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

The Kaffir had hunted upon the great river Limpopo, which lay to the northeast of their present camp. He alleged that there crocodiles were very numerous, and some were seen of enormous dimensions, attaining to thirty feet in length, with bodies as thick as a rhinoceros; that such scenes, as that they had just witnessed, were of no uncommon occurrence there. He said that the larger crocodiles frequently attacked buffaloes, precisely as this one had done the waterbuck – that they lie in wait by the watering-places of these animals, and seizing them by the muzzle when they are drinking, drag them under water, and thus suffocate them.

But Congo related a still more curious habit of the crocodiles. He asserted that they never devour their prey until it becomes quite decomposed – that is, until it attains the condition of carrion. He stated that when a crocodile has killed a buffalo or any large animal, it always drags the carcass back to the shore, and, leaving it exposed to the action of the sun’s rays, watches near it until the flesh has become tainted to its taste! The young yägers had heard of this before; but were not inclined to believe it, though Congo now assured them of its truth – alleging that this habit of the crocodile was well known among the native hunters of the Limpopo.

Notwithstanding the sneers of many naturalists, the simple savage was right, as the young yägers themselves were soon enabled to prove.

I have said that when the crocodile and his victim disappeared below the surface, they were seen no more. That, however, was not strictly true. Both of them were seen again, and in a very short while after – more than seen, indeed; for the crocodile was killed by a bullet from Groot Willem’s roer; and upon venison steaks, cut from the buttocks of the waterbuck, both Congo and Swartboy – as well as the buck-dogs – made them a hearty supper.

It was thus the thing came about. Hans had entered into a dissertation about crocodiles in general. He was informing his companions of the number of new species of these creatures that had been lately discovered, and pointing out the great progress of natural science during the present half century; how the crocodiles were divided by modern naturalists into many genera, and that, including the caimans and alligators of America, and the gavials of Asia, the whole crocodile family could not number less than two dozen living species, although but a few years ago it was supposed there were but three kinds in existence; how America possessed true crocodiles as well as alligators; how the number of species in America was greater than that of Africa and Asia taken together; how there were none of these great reptiles found either in Europe or Australasia; and, among other things, Hans was pointing out the difficulty which existed in determining both the genera and species of all the Crocodilidae.

While the yägers were listening to these details, the Kaffir, who had been squatted with his eyes bent upon the river, suddenly started from his crouching attitude, and pointed down to the bank, toward a small brake of reeds that grew out of the water.

All eyes were turned in that direction, and it was perceived that some of the reeds were shaking about, as if a large creature was moving among them. The reeds were nodding about and bending downward in bunches, and breaking as if under some heavy pressure, and crackling as they broke. What could be causing such a commotion amongst them? It did not appear like the natural motion of any wild animal, for these glide about, even in their undisturbed haunts, in a stealthy and easy manner. There was something unusual going on among the reeds. What could it be?

The young yägers were determined to find out; and for this purpose they drew near the margin of the reeds. They did not approach them openly, but crawled forward under cover of the grass and bushes, observing perfect silence, so as not to fright away whatever creature was causing the movement.

Fortunately the reed-culms did not grow so thickly as to obscure the view; and when near, it was possible to see a large object moving in their midst. And a large object was seen – a large dark creature which was at once recognised as a crocodile.

It might have been another crocodile, and not that which had just drowned the waterbuck; but the hunters were not left to conjecture on this point, for, while watching its movements, they now perceived the carcass of the waterbuck itself, which the huge reptile was dragging up among the reeds, evidently with the intention of raising it out of the water! For this purpose it was using its powerful jaws, as well as its snout, and strong forearms – now pulling the body along a bit, then pushing and rolling it over towards the bank.

The boys watched these strange manoeuvres for some moments in silence; but Groot Willem had brought his gun with him, and choosing a moment when the huge saurian was resting a little, he aimed for the socket of its eyeball, and sent the big bullet of his roer crashing through its skull.

The reptile plunged back into the river, and went to the bottom leaving the wave tinged with blood. Presently it rose to the surface, struggling violently, and evidently in great agony. Now it raised the fore-part of its hideous body quite out of the water; then its head went under, and its long tail was flouted into the air; then up came its head again, and so on, till at length its struggles ceased, and it sank to the bottom like a stone. No doubt it sank to rise no more.

Congo and Swartboy rushed in among the reeds, and drawing out the waterbuck – somewhat lacerated by the teeth of its destroyer – dragged it in triumph to the camp.

Chapter Forty One.

The Guinea-Hens

Although Swartboy and Congo supped upon the flesh of the waterbuck – which is far from being a delicate venison – the boys had something better for supper. That was roast fowl, and a very dainty kind of it, quite equal to grouse or partridge. They all supped upon “guinea-hen.”

The guinea-fowl (Numida meleagris) is a bird that has been long known, and is often mentioned in the works of ancient writers under the names Meleagris and Gallina Numidica. It is unnecessary to give a description of its appearance, as every one is acquainted with the beautiful pearly plumage of the bird, from which it has obtained the name of pearl-hen – among the Germans Perl-Huhn, and among the Spaniards “Pintado,” or spotted hen. The English name “Guinea-hen” is in allusion to the country from which it has been chiefly obtained in modern times. The guinea-fowl is truly a native of Africa – though it is now domesticated in almost every country in the world, and has become a common inhabitant of the farm-yard. In the United States of America, particularly in the Southern States, where the climate exactly suits it, the guinea-hen, or “guinea-chicken,” as the bird is there called, is a great favourite, both as a bird for the table and a layer of eggs; and certainly the flesh of the young pullet is much more delicate and savoury than that of the common fowl.

In many of the West India islands, the guinea-hen, although introduced from Africa, has become wild, and in the forests of Jamaica it is hunted and shot like other game. In these islands the species propagates very rapidly; and where the birds become numerous they do great mischief to the crops of the planters. On this account they are often hunted, not to be served up at the table, but for the purpose of exterminating them as troublesome pests.

Throughout all Africa, its native country, the guinea-fowl exists; but it is to be remarked that there is more than one species. The common guinea-fowl (Numida meleagris) is the best known, and in its wild state differs very little from the domesticated variety. The latter, however, frequently varies in colour, and some are seen with very little of the blue tint upon their feathers and almost without spots. This, however, is the usual law of wild birds when produced under domestication, as ducks, turkeys, geese, and all the other pets of the farm, fully demonstrate. Even when left to herself, nature often “sports” in this way, and we know of no bird or animal of which “albinos” may not be at some time observed.

In addition to the common guinea-fowl, a second species is well known to exist in the Southern parts of the African continent. This is the “crested guinea-fowl,” (Numida cristata). It is not quite so large as the common kind, and has other differences. It is of a darker blue colour, but spotted like its congener, each feather having from four to six spots upon it. The quills are yellowish brown, but the edges of the secondaries are of a pure white, which contrasts prettily with the dark colouring of the general plumage.

But the most conspicuous difference between the two species is in the formation of the crown and cheeks. As is well known, over the bill of the common guinea-fowl rises a singular warty membrane like a casque, while two carunculated wattles hang from the lower mandible. Both these appendages are wanting in the Numida cristata; but in place of the hard casque, the head of this species is ornamented with a crest of loose hair-like feathers of a bluish-black, which adds very much to the elegant appearance of the bird.

The guinea-hens are gregarious and sometimes immense flocks of them are seen together. They spend most of their time upon the ground, but they also take to trees when startled, and roost upon the branches. Their food consists of seeds, berries, and soft slugs.

While the boys were discussing what they should have for supper, a flock of these beautiful crested creatures came chattering across the open meadow in which was the camp. Of course the shot-guns were immediately put in requisition, and several of the party got ready to go after them.

Now it is not so very easy to get a shot at the wild guinea-hens. They are no great flyers, and do not take to the wing when pursued, unless when close pressed by a dog or some other swift animal. But a man on foot is no match for them, as they run very swiftly where the ground is even. They are shy, moreover; and it is not without difficulty that a shot can be had. There is one way, however, of approaching them successfully. A dog should be set after them, precisely in the same manner as though they were rabbits, hares, or any other small quadrupeds. The dog of course being swift enough to overtake them, soon comes up, and the guinea-fowls are then forced to take wing. But, as they are greatly disinclined to a long flight, they soon settle down again, or, what is more likely, perch upon the branches of the nearest tree. The dog then runs up to the tree; and, if well-trained, will commence barking, and continue so till the sportsman approaches within shot. The birds upon the tree have no fear of the dog below – knowing very well that he cannot climb up to them – but, while their attention is occupied with him, they pay no heed to their more dangerous enemy the gunner, who can then easily approach within range, and take aim at his leisure.

Now this mode of hunting the guinea-fowl was well known to the young yägers; and as one of their dogs had been trained to it, they took him along, and commenced the pursuit with every confidence that they would eat roast fowl for supper.

They were not disappointed. The birds were soon after sprung, and then treed; and the barking of the dog conducted the gunners to the spot where the game had taken roost, among the branches of some “cameel-doorn” trees near the bank of the river. Several shots were obtained; and three brace and a half were brought into camp – enough to serve not only for supper, but also for breakfast on the following morning.

It seemed to be quite a place for birds; for while there, many other species were observed by the young hunters. A great many curious plants grew in the neighbourhood, the seeds of which served many kinds for food; besides, from the proximity of the river many flies and other insects were produced, the prey of numerous shrikes and other birds of the family of Muscicapidae.

Hans pointed out a very singular bird that was flying about the meadow, and was every now and then uttering a note that sounded like the word “edolio.” From this note the bird derives its name, just as in England the “cuckoo” is named from its peculiar call, and in France “coucou.”

Now the edolio of South Africa is also a cuckoo; and although differing from our cuckoo in some respects, it has a great resemblance to it in others. It has the same parasite peculiarity of depositing its eggs in the nests of other birds, and leaving them to be hatched there; and its other habits are very similar to those of the common cuckoo.

But there are some very curious points in the history of the “edolio,” which it does not share with its European congener. Among the boors of South Africa it is known as the “New year’s day bird,” (Niuwe jaars vogel,) and these simple people ascribe to it some wonderful characteristics. They say that it appears only at the beginning of the year – whence the name “new year’s day bird” – and that whenever it is hungry it commences to cry out, and then all the little birds in the immediate neighbourhood fly towards it, carrying food, which they give it to eat!

Now all the young yägers, as well as Congo the Kaffir and Swartboy the Bushman, were well acquainted with this story; and all, with the exception of Hans, believed it to be true. Hans, however, knew the explanation of the marvellous matter, and proceeded to give it to his companions.

He stated that the bird known among the farmers as the Niuwe jaars vogel, was no other than the young of the “edolio” (Cuculus serratus) – though the farmers would not believe this, because, although full fledged, it differs a good deal from the parent birds both in size and colour, and is therefore taken for a distinct kind. That the mystery of its appearing always on the first day of the year, was scarce a fable after all, as it was about that time that young edolios obtained their full feathers, and commenced flying about. That the further statement, of its crying out when hungry, was perfectly true; but that all the small birds in the neighbourhood were summoned by its cry, was not correct, although some would be, viz: the step-mother and father that had brought it into life; and that these having been often seen in the act of feeding the young edolio had given origin to the fable. This was certainly a very good explanation.

Hans further stated that a similar belief existed among the natives of India, in relation to the large-billed cuckoo, (Eudynamis orientalis), and that the belief had a similar origin.

“The edolio,” continued Hans, “like the cuckoo, deposits its eggs in the nest of many species of small birds; and that it places them there with its beak, and not in the ordinary way, has been satisfactorily determined by naturalists.”

Chapter Forty Two.

Rooyebok

As our travellers advanced up-stream, the wide level plains became narrowed into mere stripes of meadow that lay along both sides of the river. On both sides, and not a great distance off, wood-covered mountains trended parallel to the course of the stream. Sometimes their spurs approached very near to the banks – so as to divide the bottom land into a series of valleys, that rose like terraces one above the other. Each of these was a separate plain, stretching from the river’s bank to the rocky foot of the mountain.

Nearly every one of them was tenanted with game of one sort or another – such as had already been met with on the route – but beyond killing enough to keep their larder supplied with fresh meat, our party did not make any stay to hunt here. The guide had informed them, that beyond the mountain where the river took its rise lay the country of the elephant, the buffalo, and the giraffe; and in hopes of reaching this long-expected land, the sight of a herd of springboks, or gnoos, or blauw-boks, or even elands, had little more interest for the young yägers than if it had been a drove of tame oxen.

Ascending into one of the upper valleys, however, they came suddenly in view of a herd of antelopes whose forms and colours distinguished them from any our hunters had yet met with. This at once decided them to halt the wagons, and prepare for a chase.

That the animals seen were antelopes, there could be no mistake. They had all the grace and lightness of form peculiar to these creatures; besides, their horns were conspicuously characteristic. Their appearance bespoke them to be true antelopes.

They were large ones too – that is, of medium size – about as large as red deer; but of course small when compared with such species as the blauw-bok or the huge eland. Each would have measured nearly three feet and a half in height – and even a little more, over the croup – for although there are some antelopes, such as those of the acronotine group – the “hartebeest,” “sassabye,” and “bekr-el-wash” – that stand lower at the croup than the shoulders, the reverse is the case with other species; and those now before the eyes of our hunters possessed the latter characteristic. They stood high at the croup.

None of the yägers had ever seen one of the kind before; and yet, the moment they came under view, both Hendrik and Groot Willem cried out —

“Rooyebok!”

“How know you that they are rooyebok?” demanded Hans.

“From their colour, of course,” replied the others.

The colour of these antelopes was a deep fulvous red over the head, neck, and upper parts of the body; paler along the sides; and under the belly pure white. There were some black marks – such as a stripe of black down each buttock, and also along the upper part of the tail – but the general colour of the animals was bright red; hence their being taken for “rooyebok,” or “red-bucks,” by Hendrik and Groot Willem.

“The colour is not a good criterion,” remarked Hans. “They might as well have been ‘grysbok,’ or ‘steinbok,’ or ‘rooye rheebok,’ for the matter of colour. I judge by the horns, however, that you are right in your guess. They are rooyebok, or, as the Bechuanas call them, ‘pallah,’ and, as naturalists style them, Antilope melampus.”

All looked at the horns as Hans spoke, and saw that these were full twenty inches in length, and somewhat like those of the springbok, but more irregularly lyrate. The two nearly met at their tips, whereas at their middle they were full twelve inches apart. This was a characteristic by which they could easily be remembered, and it had enabled Hans at once to pronounce upon the species.

Strange to say, there was but one pair of full-grown horns in the whole herd, for there was but one old buck, and the does of the pallah are hornless. A “herd” is hardly a proper term; for this species of antelope cannot be called gregarious. What our hunters saw before them was a family of rooyeboks, consisting of the old male, his wives, and several young bucks and does – in all, only eleven in number.

Our hunters knew, from what they had heard, that the rooyebok is both a shy and swift antelope – difficult either to be approached or run down. It would be necessary, therefore, to adopt some plan of proceeding, else they would not succeed in getting one of them; and they had fixed their minds most covetously on the large knotted horns of the buck. They halted the wagons to await the result of the chase; though the oxen were not to be outspanned, unless it should prove successful. If so, they would camp upon the ground for the night – so as to enable them to dress the meat, and preserve the “trophies.” With such resolves, they made ready to hunt the pallah.