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

Near the confluence of the two great rivers of Southern Africa—the Yellow and Orange —behold the camp of the “young yägers!”
It stands upon the southern bank of the latter stream, in a grove of Babylonian willows, whose silvery foliage, drooping gracefully to the water’s edge, fringes both shores of the noble river as far as the eye can reach.
A tree of rare beauty is this Salix Babylonica —in gracefulness of form scarce surpassed even by the palms, the “princes of the forest.” In our land, as we look upon it, a tinge of sadness steals over our reflections. We have grown to regard it as the emblem of sorrow. We have named it the “weeping willow,” and draped the tomb with its soft pale fronds, as with a winding-sheet of silver.
Far different are the feelings inspired by the sight of this beautiful tree amid the karoos of Southern Africa. That is a land where springs and streams are “few and far between;” and the weeping willow—sure sign of the presence of water—is no longer the emblem of sorrow, but the symbol of joy.
Joy reigns in the camp under its shade by the banks of the noble Orange River, as is proved by the continuous peals of laughter that ring clear and loud upon the air, and echo from the opposite shores of the stream.
Who are they that laugh so loudly and cheerfully? The young yägers .
And who are the young yägers?
Let us approach their camp and see for ourselves. It is night, but the blaze of the camp-fire will enable us to distinguish all of them, as they are all seated around it. By its light we can take their portraits.
There are six of them—a full “set of six,” and not one appears to be yet twenty years of age. They are all boys between the ages of ten and twenty—though two or three of them, and, maybe, more than that number, think themselves quite men.
Three of the party you will recognise at a glance as old acquaintances. They are no other than Hans, Hendrik, and Jan, our ci-devant “Bush-boys.”