found the spoor very early in the morning, the chances
were against our finding the elephants—I believe they
will travel great distances in cold weather, without the
mid-day halt which they invariably make during the days
of heat.
Several hunting excursions of this nature were taken.
On returning from one of them, an incident occurred which
may deserve notice. John, unconsciously of course, walked
straight up to a wolf which lay asleep amid the long
grass. The appearance of the recumbent animal, which
seemed rather reluctant to move, took John thoroughly
by surprise ; so much so, indeed, that he stood stock still,
and uttered some screams so thrillingly horrible that by
imitating them the divine Sara herself might have given
to her audiences a new and telling experience of terror.
Running up, for the shrill notes of the man’s awful voice
had struck the chords of my inmost feelings, I saw the wolf
—a large one—bounding through the grass. I took a flying
shot, but only grazed the brute. He gave a growl, and
with another bound disappeared amid the sea of impenetrable
vegetation.
“My gaut, master,” said John; “ I tink it was lion! ”
The waggon was camped under some large trees, upon a
favourite spot for hunters, who usually left their impedimenta
there,before going down into what is called the “ Fly
Country ” (referring to the tsetse fly) to look for big game.
At this spot, too, was the grave, covered with wild
creepers, of one who had died by the capricious hand of
Windvogel, the bushman, or the higher ape, as he has been
called. Here Windvogel was initiated into the mysteries
of shooting; his first experience resulting in the fall of a
playmate, whom he shot stone dead in an instant. The
event occurred only a few years previously, and even now
WINDVOGEL’8 VICTIM. 85
the reckless assassin looked like a boy; but on my saying
so to John he answered :
“ Master, he is an olt man, and a very bad leetle man.”
The course of the crime was as follows: Arming himself
with a regular Baron Munchausen blunderbuss, which belonged
to the father of the poor boy he killed, he started
for the hunting country which was not more than one hundred
yards from where the waggons of his party stood. He
soon “ cut the spoor ” of his playmates, and, knowing well
his game, he gave them warning that he was about to fire.
The others, being unarmed, found they were handicapped,
and bolted. Unfortunately, however, the “ higher ape’s ”
first shot was a bull’s-eye, and ended the life of his poor
playmate. Perhaps he felt towards his young Korana
comrade as the Boers felt towards .his forefathers, when,
but a few short years before, they would go out in search
of bushmen, and considered them “ fair game.”
This adventure led to the bushman’s being “ christened ”
in a somewhat rough and ready manner. Tied to a waggon
wheel, in the cruel fashion practised by the Boers, when
their jaundiced humours are more than usually acute, he
was christened Windvogel; the recollection of the christening
being impressed upon the subject by the stinging lash
of the shambock, a name given to a rhinoceros-hide whip.
This ceremony reminds one of the manner in which gamekeepers
“ christen ” a dog. When this story was laid before
the king, he ruled, as was the custom of the land, that the
father of the slain boy could either kill his slayer or keep
him as a slave. It was in this way that Windvogel fell into
John’s hands whose slave he now was.
But to resume the personal narrative. Three days more
(June 12) brought us to the TJmvuli river. Our catalogue of
miseries was pretty full. John was sick; two oxen were foot