SECOND EXPEDITION TO SOUTH AFRICA
BY W. COTTON OSWELL
Murray returned to England. I threw off my ivory at the nearest
frontier town, and laying in such fresh supplies as were needed, and
buying half a dozen horses to fill up the gaps, was by the middle of
April on my way to the Mariqué River, a small tributary of the Limpopo,
intending to shoot down it to its junction, and then follow the main
stream as far as I might be able. The game was very numerous, and John
was already well on with his frieze of elephant tails round the inside
of my waggon. He always cut off the ‘tips’ from the elephants I shot,
as a kind of tally; and now that we did much of the tracking alone, he
was besieged on his return to camp by the Kafirs, to find out how many
tails he had, and whether the late owners were fat! They ran heel the
next morning and left men to cut, dry, and despatch the flesh to their
respective kraals; a large number, and all the head men, remaining with
me.
One morning, before I started, a Kafir came in with a letter fastened
in a cleft-stick, from ‘a white man shooting on the Limpopo, three
days up stream from the junction of the Mariqué’; it was from a Major
Frank Vardon, of the 25th Madras N.I., who, hearing I was within a
short distance, proposed to join parties and shoot together. I had been
one whole season and part of another at the work, and I thought that
a new comer of whom I knew nothing might not be the most desirable of
companions; he would very likely wish to stop when I wished to go on,
and _vice versa_, and I sent an answer in this spirit; but, ‘thanks be
praised,’ I repented of my churlishness in an hour after the departure
of the messenger, and wrote a second letter, begging Major Vardon
to ignore the first, pardon my selfishness, and join me as soon as
possible; and to the end of my life I shall rejoice that I did so, for
in three days the finest fellow and best comrade a man ever had made
his appearance.
I had been fortunate in finding elephants early, had shot three
fine bulls, and in consequence of having had a very long ride the
day before, after a herd we never came up with (we started at 8
A.M. one morning and only reached the waggons again next day at 7
A.M.), I returned to camp about 3 P.M., and introduced myself to my
new companion, who had just arrived. I will not attempt to describe
him--let every man picture for himself the most perfect fellow
traveller he can imagine, and that’s Frank; brightest, bravest-hearted
of men, with the most unselfish of dispositions, totally ignorant of
jealousy, the most trustworthy of mates; a better sportsman, and better
shot than myself at all kinds of game save elephants, and only a little
behindhand in that, because he was a heavy weight and poorly armed with
a single-barrelled rifle; yet he was always rejoicing in my success,
and making light of his own disappointments--and this man I had all but
missed!
Sometimes we would take a day together after elephant or buffalo, and
occasionally we met by accident, our beats cutting one another, and the
sound of the guns showing our whereabouts. Once having come together in
this way, we saw the finest struggle of brute force I ever witnessed.
We were making tracks back to the camp, walking our horses slowly
along the bank of the river, when Frank got off to shoot a waterbuck
(_Aigoceros ellipsiprymnus_). A shout followed the report of his rifle.
Dismounting, for the bush was thick, I soon joined him. In stalking
the waterbuck he had come across buffalo, and had wounded one, which
with two others was still in view. I started in pursuit and soon outran
Vardon, for he was stout, one Kafir holding with me. Presently I was
abreast of his animal, which was leaning, hard hit, against a tree. I
gave it a widish berth, not wishing to finish Frank’s work, and pressed
on after the others; but, just as I passed, it made a plunge forward,
and began to run again; at the same instant the bush was streaked with
yellow, and calling out, ‘Come along, there’s a lion!’ I put on a spurt
to get first shot, carrying the gun at the trail, for one had to stoop
often under the branches of the thorns. After going a hundred yards, I
could distinctly hear the sharp snort of the buffalo, and muffled growl
of its assailant, and knew that the latter had got hold. I still ran
on, looking out for a sight of the combatants, when suddenly the man
who had kept up with me put his hand on my wrist, and, pulling rather
harder than he intended, stooping forwards and running as I was, down I
came over-balanced. ‘What is it?’ I asked angrily. ‘Look!’ he answered.
Within twenty-five yards a magnificent fight was going on. Two other
male lions had joined the one I had first seen, and run blood-spoor
till they had overtaken and stopped the buffalo. They were now all
standing rampant on him, teeth and claws both at work, the gallant old
bull doing his utmost to hold his own against odds. He tried to gore
them, but they hugged his side, putting their bodies parallel with his,
and so escaping the thrust; he swung the lion on his right completely
off his legs, as you swing a child by his arms. It was only by glimpses
that you saw anything, for it was an enfolding cloud of dust, out of
which came every now and again the black hide of the bull and the
fulvous coats of the lions. Every muscle of the attackers and attacked
was on the stretch. You felt rather than saw the terrible strain. Had
the buffalo been unwounded, even with the odds of three to one against
him, he would have left his mark. It did not last much more than a
minute--perhaps not even that--and then the grand, old ‘Naàri’ came to
the ground, killed by the ball, not by the lions.
[Illustration: ODDS--3 TO 1]
The one of these which had attacked on the right came round to his
fellows, and they all three stood with their forepaws on the
carcase, and roared and growled their pæan of victory. Frank had come
up; we were too near to speak, but I motioned him to take the lion on
the left, while I covered the middle one. We fired together; his fell
dead with a broken back, filling its mouth with bush as it rolled over:
my shot was rather a slanting one, went in through the back ribs, and
out somewhere forward; at all events, it was not fatal on the spot,
for the lion sprang over the buffalo without stopping to inquire where
it came from; the third never moved, but kept on shaking the dead bull
till I had loaded again and killed him. I wish we could have picked up
No. 2, but the evening was closing in too rapidly to allow us to track
him any great distance, and we did not therefore bring him to bag, as
we must under other circumstances have done, for he was wounded to his
death. It was my clumsy first shot that was in fault, and Frank’s want
of a second barrel. When a lion has fast hold of his prey with his
mouth, his eyes are nearly closed, and you may get quite close to him,
the folds of the skin of the face being driven up by the constriction
of the muscles of the jaws against the lower lids: the Kafirs all
recognise this fact.[5] Vardon was a very deliberate shot, and used to
take me to task for snapping too much. But our weapons were different,
his a finely-sighted rifle, mine a very open-sighted smooth-bore.
He gave me quite a jobation one day, in the presence of a living lion,
not ten yards from us, when he delivered his text. It happened on this
wise. The waggons were halted for the night, on the bank of a deep
‘nullah.’ There were no elephants to alarm in the neighbourhood, so I
strolled out on the chance of a shot. It was late in the afternoon, 4
P.M., and I could hear Vardon talking to his men two hundred yards off,
as he came back to camp. Whether roused by his voice, or by sight of
me I don’t know, but a lion broke from the bottom of the nullah, and
scrambled up the opposite bank. It was a longish shot, and I think
I missed. In two or three minutes, exactly at the spot the lion had
gained the bank, Vardon and his party appeared; I ran through the
hollow, and telling him what had just happened, we put the Kafirs on
the trail and followed. We had not gone a hundred yards before one of
the men made signs to us to stop, and through the very patch of bush
in which we were standing the beast came heading down again to the
thickly-wooded ravine. He really was not more than eight feet from
us, but a dry bush was between. I dropped on my knee, and when he was
slightly in advance fired. It is always better to let a _passing_ lion
get a trifle ahead of you; there is more chance of a kill, less of a
charge. The ball struck well behind the shoulder and went right through
him. He bounded on, dabbling the bush on either side with blood, and
then dear old Frank began to blow me up for firing too quickly. In this
instance, I really had not done so, but he had not got his rifle off,
not having a clean sight, or he was desirous that the game should get
clear of the partially covering scrub. We never picked up this lion,
for a wind arose in the night and blurred the spoor, and he had not
died in the long grass, for we burnt it; his loss was always scored
against me.
Opinions are very various about lions. There is the young lady’s lion,
a noble generous animal, that always kills his own mutton, and refuses
all butcher’s meat; and the young gentleman’s, whose experience,
perhaps, began at Wombwell’s, and ended at the Zoo. His is a cowardly,
sneaking brute, a regular cur. There must be lions and lions. Those
I have met with are not above eating what may be before them, asking
no questions for conscience sake; but as a rule, if you will take my
advice, you will hold as straight as you can when you pit yourself
against a lion; and if you accept all chances without picking and
choosing, you’ll now and again find yourself in a warm corner. Lions
are not so plentiful as black-berries, or even as buffalo, and perhaps
it’s better so. I do not think his rush is so quick or so resolute
as a tiger’s, and he has a much better head to hit; still, he looks
ugly enough when, with mane standing out as if electrified, and with a
short, barking roar, he comes down to the charge. He will not, except
when hard pressed by hunger, or when accustomed to feed off human
carcases lying about after fights and raids, attack man in the daytime
unprovoked. A surly beast, awakened suddenly from sleep, or disturbed
while feeding, might be nasty; but he nearly always retreats before
man, for the fear and the dread of one of Noah’s family are still a
tradition with wild beasts. But even in the cases above mentioned his
conduct very much depends on yours. In the daylight wild animals,
especially the wildebeest and quagga, show but little fear, running up
to within fifty yards, and gazing at him as if fascinated.
In my first journey I hunted for many weeks with a party of Bushmen,
and gained many valuable hints about beasts and their ways from them;
and, with regard to the lion, I learned that if you came unarmed on
one, your best chance was to stand still and he would move off, but
that if you turned and ran, he was nearly sure to make after you.
Three times in my shooting life have I tested this advice--once on
horseback, twice on foot. On the first occasion, without a gun, I came
quite unawares upon a sleeping lion. He woke, stood up, and we looked
at each other for a few seconds. Then he turned, walked away very
slowly for thirty or forty yards, as if he wished to convey the idea
that he was only moving to get out of such low society--throwing his
head first over one shoulder, then the other, to see what impression
he was making--and directly he thought he was out of sight broke into
a lumbering gallop. If he shows an inclination to hold his own when
met, the Bushmen stoop, and, with their hands resting on their knees,
begin to walk very slowly towards him. He raises his head and watches
the man suspiciously, trying to find out what he is about, and then,
turning, retreats. I would not say that this plan would be always
successful, but I firmly believe it is the best to try when you are
unarmed. I have even stood thus twice opposite a _wounded_ lion with
an empty gun. Had I fallen back I feel certain my _vis-à-vis_ would
have attacked, for he was in neither case so crippled as to be unable
to follow and overtake me. When the cubs are very small the male will
show fight, to give the lioness a chance of making off with them, but
this is rather a demonstration than real business.
I do not think our South African lion can be nearly so formidable as
the North African, for I had the pleasure of once meeting the famous
French sportsman, M. Gérard, and the animals he described far exceeded
any I ever met with in size and ferocity; perhaps the climate and the
constant badgering they get from the Arabs may be sufficient to account
for the differences. Of course, if you take the war into his camp, he
will fight, and he is a very dangerous opponent, from his quickness
and strength. I see Sir Samuel Baker believes that he possesses more
power in his paw than the tiger. I would not be understood as disputing
such excellent authority; but a tiger can give a tidy pat, too--I have
seen him smash in an ox’s head at a blow. Again, I have spoken of the
lion as less resolute in his charge; but Sir W. C. Harris asserts that
he is never stopped. This is not my experience, for I have sometimes
known him brought up short by comparatively trifling wounds, and one
actually by the cutting away of an eye-tooth by the bullet. He has
two very distinct cries besides his roar and charging bark, one when
questing, the other when full. Lying by the fire at night, Kafirs will
start up at once and pile on wood if they hear the low panting moans
of the first; of the second they take no notice, unless you call their
attention to it. ‘Oh, he’s full; he’s going home singing.’I have once
or twice taken the grunting of the cock ostrich for the note of the
lion. It is much shallower; but it has deceived me. The Kafirs never
make the mistake.
People looking at the original sketches of the pictures which are
engraved in this book have often asked me how I felt at the time of the
accidents. Much as other men would, I suppose, is all I can reply.
We all belong to the same family. When trouble threatens, you shoot
very straight, your muscles are rigid and steely _for the time_; if
you come to grief the whole of your mind is bent upon getting away,
and on that only. Some men have more of their wits about them than
others, no doubt; but all pale faces must yield to the black skins in
this particular. A man was cutting long grass to thatch one of Dr.
Livingstone’s outbuildings when he came upon a buffalo, which charged.
The man ran some little distance, but noting a slight depression on
the ground, like a shallow ditch, threw himself down flat into it,
holding on to the bush and grass with his hands. The points of the
buffalo’s horns turn in, bowing out the middle--there was, from the
man’s position, a difficulty in getting the points to bear, and before
the bull could arrange matters satisfactorily to himself his nose came
close to the Kafir’s body; in an instant he had hold of it, and pinched
and wrung it sharply. The nose is the buffalo’s tender spot, and this
happy thought of the native was sufficient to rid him of his assailant.
Livingstone told me this story. I did not see it enacted, but I believe
it; and it is illustrative of such presence of mind as would hardly be
found in the European--living amongst wild animals and inheriting from
generation to generation the instinctive knowledge of their natures, it
would be surprising if the blacks were not in such things our superiors.
The buffaloes were in immense herds along the Mariqué River. As we
were coming home one night rather later than usual from hunting, a
white rhinoceros with a calf insisted on stopping the way. It was
bright moonlight, and easy to shoot her; but the country was full of
elephants, and I was very unwilling to scare them. We tried every way
to get her to move, but no, she would not. We pelted her with pieces
of wood, abused her roundly, and the men threatened her with their
assegais, all to no purpose. At the last, very unwillingly, I was
obliged to fire. She ran a little distance and dropped dead; but the
report of the gun had awakened the whole forest to the left of us into
life, unheard, unseen before. I rode up to the edge, it was a mass of
struggling buffaloes jammed together. The outside ones, startled by the
shot, and having got sight of our party, bore back upon the main body;
hoof and horn, horn and hoof, rattled one against another, and for some
distance I rode parallel with a heaving stream of wild life. I cannot
pretend with any accuracy to guess their numbers, but there must have
been thousands, for they were packed together like the pictures of
American bison, and any number of ‘braves’ might have walked over their
backs, so far as I could see, for any distance. In the moonlight, I
could only, to be sure, make out my side of this seething river.
Two marches from the junction of the Mariqué we found elephants in such
large herds that we halted a week or ten days, and the ivory as it
was brought in was piled up under my waggon. Once whilst here, after
a long day’s tracking, the night caught us and we had to lie out. We
found water, but had no food--for you never shoot on elephant spoor for
fear of disturbing your game, or losing your men, who settle down like
vultures to eat. Kafirs hunt best hungry. It was a bitterly cold night,
and how the men without clothes got through it I don’t know. I had no
extra covering, it is true, save my saddle-cloth, a square of blanket
3 feet by 3; but we made a large fire, and lay all round it like the
spokes of a wheel, and I don’t remember feeling much inconvenience,
though I was a little stiff in the morning, for the fire had burnt low,
and the ground, except where we had lain, was white with frost. One
of the men had kindly roused me about midnight, with an invitation to
partake of a tortoise he had caught and was stirring tenderly in its
shell among the warm ashes. I declined with thanks. We were all quite
fresh and merry when the sun thawed us, and as we neared our waggons we
heard shot after shot in the bush around, every now and then catching
sight of a buffalo. I thought Vardon had turned out with the drivers
for an early ‘battue’--very much against his custom, certainly--but
who else could it be? The mystery was solved directly I reached our
encampment, for on the opposite bank of a small stream, which here
ran into the Limpopo, I saw two waggons unmistakably Dutchmen’s. I was
disgusted enough that anyone should dare to come poaching on our manor.
But what was to be done? They were many, nine or ten, and we were but
two. After breakfast one of my Hottentots, who had been herding the
oxen in the direction of the Boers’ waggons, brought a message, or
rather an order, that I was to go over to them. I returned for answer
that if they wanted anything they could come to us. They took it quite
in good part, and about ten o’clock, after ascertaining from my boys
of what our party consisted, seven or eight of them crossed the stream
and made their way up to our camp, having the good taste to leave
all their roërs behind. We had a friendly chat, coffee and tobacco
playing a considerable part in it, and filling up the gaps in my rather
incomplete Dutch. Dear old Frank could never be induced to believe that
Dutch was anything but bad English, and would occasionally put in a
word or two of this latter in the worst grammar and pronunciation he
could improvise. We smoked and we drank coffee, and we were amicable
exceedingly, when one of my guests chanced to see the ivory under the
waggon. They all got up to look at it--where did it come from?--who
shot it? I said I had, and during the last few days. Alone? Yes, alone.
‘That must be a lie. A poor lean fellow like you could never have shot
such a splendid lot of tusks.’ They appealed to my drivers for the
truth, and when we returned to our coffee-pot, made an astonishingly
liberal proposal that I should join and shoot with them, and take half
the ivory killed by the whole party. They were in earnest, and I had
the greatest difficulty in getting off; but I have reason to believe it
was through the account of these Boers, and of another party I met at
Livingstone’s station at Mabotsé, that I received the most courteous
message from Prœtorius, who was then their chief, that he hoped I would
visit Mahalisberg, and that I should find a hearty welcome throughout
Boerland. They had a wholesome dread of traders, who for ivory might
supply the natives with muskets and ammunition, and thus render them
recalcitrant, and they had found out I didn’t and wouldn’t trade;
indeed, the story among them was that on a native bringing a tusk to my
waggon for sale I threatened to shoot him then and there!
Vardon was the most enthusiastic rhinoceros hunter; he filled his
waggon with horns as I did mine with ivory; he used to shoot four or
five every day, and there was always a freshness about the sport to
him which seemed remarkable. He was an all-round shot, but best at
rhinoceros. The mahoho is not bad eating--by the way, his hump is
excellent--but there is a good deal in the cooking of pachydermata.
We had a capital cook at the waggons, and had eaten elephant’s trunk
many and many times. Two or three days farther down the river the men
told me they had heard of a fine herd of bull elephants, about thirty
miles off; as there was little water, or at all events not sufficient
for the oxen, they begged me to take only a couple of horses and sleep
two nights away from the waggons. John and I started accordingly with
our guides, and at 5 P.M. reached the small spring where we were to
halt. Early next morning news came of two tuskers being close by, and
it was proposed I should begin with them and go after the large herd
next day. I soon found and shot them. One, a very fine bull with large
tusks, charged viciously after getting a ball through the thick end of
the heart. The men brought it to me to look at when they opened him.
We took a lump of the trunk, and returned to our sleeping place--only
one woman had remained, the rest were off to the dead elephants. We
were hungry, and John proposed we should cut part of the trunk into
small lumps and boil them. On the fire they went, and on they were
still three hours afterwards. John, who was a very hungry fellow, kept
prodding the pieces with a pointed stick to see if they were fit to
eat, but they were still springy. At length we voted them done and
tried to chew them, but they were exactly like bits of india-rubber,
and we could make no impression. The woman, seeing our difficulty, made
us scrape a hole under the fire, roll the trunk up in its skin, put it
in the hole and draw the ashes and fire over it, and in two or three
hours it was done to a turn and excellent food.
Next day, about 4 P.M., we came up with the herd we were looking
for--eleven bulls, all well furnished with ivory. It was so late in
the day that we were in doubt whether to attack or leave them till
the morrow, but as there was no water for the horses, I decided to go
in at once, the more so as the elephants were standing lazily among
thin bush in an easy country. Looking for the finest tusks, I rode out
and killed the first bull without any trouble, but the next two gave
plenty, and took more time than I had reckoned on, and the night closed
in so rapidly that I was obliged to give up further attempts; had there
been sufficient daylight I always thought I should have shot them all,
for they were so tired and disinclined to run that they walked sulkily
a little distance and then stood again. The men never forgave the want
of light, and often asked me afterwards to press a herd till they were
done up and then shoot them all, a programme difficult of execution as
a rule--this _might_ have been the exception.
I had dismounted, and we were making our fires when an elephant
trumpeted fifty yards from us. He had probably lost his friends in the
scrimmage and was trying to find them. I got within twenty-five yards
of him, but could only see very indistinctly a mass of something,
though he stood in rather an open place. There was no chance of my
stalking any nearer. I might have run forward and got a shot, but it
was too dark to play tricks. John squatted with the second gun and
whispered to me to do the same, and, gazing steadily against the sky,
I could now make out the elephant enough to tell his head from his
tail-end. I fired--a shoulder-shot--and, stumbling a length or two,
down he came. It was a good day’s work, though it might, as I have
said, have been better; but four first-rate bulls and at least 500 lbs.
of ivory lay within a space of three or four acres, and there were,
besides, the two I had killed the day before, one of which had very
heavy teeth.
We lit our pipes and smoked quietly for a time, and then remembered
that we had breakfasted early and that we ought to be hungry and
thirsty. The Kafirs suggested that as the elephants had probably come
from the water in the morning, we should find some in their stomachs,
and they immediately set to work and opened a large tusker that was
lying close to our bivouac. They found what they sought and, after a
good pull, invited me to partake. I was very thirsty, and they seemed
to have enjoyed their drink, so, by their directions, placing a small
bunch of grass as a filter, I took a mouthful, but--well! I immediately
got rid of it--it was simply nitric acid. As the elephant was opened,
however, the men were not going without dinner, and though I dare say
it was horrible, there was at the same time something grand in the
sight of the dark forest, lit sufficiently by the ruddy firelight to
deepen the gloom beyond, with the naked savages, their blazing torches
in their hands, walking about inside the cavernous ribs. A few choice
morsels from the undercut of the sirloin broiled on the embers made
a palatable supper, and, putting our feet to the blaze, we all fell
asleep.
_Whiz!_ ‘tao!’ _whiz!_ woke me some time during the night, and, sitting
up, I found the Kafirs throwing brands from the fire and shouting. A
lion, no doubt attracted by the smell of blood, was tearing at the
inside of the disembowelled elephant. I just got a glimpse of him,
but it was too momentary for a shot. We slept, and were not again
disturbed. I gave the dead beasts to the Ba Lala who had brought the
information, telling them to send me the tusks, and returned to my
waggon. The dozen were duly delivered in four or five days’ time,
though the waggons had gone fifty miles farther down the Limpopo.
It was always so. Once the chief of a large tribe of Bushmen came
running--as we were inspanning for the march--with a request that I
would shoot two elephants, which he had just seen coming up from the
river, for him and his people. I was very unwilling to stop the trek;
telling the men therefore to go on, and saying I would overtake them,
I jumped on a horse and went off with my Bushman, he keeping well in
front, though I was making a sharp canter of it. Through the bush,
on to the open plain, and the game was in view. I dashed ahead. One
had good tusks, and I settled down to him. He soon turned on me. I
had been shooting buffalo the night before, and as there was only an
ordinary charge in the gun, wishing to get rid of it, I fired at long
range--forty yards, I dare say. The horse was fidgety, and the ball
struck eight or ten inches below the backbone; to my astonishment,
the bull took one stride and settled down quite dead. The bullet had
cut the aorta. His companion had such small teeth I let him go free,
and, making the carcase over to my Bushman, who was astounded at the
easy way the animal had been disposed of, and telling him to keep the
tusks till I returned, I galloped after my waggons. Three months passed
before I was again in the neighbourhood; but while yet thirty miles
off, the man, hearing that I was coming on, brought the ivory to me.
I was delighted to gladden his heart and reward his honesty with a
present of beads and brass wire.
[Illustration: Death of Stael]
But the saddest of days was at hand. I had one preeminently good horse,
the very pick of all I ever had in Africa--fearless, fast, and most
sweet-tempered. Returning to camp one evening with a number of Kafirs,
tired and hungry after a long day’s spooring elephants, which we never
overtook, I saw a long-horned mahoho standing close to the path. The
length of his horn, and the hunger of my men, induced me to get off and
fire at him. The shot was rather too high, and he ran off. I was in
the saddle in a moment, and, passing the wounded beast, pulled up ten
yards on one side of the line of his retreat, firing the second barrel
as he went by from my horse, when, instead of continuing his course, he
stopped short, and, pausing an instant, began to _walk_ deliberately
towards me. This movement was so utterly unlooked for, as the white
rhinoceros nearly always makes off, that, until he was within five
yards, I sat quite still, expecting him to fall, thinking he was in his
‘flurry.’ My horse seemed as much surprised at the behaviour of the old
mahoho as I was myself, and did not immediately answer the rein, and
the moment’s hesitation, cost him his life and me the very best horse I
ever had or knew; for when I got his head round, a thick bush was
against his chest, and before I could free him, the rhinoceros, still
at the walk, drove his horn in under his flank, and fairly threw both
him and his rider into the air. As he turned over I rolled off and fell
in some way under the stirrup-iron, which scalped my head for four
inches in length and breadth. I scrambled to my knees, and saw the horn
of the rhinoceros actually within the bend of my leg; but the animal
wavered, and, with the energy of self-preservation, I sprang to my feet
intending to run, for my gun was unloaded and had fallen from my hand.
Had I been allowed to do so this story might never have been told,
for, dizzy as I was from the fall, I should have been easily caught.
Tottering a step or two, I tripped and came to the ground a little to
the right of the creature’s track. He passed within a foot without
touching me. As I rose for the second time my after-rider came up with
another gun. I half pulled him from his pony and mounting it caught and
killed the rhinoceros. The horn now hangs over the entrance to my front
door.
That day Frank happened to be again hunting in the same direction as
myself, and, hearing the reports of my gun, hoped I might have come
up with the elephants I had started after in the morning. He found me
sitting under a bush, hatless, and holding up the piece of my scalp
with the blood streaming down my face, or, as he afterwards described
it to Livingstone, ‘I saw that beggar Oswell sitting under a bush
holding on his head.’ A few words told him what had happened, and
then my thoughts turned to Stael. That very morning, as I left the
waggons, I had talked to him affectionately, as a man can talk to a
good horse, telling him how, when the hunting was over, I would make
him fat and happy, and I had played with him and he with me. It was
with a very sore heart I put a ball through his head, took the saddle
from his back, and started waggonwards, walking half the distance (ten
miles), and making my after-rider do likewise. Unless a man has been
situated as I was then, it is difficult to make him understand all that
the loss of a good horse means. You cannot even fill up his place in
quantity, let alone quality. In this part of Africa, at all events,
your success depends enormously upon your steed, for the country is
generally too open for stalking, and he carries you up to your game,
in most instances, as near as you like, and it is your fault if you
don’t succeed. Had I been the best shot that ever looked along a rifle,
and made of steel, I could have done but a trifle without horses, in
comparison with what I accomplished with them. Armed as I was with a
smooth-bore not very true with heavy charges at over thirty yards, it
was a necessity to get as near my game as possible. I am not vain of my
shooting--I can do what I intend pretty well at from ten to twenty-five
yards--but I would have given the best shot in the world without horses
very long odds; besides, from the saddle you see so much more of the
country, and are so much more at your ease, and your attention for
everything that surrounds you is so much more free.
On horseback your whole day is a pleasure to you, mind and body,
whereas on your legs it is often a wearisome, unsuccessful tramp.
Men going into Africa for shooting should be very careful in the
selection of their mounts, and get the aid of some local friend or
trusty acquaintance in their purchase, remembering always that five
good horses are worth ten moderate ones and five brutes. For a season’s
shooting eight to ten trustworthy animals, and five not quite so costly
for your after-rider, will, with luck, be an ample provision. The
number seems large, but there are accidents, sore backs, hard fare, and
hard work to be taken into account. You may sometimes do with fewer no
doubt, but there ought to be a margin for loss. Men who go to Africa
with the idea that the game will come to them to be shot will find
their mistake; ‘Dilly, dilly, come and be killed’ is not sufficient to
fetch the African fauna.
Among my horses, I had many unbroken for riding; they had, I fancy, all
been driven. I once bought a whole team--eight--out of a waggon. On my
way up from the colony to the shooting ground I used to amuse myself
by breaking them in. The method was expeditious, though primitive. We
saddled a quiet old stager and tied the young one to him, neck to neck,
allowing about two feet length of coupling, by the riem, or leathern
thong which every horse habitually wears for knee haltering, or
fastening up at night. By degrees, with coaxing, we got the saddle and
bridle on, and then I mounted the young one over the back of the old,
on which John or one of the Hottentots got astride. There was a little
trouble at first with the pupil, but as he could neither rear nor back,
and might kick as long as he liked, I sat quietly until he was tired,
and then, putting the broken horse into a slow walk, persuaded him to
follow suit; he generally did so, and after a mile or two, when he had
become accustomed to my weight and movement in the saddle, I lengthened
the coupling, little by little, and once or twice I have cast it off
altogether and let him go free alongside the other in the first day’s
march; but generally two or three lessons are necessary, and it takes
a week or two to give him anything of a mouth. The principal trouble
with the Cape horses is the _inbred_ trick of bucking, of which I think
they are hardly ever cured; they may behave well for a time, but just
when you want them at a pinch, the vice recurs, and they leave you in
a hole. Some, when hard worked and brought low, will go peaceably an
ordinary journey, but anything unforeseen happening is apt to upset
them. I had a very good-looking chestnut I bought out of a team,
and broke to saddle myself, and he went well and steadily. One day
something put him out, and he began bucking, not in the straightforward
style of the trained horses of the Wild West Exhibition, which is
difficult enough to sit, but in what we at the Cape call the half-moon,
which is much worse, when a horse, without any warning, while going
quite quietly, suddenly puts his head and neck well down between his
forelegs and bucks right or left in a semicircle. I have heard many men
say they can sit it, and perhaps, if expecting it, you might do so;
but, in my experience, you nearly always part company. At all events,
I and my chestnut did, four times, in as many minutes. The first time
I was encumbered with the gun, but the three others were fair spills.
I am sorry to say I lost my temper and meant shooting him, but thought
better of it, and rode him down thin, keeping him so with work, till
he was killed by the fly. Greys are not common at the Cape, and unless
first rate, don’t buy one for elephant hunting; you will be seen sooner
and longer, and pursued further in the charge. I had a cream-coloured
dun, and sometimes it was very difficult to shake off his followers.
I found a very light S-cheeked curb bit, single-reined, work well--you
often need to turn quickly. I wore hunting-spurs, and kept my hands
quite free for gun and rein. The horses were unshod and sure-footed.
Introduce them, if possible, gradually to their work by letting your
after-rider use them a few times. He is always out of danger, and if
once accustomed to the sight of an animal at a respectable distance,
they can soon be driven up alongside of it, and get as eager in pursuit
of elephant and large game as their riders.
By neglecting this rule, I very nearly came to grief on an afterwards
capital pony. It was his _début_, and a wounded elephant charging
with a scream, so terrified him that he was paralysed with fear, and
stood stock-still after turning round; spurs had no effect, and how
we escaped I cannot now tell. The bull came within a few feet of his
tail and then wheeled. I can only suppose he got the scent of the
human being, for he was quite near enough to have swept me from the
saddle with his trunk. By a little careful treatment this pony became
a very valuable one, and I once in after days shot 120_l._ worth of
ivory from his back in half an hour. Have nothing to do with a vicious
or uncertain tempered horse. If you find you have been taken in with
such a one, shoot him; the first loss may not be so bad as the last.
Never ride a stumbler up to anything that bites or butts. I had one,
and he twice fell with me before a charging elephant. Luckily I did
not come off, and pulled him up just in time to escape. Horses used to
be cheap enough, but I dare say the price has risen. I mounted myself
well from 7_l._ 10_s._ to 15_l._ apiece. Your ponies--for they are
hardly more--ought to be quick getting their legs, and a turn of speed
is desirable; for though in the open it is easy sailing away from an
elephant, in bush or broken ground for 200 yards he will sometimes
press a slow horse.
I was once, in particular, hard put to it by a smart though rather
small bull. I had fired both barrels, and on he came. I might have
had twenty yards’ start, but for the first 100 he gained on me, and
I had to ride as if in a close finish. A good Hantam horse is an
exceptionally tough beast. Whilst at ‘Oologs Poort,’ a farm then in
the occupation of a Mr. Nelson, I was buying mounts, when a Hottentot
riding a neat round-ribbed bay came in with a return-letter from the
town of Cradock, as far as I remember, seventy miles distant. The
horse’s appearance pleased me much, and though I found the owner, a
Mr. Cock, at first unwilling to part with him, I at last purchased him
for 15_l._--a large price then; but he was worth it. He had just done
his 140 miles in thirty hours, including five hours off saddling at
Cradock. I was unfortunate with my horses, and lost this one early in
the campaign. I had shot an eland or two just beyond the first chooi,
and, being alone, had tied ‘Vonk’ (spark), as the men called him,
to a tree whilst I gave the _coup de grâce_ to the game. This done,
I walked up to loose him and remount; but as I thoughtlessly placed
my hand on the rein he got scent of the blood, and suddenly starting
back, broke away. I followed him a long while, every moment hoping to
catch him, as he let me come quite close and then trotted on, feeding
quietly till I came up to him again. At length I grew weary and angry,
and twice covered him with the gun, that I might at all events save
my saddle and bridle; but twice I relented--the creature was too good
and too tame to shoot, and there was a chance that I might find him
next morning if he were not killed by a lion during the night. So I
let him go, and just before sundown set my face towards the waggons,
the encampment lying ten miles off. I walked really, I think, for once
by instinct; it was soon dark, and after three hours, afraid of going
astray, I decided upon making a fire and camping out, knowing I should
find the wheel-tracks next morning if I did not overshoot them. I took
out my tinder-box and trying to strike a light, dropped the flint, and
was on my knees feeling for it on the ground with my head down, when a
muffled shot, which I at first took for a lion’s pant, made me start to
my feet, and within 100 yards of where I was standing, though hidden
by a belt of thorns, by a second shot I was directed to the waggons. I
had come quite straight down upon them through the night. We searched
for the horse next morning in vain; his spoor was over-trampled by a
large herd of quaggas, and for two years I never heard any more of him;
when I ascertained a wandering party of Barolongs had found him in the
veldt, and, unable to catch him, had driven him before them for thirty
miles to their kraal, and had killed many giraffes and other game from
his back, one or two of the tribe who had gone into the colony for work
having learnt to ride.
Round the dead elands there was a typical African breakfast party--two
lions, a dozen jackals, five or six hyænas, and an innumerable
company of vultures. The lions, having fed to the full, were lying
down close to the carcase, the jackals intently watching them, one of
their party every now and then, when he thought the lions’ eyes were
turned upon his companions or partly closed, running in for a hasty
mouthful till a growl sent him to his seat again. A shambling hyæna,
after many tries, for the beast wants dash, gets hold of one of the
outside strings of the entrails and, pulling it taut, backs as far as
he possibly can. Two or three of his friends invite themselves, and,
rushing into breakfast, tug different ways. Vultures of various kinds
stalk about tearing with beak and claw, and good right have they, for
the invitations to the feast have all come through them. High up in the
blue, entirely beyond your ken, they saw the game killed, and before
you left the spot, if you had looked up, you might have seen the air
alive with them. Soaring very high for an extensive view of anything
going on for their advantage upon the earth below, their keen sight
has comprehended the situation at a glance. Those immediately over the
spot begin to descend, the message of there being something ‘down’
has been aërially communicated from battalion to battalion among the
circling brotherhood, and through miles and miles of ether a game of
follow my leader is going on. It is sight, not scent. An animal killed
in a nullah, or in thick bush and covered up at once, escapes. The
jackal, hyæna, and lion follow the birds. When the beasts of prey do
not find the carcase--it may have been shot far from water--and the
animal is thick-skinned, like the rhinoceros and elephant, and even the
giraffe and buffalo, the beaks and claws cannot for some time make an
entrance into their larder supply, and the birds sit about in solemn
funereal state on the surrounding trees waiting for the softening
of putrefaction, which is well established in two days, solacing
themselves meantime with an eye or the inside of the mouth if they can
get at it.
In this neighbourhood and between Lake Kamadou and the Zambesi the
works of the ants are marvellous. One variety builds a dome-shaped
nest, which makes a first-rate oven, for it is hollow inside, and by
smoking out the inhabitants and lighting a fire it becomes thoroughly
heated, and bakes well. So much has been written about the white ant
that it needs no description from me; but though I was in India for
years I never remember seeing their earthworks half the size they are
in Africa, where I have come across them ten to twelve feet high,
and so large and firm that I have ridden about the roofs, in and out
amongst the pinnacles and minarets, which give them an appearance, let
us say, of Milan Cathedral on a small scale! And all this is the work
of blind architects, who are obliged to protect themselves from the
sun and from enemies by a covered way they build between their nests
and any of the trees around, which may have dead wood or branches. How
their instinct leads them my reason cannot tell, for they are eyeless.
Where there are no chairs or stools, one sits and lies upon the earth,
and sees much of the kingdoms and communities of the insect world. Here
is the ant-lion lurking at the bottom of his inverted cone of a hole,
ambushed and ready to spring upon the incautious insect that, stepping
on the edge of his trap, is carried to the bottom by the loose,
unstable grains of sand; here the hard-biting, plunger-looking red
ant, whose holes have been stopped when the breakfast was prepared and
the surface swept for the skins on which we lie. Up he comes, having
wired his way through his closed front door, sits on end, strokes
what would be his moustache if he had any, and then, with a number
of his fellow-sufferers and friends, walks straight to the nest of a
large black species of his own family, and each throwing one of the
blacks--about twice his own size--over his back, away they go to their
own holes, and, pointing out the work to be done, stand with a fierce
countenance over their slaves until all is put right, when the inferior
race retire. Trapdoor spiders, too, were very numerous, with their
cunning arrangements.
But I have wandered from the Limpopo.
The Bechuana are not of much account in hunting elephant with the
spear, though they talk and brag a good deal about it; indeed I have
known them fairly beaten and forced to come to me for assistance. I can
see a young bull now, walking about quite strongly, with forty assegais
in him, scattering his assailants by trumpeting and half-charges.
‘Would “Tlaga” come and shoot him for them?’ Tlaga did. The elephant
looked like a porcupine, but they would never have bagged him, though
he might have died afterwards. It is not so with the Bushmen. They are
past-masters of the art of hunting, though here I would mention that
there are Bushmen and Bushmen. Those found near the colony and spread
over the barren Kalahari country are a small, stunted race, dwarfed
probably by scarcity of food and hard usage. The others are upright,
tall, sinewy fellows, who with their skill in hunting and the abundance
of game never suffer hunger, and who are looked upon, though small in
number, with a certain amount of fear by the Bechuanas. I was very
fond of the Bushmen. They tell the truth, which the Bechuana do not,
and instead of being mere pot-hunters they are enthusiastic sportsmen,
enjoying the work as much as yourself. When you are hunting with them,
it is true, they leave all to you, and greatly delight in watching a
tough fight with a savage bull, giving you full credit for your weapon
and your use of it; but their tactics when alone are as follows. Taking
up the spoor of, say, five or six tuskers, they follow on until they
see their quarry, which, with their splendid sight, they do a long way
off. A handful of dust thrown up gives them the wind. Some half-dozen
or more men conceal themselves in pairs not far apart in the line they
hope the elephants will take. Two or three of the others, making a long
_détour_, give them their wind, and as they move off, try to head them
in the direction of the ambush. The moment an elephant comes within
reach of one of the pairs a man springs up and, running towards him,
throws a very heavy hafted-spear--twelve to fifteen inches in the iron
head--not straight, for it would not penetrate--but in a sort of curve,
and the descending weapon buries itself by its own weight. The man is
in full view, the irritated beast usually makes for him, and though
fleet of foot the hunter would very often be caught were it not for
his mate, who, immediately the elephant charges, runs up behind him as
close as he can, and sounds a shrill whistle, made generally of the
leg-bone of a crane, which each wears hung round his neck by a leathern
thong. The elephant hears it, and, cautious even in his rage, stops
suddenly to find out what danger is in his rear. As he turns, another
spear is thrown; another charge, and another whistle; and this goes
on until the animal is exhausted and winded, when the final _coups_
are given by men running in and stabbing him behind the ribs, while
their companions occupy his attention in front. In this manner a dozen
Bushmen will often kill two or three out of a herd.
The Boers have an effective, though cruel, way of killing them. Their
legs are solid, not hollow with marrow, like those of most animals;
they need to be strong, for a large bull weighs all six tons. The
jägers come upon the herd and wish to bag as many as they can; they
are not fond of getting too near, and bombarding effectively from
a distance is a work of time, so they take the first shots, if
opportunity offer, at the forelegs of two or three. The ball splinters
and weakens the limb; the sagacity of the animal tells him this at
once, and he instantly stands immovable, lest his weight should break
it. The hunters follow the rest of the herd and shoot one or two
perhaps, and then return to the cripples, who fall an easy prey to the
roërs at close quarters. Nine times out of ten the elephant refuses to
stir, but if goaded into attempting a charge, the bone snaps directly
weight in motion is thrown upon it, and the poor brute falls. It is
a most pitiful sight to see these fine, intelligent monsters quietly
awaiting death--standing, sadly conscious of their inability to make
an effort for attack or escape. I witnessed this butchery but once,
and, willingly, would never again.
In the open country the Bechuana, though muffs at elephant hunting,
catch large numbers of animals in the hopo. The Ba-Quaina and
Ba-Wangketsi, especially, were clever at this kind of work. The hopo is
a large pit dug in a favourable spot, generally just the other side of
a slight rise, in neighbourhoods where game is abundant, and is often
used year after year. From the sides of it stiff, diverging hedges of
bush and branches are run out for a considerable distance, and the
beaters, sweeping a large area of country in a crescent, open at first,
but gradually contracting its horns as the game approaches the hedges,
manage to drive slowly forward large masses of antelope, quagga, and
wildebeest. Men are suitably placed here and there outside the range of
the fences, to indicate gently to the game the way they are expected to
take. When they are well within the lines the men bear down on them,
and by shouts urge them forward _pêle mêle_ to the hopo, which by the
rise in the ground is hidden from the leaders until too late; for the
weight of the scared body behind them, always pressing on, carries the
foremost ranks into the pit, which, in a successful drive, is soon
filled with a heaving mass of struggling life. Numbers of the driven
escape through the hedges and through the crowd, by this time close
up, many of them, the quagga especially, charging the drivers, who,
sitting or kneeling, cover themselves with their shields, and ply their
assegais as opportunity offers, from beneath them. I should have said
that some of the hunters are ambushed near the hopo, and these dispose
of any animals that, coming to the surface, seem likely to escape. The
southern tribes manage sometimes to kill the hippopotamus by suspending
a heavy spike of iron, or of wood burnt and sharpened to a point, and
weighted with a large stone. This, by an ingenious contrivance, is
fastened to the branch of a tree overhanging the animal’s path as it
leaves the water at night to graze, by a rope attached to a catch,
the other end of the rope being brought down, fixed about a foot from
the ground, across the path, and tied to one of the trees opposite.
As the animal presses against the rope the catch is freed, and down
comes the spike. The northerners, who live on the shores of the lakes,
Kamadou particularly, kill them from canoes with spears like harpoons,
which, once firmly fixed, serve to show by their shafts the direction
taken by the wounded beast, and enable the men to follow him and repeat
the attack until, utterly weakened from loss of blood, he is secured
by ropes and drawn ashore. This plan, which seems to me to have its
drawbacks and dangers, is not attempted on the rivers, and I was never
an eye witness of it, even on the lakes; but I have two or three of
the harpoon assegais, and this was the story of the hunting as told to
Livingstone.
On the low Siloquana hills near this we made our acquaintance with
the Tsétsé fly, which we were the first to bring to notice; Vardon
taking or sending to England some he caught on his favourite horse.
They have now been thoroughly discussed entomologically, and I would
only very lightly touch upon them. The _Glossina morsitans_ is a
dusky grey, long-winged, vicious-looking fly, barred on the back with
striæ, and about the size of the fly you so often see on dogs in
summer. Small as he is, two to three will kill your largest ox, or
your strongest horse--for the poison introduced by the proboscis is
zymotic; the victims sicken in a few days, the sub-lingual glands and
muscles thicken, the eyes weep, a defluxion runs from the nostrils,
the coat stares, and in periods varying from a fortnight to three
months death ensues. On examination after death the blood is found to
have diminished wonderfully in quantity, to have become gelatinous
in appearance, and to have parted with its colouring property. You
may plunge, your hands into it and it runs off like tapioca, without
staining them. The vital organs, lungs and heart, are flaccid and
anæmic, but show no further sign of disease. The flesh has a peculiar
glairy appearance. Wild animals are not affected, but all domesticated
ones are, save the ass and the goat, and the calf as long as it sucks.
Man escapes scot free. The flies settle on and bite him sharply, but no
results follow.
Supposing the poison to be alkaline, is it not possible that the
creic--an acid known to be present in the blood of all wild animals
and to disappear as they become domesticated--may act as an antidote,
more especially as man, on whom the poison is innocuous, shares with
the donkey, &c., this prophylactic acid? This pest, like all others, is
held in check by an antagonist, one of the ichneumons--a rakish-looking
creature which catches and sucks it out on the wing, dropping the empty
cases much as the locust bird does the locusts.
These tsétsé have caused me sad searchings of heart. The Geographical
Society of Paris honoured me with their medal, ‘pour la découverte du
lac ’Ngami,’ and I, in acknowledging their highly valued distinction,
sent them a short sketch of the country through which we had passed,
and a small bottle of the flies, with an account of their habits,
habitat, and the poisonous nature of their bite. This account--probably
from my confused style--was entirely misunderstood, and when the copy
of the Proceedings of the Society reached me I found I had been made
to attribute the death of a native chief, Sebitoani, to the poison
of these insects, and also to state that the oxen were maddened by
their attacks, whereas the poor things took their deathbites quite
calmly--with a whisk of their tails, as is their custom with other
flies--and, as I have already stated, human beings suffer no ill.
I have tried to correct this impression, but fear I may not have
succeeded.
When I came home I happened to meet Dr. (now Sir Richard) Quain, the
great toxicologist, and by him to be introduced to Dr. Spence, to whom
I told the story of the tsétsé, the result being that I was invited
to attend a meeting of the Entomological Society. Doubting my power
of giving any clear account before such an august assembly by word
of mouth, I wrote the few particulars I had to communicate. When I
entered, rather late, a gentleman was explaining the abnormal and
interesting peculiarities of a beetle, which had an extra tarsus--at
least I think that was the peculiarity--and that tarsus was actually
fimbriated! A great deal of very learned talk and discussion followed,
and I thought what a fortunate fellow I was to have written my
description; but alas! my turn came, and the same savant, after holding
my scrawl at every angle in the hope of deciphering the cacography,
at last gave it up, saying he regretted he could not make it out, but
fortunately the writer was in the room, and would perhaps kindly tell
them the history of the flies of which he had sent a specimen. I longed
for a repetition of the days of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram just to
swallow up that old gentleman and his scarabæus; but I had to get up
and explain that I was sorry if they expected me to address them in the
very erudite way I had been listening to for the last hour, as I really
had no idea how many (if any) tarsi my fly had, and, moreover, I was
supremely ignorant whether their tarsi (if existent) were fimbriated or
not. They kindly begged me to tell my tale in my own words, declaring
they should much prefer it, and I did so, and was dealt with in a most
friendly manner. I certainly would rather have stood the charge of a
couple of lions at once than laid myself open to a catechism on tarsi
and fimbriæ.
We pushed down the Limpopo beyond the Siloquana ridge four or five
marches, and then crossing the river near a high rocky hill returned to
the Mariqué without anything of much interest occurring; but half-way
between the junction of that river with the main stream and the place
where we left it to get to Livingstone’s station, I was again in
trouble.
It was three in the afternoon. We had followed a herd of elephants
since 8 A.M., and the traces of the dew of the previous night were
still visible on the trail. Our chances of coming up with them were
so small that we abandoned the pursuit and turned in the direction of
the waggons. After an hour or two the natives began to make pathetic
appeals to the state of their stomachs, suggesting that they had met
with hard usage, and that, as we had not found the elephants, they
were not above breaking their fast upon quagga, giraffe, or even
rhinoceros. I tried to persuade them that elephant was the only dish
worthy of them or likely to fill those almost bottomless cavities
to which they had alluded; that we might have better luck the next
day, and that they might put off dining till then. If you wish to be
successful in hunting for large tusks, it is as well to keep your men
on an elephantine diet and not pamper them with dainties, or they
become lazy and careless in seeking the larger game. Whether on this
particular occasion I was unusually tender-hearted, or their appeals
were too touching, I do not remember; but whilst with my very poor
stock of Sechuana words I was trying to explain my views, in an open
glade of the forest through which we were passing, their hungry eyes
fell upon two rhinoceroses of the keitloa variety, and the eager cry
of ‘Ugh chukuru, mynààr!’--the last word a corruption of the Dutch
mynheer, lengthened plaintively into a kind of prayer--was too much
for me, and I dismounted to do their pleasure. Fifty yards before the
animals ran a scanty fringe of dwarf thorn-bushes, on outliers of which
they were feeding away from us. I made a long _détour_, and came out a
hundred yards in front of them, the little scrubby cover lying between
us. A handful of sand thrown into the air gave the direction of the
wind; worming my way I gained the thorns, and, lying flat, waited for a
side chance.
[Illustration: FEELING BOTH HORNS OF A DILEMMA]
The rhinoceroses were now within twenty yards of me, but head on,
and in that position they are not to be killed except at very close
quarters, for the horns completely guard the brain, which is small and
lies very low in the head. Though alone on the present occasion, I was
travelling with the best rhinoceros shot I ever knew, and his audacity,
and our constant success and impunity alone and together in carrying
on the war against these brutes, had perhaps made me despise them too
much. I had so frequently seen their ugly noses, when within eight or
ten yards of the gun, turn, tempted by a twig or tuft of grass to the
right or left, and the wished-for broadside thus given, that I did
not think anything was amiss until I saw that if the nearer of those
now in front of me, an old cow, should forge her own length once more
ahead, her foot would be on me. She was so near that I might possibly
have dropped her with a ball up the nostril, and, had she been alone,
I should probably have tried it; but the rhinoceros, when he charges,
nearly always makes straight for the smoke of the gun, even though the
hunter is concealed, and I knew that if No. 1 fell, No. 2, who was
within four or five yards of her, would, in all probability, be over
me before the smoke cleared. In the hope that my sudden appearance
from the ground under her feet would startle her and give me a chance
of escape, I sprang up; the old lady was taken aback for a moment and
threw up her head with a snort. I dashed alongside of her to get in her
rear; my hand was on her as I passed; but the shock to her nerves was
not strong enough, for before I had made ten yards she was round, and
in full chase.
I should have done better to fire into her as I went by, but it had not
occurred to me, and it was now too late; in my _anxiety_ to escape, to
put it as mildly as may be, I had neglected my best chance, and paid
the penalty. I was a fast runner; the ground was in my favour, but in
thirty yards from the start she was at my heels. A quick turn to the
left saved me for the moment, and, perhaps, by giving my pursuer my
flank instead of my back, my life too. The race was over in the next;
as the horned snout came lapping round my thigh I rested the gun on the
long head and, still running, fired both barrels; but with the smoke I
was sailing through the air and remember nothing more, for I fell upon
my head and was stunned.
The day was fast drawing to a close when, though in that addled state
which prevents a man from deciding whether to-day is yesterday or
to-morrow, my brain seemed stirring again in a thick fog. By degrees I
became aware that I was on my horse, that a native was leading it, and
another carrying my gun beside my stirrup. It all appeared strange,
but with the attempt to think it out the mist came eddying thicker,
and I was content to let it be. Presently a dim confused impression
that I was following some animal was with me, as in a dream; the power
of framing and articulating a sentence returned, and I drowsily asked
the nearest Kafir which way the trail led. He pointed in the direction
we were going; his manner struck me, but I had had my say, and no
other remark was ready. Men met us; among them I recognised two of my
Hottentot drivers carrying a ‘cartel,’ or cane framework, which served
as a swinging bedstead in my waggon. ‘Where are you going?’ I asked
in Dutch. They stared stupidly; ‘Why, we heard you were killed by a
rhinoceros!’ ‘No,’ I answered. Without a thought of what had occurred,
my right hand fell faintly from the pommel of my saddle to my thigh;
with the restlessness of weakness I drew it up again; a red splash of
blood upon my cuff caught my eye. I raised my arm to see what was the
matter; finding no wound on it, I sought with my hand for it down my
leg, through a rent in my trousers, and, so numbed was all sensation,
that I actually dabbled down to the bone in a deep gash, eight inches
long, without feeling any pain--the smaller horn had penetrated a foot
higher up, but the wound was not so serious as the lower one. The limb
stiffened after I reached the waggons, and, unable to get in and out,
I made my bed for nearly four weeks under a bush--the rip, healing
rapidly, covered with a rag kept constantly wet.
The rhinoceros, as I afterwards learnt from the men who were with me,
was running so fast when she struck me and lifted me so high, that she
had shot ahead before I fell, and, on their shouting, passed on without
stopping. The horns, as is generally the case in this variety, were of
nearly an equal length, so that one to a certain extent checked the
penetration of the other--as it would be more difficult to drive a
double-spiked nail than a single one. The bone of the thigh, however,
providentially turned the foremost horn, or it must have passed close
to, even if it had not cut, the femoral artery.