“Can you walk, do you think, Wyzinski?”
“Oh, yes. I’m a good deal shaken, but that will wear away. Let us join the king.”
The rifles were loaded, and the whole party moved off once more, leaving the carcase of the grey pony lying in a pool of blood where it had fallen, to become a prey to the jackals and hyenas, those scavengers of the African plains.
Mozelkatse, in a state of nudity nearly as complete as that of his subjects, was in high good humour, and welcomed them warmly. The hunt, he told them, promised well, and a vast number of deer of all kinds were hemmed in between the horns of the living crescent. He motioned them to take their places by the side of the trap, or barricade, into which the herds were to be forced. Masheesh temporarily left them to place his prize, the ant-eater, in safety; and as the line of beaters was still far distant, there was ample time to examine the stockade.
The whole was something like a lobster-trap without a top, or like one of the salmon weirs to be found running out into the sea on the Welsh coast. It was made of stout branches driven deeply into the ground, with lighter ones interlaced horizontally between the upright poles. The opening was at least fifty paces in breadth, gradually narrowing, and as the horns of the living crescent drew inwards, it was the only outlet for the frightened game. It led to a deep square pit, which must have taken the tribe long to dig, whose sides were quite smooth and perfectly steep. Once in it, the deer could not get out, and towards this all the game was being driven. The process was a slow one, and it was afternoon before the long line of the Matabele approached. It was a curious sight. The shouts, screams, and yells of the men as they drove before them antelopes of all kinds, and then the excitement of those near the trap, as herd after herd would come down, find the barricade, and, suspecting danger, turn back. At first the different animals kept to themselves, but as the circle narrowed, quaggas, zebras, antelope of various forms would become mixed together, while the Matabele would rush among them, brandishing their long spears, and frantically striking their ox-hide shields, shrieking, howling, and spearing right and left, until the affrighted wretches, surrounded on every side by the yelling savages, took the only outlet left them, and dashing madly down the path between the stockades, leaped wildly into the pit, falling pell mell in. On they came, quaggas, koodoos, springbok, hartebeest, the shouting and spearing becoming wilder. Hundreds turned, and forced their way through the ever narrowing circle of yelling Matabele, the spears sticking in their bloody hides, while fuller and fuller became the pit, until it was heaped with the dead, dying, and maimed. There was the ferocious-looking gnu, the painted hide of the zebra, the graceful-limbed springbok, the long spiral horned leche, all heaped together in one boiling, seething mass of pain and suffering, the Matabele above, with savage cries, spearing those who in their agony tried to climb the sides of the pit, while still the yelling savages continued driving herd after herd, until, like the fire worshippers’ trap, in Moore’s beautiful poem, the pit was full and would hold no more. There was high feasting in the Matabele camp that night, for the hunt had been most successful, and the slaughter immense; but it was with feelings of pleasure the travellers had a farewell interview with Mozelkatse, and then passing among the dancing, singing savages, took their way across the plain, lighted by a brilliant moon, to their quiet camp by the side of the Limpopo.
A Narrow Escape.
Two days after the Matabele hunt the vast plains were once more silent, Mozelkatse, at the head of his gorged hunters, having left Zoutpansburgh for his own kraal, and the party of which the white men were the chiefs, having resumed their march northward. The waggon and horses had not yet been sent back, but the onward march was slow and tedious, and passing through the country of the Batonga, it took five days’ toilsome march before the tent was pitched on a bend of the Suave river. The weather had gradually increased in heat, the native kraals were few and small, and what was worse, the natives themselves seemed more and more unsociable, if not actually unfriendly.
The white man appeared known among them, but as the distance from the English frontier daily increased, this knowledge seemed only drawn from that of the Portuguese traders on the Zambesi, a degenerate race, who were looked down upon by the blacks. The plains swarmed with game of every kind, and fruits of different sorts were to be found near the rivers; but as the little party advanced, the forest-land became more frequent and more dense. The tall palmyra and the stately moshanna trees grew luxuriantly. Squirrels of various sorts haunted the groves and thickets, more particularly one species of a pale yellow colour, touched up with black, about eight inches long in the body, and being remarkable for its magnificent tail, also pale yellow, barred with black, and fully as long as the body. This beautiful little animal seemed to look for its food among the stones, and was quite fearless. The pitfalls dug by the natives were so artfully concealed as to be very annoying, and even dangerous. On one occasion a Kaffir fell into one, and was released with some difficulty. One was found close to the banks of the Suave river, and into it a splendid panther had fallen. It must have been days since it had been there, for the sides of the pit were scored with its claws: however, a pistol-shot killed it, and its skin was a most beautiful one. The mosquitos and the soldier ants were another source of trouble; and what with the heat, and the too constant meat diet, sores attacked the whole party, breaking out on all parts of the body.
Night had closed round the little camp on the Suave river; the day had been hot and sultry, and the route had lain over plains covered with wild cotton, and among groves of trees closely resembling the orange, but at that time of the year not bearing fruit. Masheesh, who had been a day’s journey to the eastward of north, in order to strike a large native kraal and obtain information, had just rejoined the camp, but his tidings were of a very mixed description. The tent was pitched under the spreading branches of a mashonga tree. A huge fire was lighted; a good supper had closed the fatigues of the day, and the men were fast asleep round the blaze, having gorged themselves with eland meat Captain Hughes was engaged sponging out a rifle, and near him, in the full blaze of the fire, Luji was skinning a small animal shot that day. It was a beautiful little creature of the squirrel tribe, about a foot long, of a bright yellowish red, barred here and there with black. The tail was at least three inches longer than the animal itself, and glossy black at the end. Wyzinski was earnestly studying a piece of broken stone, on which appeared some rude and defaced carvings; while, squatted on the ground, looking up into the missionary’s face, quite naked and his head ornamented with the waving ostrich plume, the firelight danced over Hasheesh’s black face and quick intelligent eyes.