By Veldt and Kopje Part 20

It was in the old and, by some at least, ever-to-be-regretted days of the ox-wagon that the following strange experience befell me. These were days when the Boers were invariably hospitable to strangers (who did not arrive on foot), when the natives had still some respect for the white man, and when game was still to be had for the hunting on the high plains of South Africa.

We had left our wagons at Shoshong, in what is now Kama's country, and struck out with three pack oxen and six "boys" towards the north-west, vaguely hoping to reach Lake Ngami. At that time, a quarter of a century ago, little was known of that interior which has now become a sort of Cook's Tourist Route, and consequently the traveller had always the vague charm of the unknown around him, whilst the fluttering hem of the garment of the fascinating nymph, whose name is Adventure, gleamed in every thicket. Maps, it is true, existed, but were a distinct disadvantage to the wanderer, for the reason that all those extant were fearfully and ingeniously incorrect. We had once nearly lost our lives through trusting to an indication of a supposed water-place upon a brand new chart prepared by a distinguished traveller, who believed every yarn told him, and who, it is now well known, did not visit half the places he described from alleged personal observation.

d.i.c.k Wharton, Sam Logan and I formed the party. We were all young, in good health, and keen shots. We hardly expected to reach the lake, but we knew that there was plenty of shooting to be had in the direction in which it lay, and that was all that we particularly cared about.

The country, usually a grim desert, was now a smiling garden. For two seasons rain had fallen in phenomenal abundance, and the wayward bounty of Heaven had caused the long-dormant vegetation to spring up over the length and breadth of the land. The flowers were scattered everywhere in bewildering beauty, and the insects held constant revel in the mild sunshine. Water was to be found by digging, hardly a foot deep, in every donga, and all the game in Africa seemed to have collected in the northern zone of the Kalihari.

We wandered on, taking our journey easily, resting as suited our mood whenever we reached some particularly charming spot. Indeed, it almost seemed as though the wild creatures had the same aesthetic sense as ourselves, for it was almost invariably at such places that we found game in the greatest plenty. The delight of those days is, and I trust ever will be an abiding remembrance. We slept comparatively little, for sleep seemed but a waste of time, and it was better to lie awake under the soft stars or the regal moon, listening to the wild sounds of the desert, than to waste our precious hours in barren unconsciousness.

Whilst our three pack oxen, tied to a tree hard by and surrounded by a fence of thorn-trees, chewed the cud of plenty or drew the deep, sighing breath of bovine alarm, we would lie watching the flames leaping from the kindled logs, and listening to the grunting of the lions, the booming of the ostriches, or the screaming of the hyaenas. We did not dread the lions, for we knew that where game was plentiful the king killer of the waste seldom troubled man or his cattle. Our natives could always be trusted to keep the fires alight. They were continually full of meat, and therefore happy.

I may as well say at once that we never reached Lake Ngami. As a matter of fact, we did not go much more than two-thirds of the way to it. We dawdled upon our course to such an extent that we were obliged to return from a spot only seven days' march beyond the Lutyahau River.

Hunters familiar with the regions indicated have all heard of the bitter wells, with the unp.r.o.nounceable Bushman name, not a great many days'

journey from Anderson's Vley. The water found in these wells is extremely poisonous to Europeans. A few Bushmen, who have habituated themselves to its use, are always to be found in the vicinity, but woe betide the unhappy human creature of any other breed who slakes his thirst at this poisonous spot; he will almost a.s.suredly die if obliged to drink the water for three days in succession. This spot can only be visited by hunters with safety upon the rare occasions when the rains have fallen so heavily on the surrounding country that water is obtainable in the sand-filled rocky hollows, of which this area of the desert is full. Taking advantage of the splendid condition of the country, we determined to make a detour to the southward for the purpose of visiting this little-frequented spot.

We arrived late one afternoon, and found the place deserted, although showing signs of having recently been inhabited by human beings. We knew what had taken place--the Bushmen had fled in alarm at our approach, but we felt sure of meeting some of them within the next few days.

The locality was desolate in the extreme, for the rich vegetation ceased on every side within about a mile of the muddy puddles. These formed a small group in a shallow depression some hundred yards in diameter. The surrounding soil was evidently strongly charged with some alkaline substance, which lay thickly on the surface in the form of white powder.

The water had a brownish tinge where it oozed out of the soil, and gave forth an unpleasant smell, as though of decaying vegetable matter.

We soon found sweet rain-water in a donga close by, so decided to rest for a few days. Rest is hardly the right term to use, for we worked exceedingly hard. Each member of the party had his own favourite game.

d.i.c.k was not content with the slaughter of anything less than the King of Beasts, Sam enjoyed shooting koodoos more than anything else, whilst the slaying of the gentle giraffe brought the keenest joy to my hunter's heart. Consequently, we three, although the best of chums, seldom hunted together. Each preferred to take a couple of "boys" and follow the chase of that which his soul panted for.

On the day following our arrival at the bitter wells I took my rifle and wandered forth towards a considerable clump of comparatively large trees, which could be descried about seven miles away to the westward, and where I expected to meet with my favourite game. It was nearly midday when I reached the trees, and just upon entering the grove I was astonished to see the spoor of a large sandal leading along a game-path.

The spoor was certainly not that of a Bushman, its length being too great and the impression too heavy. I pointed it out to one of my followers, who uttered a low exclamation of surprise, and then we followed the track silently into the thickest part of the grove.

On turning a sharp corner we suddenly stood still, for a small hut, or "scherm," constructed of bushes and fragments of skin, stood before us.

It was not so much a hut as a kind of movable screen such as the Hottentots use--one that could be shifted with little difficulty to meet the changing wind. Its back was towards us. After pausing for a few seconds, I stepped forward and looked under the roof of the structure from the other side.

Again I stood still, my eyes being riveted by the strangest-looking human creature it has ever been my lot to behold. The man was reclining on a few jackal skins, and resting on his elbow. He was quite naked except for a tanned hide, which was tied with a thong around his middle.

In spite of the dark and rough condition of his skin, his long matted hair and beard clearly showed him to be an European. The hair hung over his shoulders in a white fleece, and the beard lay upon his chest in a long silvery tangle. His face was a striking one; the forehead was high and intellectual, the nose prominent and somewhat hooked, the eyes were dark and deep, and gleamed splenetically from under the s.h.a.ggy and prominent brows.

My two followers ran back with exclamations of terror, and crouched behind a bush about thirty yards away. I myself, feeling more astonishment than alarm, looked hard at the man, who gazed back fixedly without the least appearance of surprise or embarra.s.sment. Then I took a step nearer and spoke.

"Good day. Who are you?"

"One who will never trouble you as much as you trouble him," came the surly reply.

The voice had an even, metallic tone--a tone which I was strangely reminded of years afterwards when I first listened to a phonograph.

There was a queer suggestion of impersonality about it. I tried to think of something to say, but could not find a word, so taken aback was I. The man's eyes rested on mine like those of an animated sphinx, and seemed to exercise a queer kind of mesmerism. Withdrawing mine with difficulty, I glanced around the "scherm" and took a rapid survey of its contents. I noticed a number of sticks, pared flat, and with the edges full of little notches. A Bushman's bow and a quiver of arrows were stuck behind one of the supports, and a skin wallet hung from another.

Several curiously k.n.o.bbed sticks lay on the floor, and a lump of raw meat, which was in course of being invaded by an army of small red ants, was stuck in the fork of a stake planted in the ground. Several ostrich egg-sh.e.l.ls, with small wooden pegs inserted at each end, lay about.

The silence became oppressive. The man still gazed at me, and I glanced nervously and rapidly at him from time to time. The thought that he perhaps was a lunatic crossed my mind, and I quickly surveyed his build in view of the possibility of a struggle. The conclusion I came to was that I should prefer to decline a contest. The man was old and rather emaciated, but his muscles looked as hard as the pasterns of a springbok.

"Is there much game hereabouts?" I hazarded.

The strange being suddenly stood up, and I was astonished at his height.

I involuntarily stepped back a couple of paces as he emerged from the "scherm." He stretched forth his hand towards me, but not in a threatening manner--although his eyes seemed to blaze--and spoke in the same strange pitch, but much more loudly than before.

"Is not the desert wide enough that you come here to trouble me? You have the whole world for your hunting-ground, and I have only this little spot. Get you gone and trouble me no more, or I will get the Bushmen to drive you off."

I began to lose my nervousness completely--although I could not help seeing that the man's threat was a serious one. Bushmen had not been giving much trouble of late years; however, I knew that they existed in considerable numbers in that particular area of the Great Desert.

Probably this strange being possessed some influence over them, and if so, nothing would be more easy than to have us killed when sitting around our camp-fire by means of a volley of poisoned arrows poured in at point-blank range. Such occurrences had happened before.

"Man alive," I said in a cheerful voice, "I don't want to interfere with you; I came here quite by accident, and I shall go on my way without giving you any trouble whatever. Ta-ta--I hope you are enjoying your picnic."

I turned on my heel, but he called out to me to stop, and I again faced round.

"How many are there in your party?" he said, after giving me a long, fixed look.

"Two other white men and six boys."

"Wait for just a moment. I want to have a few words with you."

I set my rifle against the stump of a tree and stood before him with my arms folded. The creature seemed to have become more human.

"Would it be of any use asking you not to tell your companions anything about your having met me?"

"Well--you see--I have my two boys with me; even if I hold my tongue they are sure to talk."

A queer ghost of a smile seemed to flit across the stern face.

"I know you will keep your word if you give it," he replied, "and I will make it right with the boys. Will you promise? Take time to think if you like."

A great pity for the poor creature before me seemed to swell in my breast. Why should I not grant his request? Why should I darken, in no matter how slight a degree, a life apparently overloaded by some great tragedy? Of course I felt flattered by his estimate of my veracity.

"Yes, I promise," I said.

His face softened, and the tension of his limbs seemed to relax. When next he spoke the tone of his voice had quite changed.

"Ah! I find that I am not as dead as I thought. Yours is the first English voice I have heard for over twenty years. I wonder what fate brought you here to wake me back to pain. Give me a grasp of your hand and then go."

I held out my hand, and he seized it with a grip of iron. We looked into each other's eyes for a moment, and mine dimmed with tears.

"Can you not come away with us?" I asked.

He shook his head vigorously.

"Is there nothing I can do for you--give you?"

"If you have at your camp any sort of a knife to spare I should be glad of it."

"Right, I will bring you one to-morrow. And you need not fear that I will say a word about you. Of course I cannot answer for the boys."

I picked up my gun and strode away rapidly, not wishing to give him an opportunity of changing his mind. When I reached the bush behind which my boys were crouching, they looked towards, and then past me, with expressions of the utmost terror. I turned and found that the man was closely and noiselessly following me. He beckoned to the boys, who arose and followed him, crouching out of sight. I sat down and awaited events. In a few minutes the boys returned, their faces ashen and their heads bent. I strode on and they followed me in complete silence.

I did not then make for the camp, but for a low ridge to the northward, on which a number of "camel-thorn" trees were visible. Here I wounded a fine bull giraffe. Following the spoor took up the rest of the day, and the sun was down before the poor brute lay before me dead. We camped for the night alongside the carcase, there being a wet donga close at hand. After a good supper, in which that most delicate of delicacies, giraffe marrow, was an important element, I lit my pipe and basked in the blaze of the logs. I had noticed that my two boys were silent and depressed.