"No steenboks to-day, I fear," he said.
"We must have a shot at something, Bonny," said I, dismounting, and
sitting down on an anthill. Having been a fair average shot in a rifle
corps in Scotland I took careful aim at a small bush, bent on doing
credit to the British Volunteers. The result was a "bull's-eye."
"Capital!" exclaimed Bonny; "if you shoot like that you'll kill plenty
of boks."
Half an hour later I was passing round the left of a knoll, while Bonny
took the right. Up leaped a steenbok, which ran a hundred yards or so,
and stopped to look at me. I was already off the horse and down in the
Hythe position. A careful aim was again taken. The result was "a
miss!" while the small deer vanished like the smoke of my rifle. So
great is the difference between target-practice and hunting!
It was time now to think of returning for dinner. I was thoroughly lost
by that time in the vast plain--like a ship at sea without a compass.
But Bonny was as knowing in Karroo-craft as a Kentucky hunter is in
wood-craft. He steered as true a course for home as if he had smelt the
leg of mutton that was roasting at the fire. Probably he did--in
imagination! Soon the two ships reappeared on the horizon; our fleet
nags quickly transformed them into the garden and the farm, and in half
an hour we were relating our mild adventure round Hobson's hospitable
board.
"I'm going to visit brother Jonathan after dinner: will you come?" said
my host.
"Yes, with pleasure," said I, "but first, while you have your siesta,
[midday nap], I will go into the opposite field and make that
long-talked-of sketch of your house."
"Very good; I'll send for you when the cart is ready. There are some
ostriches in the field, but you don't need to mind them, for they are
quite young, although full-grown."
It is a common custom among South Africans to take a nap in the heat of
the day during summer. They dine early, and the power of the sun at
that part of the day renders work almost impossible. I could not at
first fall in with this custom; therefore, while the family retired, I
took my sketch-book and colours and went off to the field.
There was a mound, whence I could obtain a good view of the house with
its surroundings, the cattle-kraal or enclosure, the course of the
little stream, with one of the small dams or lakelets, and the garden,
the whole backed by the blue mountain range on the horizon.
The sun was blazing fiercely, but, as before remarked, I delight in
heat. Selecting a stone I sat down, opened my book and colour-box, and
began. To those who don't know it, I may say that sketching is a most
fascinating and engrossing species of work. I soon forgot where I was,
forgot Hobson, forgot time, forgot every thing in fact except the
glowing face of nature, when a sound recalled me. I looked round and
observed eight or ten huge ostriches stalking towards me with slow
funereal gait. I felt somewhat uneasy,--for their youth, of which
Hobson had assured me, was in no way indicated by their huge bodies and
dreadful legs. However, I had taken the precaution to carry my forked
stick, and drawing it nearer continued at my work with an easier mind.
If they meant war I knew escape to be hopeless, for the nearest wall was
a quarter of a mile off.
The females halted at a respectful distance, but two of the largest
black males came stalking close up to me and stood still, gazing
intently, first with one eye, then with the other, at a distance of
about six yards.
Meanwhile some of the females sat down, and one of them put herself in
an attitude so absurd that I introduced her into the drawing. Presently
the largest male advanced a little nearer, and kept somewhat behind me.
This was embarrassing. It occurred to me that, in the art of war, an
attacking party is supposed to have the advantage of one that is
assaulted. I therefore rose, brought my fork to the charge, and went at
the bird with a furious roar. It turned and ran a few yards, but
stopped when I stopped, and began to return slowly, as before, the
moment I had sat down. As it drew nearer I observed that it eyed my
colour-box curiously. Stories about the peculiar taste of these giant
birds recurred to me. People say they will eat anything. Their
digestive powers have passed into a proverb. The day before I had given
an ostrich a large apple, which it coolly bolted, and I could trace the
progress of the apple by the lump in its throat as it passed rather
slowly down. Some one--Bonny I rather think--had told me he had seen an
ostrich accept and swallow a bottle of shoe-blacking! Anything bright
is sure to attract the eye of an ostrich and be coveted. I trembled for
my colour-box, and, seizing my fork, charged again.
About this time Bonny himself came to say that the cart was ready. We
therefore packed up and came away. The ostriches, he said, were too
young to think of molesting us, though he admitted that they would
probably have swallowed the colour-box if I had allowed them. They
followed us down to the gate, and finally saw us safely off their
premises.
"Father once had an ostrich," said Bonny, as we walked towards the
house, "that caught a couple of thieves for him."
"Indeed! how was that, Bonny?"
"You are aware that Kafirs are terrible thieves?" he replied.
"Yes, I've been given to understand that they have propensities that
way."
"Oh! but you have no idea how clever they are at it, and the Totties are
just as bad, if not worse. On one occasion we had a nest of eggs in the
field over there, which we had left to be hatched in the natural way by
the hen-ostrich. One night it rained very hard--so hard that we feared
the young ones would be drowned in the nest, so brother Johnny was sent
to look after them. He took two Totties with him. It was very dark,
but he found the nest with the cock bird sitting on it. You know the
cock always sits at night. Well, Johnny took him by the nose and pulled
him off the nest, and gave him to the two Totties to hold. It was hard
work, but they kept his head well down, so that he couldn't kick.
Johnny soon bagged all the little ones, leaped over the wall, and then
called out to let go the cock. It was so dark that he couldn't see very
well. He could only hear a scuffle, and then saw the two men bounding
over the wall like indiarubber balls while the cock went bang against it
like a battering-ram. We got the little ones home all safe, but, would
you believe it? these rascally Totties had managed to pull out all the
best wing-feathers while they were holding the cock--each feather worth,
perhaps, twenty shillings or more--and got clear away with them to the
canteen, where they can always sell stolen goods.
"But that is not what I was going to tell you," continued Bonny. "It
was about two Kafir thieves who were going round the country stealing.
They came to our place one evening, and, in the course of their
depredations, happened to cross one of the fields where a pair of our
ostriches had a nest. The cock had not yet commenced his night duty on
the nest. He caught sight of the two Kafirs, and was down on them
instantly like lightning. They took refuge in a mimosa-thorn, and there
he kept them all night. It was no use their trying to make a bolt for
it, because twice or three times their speed could not have saved them
from the ostrich. There they remained, and there father found them next
morning, when he rode out to feed the birds."
The sturdy sons of this Karroo farmer had no light duty to perform each
day. The farm was twenty miles in length, and of variable breadth.
There were no crops raised on it, save the fruit of the splendid garden
already mentioned, some grapes, and a few mealies. The sources of gain
were ostriches and their feathers, Angora goat hair, (mohair), horses,
sheep-wool, and cattle, looking after which kept father and sons pretty
constantly in the saddle. It was a dashing style of life, requiring
robust health and spirits. I have seen one or both of the boys return
of an evening--after having been up at five or six, and out all day,--
scarce able to decide whether to eat or sleep! Counting and guarding
the flocks formed a part of the duty.
One evening the report was brought that a horse and thirteen bucks had
disappeared. The Kafir thief had driven them off in the direction of
Somerset. There he had been questioned closely as to where he came
from, etcetera. His replies not being satisfactory, the animals were
seized and put in the pound, whence they were afterwards reclaimed,
while the thief escaped being put in the "tronk," or jail, by a sudden
dart into the jungle of the Boschberg!
My friend and I were soon on the road which led to the farm of his
brother Jonathan. It stood about two miles distant. On our way we had
to pass one corner of the private domain of Black Jack, or David Marais,
I forget which--I think it was the former. He was there ready for us,
and evidently in a rage at the mere possibility of our intrusion, for
the wings were going like flails and the tail was up. Hobson pulled up
to look at him for a minute. I got down and went to the wall, knowing
that it afforded perfect security. Black Jack came up slowly, as if he
meant no mischief. I leant over the wall, which was breast-high, and
poked fun at him. In an instant, like a flash of light, he came at me.
I saw his great claw over my head, and almost before I could jump back,
a couple of heavy stones were driven violently off the top of the wall.
To bolt and jump into the cart was almost an involuntary and
instantaneous impulse on my part, though there was no need for haste,
because the furious biped could not leap the wall.
"Yes," remarked my friend, with a quiet chuckle, as we drove along; "I
expected as much. Black Jack is in a bad humour to-day."
The farm of Jonathan lay at the side of the stream which watered that of
his brother. It was a pretty place. We drove through the stream to get
to the house. On entering we found Jonathan standing in his hall,
besprinkled with his own blood, and smiling. He was one of those tall,
thin, powerful sort of men, with genial good-humour wrinkling the
corners of their eyes, who seem to be ready to smile at everything,
pleasant or otherwise, that befalls them.
"Hallo! what's wrong, Jonathan?" asked his brother, with a touch of
tenderness in his tone.
"Nothing particular," replied the other; "I've just had a tussle with
one of my birds. He wriggled out of the stick and kicked me."
On more particular inquiry we found that Jonathan and his son--another
powerful six-footer--had gone that morning to search for eggs, which
they felt sure must have been laid somewhere about the enclosed field.
To keep the male bird in play while the search was being made, the
father took his forked stick, met the cock in single combat, clapped the
fork on his neck, and let him kick away. All might have gone well, for
the father, besides being strong, was accustomed to such work; but the
bird, instead of keeping up a straightforward assault, as it ought to
have done, turned its back to its foe, wriggled its neck, in some
inexplicable manner, out of the fork, and before it could be refixed had
given Jonathan several tremendous kicks. One of these nearly tore his
trousers to pieces, and another cut him across the right wrist into the
bone. This rendered his right arm powerless for the moment, and it
might have gone ill with him, had not his son, who was still in sight,
observed what had occurred, and run back to the rescue. As it was, the
father's wrist was severely, though I hope not permanently, damaged.
On a certain occasion three friends visited Ebenezer. One of these--we
shall call him Squib--was a sporting character, and anxious to have a
shot at the guinea-fowl which abounded on the farm. Hobson, with his
usual kindness, readily agreed to pilot him and his friends.
"The ground, however," said Hobson, "is part of the domain which belongs
to one of my ostriches, whose temper is uncertain. I don't feel sure of
him. Perhaps it would be better--"
"Oh! never mind that," interrupted Squib; "we're not afraid of
ostriches. Come along."
"Very well," returned the host, "come along."
And along they went to the domain of Gouws, who was found pacing
solemnly inside the wall of his enclosure. His wings were active, and
his tail was cocked. Otherwise he was calm enough to all appearance.
Hobson knew that the bird was in a rage, and said so, but his friends,
who were young and reckless, insisted on entering the enclosure.
They did so, and Gouws followed them with a stately air, but did not
attack, being no doubt perplexed by numbers.
They walked in Indian file, Hobson being the last of the line.
"I could turn him with a bit of a bush," said Squib, glancing at Gouws,
who was drawing gradually nearer to the party. "Just cut one for me,
Hobson, will you, like a good fellow?"
Hobson turned aside and stooped to cut a branch from a mimosa bush.
Just then the ostrich, which had marched ahead of the party, turned
sharp round and charged. Poor Squib tripped, by good luck, and fell as
the bird passed over him. It kicked down the other two, and sprang on
the shoulders of the stooping Hobson, who fell and gashed his finger as
the bird tumbled over him.
The whole party rose with marvellous celerity, and the sportsmen rushed
towards the boundary wall, while Gouws scrambled on his long legs and
ran after them. Had the distance been great, their chance of escape
would have been small. As it was, Gouws overtook one of the party just
as he reached a part of the wall which had been mended with mimosa-thorn
bushes. With one tremendous kick he sent the unfortunate man into the
midst of the thorns, where he would certainly have given him further
punishment had he not been attracted by a yell of alarm from another of
the party. Poor Squib was not fleet of foot or active. He made a
clumsy attempt to vault the wall, which his companions had already
leaped. Leaving his thorn-pierced victim, Gouws made at Squib, applied
his huge foot to his person, with a slap that must have forcibly
recalled the days of childhood, and sent him over the wall with
undignified haste. It is generally believed that Squib has not gone
guinea-fowl shooting among ostriches since that day!
The profits on ostrich feathers are very considerable. I do not profess
to give statistical information in these pages, but merely touch lightly
on what came under my observation. At one farm which I visited near
Capetown I was told that the owner had cleared 2500 pounds in one year.
Timid men are sometimes alarmed by depressions in the trade in feathers,
and some of them have sold off their birds at heavy loss; but bold and
hopeful men continue to persevere and prosper, as such men always will
in every trade all the world over. That ostrich-farming has been found
worthy of zealous attention is proved by the fact that, while in 1865
there were only between eighty and ninety birds in the colony, in 1875
there were upwards of 22,000. [In 1925 there were 239,000.]
Some days afterwards, I pretty well completed my circle of knowledge on
this subject by witnessing the birth of an ostrich!
Hobson and I rode that day over to a lovely place named Glenbonny, on
the edge of that part of the Karroo where the mountainous lands begin.
It was a charming ride of forty miles--there and back--with a pleasant
visit, and a rest between. Here dwelt relatives of my friend--a family
named Berrington--one daughter of which, (with wealth of golden hair),
had been a shipmate on the voyage out. The principal neighbours of this
family were tigers and baboons. There was a minor population of deer,
hyenas, hares, coneys, monkeys, and moles, but no human beings of any
kind. Their dwelling was low and flat-roofed, the walls being coated
with mud, so that its aspect outside was not imposing, but inside we
found substantial comfort if not luxury, refinement, and hospitality.
This is not an infrequent combination in the outlying districts of the
Cape, where the nature of life and things is such that wealth,
education, and refinement are often found robed in a modest homespun
garb, and housed in a mere hut.
Among other objects of interest inside we found ostriches--very little
ones--in divers stages of progression. There was one, the size of an
ordinary fowl, which had been in existence--after egg life I mean--a few
days, and swaggered about the premises like an impudent child. There
was another baby--weak in the understanding, physically as well as
mentally--which staggered about in a drunken manner, with an insane
tendency to use its tail as a support. This creature was kept in
existence by having its food forcibly crammed down its throat, the
amount given each meal being gauged not by appetite but by the tension
of its stomach. Last, and least, there was one which had succeeded in
bursting out one end of its native egg that morning. Its already
tremendous toes protruded, and were engaged in further efforts to get
out when we arrived. While we were at dinner that day the creature
effected its liberation, and entered on the staggering and stuffing
phase of its career.
All these birds, and many others, had been nursed into life through a
hot-air and warm blanket incubator, by the amiable lady of the house,
and were destined to spend the early part of their lives under the care
of some Hottentot stepmother.