The Vee-Boers: A Tale of Adventure in Southern Africa

by Mayne Reid

The river had still to be crossed, as they were on its southern side, and the range of hills lay north. But about this they anticipated no difficulty; having examined the drift on the day before, and found it easily fordable. When the attempt came to be made, however, it did not prove so easy. The rain-deluge of the preceding night, which half drowned Piet Van Dorn among the ant-hills, had swept all over the country, and the stream was now in freshet to full channel.

There were ways of getting the people across, the animals, too. But the waggons must wait for the subsidence of the waters. Luckily, this had commenced, and, as they could see, was going on rapidly. Many South African rivers rise to highest flood, to fall again within a few hours, and such an one this appeared to be. With glad eyes they saw it go down by inches, as though the water were filtering into the earth underneath, as well as running off down stream.

Confident it would soon be at its normal level, they did not think of outspanning. Instead, the oxen were kept attached to dissel-boom (Note 1), and trek-touw; only the horsemen dismounting to make things more trim for the passage across.

In an incredibly short space of time the water was low enough to attempt it; and then arose a chorus of shouts, with cracking of whips, as drivers, achter-shambok men, and forelopers, urged the oxen down the sloping bank into the stream’s bed. Not less was the fracas while the fording was being made, every moment of it a continuance of encouraging cries, and whip-cracks loud as pistol shots, till the three huge vehicles were dragged out on the northern shore, high, but not dry; instead, dripping wet up to their boxes.

The fording had been effected without serious accident, though accompanied by one of a comical character, in which Andries Blom was the conspicuous figure. This ill-starred youth, now more than ever jealous of Piet Van Dorn, while crossing the drift, rode close to the waggon that carried Katharina Rynwald. With the hope of re-establishing himself in her good graces, he was making great show of solicitude for her safety, as also display of his horsemanship. This is a set-off against Piet’s late pitch out of the saddle, which had become known, and his own account of it credited by all, save Andries himself. The latter, however, affected disbelief in it, insinuating that it was a simple downright “throw,” no hyena-hole, nor any other having aught to do with it. While wading his horse alongside the waggon, he had sneeringly said as much to Katharina, to get for his pains a look of reproachful scorn. Stung by it, and the jealousy that tortured him, he became reckless, spurring his horse angrily in front. But the animal, angered too, commenced pitching about, and tripping on the loose, slippery stones in the stream’s bed, went head over, not only sousing its rider, but flinging him from the saddle. As the two struggled out upon the bank, paces apart, the laughter that from all sides saluted him was bitter as though it came from the throats of fiends; all the more that a sweet silvery voice took part in it, which he knew to be Katharina’s.

But the merriment at his discomfiture was of short duration. Just then, all were oppressed with an apprehension of the tsetse having already done its deadly work, and that the fatal result would declare itself later on. It was not that, however, which brought their hilarity to an end, abrupt as though a bombshell had burst in their midst. This came from a shout sent from the opposite side of the stream—that they had just left—a cry of alarm. Looking across, they saw one of the Caffres, who had lingered behind at the laager to pick up odds and ends, coming at full run down to the drift, as he ran, excitedly exclaiming, “Olifants! olifants!” (Elephants.)

What was there in this announcement to alarm them? Instead, a professional hunter would have hailed it with delight, thinking of ivory and the gain to be got from it. So might they, but for a spectacle which on the instant after they had under their eyes. Looking back upon the open list, late traversed by them, they beheld a band of elephants, nigh a hundred in number, in all likelihood the same met on their midnight march across the Karoo. But whether they, or others, the danger was all the same and imminent. The huge pachyderms were coming over the veldt and in their usual fashion, single file, making straight for the drift, and likely to cross there. These sagacious animals know all the waters within any district frequented by them—the springs, vleys, and streams, with their fording places. The herd was advancing as if along an oft-trodden track, and the apprehension of the Vee-Boers—a very fear—was not without sufficient cause. Should the elephants continue on over the stream, it would be sure destruction to everything that chanced in their way. The rush of the buffaloes, lately dreaded, were as nothing to it. It was now that the head baas, Jan Van Dorn himself, assumed authoritative command, and gave display of his intelligence; calling to the forelopers to lead off, with the drivers and jambok men to whip up after. The waggons were instantly switched to one side, and clear of the track, which the elephants, left unmolested, would be likely to take. The driven cattle, too, were hurried out of the way, the people at the same time seeking safety in concealment.

But the old jägers had no intention of leaving the olifants unmolested; instead, he meant to make slaughter among them, and from their tusks get some compensation for the loss sustained by that wholesale poisoning of sheep.

He had barely time to arrange his battery—all the available guns belonging to the party—as the leading elephant, a grand old tusker, with ears big as carriage umbrellas, entered the open list in the timber, the rest still following in file. Though going only in a walk, it was with a stride that carried them along fast as most other animals in full run, and in a few seconds after the tusker stood on the stream’s bank; then with a flourish of trumpets, and a whirl of his flexible trunk, struck straight down into the water.