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.