“Kick, ohm!”[5]
I shall never forget the sight. I only wish I could have thrown a net over the whole, and preserved it in its entirety.
A BIRD COLONY.
The bank on which we were crouching was the boundary of a depression, always overgrown with grass and reeds, but now full of rain-water. In the pool were birds congregated in numbers almost beyond what could be conceived; birds swimming, birds diving, birds wading. Perhaps the most conspicuous among them were the sacred ibises, of which there could not be less than fifty; some of them standing asleep, with their heads under their snow-white wings; some of them striding about solemnly, pausing every now and then to make a snap at a smaller victim; and some of them hurrying to and fro, dipping their bills below the water in search of fish. On the far side, as if utterly oblivious of the outer world, a pair of grey herons stood motionless and pensive; from amongst the weeds rose the unabated cackle of the wild ducks, grey and speckled; mingling with this were the deep notes of the countless moor-hens; while an aspect of perpetual activity was given to the scene by the nimble movements of swarms of little divers. At a spot where the embankment descended sharply to the pool, several ruffs (Philomachus pugnax) were wandering backwards and forwards, uttering their peculiar shrill whistle; and large flocks of sandpipers were to be noticed, either skimming from margin to margin of the water, or resting passively just where they had alighted.
The explanation of this enormous concourse of the feathered tribe was very simple. A storm of unwonted violence had washed down from the plain above into the hollow beneath myriads of worms and insects, lizards, and even mice, and so bountiful a banquet had attracted the promiscuous and immense gathering which had excited my wonder.
I suppose that one of us must have incautiously allowed himself to be seen or heard, for all at once a whole cloud of the birds rose above us in the air. Taken aback at the sudden flight, I fired almost at random, and was fortunate enough to bring down one ibis and one moor-hen. As we returned along the edge of the swamp, another of our party shot a wild duck.
On getting back to the waggon, I learnt from one of my people who had not joined us in the excursion to the bank, that the farmer had sent me an invitation to go and visit him. Although he did his best to be kind and hospitable, I found the arrangements of his house, which was built of brick, of the most simple and unpretending order. He complained bitterly of the losses he sustained every year from the disease that broke out among his horses; his own saddle-horse had not escaped the infection, and he was anxious to know whether I could give him any advice that might be serviceable to him.
We left Rennicke’s farm in time to arrive about dusk at “Gildenhuis Place,” a farm which I have previously mentioned as lying on the southern slopes of the Maquassie Hills.
À propos of these Maquassie Hills, I may mention that on my third journey into the interior, two years subsequently to the present, I met an elephant-hunter, whose home was on their northern ridges; he was a brave fellow, and told me of an episode in his career which I may be allowed to repeat, in association with my own experiences in the neighbourhood.