By Veldt and Kopje

by W. C. Scully

The trading station was situated near the boundary of the Gcaleka territory, the chief of which, Kreli, exercised suzerainty over and imposed tribute upon the chief of the Bomvanas. In the vicinity of the station was a large, dense forest full of noble timber and swarming with wild beasts.

Among the natives of those days certain animals were looked upon as Royal game, and the chiefs were as strict in enforcing their rights in this respect as ever was William the Conqueror or the Plantagenets. Each tribe had its special laws relating to this privilege, and some of these laws were very peculiar. Of course, different tribes selected different animals for this distinction, but among the Gcalekas and the various clans which acknowledged Kreli as their head, “Munyu,” the python, was regarded as being more than ordinarily the special game of the paramount chief. As a matter of fact, pythons seldom ventured so far south as Gcalekaland, and it was probably the fact of their extreme rarity which accounted for these creatures being so jealously reserved for the use of the highest in the land.

The gall is well known by witch-doctors to be the seat of fierceness in all animals. Matiwamè, chief of the destroying horde of Fetcani, drank the gall of every chief he slew, with the view of increasing that very liberal endowment of ferocity which nature had given him. Moreover, the gall of snakes is supposed not alone to endow the drinker thereof with ophidian rancour and malice, but to give immunity from the effects of snake-bite.

The wisdom of the serpent is proverbial among all the sons of Ham. Upon several grounds, therefore, a potion made of the gall of the King of Snakes is a thing much to be desired by any chief.

Should the chief have been fortunate enough to succeed in killing a python he would use the skull of the creature as a cup out of which to drink the potion. Nevertheless, the chief was by no means sorry if someone else, allowing his passion for sport to overcome his regard for the law, did the killing; but in such a case he would cause the courageous sportsman to be killed as well for the purpose of obtaining his skull and gall. The two galls would then be mixed together, divided, and quaffed in equal parts out of the respective skulls of the python and the python’s slayer.

The advantages of this arrangement must, of course, be obvious. At the expense of probably not more inconvenience than the average Briton undergoes in crossing from Dover to Calais when on his annual holiday, the chief would imbibe the wisdom, the subtlety and the ferocity of the serpent, as well as the prowess of the mighty man who had conquered it. What, indeed, could be simpler or more satisfactory.

One fateful day in middle spring the trader happened to be riding along the edge of the big forest, looking for a horse which had strayed. He carried his double-barrelled gun, for guinea-fowl abounded, and he was desirous of shooting a couple for his supper. Suddenly his pony swerved wildly to one side with a violent snort, and John Flood measured his length upon the ground. The pony galloped homeward mad with fright.

The trader rose to his feet, recovered his gun and looked quickly in the direction of the spot from which his pony had recoiled in such terror. There he saw an immense python climbing sinuously and with deliberation into a large thorn-tree. The snake was so intent upon a monkey which sat, fascinated and rigid, in the upper branches, that it appeared to take no notice of the man. It was a monster, and had evidently quite recently sloughed its skin after the long winter’s sleep, for its scales gleamed gloriously in the brilliant afternoon sunshine. Rhythmic muscular tremors ran up and down its coiling length, bringing the vivid brown, green, and golden patterns into changing prominence.

Flood, who was not wanting in either courage or coolness, watched his opportunity, and poured a charge of shot into the python’s neck, just behind the head, at point-blank range. Then the monstrous creature crushed the branches of the tree like a wisp in its death agony during one appalling minute, and the monkey, relieved from its fascination, made off into the forest with voluble chatterings, in which, no doubt, miscellaneously profane monkey language was mingled with uncomplimentary remarks about ophidians in general and pythons in particular.

John Flood, exceedingly stiff from the effects of his fall, obtained assistance and dragged his quarry home in triumph. The shop happened at the time to be surrounded by customers waiting patiently for the return of the proprietor. Through the medium of these the half of Bomvanaland was apprised of the doughty deed within a few hours. Among others who heard the important news was the head witch-doctor of the Bomvana chief, who at once sought an audience with his master. The chief was a young man who had as yet found no opportunity of distinguishing himself.