KAMIEBIES--THE BLOSSOMING WILDERNESS--THE OSTRICH POACHERS--HAIL
STORMS--THE SPRINGBUCK BEHIND THE DUNE--HOW ANDRIES FOUND ME.
Reliable information reached me to the effect that the Half-Breed
ostrich poachers had again been at their nefarious work. So we decided,
Andries and I, to make a swoop upon the camp which these people had
established in southern Bushmanland. This camp was in the vicinity of
some wells, the water of which was brackish to such an extent that only
men or animals who had gradually accustomed themselves to its flavour
and properties, could consume it. Thus the gang of poachers had for a
long time been able to defy us. After rain, however, the water grew
somewhat less brackish. On the rare occasions when rain fell heavily,
the proportion of brack decreased so much that the water became, for a
few weeks, more or less fit for ordinary consumption.
The reason was a phenomenal one; the rains had set in a month before
their usual time throughout the western desert and the mountain tract.
It was then the end of March, and rain had been falling, off and on, for
the previous fortnight. Rarely, indeed, did the drought break before
the middle of April.
There was also news of the springbucks. The great migration was not due
to take place for months, but word had reached Andries to the effect
that in the desert somewhere to the east of Kamiebies a moderately large
herd had been seen. If the news were true, that herd must have been the
first wave of an early-coming tide. Thus we might be able to settle
accounts with the poachers and provide our year's supply of "bultong" in
the course of one expedition.
The annual migration of springbucks across the desert is, I am positive,
an institution of immemorial antiquity. The reason for it is obvious.
The fawns are born in winter, and it is necessary that at the time the
does should have green food to eat. But Bushmanland, excepting its
extreme western fringe, is far drier in winter than in summer. In
winter the feathery plumes of the "toa" crumble away to dust and the
stumps of the tussocks turn jet-black. Then the plains become
unmitigated desert.
Winter is the season during which rain falls among the mountains lying
between Bushmanland and the coast desert. Then for a few short weeks
the mountain range covers itself with verdure and flowers. Therefore
the trek. However, of late years the mountain tract has been largely
taken up by farmers, so the springbuck, as a rule, invade only its
eastern margin. The western fringe of the plains usually get a slight
sprinkling from the mountain rains. The exception happens when the
trek, instead of being distributed over a wide extent, concentrates.
Then the springbuck, in their myriads, over-run hundreds of square miles
of the mountain tract, and clear the face of the country of vegetation
as completely as would a swarm of locusts.
The term "springbuck" is not a satisfying one for this ethereal
creature--this most lovely and graceful of the animals whose home is in
the desert. The name is too obvious; why not call it what it really is,
a "gazelle?" But the early Dutch inhabitants of South Africa not alone
lacked imagination, but shewed positive ineptitude in the names they
bestowed on the various wild animals. Take for instance the term
"gemsbok," as applied to the oryx; what could be more inappropriate?
"Gemsbok" means "Chamois"--and we have in South Africa an antelope which
is a chamois to all intents and purposes, but which is called a
"klipspringer." Again,--the tall, heavy, sober-tinted desert bustard is
called the "paauw," a word which means "peacock." However, these names
are so firmly fixed in the South African vocabulary that any endeavour
to change them would be a hopeless task.
We trekked south-east from Silverfontein in the spring-wagon, behind a
team of eight spanking horses. We slept at Kamiebies, which is an
uncertain water-place a few miles over the edge of the desert and a
short day's journey south of Gamoep. During the day we rested; in the
night we had to make a dash of some forty miles for our objective. We
meant to take the poachers by surprise,--to drop on them just at
daybreak, as though from the clouds. So in the mean time I lazed
through the long, delicious day.
The rains had not alone been earlier and heavier than usual, but they
had fallen throughout an unusually extensive area. The mountain tract
was ablaze with flowers; even Bushmanland stirred in its aeon-old sleep,
for the skirts of the last rain-cloud had trailed well over its borders,
and the latent life of the waste had leaped, responsive, to the surface.
Now a whole flora that had slept for years in tubers and dry stalks
sent forth blossoms in million-fold rivalry to attract the replete,
drowsy insects.
Here, from a dense, thorny, involuted mass of gnarled, shapeless stems
that must have been many centuries old, arose the delicate, fairy-like
petals of a scented pelargonium. The corolla was snow-white, except for
a minute, sagittate marking of bright cerise on the lower lip. If you
had examined ten thousand of these flowers you would not have found one
in which that little mark varied to the extent of the ten-thousandth
part of an inch. The thought of which that blossom was the
manifestation--the afterthought of which the tiny cerise arrowhead was
the expression--dwelt down in the unlovely labyrinth of the monstrous
stems, and had been adhered to with steady persistence through
successions of long arid-year periods. It was whispered to the
silk-winged seed from which that hoary patriarch had birth,--perhaps
when Alaric was thundering at the gates of Rome. And it would be as
unerringly transmitted to blossoms making sweet the breeze in days when
men will hold this generation to be as remote as we hold the dwellers of
the Solutre Cavern.
There swayed a slender heliophila--the modest sunlover who, in the
course of age-long, patient vigils, had drawn down and ensnared the hue
of the desert sky in her petals. Far and near the plain was starred
with beauty. The small, inornate, thirst-land butterflies had ventured
out from the hills; they flitted to and fro, lazy and listless. They
sported with Amaryllis in the sunshine and then tried to flirt
shamelessly with Iris, the shy maiden on the nodding, hair-like stem--
who veiled her visage in sober brown by day, but revealed it, white and
eager to the stars whilst she made the wings of the night-wind faint
with perfume.
An oval shrub attracted one's attention--not through its beauty, but
because it was an object startling and bizarre. It looked as though
covered with rags of various tints. This was that criminal among
vegetables--the Roridula. A close inspection almost filled one with
horror; the plant was like a shambles. The leaves resembled toothed
traps; in most of them insects were tightly gripped. After these had
been sucked dry,--drained of blood and of every vestige of bodily
juices, the leaves opened, dropped the mangled and dessicated frames to
the ground and cynically opened their fell jaws for more victims.
Undeterred by the litter of corpses that cumbered the surrounding
ground, other insects crowded in to taste of the viscid juice which the
leaves exuded. This was the bait tempting to their doom moths,
butterflies, beetles and other minor fauna. Here was Capitalism playing
on the greed and credulity of the crowd,--gorging on the life-blood of
its hapless dupes,--flourishing and waxing strong amid the ruin of its
countless victims.
My eye was caught by a quivering twig; on it was a chameleon. The
reptile was nearly nine inches long. His colour was brown, of a shade
exactly the same as that of the twig. He moved forward with slow,
hesitating steps; he paced like an amateur on the tight-rope, as though
afraid of falling. His swivel eye-cases, each with a tiny,
diamond-bright speck in the centre, moved about independently of each
other. One was focussed on a little green insect waving its antennae on
a leaf six inches in front of him; the other was carefully trained
backwards over his left shoulder at me. Flick--and his tongue shot out
and in so rapidly that the eye could hardly follow its motion. But the
insect was no longer on the leaf, and the chameleon was munching
something with solemn enjoyment. When night fell he would climb to the
top of a strong, dry twig, roll and tuck himself into the shape of a
pear, with his head in the centre of the bulge. Then he would change
his hue to white and open his mouth, which was bright orange internally.
The night-flying lepidoptera would take him for a white, yellow-centred
flower, and pop in, seeking nectar. But they would not pop out again.
And the greatest wonder of all,--I bent down to examine a gazania; its
inch-long golden rays expanded like a wheel of perfect symmetry. Just
where the ray bent over the edge of the green, fleshy cup in which the
myriad florets were nested, was a small, dark spot. I brought a simple
magnifying glass to bear on this,--and what did I see? A labyrinthine
crater of many-coloured fire opened. Curve melted and mingled into
reluctant curve, zone into rainbow zone, until the plummet of vision was
lost in the radiant abyss. I lifted the flower gently; its texture was
thinner than the thinnest paper; beneath it was the desert sand. It had
hardly any material thickness, yet infinity lay in its depths. I sought
for a gazania of another species and found its petals eyed like the
peacock's tail. Yet another,--it shewed the rose-ardours of dawn
contending with the purple of a sea on whose surface night still
brooded. Every species had its own colour-scheme--its maze of splendour
more intricate than the labyrinth of King Minos.
Old Mr Von Schlicht of Klipfontein--who had spent most of his life in
Namaqualand, had recently been endeavouring to recall for me details of
the desert journeys of Ecklon and Drege, who did so much for South
African botany. I ascertained that Ecklon visited Kamiebies. How his
heart must have leaped when his eyes first gathered in the winter glory
of those mountains. When he afterwards stood, begging his bread at the
corner of the Heerengracht, Cape Town,--did he ever recall that scene?
Strange world of men that so often lets its noblest, after lives of
heroic toil for the highest and most unselfish ends, die in the gutter--
if it does not more mercifully slay them--and pays tribute of corn, wine
and oil, of jewels and fine raiment, to the company-monger or other
chartered robber adroit enough to squeeze through the meshes of the law.
We inspanned at sunset, and plunged straight into the desert, travelling
slightly to the south of east. Our objective was lower Pof Adder--which
must not be confounded with the northern Pof Adder beyond Namies. We
were out of the region of "toa"; the plain was covered with small
shrub,--half of which were soft and succulent and the others hard and
thorny. There were no intermediate kinds; the desert is a region of
extremes.
In spite of the jolting I managed to get a few hours' sleep. We
outspanned for an hour at midnight and made coffee. Now we had some
heavy sand-tracts to cross,--with jolty stretches lying between them.
But we reached the camp of the half-breeds just at dawn, as had been
intended.
They were caught--if not exactly red-handed, yet with ample proof of
their guilt. In the mat-houses of the suspected men we found boxes and
bags packed full of feathers. These were of all kinds--from the long
white plumes and the short blacks of the male bird, to the browns of the
hens and chicks. The culprits pleaded guilty; retributive justice was
forthwith satisfied at the wagon-wheel.
The camp was quite a large one; I should say it contained over sixty
souls, men, women and children included. These people were all of the
same colour, light-yellow; they even seemed to shew signs of
type-inception. Lean, sinewy and tough, they were not beautiful either
in form or feature. In neither sex did the sallow skin give any hint of
blood beneath. However, anaemic as they were, whatever fluid circulated
in their arteries must have been of good quality, for their capacity for
physical endurance was considerable.
It was the eyes of those half-breeds that were most distinctive. These
were dusky and deep, with an expression--not exactly furtive; rather
expressive of haunting apprehension. This was hardly to be wondered at,
for they had ceaselessly to watch for every change in the desert's
pitiless visage--to note each alteration in the moods of earth and sky.
Their lives were spent in answering a succession of riddles propounded
by the terrible sphinx between whose taloned paws they existed as
playthings.
Their dwellings--ordinary mat-houses and ramshackle wagons--as well as
the furniture thereof, indicated that they must have become habituated
to extremes of heat and cold. They were cleanly in their persons; this
I knew through having vaccinated them all,--from the patriarch to the
youngest baby. Small-pox at the time was reported to be raging among
the Bondleswartz Tribe, just beyond the Orange River.
But these people can never develop a type that will persist; the desert
they inhabit is too small. Besides, their sons and daughters are
continually being enticed away to regions with a kinder soil and a less
severe climate. There they further complicate the South African race
question. This question will not be confined to South Africa; it will
soon be one of worldwide import, and one that is not necessarily to be
answered in favour of the Caucasian, whose birth-rate statistics read
like Mene Tekel. I am often inclined to think it would have been better
in the long run had Charles Martel lost the Battle of Tours. In that
case there would at all events have been no colour question.
But those deep, dusky eyes haunted me. They were as enigmatic as the
only landscape over which they ranged. If one could only have stripped
the scales from them, what wonders might they not have seen?
Incalculable potencies might have been in their depths. Others,
desert-bred, have caught glimpses of eternal verities which prompted
them to utter words that became the hinges of history. However, up to
the present, there is no sign of a prophet arising in Bushmanland with a
message for a land that sorely needs it.
The half-breeds had heard of the springbuck; a few days previously the
latter were credibly reported to be somewhere about thirty miles to the
northward, near Kat Vley. And we were assured of the almost incredible
fact that Kat Vley contained water. That was certainly an _annus
mirabilis_ in the desert.
At midday we took our departure, making for the vicinity where the
springbuck were said to be. In the afternoon dense clouds rolled up
from the south-westward and a deluge of hail struck us. Within the
memory of men no similar thing had happened in Bushmanland. Andries and
I were comfortable enough in the wagon; Hendrick and Piet Noona fixed a
sail to the windward wheels and lit a big candle-bush fire to leeward.
After travelling about twenty miles we had camped for the night, for the
hail-clouds had been rolling up at intervals of about half an hour, and
there appeared to be no likelihood of the weather clearing. The poor
horses,--they were in for a time of misery!
Morning broke with drifting clouds and a high wind from the south-west.
We inspanned and altered our course slightly to the westward. The hail
showers had been so heavy that all spoor was obliterated; accordingly we
could not tell whether game was about or not. The day was bitterly
cold; over and over again the hail showers recurred. Several times we
got so perished that we halted and lit fires of candle-bush just to thaw
our hands at. Night fell with a slight improvement in the weather; the
wind dropped and only a thin drizzle was falling. We camped again and
gave the horses a liberal feed of corn. They did not appear to suffer
much from the cold. Such weather was the very last thing one could have
expected. But surely the sky would be clear on the morrow.
Again a cloudy morning, but the clouds were high and there was no rain.
At last we saw signs of game, for we crossed the spoor of several small
troops of springbuck; these had apparently been making in the direction
of Kamiebies. Later we found more spoor--that of a really considerable
herd making due westward.
The desert here was not quite so flat as usual; the brown expanse
undulated in long, low ridges running parallel to our course. These
were often several miles apart and in the spaces between, narrow
sand-dunes, flat-topped and steep, extended indefinitely, east and west.
At about three in the afternoon we again struck spoor. It was
apparently that of the large herd whose track we had crossed a few hours
previously. Now it led north-east, straight over the dune about a mile
away on our right--the dune parallel to which we had been travelling for
upwards of an hour. The spoor was quite fresh; it could not have been
more than half an hour since the herd had passed.
We halted and outspanned. After the horses had indulged in a roll
Andries and I saddled up. We rode on the spoor; soon this led us almost
due north, straight to the dune, which it crossed at right angles. The
herd had evidently been stampeded; it was clear they had been at a run
when they passed. Their hoofs had struck deep into the wet soil and
there was a distinct series of wide gaps in the dune where the crossing
had been effected. We dismounted and clambered up the steep sand-slope.
We looked carefully over, being heedful not to reveal ourselves. The
plain before us lay empty, but about a mile to the right the herd of
springbuck were visible. It was evidently one of the flying patrols of
the great migratory army and apparently numbered from eight to nine
thousand head.
We remounted and cantered along close to the base of the dune until we
were abreast of the centre of the herd--only the dune separating us from
it. Here Andries remained, while I rode on for about half a mile
further. This brought me to a spot just ahead of the foremost of the
game. It had been agreed that when I reached this spot Andries would
cross the dune and open his attack. As soon as the herd was on the
move, I would begin mine.
I dismounted, tied old Prince to a shrub, climbed the dune and laid
myself flat on the top. Just to my left were the springbuck, grazing
quietly and utterly unsuspicious of danger. They appeared to be all
rams. This we expected, for most of the rams congregate in separate
herds in the trek season. Some were grazing within less than two
hundred yards of me.
When Andries' rifle spoke a thrill ran through the multitude. Looking
to the left I saw the bucks beginning to stream in my direction, but the
impulse had not yet been communicated to those at my end of the herd.
Rythmically the impetus of flight developed towards me. Now all were on
the move. I fired and a buck rolled over. Then I descended from the
dune and ran forward into the plain.
The herd was now streaming past me from the direction in which the knell
of Andries' regular bombardment sounded. The dense stream bent in its
course before my advance, and for a few minutes took the form of a
crescent at a distance of about four hundred yards. It was as though I
were firing at a wall. Once I got my range nearly every bullet thudded.
Soon the last of the stream flowed past, but its course for several
hundred yards was marked by prone white and fawn forms.
Andries was busy collecting his dead at a spot about eight hundred yards
away. I re-crossed the dune and led Prince over it at a flounder. Soon
Andries came cantering up, his hands and arms red with the blood of the
slain. He had killed eight bucks. I had had better chances and a
longer innings, so my bag was larger, but I did not as yet know to what
extent.
The sun was now almost down; my spoil was scattered over a large area.
It was decided that I should gather up my dead, load the carcases upon
Prince and convey them to where Andries had piled his. He started off
to fetch the wagon. The team would now number only six, but the wagon
was light, for the horses had consumed most of the grain. I loaded up
three carcases and deposited them on the heap formed by those of
Andries. Another load of three I also fetched. But night was rapidly
falling so I could only negotiate one more load. This time I piled up
four. When I reached the carcases depot there was little or no light.
However, as long as it was possible to see what I was doing, I collected
candle-bushes. The result, however, was lamentably meagre.
The wagon was only about four miles away--as the crow flies. But
unfortunately the wagon was not a crow--and goodness only knew how far
westward that wretched dune extended. However, even if it reached to
Gamoep Andries would have to keep on its southern flank until he rounded
the extremity. I began to feel miserably cold, for I had no jacket. To
complete my misery the sky again clouded over and a thin rain commenced
to fall.
I tied old Prince to a bush and removed his saddle. But means of the
latter I should, at all events, be able to protect my neck and shoulders
from the wet. Then I sat on the ground among the carcases and piled
them around me; only my head emerged from the mass. The whole lot,
numbering eighteen, were requisitioned for this unusual service. The
water trickled in but the dead bucks still retained some heat and for a
time I was fairly comfortable.
But as the hours passed the carcases grew cold and colder; my misery
became acute. The night was pitch black. I had enough candle-bush to
make a flare for about half-an-hour, but prudence prompted me to delay
this operation so as to give Andries time to get round the extremity of
the dune--wherever that might be. I fired my rifle occasionally, but
the wind was blowing steadily and Andries' course was down to windward.
At length, after a seemingly interminable period of wretchedness, I lit
my candle-bush flares one by one. They blazed brightly and gave out a
certain amount of grateful heat, but soon they came to an end, and I
stole back to my sepulchre among the now stone-cold carcases.
The steady rain trickled down; I was by this time wet through. I
wondered as to whether I would be able to endure the misery until
morning. I had quite made up my mind that Andries would not be able to
find me. The night was too black; there were no hills nor other salient
landmarks to guide him to the spot. Looking to westward before we
started I could see that the dune was full of forks and branches in that
direction. I tried to comfort myself with anticipation of the enormous
candle-bush fire I would make as soon as day broke, and the breakfast of
broiled springbuck liver I would consume. My matches were safe in a
waterproof pouch. How leaden-footed is time when one is miserable!
An earth-tremor; a telephone-message thrilling along the earth's
sensitive surface--telling of hoofs and wheels in rythmic motion. Had
the miracle happened? Yes,--the wagon rolled up and my martyrdom was at
an end. _Deo gratias_!
But how did Andries manage it? He heard no shot, he saw none of my
flares. He could not tell me; as a matter of fact he, himself, did not
know. His feat could only be explained through some theory of
unconscious cerebration. Andries was elderly, stout and somewhat
lethargic, he had never read any book but the Bible, and of that there
was quite a lot he did not understand. But the trackless desert was to
him as familiar as my study was to me, and he had been able to pilot his
wagon-ship straight to that spot--through the inky darkness--with as
little uncertainty as though the sun had been shining. The experience
of a lifetime would not have taught me to perform that marvel which
Andries did quite as a matter of course.