OVER THE PLAINS--LION AND TIGER REMINISCENCES--FRONTIER FORCES AND
ESCAPED CONVICTS--MONKEYS AND PRICKLY PEARS--A VETERAN SETTLER'S
EXPERIENCES OF KAFIR WARFARE--STORY OF THE DUTCH FARMERS' RISING IN
1815.
It was a sad day that on which I left the Karroo and bade farewell to
Ebenezer.
I had gone there in absolute ignorance of men and things, and had found
a hearty welcome in the abode of a warm-hearted Christian family and a
romantic region, full, to me, of new ideas, experiences, circumstances,
and sensations.
Hobson drove me in his cart. Our destination was the mountain region of
Baviaans, or Baboons, River.
The first part of our route lay across the Karroo and over the mountain
range which separated us from the town of Somerset East. As we sped
along, drawn by two powerful horses, over the ocean-like plains, we were
silent at first, but gradually the cheering influence of rapid motion
and fine weather began to tell. Our spirits rose, and Hobson related
numerous anecdotes, historical and adventurous, from the rich stores of
a good memory.
About noon we outspanned beside a stream and allowed the horses to have
a roll. Under the shade of a bush we lay and chatted, while our eyes
roamed over the rolling plains to the blue mountain range which formed
its northern boundary.
"There," said my friend, pointing towards the mountains, "is the spot
where one of the last lions was seen in this part of the country. There
were plenty of them here once, and the last one disappeared in 1840,
only thirty-six years ago."
He then related the incident connected with the lion referred to. The
following is the substance of it.
Early in the year 1840 a runaway soldier was travelling through that
part of the country. He was on his way to Graaff-Reinet in search of
work. At that time farmhouses were very few and far between in that
region. The wearied soldier came one evening to the house of a Boer
named Smit, not many miles from the spot where Hobson and I were
reposing.
Smit was a surly fellow, and refused shelter to the traveller, who was
therefore obliged to continue his journey during the night. Next day
the unfortunate man's mangled body was found not far off, a few yards
from the foot of a small tree. The traces revealed clearly that he had
been killed by a lion, whose footprints had been seen and voice heard
for some time in the neighbourhood. On the approach of the lion the man
had sought refuge in the small tree just mentioned, but being little
better than a large bush, it failed him in the hour of need. Even when
perched on the highest branch that would bear him, he was not beyond the
spring of the lion. It had caught him, torn him down, and devoured his
breast and arms, after which it left him.
This was the last lion in that region that succeeded in taking human
life. Six months later the last lion of all made his appearance. He
was evidently a less ferocious animal, and made his final exit in a
rather humorous manner. In his prowling about he chanced to find an old
Dutchman, and pounced upon him, but the old man had his wits about him.
At first sight of his enemy he let himself go limp as if dead. Lions
are particular. They don't like dead meals; they prefer to kill their
own dinners. After pouncing on his prey the lion put his mouth to the
old fellow's ear and roared. If he was not deaf for life after that he
ought to have been! At all events he was deaf at the time to the
remark, for he paid no attention to it whatever. Then the lion pawed
him a little, lay down on him, rolled him about as a cat plays with a
mouse, and ultimately couched a few yards off to watch jealously for the
slightest sign of life. But the Dutchman was a splendid actor. Even in
breathing he managed to remain motionless, and at last the lion sneaked
away overwhelmed with disappointment. Then the old man slowly lifted
his head, rose, congratulated himself, and returned home in a thankful
state of mind.
Although lions had finally taken themselves off, and retired to safer
and more distant retreats, the mountain glens of the neighbourhood were,
as I have already said, still inhabited by leopards of large size and
dangerous temper.
"They are powerful and savage fellows," said my friend, as he rose to
inspan, "and few men like to face them unless assisted by a party, and
with good dogs. One friend of mine, a doctor, used to boast that he
could stare a leopard out of countenance. At last one was caught in a
trap, and the doctor tried the experiment, but only got knocked over and
his nose scratched for his pains. There was a curious instance, once,
of a Fingo going mad in consequence of being bitten by a leopard. The
madness took the form of his feigning to be a leopard, and there was no
doubt as to his insanity, for he continually growled and scratched and
snapped with his teeth, and finished off by jumping through a glass
door.--Now then, the cart's ready; in you go."
I jumped in, and off we went again over the sweet-scented plain,--now on
a good bit of road, now on a bad; often forsaking the track altogether,
and occasionally plunging into holes that knocked our heads against the
hood, and tried our springs to the uttermost, till evening at last found
us among the hills, where a rough-and-ready inn afforded us shelter for
the night.
Passing through Somerset we came to a place named Cookhouse Drift, where
there is a bridge over the Great Fish River.
We also met here with seven troopers of the frontier, armed and mounted
police, as tight and serviceable a set of young fellows as one could
wish to see--clad in corduroy, thorough-going, rough-and-ready colonial
cavalry--and well-trained to bush fighting. They were out after seven
escaped convicts, and had caught one, a big Kafir, who was handcuffed,
and seemed sulky when I looked at him.
At another place, where the prickly pear was very prolific, and the bush
so dense that it formed a pretty safe retreat to escaped convicts, as
well as baboons and tigers, we discovered a band of Kafirs celebrating a
wedding.
The prickly pears, which were ripe at this time, we found to be very
pleasant and refreshing, but we had to handle them with care, as they
were covered with prickles so fine that they pierced the skin and broke
off the pear with the least touch. The great evil of prickly pear
thorns is that it is almost impossible to extract them, and although it
can scarcely be said that they cause pain, the irritation they produce
is great and prolonged. The monkeys know this well!
I was greatly amused once, while delayed at a road-side inn, by the
antics of a monkey with a prickly pear. I had fed him with part of one,
of which he seemed passionately fond. Wishing to know whether monkeys
as well as men were cautious in handling the fruit, I pulled another by
means of a couple of sticks. The usual mode of proceeding is to rub the
pear on the ground with a bunch of grass, and thus remove the prickles,
when it may be handled with impunity. Without doing this, however, I
lifted the pear with my sticks and handed it to Jacko. He looked at it
earnestly for a few seconds, then at me with a round mouth and
reproachful eyes, as though to say, "You don't mean _that_, do you?"