The Young Yagers: A Narrative of Hunting Adventures in Southern Africa

by Mayne Reid

I have said that the young yägers were encamped on the southern bank of the Great Orange River. What were they doing there? The spot they occupied was many a long day’s journey from their home in the Graaf Reinet, and many a day’s journey beyond the frontier of the Cape Colony. There were no settlements near. No white men ever wandered so far, except an occasional “smouse,” or trader—a class of men who extend their bartering expeditions almost to the central parts of the African Continent. Sometimes, too, the “trek-boor,” or nomade grazier, may have driven his flocks to this remote place, but for all that it could not be considered a settled country. It was still a wilderness.

And what were the young Von Blooms and Van Wyks doing in the wilderness? Jäging to be sure, and nothing else,—they were simply out on a hunting expedition.

It was an expedition that had been long talked of and planned. Since their grand hunt of the elephant, the “Bush-boys” had not followed any game. Hendrik had been with his regiment, and Hans and Jan busy with their respective studies. So with Arend Van Wyk as with Hendrik, and Klaas as with Jan. Groot Willem alone, from time to time, had been jäging springboks and such other game as is to be found among the settlements. But the present was a grand expedition intended to be carried far beyond the settled part of the colony—in fact, as far as they thought fit to go. The boys had received the full sanction of their parents, and had been fitted out in proper style—each having a good horse, and each three a large wagon to carry all their camp utensils, and serve as a tent to sleep in. Each wagon had its driver, and full span of ten long-horned oxen; and these, with a small pack of rough-looking buck-dogs, might be seen in the camp—the oxen tied to the disselbooms of the wagons, and the dogs grouped in various attitudes around the fire. The horses were also fastened some to the wheels, and others to trees that grew near.

Two other objects in the camp are well worthy of a word or two; in fact, they are two individuals of very great importance to the expedition—as without them the wagons would be a troublesome affair. They are the drivers of these vehicles, and each is as proud of his whip-craft as Jehu could possibly have been of his.

In one of these drivers you will recognise an old acquaintance. The large head and high cheek-bones, with the flat spread nostrils between; the small oblique Mongolian eyes; the short curly wool-knots, planted sparsely over the broad skull; the yellow complexion; the thick “chunky” form, scarce four feet in height, and sparely clad in red flannel shirt and brown leathern “crackers;” with all these features and characters before your mind, you cannot fail to recognise an old favourite—the Bushman, Swartboy.

Swartboy it was; and, though several years have rolled over the Bushman’s bare head since we saw him last, there is no visible change observable in Swartboy. The thinly scattered “kinks” of browny black wool still adorn Swartboy’s crown and occiput, but they are no thinner—the same good-natured grin is observed upon his yellow face—he is still the same faithful servant—the same expert driver—the same useful fellow that he ever was. Swartboy, of course, drives the wagon of the Von Blooms.

Now the driver of the Van Wyk vehicle is about as unlike Swartboy as a bear to a bluebottle.

In the first place, he is above a third taller than the Bushman, standing over six feet,—not in his stockings, for he never wears stockings, but in sandals, which he does wear.

His complexion is darker than that of the Hottentot, although it is not black, but rather of a bronze colour; and the hair of his head, although somewhat “woolly,” is longer than Swartboy’s, and less inclined to take root at both ends! Where the line of Swartboy’s nose is concave, that of the other is convex, and the nose itself almost aquiline. A dark piercing eye, a row of white teeth regularly set, lips of moderate thickness, a well-proportioned form, and erect attitude, give to this individual, an aspect of grandeur and gravity, both of which are in complete contrast with the comic picture presented by the short stout body and grinning countenance of the Bushman.

The costume of the tall man has something graceful about it. It consists of a tunic-like skirt suspended around the waist and hanging down to mid-thigh. There is something peculiar in this skirt. It has the appearance of a fringe or drapery of long white hairs, not plaited or woven, but hanging free and full. It is, in fact, the true costume of a savage; and consists simply of a number of antelope’s tails—the white tails of the gnoo—strung together around the waist, and allowed to fall to their full length down the thighs. A sort of “tippet” of the same surrounding the shoulders, with copper rings on the ankles and armlets encircling the wrist, a bunch of ostrich-feathers waving from his crown, and a string of beads around his neck, complete the costume of Congo the Kaffir—for to that nation of romantic savages belonged the wagon-driver of the Van Wyks.