Читать книгу: «The Gold Kloof», страница 8

Chapter VIII.
THE ELEPHANT COUNTRY

"It's a bad job," said Mr. Blakeney, after hearing the news, "but it might have been worse. The pony is a loss, it is true; but I'm heartily glad you got through with so little damage, Guy. The fact is, I never imagined we were going to encounter rhinoceros so soon. I should never have forgiven myself if anything had happened to you. You must go steady, my lad, and don't be too adventurous. And in future, as we are likely to tackle rhinoceros and elephant, it will be better to have always in reserve a heavier gun, the double .500 or the eight-bore 'Paradox,' for a second shot. Poeskop, or whoever is with you two boys as after-rider, can carry it for you. Few beasts, not even rhinos, or elephant, or buffalo, can stand up against the smashing blow dealt by such a bullet. Still, these are heavy guns, and kick a good bit, and you needn't use them except in case of emergency, to turn a charge or stagger an animal at close quarters." As for Tom, he was so much overjoyed by Guy's supreme feat in slaying a rhinoceros, that he felt he would gladly have accepted the risk of that adventure, even to the extent of being tossed bodily into the air-horse, foot, and artillery.

The wagon came along presently, and they loaded up the trophies, and some meat from the buffalo and rhinoceros. Then they moved across the plain, making a long trek far into the evening before they outspanned for the night. Next day, after a rather restless and uncomfortable night, Guy felt far too stiff and sore from his fall to sit a horse. He remained with the wagon, therefore, taking things easily, and amusing himself by skinning half a dozen birds which Tom and Mr. Blakeney had recently shot. These included several very interesting species. First, there was a most lovely roller, a bird usually known to South African colonists as a blue jay. This, as Guy discovered by looking up the species in "Layard's Birds of South Africa," a most valuable book for the bird collector, turned out to be the lilac-breasted roller (Coracias caudata), a bird more than ordinarily remarkable, even in a country thronging with brilliant birds, for the beauties of its plumage. The upper colouring was a ferruginous green, the reddish hue showing most strongly on the back; the under parts were pale, bluish green, as were the tail feathers; the rump was bright blue, the lilac breast touched with streaks of white and rufous, the forehead and chin buff. At each outer edge of the blue-green tail feathers there extended a single long feather of dark, blackish green. These are much sought after by certain native chiefs, of whom one was the redoubted Moselikatse, father of Lobengula, king of the Matabele. For this reason this roller is known as Moselikatse's bird.

Having finished with this handsome species, which is about the size of our English jay, Guy took next in hand a perfect little gem of a feathered creature-one of the curious bee-eaters, known to naturalists as Merops bullockoides. The upper colouring of this diminutive bird was a light green, the rump and vent blue, the throat a brilliant scarlet, the front, chin, and moustache white, with a greenish tint. The back of the head was rufous. These tiny creatures, which in the wonders of their colouring remind their captors of the glorious humming-birds, take their names from their family habit of devouring bees. They have longish bills, and, seizing the bee deftly across the body, give it a sharp squeeze and swallow it. There are various kinds to be found in Africa, all distinguished by most beautiful colouring. One species, the European bee-eater (Merops apiaster), passes to and fro between South Africa and South Europe. In the former country it exists largely on a red wasp, of which it seems particularly fond. All these little creatures, none of which measure more than eight or ten inches in length, including a tail of four to five and a half inches, are fond of water, and are often to be seen flitting after their prey over some deep river pool or quiet lagoon.

Having carefully divested the bee-eater of its skin and rubbed in a preservative powder known as taxidermine, the young collector put it beside the other to dry. Guy, while at school, had been a fair amateur bird-skinner, even with no more aid than the small blade of his pocket-knife. Before leaving England he had bought a small case of instruments at Rowland Ward's in Piccadilly, for the more careful manipulation of skins. He had also procured at the same place an excellent book, known as "The Sportsman's Handbook to Practical Collecting," which gave him all sorts of useful information on the preparing and setting up of skins, from birds and small mammals to the biggest of big game. By the aid of this book he was able to settle at once the sex of the bird he skinned, a matter of much importance to all collectors. In addition to these birds, he skinned and prepared an Angola kingfisher; a rufous-necked falcon (Falco ruficollis); a red and black weaver-bird (Ploceus oryx), a very handsome species, seen near the river in large numbers; and a pink-billed lark. To all of these skins, after having got them ready, Guy affixed a label with short particulars, showing the species, sex, and when and where they were shot.

Towards four o'clock Mr. Blakeney and Tom returned to the wagon. They had had an excellent day's sport, and Tom was in a state of high exultation, having run down and shot a fine gemsbuck cow, carrying a splendid pair of horns, measuring no less than thirty-eight and a half inches in length. Mr. Blakeney had secured from the same troop a good bull. It is a somewhat remarkable fact that the females of these grand antelopes carry longer and finer horns than do the males. In most species of African antelopes the converse is the case; and in many specimens, such as the water-bucks, the koodoo, the reedbuck, steinbuck, klipspringer, and others, the females are hornless.

In two days' time Guy had recovered from his toss by the rhinoceros, and was longing to be in the saddle again. They had reached the second range of mountains, and, after a long and hard day of trekking up and down hill, had surmounted the pass by which Poeskop guided them, and outspanned on the farther side. The spoor of elephants had been found near this camp, and next day was to be devoted to a hunt, if the party could come up with a herd. Poeskop alleged that this country was full of "oliphant," as he called them in Boer Dutch, and attributed their plenty to the growth of a favourite tree, the machabel, which grew in this locality.

After much discussion it was settled that they should hunt on foot. The ponies wanted a rest, and, to the uninitiated, shooting elephants from the saddle is not an easy matter. Moreover, so far as they knew, none of their nags had ever been in pursuit of these animals, and it was by no means certain that they would behave properly in the presence of such formidable beasts of chase. At dawn next morning they had breakfasted and were away. Mr. Blakeney carried his .500 express, a weapon powerful enough, with solid bullets, to account for the heaviest game. Tom, who was to accompany his father so soon as the hunt began, was armed with a double Africander rifle, carrying Martini-Henry bullets. Guy was armed with a .303, in which his uncle had a good deal of confidence; but Poeskop, who was to accompany him, carried the Paradox eight-bore in case of necessity. The Bushman had the strictest injunctions to stick close to his young master, and to hand the spare rifle instantly in case of a charge. All were clad in their lightest kit. They anticipated much walking, and probably a good deal of running. They wore, therefore, no more than flannel shirts, old breeches or flannels cut down to the knees, and velschoens. Their legs and arms were bare, their heads protected by the usual broad-brimmed felt hats. Poeskop appeared in nothing but an old shirt and a pair of velschoens. An odd little figure he cut, indeed, loaded as he was with the weight of a heavy rifle. The Bushman stepped out briskly, however, and by the end of the day his masters were fain to confess that, in spite of severe exertions, he was as fresh and as fit as any of them.

For three miles Poeskop conducted the little party along the lower slope of the mountain. Finding the spoor he expected, he led them at a rapid walk, with an occasional jog trot, on the tracks of the gigantic game. They descended to the level ground; and presently, after another hour had elapsed, the Bushman whispered that they were approaching the troop. They were now in a fairly level piece of country, the open parts of it consisting of grass veldt. There was a good deal of timber and bush. On the whole, the veldt seemed favourable for hunting: it was not too open, and in case of pursuing or charging elephants, as Mr. Blakeney had carefully explained to the two lads, there were plenty of opportunities for dodging behind bush and tree-trunks, and so evading a charge.

The wind was light. Poeskop picked up a handful of dry sand and let it run through his fingers. The direction was all right, and the falling sand was puffed gently towards them. On they went, now stepping with the greatest caution so as not to break a twig or make any kind of unnecessary noise. Now they crossed the bed of a dry streamlet, negotiated some more bush and timber, and then suddenly, in a great opening of the forest, dotted here and there with islets of heavyish bush, came upon the herd. It was a wonderful spectacle. Sixty or seventy elephants, big and little, but most of them full-grown bulls and cows, were shambling slowly along; some plucking at clumps of bush, some tearing at branches of trees; two or three, with their huge gleaming tusks, stripping the bark from some good-sized timber and conveying it to their mouths. One or two great cows were caressing with their trunks some half-grown babies that moved alongside them.

With a motion of his hand Mr. Blakeney signified that he and Tom would take a big bull that was engaged in stripping a tree of its bark. Guy nodded, and indicating that he would go farther up the herd for his shot, turned back into the shelter of the forest and ran swiftly along. As he ran he heard the loud report of two barrels from his uncle's rifle; then Tom's Martini rattled out twice. In an instant the forest, but a moment before so silent and so peaceful-for the elephant moves with singularly noiseless tread-was in an uproar. Wild trumpetings conveyed the danger signal from one to another. The great beasts massed more closely together and moved on. Yet, at present, they were no more than walking quickly. They had not broken into a run.

Guy skirted the glade, and reached the point he had aimed at just in the very nick of time. As he crouched behind a patch of bush the troop came right past him, within fifteen yards. He let two or three cows and calves go by, and then, as a huge bull with immensely long tusks shuffled up, looking, as Guy thought, like some gigantic mammoth of the primeval world, the lad knew that the supreme moment had come. Raising his .303 very gently, he took aim for that part of the great beast's skull which lies between the eye and the orifice of the ear, and let drive. To his immense astonishment the mighty beast went down like a shot rabbit. The tiny sporting bullet had pierced the brain, and the elephant never moved again. Full of confidence now, Guy rapidly worked another cartridge into the breech, and seeing that a bevy of big elephants, which were following hard upon the great bull, had swerved to the right, he left his concealment and ran in after them. Picking out the best bull he could see, he ranged up within twenty paces, and, not being able to get the head shot, fired for the shoulder.

This time the result was nothing like so encouraging. The great brute wheeled round with astonishing quickness, and with a trumpet that sounded to Guy like the scream of a dozen railway engines rolled into one, charged instantly. There was nothing for it but flight; and good runner as Guy was, he always said afterwards that never had he sprinted so fast as he did over the fifty yards of open ground across which the wounded bull now chased him. Poeskop, who was twenty or thirty yards behind as Guy fired, had turned short as the beast turned, and doubled back into some bush, and for the present was safe; but Guy, with the elephant following upon his heels, trumpeting wickedly as it ran, felt that he was in a very tight place indeed. Nearer and nearer came the great brute. The lad felt that each moment the monster's trunk would come slipping round his waist. A clump of trees and some bush stood just before him. How he accomplished it he never quite knew; but he reached the shelter, dodged round a tree like a rabbit, slipped behind some bush, and crouched close to the earth. As he expected, the elephant thundered on; and before it could check its impetus and turn, Guy had crept farther away.

But the bull had by no means yet done with him. It turned short in its tracks so soon as it had pulled up, and, with ears held at right angles to its head, looking, as Guy in his place of concealment thought to himself, for all the world like a pair of mighty sails hoisted to the breeze, and its trunk searching the air closely for the scent of its enemies, trotted quickly back. If by chance the beast got his wind, Guy knew quite well that he would have to sustain another charge, and the monster would be on top of him. Suddenly the brute halted thirty yards away from where the lad crouched, and again carefully tested the atmosphere with its trunk. Poor though its vision is, there is no creature in the world which has such marvellous scenting powers.

"I have it! I have it!" screamed the monster. In the puzzling eddies of air, that are almost always to be found in forest country, some faint whiff of Guy's presence had reached the infuriated beast; and now, with a trumpet that shook the leafage and rang far through the woodland, the great beast came crashing through trees and bush straight for Guy's place of concealment. Guy looked around. It was too dangerous to attempt to run now; in the thorn bush and scrub where he crouched he was too deeply involved to have any decent prospect of escape. He must stand the charge, and trust to his bullet turning the brute. Almost in the twinkling of an eye, as it seemed, the bull was within ten yards. Guy had his rifle up and his finger on the trigger. Then, before he had time to pull, came the loud report of the Paradox, twenty paces to his left. Poeskop, good fellow that he was, had come to the rescue. Struck full in the ribs, and raked through and through by the eight-bore bullet, the bull was instantly diverted from his charge upon Guy, and now turned, trumpeting yet more fiercely, for the smoke of the big bore. As he turned Guy gave him a good shot, which raked him obliquely behind the shoulder. Flesh and blood, even the flesh and blood of the mightiest land mammal in the world, was not able to stand against the three wounds which it had now received; and the bull, feeling very sick, turned away from its revenge, and sought shelter in the forest again.

Poeskop crept up to his young master's side.

"Now, Baas Guy," he said, his narrow eyes gleaming with the light of battle and the fierce instincts of the savage hunter, "we shall have him. Come along!"

Throughout this somewhat trying episode Guy had never once lost his head. Now he felt as cool as possible. Something told him the danger was past and the victory near. They ran on in the wake of the elephant, and presently, going more cautiously, came up with it again. The bull could go no farther. He was standing in a little clearing among some machabel trees, swaying from side to side, the blood dropping from his mouth.

"He is very sick, baas," whispered Poeskop. "He will die soon."

"I can't wait," returned the lad. "I shall put him out of his misery."

"Pas op!" whispered the Bushman. "You can never trust an elephant. He may charge again."

But Guy was not to be gainsaid. Creeping within thirty paces of the sick monster, he took careful aim for the head shot again, between the eye and the ear, and pulled trigger. The bull knelt quietly down upon his fore-legs, his hind-legs sank under him, and there, resting in that attitude, he gave up the ghost.

"He is dood, baas," cried Poeskop joyfully. "You have done well. Two good bulls for your first elephant hunt is as much as any man can desire. This bull's teeth will weigh forty pounds apiece; the other's are much heavier. Hark!"

As he spoke there came sounds of firing in front of them, first one shot, then two others.

"Come on, Poeskop!" cried Guy. "They are still hard at it. We may come in for more of the fun."

Threading their way through the forest, they trotted for a long half mile, and then heard, not far in front, the scream of an angry elephant. Guy was beginning to get somewhat more accustomed to the sound; yet, as he was always afterwards ready to admit, there are few things in nature more awe-inspiring than the trumpet of a wounded or infuriated elephant. They moved forward very cautiously for another few yards, and then came on the edge of more open ground. To the right they saw an elephant, manifestly a cow and wounded, shambling towards them. She was going slowly, and every now and again would stop, spread out her huge ears, and thrust out her trunk. Twice she picked up dust with her trunk, and blew it over her shoulders as if bathing herself.

"She is far gone," whispered the Bushman. "We can finish her as she goes by."

She was now within less than thirty yards of them, and as she came past each saluted her with a bullet. The cow staggered, came on, thought better of it, and then turned to make off. As she turned, Tom Blakeney ran out into the open, fifty yards away, and gave her yet another bullet. He stood and reloaded quickly, ready to turn and run for the shelter of the woodland if she should charge again. But the big cow was finished. She staggered as Tom's Martini bullet struck her, tried to save herself, and then with a heavy crash fell over on to her side, stone dead.

"Hurrah!" shouted Tom, taking off his hat and flinging it up into the air. "I thought I should never get her. I've been after her nearly half an hour. Thanks for your help, Guy. Where's the pater?"

"Here, my boy," replied Mr. Blakeney, with a smile, as he too emerged from the forest. "I have been running on your spoor the last ten minutes. I was afraid you might get into trouble. However, you've got your cow, and very nice teeth she has. They weigh more than twenty pounds apiece, I should say."

Tom and his father were now joined by Guy and Poeskop. They held consultation and compared notes. It had been a great and successful hunt. Mr. Blakeney had brought down a big bull and a cow with good teeth. The tusks of the bull he estimated to weigh at least fifty pounds apiece, those of the cow about eighteen pounds apiece. Leaving Tom's dead cow, they now made their way back to the two bulls shot by Guy. Of these the smaller and more troublesome one, which had hunted Guy so unmercifully, carried teeth weighing some forty pounds apiece; while the huge male, so easily bagged at the youngster's first discharge, showed a truly magnificent pair of tusks.

"My word!" said Mr. Blakeney, as he contemplated the gigantic proportions of the beast, and its long, massive, gleaming tusks, with their splendid curves; "that's a grand fellow indeed. You seldom come across such a pair of teeth as that-seventy pounds apiece, if they weigh an ounce! I congratulate you, Guy. Your first elephant is a prize indeed! Now, tell me how it all happened."

Guy described his adventures: his easy success with the great bull, and the thrilling time he had had with the second.

"Well," said his uncle, "I'm not by any means sure that I am justified in letting you two lads begin elephant hunting so soon. But you've done right well. Thank goodness, you escaped that second bull, Guy. A wounded elephant is one of the most formidable beasts in the world, and you never quite know what may happen when one is charging you. You are born to be lucky, Guy," he continued, "I do believe. But keep your head, and don't be too venturesome. They say the life of a professional elephant hunter averages no more than half a dozen years. I can well believe it. There are so many risks, and the labour is so enormous. Well, now, I reckon that these five elephants we have bagged will yield some four hundred pounds of ivory, which at ten shillings a pound will bring in two hundred pounds. Not a bad morning's work that, eh?"

"Father," interrupted Tom, with wild eyes and streaming face-for he was still, as indeed they all were, suffering from the effects of the great hunt-"I don't want to sell my tusks. I should like to take them home to mother, and have them hung up in the dining-room at Bamborough, over the sideboard or somewhere."

"So you shall, my boy," said Mr. Blakeney, with pleased face. "That's an excellent suggestion. But whatever your mother will say to me for allowing you to be hunting elephants in this way, I don't know."

Leaving Poeskop, who carried his native hatchet, to begin the task of chopping out the tusks of the slain elephants, Mr. Blakeney returned with the two lads to the wagon. The oxen were inspanned, and a trek was made that afternoon to the scene of the hunt. Here a fresh camp was formed, and the whole of the next day was spent in chopping out the remaining tusks and packing them away on the wagon.