Майн Рид
The Giraffe Hunters

Chapter Forty Four.
The Pit

We believe there is a different sound expressed by each of the words, roar, shriek, yell, and scream: but the first expression of pain or terror of the elephant in the pit, – the sound that had caused its companion to retreat, seemed a combination of all the above. Since it first shook the surrounding atmosphere, it had been often repeated and the young hunters, familiar with most methods of killing elephants, were under the impression that the one in the pit was being subjected to some torture more horrible than any they had ever heard of.

“They have probably placed a pointed stake in the pit,” observed Hendrik, as they approached, “and the animal is impaled upon it.”

On coming nearer to the place, they saw that there were people around the pit, – both men and women. One of the men, intensely Ethiopic in appearance, came forward as the hunting party approached, and by signs offered for sale the tusks of the elephant still roaring underneath them.

“We are safe with these people,” remarked Congo. “They are used to traders, and will do us no more harm than to cheat us in a bargain, if they can.”

On arriving at the pit, our adventurers saw that it was not a square hole with an upright stake in the centre, as Hendrik had supposed. It was oval at the top and contracted to a point at the bottom, in the shape of an inverted cone, leaving no level space on which the elephant could stand. Its four feet were jammed together; and, compelled to support the weight of its immense body in this position, the agony it suffered must have been as intense as the creature was capable of enduring.

This pit, the plan of which was devised with devilish ingenuity for producing unnecessary torture, was about nine feet long and apparently seven or eight in depth, and the struggles of the elephant only had the effect of wedging its huge feet more closely together and increasing its tortures.

Two pits had been dug but a short distance from one another; and the wisdom of this plan had a living illustration before their eyes. Although the two had been nicely concealed, and the excavated earth carried away from the place, both had been discovered by the elephant, but one of them too late. Had there been but one, it would not have been caught, for it evidently had placed a foot on the first, detected the hidden danger, and, while in the act of avoiding it, had fallen suddenly and irrecoverably on to the other.

All the men standing around were armed, the most of them with assegais or spears, but they were making no attempt to end the agony of the captured elephant.

Groot Willem stepped in front of it, and was raising the long barrel of his roer to the level of one of the elephant’s eyes, when he was stopped by two or three of the blacks, who rushed forward and restrained him from discharging the piece.

Congo, who had professed to understand what they said, told Willem that the elephant was not to be killed at present.

“What can be the reason of that?” exclaimed Arend. “Can they wish the animal to live, merely for the sake of witnessing its sufferings? It cannot be saved. It must die where it is now.”

“I’ll tell you how it is,” said Hendrik. “They have a fine taste for music, and they intend keeping the elephant in that pit, like a bird in its cage, for the purpose of hearing the fine notes it is giving out.”

One of the blacks was armed with a gun, all but the lock, which last was wanting! The attention of Groot Willem was particularly directed to this weapon, its owner holding it out before him, and making signs that he wished some powder and a bullet for the purpose of loading it. Willem desired to be informed how the ammunition was to be used, but the black, by a shake of his woolly head, candidly admitted that he did not know.

“Ask him what he brought the gun here for,” said Willem, speaking to Congo.

In answer to the question, the man made another confession of ignorance.

A little excitement was now observed amongst the blacks, and another party was seen approaching from the direction of the village. They brought news that the head man of the kraal was coming in person, and that he was to have the honour of killing the elephant. He had lately purchased a new gun from some smouse or trader, and he was about to exhibit his skill in the use of it, before the eyes of his admiring subjects.

On the arrival of the chief, the young hunters saw that the gun in his possession was a common soldier’s musket, very much out of order, and one that a sportsman would hesitate about discharging.

“The man will never kill the great brute with that thing,” said Hendrik. “He will be far more likely to kill himself, or some of those around him. If the elephant waits till it is despatched in that way, it stands a good chance to die of starvation.”

The chief seemed very vain of being the owner of a gun, and anxious to show to his subjects the proper mode of despatching an elephant. Standing about twenty-five paces from the pit, he took aim at the animal’s head and fired.

The report of the musket was followed by a roar more expressive of rage than pain, and a small protuberance on the elephant’s head showed that the ball had done no more than to cause a slight abrasion of the skin. The operation of reloading the musket was performed in about six minutes and again the chief fired. This time, standing at the distance of fifteen paces. The elephant again astonished the chief and his followers, by continuing to live.

Another six or seven minutes were passed in loading the gun, which was again fired as before. The only acknowledgment the huge beast made of having received the shot, was another loud cry of impotent rage.

The company around the pit was then joined by a party not hitherto on the ground. It consisted of Hans with Swartboy and the other followers of the expedition. They had extracted the tusks of their elephant, lashed them with rheims to the pack-saddles of two horses, and brought them along.

“What is all this about?” asked Hans. “Can’t you kill that elephant? I’ve heard several shots.”

“They will not allow us to try,” replied Groot Willem. “A chief is trying to kill it with an old musket, and will neither allow me to fire, nor that well-armed gentleman standing near him.” Willem pointed to him who carried the gun without a lock.

At this moment, a communication was made to the Kaffir by the native chief. Annoyed at his want of success, he had some doubts as to his weapon being what had been represented by the smouse from whom he had purchased it. He wished to make a comparison of its destructive power with one of their guns, and Groot Willem was invited to take a shot at the elephant.

“But, baas Willem,” said Congo, as he finished this communication, “you not do that, you not shoot the elephant.”

“Why?” asked Willem, in surprise.

“You kill um with you roer, and then they want from you. They want it, and sure take it.”

“Take what – the elephant?”

“No, baas Willem, the roer,” answered the Kaffir.

Though not afraid of having his gun taken from him, Groot Willem and his companions were unwilling to have any difficulty with the blacks; and the invitation of the chief was courteously declined. The excuse made was that, after the failure of the great man himself, any similar attempts on their part would certainly be unsuccessful.

A general invitation was now given to the company to join in despatching the elephant; and it was immediately assailed by more than a dozen men armed with assegais and javelins. They succeeded in killing it in a little less than half an hour; and, during that time, the torture to which the poor beast was subjected aroused the indignation of our adventurers, who, if allowed, could have released it from its agonies in half a score of seconds. They were true hunters, and, although not sparing of animal life, they took no delight in its tortures.

Chapter Forty Five.
On the Karroo

After killing the elephant, the natives commenced the less difficult task of cutting it up and carrying it off to their kraal. The feet were reserved for the especial use of the chief; and, while waiting for some of his dependents to procure them, he granted our hunters an audience. They were desirous to learn whether the kraal was ever visited by traders, – a class of people they were anxious to meet, though Groot Willem was more anxious to know whether giraffes ever visited the neighbourhood. Congo was called, and for some time he and the chief were heard talking in loud tones, and both at the same time; neither exhibiting the least inclination to listen to one another! Their voices grew louder and louder; and our adventurers saw that they were engaged in a hot dispute, that threatened to end in something more unpleasant than a war of words.

“What does he say, Congo,” asked Willem.

“I don’t know, baas Willem,” answered the Kaffir with a shake of the head, that betrayed some shame at his own ignorance.

“How is that?” demanded his master. “Can’t you understand the language he speaks?”

“No, baas Willem, he talks no Zooloo, no Kaffir of any kind.”

“Then why were you pretending to interpret his language a few minutes ago?” asked Hendrik.

“I was trying to learn it,” answered Congo, in a tone conveying the belief that he had given a satisfactory answer.

“We have no time to stop here for you to learn a language,” said Hendrik. “And if you can’t converse with the man why did you not say so? How came you to tell us what he was saying a few minutes ago?”

The attention of all was now called to Swartboy, who seemed overpowered with joy.

It was some time before he was able to make himself understood; but at last he was heard to mutter: —

“I tole you that Congo was a ole fool. Now you all see for yourselfs. Look at ’im! Don’t he look four, five, six times fool. I tole ye so.”

“Can you understand what the chief says?” asked Groot Willem.

“Yaas, baas Willem; any Swartman know dat.”

“Then talk to him yourself. You know what we wish to learn from him.”

The Bushman’s features now assumed a quizzically comical expression; and from this the hunters saw that he had become serious.

Going up to the chief he commenced a conversation, from which Willem learned, after it was translated to him, that no giraffes had been seen in the neighbourhood for many moons. Very few traders visited the tribe; and those who had done so had not left a good name behind them.

The chief lived in the kraal seen not far away; and the hunters were invited to pay him a visit.

This invitation was immediately accepted by Willem, who seemed to have lost all desire to return to Graaf Reinet again.

This attempt on the part of Willem to delay their homeward journey was easily defeated by Hendrik.

“Why should we go to their kraal?” asked he. “We shouldn’t be allowed to leave it for two or three days, and we want to go on in search of giraffes. There are none here.”

With this argument Willem was well pleased; and they prepared to continue their journey.

Before making a move, they saw most of the elephant’s flesh taken away by the Bechuanas. Three oxen were laden with it, and several of the natives staggered under heavy loads, – covered from head to foot with long strips cut from the animal’s sides. Some of the blacks carried large square flakes of the flesh with their heads thrust through a hole cut in the centre, – the broad disk descending over the shoulders like the skirts of a Mexican’s serapé.

The sight of these people apparently clothed with bleeding flesh, and staggering under its weight towards their homes, was, as Hendrik observed, an “antidote against hunger, effectual for at least a month.”

After taking leave of the tribe, our travellers continued on towards the south. It was quite dark before they arrived at a suitable camping-place. They had met with no water since leaving the pools passed in the morning, and the cattle were sadly in want of it.

Unable to make much progress in the darkness that came thickly over them, the animals – both oxen and horses – were unladen and a halt was made, with the intention of resuming the march at the first dawn of day. By early morning they were on the move, anxious to reach water as soon as possible.

For several miles they journeyed over a tract of ground, the surface of which resembled that of the ocean lashed by a storm. It was a constantly recurring series of abrupt undulations, like huge billows and the troughs between them.

Now for the first time they noticed the great difference that thirst produces between horses and cow cattle. The latter seemed to think that they could obtain relief by quietly yielding to the enervating effect of thirst, and travelling as slowly as their drivers would permit them. They were urged forward with much difficulty, and the Makololo were constantly wielding their huge jamboks to induce them to go quicker. With a rolling gait they crawled unwillingly forward, their tongues protruding from their mouths, each offering as perfect a picture of despair as could well be imagined.

The horses on the contrary seemed eager to get over the ground as quickly as possible. They appeared to act under the guidance of reason, as if knowing that they were still far from the wished-for water, and that the faster they travelled the sooner it would be reached.

Throughout the afternoon Hendrik and Willem rode in advance of the others, anxiously looking out for spring, pool, or stream. The all-sustaining fluid must be found that night, or their cattle would perish. Their knowledge of this filled them with forebodings for the future, and they travelled on almost as despairingly as their oxen. They had made a great mistake in so imprudently parting with the Bechuanas, without making inquiries about the country through which they should have to travel. Had they done so, they might have avoided the difficulty their indiscretion had now brought upon them.

A little before sunset a hill, higher than any they had seen during the day, was descried to the right of their course. At its base they saw growing a grove of stunted trees. Raising their heads and cocking their ears, the horses ridden by Willem and Hendrik started off towards the hill at a brisk pace, each uttering a low whimpering, that their riders interpreted into the word Water. Before reaching the grove they passed a dead lion, part of which had been eaten by some carrion-feeding denizens of the desert. By the side of the carcass were also seen three or four dead jackals, which they supposed the lion to have killed before giving up the ghost himself.

On reaching the grove, they discovered a small pool of muddy water; and with outstretched necks their horses rushed towards it. By its edge lay the dead body of a buffalo; and near by a hyena in the same condition.

“Hold your horse!” exclaimed Hendrik, suddenly reining in his own. “Perhaps the water is poisoned. See that buffalo and hyena, – and we have just passed the other dead animals.”

It required all their strength to hinder the horses from plunging into the pool. Only by turning their heads in the opposite direction and driving the spurs into their sides, did they succeed in keeping them away from the water. Even then the suffering animals seemed determined to rear backwards into the pool; and it was not without a struggle that they were forced away from it.

The hunters now rode back to meet their companions and warn them off, till the water in the pool should be tested by Swartboy, Congo, and the Makololo.

Chapter Forty Six.
The Pool of Death

On coming up with their companions the two pioneers reported the glad tidings that water had been found. But the joy caused by this announcement was at once changed into gloom, when they expressed their doubts as to the purity of the element. Hans and Arend at once dismounted, and, taking Swartboy and two of the Makololo along with them, went on towards the pool.

On reaching it, Swartboy at once pronounced the water to be poisoned. It had been done, he said, with two separate kinds of poison, both of the deadliest nature. A bundle of roots that had been mashed between two stones was seen lying in the water, and floating on its surface was a large quantity of the skins of some poisonous species of berry.

There was no help for it. They must avoid the danger by going another way, or their animals, at scent of the water, could not be restrained from drinking it.

The buffalo had quenched its thirst and then sought the shade of the trees to lie down and die. The strong lion had tasted of the poisoned fluid, but his strength had not saved him. A few paces from the pool, and he had fallen down in his tracks. The jackals had partially devoured the lion, then slaked their thirst with the deadly draught, and returned to their repast only to renew, but never to finish it. After satisfying themselves that the pool had been poisoned, they were about returning to their companions, when they observed a great commotion amongst the cattle and horses of the expedition. The former were lowing, the latter neighing, in an unusual manner. The two horses which had already visited the imperilled spot, seemed especially impatient of control; and, in the efforts made by Hendrik to restrain him, the girth of his saddle got loose and was broken. As he dismounted for the purpose of repairing it, the horse broke away from him and galloped back towards the pool, uttering its shrill neigh, as if a signal for the others to follow.

The invitation was not slighted. The pack-horses immediately swept off in pursuit. The oxen seemed suddenly awakened to new life. Either instinct, or the example of the horses, had admonished them that water was near. The oxen, carrying heavy loads, that for the last few miles had been goaded onward with great difficulty, became suddenly reinvigorated and joined in the general stampede. The whole cavalcade had soon escaped beyond control.

Now occurred a race between the thirsty cattle and their owners, as to which should first reach the pool. Hans, Arend, and the two Makololo formed a line in front of it and strove to check the impetuous charge. Their efforts proved vain. Mad with the agony of thirst, the beasts had no longer any respect for the authority of man; and they who were trying to stay them from self-destruction only saved themselves from being trodden under foot, by getting quickly out of the way.

As the pond was not more than ten feet in diameter, and could only be approached on its lower edge, all the animals were unable to reach it. The first horse that approached the water, was instantly pushed into it by two others close following him, and, by the time the three had fairly commenced imbibing the poisoned fluid, they were charged upon by several of the oxen.

Heavy blows with jamboks and the butt-ends of rifles produced no effect in forcing the animals away. Everything was unheeded but the mad raging desire of quenching their thirst.

Fortunately for the hunters, all their cattle could not drink at the same time, as they stood in each others’ way. For about ten minutes, there was a scene of indescribable confusion amidst shouts and struggling. The three horses and two of the oxen, jammed tightly together, were unable to get out again, – even had they been so inclined. So firmly had they become wedged against each other and the high bank above, that neither could move a step.

The hole was about three feet in depth and the bodies of the five animals completely filled it up. Some others of the cattle, failing to reach the water from the low bank, scrambled up to the high one; but, on looking down, they could see nothing but the backs of the five animals in occupation. One of the oxen, in a tremendous effort made to get its mouth to the water, was borne down and trampled under the feet of the others.

After more than half an hour of hard work, the hunters, assisted by their black companions succeeded in driving all the animals away, except the five that retained possession of the pool. These five never left it. Three horses and two oxen were the loss that was sustained. They were pack animals that had thus perished; and fortunately they were not laden with powder, or any substance easily injured.

The packs were at once removed from them and placed on the backs of others, – an arrangement that, from that time forth, caused Congo and Swartboy to make their journey on foot. With this, Congo seemed quite satisfied. The loss of his “mount” did not trouble him so much as the fear that he should lose Spoor’em, his favourite hound, whose sufferings, as well as those of the other dogs, were now painful to witness.

By this time they had journeyed a few miles beyond the poisoned pond; the shade of night had again commenced gathering over the plain. They saw they would have to continue their journey throughout the night. The emergency would not admit of the least delay, for every hour was fast taking away what little strength was left either to themselves or their animals. But which way should they go? That was the question that required answering.

They did not think of returning to the north; but there were the east, south, and west for them to choose from. Which of those directions was the likeliest for water? This question the young hunters were wholly unable to answer, and must have left themselves to the guidance of chance, had they not been accompanied by Swartboy.

The Bushman suggested a course, of which, not only the Makololo, but Congo approved. For all this, his proposal was prefaced by the usual complaint against the Kaffir, as the cause of all their misfortunes. Having established this fact to his satisfaction, he proceeded to inform his masters, that he had heard much in his boyhood of the manners and customs of the Bechuanas.

Some weak tribe of that nation, he thought, had sought refuge from an enemy by making their home in the great karroo, or desert, through which the expedition was now passing. They had poisoned the pool for the purpose of preventing their enemies from receiving a supply of water while pursuing them. They who had done so could not be expecting an enemy from the north, nor yet from the south, where other tribes of their kindred dwelt. They could only look for foes from the east, from the land of the Zooloo Kaffirs; whom Swartboy declared to be the curse of the earth. For these reasons, Swartboy believed that a tribe of Bechuanas would be found to the west, and that, by a journey of a few hours in that direction, their kraal might be reached.

No one had any argument against this reasoning of Swartboy; and, yielding to his suggestion, the march was again commenced, with their faces turned westward.

There was one thing that gave the hunters a hope. It was the knowledge that they were not in that part of South Africa, where there is any very extensive karroo. They were too far to the south-east to have strayed into the great Kalahari desert. The karroo they were traversing, might be a small one, which could be crossed in a few hours had they been able to travel with any speed. Unfortunately, they were not.

So exhausted were their animals that the use of jamboks and the strongest language, spoken in the Dutch, English, Hottentot, Kaffir, and Makololo tongues could not make them move one step faster than two miles to the hour. This rate of travelling will annihilate a great distance, but only in a great deal of time; and, knowing that their cattle could not hold out much longer, our adventurers began to fear that their hunting expedition would turn out something worst than a failure.