and
darts upon it with a murderous spring while it is slaking its thirst.
Andersson once saw five lions, two of whom were in the act of pulling
down a splendid giraffe, while the other three were watching close at
hand the issue of the deadly strife; and Captain Harris relates that,
while he was encamped on the banks of a small stream, a camelopard was
killed by a lion whilst in the act of drinking, at no great distance
from the waggons. It was a noisy affair; but an inspection of the scene
on which it occurred proved that the giant strength of the victim had
been paralysed in an instant.
Sometimes the giraffe saves itself from the attacks of its arch-enemy
by a timely flight; but when hemmed in, it offers a desperate
resistance, and in spite of its naturally gentle and peaceable
disposition, gives such desperate kicks with its forefeet as to keep
its antagonist at a respectful distance, and finally to compel him to
retreat.
There are many analogies between the giraffe and the ostrich; both
long-legged, long-necked, fit for cropping the tall mimosas, or
scouring rapidly the plain; both, finally, defending themselves by
striking their feet forwards, the one against the jackal or hyæna, the
other against the assaults of the formidable lion.
The great peculiarity of the zoology of South Africa is the
predominance of antelopes. Here no species of deer, roe, stag, or elk
greets the eyes of the sportsman: their place in nature is taken by
these hollow-horned ruminants, which have been created in an unusual
number and variety of specific forms, constituting a series that fills
up the wide hiatus between the goat and the ox. As the traveller
advances from the Cape towards the Sahara, he constantly falls in with
new antelopes, and many unknown to the naturalist no doubt still roam
in the undiscovered interior of the continent.
With the exception of the ox or cow-like species, such as the Eland,
whose clumsier proportions and heavier gait remind one of our
domestic cattle, the antelopes generally resemble the deer tribe by
their elegant forms, their restless and timid disposition, and their
proverbial swiftness. Their horns, whatever shape they assume, are
round and annulated; in some species straight, in others curved and
spiral; in some the females have no horns, in others they are common to
both sexes. They all possess a most delicate sense of smell, and their
eyes are proverbially bright and beaming. Their skin generally emits
a delicious odour of the grass and wild herbs on which they feed, and
some have between their hoofs a gland from which issues a secretion of
an agreeable perfume.
Africa appears to be their great nursery, but many kinds are natives of
Asia, while Europe has but two species,--the well-known Chamois of the
Alps and the Saiga of the Russian steppes,--and the New World only one.
[Illustration: SPRINGBOK.]
Few of the numerous African antelopes are more entitled to our notice
than the graceful Springbok (_A. enchora_), which has earned its
name from the surprising and almost perpendicular leaps it makes
when started. It bounds to the height of ten or twelve feet with the
elasticity of an India-rubber ball, clearing at each spring from twelve
to fifteen feet of ground, without apparently the slightest exertion.
In performing this astonishing leap it appears for an instant as if
suspended in the air, when down come all four feet again together, and
striking the plain, away it soars again, as if about to take flight.
From the vast wilds in the interior of South Africa, when a prolonged
drought has exhausted the last pools or watercourses, the springboks
migrate in such incredible multitudes towards the fertile cultivated
districts, that they have been well compared to the swarms of locusts.
Like them, they consume every green thing in their course, and ruin
in a single night the fruits of the farmer’s toil. The course they
adopt is generally such as to bring them back to their own country by
a route different from that by which they set out, but this march is
not effected with impunity. The lion, the hyæna, the panther, and,
above all, man, make great havoc in their ranks; many also perish from
want of food, the country to which they have migrated being unable to
support them, and comparatively few return to their native haunts.
While the springbok prefers the level plains with short grass, where it
may be able to watch the approach of an enemy, the Reedbok (_Eleotragos
arundinaceus_); selects for its favourite haunts the low grounds
covered with a dense growth of reeds. It generally remains concealed
until the hunter approaches, then suddenly starts up and flies to a
short distance, when it stops and turns round to have a look at its
pursuer. At the same time it utters a peculiar sneezing cry, evidently
meant as a warning signal to its comrades, but which frequently proves
the cause of its own destruction by attracting the enemy’s attention.
The dense bush-forests of Africa harbour several kinds of antelopes,
among others the Duiker (_Cephalophus mergens_), who at the approach
of man plunges or dives, as it were, into the thicket, and glides so
quietly through the bushes that he seems to have vanished, and the neat
little Atro or Ben Israel of Abyssinia (_Cephalophus hemprichii_),
which even the sharpest eye is scarce able to detect in its flight, so
nearly does its colour resemble that of the dim underwood through which
it makes its escape. In thickets which would be utterly impassable by
the larger big-horned antelopes, the Atro finds an admirable refuge,
particularly in the green forest borders of the watercourses, where it
enjoys the shade under a thick canopy of leaves.
The Gemsbok (_A. Oryx_) is supposed to have given rise to the fable
of the unicorn, from its long straight horns when seen in profile, so
exactly covering one another as to give it the appearance of having but
one. This robust and noble antelope, which when adult measures little
less than four feet in height at the shoulder, possesses the erect
mane, long sweeping black tail, and general appearance of the horse,
with the head and hoofs of an antelope. It thrives and attains a high
condition in barren regions, where it might be imagined that a locust
would not find subsistence, and is remarkably independent of water.
Owing to the even nature of the ground which it frequents, its shy and
suspicious disposition, and the extreme distance from water to which it
must be followed, it is never stalked or drawn to an ambush like other
antelopes, but is hunted down by a long tail-on-end chase, a feat which
only the fleetest coursers are able to perform.
Among the mountain antelopes who, like the goat, love to browse among
the rocks, the Klippspringer (_Oreotragus saltatrix_) is remarkable
for the elastic agility with which he bounds along from crag to crag;
the deep chasm, the yawning precipice, have no terrors for this
sure-footed, sharp-eyed animal, which in its rapid flight over the
serrated ridge bids defiance to the hunter’s pursuit.
The Koodoo (_A. strepsiceros_) likewise prefers the craggy districts
to the plains, and loves to browse on hills covered with sharp angular
rocks, but with abundance of excellent grass and fine green bushes.
When seen on the brow of any eminence, with its graceful form and fine
spiral horns projected against the dark blue sky, it is decidedly one
of the grandest-looking antelopes in the world.
[Illustration: KOODOO.]
[Illustration: GNU.]
The fantastic Wildebeest, or Gnu, of which there are two species, the
black and the brindled, has the head and horns of the buffalo, and
the mane and tail of a horse, supported on agile antelopine legs. Shy
and suspicious at the night season, when their carnivorous enemies
are abroad, the bearing of the Gnus is bold in broad daylight, when
roaming over their native plains. Wheeling about in endless circles,
and performing the most extraordinary variety of intricate evolutions,
the shaggy herds of these fierce-looking animals are for ever capering
and gambolling round the hunter on every side. Singly, and in small
troops of four or five individuals, the old bull wildebeests may be
seen stationed at intervals throughout the plains, standing motionless
during a whole forenoon coolly watching with a philosophic eye the
movements of the other game, eternally uttering a loud snorting noise,
and also a short sharp cry which is peculiar to them. When the hunter
approaches these old bulls they commence whisking their long white
tails in a most eccentric manner, then springing suddenly into the air,
they begin prancing and capering, and pursue each other in circles at
their utmost speed. When wounded they will sometimes turn upon the
hunter and pursue him in turn, darting forwards on their assailant with
amazing force and impetuosity, so that it requires the utmost coolness
on his part to evade their attack.
In India the _Antilopa cervicapra_ is consecrated to the moon, and
takes the place of the capricorn among the signs of the zodiac.
Numberless poems praise the beauty of this graceful animal, which
resembles our fallow deer, but is somewhat smaller, and of a far more
elegant shape. Such is its fleetness and activity that it often vaults
over nets ten feet high, and when pursued will pass over as many yards
at a single bound.
[Illustration: NYLGHAU.]
The native haunts of the Nylghau (_A. picta_) are the dense forests
of India. In the days of Aurungzebe, these large and fine antelopes
abounded between Delhi and Lahore, where they were frequently chased
by that mighty monarch, his army of hunters inclosing them within
a limited space by means of nets. The Great Mogul and his omrahs,
attended by their huntsmen, then entered and, somewhat after the manner
of a modern battue, dispatched them with their arrows and spears.
The wild Caffrarian Buffalo (_Bubalus Caffer_), the strongest and most
ferocious of the ruminant race, roams in small herds over the woody
districts of South and Central Africa, where it is more feared by the
natives than the lion and rhinoceros. Combining malice with brutality,
it not seldom remains concealed behind a tree, till the innocent victim
of its rage approaches, when, horribly bellowing, it rushes forth and
attacks him with its broad-based, sharp-pointed horns. Not satisfied
with goring him to death, it stamps and tears him again and again, and
after having left the spot, will even return to vent once more its
blind fury on the mangled corpse.
Its ponderous strength, deadly weapons, and ungovernable fury make it
more than a match for the king of animals himself, who never ventures
to attack a full-grown buffalo, as one toss from its horns would kill
the strongest lion that ever breathed.
In India, where the wild colossal Arnee (_Bubalus Arnee_), remarkable
for its enormous horns, inhabits the highlands, even the tame ordinary
buffaloes feel their superiority to the large felidæ, for they have
been seen to chase a tiger up the hills, bellowing as if they enjoyed
the sport. The Indian herdsman, riding on a buffalo of their herd, are
therefore not in the least afraid of entering the jungles infested by
tigers. Colonel Rice once saw a troop of buffaloes, excited by the
blood of a tiger he had wounded, throw themselves furiously into the
thicket where the beast had sought refuge, beat about the bushes and
tear up the ground with their horns.
The solitary buffaloes, or such as have been expelled from the herd by
stronger competitors for female favour, are particularly dangerous as
they are apt to wreak their ill humour on whatever falls in their way.
Dr Livingstone, among others, made the experience that to meet one of
these rogue buffaloes is about as bad as to face a hungry lion or an
ill-disposed rhinoceros. ‘As I walked slowly,’ says the illustrious
traveller, ‘on an extensive plain, I observed that a solitary buffalo,
disturbed by others of my own party, was coming to me at a gallop. I
glanced around, but the only tree on the plain was a hundred yards
off, and there was no escape elsewhere. I therefore cocked my rifle,
with the intention of giving him a steady shot in the forehead when
he should come within three or four yards of me. The thought flashed
across my mind, “What if your gun misses fire?” I placed it to my
shoulder as he came on at full speed, and that is tremendous, though
generally he is a lumbering-looking animal in his paces. A small bush
and bunch of grass fifteen yards off, made him swerve a little and
exposed his shoulder. I just heard the ball crack there, and I fell
flat on my face. The pain must have made him renounce his purpose, for
he bounded close past me on to the water, where he was found dead.’
The buffaloes are generally fond of marshes or submerged river banks,
where they love to wallow in the mud, or to remain plunged up to the
muzzle in water. They are admirable swimmers, particularly the Bhain
(_Bubalus Bhain_), a species inhabiting the sandy banks of the Ganges.
Abandoning themselves to the current, these semi-aquatic ruminants
often drift down the river in large herds, and are said to plunge from
time to time in order to detach with their horns the water-plants
growing at the bottom, which they then leisurely devour as they slowly
float along.
As if to make up for the hideous deformity of the rhinoceros and
hippopotamus, the African wilds exclusively give birth to the
beautifully striped Zebras, the most gorgeously attired members of the
equine race.
The isabelle-coloured Quagga, irregularly banded and marked with dark
brown stripes, which, stronger on the head and neck, gradually become
fainter, until lost behind the shoulders, has its high crest surmounted
by a standing mane, banded alternately brown and white. It used
formerly to be found in great numbers within the limits of the Cape
Colony, and still roams in large numbers in the open plain farther to
the north, where it may often be seen herding together with gnus and
springboks.
[Illustration: QUAGGA.]
Thus in the desert of the Meritsane, Major Harris, after crossing a
park of magnificent camelthorn trees, soon perceived large herds of
quaggas and brindled gnus, which continued to join each other, until
the whole plain seemed alive. The clatter of their hoofs was perfectly
astounding, and could be compared to nothing but to the din of a
tremendous charge of cavalry, or the rushing of a mighty tempest. The
accumulated numbers could not be estimated at less than 15,000, a
great extent of country being actually chequered black and white with
their congregated masses.
The Douw, or Burchell’s Zebra, differs little from the common quagga in
point of shape or size; but while the latter is faintly striped only on
the head and neck, the former is adorned over every part of the body
with broad black bands, beautifully contrasting with a pale yellow
ground.
Major Harris, who had so many opportunities of seeing this fine species
in a state of nature, remarks that--‘Beautifully clad by the hand of
nature, possessing much of the graceful symmetry of the horse, with
great bones and muscular power, united to easy and stylish action, thus
combining comeliness of figure with solidity of form, this species,
if subjugated and domesticated, would assuredly make the best pony
in the world. Although it admits of being tamed to a certain extent
with the greatest facility--a half-domesticated specimen, with a
jockey on its brindled back, being occasionally exposed in Cape Town
for sale--it has hitherto contrived to evade the yoke of servitude.
The senses of sight, hearing, and smell are extremely delicate. The
slightest noise or motion, no less than the appearance of any object
that is unfamiliar, at once rivets their gaze, and causes them to stop
and listen with the utmost attention; any taint in the air equally
attracting their olfactory organs.
‘Instinct having taught these beautiful animals that in union consists
their strength, they combine in a compact body when menaced by an
attack, either from man or beast; and, if overtaken by the foe, they
unite for mutual defence, with their heads together in a close circular
band presenting their heels to the enemy, and dealing out kicks in
equal force and abundance. Beset on all sides, or partially crippled,
they rear on their hind legs, fly at their adversary with jaws
distended, and use both teeth and heels with the greatest freedom.’
[Illustration: ZEBRA.]
Whilst the douw and the quagga roam over the plains, the Zebra inhabits
mountainous regions only. The beauty of its light symmetrical form
is enhanced by the narrow black bands with which the whole of the
white-coloured body is covered.
Travellers through the African wilds have sometimes been startled by
piteous wailings, resembling the faint gasps and stifled groanings of a
drowning man. On approaching the spot where they supposed some ravenous
beast was lacerating an unfortunate native, they were surprised to find
a zebra in its last agonies; and well may the dying moans of the animal
be sorrowful, when we consider that its usual neighings, when heard
from a distance, are of a very melancholy sound.
Captain Harris tells us that it seeks the wildest and most sequestered
spots, so that it is extremely difficult of approach, not only from
its watchful habits and very great agility of foot, but also from
the inaccessible nature of its abode. The herds graze on the steep
hill-side, with a sentinel posted on some adjacent crag, ready to sound
the alarm in case of any suspicious approach to their feeding quarters,
and no sooner is the alarm given than away they scamper, with pricked
ears and whisking their tails aloft, to places where few, if any, would
venture to pursue them.
[Illustration: HIPPOPOTAMUS.]