Chapter Nineteen.
General remarks on the Transvaal.
The two main roads from the Cape Colony to the Transvaal cross the Orange river at Hope Town, and a few miles north of Colesburg, both meeting at Kimberley, the diamond-field centre. Railways are open as far as Kimberley.
From Kimberley to Pretoria by road is 334 miles. The country, the whole distance, is open, and most uninteresting; grass-lands the entire distance, broken here and there with small patches of low mimosa bush. The only portion of the distance less monotonous than the rest is the road that skirts the bank of the Vaal river, as far as Bloemhof, where the pretty wooded banks and broad river relieve the eye from the everlasting rolling plains seen in every direction.
There was some pleasure in travelling these roads twenty years ago, as game being plentiful on the veldt, and wild-fowl of every kind in the rivers and pans, there was some excitement in looking out for a good dinner. At the present time I have travelled from Pretoria to Kimberley and never had occasion to take my gun or rifle out of my waggon.
The face of the country is entirely changed, farms now occupy the land, and many villages are built, supporting a considerable population that depend greatly for support by supplying the several markets on the fields with their produce. In all my experience of African travelling, I never passed through a region less interesting for picturesque scenery than the greater part of Griqualand West, and the southern portion of the Transvaal, up as far north as Lichtenburg and Pretoria. But it is not so on the eastern border and northern division of the Transvaal, where is fine mountain scenery and thickly wooded valleys, with the many rivers, the banks of which are clothed with thick vegetation, with timber of considerable size and variety covering the country in all directions. The Pongolo forest near Swaziland; the finely-wooded district of the Lobombo mountains; the wild region north of Lydenburg to the Limpopo river, an extent of country some 150 miles in length; and all to the north of the Magalisberg range, where the forest is more dense, containing much valuable timber; right up to the northern boundary, separating this republic from the Mashona or Matabeleland by the magnificent Limpopo river, a region extending 200 miles in length; more particularly in the northern division, where the unbroken range of forest that covers each bank of this noble river for hundreds of miles on the right and on the left, where the abrupt and almost perpendicular mountains rear their lofty heads far up in the clouds, clothed with every kind of tropical tree. This gives one an idea of eternal spring, the foliage displaying a charming variety of every shade and hue, from the pale and silvery to the darkest green and copper-purple; much of it covered with a profusion of lovely lily-like flowers, others with crimson bloom, fruits and seeds, creeping plants climbing to the topmost branches, and falling down in graceful festoons to the ground, forming numerous ropes, which the many monkey tribes use to ascend and descend with remarkable speed. Some of the giants of the forest—the noble baobab and others—blasted by storms and age, stand out in grim mockery of perpetual life, although they may number many thousand years, noble emblems of misfortune and decay.
“The rheum of age from Marlboro’s eyes to flow,
And swift expire a driveller and a show.”
In some of these African forests, so extensively covered with timber and beautiful underwood, where the white man’s foot has seldom trod, it is natural to look for some rare specimen in animal or vegetable life.
There is a charm in traversing these unknown forests that irresistibly draws the explorer on more into their recesses. The gloom pervades everything around, cut off from the bright sun above by the dense foliage, casting into shadow the gigantic boles of many trees that surround the traveller, giving a weird aspect to the scene, combined with the perfect silence that reigns around; for during the greater portion of the day, when the tropical sun is high, all nature is as it were dead, the birds retire into their homes, the wild animals crowd into some hidden nook and sleep, and everything is at rest, until the sun nears the western horizon, when one by one, both animals and birds begin to stir. A single antelope may be seen leisurely moving along, then two or three more; a jackal, a tiger-cat, or some other beast of prey makes a cautious advance among the bushes; the distant sound of branches being broken by elephants or giraffes; the twitter of many birds, and the shrill whistle of others calling to their mates, cooing of doves, and the tapping of the woodpecker on the decayed bark of trees seeking for insects beneath (which has a most peculiar effect upon the listener in the silent retreat), and as night advances, the roar of the lion, which startles all nature into silence, causes the intruder upon his preserves mechanically to look to his rifle to see all is right and fresh cartridge handy, for at any moment his proximity may be expected.
It was on one of these evening rambles in the noble forest that I was an eye-witness to a very rare and singular sight, and which, I believe, few explorers have ever witnessed.
Wandering on where the openings in the bushes allowed free access between the thick vegetation, admiring the splendid picture of vegetable life, I caught the sound of loud, deep, bass voices not so very far away, which appeared to be coming nearer. As I was under one of those splendid baobab trees, quite in shadow, I determined to wait and find out the cause of such unearthly sounds. Lying down on the grass, to be out of sight as much as possible, I waited with my rifle ready for action, if any animal should come disagreeably close. The sounds were continuous, and became louder every moment. At first I concluded there were several wolves fighting; then growls, similar to cats on the house-tops, but much louder; this continued for some twenty minutes. Crawling round the tree on my knees, I discovered the cause. About seventy yards from where I was concealed were two lions, that is, a lion and a lioness, apparently in a very quarrelsome mood, as the lioness kept throwing back her ears and showing her teeth, at the same time pawing the lion in the face with her huge paws, and lashing out with her tail, the lion taking it very quietly, but growling as if remonstrating. All this time they were coming nearer, until they stopped some forty yards from my retreat; all was quiet—I intently watching them all the time—for some ten minutes longer, when the lioness gave a few cat-like spits, and bounded into the bush, and the lion quickly walked off in another direction. A hunter relates being once in a tree watching a lioness and a lion. Another began roaring in the distance, when the lioness roared in reply, the lion trying to prevent her. But at last he began also, when the other lion appeared, and a terrible fight began, their strong bones cracking. At last the first lion was killed, and the lioness, with a whisk of her tail, went off with the last. “Oh, you jade!” said the hunter.
Evening was now falling fast, and as the nights here close in soon after sundown, it was time to strike for my waggon, where I had outspanned on the banks of the river, at a very pretty bend, where I could get plenty of sea-cow and crocodile shooting. On my way home, which took twenty minutes to reach, many kinds of game crossed my path, and I managed to bag a fine silver jackal. The lion and lioness were not seen any more.
My camp is 100 yards from the river, where several openings in the trees give me many pretty glimpses of the stream and the opposite bank, which is, from this near side, some 200 yards broad, with several sand-banks and rocks in mid-stream. Lofty reeds grow thick and strong upon their sides, full of nests belonging to the yellow and red finch, as also the larger kind with long black tails that greatly impede their flight.
Birds of all sizes, and of many colours, with brilliant plumage, swarm along the banks; several kind of kingfisher, honey-birds (not much larger than hummingbirds, with their long curved bills, mostly found where flowers are plentiful), bitterns, pelicans, Kaffir-cranes, flamingoes, geese, ducks, and other kind of water-fowl are seen in great numbers, and give plenty of occupation for rifle and shot-gun. The vultures, hawks, and eagles are daily seen on the wing. We stumble on snakes at every turn of the forest and along the river-bank. The python has been killed on the Limpopo, the natives tell me, longer than my waggon, which is sixteen feet, and some say that there are others that have been seen double that length.
About a mile below this camp I came upon their spoor, in the long grass, and from the beaten path they made, over two feet in width, there must be many of these monsters about. We have been out several times at night to look for them.
The largest snake I shot, next to the python, was when walking along a bank of sand, where there were several large holes. He was moving in the grass a short distance from me, a most vicious-looking reptile, quite black, and measuring nearly thirteen feet; there are others nearly as large in the Kalahara desert. I have killed many puffadders, but none exceeded in length three feet six inches. The long, thin yellow snake is mostly found in trees, after birds; they stretch themselves along the branches, and look like a portion of them. Those I have killed measured nearly five feet. When the little birds see them they fly round and near, making a great noise. I was walking along a river-bank that had several snake-holes in it; a short distance ahead was a small bird fluttering about in one spot. Standing to watch it for some time, and finding it still kept on in the same way, I walked up almost close to it, when I saw the head of a large snake sticking out of a hole; but on my making ready to fire he retreated into it, and the bird flew away. This was the first time I had seen a snake charm a bird. The variety I have killed may be called legion. Of several the names are unknown.
The iguana grows to a large size in these rivers; I have only seen the black one in this district. My boys killed one measuring five feet seven inches; they cooked and dished him up for their supper, and told me it was very good. The hedgehog, ant-bear, and armadillo are plentiful, as also many kinds of earth-animals, generally found in the more open parts. But the most disgusting thing, and which I have a horror of, are those tree-toads. Some trees seem to swarm with them; they fix themselves in the fork of a branch, and remain quite still all day, and at night they chirp like a bird—it may be called the singing-tree, I suppose the same kind mentioned in ‘Pilgrim’s Progress’—their colour so resembles the bark that it is difficult to distinguish them from it. I have stated in a former chapter that several dropped into my waggon when on my way up to Matabeleland.
Early the next morning, after my lion adventure, I prepared for a day’s shooting up-river, ready for any and everything that came within range of our rifles. My driver and a Cape boy, both very good shots, and myself with shot-gun, after an early breakfast, started soon after sun-up along the right bank of the river. We had not proceeded many hundred yards before a large flock of guinea-fowl flew up, when both barrels brought down five. This was a good beginning; they were sent back to the camp at once. It is no use pursuing these birds when they have been disturbed, they run like a race-horse, and keep to the ground. If you have a good dog to chase them they are compelled to find shelter in the trees, when they can be shot. My last dog was bitten by a puffadder and died.
Continuing along the bank for some little distance I came upon a deep pool in the river, where we could distinguish, just out of the water, part of the head of a large hippopotamus; but as we neared him to get a shot he prudently sank. On the opposite bank two half-grown crocodiles were enjoying the morning’s sun, and they also thought it desirable to clear for the water, but not before one of them received a bullet in the side, which made him turn and twist about, lashing his tail as he made for the water, where we lost sight of him. The river was too wide and deep, and too dangerous for any of us to cross, to attempt to follow him up; but we saw by his motion in the water he must have received a mortal wound. The river appeared about 200 yards wide, with thickly wooded banks, and fine timber trees. As we were watching his movements, several ducks flew past down stream; two I shot, but they fell in the water, and no one dare go in to get them, as our friends the sea-cows and crocodiles might lie there. Consequently, we left them floating on the water, but had not moved many paces away before they had disappeared, a dainty morsel for one of these monsters.
As we advanced along the bank we became aware that large game occupied the other side of the river. The dense forest prevented our seeing them, but there was no mistaking the sounds. Elephants were near, by the breaking of branches and the constant rumbling sound of their bowels. The river was too deep and dangerous to cross, therefore I had no choice left but to remain quiet and concealed in the shadow of the beautiful trees, the branches of which overhung the river. We knew they were approaching the river to drink. After waiting some twenty minutes, one by one they pushed themselves through the undergrowth that lined the steep bank, and made for the water, standing in a row close together, sucking up with their trunks the water into their immense throats, an operation that looks ridiculous, a sight seldom to be seen in daylight. To have fired upon them would have been cruel, as there was no possibility of getting their tusks even if we had killed them; we therefore watched with intense interest this interesting sight.
After satisfying their thirst, they walked into the river until they were half submerged, throwing water over their backs, and flapping their immense ears against their sides, making a peculiar noise, evidently enjoying the bath immensely, pawing the water with their huge legs; and then returned to the forest, to browse on the young and tender branches of their favourite trees. There were thirty-seven full-grown, and eleven young ones of various sizes. It was with difficulty I could restrain my boys from giving them a shot. To see elephants, the largest of all animals, in their native wilds roaming undisturbed, and note their habits and actions, is most interesting.
These gigantic animals care very little for crocodiles or hippopotami; but the rhinoceros often kills them. Their long legs, being six feet in length, and nearly three feet round, are very formidable when used in their own defence, either on land or water, without the aid of their five feet of tusks. At the present time these splendid animals are never seen in these parts, where formerly they were so plentiful. Mr John Viljoen, the Boer who came north after the Bloomplaats fight in 1848, thirty-seven years ago, and settled in Marico, told me that the whole of that district swarmed with elephants and every other kind of large game, as also in the neighbourhood of Rustenburg, Pretoria, and other localities more south; now they are seldom seen south of the Limpopo, except in the country to the east, under the chief Umzela.
In the trees on the opposite shore, and in the forest behind us, large grey monkeys, with black faces, were busy watching us. There appeared to be hundreds, and as they swung from branch to branch, with the young ones following their mothers, they made the forest look lively. They travel on the tops of the trees faster than you can run below.
As it was now getting on towards noon we pushed on up-stream, making excellent bags of guinea-fowls, pheasants, and ducks. In addition to this dainty food, my boys shot a quagga, which the black man prefers to any other game. It was now time to return, being pretty well loaded with provisions to last several days; but what avails that with a hunter, when surrounded by so many tempting opportunities of having a shot at animals or large reptiles, never to be met with out of these primeval forests? We wanted sjamboks, so much sought after by the colonists; the best are made from the skin of the hippopotamus, so we must bag some, if possible, before we left this fine and undisturbed hunting-ground.
We therefore searched the river carefully on our way back, directing the Kaffirs to peer into every nook and corner of the pools, and at last were rewarded by discovering a fine, large sea-cow moving about in long reeds in a small sand-island, only separated from the bank by some twenty yards of shallow water. This was a splendid chance not to be thrown away, as he was quietly feeding, unobservant of our presence. We took advantage of his turning towards us, and gave him three shots in the head, one entering the brain, and he fell without apparently a struggle; a most fortunate and lucky capture, as he was on a bank just above the water, where we could take his skin and tusks without any trouble. Slipping off my boots and socks, I tucked up my trousers, and was soon at the beast’s side. It occupied us the remainder of the day, until sundown, to take the skin, which was no easy task, and even then we did not secure the whole; only taking the best part, suitable for the renowned sjambok, and several pieces of the flesh, as it is excellent eating, similar to pork. It was now a puzzle how to get all to the waggon, being nearly a mile from it. I therefore determined to send all my three Kaffirs with as much as they could carry to the camp, and return with some empty sacks for the remainder, while I remained on guard.
It was some time before they returned, the sun had long gone under, but the bright starlight night enabled me to see distinctly some distance round. During their absence I enjoyed the perfect silence that pervaded everything, except occasionally the splashes in the water by crocodiles at play, or in their rush after fish, and the blows of the hippopotamus as it came up from the deep water. Not a breath of air stirred, or a leaf moved. Numerous fire-flies added a charm to the scene, for they are most brilliant, and even give light enough when caught and held near a book, in the darkest night, to read distinctly. Many glow-worms, of which there are legions here, will also give light to read from. We now set to work to cut up more of the sea-cow’s flesh, and after well loading all hands, started for the waggon, where we arrived about eleven o’clock in the evening, after a hard and an exciting day’s work.
Lions we heard from both sides of the river as we made for camp; also wolves and jackals, with the plunges in the water from the sea-cows, as we disturbed them in passing, where they were feeding along the bank, kept us on the alert from a surprise.
From a long and isolated life in the wilds of Africa how sensitive the hearing becomes to sounds of every kind, and the different calls or notes of birds or beasts, if danger is near! Birds will give warning much quicker than animals, from their being able to see a greater distance from the branches of the trees. Animals know the birds’ call of danger, as also do birds that of animals. The plover is the most annoying to a hunter, as they are persistent in following him up, giving the note of alarm. I have endeavoured to hide myself away many times from them; but they are not to be baffled in this way, but come flying round the bushes, prying everywhere, until you are discovered, and with renewed vigour they strike up their alarm-notes, making the game fly before you in every direction. Once let these birds fix their attention on a hunter, he must either shoot them, or give up hope of a good day’s sport.
The boy in charge of the waggon during the day informed me that a little before sundown nearly a hundred head of game had passed down the river, close to the waggon, but cleared when they discovered the camp. They were, from his description, the rooi or red antelope, the size of our fallow-deer.
We left this camping-ground the next day, and as there were no roads, had some difficulty in pushing our way through the forest, to avoid the tent of the waggon being smashed by the low branches of the trees. After proceeding some few miles we came upon the remains of a quagga that had evidently been killed and eaten by the lions the previous night, as their spoor on the sand was very fresh. We therefore hastened our departure to get clear of the dense bush before night, and after two inspans arrived at an open space close to a small brook of running water, where we fixed our camp for the night.
The weather is delightful, almost perfect; perpetual sun, which becomes monotonous when there is so much of it, scarcely sufficient wind to stir the leaves of the trees, the heat most agreeable, only 83 degrees in the shade at mid-day. After making all fast we prepared for supper: a guinea-fowl for myself, and quagga steaks for my boys, and then to bed at 9 p.m. During the night jackals and wolves annoyed us; lions we heard at a distance, but sufficiently near to cause us to keep a watchful guard in case they felt disposed to make an attack on our oxen.
These grand old forest regions of Africa are full of interest, more particularly at the present season, when animal and vegetable life are springing into existence. Spring has far advanced, and summer is coming on apace. The birds are filling the woods with their notes,—although they do not sing they make the air ring with calls of many sounds, teaching their young to fly; the mocking-bird being the most persistent in keeping up his incessant chatter. The grey cockatoo, with his beautiful crest, is determined to make himself heard amidst the din of sounds; but of all the African birds I love, the best is the gentle ringdove; his welcome cooing notes have cheered my heart in many a weary day’s trek over a dry and parched-up region, where days have been passed without tasting a drop of water, when the notes of the ringdove have caught my ear, telling me water is near, for they are well known never to be far from it, which in every such case has been true. The croaking of frogs also is a welcome sound, for they never enlighten the air with their notes when the water has dried-up. Crickets and many other insects make the air ring with their chirps when water is plentiful.
A traveller, when roaming through this wild region, soon becomes acquainted with all forest sounds, and in many cases from necessity, when passing through a country where for six or eight months of the year rain never falls, not even dew, to moisten the atmosphere. During this dry time few insects are seen, but in the rainy season they swarm, and birds are scarce far from water; but along all the river-banks some with most beautiful plumage are to be seen, and many other kinds. Gorgeous flowers are not wanting to add beauty to the forest scenery, and a traveller must indeed be callous to all that is beautiful in nature who can traverse these woodland regions unobservant of their beauties. The charm lies not only in the magnificence of the scene around, beautiful as it is made by the Creator for man’s enjoyment, but it is also the book of nature, where man may learn wisdom away from the busy world. However much we may like the society of our fellow-man, there are times when it is very refreshing to be alone to think, particularly when surrounded by scenery rarely to be found out of these splendid old forests, where nature has been so bountiful in clothing the earth with such pleasant objects to look upon. I love the woods and their surroundings, where the mighty baobab, the king of the forest, reigns supreme above all other trees, whose age exceeds 5000 years, and is yet full of life and vigour—born a thousand years before the great pyramids of Egypt were even thought of—a living monument of the vitality of nature. Mighty nations have grown, flourished, and passed away into oblivion, since these vegetable monuments first took root, where they now stand and flourish, fit emblems of man’s littleness. We pace the galleries of our museums and look with admiration on those monuments brought from Nineveh, Babylon, Greece, Rome, and Egypt, which speak of the past history of the world, but not one of which can date as far back as these living trees, that had life before these nations had an existence.
Can we then pass these grand old trees with indifference, or look upon their huge trunks—which measure over 107 feet in circumference—without emotion, the branches of which at mid-day would shelter from the sun a regiment of soldiers? But these are not the only trees that grace the primeval forests of Africa; there are many varieties, dating back many thousand years from their birth, that are grand objects in the landscape, and complete a picture of forest scenery that few can realise who have not visited these ancient and glorious old forests, which, if they could speak, could tell wondrous tales of scenes unknown to man.