The good old round-hand copy slip, “Familiarity breeds contempt,” is thoroughly exemplified in South Africa; and it is fortunate that this is the case, or it would be hard work travelling across a country where every stone may conceal a poisonous serpent, every clump of rocks hold the lurking-place of a boa-constrictor, and every patch of grass its prowling lion or fierce rhinoceros—where a walk along a river’s bank may invite a charge from the fierce hippopotamus, and no man can bathe without running the risk of being pulled under water and devoured by that loathsome saurian lizard the crocodile.
But familiarity breeds contempt, and after the first nervousness has worn off people go about in South Africa in a calm matter-of-fact way, without troubling themselves about their hidden enemies, otherwise than by taking ordinary precautions, and keeping what a sailor would call a sharp look out for squalls.
If this were not so life would be almost intolerable, and every one would exist in a state of nervous trepidation as hard as that of the classical gentleman who passed his time with a keen sword suspended over his head by a single hair—no doubt of a kind such as would make an admirable roach-line for a fisherman.
The members of Mr Rogers’ hunting expedition thus passed their time happily enough in the continuous round of excitement, taking the pleasure and the pain turn and turn as they came; not grumbling at thorns, or weariness, or mosquito bites; resting when they grew weary, and putting up with hard couches, hunger, and thirst, as they came, without a murmur. They looked out for danger in a sharp matter-of-fact way, and by consequence rarely had a mishap; while Dinny, who was a perfect slave to his fears, and never stirred without taking the most wonderful precautions, generally managed to come in for the worst of the misfortunes that affected the camp.
It was he who would manage to run his head in the dark amidst the prickly euphorbias. If there was a cloud of vicious gnats, Dinny generally got bitten. If there was a poisonous snake anywhere near the camp, Dinny tried to put his foot upon it; and over and over again when near the crocodile-haunted streams he sauntered regularly into the ferocious creature’s way.
The General and his boys saved him from several perils, over and over again. But Dinny never seemed to realise that his own want of care got him into trouble, always declaring that it was “a baste of a place,” and no more to be compared to Ould Oireland than a beggar was to a king.
Dinny’s grumblings would soon have proved to be a nuisance, but for a certain quaintness of humour in the man, which supplied matter for mirth when he was most disagreeable; and in spite of his defects, he was very useful in his way.
While camp was kept up near the great falls, Jack and Chicory had some splendid nesting expeditions, the pendulous weaver, birds’ nests coming in largely for their attention. They disturbed very few though, for, as Jack said, it was hard upon the poor birds, seeing what a lot of enemies they had—artful monkeys slipping down the long thin branches, till they could hang by one hand, and thrust the other little thin brown extremity up the bottle-neck shaped opening, to forage for eggs or young birds, as the case might be.
Then there were the snakes—long, thin, twining creatures, a yard or a yard and a half long, but no thicker than the finger. These showed no little cleverness in ascending trees, and proceeding along the branches till they found their way to a nest, where, in spite of the frantic cries and flutterings of the birds, the little serpent would glide in, and the parents might go and start afresh, for their labours would prove to have been only to find the little snake a pleasant larder, where it could coil up and glut itself with food.
Many of these twining little creatures fell victims to Jack’s shot-gun, as well as to that of his brother, the guns being constantly in use as well to bring down the brilliantly plumaged birds that abounded in the rich forest growth of this well-watered land.