Chapter Thirteen.
Attacked by “Tsetse.”
In all likelihood few of my readers need telling what is the tsetse, Dr Livingstone and other travellers having given full account of this scourge of Southern Africa.
An insect, little bigger than the common fly of England, but whose sting is deadly as the bite of rattle-snake or cobra-di-capello; fortunately not to man himself, but to man’s best friends in the animal world—dogs, horses, cattle, and sheep (Note 1). So when Andries Rynwald called out the name of the venomous creature, Piet Van Dorn and his brother had instant and clear comprehension why the camp was being so abruptly abandoned. The tsetse had made its appearance there; in flight lay the sole chance of saving the stock, and even this might be too late.
Only within the hour had the danger been discovered, by the presence of the insect becoming known. On the days before, and up till nigh noon of this one, nothing had been seen of it after most careful search. As a customary precaution they had looked for it all around the mowana. Had it been observed, no camp would have been established there, much less a laager; not even the shortest halt made. But confident of the place being uninfested, the wearied travellers had joyfully out-spanned with the intention of taking a long spell of rest. Then, the alarm caused by the buffaloes over, they had breathed freely again, and were enjoying themselves more than ever; for that danger, so far from resulting in damage, had proved a profit to them. The daily provisioning of such a large party called for a goodly quantity of meat, more than was always obtainable by the chase. On the Karoo, just crossed, wild animals were so scarce and shy, that with all the skill of their hunters the larder had run low. And no longer having their sheep to depend upon, the buffaloes coming that way, with so many killed, had been a bit of rare good luck, seeming almost providential.
Nor did they fail to make the best of it; these animals having been skinned and butchered; the choicest of their beef cut into thin strips, and hung over riems stretched between the trees for conversion into bultong (Note 2). There they were still hanging, like strings of sausages; the red meat fast becoming a mahogany colour as the hot sun shone down upon it, and drew out its juices.
The naacht-maal of the evening before had been a rich repast. The ant-hill kitchen-range, again called into requisition, had sent up its appetising odour, with buffalo steaks frizzling in the pans, and tongues, the tit-bits, simmering in the pots. The same for the morgen-maal of this the next day, which, withal, had been far from cheerful. Quite the reverse to the relatives of Piet Van Dorn, as to most of the camp people, the missing youth being a general favourite. Anxiety on his account, keen throughout all the night and morning hours, had reached its keenest when Andries Rynwald was seen coming back at a gallop, and alone. He seemed the bearer of bad tidings, while in reality those he brought were of the best, relieving every one on the instant of his arrival. Indeed, before it, as from afar off he had shouted, to ears acutely listening, “Piet’s safe!” soon to follow the joy-giving announcement with account of why the brothers lagged behind.
Again was there gladness in the camp, greater than ever, as it always is when the lost are found. But, alas! it was not of long continuance. Scarce had the returned searcher dropped down from his saddle, when those who gathered clusteringly about him and his horse became conscious of a sound, which caused one and all to start and cry out. It was but as the buzz of a blue-bottle, but with sharper intonation and intermittent. In short, they knew it to be the “tzip” of the tsetse; at the same instant catching sight of the insect itself, its brown colour, with yellow-banded abdomen, rendering it easily recognisable. With its long wings in whirring play, it was flitting about over the horse’s body, as if in search of a spot to settle on.
Eager hands were stretched forth to seize hold of, or crush it. They supposed it to have come along with the horse, and so the only one of its kind there. But their efforts were idle; with the sun high and hot, the tsetse becomes exceedingly active, and as difficult to be caught as a bombylins or dragon-fly. Darting from point to point, it eluded all their attempts; in fine, retreating from its persecutors with a bizz that seemed to say, “Catch me if you can.”
It flew off towards some of the trek oxen that chanced to be near, and several of the men followed in hopes of being able to kill it there. But their surprise was light compared with their alarm, when, on getting up to the oxen, they saw not one tsetse but a score of them; ay, there might be hundreds or thousands for aught they could tell. The pestilent insects were flitting about everywhere, and it was evident not only the trek oxen, but the milk cows and horses were being assailed by them. The dogs, too, as could be told by their rushing around and biting their own bodies; some closing their jaws with a snap, like the shutting of a snuff-box lid, in their efforts to seize the creatures that were torturing them.
It was now that the camp rang with that cry which had caused consternation in many another, and broken many another up.
“Tsetse—tsetse!” called out half a score voices in chorus. “Gott en himmel! They’re swarming all around!”
Then followed a scene of wildest excitement; that rushing to and fro observed by Piet Van Dorn and his brother as they came within sight, and heard the racket of shouts which had so mystified them.
They understood it all now, before Rynwald came up to them; who, after some hurried words of explanation little needed, reined his horse round, and the three rode together to the camp.
On arrival there, Piet Van Dorn was embraced by loving, affectionate arms, and had kisses showered on his cheeks. Even a sly one got he from his sweetheart, in a shadowed spot under the trees. But not much was made of the spoils he had brought back. Just then the Vee-Boers had other fish to fry—a great danger to get rid of—which he, as all the rest, was called upon to combat.
Quickly dismounting, he lent a hand of help in the lading of the waggons, which soon after-packed in a hurried, higgledy-piggledy fashion—were ready for the route.
Note 1. “The tsetse” (Glossinia morsitans). Although the sting of this insect is fatal to the domesticated quadrupeds above named, the mule and ass are not injured by it. Neither are any of the wild animals that inhabit the districts infested by it—a circumstance seeming strange and inexplicable.
Note 2. The “bultong” of the South Africans is meat cured in a similar fashion to the tasaio of the Mexicans, and charqui of South America, commonly know as “jerked beef.” The process is of great service in countries where salt is a scarce commodity, or does not exist.