"The carts are all corrict, sorr, and ready for the line of march,"
reported Mr Patrick Keown, whilom a troop sergeant-major in the "Cape
Mounted Riflemen," but now his former captain's major-domo,
master-of-the-horse, and general factotum. "And, sorr," he went on,
bringing his dexter hand down from the salute, and assuming a less
poker-like attitude and a more confidential manner, "the mules we've
hired from the postmaster here, seem loikely to suit us--that's to say,
fairly well. They're good animals, sorr, barrin' the off-leader of the
second team, and he's a terrible kicker, and did his best to break Black
William's leg just now. And thin, sorr, there is another that's a bit
contrary in harness--but shure now, that's no matther; we'll soon break
the baste in! I'll lay me quarter's pinsion that they'll have larned
betther manners before we outspan this evening."
"No doubt of it, Patrick," rejoined Major Flinders, who was standing on
the stoep of the hotel, with his long bamboo whip in hand, listening to
the ex-sergeant's report. "No doubt of it," said he as soon as he could
edge in a word; "we shall manage them all right! But it's quite time we
were on the road, for we ought to cover forty miles before sundown. Now
then, Maurice! Come along, my boys; hurry up!"
The Major and his party had landed the previous morning at Mossel Bay,
with all their goods and chattels; and now in front of a long
one-storied building, dignified by the name of "Moorhead's Royal Star
and Garter Hotel," two well-built white canvas tilted Cape-carts, fresh
from the hands of Mr Muter of Berge Street, were drawn up, each being
_horsed_ by a team of six mules hired from the postmaster of the
district.
One cart was packed with a variety of useful articles--from a saddle to
a screw-driver--ordered by Captain Jamieson from the Cape Town
storekeepers; whilst in the other cart the Major and his companions were
to travel.
Under each cart was slung a strong "witte els" [a soft, tough wood] box,
containing axes, hammers, saws, and other tools, a supply of nails and
screws, straps and buckles, a small coil of "half-inch," and some stout
cord and twine; so that in the event of a break-down, repairs might be
executed on the spot Major Flinders and his faithful henchman Patrick
Keown had travelled too much in South Africa to think of starting on a
long journey without being prepared for emergencies.
As the crow flies, the distance from Mossel Bay to Ralfontein was rather
more than one hundred and eighty miles, but by road it was nearer two
hundred and fifty. The journey there was to be got over as rapidly as
possible without unduly pressing the teams, and there were to be no
unnecessary stoppages by the way. The return journey would be a much
more leisurely affair, for it was the Major's intention to ride from
Ralfontein to Rondebosch, a distance of at least three hundred and fifty
miles (instead of returning to Mossel Bay, and from thence by sea to
Cape Town), and to take his own time on the road, so as to bring home
his equine purchases in good condition.
For the first two or three days after leaving Mossel Bay our travellers
had an easy time and were not called upon to rough it in the smallest
degree. The road they followed--one of the best in the colony--led
through a beautiful fertile district, studded with prosperous-looking
farm-houses around which vineyards and orange groves flourished in
wonderful luxuriance. At these farms they were lodged and entertained
with a hospitality worthy of the patriarchal ages, so that, as yet,
there was no "camping out."
Soon, however, the country presented a wilder, but no less beautiful
aspect, the road became a mere track, and our friends found themselves
journeying across tracts of rough, uncultivated land, through wooded
valleys and steep rocky defiles, aglow with the brilliant crimson and
amber blossoms of the aloe; here for miles they did not meet a human
creature, or see a house of any description, and the silence of these
vast solitudes grew almost oppressive.
On the evening of the fourth day they arrived at a romantic spot
five-and-twenty miles from any civilised habitation--the nearest being a
German mission station at Ryk's Drift--and here the Major decided to
outspan, beneath the shade of a fine tope of trees, near to a "donga,"
or dry watercourse. It was a most suitable halting-place! A tiny
"spruit," or streamlet, trickled amidst the reeds and boulders that lay
all along the "donga," and crossing the track close by the "bivouac,"
formed a shallow, but clear pool, at the foot of a grassy eminence,
which was topped by a thicket of silver trees, aloes, and flowering
shrubs.
On every side the various tribes of the vegetable kingdom throve
luxuriously, perfuming the air; whilst in the distance the foliage and
coppice presented a thousand lively and variegated tints most pleasing
to the eye.
The mules having been knee-haltered and turned out to graze, under
charge of the Hottentot, Black William, the Major and his companions set
to work to light a fire and put the camp-kettle on to boil, and before
long they were discussing some excellent broiled venison and ship's
biscuit, washed down by copious draughts of black coffee.
"This is what I call uncommonly jolly!" exclaimed Tom as they sat round
the camp fire after supper; "ever so much better than putting up at a
farm-house."
"But how will you like taking your turn of `sentry-go' to-night, Master
Tom?" asked Patrick Keown.
"Ah, to be sure!" put in the Major. "Two hours at a stretch, you know,
Tom; and we shall expect you to be on the `_qui-vive_;' no sleeping on
your post, young man!"
"No fear of that, father," retorted the boy with a good-humoured laugh.
"But I say, do you really think there's any likelihood of our being
attacked?"
"Well, it is within the bounds of possibility that some wild beast might
take a fancy to one of the mules, or a roving Bushman or Hottentot to
our rifles," was his father's reply; "so it will be best to keep a
night-watch."
"I suppose there are no lions in these parts?" inquired George Weston.
"I should think not, George," answered Major Flinders. "There is no
doubt that they, and many other savage beasts, have retreated before the
progress of European colonisation, and are now very rarely to be seen,
except further north and east. Still they are not extinct, even in this
district."
"Plenty lion in Bosjesman's country," observed Black William; "an' dey
terrible savage dere too! Eat up poor black mans, like de silver jackal
eat missis' chickens; but dey seldom touch de white mans. Tink de black
moch nicer."
"Find them more _gamey_, I presume," was Mr Weston's sotto voce remark.
"I have heard several curious instances of the unwillingness of lions to
attack a white man, especially if he shows a bold front," said the
Major, refilling his pipe; "and I will relate one that I can vouch for.
During the expedition against the Fitcani tribe in '28, I had attached
to my troop as volunteers two Cape Dutchmen--Hendrik and Gert Eoos.
You'll recollect them, Patrick?"
"Shure I do, sorr," replied the ex-rifleman. "Hendrik Eoos saved me
loife at Schepers Drift, but I nearly broke me heart thrying to kape him
clane! He and his brother were the bravest and dhirtiest men I iver
came across!"
"Well," continued the Major after one or two draws at his long Dutch
pipe, "the brothers Roos were renowned as mighty hunters, and it was
said that they had killed upwards of thirty lions in their time, to say
nothing of other big game. But you know that `the pitcher that goes too
often to the well runs a good chance of getting smashed,' and Master
Hendrik Roos on one occasion went very near proving the truth of the old
proverb. He was hunting alone in the wilds when suddenly he found
himself face to face with an enormous lion, who, so far from retiring
before the white man, seemed determined to dispute with him the right of
way. Hendrik dismounted, threw his reins over his arm, and, waiting
until the lion was within twenty paces and couched and in the act of
springing, took careful aim at his forehead, but the moment he pressed
the trigger his horse started, the reins broke, and, worse than all, his
bullet missed its mark!
"The lion bounded forward, and at a few paces' distance confronted the
intrepid hunter, who now stood defenceless--his `roer' [smooth-bore gun
for big game] empty, his horse fled; but he showed no sign of fear.
"Man and beast stared hard at each other for some little time, and at
length the latter slowly retired backwards, whereupon Hendrik began to
reload his gun. At this movement the lion growled and came forward
again. The hunter stood stock-still, motionless as a statue, and again
the lion retired. Once more Hendrik attempted to ram home his bullet,
and once more his formidable adversary advanced, growling ominously.
Hendrik fixed his eyes upon him, and the lion seemed confused--halted
for a moment, and stood lashing his flanks with his tail, growling all
the while; then of a sudden, unable to face any longer the stern gaze of
the man, the savage beast turned about and fairly took to his heels; and
so Hendrik Roos was saved."
"Well, he _was_ a plucky chap!" exclaimed Tom. "I wouldn't have stood
in his shoes for something!"
"You see that this Dutch hunter possessed an intimate knowledge of the
nature of the animal he was pitted against; and knowledge is power,"
observed Mr Weston. "But, talking of wild animals, I remember that it
was not very far from Mossel Bay that I fell in, for the first and last
time in my life, with a wild elephant. It was in '16, just before I
`shipped the swab,' and I was then acting third `luff' of the _Phaeton_.
We had been on the Cape station a few months, and our skipper had been
ordered round to the Knysna to make a report as to the feasibility of
forming a government ship-building establishment on the banks of the
river.
"Whilst there I went out duck-shooting with the purser, who had the
reputation of being a thorough sportsman and an excellent shot. We went
some miles up country, and I soon found that my shipmate, though a
capital shooter, was a precious bad hitter; and got through a large
amount of ammunition in a very short time with no appreciable results.
"Well, after blazing away half the day without bagging a single bird, we
came to a large pool of water surrounded with very high grass (some of
it quite ten feet in height) and abounding with wild ducks and geese.
"`Now's our chance, Wraggles!' I exclaimed, bringing my fowling-piece
to the shoulder. `Let fly into the middle of them!'
"Bang! bang! went our guns, and at least one duck fell a victim to our
unerring aim.
"But ere we could secure the butchered birds the welkin rang with an
awful roar, and the whole pool was in a state of commotion. The next
moment an enormous elephant rushed from out the grass, trumpeting loudly
and striking the grass with his trunk.
"Neither the purser nor I had ever seen a wild elephant before, and we
had no wish for a nearer inspection; so, leaving our slaughtered ducks
to their fate, we took to our heels and never stopped until we reached a
place of safety."
"Well, you certainly did not show a bold front on that occasion,"
laughed the Major.
"No, indeed," rejoined his friend. "But I can assure you that few men
could have presented a broader back than did the gallant purser; and it
has always been a mystery to me how a man of his rotundity got over the
ground at such a wonderful pace. He beat me by a good fifty yards. Now
who is going to take first watch?"
"Black William is first on the roster, sorr, and I shall relave him,"
answered Patrick Keown; and the Hottentot having been duly posted, the
others lay down before the camp fire and were soon wrapped in sleep--
sleep--
"The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath,
Great nature's second course,
Chief nourisher in life's feast!"