From Veldt Camp Fires

by H. A. Bryden

In half an hour the plan of campaign was settled, the horses were saddled up and the seven hunters, spreading out in a widish line, advanced upon their game. They reached the summit of the hill. There, three hundred yards below, in a broad opening of the bush, moved very slowly at least sixty huge elephants, most of them carrying long white teeth. In other parts of the thick bush the dusky forms and pale gleaming tusks of other mammoths could be counted.

The Boers dismounted, left their horses behind them, and, one upon either flank, crept in; the two natives carrying guns were in the centre; the three Bushmen, armed only with assegais, served to maintain the thin line of the advance. Half-way down the hill, the Boers fired their rifles into the herd, now close in front of them, the native gunners followed suit, and then, with loud yells, the whole party dashed in upon the elephants. It was a risk, but the plan succeeded to admiration. Half the herd tore terror-stricken down the remaining three hundred yards of hill and entered headlong upon the flat marsh in front of them. Half scattered, and, turning short round, broke back through the thin cordon of hunters. Of these, two big bulls and a cow, all bearing magnificent teeth, fell victims. Leaving these to die, as they quickly did, of their wounds, the hunters ran on and reached the edge of the marsh. Quite a respectable troop was already stuck fast in its treacherous depths. The hunters fired, and fired, and fired again, shot after shot, and as the victims fell, the remainder of the troop, in their desperate exertions to free themselves and escape, only buried themselves yet deeper in the black mud of the smooth, green-looking swamp. It was a scene never to be forgotten. The gunners, black and white, in the fiercest stage of excitement, shouting, screaming, swearing, firing; the Bushmen, mad with the lust of blood, venturing with light feet upon the swamp and spearing the hopelessly embogged elephants; the screaming and trumpeting of the great pachyderms themselves, frantic with helpless rage and terror, created in this erst silent wilderness an infernal pandemonium. By sundown the last elephant but one of all that troop was slain, and seventy-three of the great tusk bearers lay dead upon the marsh. One young bull, lighter than its fellows, had marvellously crossed the swamp in safety and escaped. Some of the finest tusks in Africa lay here under the red rays of the dying sun. Few were under thirty pounds in weight. Many were well over fifty pounds apiece. The two biggest bulls carried teeth that, when dried out, pulled the beam at over ninety pounds apiece. It took the hunters and their natives more than a week to chop out the tusks and get them stowed in their waggons. In the last few days, although the marsh had become firmer and work more easy, the two Dutchmen were unable to withstand the dreadful effluvia of the rotting carcases, and the natives completed the loathsome task alone save for the throngs of vultures that kept them company.

Six months later Tobias De la Rey had reached the far Transvaal border on his return home, had crossed a drift of the Limpopo, and was now approaching Vogelstruisfontein. Despite the toils and dangers of his last eighteen months in the wilderness, his heart was light and there was a look upon his broad and stolid face that told of much happiness. The house was reached at last, and Tobias’s travel-worn waggon, loaded to the tilt with ivory, halted fifty yards away from the door. Vrouw Terblans, aroused by the cracking of whips, the cries of the drivers, and the heavy creaking of the waggon, stood outside upon the stoep.

“Well, Tant’ Joanna,” cried Tobias, as he rode up, “there is the finest load of ivory that has come into the Transvaal for many a long year. More than a thousand pounds’ worth. I have kept my word Ja! I have made my last hunt and brought home three thousand pounds weight of ivory. Allemaghte! It was the greatest hunt ever known in South Africa. Seventy-six elephants we killed in a single day. But where are Truey and Terblans?” De la Rey, in the joy of this unspeakably triumphant moment—looked forward to so eagerly during every waking hour of the last six months—had not noticed the stout huis-vrouw’s black stuff gown and her lugubrious expression.

“Alas!” she replied. “Have not you heard, Tobias? Truey caught a fever four months since and died, poor child, in my arms. My man died too—he had been long ailing—six months after you had trekked. I have had sore trouble, but the Heer God who chastens can bring the healing. It is a blessed thing to see the face of an old friend again. Will ye not off-saddle and come in, Tobias? I want your help and advice.”

Tobias had stared at Tant’ Joanna as she spoke these words, his slow mind not fully comprehending their terrible import. He leaned down towards her from his horse and said in a low, fierce, guttural voice:

“What was that you said, woman?—Truey dead?”

Vrouw Terblans was whimpering now and had a kerchief to her eyes.

“Yes, Tobias,” she answered feebly, “dead indeed.”

With a deep groan, but without another word, De la Rey jerked fiercely at his horse’s bit and turned to his waggon. “Trek on for home,” he said huskily, and himself rode forward.