We left Frankfort and Ormsby with their cavalcade of wagons, horses, and
attendants, pursuing their way to the north-east.
I have no intention of giving you a detailed account of this part of
their expedition, since they are not presented to the reader in the
character of mere sportsmen--indeed such narratives belong to more
experienced hands than mine, albeit, ere their able works appeared, I
had collected a few anecdotes, which would now present no novelty.
May, the bushman guide, still headed the cavalcade, a unique
advance-guard, closely followed by two or three of the queerest-looking
mongrels possible, of which his favourite was a species of
water-spaniel.
A fine bloodhound kept close to Ormsby's horse's heels, never
condescending to join May and his scratch-pack, and scorning all offers
from the bushman's cuisine; the only symptom of toleration of inferior
caste shown by the aristocratic dog was a passive endurance of the
infant Ellen's caresses, when she crawled through the grass to Major
Frankfort's tent, into which the yellow face of the little imp no sooner
peered, than she was snatched up by her father, and carried back to
Fitje with a gentle rebuke. "The sir was kind," May said, "and he would
not have him imposed upon."
In many ways this stunted creature of the wilderness displayed a
refinement of feeling not always met with among worldly beings, jealous
of infringing on the conventionalism of society--people who meet you
with "Unmeaning speech--exaggerated smile," and measure their civilities
by the length of your purse, or your position in fashionable life.
And are these less treacherous than the savage? Verily, I believe that,
in spirit, they are just as deceitful.
But let us leave them, and return to our party.
There they go up the hill--May in advance with Spry and Punch, and
Floss. The sun is blazing out, and our bushman winds his
bright-coloured _douk_ round his head, and tramps round the angle of a
jutting rock, staff in hand. Before he does so, he looks back to see
how the cavalcade gets on, lights his pipe, and alternately smoking, and
singing, and whistling to his dogs, he proceeds leisurely along. At
last, even he, of the active limbs and bronzed skin, begins to pant--his
shadow shows like a frog beneath his feet; tired as he is, he laughs at
it, spreads out his hands, whistles an opera air he has picked up from
some military band, and capers in the glowing light, till wearied, he
sits down on a block of granite, beneath a stunted bush, unslings his
three-string fiddle from his neck, and plays with great skill,
considering the means at hand, the rattling, saucy air of "Rory O'More."
And he was at it right merrily, when the first wagon, with its oxen
smoking and breathing heavily, reached the spot he had chosen as the
outspan, where a more solid breakfast was to be prepared than the one
that had been hastily snatched at dawn.
The country, although only about nine miles distant from the picturesque
locality on which our party had rested during the night, was now of a
totally different character; great plains, only relieved here and there
by low bush, or huge masses of stone, stretched out for miles before the
traveller's eye, and the noble natural parks through which they had
journeyed the preceding day were hidden from their view by the
undulations they had traversed. In the distance, between the arid earth
and the glowing sky, at the edge of the horizon, stalked a company of
ostriches, apparently the only tenants of this great solitude.
There was something very grand, and even affecting, in the contemplation
of such a scene; at least, so thought Frankfort, whose heart expanded
under the impression produced by Nature in her state of lonely majesty.
Here she was not lovely, but sublime; the infinity of space, the
shadowless land, the unclouded sky--too dazzling for mortal eye to dwell
upon--the awful silence, all seemed more fully to betoken the eternal
presence of God, than in green places where shelter was at hand, and
where, therefore, the solitude was not so apparent, so vast. The very
cries of wild beasts give life to the jungle--but here the human voice
broke abruptly on the stillness of the plains, as if it had no business
there, and Frankfort was thoroughly disenchanted of his sublime mood in
contemplating the almost awful expanse, as May scraped his fiddle ere he
laid it down to attend to Ormsby's inquiry as to "where his cigars had
been packed."
It must be owned, that Ormsby had no taste for the sublime or the
romantic; indeed, there are not many men in the world who would have
found food for contemplation in the desert scene before them; and as for
our young sub, I am forced to admit, that by the time he had smoked
three cigars, he began to wonder what he should do with himself when
breakfast was over.
Frankfort had stocked the wagon with many more luxuries on Ormsby's
account, than he would have thought of providing for himself; and the
meal, spread out on the shady side of the wagon, was by no means
despicable. Excellent tea, devilled biscuits, cold tongue and honey, an
offering from Vanbloem, and added to these were savoury slices of
porcupines, a viand from which, in its raw state, Ormsby had turned away
in disgust, but to which, when cooked, he addressed himself with a keen
relish.
The panting oxen had been turned loose to seek what provender they could
among the tufts of grass on the sandy plain--the sun shone upon a _vley_
(pool), about a hundred yards from the outspan; the place had been
selected by May, because he knew there was no better bivouac for miles
in advance. Like many other bright things, the pool shone with a
delusive lustre; it offered but a muddy draught to the thirsty
traveller--but drivers, _foreloupers_ (leaders of the draught cattle),
guides and oxen, plunged therein their parched lips, and drank
thankfully of the slimy waters...
"There is certainly nothing like judging of things by comparison,"
observed Frankfort, as, after a thorough enjoyment of his breakfast, he
laid his head on his saddle under a stunted bush, and, taking out a
book, prepared to indulge himself, as he called it, till it was time to
assist May in re-packing and preparing for advancing.
May trudged on with the dogs, and halted again in due time, in a similar
locality, where the solace Ormsby sought was another meal, combining
dinner and supper. An omelette from the egg of an ostrich, whose nest
had been raked out of the sand by the keen and persevering May, was not
a bad wind-up to a refection of game; a cigar and coffee followed, and
while the ostriches were still stalking in the light, the wearied party
were glad to make ready for the night, and lay their limbs at rest.
For two succeeding days nothing occurred to distinguish the one from the
other; there were the same arid tracts, the same glaring bivouacs, the
chilly midnights and dewy dawns--the same porcupine breakfasts, venison
dinners, and omelette remove.
On the third day they found themselves on the borders of a river, rapid
and circuitous in its course, and fringed with bush, and here Ormsby, in
a fit of _ennui_, determined that May should get up a regular porcupine
hunt by moonlight--midnight was the time chosen.
Their tents were pitched on the riverside in expectation of remaining
there some days, for, calm as looked the current, May, from certain
indications, expected it to rise and swell beyond its bounds. Besides,
here was shelter and pasturage for the tired cattle.
"So much for things by comparison again," said Frankfort, as he sat down
under a foe willow. "Those who sleep in well-curtained beds this night
will hardly enjoy their rest as we shall do for the next three hours."
Ormsby's thoughts had been floating about in the clouds of his cigar,
the fifteenth since the morning; but as he cast the remainder of it from
his lips, he said, "Ah, all this may be very fine and sublime, as you
call it; but, for my part, I wish I were going to take my rest in the
orange-room at Ormsby Park."
The contrast of the orange-room at Ormsby Park with the willow drapery,
the starry roof and the silver moon walking demurely in the sky, at once
dragged Major Frankfort from the sublime to the ridiculous, and he burst
out laughing; but his mirth was checked by Ormsby whispering, "Hush,
there is some one in the bush near us; I heard a branch crack--it can be
none of our own people--they are all sitting together over the fire,
listening to that three-stringed lute of May's."
"Hush, there it is again!--some restless baboon, probably," remarked
Ormsby.
"No, the bush here is not thick enough for them."
At this instant, May came from the fireside circle. The night was so
clear that he recommended attacking the porcupine in his haunt at once,
and sleeping after the sport. On being told that some one was hovering
about, he laid his ear to the ground, but could detect nothing. Ormsby
reminded him that he had been under the impression, ever since they left
the Dutchman's valley, that some one was hovering about. Had Frankfort
stated this opinion. May would have put some faith in it; but he did
not like Ormsby. The latter was perpetually scolding and ridiculing the
poor little bushman; and so, as the idea of the stealthy visitant
originated with the young subaltern, May chose to ignore it; but he
determined, nevertheless, on keeping a sharp look-out, and was as much
puzzled as his masters as to who the spy could be.
They were a tolerably large party; and, knowing the character of the
locality, and the tribes near it, he felt sure that the enemy, if enemy
it was, mustered in no force: so they set out on the porcupine hunt.
The bushman had already tracked out his victim for the sport. The poor
little creature had set the dogs at defiance on being first discovered,
and kept them at bay till it managed to retreat to its hole. So there
he was, poor fellow, with his ears, almost like a man's, stretched wide
open, listening for his expected besiegers; for, once disturbed, he was
thoroughly uneasy, and all his quills, though lying close to his body,
were ready to shoot out into a panoply for his defence when his castle
should be attacked.
May tried to get a peep at him in his hole, but he could only hear him
panting; so he fastened the bayonet, with which he had taken care to
provide himself to the long bamboo of old Piet's wagon whip. It was
very sharp at the point; our bushman had taken care to cleanse it from
the rust it had imbibed in the damp ground, in which Ormsby had
occasionally planted it as a candlestick by his bedside. Armed with
this weapon, and followed closely by the dogs, whom he encouraged and
exhorted in the queerest jargon that can be imagined, Frankfort and
Ormsby carrying sticks, he led the way along the banks of the river, and
soon reached the hiding-place of the poor little beast. The dogs gave
tongue at once. May, as I said, tried to get a peep at him, but he
could only hear him panting.
Floss soon got pricked in the nose, and retreated--only, however, to
return to the charge, and scratch and yelp in vain. Spry and Punch kept
steady sentry, warily taking their opportunities of making an entrance.
At last the earth gave way, and the "wee beastie" emerged from his den,
with all his darts prepared for the charge. His mouth was but a
mockery; he could not bite; so he turned his back again upon the foe,
and as they approached, opened out the weapons that nature had given him
to save himself. These Ormsby believed would be shot out like arrows;
but, as May said, the _schelm_ (rogue) was too _slim_ (knowing) to part
with his arms entirely, adding, that "English man" was "too fond of
_making_ stories, and," with a sly smile, "too ready to believe them."
The creature, however, made his backward charge, again and again rolled
himself into a ball, with all his quills "on end," and after gathering
strength for another battle, fought his foes gallantly, till May,
fearing the dogs would make a meal of him, drove his bayonet into the
soft part of his body, and laid him dead upon the threshold of his home.
Ormsby was delighted with the novelty of the porcupine hunt on the edge
of that winding river, its waters flashing in the moonlight, and
clamouring along between the stones, or gurgling in little creeks of
mossy rock. Here a bank stretched out into the stream, with a group of
willows hanging their tresses over their own inverted shadows; there the
grey cliffs were broadly reflected in the waters, and the frogs kept up
a perpetual though most unmusical chorus from the pools in the drift.
Up the stream the murmur was beginning to increase to a roar; and, in
some dread of the torrent suddenly swelling, May scrambled up the bank,
and shortened the way to the bivouac, where the wagons were drawn up in
great precision, and where all were sound asleep save Marmion, who
"bayed the moon" loudly at the approach of his master.
Ormsby, in horror of "creeping things," had latterly taken it into his
head to sleep in the wagon, instead of sharing the tent with Frankfort;
and still convinced that some one was hanging about the neighbourhood,
he determined to keep watch till dawn; but fatigued by his midnight
sport, he was soon overcome with drowsiness, and the bright African sun
was shining on his face, and May laughing quietly over him, as he woke
with a start, and seizing the bushman's hand, examined it intently, to
May's great amusement. Frankfort, too, was looking in upon him, and
Marmion, with his fore paws on his master's chest, had his great eyes
fixed upon him lovingly.
"I have had the oddest dream," said Ormsby. "I felt, as I fancied, a
hand clutch mine: I grasped it tightly; and when I thought I had got it
quite safe, I found the arm was gone, and only the hand, hard and cold,
was left in mine."
"And here it is, I suppose," said Frankfort, laughing, and taking up the
six-barrelled pistol, which Ormsby always placed beside him when lying
down at night.
May shook his head very solemnly, and then begged the "Masters" to
follow him, and he would show them who had lifted the pistol.
The bushman led them through a mass of tangled underwood, to a copse all
interlaced with wreaths of starry jessamine and wild convolvulus, and
softly putting aside a geranium-bush, entered the covert, followed by
the others.
Bending low, and creeping after him, they found themselves soon in the
centre of the thicket, surprised to see scattered about fragments of
bread and meat, and some broken bottles; in short, these were the
_debris_ of a meal eaten on the spot.
Lifting up a bough, May showed them a young Kafir stretched on the
grass, and wrapped in profound repose; near him were three assegais. He
lay with his head supported by his dusky arm, his dark and
finely-moulded limbs offering a study for the sculptor. But the frame
looked worn, and his hair, long neglected, was of its natural hue,
instead of a dull red, from the clay usually employed in adorning it.
Frankfort and Ormsby did not at once recognise the young Kafir servant,
Zoonah, whom they had seen at the Dutchman's farm, but May informed them
who the sleeper was.
Frankfort, surprised at the bushman's want of caution, placed his
forefinger on his lips to enjoin silence.
May pointed to an empty bottle near the Kafir, and, taking it up, turned
it upside down with a knowing wink, as he proved that it was empty.
"But," said Ormsby, "when the rascal wakes he will be off; and, as he
has been lurking about for no good, we had better secure him; he would
soon outrun the dogs. Some fellows would shoot him, and serve him
right; he would murder us if he dare."
"No, master, no," replied May; "a Kafir won't kill you to get nothing by
you; he would, if he could, sell your skin; but he don't want to make a
row for nothing; it's all different when his blood is up. The dog has
been hanging about our _spoor_ (track) ready to steal all he can get,
and he's making his way to his own people to tell them, perhaps, that
there ain't red men enough in the country to keep it. Master Ormsby
said this himself to Vanbloem, and I heard this fellow tell the other
Kafir, who does not understand English."
"By George!" exclaimed Ormsby, "who would have thought the rascal was
`so wide awake;' but will his people believe him?"
"He's been sent into the country," said May, "as a spy, to take service,
and find out all he can by lurking about the towns, and picking up news
at canteens or shop-doors; and then he has come to the farm to keep his
eye upon the cattle, and listen to every word that passes between the
farmers and missionaries and travellers. His people will believe him
fast enough, for they've been making ready for war these six months.
Vanbloem's Hottentots told me they had lost cattle lately, but could not
account for it. This vagabond has been at the bottom of it, depend upon
it."
And May contemplated the sleeper as he would a mischievous animal;
shaking his fist and making hideous grimaces over him.
"He will be up and at you, you little fool," whispered Frankfort,
surprised at the death-like repose of the Kafir, who scarcely seemed to
breathe.
"He can't rise, master," replied May, with a low laugh; "first of all,
he's drunk, for I left some brandy in the bottle I pretended to throw
away; and next, see the snake-bite in his leg: `No need to tie him up,'
said I, when I saw that. Ah, the schelm! here's the top joint of his
finger chopped off--he belongs to some of old Mawani's people. Mawani
wouldn't let the Gaika Nazelu marry his daughter, so Nazelu attacked his
kraal ten years ago, and marked all the boys this way, after killing the
men, or cutting off their ears and hands."
Frankfort and Ormsby shuddered as they discovered the snake-bite in the
bend of Zoonah a knee, who, all unconscious and stupified, still slept
on, in spite of May's chattering and caperings round him.
Ormsby drew back with a start as the bushman lifted the reptile, which
he had discovered, with its back broken, but with some remains of life,
for it reared itself up, and fixed its filmy eyes on the young officer's
face; but Frankfort stepped briskly forward, and crushed its head.
Instinct roused the Kafir from his heavy slumber as May waved his
assegai over him; but stupified, and sensible only of intense pain, he
sunk back with a sullen air, keeping, however, a steady gaze on May.
_This page only partly readable; about an inch down the right, missing_.
"Poor wretch!" said Frankfort, "he must not, if we can help him. I have
the cure of snake-bites; May, fetch the medicine-chest in my wagon."
May took the proffered key, from which a shrill whistle ere he went in
search of which, however, he put less faith tha Fitje's _coctions_ of
herbs, which she had prepare as soon as she, good-hearted little that
the young Kafir had been wounded tile. Plenty of healing roots and herb
the spot--for God often plants the ai snakes most abound--and very soon
t and his wife were at their task of huma ing Zoonah's wound; May, while
i bestowing on his patient a variety of ep Hottentot, Dutch, English,
and Kafir la.
The savage understood the reality though it was not in his nature to
trac or respond to its sympathies by gratitude gloom was on his
countenance at having thus, like a wild beast, in the hunters submitted
to the surgery; and, the t dressed, raised himself against the tru and
stared from one to the other of the him.
"May," said Ormsby, who held a hand, "what has made the rascal follow
him."
Zoonah, who understood English, knew, cast his eyes upon the turf, and
bushman's translation of the question.
After duly considering the answer h and accepting the cigar, he answered
in language--
"Zoonah is the white man's dog, they journey in the same path."