I have never beheld such a sight, and never shall again. No scene I am sure in all the world could surpass the grandeur of that—fire in the bush.
Thank heaven, the rock Umatula had selected was slightly out of the track of the flames, and to our relief we saw them sweep past, their heated breath scorching our cheeks, leaving first red embers, then a vast extent of burnt charred vegetation in their tract.
“However could this have occurred,” I exclaimed to Umatula when all danger was over, “such an accident is most dangerous.”
“Not at all; this is no accident,” he laughed. “The Kaffirs have done it to improve the grass for the cattle.”
“Done it!” I repeated in surprise.
“Yes; directly the oxen have eaten a patch of grass to the stubble and it gets coarse, my countrymen set fire to it when the cows are safe in the isibaya and the wind does not lay that way but towards the bush.”
“But they ruin the land for miles,” said Thompson gruffly.
“No, they improve it; the charred wood and stubble serve for manure, and if rain come the land is speedily recovered by a fresh vegetation.”
This was perfectly true. The scorched blackened soil which we now looked upon from our height of rock would in a brief period send forth sweet green young shoots, forming an excellent food for cattle.
Certainly the plan might be very good, but I hoped within myself, while Thompson expressed the same wish aloud in English, that when the natives had recourse to this method of strengthening the ground, there might not be any unfortunate travellers like ourselves in the neighbourhood. Then with a prayer of thanks for our preservation from both of us, we once more laid down, now on the top of the rock, and feeling ourselves safe owing to the exterminating fire from any unpleasant intrusion, were all three in a short time sleeping soundly.