Witdraai consisted then of three small native huts used as store, living, and sleeping rooms by the trio of camel police stationed there, and which were comfortable in comparison with the cave in the limestone of the river-bank which was their only “home” for some months when they were first sent to establish a post at this out-of-the-way spot in the desert. However, remote as was the post, it compared very favourably with the other few stations along the German South-West border. For here was water in plenty, a borehole sunk deep in the Kuruman River giving them a never-failing supply; moreover they had trees, grass, flowers, and birds, and a long oasis stretching for over a hundred miles towards Kuruman in which to forget the desert.
They had been greatly pestered by troops of wild dogs, which had on several occasions broken into their kraal and killed and maimed numbers of their sheep and goats.
As there were Bushmen near the camp at Witdraai, we endeavoured to arrange a dance for the benefit of the bioscope camera, but the spokesman of the tribe, when he saw the machine, incontinently bolted, and we could not get in touch with him again. So far the camera had been of little use, as it had proved far too heavy to take on the more distant trips, and we had found it impossible to get it near to big game in the desert on account of the want of cover.
Whilst at Witdraai I succeeded in killing a snake which I had seen once or twice in the vicinity, and which I believe to be a new variety, as I have not seen it described in any book, or a specimen in any museum.
Old Gert called it a blaauw slang (blue snake), and said it was peculiar to the Kalahari, and that in killing it I must hit it hard, as it was very tough and difficult to kill. The specimen I at length obtained was about 6 feet long, and of a light blue colour along its back and reddish underneath. It was apparently a variety of cobra, as it extended its hood and struck viciously when I tackled it, and I found that Gert had been right, for the light stick I picked up made very little impression on it, and I had to finish it with my rifle-butt.
For some reason I could never get the Hottentots or Bastards to skin a snake. Several of our “boys” were expert hands at “braying” a skin, and steenbok, duiker, jackal, lynx, leopard, or in fact any animals we killed, were soon converted into beautifully soft furs, but when it came to a snake I had to do it myself.
At the end of a few days of this pleasant break in desert life a Bushman messenger whom we had sent out brought the news that he had found a patch of mature t’samma between Aar Pan and a small pan called “Koma,” where the indications were promising; and as this meant that oxen could remain in the desert, and we should be independent of water, we hastened back southward to the waggon and reentered the Reserve. We also took a light Scotch cart, with which, from this new base, we hoped to be able to make a flying trip eastward with sufficient tools to test some of the pans properly.
About a day’s trek into the desert we found the t’samma, a patch of about a morgen where a vagrant thunderstorm had fallen in season, and in which the little juicy insipid melons were just about the right size—that of a cricket-ball.
On them we lived, quite independent of water, eating them raw, or leaving them in the ashes overnight—in which case they are full of a clear liquid by morning. Coffee can be made or cooking carried out with this, but though life can be sustained for an indefinite period upon this substitute, the craving for water is always present. Unfortunately, this t’samma did not obviate the real difficulty of testing the ground, for which an abundance of water was needed, and after a few days Du Toit and myself, leaving the rest of the party, inspanned six oxen in the Scotch cart and started eastward. We had with us a Bastard named John Louw, who knew the desert in that part better than most men, and believed that with moderate luck we should be able to trek from pan to pan with a fair amount of tools, etc., where hitherto we had barely been able to reach as we stood.
Crossing the huge dunes at Aar Pan with a cart was a fair criterion of what we should be able to do, and by the following evening, so well had the oxen pulled, that we stood at the big krantz at Koichie Ka pan, where van Reenen and I had had such a rough time a few weeks previously. There was no mud in the pan now, however, much less water, but John, who took the oxen farther east to feed, brought back some t’samma and said there was plenty in that direction. So our minds were at ease and we had quite a jolly evening under the krantz, where the leopards still resided, for traces of fresh “kills” were everywhere. However, we had a roaring fire, and I slept like a top by it till Gert woke me at daybreak to witness a sight I would not have missed for anything. The whole pan was covered with gemsbok, many hundreds of them, straggling at first, but eventually bunching into a herd that suddenly thundered across the pan like a regiment of charging cavalry, and disappeared over the dunes westward. I was delighted at the spectacle, but both Gert and the Bastard looked anxious.