Sand Fountain.—A Lesson to the Natives.—A Present.—News of
a Lion.—Scheppmansdorf.—A narrow Escape.—A Missionary’s
Establishment.—Native Huts.—Missions.—A Lion Hunt.—Preparations
for the Road.—Native Trees.—The Hottentots.—Character
of the Country.—Mode of breaking in an Ox.—Arrangement
of the Baggage.—A Prosperous Start.—The Swakop.—Night
Bivouac.—Labours of the March.—Loss of a Horse and a Mule.—The
Lions’ Chase.—Attempt to avenge the Loss.—Animal Food.—The
Ghou Damup.—Erongo Mountain.—Intense Heat.—The Tsobis
River.—Ride-Oxen.—Native Servants.—Their Cape Town Life.—A
Giraffe Hunt.—Change of Country.—An Ostrich Egg.—Approach to
Otjimbinguè.—Hans Larsen.
The Missionary who had come with us from Cape Town went off at once to
Scheppmansdorf with Mr. Bam, whose oxen fetched his waggon and all his
things, and who very kindly promised to give me a help with mine, when
the oxen were sufficiently rested, if I would first get the luggage as
far as Sand Fountain. The mules were therefore harnessed, and worked
excellently, carting my heavy things through the deep sand; and they made
sometimes two and sometimes three trips a day between that place and the
Bay. Andersson and myself slept at Sand Fountain. John Morta cooked for
us, and the others drove the cart, and took care of my store at the Bay.
Mr. Bam told me I should have great trouble in first going up the
country, unless I had a person to guide me, and that there was not a
Hottentot with him who could go. I had no interpreter for them, and they
were frightened at the Damaras. Stewartson said that he was going in
about two months, and would then be very happy to show me the way. It
appeared, on further conversation, that the business which detained him
from going at once was, that he had to make a fence round his garden to
keep it from Mr. Bam’s pigs. So I arranged with two of my men that they
should go and help him to get through the work quickly, while my others
were employed with me. After a week everything was returned to Sand
Fountain. Andersson and myself had employed ourselves in walking about,
superintending the work. The Hottentots of course crowded round us every
day, but they did not at all trouble us: only one or two of them were
impudent, and, as I did not know how much thrashing they would stand,
I let them alone. I took some pains to exhibit and explain to them the
mechanism of a spring rat-trap, and when they sufficiently comprehended
its object, I gave them to understand that my boxes were all guarded by
rat-traps, so that if they put their hands into them to steal, they would
infallibly be caught.
The black and white crows almost attacked our larder for food. They live
on the dead fish that lie about the beach, which indeed is almost the
only food hereabouts for them. The natives brought us milk every morning
to barter for tobacco, and also some goats. Mr. Bam very kindly sent me
a slaughter ox. It seemed to me the most princely of presents. Meat
keeps wonderfully well here in this season (August and September), and
even dries instead of tainting; but I subsequently found it otherwise in
December. I had taken plenty of salt meat with me from Cape Town, and
rice and biscuits—quite two months’ provisions—for I knew it must be a
long time before we could fall into the ways of the country, and find our
own commissariat there.
I gave the mules a day’s rest, and then started with my first load to
Scheppmansdorf. Andersson remained behind. Mr. Bam had sent me word that
a lion had come over from the Swakop River, and was prowling about and
very daring, and that a hunt should be got up at once. As we travelled
sometimes in the soft sand of the river-bed, sometimes on the gravelly
plain, through which it runs, we kept a sharp look-out for the track that
had been seen there: we found it after we had travelled ten miles. The
natives amused themselves by cleverly imitating it; they half clenched
their fist and pressed their knuckles into the sand. It was curious to
see to what a distance the lion kept to the waggon-road, walking down the
middle of it as though it had been made for him. I listened deferentially
to Timboo and John St. Helena, who were quite learned on the subject of
tracking. Except some ostriches scudding about, some crows, lizards, and
a few small birds, there was no other sign of animal life, but we saw
spoors now and then of the little steinbok, a very pretty gazelle some
sixteen inches high.
We followed the waggon path till an hour after night-fall, when the
damp feel of the air, distant lights and barking of dogs, announced
that we had arrived at Scheppmansdorf. Mr. Bam welcomed me most kindly,
introduced me to his wife, gave me an outhouse for my boxes and myself,
and we formed a very pleasant party that evening, more especially
as I heard that my horses were quite well and fat. We talked over
the lion, and it seemed that he had been prowling about the station
continually;—that he was a well-known beast, who usually hunted the lower
part of the Swakop, and had killed an immense number of cattle;—many
a time have I heard them reckoned over,—fifty oxen, three horses, one
donkey, and innumerable calves and dogs. He had often been chased but was
too wary to be shot—and so forth. We talked over the lion at Mr. Bam’s
till a late hour: he assured me that the animal would prowl about that
night, as he had done so every day for a week, and that if I wanted to
try my rifle, I could track him in the morning. He and Stewartson had
taken my horses the day before to hunt him, and they found him and gave
chase; at last he came to bay, when they rode to the top of a sand-hill
immediately above him, where the beast not waiting to be fired at charged
them. Mr. Bam galloped off, but Stewartson’s horse being thoroughly
blown, would not stir a step, until the lion’s head appeared over the
sand-hill just above the astonished animal, who probably had no idea
of what was taking place, for Stewartson seems to have been “craning”
over the ridge of the bank. I was glad to learn, not only on account of
Stewartson’s safety, but also as a proof of the discretion and speed of
my horse, that the next second of time left the lion behind at a safer
distance.
Mr. Bam’s household, which I may as well describe, as it gives a good
idea of a Missionary establishment, was as follows—Himself, Mrs. Bam, a
numerous family, and an interpreter, who helped at the schools, could
drive a waggon, and was the factotum, made the party that took their
meals together, the interpreter being very deferential, and only speaking
when spoken to. Besides these were a few hangers-on, more or less
trustworthy, and always ready for a job. The house is a tolerably sized
cottage or bothy, all on one floor, built of course by the Missionary
himself, as well as he was able to build it; the workmanship was
naturally very rough, but as it takes far less labour to use trees for
the uprights and rafters than planks, it is also very strong. Chairs, a
table, and a bureau, were imported from Cape Town; the bed, bookshelves
and so forth, made here. The wife does the whole house work, cleaning
the rooms, managing the children, cooking the dinner, and, what I never
liked, waiting at table. These ladies have the hardest and rudest of
occupations, but, I must candidly say, they seem to like this life
extremely, and I am sure that Missionaries must find great favour in the
eyes of the fairer sex, judging from the charming partners that they have
the good fortune to obtain. As to the natives, they make their huts as
they like, and where they like; they plant sticks in a circle of six feet
across, then bend the tops together and tie them with strips of bark;
lastly, they wattle the sides and plaster them up.
Scheppmansdorf is prettily situated on a kind of island in the middle
of the Kuisip River bed near a clump of fine trees, somewhat resembling
elms. At one side stands the Missionary’s and Stewartson’s houses, in
the middle is the white-washed chapel, and round the other sides lie the
huts twenty or thirty in number. All around is sand; to the south there
a perfect sea of sand-dunes from 100 to 150 feet high, to the north the
Naanip plain. A small streamlet rises from the ground, and runs through
the place, watering about three acres of garden and field, and losing
itself half a mile off in a reedy pond full of wild fowl.
The natives crowd the church and sing the hymns, which, being about
three quarters articulate and one quarter clicks, produce a very funny
effect. The Missionary is, to all intents and purposes, Lord paramount of
the place, though he is modest, and refers matters as much as possible
to the captain of the tribe. Savage countries are parcelled out by a
tacit understanding between different Missionary Societies, priority of
occupation affording the ground of claim, it not being customary for one
sect to establish its stations in a land where another sect is already
settled. Mr. Bam and the other gentlemen I was thrown amongst belonged to
a German Mission, and were all of them Germans or Dutch. Further to the
interior, and communicating with the Cape, not by the sea, but overland,
are some English Wesleyan stations. Subsequently, I passed through
these, but at the time of my visit they were unoccupied.
To return to the lion. When I turned into bed I listened long for a roar
or some token of his presence, but in vain; and at last I dropped asleep.
In the morning we found his tracks all about us, he had paid particular
attention to a hut that was lying rather apart from the others, and had
been prowling all round it. Stewartson volunteered to accompany me, he
disapproved of horse-back, and mounted his trusty ox. Mr. Stewartson’s
profession in early life was that of a tailor—though subsequently a
dissenting minister, and afterwards a cattle-trader. I confess that I
felt, as I rode by his side, I had rather have been introduced to the
genus “lion” by a person of almost any other calling, and carried by
any other kind of animal than my bucolic friend’s. I took two of my
men with me, and off we set with a few natives. The lion had walked
backwards and forwards so much in the night, that it was long before we
found the last tracks he had made. We followed them very quickly, as
his broad foot-print was unmistakeable on the sand; there was a growing
interest as we found how he had stopped and looked down and considered
whether a bush by one side would suit him or not, but had decided in the
negative and gone slowly on. We peered about and marched very silently;
the bushes got thicker, and the pace slower, when we stopped short at a
well-trodden part whence the lion had evidently just risen, for the sand
was still warm from his touch. Had he gone away, or was he close by, was
the question. We were all mixed up together. Of a sudden the lion stood
up, twelve paces in front, looked over his shoulder at us, made an easy
noiseless bound, and was gone. His action was so steady, so smooth, so
entirely devoid of hurry, that I could perfectly understand how a person
might be seized through miscalculating the speed of his advance. As it
was, he disappeared before one of our guns was well up to our shoulders.
I am sure, if he had come at us, he could have done what mischief he
liked. My horse would have shied on to the horns of Stewartson’s ox, and
in the narrow pass we should all have tumbled about and rolled one on
another. The cover into which he went, and on the border of which he had
been lying, was far too thick to be practicable for our further pursuit,
though we did make several good attempts at dislodging him. I returned
very crest-fallen at our want of success, but I had now seen the animal
and better understood the elements of hunting him.
As we rode back across the plain we saw vast numbers of old gemsbok
tracks, although there are but few of these fine antelopes in the
neighbourhood; but impressions made on this crisp gravelly soil take
years to efface; they seem to be almost stereotyped; and a very few
animals and waggons have produced an extraordinary number of spoors.
I mentioned that Scheppmansdorf was built in a rude circle. To the middle
of this the oxen of the place come of their own accord every night as
the evening sets in, and lie there till the early morning; they find
shelter from the wind, and are certainly sensible of protection. Besides
this the ox is a sociable domestic animal, and loves fires and the
neighbourhood of men. The oxen, therefore, lay close up to the doorway
of the outhouse in which I slept, and the night was pitch dark. Now,
after we had all gone to bed and were fast asleep, there was a rush and
an outcry, and people hallooing and dogs barking, for the lion had got
into the midst of the oxen. I confess I was glad there was a door to my
outhouse, for fear the lion should walk in; however, all became quiet,
and I soon went to sleep again.
A grand hunt was determined on in the morning; every available native
was pressed into the service. Mr. Bam rode one horse, I the other,
and Stewartson his ox. Johannis, Captain Frederick, and some other
Hottentots, came mounted on their oxen, and we went off after breakfast
with as many cur dogs as would follow us. The proceedings were much the
same as before. After eight miles his spoor went into a bush; we threw
stones in and shouted, and up he got about one hundred yards off. I
purposely did not fire, as my horse was in a bad position for me to take
as good an aim as I wished, and nobody else fired either; but we galloped
after him in full view, the object being to bring him to bay, or to get a
nearer shot as he ran. This last I hardly expected whilst he was moving,
for my horses were not accustomed to be shot from, and it took so much
time to pull them up, that the lion had gained a long start again before
I could do so. The bushes were in his favour, and we nearly lost him;
but by most skilful tracking the Hottentots came up and often helped us
out when we were at fault. Some hours elapsed when, as Mr. Bam and myself
were cantering on, we turned the corner of a sand-hill and saw the lion
about sixty yards ahead, trotting on, looking over his shoulder. I got
my long rifle up, and, sincerely praying that my horse would not kick
me off when I fired, I pulled the trigger; the horse was too blown to
start, and I placed my two-ounce bullet well into the lion’s quarter. He
growled and snarled, and bit the wound, but evidently had not heart to
chase me, but turned to bay under a bush. There was a sand-hill opposite.
We waited till the stragglers came up, and then went behind the sand-hill
and dismounted; and Stewartson and ourselves crawled up to the top of it,
right above the lion. He was in a tearing passion, and fifty paces from
us, yet I could not see him as clearly as I could wish—wild beasts have
such a readiness of availing themselves of the smallest bush or tuft of
grass as a screen, which he did on this occasion; his head was between
his paws, and his tail whirling up the sand. One single shot at the
head struck him stone dead. He was a huge gaunt beast, miserably thin,
and had a dog of Stewartson’s in his inside, which he had snapped up on
the werft the night before. The dog was in only five pieces, not at all
chewed or even digested; it had been bolted in a hurry, and had probably
disagreed with him. The lion was soon skinned. My bullet had passed right
alongside the backbone, breaking its way through nearly half its length.
Neither the oxen nor the horses showed that dread of his smell, which
they generally do. I even rolled up his hide like a valisse, and carried
it behind my saddle, without my steed showing any objection. I cannot to
this day imagine why we dismounted and climbed up the sand-hill; but I
put myself under the orders of my more experienced friends. It would have
been much easier and much safer to have given the animal his finishing
wound from horse-back.
The next day I had the skin dressed; it was necessary that the load which
the cart had to carry up the country should be lessened, and I therefore
was driven to pack-oxen, and wanted a hide to cover my saddle-bags;
Stewartson was to make them for me, and the lion’s skin came as a
godsend, for I had only one other. I bought two oxen, a black and a red
one, from Stewartson, both of which he engaged to break in, so far as to
carry such things as would not injure if kicked off. He also hired out
to me another ox, and I bought a yellow ride-ox, by name Ceylon, from
Johannis, the interpreter. Groceries and a gown for his wife settled my
account with Stewartson, and a common gun that with Johannis. The four
oxen were to carry five or six cwt. between them, which would materially
lighten the cart, but still leave it a load of about 1000lbs. I heard
constantly from Andersson, who remained at Sand Fountain with most of
my men, guarding the boxes till Mr. Bam’s oxen were fresh enough to go
down and take them. They had a monotonous time of it. A hyena paid them
two visits at night, but got away in the dark unscathed. Little else
happened.
_September 12th._—The waggons were sent for, full of things, and as
some were still left behind, Mr. Bam kindly lent me his light waggon to
fetch them. The oxen could hardly get it back, and to my extreme regret
when they did so the axletree was found to have been strained; it was,
of course, a great annoyance to my worthy host, as no seasoned wood was
to be had, from which my carpenter could make another one. There are,
indeed, only two kinds of timber trees in Damara and the greater part
of Namaqua-land; one is the unna, which grows about Scheppmansdorf, and
looks something like an elm; the other is the camelthorn, which also
is a fine tree, but more gnarled. Unna wood is soft and porous, and of
very little use; camelthorn is almost too hard to be worked, it is very
heavy indeed, and very brittle; still for want of better wood it has
to be used for most carpentering work. We therefore made an expedition
with the cart in search of a tree, as none grew within some six miles of
Scheppmansdorf. Mr. Bam, my carpenter, and myself, went with tools. After
a long search we found one, and my best axe splintered sadly in cutting
it down; it was quite a long job to fell it. As it lay we roughly shaped
it; and even then had to use all our strength to lift the future axletree
into the cart.
When we got it home, I learnt how to season wood in a hurry: a trench was
dug, a good fire made in it, and after a time the ashes swept out; then
water was poured in, which steamed the hot earth; lastly, the wood was
placed in the trench, covered up, and left to lie for a day.
After two days’ hard work, the axletree was formed into shape, the
necessary holes were bored through it, and Mr. Bam laid it by, so that if
his present one fairly broke, he could, with a day’s work and ordinary
tools, put in the new one, which, in the meantime, was left to season
thoroughly.
I began now to see something of the character of my men, and what they
were fit for. They had on the whole worked willingly and well; but a
great deal of pilfering had been going on. In the constant loading and
unloading of my many things, it was impossible but that several occasions
should occur for the servants to steal them, and some had certainly done
so. However, I said nothing, but Andersson and myself both kept a sharp
look-out. Mr. Bam had assured me of the general honesty of the natives at
his station, in such strong terms, that I felt I could safely accept a
kind offer that he made, and leave all my boxes with him, in the outhouse
that I had occupied, and take the whole of my men with me.
It seems that these Hottentots have a great respect for locks and
keys; the wooden store-house of the bay has been left entirely without
protection for months, and although the natives knew that it was
then full of the very things they valued so highly, no occasion was
known of their having broken into it. The sandy soil is a great check
upon dishonesty, for the spoor remains to tell of the thief and his
whereabouts.
I had made my first attempts at mapping. From the sand-hills above
Scheppmansdorf, Walfisch Bay could be seen clearly; and as many distant
mountains were visible from both stations, I could begin triangulating.
The mountains of the Swakop, on the other side of the desert plain to
our north, were clear in the blue distance. A few peaked hills were
more in the foreground, and I took the bearings, as well as the natives
could point out, of the place we were first to aim for. Our first stage
is a very difficult one. It occupies sixteen hours’ actual travelling,
exclusive of all stoppages. There is no grass for the oxen, or water
either; though a few cup-fulls of the latter can be found in a granite
rock after the first twelve hours’ journey; and there is generally so
thick a mist on the plain, that, travelling, as people generally do, all
through the night, there is every probability of losing the path. The
consequence is, that the plain is covered with false waggon-roads in
every direction, and a great number of oxen have died on the way. The
natives of the place are no better than the strangers; as soon as they
lose their road they go wandering about, not only till daylight, but till
the fog clears away and shows them where they are. Losing the way is the
rule here, and not the exception; and a person who has crossed the plain
without doing so, rather plumes himself upon the feat.
Stewartson, on his ox, was to be the guide. My men were all to walk;
Andersson and myself to ride the horses, giving a mount now and then
to the men. The chestnut mule and four oxen were to be packed with my
belongings, one other ox with Stewartson’s.
The ceremony of breaking in the black ox had next to be performed, and
in this way; the whole herd was driven close up together, and then,
Stewartson, with a long thong of leather (a reim), noosed like a lasso,
crept in amongst the creatures, and pushed the noose with a stick round
the leg of the victim, holding on at the other end of the thong like grim
death. The ox bellowed and kicked and galloped on three legs; the herd
dispersed, everybody ran to help, and soon the animal, looking highly
wroth and disgusted at the treatment, was brought to a stand-still, and
another noose thrown over his horns; then, by lugging at the thongs, the
beast was tumbled over, his nose pierced with a stick: some old worthless
bags were filled with sand, and tied firmly on his back, and he was let
go, to plunge and bellow, and to vent his sulkiness on, and tell his
story to, his fellow oxen.
Next morning, the packing operation was again gone through, as the pack
had become loose; and this was repeated for two or three more days. Now
that the ox had a nose-stick, it was much easier to secure him; for when
once lassoed by the leg, an active individual could soon snatch the
stick. In this way the beast was secured fore and aft, and unless from
sulkiness he lay down, could be packed standing. The little red ox was a
far more awkward customer than the other. I never witnessed greater vice
than the creature showed; and his horns were sadly annoying.
At length, after various delays, the day on which we were destined to
start arrived.
The things taken were distributed as follows:—
+------------+---------------------+-------+----------------------------+
| Pack-Oxen. |Load carried. | Gross |In Cart drawn by 8 Mules. |
| | |Weight.| |
+------------+---------------------+-------+----------------------------+
| | | lbs. | lbs.|
|Ceylon |Canvass Bag, No. 1,— | |Common guns 112 |
| | Peas, 45 lbs. }| |Barrel full of presents 56 |
| | Sugar, 48 ” }| 97 |6 pots and 2 kettles 110 |
| | | |Assegais 56 |
|Stewartson’s|Canvass Bag, No. 2.— | |Hatchets and spear-heads 25 |
| Ox. | Rice, 42 lbs. }| |Fore and after chests, |
| | Coffee, 42 ” }| | containing small things, |
| | Spelter, 25 ” }| 110 | knives, tobacco, |
| | | | tinder-boxes, flints, |
|Black Ox. |Skin Bag, No. 1,— | | choppers, and also |
| | Spelter, 75 lbs. }| | calico and dresses 196 |
| | Dresses, &c. }| 135 |Biscuits 53 |
| | | |Tools 23 |
|Red Ox. |Skin Bag, No. 2,— | |4 shooting guns (we |
| | Bullets, }| | carried the others) 36 |
| | Moleskin Clothes, }| |Clothes, books, and |
| | 2 Bars lead, }| | personal effects of |
| | Shot, Powder, }| 130 | Andersson and myself 120 |
| | | |Astronomical |
|Mule |Tent, 40 lbs. }| | instruments, &c. 50 |
| |Water, &c. 20 ” }| 90 |Natural history |
| | | | instruments 42 |
| | | |Men’s sleeping things |
| | | | and clothes, about |
| | | | 30 lbs. per man 210 |
| | | | ---- |
| | | | 1089 |
| Everything was weighed with a steel-yard that I had taken. |
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------+
For meat, I only took with me five or six thin goats, as I was quite
confident of finding game in the Swakop, where vast quantities had been
formerly shot. The day was cool, and we started about eleven o’clock in
the forenoon. We had been packing the red and black oxen since the early
morning; for as fast as the bags were tied on, they kicked them off or
loosened them. The red ox could not be held: he was lashed to a tree,
and there packed. As soon as they let him loose, the brute ran about,
looking for somebody handy to be tossed: he caught sight of me first,
just as I was mounting, and trotted up. I had no idea he meant mischief
till he was close by, when he made a most vicious dash at me; and if I
had not had spurs, I could never have twisted my horse round enough in
time to avoid his aim, for, as it was, the curve of his short sharp horn
glanced along and bruised my thigh and the horse’s shoulder; but we both
escaped its point.
The crisp sand of the desert was very pleasant to travel on; and we made
great progress: the mules pulled very well, and all went cheerily. After
night-fall we floundered about a little amongst some broken ground,
and Stewartson lost his way for a time; but by keeping steadily on by
compass, the rounded head of the Granite Rock showed itself against the
clear sky, and we off-packed and outspanned at eleven o’clock to drink
coffee and to sleep.
We were up before daylight; and the oxen, being very tired, were
submissive, and we were off about half-past six. After four hours, we
entered into the broken country that borders the Swakop; and, making our
bivouac at the head of a steep path that led down to the river-bed, sent
the animals down some four miles to eat and drink.
This was the _premier pas_ of my journey; and I am sure we were all
highly delighted at its success. The only drawback was, that the wretched
goats were quite knocked up; and when we went down to the river-bed, we
could perceive no signs of game. The first sight of the Swakop, in its
deep hollow, charmed us; the plain on which we had travelled was nine or
ten hundred feet above our head, and the crumbling rocks that flanked the
gorge, which the river had made for itself, were magnificently abrupt.
The bed was as smooth as a lawn, and as green with grass—a little sand
peeping out here and there,—a thick fringe of high reeds bordered the
river-bed, clumps of fine camelthorn trees were clustered wherever there
was room for them, and a small rivulet of water trickled along; skulls of
numerous buffaloes were lying about; and Oosop, for that was the name of
the place, seemed a scene in Rasselas’ Happy Valley.
We stopped all day enjoying ourselves, and had a good bathe in a hollow
beneath a huge rock, which the rivulet had filled with water. There was
not a sign of game; not a spoor that was not many days old; and those
that were there were chiefly of buffaloes, and all going down towards the
mouth of the river.
The Swakop is the artery of half Damara and Namaqua-land; all the best
watering-places are in it. It is the frontier between those two nations.
There are three Missionary stations on its banks; and along its side
is the only road that is known to be practicable at all seasons from
the sea to the interior. The Kuisip leads into Namaqua-land; but the
watering-places are few and uncertain: the road by it is execrable in
places, and cannot bear comparison with the Swakop. No people inhabit
Oosop, or the lower part of the river, except some straggling Ghou Damup,
who live, like jackdaws, up in the hills. These are a very peculiar and
scattered race of Negroes, who speak no language but Hottentot, and are
frequently slaves to the Bushmen. Who they are, and where they came from,
has been a standing enigma; but I subsequently found out much that was
interesting about them.
The Hottentots come over now and then from the Bay, when the ’Naras are
not in season, and bring their cows and oxen to give them a good feed.
The place is not suited for savages; for there are no roots for them to
grub up and feed upon, and the river-bed is so deep and the rocks so
abrupt, that nothing would be easier than to entrap a drove of oxen in
it. Anywhere else, when a plundering attack is made, men and oxen scamper
off in all directions, but here they would be “pounded.”
I had hitherto generally slept under cover, because at Scheppmansdorf
there was no place for a bivouac, and the night air was damp and chilly;
but here I began to discard my tent, and to sleep by the side of the
fire. A large driving-apron, water-proofed on one side and drugget on the
other, made my rug, and a blanket and an eider-down quilt, my coverlets.
My men had pieces of oiled canvas, which I took for them to sleep on, and
blankets or old horse-rugs to cover them. We slept round a fire as large
as we could get fuel to make it, and on the lee-side of a bush. The cart
stood five or six yards off, and the mules were tied by their halters,
and the oxen by their nose-bridles, to the cart and whatever else they
could be tied to. My mules were very restless and noisy, kicking each
other, and whinnying all night long; but the oxen were far more sedate,
and lay down, looking at the fire with their large eyes, and chewing the
cud. The stars were clear, the air was keen and bracing: we had been
eating our last goat, and the mules were stuffed full of reeds and green
grass.
_September 21st._—We were off at seven, for packing and harnessing took
us about one hour and a half, and daylight now breaks about half-past
five. We only managed to get a cup of coffee before starting. We had
bivouacked on the plain, just at the entrance of the gorge that leads
down to Oosop, and our course to-day was parallel to the Swakop, and on
to Daviéep, another gorge, but not so deep a one as that of Oosop.
The sun, from the first, was extremely hot; we seemed to have quite
changed our climate, and the cool sea-breezes were evidently shut out. As
the day wore on, the mules showed evident effects of their late change of
diet from hard food (corn and dry grass) to green grass and reeds;—all
animals, when travelling, are extremely affected by causes like this,
and the necessity of the change is often one of the great difficulties
of a traveller. We had crossed a ridge; and a huge, rounded mountain
(Tinkhas), that faced us, was the principal feature in the landscape. The
ground we travelled on was still a crisp gravel, and extended far away
to our right; on our left lay broken rocky ground, then the deep cutting
of the river-bed, which we often could see nothing of, though so near
to it, and beyond, a complete chaos of broken crags and rugged hills;
while level with the tops of these crags, and far beyond them, we could
clearly see long reaches of another barren plain, the counterpart of the
one we were travelling over.
The fact is, we were in wretched travelling condition. An indolent life
of high feeding and perfect rest on board ship, is a bad preparation
for a journey like ours. Now, on a sudden, we had begun to live without
stimulants of any sort, to work hard, and to endure a sun which exhausted
what little nervous energy was left us. We went down to the water,
leaving the packs as before, at the top of the descent, which here is
only two miles long, and drank excessively. The water seemed to do us
some good; but as soon as we had walked a short distance from it, the
thirst, and hunger, and faintness, came on again, and we went back to
drink, time after time. We could not see a sign of game, except the same
buffalo tracks, which spoke of the beasts having passed by, and migrated
to the mouth of the river some days since. There was no spoor of wild
beasts, or any signs of life, except a few doves, that we tried in vain
to shoot, by cutting up a bullet into slugs: they were too wary for us.
After sundown, the cart came: the men had left three mules behind, that
had lain down, and would go no further. Andersson, Timboo, and John St.
Helena, took a hasty meal, and very pluckily went after them. They were
absent two hours, but returned without the mules: who it seemed had got
up again as the evening became cool, and had strayed, and were nowhere to
be found. There were many old zebra tracks about the plain, which are as
like those of mules as can be, and in the night quite undistinguishable
from them. As for the six mules that had arrived, they were, by
Stewartson’s advice, sent down into the river to eat and rest themselves
all night. He assured me there would be little danger, that we had seen
no tracks of wild animals to injure them, and, what was very true, they
_must_ have food. I think it was the most foolish thing that I was guilty
of during the whole journey, to leave the poor animals to shift for
themselves, two miles from us, and without the slightest protection; but
I was new to the country, and thought it a far better plan to put myself
under the entire guidance of my worthy friend, until I had gained some
experience, than to make a mess of the whole thing by trying to manage
for myself. I ought to have gone with two or three men to the river, and
watched the mules whilst they fed for a couple of hours; then tied them
up, and given them a good rest the next day. As it was, I slept in happy
ignorance of the fate that awaited them.
In the morning I sent a man down to drive them up: he was a long time
absent, and at last returned with piteous news. He had found no mules,
but, instead of them, the tracks of several lions; and going on, he came
to where he saw the tracks of all the mules going full gallop, and by the
side of them those of the lions. A little further on he heard something
in the bushes, and found my poor chestnut pack-mule half eaten, and a
hyena devouring the remains of the carcase. At a short distance lay my
largest horse, and a lion by him; the lion looked so savage, and walked
so slowly away, that my man crept up the rocks, and waited there for a
long time, which accounted for his delay, and then ran back to tell us.
Andersson and myself took up our guns directly and ran down, and
the others after us. We went to the chestnut mule—she had been left
behind the night before, and her instinct led her to climb down to the
river-bed, into which she seems to have been watched, and seized by the
lions the moment she got there. We then followed the tracks on to the
dead horse, the mules and horses had all been galloping together: there
were distinct tracks of six lions galloping by their side, and then had
been the fatal spring, and the dead horse lay half eaten. The other
lions gave over their pursuit after a few paces. We next followed the
mule tracks until they lay sufficiently clear of one another for us to
count them, and see whether any more besides the two animals we had seen
were dead. I was delighted to find nine tracks; so that not only the six
mules, that had drawn the cart, and the little horse were safe, but also
the two remaining cart mules which had been left on the road had found
out their fellows during the night, and joined them. I sent Timboo and
another man to fetch them back, and the rest of us returned to cut off
as much meat from the mule and the horse as we could eat or carry, for
we were now without any animal food. We then climbed up the cliff that
overhung the place where the mule lay, to hide it out of the way of the
hyenas and jackals, until we were going back to the waggons.
We hunted about the whole day after the lions, but their spoors were
lost among the rocks, and we could not see one of them. Andersson and I,
therefore, determined to sit up and watch for them, as they were sure to
return to the carcases in the night. There were two spots, where we might
lie in wait; the one a camelthorn tree, about fifty yards from the mule,
but with a most difficult trunk to climb, so thick and straight, that
ropes would be necessary; the other, a ledge in the rock, at the very
spot where we had been hiding the meat. The cliff rose abruptly above
us—a man could easily climb it; but we agreed, in our innocence, that a
lion could not. So, when the strayed mules and horses had been recovered
in safety, we went to the cart, had our dinner, and brought down our warm
coats and spare guns, as the evening closed in. Stewartson, with two or
three hands, came with us to carry back the horse-meat. It became rapidly
twilight, as the sun set behind the crags, throwing the deep gorge of the
Swakop into shadow; and there was no time to be lost in getting down the
meat and in choosing our positions, for the lions were due at night-fall.
We walked quickly to the dead mule, and as we went, the men pointed out
five or six deer, or something like them, that we could not clearly see,
bounding along the rocks above us and parallel to us. We came to the
place, the mule lay as we had left her. Andersson had gone to the other
side of the river to reconnoitre something, and I left my guns, &c., at
the bottom of the rock, with Stewartson and the men, and ran up to fetch
the meat. I was busy tugging out the last shoulder of my trusty steed,
when the men called out, “Good God, sir, the lion’s above you!” I _did_
feel queer, but I did not drop the joint, I walked steadily down the
rock, looking very frequently over my shoulder; but it was not till I
came to where the men stood that I could see the round head and pricked
ears of my enemy, peering over the ledge under which I had been at
work. Stewartson made a very good shot at him, but too low, splintering
the stones under his chin. It was far too dark for a good aim. It then
appeared that the creatures we had thought were deer, were really the
lions. It was now useless to lie out where we had intended, as the
lions knew all about us, and proved to be far better rock-climbers than
ourselves; and, as we could not get up the tree, we returned thoroughly
out-generalled.
In the evening a waggon came down. It was _en route_ from the Missionary
station of Mr. Hahn to the Bay. The waggon-driver had a small flock of
slaughter sheep for his own consumption by the way; he kindly sold us two
of them, which was all he could spare.
In the morning, with a heavy heart and diminished cavalcade, we proceeded
onwards, sometimes Andersson and sometimes I rode—but I had much the most
riding of the two. The next day one of my sheep had to be killed for
meat—for some of the men had a most unaccountable prejudice against horse
and mule flesh. The mule, I grant, was stringy, for she was old, and had
done a great deal of work. But the horse was what butchers would describe
as “prime.”
_September 25th._—We came to a water-hole in the sandy river-bed, at a
place where it was flanked with deep reeds. Stewartson had made us travel
in the middle of the day, and right in the midst of the deep sand of
the river—he seemed to have a most marvellous dread of lions, though at
this season of the year night is the only fit time for travel, and I saw
clearly that the mules were knocked up; indeed we only travelled three
hours a day. There were lions roaring about us all night, and as there
was a long reach of dry reeds, we set fire to it. It makes a glorious
bonfire, frightens the wild beasts, and improves the pasturage very much.
_26th._—Intensely hot. We passed some Rhinoceros spoors, and had a long
chase after him, walking or running many miles, but without success; the
chase, fortunately, led us parallel to our course, so that we regained
the cart pretty easily. In the middle of the day we met some Ghou Damup,
and persuaded four of them join us. I had a great curiosity about these
natives. It was so peculiar to see Negroes speaking the language of a
light-coloured race, the Hottentots, and that too in a far more northern
part of Africa than Hottentots were believed to exist in. All published
maps up to the last two or three years, place a dotted line no great
distance north of the Orange River, with the remark, that that is the
northern limit of the Hottentot race. Now not only were the Hottentots
by Walfisch Bay natives in the country, but here were black people, a
race living in amity with, but as inferiors to these very Hottentots,
and also speaking their language without any other of their own. It
seemed that these Ghou Damup have a stronghold of their own, a large
table-mountain, inaccessible except by one or two passes, which a white
man in the country, by name Hans, of whom I shall have much to say by and
by, had visited and gone up; he gave me a very interesting account of
it. This mountain I had made Stewartson promise to accompany me to, to
buy goats, after I had reached the Missionary station ahead. Now these
very Ghou Damup belonged to it, and therefore we engaged them as guides.
I found also the advantage of having natives to do the troublesome work,
as carrying wood, watching cattle,—which they have an aptitude for, and
which similar servants do not like, and cannot be spared to perform.
Erongo is the name of the mountain; it was described as two days’
journey, either from hereabouts or from the next Missionary station
(Otjimbinguè) that of Mr. Rath’s. We had no difficulty in explaining our
wants to the Ghou Damup, although Stewartson’s vocabulary was extremely
limited; few interjections, twenty or thirty substantives, and infinite
gesticulation, are amply sufficient for a dexterous traveller to convey
to an intelligent native his views and wishes on a marvellous variety of
subjects.
My thermometers had been packed so carefully that I had never hitherto
looked at them, but to-day it felt very hot, and I took them out. I could
not have conceived the heat—143° in sun at three o’clock, and 95° in the
shade. The poor mules cannot get on through the horrible sand. Andersson
very nearly had a sun-stroke. I found him very ill, and with a racking
headache, under a tree to which he had staggered—it was the only shade
near—and a very lucky chance for him that he reached it. In a quarter of
an hour he was able to ride on, but was extremely poorly for the evening.
We slept at the mouth of the Tsobis River bed, and eat our last meal of
animal food. We had shot nothing, not even fired at game in the Swakop.
The days passed by rather heavily, for we were not yet acclimated, but
out of health and fevered. The least cut or scratch festered, and we
were not fit for much exertion. Stewartson told us innumerable anecdotes
of events in the country since he had resided there. He showed me all
the points of an ox; explained how immeasurably superior that beast was
in every respect to a horse—a fact which I cannot endorse—and every now
and then gave me a mount. My first impression in riding an ox was, that
the saddle was ungirthed, for his skin is so loose, that hold on as you
will, it is impossible to be as steady as on horse-back. I hated the
animal’s horns; they were always annoying the rider or somebody else, but
nevertheless are dearly prized by Hottentots as an ornament. I learnt
it would cast infinite ridicule upon me, in their eyes, if when I had
ride-oxen of my own, I should saw off their tips. The footfall of an ox
is peculiarly soft.
My men, I was glad to see, worked together pretty amicably, but there
was no one amongst them with sufficient influence over the rest to be
made into a head servant. John Morta, who had far the most character of
them all, was unfitted to head the others, from his ignorance of oxen and
horses, and the whole of that very work that I especially wanted a head
servant to undertake for me; I therefore made him cook and housekeeper,
and gave him the principal charge of the stores. Timboo had attached
himself to me from the first, as henchman and valet-de-chambre—that
is to say, if I called out for anything, he would not let anybody but
himself bring it—and he made my bed and saddled my horse, and so forth.
I had intended Gabriel for that sort of work, but the poor lad was quite
bewildered and frightened. He was also a great scamp. In Cape Town he had
been the most impudent, self-possessed, and good-looking of young rogues,
but the hard work and sense of anxiety quite dashed his spirits and his
assurance, and he had relapsed into a timid frightened boy, and used
to talk to the men in a piteous way about his mother. Listening to the
conversation of the men at our bivouacs, I was quite shocked at the low
tone of honour that pervaded it, and yet they must be taken as above the
average of the working class in Cape Town. They were perpetually talking
of the prison there, which they literally seemed to consider as a kind
of club or head-quarters, where a person had an excellent opportunity of
meeting his friends and of forming fresh intimacies, but where he was at
the same time subjected to considerable inconvenience. They positively
reckoned dates by the epochs in which either they or their mutual friends
had been confined. They had no shame in alluding to these matters, even
when I was joining in the conversation—in fact, the gaol was the chief
thing that they talked about. I have no doubt that if, as an amusement,
I had proposed that each man should tell a story, the beginning would
usually have been—“When I was in prison,” &c. &c. This feature in their
character corroborated the suspicion of pilfering that I had entertained.
But I soon saw that some were very far worse than the others, and
I determined to take the first opportunity of weeding these out. I
especially mistrusted one man, whom I believe to have been a regular gaol
bird, and who had the worst of influence over the rest. John Morta’s most
perfect honesty, through any temptation, I was assured of, and though I
had had less opportunity of observing him, I fully believed in Timboo’s.
I only wanted to get rid of two men, and to replace them if I could, and
then I had hopes I should get on very well with the others.
Our seventh day’s march was an affair of six hours, and up the Tsobis
river-bed. For the second time, we had no animal food left; but
immediately that we started we saw the fresh spoor of a giraffe. I
doubted whether or no to go after it, as my horse was very thin and weak,
and I could not tell where the giraffe might have gone to, probably far
beyond reach; so we travelled slowly on. However, as I rode some little
distance in front of the cart, I found that the track went straight up
the river-bed, which being now hemmed in with impracticable cliffs, the
giraffe’s path and our own must necessarily be the same. This made a
great alteration in the case, and I cantered slowly on the spoor. My
rifle was a little one (only 36 bore), but loaded with steel-pointed
bullets. I was afraid of losing all chance of a shot if I wasted time
by returning to the cart and getting a larger gun, and therefore I went
on, as much for the pot as the sport. After four hours’ travel, during
which I had kept a couple of miles in front of the rest of the party, so
as to be well away from the sound of the whip and of the men’s talking,
the tracks turned sharp to the right, up a broad ascent, which there led
out of the river, and in the middle of this, among some bushes, and under
a camelthorn tree stood my first giraffe. I took immediate advantage of
a bush, and galloped under its cover as hard as I could pelt, and was
within one hundred yards before the animal was fairly off. I galloped
on, but she was almost as fast as I, and the bushes, which she trampled
cleverly through, annoyed my horse extremely; I therefore reined up, and
gave her a bullet in her quarter, which handicapped her heavily, and took
some three miles an hour out of her speed. Again I galloped, loading
as I went, but excessively embarrassed by the bushes, and fired again,
whilst galloping, at thirty yards’ distance, and I believe missed the
animal. The riding at that time was really difficult, and my horse shied
very much. Again I loaded, but my horse was becoming blown, and I rode
parallel to the beast, intending to overtake and confront her. There was
a water-course in the way, quite jumpable, but my poor beast made a mess
of it, and chested the opposite side; yet I somehow got him over, and
then rode with all the skill I could. At last I steadily gained on the
giraffe, then beat her, and passed her. The giraffe obstinately made for
her point. I was forty yards in advance, and pulled up full in her path.
She came on: my horse was far too blown to fidget, and was standing with
his four legs well out. I waited as long as I dare—too long, I think,
for her head was almost above me when I fired, and she really seemed
coming at me with vice. I put my bullet full in her face: she tossed
her head back, and the blood streamed from her nostril as she turned
and staggered, slowly retracing her path. I dare not fire again, lest I
should fail in killing her, and only excite her to another run, which my
horse was not fit to engage in. I therefore rode slowly after the wounded
beast, and I drove her back to near where she came from, and there she
stopped under a high tree. My horse was now frightened, and would not let
me take my aim for the finishing blow at the brain, as it is but a small
mark to shoot at; so I got off, and the unhappy creature looked down at
me with her large lustrous eyes, and I felt that I was committing a kind
of murder, but for all that, I was hungry, and she must die; so I waited
till she turned her head, and then dropped her with a shot.
There was now a fine holiday feast for us. When the party came up, we set
to work flaying and cutting large steaks from the meat, and securing the
marrow-bones, until as much was heaped on the cart as the mules could
possibly struggle on with. Our Ghou Damup guides ran on to Tsobis, where
many of their people lay, and who brought us six ostrich eggs and sweet
gum, in return for the meat we had left behind. We now emerged from the
deep gorges and high cliffs that for so long a time had shut us in, and
could breathe more freely in the open country that lay about us. We had
left the arid Naanip plain behind, and were arrived to where thorn-bushes
and scanty grass overspread the sandy country. Fantastically peaked rocks
rose on every side, and huge masses of mountains, that indicated the
course of the Swakop, made a grand succession of distances; but there
was a want, even painfully felt, of life in the landscape. The grass was
withered, the bushes stunted and sear. No birds could be seen or heard;
and every feature looked still and dead, under that most saddening of
lights, a blazing sun in an unclouded sky.
_September 28th._—We rested a day, to have a really good breakfast and
dinner. I have read in some old-fashioned books of fiction, entitled
“Natural History,” that an ostrich egg would feed six men; but I know
that Stewartson, Andersson, and myself, finished one very easily for
breakfast, before beginning upon the giraffe. I confess, however, that we
enjoyed the blessing of a good appetite.
My mules had become sadly distressed: one was very ill; he had nearly
been drowned when landed at Walfisch Bay, and never recovered the
accident; he was therefore seldom harnessed, but was driven along with
any other mule that I might be anxious to spare. I tried harnessing my
horse once, but his pace and step were so different to those of his
comrades, that the work was too much for him.
We were now only two days’ journey from the missionary station
Otjimbinguè, in which a man of the name of Hans Larsen was now encamped
(he who had been to Erongo), of whom I had heard very much, and whom
I had been most strongly urged by Mr. Bam to engage in my service, if
I could do so, as he was excellently qualified to take charge of my
expedition. My own waggon-men were very thoughtless and careless in
their duty, and wanted strict overseering. Hans had been in the service
of two cattle-dealers, who successively had ruined themselves by their
speculations. He had received payment of his wages partly in goods and
partly in cattle, and was now living about the country an independent
man, shooting, enjoying the possession of his cattle, and doing odd jobs
for the missionaries. He intended to drive his stock down to Cape Town as
soon as the rains had set in, and to make what money he could by them.
Hans had originally been a sailor, but begged to leave a ship that he had
become disgusted with, and was allowed to do so at Walfisch Bay, where he
entered into the service of the traders I mentioned above. Having been
seven years living about the Swakop, he had had very many adventures
there; and as it appeared subsequently, had utterly shot off all the
game in it. As it was very doubtful if the mules could struggle on much
further, we determined, if they came to a stand-still, to send on for
Hans.
The first day’s journey from Tsobis was got through pretty well, but
on the second the mules and cart came to a dead lock, in a broad
sandy tributary of the Swakop, that we had to cross. We rode on to
Otjimbinguè, found Hans, who went directly back with oxen and yokes,
and, before sundown, we were all encamped on the Swakop, at the
Missionary station of Otjimbinguè. But now there was this difference,
that no more yellow faces of Hottentots were about us, as at Walfisch
Bay, but we had come among the negroes—the Damaras—and a country that
was, in a certain sense, generally habitable, stretched before us instead
of a sand-desert.