Perils in the Transvaal and Zululand

by H. C. Adams

There was no need of further warning. Matamo, Haxo, and the Hottentots, the corporal, his men, and his prisoners, though they had been too far off to hear what was passing, no sooner saw the baboons coming down the rocks, screaming and gesticulating with fury, than they became aware of the danger of the situation, and made straight for the waggons as the only haven of shelter. Nor were they a moment too soon. The front and back boards of the waggons were only just secured, when they were surrounded by a multitude of infuriated brutes, endeavouring to pull down the tilt and boards of the waggons. Others climbed on to the top and tore away the tarpaulin covering from the ribs, endeavouring to wrench out the ribs themselves with their strong, sharp claws. They became, however, in this manner an easy mark for the party inside. These at first only loaded their guns with powder, hoping to scare their assailants without further rousing their fury. But they were soon obliged to try sterner measures. The brutes, some of which were nearly five feet high and extremely strong and agile, succeeded in loosening more than one of the ribs of the waggon, and would soon have forced their way in, if the bullets which followed one another in rapid succession had not laid assailant after assailant in the dust. But undeterred apparently by the deadly shower, they continued their attack, gibbering and screaming with fury. The whole of the covering of the waggon was now torn away, and the baboons, thrusting down their long sharp claws, endeavoured to clutch their enemies within, rendering it almost impossible for them to continue to load.

“I say, George,” exclaimed Redgy, as he rid himself with difficulty from a huge baboon which had seized him by the hair, firing his revolver directly into his chest, “these brutes are worse than the Zulus. I wish I had my bayonet here. That would have been the thing for them.”

“You are right, Redgy,” answered George. “I am just going to use my wood-knife. My revolver is empty, and I have no time to reload. The knife isn’t as good as the bayonet, but it is the next best thing.”

The others followed his example—all excepting Hardy, who, with the coolness of an old campaigner, had lain himself down on the floor of the waggon out of the reach of the assailants, and from thence took aim with his revolver, bringing down one baboon after another, and always singling out those which seemed to be the most likely to break in. But, notwithstanding the vigorous resistance offered, it seemed as if the strong ribs of the roof must speedily give way, when suddenly there burst forth a volume of flame which enveloped for a minute or two the whole waggon. Screaming, not with rage now, but with fright, the mandrils leaped down and rushed away, scrambling up the sides of the rocks more quickly than they had come down. At least twenty were left on the ground, either dead or too severely wounded to effect their retreat; while several others limped in the rear of their companions, scarcely able to accomplish the ascent.

“Stop, Mr Margetts,” cried Hardy, as he saw Redgy raise his rifle; “don’t fire at them. You may provoke them to come back. Well, that was as near a thing as I remember to have seen. How did you manage it, Matamo?”

“Koboo and Utango and I had been piling a big heap of reeds to make fires of,” answered the Bechuana. “It was lucky we made the heap so large. When we saw Mr Margetts fire at the baboons, we knew what would happen, and we heaped the reeds round the waggon while the brutes were coming down the rocks. I dropped a match among the reeds as soon as they began the attack, but for a long time it wouldn’t catch. Lucky it did catch at last, or we should have been torn to pieces!”

“Well, you managed famously, Matamo,” said Hardy, “and we all owe our lives to you.”

“Yes, sir, and your dinners too. Very good eating is baboon, and there is enough for a great many dinners.”

“Eating!” repeated Redgy in great disgust. “You don’t suppose any one would eat these brutes, do you?”

“Wall, Redgy, I agree with you,—the idea isn’t pleasant,” said George. “But they can be eaten, I believe. An old messmate told me that when his ship was at Gibraltar, many years before, the colonel of one of the regiments there sent Captain Waters the haunch of a large ape, which had been shot a few days before. The captain didn’t see the haunch, but invited all the officers of the ship to dine off it. The colonel, who had only intended a joke, sent a note explaining it. But somehow it wasn’t delivered until just as the haunch was being removed from the table, having been declared to be excellent. The captain put the note into the fire, and said nothing about the matter.”