Читать книгу: «The Gold Kloof», страница 7

Chapter VII.
ADVENTURES IN THE VELDT

They were now busily employed for the rest of that morning and some way into the afternoon in skinning and cutting up their game. The flesh of an old bull giraffe is not good eating, and they were content to take portions of the hide, the feet-which make excellent trophies-the tail, and the skin of the head. From the other two they took further trophies, and a large quantity of flesh. The wagons came up with them presently, and the meat was loaded up. Then they trekked on for the river, where they camped for the evening. After the oxen had grazed, they were brought in at sundown, and fastened to their yokes for the night. Big fires were lighted, and the two parties, masters and servants, enjoyed a banquet of giraffe venison. The flesh of a fresh young cow-giraffe is excellent, somewhat like good veal, with a game-like flavour of its own. But the bonnes-bouchesof the evening meal were the marrow-bones of these gigantic quadrupeds, roasted in the hot ashes. These were then sawn in half, and the marrow scooped out with long spoons of wood improvised for the occasion.

"Why, father," exclaimed Tom, as he finished his second helping of the savoury stuff, "this beats boiled beef marrow-bone out of the field. I never tasted anything so delicious."

"No, I don't suppose you ever have," said Mr. Blakeney. "Giraffe marrow-bone is the king of veldt fare. There's nothing to equal it. But we must cry enough. It's rich food, and I've known men in the low country bring on a fresh attack of fever simply from over-indulging themselves in too much of this good thing."

They sat after supper near the blazing fire-the boys writing up their diaries by its cheerful light, Mr. Blakeney smoking his pipe and skinning a beautiful crimson-breasted shrike which he had shot that afternoon in some thorn bush along the river. He and the boys had already begun a collection of birds, which they meant to take home with them.

There was no moon, but through the dark, velvety pall of the night-sky myriads of stars pricked forth in an array of marvellous brilliancy. Down the river there came the curious wailing titter of a jackal, then another. Not long after, a low moaning roar was heard from the same quarter. This was answered by another roar nearer the camp.

"Lions!" exclaimed Mr. Blakeney. "Seleti, put more wood on the fires. Do you, Mangwalaan, light another there, beyond the leading span of oxen. We shall have to look out."

The Bechuana boys piled up the firewood, and soon had yet another blaze going.

Just then Poeskop came up to his masters.

"I say, Poeskop," said Guy, who had finished his diary of the day's doings, "is it true that the jackal is the lion's provider, and goes ahead for him and smells out his food, and lets his master know of it?"

The Bushman squatted down near the fire, and smiled a broad smile that wrinkled up his whole face and nearly concealed his eyes.

"Nay, my baas," he said, "I don't think that. But the lion knows from the jackal's cry when he winds food, and comes after him."

Now, from the winding river, not more than a quarter of a mile away, there rose the loud roar of a single lion, then another, and then yet another across the river. Then the three roared in unison, creating a volume of sound that was not only strangely majestic and awe-inspiring, but seemed to make the whole air vibrate and tremble.

"Ah!" said Poeskop quietly, "they won't hurt us to-night. When they roar like that, lions have full stomachs, and are not hungry. It is only when they purr and growl, or, still worse, when they are silent, that you must look out for them."

"They've got our wind, Poeskop," added Mr. Blakeney, "and they're telling one another of the fact."

"Ja, baas," said the Bushman. "They smell meat and oxen; but they won't touch us to-night-at least, I don't think so. There's the old manikin, the father lion-that was the first roar; then his wife; and then a young, nearly full-grown lion, their son."

"How on earth do you know that, Poeskop?" exclaimed Tom.

"Well, Baas Tom," replied the little man with a snigger, "I was brought up in a wild country, much wilder even than this, and I learned to know every sound in the veldt by day and night, and the voice of every beast, big and little. My food and my life depended on it; and my parents, and theirs before them, knew all about these things, and told me of them. You may say I sucked them in with my mother's milk."

"Talking about jackals," he went on musingly; "they are funny beasts-the cleverest and most quick-witted in the veldt. We Bushmen have many tales about them. Shall I tell you one?"

"Yes, yes," said Guy and Tom together. "Fire away, Poeskop!"

"Well," proceeded the little Bushman, "there was once a jackal that lived in Namaqualand, not far from the sea. He saw one day a wagon laden with fish; and as he was fond of fish, and wanted a change of food, he tried to get into the wagon from behind. But it was filled up, and he could not do so. But he bethought himself of a plan. So he ran and lay in the road as if dead. He was a silver-backed jackal, and had a beautiful skin; and the fore-louper [ox-leader] came along and picked him up, and said to the driver, 'Here's a fine jackal skin for your vrouw!' 'Throw it up,' said the driver, and the boy threw the jackal into the wagon. It was a fine night, just like this, and the jackal busied himself in throwing the fish out of the wagon as far as he was able, sniggering to himself as he did so. Then, presently, he slipped down, and went back along the road to his feast. But he found, to his great annoyance, that a great spotted hyæna and his wife had already found and eaten up most of the fish. Master Jackal thought a little, and decided to hide his vexation, and then explained to the hyæna his plan; and the hyæna said it was good, and he would try it one of these days. So a little while after the hyæna saw the wagon coming from the sea again, laden with fish, and, just as the jackal had done, stretched himself out for dead on the road in front. The fore-louper boy came up, and seeing a mangy hyæna said, 'Here's an ugly brute!' As he said this, he dealt the hyæna a heavy kick. The hyæna flinched, and the boy, smelling a rat, as you English say, ran back to the wagon-driver and told him. The two returned with sticks, and belaboured the hyæna within an inch of his life. But the hyæna, as he had been told to do by the jackal, lay still till they had finished with him. Then he got up, sore all over, and dragged himself off. He told his misfortune to the jackal, who pretended to sympathize.

"'Ah!' said the hyæna, 'it was your handsome skin that helped you. Never mind, I shall find another way next time.'

"The jackal sniggered to himself, and went off with his tail up, having enjoyed a very pleasant revenge."

There was much laughter at this simple Bushman yarn.

"Poeskop," said Mr. Blakeney, "what part of the country do your people come from, and what race are you?"

"Well, baas," returned the little man, "my people are San or hunting Hottentots, and my clan is the Matsana Khoi-San, who lived once in the country north-east of the Ovampo tribes. We say that our forefathers were once paramount in all this country, from Ovampoland to the Orange River. But we have had many wars and troubles, and have been hunted about by stronger tribes, until there are few of us remaining. And so we live in the deserts with the wild beasts, and pick up our living as best we can. There are other Bushmen tribes among us-that is, San-Hottentots-the Ai-San and the Kun-San, and the Au-ai-San and the An-San, and others. They lead hard lives, and have many enemies. My mother was taken by a lion one night, when I was a child, and my father was killed soon after in a raid by the Ovampos. These people made a slave of me, and sold me afterwards to a white trader from Walfish Bay, who treated me well, and gave me my freedom. I was with him a long time, and he was a good master."

"How did you get your name, Poeskop?" queried Tom. "Did your father give it you?"

"No, Baas Tom," said the Bushman. "That was given me by a Dutchman with whom I worked for some time. He had been in the Old Colony, and knew all about the coast. He said my face reminded him of a seafish called poeskop, so he called me by that name, and it has stuck to me ever since. My Bushman name was Akabip."

Poeskop pronounced this word with two appalling clicks of the tongue, which Guy and Tom vainly tried to imitate. The little man went into fits of laughter over their struggles, and they all roared together.

It was now time to turn in. In the hunting veldt most men are glad to retire by nine o'clock, often even earlier. Guy and Tom said good-night, and betook themselves to the tent, in which stood their low beds, constructed of iron and canvas. These folded up into wonderfully small space, and were put away on the wagon each morning. The two lads were at this time allowed to sleep the night through without being disturbed. Mr. Blakeney, Jan Kokerboom, the driver, and Poeskop each woke once in turn during the small hours, and saw to it that the fires were kept up and the camp in safety. As Poeskop had predicted, they were not disturbed by lions; and at dawn next morning the whole company were awake and astir, vigorous and refreshed, and ready for the adventures of another day.

Although they were now fairly in the land of big game, it was not part of Mr. Blakeney's design to waste time by the way. Each day the wagon was to trek steadily on under the guidance of Poeskop towards the appointed goal, that mysterious kloof of gold of which they often talked as they sat together round the camp fire. The wagon moved off after breakfast, therefore, while Mr. Blakeney and the two boys, with Poeskop-who had meanwhile set the course for the day-as after-rider, rode off into the veldt to the right front. They could see clumps of game grazing ahead of them, about a mile away in the distance, and towards these they took their way.

Crossing the river which intersected the plain, and which at this the dry season of the year held only a few pools of water here and there in its sandy bed, the hunters rode on quietly till they came within half a mile of the nearest troop. Mr. Blakeney took out his field-glass from its case-this he carried slung over his shoulder-and surveyed the prospect before them.

"That nearest troop, now getting fidgety," he said, "are tsesseby. It's no use running them across this big flat. They're the fleetest of all the antelopes, and stay for ever. Yonder are ostriches and Burchell's zebra. Tom and I will have a try at those. Do you, Guy, take Poeskop, and ride quietly for the big troop of blue wildebeest on the right. You'll have to ride hard, if they begin to run before you get within shot. But they may pull up when they get over the dip yonder, and give you a chance. Now then, Tom, away we go."

Guy and Poeskop cantered quietly in the direction of the blue wildebeest, a troop of some eighty of which were grazing quietly about a mile and a half away. They approached without difficulty to within some six hundred yards, and then, from the left of them, came the report of a rifle, then another, and yet another. Already, then, Mr. Blakeney and Tom were engaged! Guy looked in that direction, but could see no more than the distant figures of his uncle and cousin scouring away after some specks-the game they were pursuing-in front of them. He now turned his attention to the wildebeest of which he was in pursuit. The noise of the shooting had already disturbed them. Their heads were up, scenting the air for danger, and those animals which had been lying down had sprung to their feet. There was no time to be lost. "We must hart-loup [gallop]," said Poeskop quietly; and shaking up the willing nags, the two dashed headlong for the game. Now, at last, the wildebeest took real alarm. Bunching together in a big phalanx, plunging and capering, and whisking their long black tails, the troop set off at what looked like a heavy lumbering gallop, but was in reality a swift pace, taking a course right-handed in the direction of the river-bed. Guy, as he galloped, watched the herd with intense interest. It was the first time he had run blue wildebeest, or, as he had been accustomed to call them in England, brindled gnu. Their big, heavy, somewhat buffalo-like heads, carried low as they ran, and the masses of dark hair that covered their necks, throats, and faces, gave them a cumbrous appearance; but there was no mistake about the pace they went. They swept over the grass plain as fast as the ponies could gallop, and they were evidently not yet stretching themselves out. It was going to be a long and a stern chase. Pursued and pursuers had run somewhat over a mile, still bending towards the river, with its thick fringe of bush and low timber; five hundred yards separated Guy from the nearest wildebeest. They were stringing out now; it was useless to think of firing just yet; and then a diversion happened.

Disturbed by the trample of four-score fleeing wildebeest, a troop of buffalo, which had been resting in the shade of the river bush, suddenly emerged from their concealment and began to run up wind, taking very much the course of the retreating gnu. They had not gone a hundred yards when there burst from the seclusion of the river greenery, just in advance of them, two huge, unwieldy figures. It needed not Poeskop's excited exclamation of "Rhinoster, baas!" to convince Guy that he now saw before him a brace of rhinoceroses, as well as buffaloes and blue wildebeest. It was a thrilling moment; and the lad, with blithe countenance and the light of supreme joy-the wild joy of the hunter-in his blue eyes, shook up his good pony to yet a faster pace. The blue wildebeest were neglected now; which should he first go for, the buffaloes or the rhinoceroses? His mind was instantly made up. The buffaloes were nearest, no more than two hundred yards away; he would have a try at them first. With a press of the knees and a touch of the spur, Guy sent his pony at his hardest gallop. In less than ten minutes he was close up to the herd. Suddenly reining up, and jumping from his nag, he took aim at a huge old bull, carrying a pair of massive horns. The shot was a good one; and as the troop thundered on, the bull turned aside, galloped on for another fifty yards, and stood.

"Baas, get on the horse again," whispered Poeskop, who had ridden up with Guy's second rifle. "If he charges you on foot he'll catch you."

Guy looked at the grim beast, standing moodily waiting for his foes, with head down and eye askance, and thought the advice good. Jumping on to his pony again, he took the Martini rifle from Poeskop, handing him his Mannlicher in return, and moved to the right to get a better shot at the beast's shoulder.

Suddenly and without warning the bull charged, galloping down upon them at a pace that, considering its short legs and enormously massive frame, seemed little short of marvellous. The fleeing hunters, looking back as they rode, saw the bull within twenty yards of their horses' tails. Would he catch them?

"Pas op [look out]!" cried the Bushman, as they both turned and fled, digging their rowels into the flanks of their startled steeds. But the beast was too sorely wounded to run far. The charge was a short one, and the buffalo, dripping blood from his distended nostrils and mouth, stood again. Again Guy approached, this time very warily. He walked his pony to within fifty paces of the bull, and then, getting a quick but steady aim from his saddle, fired. As the loud report of the rifle rattled out upon the hot air, the sturdy brute staggered, sank to the veldt, and, with the strange moaning bellow characteristic of these animals in their last moments, yielded up his breath.

Guy rode up to the dead bull, and gazed with interest upon its mighty proportions, and especially at its grand horns, so gnarled about the centre as to remind him of the roots of some tough oak. They were, indeed, trophies to be proud of. Poeskop, who had ridden up, looking as pleased as Punch, was thinking of yet other feats.

"Baas," he said, his bleared eyes gleaming, "you must shoot a rhinoster. Look!" He pointed towards the river-bed, skirting along which two black figures were still plunging heavily.

"Yes, Poeskop, of course," replied Guy; "the rhinoster, by all means. Come along; forrard on! I'll keep the Martini for the present."

Once more they set their ponies at the gallop, and rapidly overhauled the two black figures ahead of them. Far to their left front, the herd of wildebeest were vanishing into the heart of the great plain; the buffaloes had sheered away yet more to the left, and were standing at gaze a quarter of a mile away, evidently meditating a rush for the coveted shelter of the river bush. Galloping on, the hunters were presently within a quarter of a mile of the rhinos, which, considering their gigantic size and unwieldy shape, moved at an astonishingly fast pace. Now the two beasts swerved suddenly to the right hand, and were presently lost to view among the river jungle. As Guy and the Bushman approached the place where the animals had disappeared, Poeskop whispered, -

"They stand somewhere in there, baas. You must look out, for the rhinoster is a nasty-tempered fellow, and they may go for us."

They turned, and rode very quietly into the bush. After two hundred yards of spooring, they were about to emerge from the denser thickets into an open glade, when Poeskop, who was leading, lifted up his right hand. Guy peered from behind their screen of shrubbery, and saw one of the two rhinoceroses standing facing their way. It was evidently scenting the air for danger, and listening intently; its huge misshapen head, garnished, as Guy noted, with a magnificent fore-horn, turning swiftly from side to side, as if peering this way and that. Guy knew from his uncle what poor sight these creatures have, and, dismounting, crept round to obtain a fairer and a closer shot. Poeskop meanwhile remained with the horses. Guy succeeded admirably in his stalk, and getting within thirty paces of the monster, let drive for its heart. The Martini bullet clapped loudly as it struck the animal's thick hide; and upon the instant, the infuriated beast, snorting like a steam-engine, charged for the smoke of the rifle.

Guy had jumped aside behind a tree and reloaded. So quick was the charge that the monster had vanished into the dense bush almost before its assailant had realized that it was past him. He ran for his pony, and met Poeskop bringing the nag to meet him.

"He's turned, baas, and gone up wind again," said the Bushman. "We will follow him up; but you must keep a sharp lookout."

They took the blood spoor, and went on for about a mile, and then crossed another opening in the bush. Suddenly, without a sound of warning, the rhinoceros started from a clump of thorn scrub in their front, and came straight for them. Poeskop's horse whipped smartly round, and took its rider soon out of danger. Not so Guy's mount, which seemed for some seconds paralyzed with fear, and stood rooted in its tracks, staring at the approaching monster. By dint of a violent wrench of the bridle, and fierce spurring, Guy got the affrighted pony's head round. It moved at last. It was too late, however; the rhinoceros, snorting loudly, was upon them. Guy, looking backward out of the tail of his eye, caught a glimpse of a huge, pig-like head and a massive fore-horn close to his pony's flank, and then he was hoisted into the air. There was a violent crash, and he remembered no more.

When he came to himself he was lying on the ground, his head supported by a saddle, and Poeskop looking anxiously into his face.

"That's better, my baas," said the little Bushman cheerfully. "Now you will soon be your own man again. Here, drink some more of this."

Guy drank from a flask of brandy, which Poeskop put to his lips, and felt better. His mind and recollection came back to him.

"What's happened?" he asked.

"Take another soupje, and I'll tell you," replied Poeskop. The lad did as he was told, and then the Bushman went on. "Well, what happened was this," he said. "That rhinoster caught you, and just ran his horn through your horse, and threw you both over his head. I caught sight of you flying through the air, and I thought, Well, Baas Guy is done for, and his hunting has soon come to an end."

"Not quite yet, Poeskop," returned Guy, a smile flitting over his white face. "I feel better already. Here, help me to sit up."

Poeskop lifted him up, and propped him in a sitting posture.

"Why!" exclaimed the lad, rubbing his eyes, and looking at his pony, which lay near, "there's Bantam-dead!"

"Yes, baas," added the Bushman. "Bantam is dead. The rhinoster's horn ran right through his lungs and heart, and I saw he was dying, and put a bullet into him to hasten his end and save him suffering. He was a fool, and might easily have escaped. As it was, he nearly did for you as well as himself by his stupidity. It's a pity. He was a right good pony, and could gallop like a springbuck."

"Poor Bantam!" groaned Guy, "what an untimely end. He was a duffer to behave as he did, but I shall miss him badly. What's happened to the rhinoceros, Poeskop?"

"He is dead, too," said the Bushman. "That was his last charge. He lies in the bush yonder, two hundred yards away. Now you must rest here while I make a fire and get some food for you. Baas Blakeney will see the smoke presently, and will come this way in search of us. Let me see if you can get to your feet, and you shall rest against yonder tree."

Guy, who was already feeling much better, rose to his feet with the aid of the Bushman's hand. He felt strangely stiff and sore and much shaken, but he had no broken bones, and his severest injury, beyond the shock of the fall, was a sprained thumb.

"On the whole, Poeskop," he said, as he sat down against a tree, "I think I got off rattling well. A toss from a rhinoster isn't an every-day sort of a business, is it?"

"No," returned the Bushman, grinning hugely, "it isn't. I have known two men tossed by rhinosters, and they were both dead men after it. But you are born to be lucky as well as rich. I saw it in your face when first I set eyes on you. You will be a great hunter, and have already made a first-class beginning. But you must beware of three things in the hunting veldt-a wounded buffalo, a wounded rhinoceros, and a hungry lion on a dark or stormy night. The last is the worst of all, and nothing, neither guns nor fires nor thorn kraal, will stop him."

So talking to his young master, Poeskop busied himself in making a big fire and getting some food out of the saddle-bags. Guy having eaten some bread and meat, and drunk a little more brandy and water, felt vastly stronger. Poeskop now set to work, and with a light native hatchet chopped the horns from the snout of the dead rhinoceros. Then, taking some of the flesh, he made a neat bundle against the coming of the other hunters. By three o'clock Mr. Blakeney and Tom had ridden up and learned the story of Guy's adventure.