While still talking about the prospect of soon seeing this singular animal in his native haunts, I remembered a story Mr. Bam had told us of a wonderful escape he once had from one of these beasts, and which I will endeavor to give in his own words.
“As we entered the Swakop River one day,” said he, “we observed the tracks of a rhinoceros, and, soon after unyoking our oxen, the men requested to be allowed to go in search of the beast. This I readily granted, only reserving a native to assist me in kindling the fire and preparing our meal. While we were thus engaged, we heard shouting and firing; and, on looking in the direction whence the noise proceeded, discovered, to our horror, a rhinoceros rushing furiously at us at the top of his speed. Our only chance of escape was the wagon, into which we hurriedly flung ourselves. And it was high time that we should seek refuge, for the next instant the enraged brute struck his powerful horn into the ‘buik-plank’ (the bottom boards) with such force as to push the wagon several paces forward, although it was standing in very heavy sand. Most providentially, he attacked the vehicle from behind; for, if he had struck it on the side, he could hardly have failed to upset it, ponderous as it was. From the wagon he made a dash at the fire, overturning the pot we had placed alongside it, and scattering the burning brands in every direction. Then, without doing any further damage, he proceeded on his wild career. Unfortunately, the men had taken with them all the guns, otherwise, I might easily have shot him dead on the spot. The Damara, however, threw his assegai at him, but the soft iron bent like a reed against his thick and almost impenetrable hide.”
The greater part of the afternoon was spent under the shade of some wide-spreading acacias, and in hunting for specimens of natural history. A species of Francolin (francolinus adspersus), and one or two pretty kinds of fly-catchers, were among the day’s spoil.
A little before sunset we returned to the camp; and, as we were to continue our journey on the morrow’s dawn, we picketed the mules and horses, and made our encampment as snug as possible. Though the ground was our couch, and the sky our canopy, we slept soundly, and awoke early the next morning, greatly refreshed. We much needed this renewal of our vigor, for the day proved exceedingly trying both to men and cattle.
Once more we were on the Naarip plain, though this time we traveled parallel with the Swakop (which here pursued an easterly course), on the edge of those gloomy rocks through which its deep and turbulent channel has forced its way.
Just as we entered this wild and dreary waste, the sun rose in all its refulgence, converting, as if by magic, the whole of the eastern sky into one mass of the most dazzling light—tinting the distant mountains with a soft vermilion, and causing the dew-bespangled pebbles beneath our feet to sparkle like so many diamonds. He who has not witnessed a sunrise or a sunset in the tropics (rendered the more remarkable by the nearly total absence of twilight) can not form the least idea of its magnificence and splendor.
But alas! these sights, so lovely to the eye, are often followed by such intense heats as to be nearly insupportable to the way-worn traveler. We were now in the month of September, and the rays of the sun, at noon falling almost vertically on our heads, caused a fearfully high state of temperature. The hot sand, moreover, cruelly burnt our feet, and not a breath of wind stirred the glaring and seething atmosphere. To complete our misery, we suffered from the most violent thirst, which our scanty supply of water, half boiling as it was, could in no way tend to mitigate.
Our poor animals seemed to suffer as much as ourselves. Their gait, protruding tongues, and drooping heads indicated great distress. Still they toiled on, but slowly and painfully, through the sand, which had now become soft and yielding. Long before we had accomplished the day’s stage, one of the mules dropped down from exhaustion, and we were obliged to leave the poor animal to its fate, trusting, however, that when the atmosphere should become a little cooler, it would follow on our track. We dared not stop, nor would delay have been of any avail, for as far as the eye could reach neither bush nor blade of grass was to be seen.
In the early morning I rode one of the horses, but after a time, observing that some of the men looked jaded and faint, I dismounted, and gave it up to them, proceeding myself on foot during the remainder of the day. Mr. Galton had ridden in advance on the other shore, and when we met I was almost speechless from thirst, with my mouth and lips dreadfully parched. Often subsequently have I suffered cruelly from want of water, and for a much longer period than on the present occasion, but never do I remember to have been so much distressed as now; for though from childhood accustomed and inured to privations of all kinds, I had not previously experienced the effect of thirst under a tropical sun.
Again we left our cart some little way from the river, and drove the thirsty and weary animals loose to the water, which was fortunately not far distant; but, though men and beasts drank to repletion, the water seemed to have lost its property, for our best endeavors to slake our thirst proved unavailing.