They had not gone above an hundred yards farther, when they came to one
of the pools, already spoken of. It was a tolerably large one; and the
mud around its edges bore the hoof-prints of numerous animals. This the
hunters saw from a distance, but on reaching the spot, Swartboy a little
in the advance, turned suddenly round, and, with rolling orbs and
quivering lips, clicked out the words,--
"Mein baas! mein baas! da klow! spoor ob da groot olifant!"
There was no danger of mistaking the spoor of the elephant for that of
any other creature. There, sure enough, were the great round tracks--
full twenty-four inches in length, and nearly as wide--deeply imprinted
in the mud by the enormous weight of the animal's body. Each formed an
immense hole, large enough to have set a gatepost in.
The hunters contemplated the spoor with emotions of pleasure--the more
so that the tracks had been recently made. This was evident. The
displaced mud had not yet crusted, but looked damp and fresh. It had
been stirred within the hour.
Only one elephant had visited the pool that night. There were many old
tracks, but only one fresh spoor,--and that of an old and very large
bull.
Of course the tracks told this much. To make a spoor twenty-four inches
long, requires the animal to be a very large one; and to be very large,
he should be a bull, and an old one too.
Well, the older and larger the better, provided his tusks have not been
broken by some accident. When that happens they are never recovered
again. The elephant _does_ cast his tusks, but only in the juvenile
state, when they are not bigger than lobster's claws; and the pair that
succeeds these is permanent, and has to last him for life--perhaps _for
centuries_--for no one can tell how long the mighty elephant roams over
this sublunary planet. When the tusks get broken--a not uncommon
thing--he must remain toothless or "tuskless" for the rest of his life.
Although the elephant may consider the loss of his huge tusks a great
calamity, were he only a little wiser, he would break them off against
the first tree. It would, in all probability, be the means of
prolonging his life; for the hunter would not then consider him worth
the ammunition it usually takes to kill him.
After a short consultation among the hunters, Swartboy started off upon
the spoor, followed by Von Bloom and Hendrik. It led straight out from
the channel, and across the jungle.
Usually the bushes mark the course of an elephant, where these are of
the sort he feeds upon. In this case he had not fed; but the Bushman,
who could follow spoor with a hound, had no difficulty in keeping on the
track, as fast as the three were able to travel.
They emerged into open glades; and, after passing through several of
these, came upon a large ant-hill that stood in the middle of one of the
openings. The elephant had passed close to the ant-hill--he had stopped
there a while--stay, he must have lain down!
Von Bloom did not know that elephants were in the habit of lying down.
He had always heard it said that they slept standing. Swartboy knew
better than that. He said that they sometimes slept standing, but
oftener lay down, especially in districts where they were not much
hunted. Swartboy considered it a good sign that this one had lain down.
He reasoned from it that the elephants had not been disturbed in that
neighbourhood, and would be the more easily approached and killed. They
would be less likely to make off from that part of the country, until
they--the hunters--had had a "good pull" out of them.
This last consideration was one of great importance. In a district
where elephants have been much hunted, and have learnt what the crack of
a gun signifies, a single day's chase will often set them travelling;
and they will not bring up again, until they have gone far beyond the
reach of the hunters. Not only the particular individuals that have
been chased act in this way; but all the others,--as though warned by
their companions,--until not an elephant remains in the district. This
migratory habit is one of the chief difficulties which the
elephant-hunter must needs encounter; and, when it occurs, he has no
other resource but to change _his_ "sphere of action."
On the other hand, where elephants have remained for a long time
undisturbed, the report of a gun does not terrify them; and they will
bear a good deal of hunting before "showing their heels" and leaving the
place.
Swartboy, therefore, rejoiced on perceiving that the old bull had lain
down. The Bushman drew a world of conclusions from that circumstance.
That the elephant had been lying was clear enough. The abrasion upon
the stiff mud of the ant-heap showed where his back had rested,--the
mark of his body was visible in the dust, and a groove-like furrow in
the turf had been made by his huge tusk. A huge one it must have been,
as the impression of it testified to the keen eyes of the Bushman.
Swartboy stated some curious facts about the great quadruped,--at least,
what he alleged to be facts. They were,--that the elephant never
attempts to lie down without having something to lean his shoulders
against,--a rock, an ant-hill, or a tree; that he does this to prevent
himself from rolling over on his back,--that when he does by accident
get into that position he has great difficulty in rising again, and is
almost as helpless as a turtle; and, lastly, that he often sleeps
standing beside a tree with the whole weight of his body leaning against
the trunk!
Swartboy did not think that he leans against the trunk when first taking
up his position; but that he seeks the tree for the shade it affords,
and as sleep overcomes him he inclines towards it, finding that it
steadies and rests him!
The Bushman stated, moreover, that some elephants have their favourite
trees, to which they return again and again to take a nap during the hot
midday hours,--for that is their time of repose. At night they do not
sleep. On the contrary, the hours of night are spent in ranging about,
on journeys to the distant watering-places, and in feeding; though in
remote and quiet districts they also feed by day--so that it is probable
that most of their nocturnal activity is the result of their dread of
their watchful enemy, man.
Swartboy communicated these facts, as the hunters all together followed
upon the spoor.
The traces of the elephant were now of a different character, from what
they had been before arriving at the ant-hill. He had been browsing as
he went. His nap had brought a return of appetite; and the wait-a-bit
thorns showed the marks of his prehensile trunk. Here and there
branches were broken off, stripped clean of their leaves, and the
ligneous parts left upon the ground. In several places whole trees were
torn up by their roots, and those, too, of considerable size. This the
elephant sometimes does to get at their foliage, which upon such trees
grows beyond the reach of his proboscis. By prostrating them of course
he gets their whole frondage within easy distance of his elastic nose,
and can strip it off at pleasure. At times, however, he tears up a tree
to make a meal of its roots--as there are several species with sweet
juicy roots, of which the elephant is extremely fond. These he drags
out of the ground with his trunk, having first loosened them with his
tusks, used as crowbars. At times he fails to effect his purpose; and
it is only when the ground is loose or wet, as after great rains, that
he can uproot the larger kinds of mimosas. Sometimes he is capricious;
and, after drawing a tree from the ground, he carries it many yards
along with him, flings it to the ground, root upwards, and then leaves
it, after taking a single mouthful. Destructive to the forest is the
passage of a troop of elephants!
Small trees he can tear up with his trunk alone, but to the larger ones
he applies the more powerful leverage of his tusks. These he inserts
under the roots, imbedded as they usually are in loose sandy earth, and
then, with a quick jerk, he tosses roots, trunk, and branches, high into
the air,--a wonderful exhibition of gigantic power.
The hunters saw all these proof's of it, as they followed the spoor.
The traces of the elephant's strength were visible all along the route.
It was enough to beget fear and awe, and none of them were free from
such feelings. With so much disposition to commit havoc and ruin in his
moments of quietude, what would such a creature be in the hour of
excitement and anger? No wonder there was fear in the hearts of the
hunters, unpractised as some of them were.
Still another consideration had its effect upon their minds,
particularly on that of the Bushman. There was every reason to believe
that the animal was a "rover" (_rodeur_),--what among Indian hunters is
termed a "rogue." Elephants of this kind are far more dangerous to
approach than their fellows. In fact, under ordinary circumstances,
there is no more danger in passing through a herd of elephants than
there would be in going among a drove of tame oxen. It is only when the
elephant has been attacked or wounded, that he becomes a dangerous
enemy.
With regard to the "rover" or "rogue," the case is quite different. He
is habitually vicious; and will assail either man or any other animal in
sight, and without the slightest provocation. He seems to take a
pleasure in destruction, and woe to the creature who crosses his path
and is not of lighter heels than himself!
The rover leads a solitary life, rambling alone through, the forest, and
never associating with others of his kind. He appears to be a sort of
outlaw from his tribe, banished for bad temper or some other fault, to
become more fierce and wicked in his outlawry.
There were good reasons for fearing that the elephant they were spooring
was a "rover." His being alone was of itself a suspicious circumstance,
as elephants usually go, from two to twenty, or even fifty, in a herd.
The traces of ruin he had left behind him, his immense spoor, all seemed
to mark him out as one of these fierce creatures. That such existed in
that district they already had evidence. Swartboy alleged that the one
killed by the rhinoceros was of this class, else he would not have
attacked the latter as he had done. There was a good deal of
probability in this belief of the Bushman.
Under these impressions, then, it is less to be wondered, that our
hunters felt some apprehensions of danger from the game they were
pursuing.
The spoor grew fresher and fresher. The hunters saw trees turned bottom
upward, the roots exhibiting the marks of the elephant's teeth, and
still wet with the saliva from his vast mouth. They saw broken branches
of the mimosas giving out their odour, that had not had time to waste
itself. They concluded the game could not be distant.
They rounded a point of timber--the Bushman being a little in the
advance.
Suddenly Swartboy stopped and fell back a pace. He turned his face upon
his companions. His eyes rolled faster than ever; but, although his
lips appeared to move, and his tongue to wag, he was too excited to give
utterance to a word. A volley of clicks and hisses came forth, but
nothing articulate!
The others, however, did not require any words to tell them what was
meant. They knew that Swartboy intended to whisper that he had seen "da
oliphant;" so both peeped silently around the bush, and with their own
eyes looked upon the mighty quadruped.