The Middel Roggeveldt was traversed without adventure; they saw plenty of game, and Tom and George proved themselves no mean shots with gun and rifle; but, as the former truly observed, nothing happened to crow or fuss about.
The first difficulty the party met with occurred after they crossed the Newied Bergen. A small river flows at the foot of this range of mountains, the road from the north-east crossing it at a place called Hottentot’s Drift. On arriving at the drift, Major Flinders found that, instead of a shallow river, a hundred and fifty yards wide at the most, he would have to cross a small inundated plain; for the river had overflowed its banks, and laid all the low land at the foot of the Newied Bergen, under water.
It was rather awkward work getting the horses over. Some of them did not like it at all, and plunged and snorted with terror; others did not seem to mind the water, but then they must needs try to roll. However, after some trouble they were all got across; and as it was then getting late, the major ordered a “halt,” and bivouacked for the night on the banks of the river.
Chapter Eleven.
How Tom and his friend went a-hunting; and what befell them.
Early next morning the march was resumed across the Groote Karoo—a vast undulating plain clothed with long waving grass, and studded with acacias, mimosa bushes, and camel-thorn—and towards noon on the succeeding day the travellers came in sight of the Black Mountains. The country through which they had now to pass was still open, but the slopes of the neighbouring hills were thickly wooded; here game of all descriptions was abundant, and the spoor of deer and other animals was frequently to be seen.
“Look, father!” cried George Weston, as they were traversing at a foot-pace a fine savannah. “Look, Major Flinders, is not that a herd of deer feeding over yonder?”
The Major drew rein, and unstrapping his field-glass looked in the direction indicated by his young friend.