The Vee-Boers: A Tale of Adventure in Southern Africa

“Tsetse – tsetse!” called out half a score voices in chorus. “Gott en himmel! They’re swarming all around!”

Then followed a scene of wildest excitement; that rushing to and fro observed by Piet Van Dorn and his brother as they came within sight, and heard the racket of shouts which had so mystified them.

They understood it all now, before Rynwald came up to them; who, after some hurried words of explanation little needed, reined his horse round, and the three rode together to the camp.

On arrival there, Piet Van Dorn was embraced by loving, affectionate arms, and had kisses showered on his cheeks. Even a sly one got he from his sweetheart, in a shadowed spot under the trees. But not much was made of the spoils he had brought back. Just then the Vee-Boers had other fish to fry – a great danger to get rid of – which he, as all the rest, was called upon to combat.

Quickly dismounting, he lent a hand of help in the lading of the waggons, which soon after-packed in a hurried, higgledy-piggledy fashion – were ready for the route.

Chapter Fourteen.

Crossing a “Drift.”

As yet the alarmed emigrants had not decided on the direction to be taken. Up stream was that which led to the district of country they were treking to. But to keep on the river’s banks, wooded as these were, might be to continue in the infested region, and they would nothing gain by changing their place of encampment. At rest, or moving, their animals would become victims to the insects’ venom all the same. So before starting, a consultation was held to determine the route. Hurried it was, and without unanimity of opinion. Jan Van Dorn, leader of the party, believed the tsetse had been brought thither by the buffaloes, and was not anywhere else than just around that spot. There was much probability in this view, regarding the behaviour of these animals in their mad rush and routing. Not that they need have feared the insect; as, unlike with domesticated cattle, its sting is never fatal to them. But it annoys, and often sets them on the run. Despite this likelihood, the other two baases, Blom and Rynwald, differed with Van Dorn. In their belief there was tsetse all along the stream, up and down, and their best way would be to trek off from it inland – anywhere.

While they were still undecided, the Gordian knot was cut by their guide, Smutz. The nimble Hottentot had climbed, monkey-like, into the highest branches of the mowana, where he commanded a far view of the surrounding country; and from this elevated position had descried a place of probable safety. It was a range of high hills running parallel with the river; a dry, rocky ridge without any sign of timber on it, and therefore unlikely to be infested with the fly so much feared.

Shouting down his discovery, it brought their deliberations to an abrupt end, with a resolve to make straight for the hills. In any case it would be but the loss of a day or two’s time, with the toil of some twenty miles’ extra travel, the ridge appearing to be about ten or twelve miles off. But what of that, so long as it saved their stock from destruction? And, without further delay, the word went round for starting; the oxen were whipped up, and the waggons moved off, leaving the laager, late full of busy life, a deserted, desolate spot.

The river had still to be crossed, as they were on its southern side, and the range of hills lay north. But about this they anticipated no difficulty; having examined the drift on the day before, and found it easily fordable. When the attempt came to be made, however, it did not prove so easy. The rain-deluge of the preceding night, which half drowned Piet Van Dorn among the ant-hills, had swept all over the country, and the stream was now in freshet to full channel.

There were ways of getting the people across, the animals, too. But the waggons must wait for the subsidence of the waters. Luckily, this had commenced, and, as they could see, was going on rapidly. Many South African rivers rise to highest flood, to fall again within a few hours, and such an one this appeared to be. With glad eyes they saw it go down by inches, as though the water were filtering into the earth underneath, as well as running off down stream.

Confident it would soon be at its normal level, they did not think of outspanning. Instead, the oxen were kept attached to dissel-boom[30 - The “dissel-boom” of a waggon is the pole to which the hind oxen are attached, the others in front drawing by the trek-touw.], and trek-touw; only the horsemen dismounting to make things more trim for the passage across.

In an incredibly short space of time the water was low enough to attempt it; and then arose a chorus of shouts, with cracking of whips, as drivers, achter-shambok men, and forelopers, urged the oxen down the sloping bank into the stream’s bed. Not less was the fracas while the fording was being made, every moment of it a continuance of encouraging cries, and whip-cracks loud as pistol shots, till the three huge vehicles were dragged out on the northern shore, high, but not dry; instead, dripping wet up to their boxes.

The fording had been effected without serious accident, though accompanied by one of a comical character, in which Andries Blom was the conspicuous figure. This ill-starred youth, now more than ever jealous of Piet Van Dorn, while crossing the drift, rode close to the waggon that carried Katharina Rynwald. With the hope of re-establishing himself in her good graces, he was making great show of solicitude for her safety, as also display of his horsemanship. This is a set-off against Piet’s late pitch out of the saddle, which had become known, and his own account of it credited by all, save Andries himself. The latter, however, affected disbelief in it, insinuating that it was a simple downright “throw,” no hyena-hole, nor any other having aught to do with it. While wading his horse alongside the waggon, he had sneeringly said as much to Katharina, to get for his pains a look of reproachful scorn. Stung by it, and the jealousy that tortured him, he became reckless, spurring his horse angrily in front. But the animal, angered too, commenced pitching about, and tripping on the loose, slippery stones in the stream’s bed, went head over, not only sousing its rider, but flinging him from the saddle. As the two struggled out upon the bank, paces apart, the laughter that from all sides saluted him was bitter as though it came from the throats of fiends; all the more that a sweet silvery voice took part in it, which he knew to be Katharina’s.

But the merriment at his discomfiture was of short duration. Just then, all were oppressed with an apprehension of the tsetse having already done its deadly work, and that the fatal result would declare itself later on. It was not that, however, which brought their hilarity to an end, abrupt as though a bombshell had burst in their midst. This came from a shout sent from the opposite side of the stream – that they had just left – a cry of alarm. Looking across, they saw one of the Caffres, who had lingered behind at the laager to pick up odds and ends, coming at full run down to the drift, as he ran, excitedly exclaiming, “Olifants! olifants!” (Elephants.)

What was there in this announcement to alarm them? Instead, a professional hunter would have hailed it with delight, thinking of ivory and the gain to be got from it. So might they, but for a spectacle which on the instant after they had under their eyes. Looking back upon the open list, late traversed by them, they beheld a band of elephants, nigh a hundred in number, in all likelihood the same met on their midnight march across the Karoo. But whether they, or others, the danger was all the same and imminent. The huge pachyderms were coming over the veldt and in their usual fashion, single file, making straight for the drift, and likely to cross there. These sagacious animals know all the waters within any district frequented by them – the springs, vleys, and streams, with their fording places. The herd was advancing as if along an oft-trodden track, and the apprehension of the Vee-Boers – a very fear – was not without sufficient cause. Should the elephants continue on over the stream, it would be sure destruction to everything that chanced in their way. The rush of the buffaloes, lately dreaded, were as nothing to it. It was now that the head baas, Jan Van Dorn himself, assumed authoritative command, and gave display of his intelligence; calling to the forelopers to lead off, with the drivers and jambok men to whip up after. The waggons were instantly switched to one side, and clear of the track, which the elephants, left unmolested, would be likely to take. The driven cattle, too, were hurried out of the way, the people at the same time seeking safety in concealment.

But the old jägers had no intention of leaving the olifants unmolested; instead, he meant to make slaughter among them, and from their tusks get some compensation for the loss sustained by that wholesale poisoning of sheep.

He had barely time to arrange his battery – all the available guns belonging to the party – as the leading elephant, a grand old tusker, with ears big as carriage umbrellas, entered the open list in the timber, the rest still following in file. Though going only in a walk, it was with a stride that carried them along fast as most other animals in full run, and in a few seconds after the tusker stood on the stream’s bank; then with a flourish of trumpets, and a whirl of his flexible trunk, struck straight down into the water.

But never to go out of it again alive, on his own legs. Scarce had he wetted his huge hooves, when he was saluted by a fusillade from the opposite side that not only tumbled himself over, but five or six of his fellows following immediately behind, some of them wounded, some killed outright. The rest of the herd took instant affright and wheeling round, went off in wild rush, no longer aligned, but in scattered confusion, breaking through the bushes in every direction.

When the waggons were again drawn back upon track, and moved off inland, in addition to their usual loading, they carried several hundred pounds weight of valuable ivory.

Chapter Fifteen.

A Camp full of Carcasses

Another encampment of the Vee-Boers, their three waggons as before, forming its substantial centre. In almost everything else it is different from that under the baobab, being situated in a kloof[31 - “Kloof,” the Boer’s designation of a valley of the ravine order.] between two rocky ridges, which, trending towards one another, meet and form a sort of cul-de-sac. The valley’s bottom is of some breadth, grass – covered but treeless, save some stunted bushes scattered thinly over it, with here and there a tall camel-thorn, from which hang the purse-like pensile nests of a colony of weaver birds. The ridges are of basalt, and along their slopes lie huge boulders, some square-shaped and big as houses; other similar blocks being strewn about on the level below. Just over the camp, and shadowing it from the sun, is a high kop[32 - The “kop” is a cliff-like promontory overhanging a valley or plain, nearly synonymous with the American “bluff.” It is, doubtless, the Dutch radix of our word cape.], on whose ledges cling aloes, euphorbias, and other plants, characteristic of desert vegetation; for all is barrenness, above and around, the bottom land alone showing any sign of fertility. This last is due to a spring, which, issuing from the cliff’s base, trickles down the valley, to be caught in a little pool, some hundred paces below. Being a permanent fontein, it afforded sufficient water for all the animals when they wanted it. But few of them want it now; most being dead, whilst those that survive are in death’s throes, without hope of recovery. The fatal work begun by the tulp, is being finished by the tsetse; good as finished already – and the migrating graziers will soon be without stock of any kind, horse, ox, or cow. Even their dogs are dead or dying.

This wholesale fatality, as they have since ascertained, was brought about by the buffaloes; some of the people, sent back to the river higher up, having there found no signs of the venomous insect. They had gone with a view to continuing the journey; but before a fresh start could be made, the too well-known symptoms of tsetse-sickness had declared themselves, and all thoughts of treking further were relinquished.

For the first forty-eight hours the effect of the poison had not been perceptible, and there was a hope of the animals escaping. A hope which had to be abandoned when they began to water at the eyes, and run at the nostrils, their hair standing on end as in the midst of an arctic winter, while they were under the hottest of tropical suns. Soon after came swelling of the jaws, scouring, with consequent emaciation, weakness to staggering; some actually going mad, as with hydrophobia, and having to be shot. All would have been shot ere this, but for a lingering, half-despairing belief that some might still get over it.

This is now gone; many of them have been buried; and of those above ground, the dying lie mingled with the dead, groaning and moaning piteously.

When at length comes the conviction that all are doomed, the fiat goes forth to put the suffering creatures out of pain. The guns are again brought into requisition; a brisk, though reluctant, fusillade follows, and the camp is left without a living quadruped.

For a time there was silence, profound and solemn as that which succeeds the firing over a soldier’s grave. Every one sate despondent, or stood in listless attitude, ignorant of what was next to be done. They but knew that to remain there would be out of the question, while treking away with their waggons was no longer possible. These huge vehicles, now teamless, with their white canvas covers, were as ships becalmed in mid-ocean; all sails set, but not a breath of wind to blow them on. And the migrating Boers themselves might be likened to shipwrecked sailors – castaways on a desert shore – for not much better was their situation. Around they saw the ruin of their hopes, the wreck of their fortunes, but nothing of what lay before them, or beyond.

Under such circumstances no wonder at their being sad and despondent.

But if silent, not so was the scene around. Throughout the kloof were noises enough, and more than enough, since all were disagreeable to their ears. Skulking among the rocks and bushes, the jackal gave out its long – drawn, lugubrious whine, in concert with the wild, hysterical laughter of the hyena; while from the ledges above came the hoarse wah-wah of baboons, as though these quadrumana were afflicted with colds, and all the time clearing their throats.

Along the cliff’s crest were perched vultures of various species, sunning themselves, with wings outstretched, now and then uttering harsh croaks as they contemplated the rich banquet below, soon to be ready for their beaks. [33 - There are no less than seven distinct species of vultures inhabiting South Africa; while the species of eagles are still more numerous.] Eagles, soaring high in air, meant partaking of it also, as betokened by their necks craned downwards, and screams of eager concupiscence.

An interval having elapsed, and the necessity for action forcing itself upon his mind, the head baas, Jan Van Dorn, summoned his two associates into council, for deliberation on what should be done.

A flat-topped stone near the centre of the camp offered a convenient seat, and, sitting down upon it – all three pipe in mouth – the leader thus delivered himself —

“Brothers! we’re in a bad way now; it couldn’t well be worse.”

“Ya – ya, that is true,” responded the others in a breath, Blom adding —

“Nach Mynheer Jan, it couldn’t possibly be worse.”

“Then what ought we to do, think you?”

To which merely formal question Van Dorn received no answer, the other two tacitly puffing away at their pipes in expectation that he would tell them. Accustomed to this sort of deference the old jäger no longer held back, but proceeded to unburden himself, saying —

“Well, brothers; the first thing we must do is to look out for our lives – our very lives. And it’s the only thing we can do now. To keep on to the place we were making for, even though sure of reaching it, wouldn’t help us a bit. Without our cattle we’d be no better off there than here; and now that our horses and dogs are gone too, there’s but small chance for us subsisting by the chase. Once our ammunition gave out, we’d be just as Bosjesmen, have to live on roots and reptiles. That’s not the life for a Vee-Boer, nor the diet either.”

“Gott der himmel, no!” was the deprecatory exclamation of Blom, sent forth between two puffs of smoke.

“So,” continued Van Dorn, “I see no hope for us but return to the Transvaal.”

“Neither I. Nor I,” assented the associate baases, Rynwald adding interrogatively —

“But, Mynheer Jan, how are we to get back there?”

This was just the trouble that stared all in the face, and had been in their thoughts ever since the tsetse-sickness first made its appearance among the stock. For in their thoughts, also, was the Karoo they had lately crossed with so much difficulty and danger. This when they had all the means of transport, waggons to carry their women, children, provisions, and other effects, with horses to ride upon. What would be the recrossing it without these, and afoot? Impossible, as Van Dorn well knew; and so declared, saying —

“Overland, brothers, we never could get back. We are more than three hundred miles from Zoutpansberg, the nearest settlement of our people, as you know. Some of us might hold out to reach it, but not all; only the strongest. The weak ones, our dear ones, would many of them perish by the way. Need I say more?”

“No – no!” promptly responded Rynwald, thinking of a wife and only daughter, the fair Katharina. “That’s enough, Mynheer Jan. We mustn’t attempt to go back over the Karoo; it would be our ruin, as you say.”

“Then how are we to go?” demanded Blom. “What other way?”

“By water,” answered the head baas. “We must make down the river, and on to the sea.”

“What river are you speaking of?”