The Young Yagers: A Narrative of Hunting Adventures in Southern Africa

The two hunters had now a choice, whether each should pursue a separate game, or both take after the same. But neither thought for a moment of separating from the other, except by heading him. The spirit of rivalry, though silent, was strongly felt by both. Even the very horses seemed to be actuated by a similar feeling, eyeing each other askance, as they galloped side by side!

The antelope that both were determined to follow was easily selected from the rest. The old buck that hitherto led the herd had now gone off by himself, followed by a pair of the stanchest dogs. His horns were the meteors that gleamed in the eyes of our hunters, and beckoned them on.

Without exchanging a word with each other, both rode after the buck.

Chapter Sixteen.

Groot Willem gets a Tumble

The chase was now one of exceeding interest, and had become a simple trial of speed between horses, dogs, and antelope. The buck had kept on in a direct line, when the others broke away from him. He had been foremost at the time, and had no need to turn out of his course. Besides he knew where he was running to. Terror had driven the others out of their senses, and they had fled without design, while the old buck, not losing his “presence of mind,” kept on for the water.

A dark belt seen ahead was a forest fringing some stream or river. That was the point he was making for, but a wide plain must be crossed before he could wet his hoof in any water. Over this plain now swept the chase.

Oddly enough, the two dogs that had chosen the buck for their game were rival dogs – that is, each hunter was owner of one of them, and regarded him as a favourite; and all three kinds, dogs, horses, and riders, seemed to be on their mettle, and were doing their very best.

Do not fancy there was any ill-feeling between Groot Willem and Hendrik. Nothing of the sort. Each loved his horse and his dog, and wished them to excel – each had his hunter reputation at stake in the result – and each had resolved upon carrying the head and horns of that blue-buck in triumph to the camp!

Notwithstanding all this, there was no “bad blood” between the boys. Nothing of the sort.

Beautifully the buck ran. Lightly he leaped over the turf, his limbs at each spring stretching to an almost horizontal line, with head high in air and horns curving backward to his flanks. Well and beautifully he ran!

Sometimes he gained on his pursuers, as the nature of the ground favoured his hoofs; but again the strong buck-dogs howled upon his heels, and the hunters galloped but a hundred yards behind him. The blue of his back soon changed to a deeper tint, as the sweat poured through his sable skin, and the froth in large flakes clouted his neck and shoulders. His red tongue hung dripping from his jaws, and the hunters might have heard his hard breathing but for the panting of their own steeds.

Five miles did they go in that wild gallop – five miles without drawing rein or changing pace!

The woods were near – perhaps the water! The buck would gain them if not hard pressed – there might be a deep reach of some large river – the blauw-bok can swim like a duck – he would plunge in – they could not follow – they would lose him!

With such fears the hunters spurred their horses for a final burst. Their speed had proved nearly equal. Now was the time to try their “bottom.”

Both shot forward at the fresh touch of the steel; but at the second or third spring the ground under the “Great Camel” gave way, and the huge horse with his heavy rider rolled headlong to the earth!

He had broken through the burrow of the aard-wolf!

Hendrik, who had shot a little ahead, heard the confused noise behind, and, looking over his shoulder, saw Groot Willem and the “Camel” struggling together over the turf. A more attractive object, however, was in front of him – the panting buck – and without making halt, or staying to inquire whether his fellow-hunter was hurt – a pardonable neglect among sportsmen – he pressed his wearied horse still forward and onward.

In five minutes after, the buck stood to bay by the edge of the timber, and the dogs rushed up and sprang at him. It was a fatal spring for one of them – the favourite of Groot Willem. The luck was against him, as it had gone against his master. A single “gowl” came from his throat, as he was flung back off the sharp horns of the antelope. It was the last note he ever uttered, for in a moment more he had kicked his last kick, and lay lifeless upon the plain!

And very likely Hendrik’s favourite would have shared the same fate; but his master at this moment riding near, caused the blue-buck a fresh alarm, and he broke bay, and dashed into the bushes followed by the dog.

Hendrik now lost sight of the chase, though he could hear the breaking branches, as the strong antelope made his way through the thicket, and the baying of the dog still told him the direction in which the game was going.

Putting his horse to a more moderate pace, he followed through the bosch, as well as he could. He expected every moment to hear the hound bark, the signal that the buck had again stood to bay, but he was doomed to disappointment. No such sound reached his ears.

He began to think that the buck was lost, and that, after all the chances in his favour, he would return to camp with no better story to tell than his rival. He was becoming exceedingly chagrined with the turn things had taken, when, to his further chagrin, he heard a loud plunge, as of some heavy object falling into deep water. He knew it was the buck. Another plunge! – that was the dog.

There was a river ahead – the antelope had taken to it, and would now escape to a certainty. The water seemed near – there was an open tract that led in that direction. Perhaps he might be in time. Perhaps he might get to the bank before the buck could reach the opposite shore. A bullet from his rifle might yet secure the game.

Without hesitating a moment he again spurred his horse, and galloped down the hill in the direction of the water.

There was a river, and in a few seconds’ time Hendrik was on its bank. He had arrived at a place where the water was deep and the current still, but the rippling wave on the surface guided him. Two objects were seen above the surface moving rapidly across. They were the horns of the buck and the head of the buck-dog!

Hendrik had no time to alight. Before he could steady his horse, the blauw-bok had got out of the water, and was climbing up the opposite bank. There was just time for a hurried shot. The broad back of the antelope offered a fair mark, and the next moment a tuft of the hair near the spine, was seen to fly up like a spark, while a red stream spouted from the spot. The crack of a rifle explained this phenomenon; and before its echoes had died away, the antelope came tumbling down the slope, and lay motionless by the edge of the water.

The horns were Hendrik’s!

Chapter Seventeen.

A Tough Struggle

The horns were Hendrik’s!

So thought Hendrik, when, at the crack of his rifle, he saw the buck roll backward down the bank into the very jaws of the buck-dog.

He was mistaken, however – as he had reason to think the moment after – when the antelope, instead of lying still where it had fallen, rose to its feet again, beat off the dog with its horns, and springing over him, once more plunged into the river! The dog bounded after, and, swimming faster than the antelope, overtook it near the middle of the stream, seizing it by the quarters as he got within reach. The strong buck soon shook him off, and turning short upon his persecutor, struck at him in the water. Two or three times the hound was under its horns, but the water yielding saved Hendrik’s favourite from destruction, although more than once he was forced under the surface.

This struggle was kept up for some moments. The river ran red, blood pouring from the wound of the bullet, as well as from the flanks of the antelope, lacerated by the tusks of his canine assailant. The blood of the hound also helped to colour the current – for the sharp horns of the buck had been used to some purpose, and several gashes appeared in the hide of the dog, from which the crimson flood streamed copiously.

After delivering his fire, Hendrik had alighted, not with the intention of reloading, but merely to secure his prize, which, as he supposed, had been finished by the shot. He was about tying his bridle to a branch; but, before he had succeeded in making a knot, the renewed struggle on the opposite bank, followed by the plunge, caused him suddenly to drop the reins and again lay hold of his rifle.

He loaded with all haste, and ran forward to the bank.

There was a fringing of willow-bushes along the edge of the river. In the saddle Hendrik had been able to look over them, and at that elevation commanded a view of the water. Afoot he could not see it, except obscurely through the tops of the willows. He could only see that the water was waving with eddies and covered with frothy bubbles. He could hear that a struggle was going on between buck and buck-dog, but the combatants had got close in to the willows, and the leaves prevented Hendrik from seeing either of them.

At one place there was a break in the willows, where the bank sloped downward to the water’s edge. It was a mere pathway, made by wild animals in going to drink. On both sides of it the bushes grew thick, forming a narrow lane or alley.

Hendrik’s eye fell upon this path, and the next moment he was hastening down it. The antelope from the river had also noted the path. It was the place easiest of access from the water, as there the bank was more shelving than at any other point; and just at the time the hunter rushed into it from the woods, the buck was entering its opposite end from the water!

Both were going at full speed, and in five seconds’ time they met face to face in the narrow pathway!

There was no chance for either to make way for the other. The close thicket on each side prevented that. There was no chance for either to retreat; the impetuosity with which they were running rendered it impossible for either to give back or even halt. They must meet with a fearful collision!

Such a meeting would be entirely to the advantage of the buck, and, perhaps, to the total destruction of the hunter.

Hendrik saw this, and would have aimed at the buck and fired had time been allowed him. But so sudden and unexpected was the encounter that he had not even time to get his rifle to the level, before the animal was too near to admit of such delay.

He fired wildly without taking aim. The bullet scored the back of the antelope, only to add to its fury; and with head lowered and scimitars set, it rushed onward upon the hunter.

It was a moment of peril for Hendrik. Another moment, and he would have been impaled upon the sharp horns; but at that instant, as if guided by an impulse of instinct, he dropped his rifle, and ran forward towards the buck, as if to fling himself upon its horns!

That was far from being his intention, however. When within about three feet of these horns, he gave a sudden bound and rose like a springbok into the air!

That spring saved him. Before he came down again the horns had passed under him, and he fell heavily across the back of the buck.

The hind-quarters of the antelope sank under his weight, and Hendrik slipped off; but before he could recover his feet, the furious animal had turned, and was again springing upon him where he lay.

It would have been all up with Hendrik, had he been left to himself at that moment. But succour was nigh.

The buck-dog had reached the spot; and just as the antelope was making his rush, the dog sprang forward, and, seizing it by the throat, hung fast.

Hendrik received the blow, but the weight of the dog hanging to the throat of the antelope prevented the latter from giving it with effect, and the hunter was but slightly injured.

In an instant the buck kicked the dog off with its hoofs, and flung him to the ground. In another instant it would have finished him with its horns; but Hendrik, from the sharp blow he had received, was now as angry as the antelope itself, and was not going to see his favourite hound killed before his eyes without making an effort to save him. Warmed to the conflict, he thought no longer of retreating; and, drawing his hunting-knife, he sprang forward upon the antelope, that, engaged with the dog, chanced to stand broadside towards him. With his left hand the hunter grasped one of the horns near its tip; and, using this as a fulcrum, he turned round upon it, and thrust the long blade between the ribs of the buck!

It was a home-thrust – for the animal fell dead at Hendrik’s feet before he could let go his hold upon the horn. The blade had passed through its heart.

As soon as Hendrik had cooled a little from the conflict, he thought of Groot Willem, who had not yet come up. He began to fear that the latter might have received some serious injury, and he determined to ride back to the spot, letting the buck lie where it had fallen. He could return for it afterwards. Fortunately his own well-trained horse had not run off – though left with trailing bridle – and Hendrik was soon mounted and riding back on the spoor of the chase.

There was one thing that mystified Hendrik not a little. While battling with the buck he had heard the loud report of Groot Willem’s roer. What could he have fired at? Had any of the other antelopes come in his way? or was it a signal of distress? Hendrik was mystified and felt some apprehension.

He had not far to go to satisfy himself. On reaching the edge of the timber, he saw Groot Willem mounted and about starting forward to rejoin him. This was a joyful sight to Hendrik, as the fact that Groot Willem was once more in the saddle and the “Camel” upon his legs again, was good primâ facie evidence that neither had sustained any very serious damage.

Nor had they, as Hendrik ascertained by riding up to the spot. Groot Willem was not so badly hurt as Hendrik himself, for the latter had one of his arms well scored by the horns of the buck. Groot Willem’s temper, however, was severely ruffled; and though Hendrik was very much inclined to laugh at the accident, he forbore doing so, out of regard for his friend’s feelings.

Hendrik now inquired about the report he had heard.

Was it the roer? Groot Willem answered his question in the affirmative, by a simple nod, at the same time pointing to an odd-looking animal that lay dead upon the ground, with all the appearance of having been freshly killed.

Hendrik rode forward, and, bending down in his saddle, for some moments regarded the animal.

A rare and singular creature it was. It was about the size of a large terrier, but shaped very differently. It had the drooping hind-quarters that distinguish the hyenas, and altogether the look of these animals; but its muzzle was much more slender and pointed, its back more rounded, and its limbs not so stout as those of the hyena’s. It was a more agreeable creature to look upon, and although its hair was long, it had a soft woolly appearance. The general colour of the hair was grey with a reddish tinge, and with black bands running transversely to the body of the animal. This as much as anything else caused it to resemble the hyena – that is, the species known as the “striped hyena,” (Hyena striata).

It was not a hyena, however, but one of those odd animals that seem to belong to no class of creatures, but form a connecting link between several. South Africa is especially prolific in such eccentric forms, both among its birds and quadrupeds. As an illustration of this, we might mention the wild-hound, the hyrax, the zerda, the fennec, the gnoo, and the aard-vark; and among birds, the serpent-eater, the bateleur eagle, and several other kinds. Most of these odd animals are only represented by a single species, and that only to be found in South Africa.

Now the creature that lay stretched out before the eyes of Hendrik was just one of these zoological puzzles, that has occupied the attention of the systematists for a long while. Some have classed it among dogs, others with hyenas, some make a civet of it, and others a fox. With all these animals it has affinities, both in habits and anatomical structure, but it is not near enough to any to be regarded either as dog, fox, civet, or hyena; and hence a genus has been created for itself – the genus Proteles. It was a proteles that lay upon the ground —Proteles Delalandii, – so called from its first describer, the traveller De Lalande.

Hendrik and Groot Willem knew the animal by the name of “aard-wolf,” or earth-wolf, so called because it lives underground in a burrow of its own making. They knew it well enough, for it is common through all South Africa – even in the settled districts, though on account of its nocturnal and burrowing habits it is not often seen. It makes itself known to the boor by its evil propensities; and although he may rarely get his eyes upon it, as it is never abroad by day, he is often called upon to witness the dire effects of its midnight marauding.

The sheep of South Africa are of a singular breed – singular on account of their large fleshy tails, consisting of a mass of almost pure fat which often weighs several pounds, and is used by the colonial housewives in many operations of cookery. Now these tails, hanging to the ground are the favourite bonne-bouche of the aard-wolf, whose jaws, not strong like those of the hyena, compel him to feed upon soft substances. It is, therefore, no uncommon thing for the vee-boor to get up in the morning, and find several of his best sheep divested of their valuable tails, and all through the voracity of the aard-vark.

It was not likely that either Groot Willem or Hendrik was ignorant of the aard-vark. Neither were they. Hendrik did not ride up to examine the animal out of curiosity. He had seen such before, and killed them too. His object in bending over it was to see where Groot Willem’s bullet had hit.

“Where had the creature come from?” he inquired.

Groot Willem replied that it had issued from its burrow – the hole that had caused the “Camel” to stumble. That it had come out, just as he, Groot Willem, recovered his feet; and that, provoked at it for having been the cause of his misfortune, he had sent a bullet through it, otherwise he would not have reckoned it worth his powder and lead.

This explained the report of the roer.

Hendrik and Groot Willem were now about to return for the buck, with the intention of carrying as much of the meat to camp as they could manage upon their horses; when Hans and Arend came up, and the four rode off together.

They quartered the antelope, and each having packed a quarter upon his croup, they set out for the camp.

All of them were in good spirits, except perhaps Groot Willem, who had two reasons for feeling out of sorts, – the loss of his dog, and the loss of a little of his hunter-fame. And he was not permitted to forget his accident so easily, for although Hendrik had forborne to give him further chagrin, yet Hans and Arend did not deal so delicately with him, but both laughed heartily at his unfortunate tumble.

Chapter Eighteen.

The Arrow-Poison

Klaas and Jan had long since ridden their ponies back to camp, and having off-saddled, remained by the wagons.

For all that they were not idle – that is, they were not without something to interest and amuse them. Swartboy was the genius worshipped by Klaas and Jan, for there was no bird in all Africa that Swartboy could not either snare or trap; and in his hours of leisure, when the oxen were kraaled and off his hands, he was in the habit of showing the two young “mynheers” how to construct many a sort of decoy and trap for the fowls of the air.

Upon this day in particular, however, they were more than usually interested in the Bushman’s proceedings, as his attention was turned to capturing, – not a fowl of the air, but of the earth, – an ostrich.

Swartboy had resolved to pluck the plumes out of the old cock that had been seen, and whose dwelling had been so rudely approached and plundered in the morning.

But how was Swartboy to capture the cock?

It was not his intention to take him alive. That is a difficult matter, and can only be managed by men mounted upon fleet horses, and then after a very long and troublesome chase.

Swartboy had no wish to take the ostrich alive. The bird would be of no use to him in that way, as the skin and plume-feathers were the spoils upon which the Bushman’s thoughts were bent, or rather the rix-dollars which these would yield on Swartboy’s return to Graaf Reinet. Therefore he did not intend to catch the old cock, but kill him, if he could.

But how was the Bushman to accomplish this? Would he borrow the rifle from Hendrik, or the great elephant-gun – the “roer” – from Groot Willem, and shoot the ostrich? Not likely. Swartboy was no shot, that is, with fire-arms. He knew nothing about them; and with either rifle or roer he could scarcely have hit an elephant, much less an ostrich!

But if Swartboy knew not how to manage a gun, he had a weapon of his own that he did know how to manage, – his bow. With that tiny bow, – scarce a yard in length, – and those small slender arrows, the Bushman could send a missile as deadly as the leaden bullet of either rifle or roer.

Looking at the light reed, with its little barbed head and feathered shaft, you would scarcely believe it possible that such a weapon could bring down the big strong ostrich; and yet with a similar shaft had Swartboy often levelled the great camelopard in the dust. A deadly and dangerous weapon was the Bushman’s arrow.

But what rendered it so? Not its size, and surely not the force with which it could be projected from that tiny bow? Neither. There was something besides the strength of the bow and the weight of the arrow to make it a “deadly and dangerous weapon.” There was poison.

Swartboy’s arrows were true Bushman weapons, – they were poisoned. No wonder they were deadly.

The use of the bow among savage nations all over the earth, and the great similarity of its form and construction everywhere, may be regarded as one of the most curious facts in the history of our race. Tribes and nations that appear to have been isolated beyond all possible communication with the rest of the world, are found in possession of this universal weapon, constructed on the same principle, and only differing slightly in details – these details usually having reference to surrounding circumstances. When all else between two tribes or nations of savages may differ, both will be found carrying a common instrument of destruction, – the bow and arrows.

Can it be mere coincidence, like necessities in different parts of the world producing like results, or is this possession of a similar weapon among distant and remote peoples a proof of unity or communication between them in early times?

These inquiries would lead to a long train of reflections, which, however interesting, would here be out of place.

But an equally or still more curious fact is that of poisoned arrows. We find here and there, in almost every quarter of the globe, tribes of savages who poison their arrows; and the mode of preparing and using this poison is almost exactly the same among all of them. Where there is a difference, it arises from the different circumstances by which the tribe may be surrounded.

Now the knowledge of arrow-poison, as well as the mode of preparing it and the habit of using it, belong to tribes of savages so completely isolated, that it is not probable – hardly possible, in fact – that either they or their ancestors could ever have communicated it to one another. We cannot believe that there ever existed intercourse between the Bushman of Africa and the Chuncho of the Amazon, much less between the former and the forest tribes of North America; yet all these use the arrow-poison and prepare it in a similar manner! All make it by a mixture of vegetable poison with the subtle fluid extracted from the fang-glands of venomous serpents. In North America, the rattlesnake and moccason, with several species of roots, furnish the material; in South America, the “wourali,” or “curare,” as it is indifferently called, is a mixture of a vegetable juice with the poison extracted from the glands of the coral-snake, (Echidna ocellata), the “boiquira” or “diamond rattlesnake,” (Crotalus horridus), the lance-headed “viper,” (Trigonocephalus lanceolate) the formidable “bushmaster,” (Lachesis rhombeata), and several other species. In South Africa, a similar result is obtained by mixing the fluid from the poison-glands of the puff-adder, or that of various species of naja, the “cobras” of that country, with the juice from the root of an Amaryllis, called gift-bol (poison-bulb) in the phraseology of the colonial Dutch. It is out of such elements that the Bushman mixes his dangerous compound.