A BUFFALO HUNT--A SUDDEN MEETING--A KAFFIR'S ADVICE--BUFFALO KILLED--AN
AFRICAN RACE-COURSE--THE START--THE RUN--THE CHARGE--WON AT LAST--
UNPLEASANT NEIGHBOURS--THE SINGLE SPUR--LIGHT-COLOURED KAFFIRS--KNOW
THYSELF--NEGLECTED EDUCATION--BLACK AND WHITE--TOO KNOWING BY HALF--THE
FOOL'S ARGUMENT.
Monyosi, his brother, and my Kaffir Inyovu, were with me across the
Umganie one morning, when we came upon the fresh spoor of a single
buffalo. The spoor was very neatly taken up by Monyosi, who noticed it
on some very hard and difficult ground, where it would have been totally
invisible to unskilled eyes. The professor marked it, and, after
following for nearly two hundred yards, brought us to several other
footprints, all of that morning's date; there seemed to be about a dozen
in the herd.
We found that these buffaloes had entered the forest by one of the old
elephant-tracks, and had kept straight on as though wishing to bury
themselves in the most retired glens. They had neither stopped to
browse or graze, but passed all the feeding-places with temperance and
self-denial.
We quickly followed on their traces, and were rewarded, after journeying
two or three miles, by finding the signs very recent: we were then only
a minute or so behind the herd. We waited a short time to listen, and
soon heard a slight rustling of the branches to our left, which showed
us that the buffaloes were moving about. We turned back a little, and
arranged so that we should approach them from the leeward side. Monyosi
seemed to be more careful and cautious in his approach to these
buffaloes than I had ever seen him with elephants. This, I afterwards
learnt, was caused by his having been knocked heels over head and nearly
killed by a wounded buffalo, some months before I made his acquaintance.
I allowed Monyosi to lead, taking care to follow close to his elbow;
the two other Kaffirs bringing up the rear of the cavalcade.
We were expecting to come upon the buffaloes at every turn, and each
muscle of Monyosi's well formed figure was seen as though strung in
readiness for a spring to the right or left. I looked round to see if
the two Kaffirs were following close, and upon again turning my head,
saw Monyosi bringing his gun up to his shoulder. Kaffirs generally fire
very slowly, and I had time to notice that a buffalo was standing
looking at us about five paces distant, to take a quick aim at his
forehead, and fire at the same instant with Monyosi.
None of us waited to see what was the result of our fire, but each
bolted as hard as his legs could carry him in the particular direction
that the path nearest him might lead. I turned round and made play down
that by which we had approached, but fancying that I heard the branches
crashing behind me, I dodged short to the right up a convenient cross
path. This proceeding was only just in time, as I saw, on looking
round, that two buffaloes had charged down the same path that I had
first followed; one of them was evidently disposed to be mischievous, as
he stopped and turned after me. Dropping my gun, I caught at some wild
vine and quickly scrambled up a tree, and sought protection amidst its
elevated branches. My position was now quite safe, and I could laugh at
my savage adversary. So he also seemed to think, as he took but one
look at me and trotted away.
Of the Kaffirs I had seen nothing since we fired: they had disappeared
most miraculously. I gave the usual whistle, and was answered at some
distance by them. They came to the tree on which I was perched, looked
at me, my gun, and the buffalo's footprints; everything was instantly
explained to them; they shook their heads, covered their mouths with
their hands, and gave a long _w-o-w_. After asking one or two
questions, Monyosi advised me not to run again towards the direction in
which a buffalo's head pointed, but to dart to the right or left.
We found plenty of blood on the trail, and hoped to come up with our
wounded friend. His hardened old constitution did not seem to have
suffered much as yet; for four miles at least were passed over without
our at all appearing to gain on this old die-hard.
We had entered directly into the bush, and had consequently to retrace
all our steps to get clear again; it was nearly dark now, and twilight
is scarcely a reality near the tropics, darkness following so
immediately on daylight. The Kaffirs proposed our stopping on the
trail, but I was unfortunately very hungry, and had a very great desire
for a bottle of Bass and a beefsteak, which I knew awaited me at home; I
therefore gave up the idea of a leaf bed, and voted for a return. We
came along very quickly, and reached the edge of the bush after the moon
had risen some time, and had given her light in exchange for that of the
sun; she did not equal it, but she certainly made it as much like day as
it is possible for night to be; we could see everything, out of the
shades of the forest, quite as distinctly as by daylight. A large herd
of wild-pigs had come out to have a peep at the open glade in which we
were; they loomed large in the distance, and we mistook them for
buffaloes; upon getting near enough for a shot, they were discovered to
be bush-pigs. We shot a couple before they knew of our approach.
On the occasion that I mentioned of buffalo-shooting, while on my trip
up the country with the Kaffir Inkau, he led on quietly and steadily,
and at length stopped, and slowly raising his arm, pointed in the
direction of a large tree. I followed his point, and saw a fine old
buffalo standing with his ears moving about, and his snout in the air.
I brought both barrels to the full cock, by the "artful dodge," without
noise, and gave the contents to him right and left behind the shoulder,
when he sprang forward, and dashed wildly through the forest. After
rushing a hundred yards or so, at full speed, he dropped dead.
I went across the Umlass for a week's shooting with a Kaffir named
M'untu; near his kraal there was some undulating ground sprinkled with
bush, which was said to be visited occasionally by buffalo. Having one
of my horses fit to go, I was anxious for a gallop after these
wide-awake fellows. Starting at peep of day, I found a herd of ten or
twelve grazing near a ravine; they saw or heard me from a considerable
distance, and sneaked into the ravine.
It is curious how soon a white man's approach causes alarm to the wild
animals of Africa. Whilst a Kaffir can pass about almost unnoticed, the
former is at once a cause of terror.
I entered the ravine, and by shouting and firing a shot scattered the
herd of buffaloes in a few minutes; I did not get close to them in the
ravine, but saw them topping the ridge outside.
I was soon after them: the country was undulating, with a little bush
here and there. I yelled at the troop as they galloped along huddled
together, and turned them from a thick patch of bush, for which they
were making, into a large flat open plain with short springy turf. Here
is the Epsom of Africa; a lawn of twenty-five miles, flat as a
billiard-table is the course, the match is p.p., the parties are a stout
little thirteen hands high pony with eleven stone on his back, and a
bull-buffalo sixteen hands high with a feather weight. Now what are the
odds--who will bet two to one on the buffalo? No takers! An even bet I
name the winner. What is the opinion of the jackal, I wonder, who is
peeping over the shoulders of his young family from out of the hole that
has been his residence since the ant-bear who built it was killed last
year by a leopard? What will the Bushman lay against the _inthumba_
(buffalo) being dropped in the first two miles? This fellow does not
care much which is the winner, he only wishes to see one or the other
killed. From his hiding-place in the rocky crannies, he watches the
race with great excitement. If the buffalo is killed, he is sure to
fall in for a share of the meat. If the white man breaks his neck in
some of the jackals' holes or game-pits, it will be hard lines if this
own brother to the baboons does not manage to have a good ride that very
night on the saddle that the _umlungo_ (white man) lately occupied.
Now they are all ready for the start,--great excitement in the crowd.
Jackals shuffle and shriek; even the hyaena, that has hitherto appeared
asleep, wakes up and gives an hysterical laugh; the vultures and eagles,
from the top of their grand stand high up in the clouds, have a capital
view, wheeling slowly round, in readiness either to gorge the flesh of
the buffalo or pollute that of the white hunter. The hoofs of the horse
striking on the ground act the part of starting-bell; the hunter's
approach is thus discovered; the buffalo whirls his tail, and the
Umlungo bends in his saddle; and "They're off!" would be the remark were
any there to make it. But no, not a living soul is seen; all is earth,
sky, and wild animals. One white man is the only thing bearing God's
image that is now within ten miles, and he is employed in fulfilling the
ordinance that "over every beast of the field shalt thou have dominion."
The Bushman, on the distant rocky mountain, sees the race plainly
without the aid of a telescope, and watches intently what is so
intelligible to his experienced eyes, but what would be to some of our
highly scientific savants' visions like two indistinct specks. The
fight weight takes the lead at a rattling pace, and leaves the eleven
stone far behind; he trusts to his speed, but still thinks it may be
necessary to keep those rocky mountains under his lee, in which to
retreat, as a sort of nest-egg. Away they go; flowering geraniums and
candelabra-shaped amaryllis are trodden down as though the veriest weeds
on earth. "Cluck, cluck--click, click--_nhlpr-nh_!" Why is the Bushman
so excited? Ah! he knows all about it; the buffalo has turned a little,
and is now making for some old game-pits, with a sharp stake in the
middle of each. Now, what a chance!--both buffalo and horse may be
engulphed--all three perhaps killed! What a glorious finale this would
be! Fancy the jollification of buffalo beef to commence with, and a
second course of horseflesh, while between the mouthfuls a knife might
be driven in spite between the ribs of the broken-necked white man,
whose body would be lying by! What would be a feast of turtle and
venison compared to this? In England you don't know how to live and
feast like a Bushman. Unfortunately, and bad luck for "Cluck-click,"
neither buffalo nor horse has yet broken his neck. There is no one
looking on to see how the horse goes,--no one to give another fifty for
him,--no one to see how he crossed that old watercourse; and yet how
boldly the man rides. He is not riding in this style merely to sell the
animal: he does not look round to see if any of the swells of the field
are watching him, and then for applause, or money in prospect, cram his
horse at a stiff rail, at which his craven heart would not dare even to
look were no man near. No! it must really be that the heart and soul of
this desert rider are in his sport, and that he feels--
"There is rapture to vault on the champing steed.
And bound away with the eagle's speed,
With the death-fraught firelock in his hand,
The only law of the desert land."
A streak of blood on the black hide of the buffalo, and foam from his
mouth, tell a tale that he has not run thus far even without being
distressed in more ways than one. Now they are near the Bushman's box,
who sits like a judge to see them come in. Hi! hi! here they come!
there they go! Bang, bang! the buffalo stumbles; he got the second
barrel in the ribs. The horse begins to reel in his gallop a little,
but, being well held together by his rider, he has at least another mile
still in him; now the hunter rides nearly alongside the bull, and it is
neck and neck. What a change! tables turned! Truly it is so; the
hunter is the hunted. The buffalo, with head low, is charging; the
rider, steering his horse with firm hand, and a watchful eye on the
_inthumba_, suddenly wheels, and, dropping apparently off his horse,
steadily aims at his riderless competitor; two little white puffs of
smoke may be seen, and a thousand echoing guns are heard, like a volley,
from the surrounding mountains. The buffalo has had enough; he quietly
drops on his knees, lays his head on the ground, doubles his hind-legs
under him, and reposes at full length on the plain, to rise no more.
The race is run; the Derby won by the thirteen hands and eleven stone.
The prize is valueless as regards money; the flesh is given to Kaffirs
who are sent after it; the head and horn are too heavy to carry--but the
tail is the prize. This trophy, years afterwards, may be looked at by
some Nimrod of sparrows--questions asked about it; and in response to
the information that it is the tail of an angry old buffalo that was
taken after a long run, and when the owner had been shot whilst
charging, this hero may then inform you that he thinks that sort of
sport must be rather good fun, and it is just the style of thing to suit
him. The prize is of no value save to the winner. Who can paint the
feelings that he enjoys, however, as he sits and contemplates this poor
old dried bit of skin and hair, and looks back on the beginning and end
of the run in which his hand, without aid, won it? Can it be that a
single mind only enters thoroughly into a scene like that which I have
feebly described, and that the memory has drunk so deeply of the
details, stirring to itself, but valueless to others, that the mere look
of the prize suffices to recall the scene.
Is it not a greater proof of sense and of the power of intellect than
arguing whether Brown's conduct was right in submitting to be told that
he was anything but what he should be; or in calculating what, ought to
be the fair odds if the Middleham colt gives 7 pounds-weight to the b.f.
by Sir Sutton,--or--or--Well, we will suppose it is a mad corner; it may
be a treat to some, as sense and intellect are so very common, to have a
little madness now and then. I for one am content to be thus afflicted
every day of my life, as long as I am not confined in Hanwell, or
prevented from roaming in thought over lands blessed with the sun and
air pure from heaven, in place of bronchitial fogs, foul sewers, and
gloomy skies. We will suppose that the eleven stone told, and the horse
was beaten; no matter, we have no lost our money or our honour. We need
not take a trip to the continent as it nears the settling day at the
Corner; we have only to jog quietly back to the kraal or the camp: a
day's rest, and all one's losses are regained, and disappointments
recovered. Hurrah for the desert!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
While riding about near some kraals, not far from M'untu Umculu's, I saw
a very fine herd of Zulu cattle; they are beautiful little creatures,
looking more as though they were a cross between an antelope and a cow
than merely common cattle. I approached them to have a nearer look,
when they seemed equally disposed to stare at me. We stood thus for
about a minute, when two or three young bulls came forward quite close
to me; others followed, the first advanced, more came in front of them,
and I found that I was getting regularly hemmed in by these curious
gentlemen. I therefore turned tail, and walked quietly away; they
followed me rapidly, coming in the most impertinent manner with their
horns within a foot or two of my legs. I shouted at them, but it merely
seemed to raise their anger, as they stamped furiously; they were
evidently unaccustomed to receive white men with courtesy. I saw they
were working themselves up for mischief, so dropped the spur into the
horse and rode for it, when they came after me at once, leaping and
prancing with their tails erect. I really began to think it was no
joke, and that I should have had to put a bullet through one of their
heads as an example. As, however, such a proceeding would very likely
have embroiled me with the Kaffirs, I rode on. I saw an old Kaffir in a
mealie garden at a short distance, so rode towards him and shouted; he
rushed down to meet me, and waving his skin cloak, gave some
tremendously shrill whistles. He looked like a demon forbidding the
advance of his imps. The effect was magical; the half-wild cattle
stopped, and I jumped off my frightened horse to ask the old Kaffir how
it all was. He said that the bulls did not know much about white men
and horses, and perhaps thought that I was some wild animal come to
destroy their young. I must own I looked rather a rough customer, and
my clothes were not in the best condition--but still this was too bad.
I have, however, seen in our most public thoroughfares, men who might
easily be mistaken by an unfashionable herd of cattle for "wild animals
come to destroy their calves." I mention dropping the "_spur_" which
may require explanation. One only of these weapons is used in the
colony and this single spur is buckled on the left heel, as, in
dismounting and mounting so frequently as is here necessary, the right
spur becomes inconvenient, and may scratch the horse's back in throwing
the leg over. The reason given is, that it _is_ inconvenient, and also
that if one side of the horse is made to go, most probably the other
will go also.
While staying at this kraal, I was visited by a Kaffir who had all the
features of a European; he told me that his mother was as his
forefinger, and then, pointing to his little finger, said that mother
was a white woman, that she came out of the sea, and had been the wife
of a chief. I was much interested in all this, as the white woman of
whom he spoke, was without doubt one of those unfortunates who were
saved from the wrecks of the _Grosvenor_ and another ship, who had seen
all their male relatives and ship-friends murdered, and were then forced
to become the wives of the Kaffir chiefs or principal men. The
descendants of these mixed people can even now be traced in some of the
light-coloured Kaffirs of the Amaponda, the Umzimvubu, and Umzimculu;
and it is not improbable that a small rivulet of the blood of the
Howards may be even now flowing in oblivion under the dark hide of a
naked assagy-throwing, snuff-taking heathen of Africa. Some things that
this Kaffir told me were strange and curious. Memory here serves as a
library. It is a book of reference much in use, and one that is
therefore nearer perfection than can be conceived by those whose ivory
tablets or ledgers daily record events.
South Africa is an excellent country in which to obtain a knowledge of
ourselves; solitude being so common and unavoidable a contingency that
we soon become perfectly reconciled to our own society, and learn to
argue and reason as though with another person. If we are worsted in
this encounter, we have the same satisfaction that Dr Johnson had,
knowing that we supply our adversary's arguments as well as our own. An
excellent and good understanding here exists between our outer and inner
selves, and each individual knows his own respective worth.
It is a land in which one's value as a man is decided, in the unerring
scale of trial, to an ounce. It is pleasant to know one's true
position, if only for a short time, and even if much lower than we have
been accustomed to consider our due. It prevents us from making many
mistakes, and deters us from undertaking many things that we could only
blunder through did we attempt.
The very slight knowledge that the bustle of civilised society permits
us to gain of ourselves, causes us sometimes to commit grievous errors,
that may render us ridiculous to the reasoning bystander. We may pride
and plume ourselves on merits and qualities that we do not really
possess, but that only exist in idea, caused by the flattering of our
_friends_, or some chance of fortune. We then have a way of reposing,
with a self-satisfied and complacent air, on imaginary laurels that we
never have culled, and, did we but really know ourselves, might be
perfectly certain we never should.
An Englishman has such a just appreciation of what is true and genuine,
that I am sure he would be delighted at having his perfections thus
correctly made known to him. Even supposing he has for tens of years
previously hugged himself with too favourable an idea of them, there may
still be a sufficient time left for him to cram this real knowledge of
himself. Even if he get but a smattering, still it will prepare him in
a measure, and therefore make the shock less at that great trial at
which we must all, sooner or later, have our merits weighed, and in
which good fortune and riches will be considered as only additional
trusts for which we shall have to account satisfactorily.
So frequently have some of my most certain axioms turned out myths,
that. I have long since come to the conclusion that I _know_ absolutely
nothing at all.
I have been put down so completely by naked Kaffirs and dirty Hottentots
on the subject of South-African spooring, etc., of which I might
otherwise easily have fancied I knew something, from having lived the
gipsy-like life of a savage for upwards of two years, and during that
time having been occupied night and day in the pursuit of wild animals,
and gathering information from the natives--that I frequently now listen
attentively and patiently to criticisms on the sporting proceedings of
such men as Sir Cornwallis Harris and Gordon Cumming, oracularly
delivered by gentlemen whose experiences have been gathered from
watching the deer in Greenwich Park, or from knocking over a
cock-pheasant in the well-preserved covers of their private manors. For
I always remembered that these people _might_ know more on the subject
than the sporting giants whom they are attempting to vilify.
Well do I remember on one occasion being the butt of at least a dozen
Kaffirs, for no other reason than because I could not tell whether a
buffalo had galloped or only walked over some hard and grassy ground,
that retained less impression than a dry turnpike-road. How amusing it
was to see them sitting down on purpose to quiz me, pointing to each
footmark, that to my dull perception was little more than the scratch of
a penknife, and then asking if I could not now see the pace at which the
animal had moved. I was compelled to acknowledge myself a dunce, and to
explain to them that my education in early youth had been in this
particular science dreadfully neglected. They would then show and
explain to me how I was to judge of these things in future, with a
kindness and simplicity that were very beautiful.
This proceeding is nearly a type of what takes place in civilisation,
where it frequently happens that a man is politely sneered at because he
is unacquainted with the slang or local joke of some particular clique,
or does not submissively follow the habits and fashions of the reigning
set. Human nature, whether black, red, or white, is very much alike all
over the world; each to the unseasoned eye has its special peculiarities
and prominent points of ridicule, and I doubt whether a Zulu chief and
_umfazi_, with their scanty attire of strips of skins and bead and
feather ornaments, would produce more ridicule were they to walk up
Regent-street, than would an English gentleman fashionably attired, or a
lady with looped and festooned dress and embroidered under-garment, at
the court of Kaffirland.
In every land and in every society, men are found who think they raise
themselves, or show that they have unlimited penetration, by trying to
cast disbelief on the statements of others, and thus endeavour to prove
that they themselves are very wise men. Now, I would sooner be what is
vulgarly called humbugged half a dozen times, by some man relating to me
a falsehood, after assuring me he was merely telling the truth, than I
would once cast disbelief on a true statement. In the first case, the
sin is on the relater; and we merely believed him to be a truth-teller
when he was in reality a bar. But in the second case we expose our
ignorance, by often thinking that impossible which really exists, or we
insult an honest man by doubting his honesty, and injure ourselves by
shutting our ears to the reception of facts.
On the morning after my tree interview with the elephant, I happened to
mention to an English _gentleman_ of the sort that I have described,
what a curious scene I had witnessed on the previous day. It was
against my established rule, however, to relate anything connected with
sporting matters to persons whom I casually met, but on this occasion my
usual caution had left me. I was plainly told by this gentleman that he
did not believe me. I was not angry; but as this was a person who might
be described as so knowing that he actually believed nothing at all, I
gave him plenty of opportunities to commit himself.
There is an old saying, that "a bet is a fool's argument." It is,
however, frequently the only argument that will convince some people,
and it proved so with the person whom I have mentioned. I offered to
make him a bet that I could prove that the elephants _did_ come to me
under the tree, and in fact that everything had happened just as I had
stated it. He tried to escape from this trial, but I plainly told him,
that if he did not accept the offer, it would be an acknowledgment that
he was wrong. The bet was made, and I was to give my proof.
I called in two witnesses, and then related what had happened with the
elephants on the previous day, taking care to give every detail. I then
sent for a white man, who I knew spoke the Kaffir language very well, to
act as interpreter, and also sent for my Kaffir Inyovu, who was up the
tree with me. On their arrival, Inyovu was requested to state what had
happened in the bush on the previous day. He at first said that he
wished me as his chief to speak; but upon my requesting him to give his
own account, he spoke nearly word for word what I had previously said.
I then requested that any two Kaffirs might be sent on our spoor, and
the tree examined that we had ascended on the day before; but my
doubting gentleman hauled down his colours, although with a very bad
grace, and acknowledged that he now believed the whole account.
The money I intended returning to him, after I had proved my adventure
to have been true, but unfortunately was unable to do so, because it was
never paid to me.
I recommend this ordeal to others who may be annoyed by such mosquito
sort of gentry; it may not be quite right on principle, but is very
decisive and convincing. I know one gentleman, however, who avoids this
fiery trial, by asserting that he makes it a rule never to bet. For him
it is a most useful rule, as he is so invariably obstinate, and at the
same time wrong, that were he to fall into ungenerous hands, his
obstinacy or his money would soon melt away, and I am disposed to think
that the latter would be the sooner lost.