MORE ABOUT OSTRICHES
KARROO
GARDENS-A RIDE WITH BONNY-SKETCHING
UNDER DIFFICULTIES-ANECDOTES AND INCIDENTS.
Ah, those were happy days, when, with
a congenial spirit, I drove and galloped over the
South African plains. There was not much in the
way of thrilling incidents, to be sure, and nothing
whatever of wild adventure, but there was novelty
in everything, and possibilities enough to keep the
spirit ever on the alert.
We used to ride out sometimes after
steenboks,-small brown creatures, that
made little show when bagged, but then there were huge
and horrid vultures to remind one of the sandy desert,
and there were pauws- gigantic birds that
were splendid eating; and the very thought that I
trod on land which little more than quarter of a century
back had been marked by the print of the royal lion
was in itself sufficient to arouse unwonted interest,
which was increased by the knowledge of the fact that
the kloofs or glens and gorges of the blue hills on
the horizon were at that time the natural homes of
leopards or “Cape-tigers” and huge baboons.
These animals are, however, extremely
wary. The baboons go about in troops, and are
wont to leave a trusty old-man baboon on guard, while
the rest go down at early morn to rob the settler of
his fruits and vegetables. If the old man happens
to see or scent danger he gives a signal and the troop
flies helter-skelter to the nearest cliffs. They
are therefore not easily got at by hunters. As
to “tigers,” they go about stealthily
like cats. I was told there was not a chance
of getting a shot at them, unless I went out with
dogs and a hunting party for the purpose. As
this could not be accomplished at the time, I had
to content myself with smaller game.
Bonny, (one of Hobson’s younger
sons), and I went out one day after breakfast to try
for a steenbok before dinner. There were plenty
of them in the stretches of bush-land that dotted
the Karroo in the immediate neighbourhood of the farmhouse.
Stretching out at a gallop with that
light-hearted cheerfulness which is engendered by
bright weather, fresh air, and a good mount, we skirted
the river where Hreikie nursed her little flock.
Hreikie was a small Hottentot girl,
as lightly clad as was compatible with propriety.
Her face was dirty brown, her mouth large, her nose
a shapeless elevation with two holes in the front
of it. Her head was not covered, but merely
sprinkled with tight woolly knobs or curls the size
of peas. Each knob grew apart from its neighbour
knob, and was surrounded, so to speak, by bald or
desert land. This style of hair was not peculiar
to Hreikie alone, but to the whole Hottentot race.
Hreikie’s family consisted of thirty-three young
ostriches, which, though only a few weeks of age,
stood, I think, upwards of two feet high. Some
of them had been brought out by artificial incubation-had
been heated, as it were, into existence without maternal
aid. These birds, Bonny said, had been already
purchased for 15 pounds sterling apiece, and were
deliverable to the purchaser in six months. They
were fed and guarded all day and housed each evening
with tender solicitude by their Hottentot stepmother,
whom the birds evidently regarded as their own natural
parent.
We swept on past the garden, where,
on a previous morning, Bonny and I had killed a deadly
green-tree snake upwards of five feet long, and where,
on many other mornings, he and I, with sometimes other
members of the family entered into strong temptation
among the magnificent fruit. We used to overcome
the temptation by giving way to it! There were
plums, peaches, figs, apples, apricots, grapes, nectarines,
and other fruits, with which the trees were so laden
that some of the branches had given way and their
luscious loads were lying on the ground. Cartloads
of these were given away to friends, and to any one,
as there was no market for their disposal.
Many splendid gardens like this exist
on what is sometimes styled the barren Karroo; but
the land is anything but barren. All it requires
is a copious supply of water, and wherever farmers
have taken the trouble to form dams and store the
heavy though infrequent rains, gardens of the most
prolific kind have been the result. The Karroo-bush
itself, which gives name to these plains, is a succulent
plant, which thrives in the almost waterless soil,
and forms a rich pasturage for sheep and cattle.
Hobson’s garden-copiously watered
by streams led out from his large dams-was
a beautiful shady oasis of green and gold, in the midst
of what, to some eyes, might have appeared a desert,
but which, if irrigated properly, would become a perfect
paradise of fertility.
We cantered on over the plain, till
the garden and the farm looked in the distance like
ships at sea, and rode among the bushes that crowned
a rising ground. We set up some guinea-fowl
and other birds, and startled a hare, but let them
go, as our aim was steenboks. The little boks,
however, were not on the knoll that day, so away we
went again at a gallop until the garden and the farm
went down on the horizon.
Sometimes we kept together and chatted,
at other times we diverged and skirted small clumps
of underwood on opposite sides. At one time,
while separated from Bonny, I saw a large stone lying
on the ground. As I looked, the stone began
to crawl! It was a tortoise, fully as large as
a soup-tureen. The sight of an animal in its
“native wilds,” which you have all your
life been accustomed to see in zoological gardens,
has something peculiar, almost absurd, in it.
As it is with animals, so it is with other objects.
I remember being impressed with this idea, for the
first time, in the south of France, when I beheld a
tree covered with lemons-a fruit which,
up to that period, had been connected in my mind with
grocers’ windows and brown sugar!
I turned aside and dismounted.
The sluggish tortoise stopped, recognised in me an
enemy, and drew in its head and feet. After lifting
and looking at him I set him down. Then it occurred
to me that some one had said a tortoise could carry
a man. I stepped upon this one’s back
forthwith. He lay perfectly still for some time.
At last with great caution the head and feet were
protruded. Another pause, as if of meditation,
then the feet were applied to the ground; they pushed
and strained, until finally the creature advanced
about two inches, and then stopped! This was
not much, but it was sufficient to prove his great
strength, and to convince me that a large tortoise
could easily have walked off with a little boy.
I found Bonny dismounted and waiting.
“No steenboks to-day, I fear,” he said.
“We must have a shot at something,
Bonny,” said I, dismounting, and sitting down
on an anthill. Having been a fair average shot
in a rifle corps in Scotland I took careful aim at
a small bush, bent on doing credit to the British
Volunteers. The result was a “bull’s-eye.”
“Capital!” exclaimed Bonny;
“if you shoot like that you’ll kill plenty
of boks.”
Half an hour later I was passing round
the left of a knoll, while Bonny took the right.
Up leaped a steenbok, which ran a hundred yards or
so, and stopped to look at me. I was already
off the horse and down in the Hythe position.
A careful aim was again taken. The result was
“a miss!” while the small deer vanished
like the smoke of my rifle. So great is the
difference between target-practice and hunting!
It was time now to think of returning
for dinner. I was thoroughly lost by that time
in the vast plain-like a ship at sea without
a compass. But Bonny was as knowing in Karroo-craft
as a Kentucky hunter is in wood-craft. He steered
as true a course for home as if he had smelt the leg
of mutton that was roasting at the fire. Probably
he did-in imagination! Soon the two
ships reappeared on the horizon; our fleet nags quickly
transformed them into the garden and the farm, and
in half an hour we were relating our mild adventure
round Hobson’s hospitable board.
“I’m going to visit brother
Jonathan after dinner: will you come?” said
my host.
“Yes, with pleasure,”
said I, “but first, while you have your siesta,
[midday nap], I will go into the opposite field and
make that long-talked-of sketch of your house.”
“Very good; I’ll send
for you when the cart is ready. There are some
ostriches in the field, but you don’t need to
mind them, for they are quite young, although full-grown.”
It is a common custom among South
Africans to take a nap in the heat of the day during
summer. They dine early, and the power of the
sun at that part of the day renders work almost impossible.
I could not at first fall in with this custom; therefore,
while the family retired, I took my sketch-book and
colours and went off to the field.
There was a mound, whence I could
obtain a good view of the house with its surroundings,
the cattle-kraal or enclosure, the course of the
little stream, with one of the small dams or lakelets,
and the garden, the whole backed by the blue mountain
range on the horizon.
The sun was blazing fiercely, but,
as before remarked, I delight in heat. Selecting
a stone I sat down, opened my book and colour-box,
and began. To those who don’t know it,
I may say that sketching is a most fascinating and
engrossing species of work. I soon forgot where
I was, forgot Hobson, forgot time, forgot every thing
in fact except the glowing face of nature, when a
sound recalled me. I looked round and observed
eight or ten huge ostriches stalking towards me with
slow funereal gait. I felt somewhat uneasy,-for
their youth, of which Hobson had assured me, was in
no way indicated by their huge bodies and dreadful
legs. However, I had taken the precaution to
carry my forked stick, and drawing it nearer continued
at my work with an easier mind. If they meant
war I knew escape to be hopeless, for the nearest wall
was a quarter of a mile off.
The females halted at a respectful
distance, but two of the largest black males came
stalking close up to me and stood still, gazing intently,
first with one eye, then with the other, at a distance
of about six yards.
Meanwhile some of the females sat
down, and one of them put herself in an attitude so
absurd that I introduced her into the drawing.
Presently the largest male advanced a little nearer,
and kept somewhat behind me. This was embarrassing.
It occurred to me that, in the art of war, an attacking
party is supposed to have the advantage of one that
is assaulted. I therefore rose, brought my fork
to the charge, and went at the bird with a furious
roar. It turned and ran a few yards, but stopped
when I stopped, and began to return slowly, as before,
the moment I had sat down. As it drew nearer
I observed that it eyed my colour-box curiously.
Stories about the peculiar taste of these giant birds
recurred to me. People say they will eat anything.
Their digestive powers have passed into a proverb.
The day before I had given an ostrich a large apple,
which it coolly bolted, and I could trace the progress
of the apple by the lump in its throat as it passed
rather slowly down. Some one-Bonny
I rather think-had told me he had seen an
ostrich accept and swallow a bottle of shoe-blacking!
Anything bright is sure to attract the eye of an
ostrich and be coveted. I trembled for my colour-box,
and, seizing my fork, charged again.
About this time Bonny himself came
to say that the cart was ready. We therefore
packed up and came away. The ostriches, he said,
were too young to think of molesting us, though he
admitted that they would probably have swallowed the
colour-box if I had allowed them. They followed
us down to the gate, and finally saw us safely off
their premises.
“Father once had an ostrich,”
said Bonny, as we walked towards the house, “that
caught a couple of thieves for him.”
“Indeed! how was that, Bonny?”
“You are aware that Kafirs are terrible thieves?”
he replied.
“Yes, I’ve been given
to understand that they have propensities that way.”
“Oh! but you have no idea how
clever they are at it, and the Totties are just as
bad, if not worse. On one occasion we had a nest
of eggs in the field over there, which we had left
to be hatched in the natural way by the hen-ostrich.
One night it rained very hard-so hard that
we feared the young ones would be drowned in the nest,
so brother Johnny was sent to look after them.
He took two Totties with him. It was very dark,
but he found the nest with the cock bird sitting on
it. You know the cock always sits at night.
Well, Johnny took him by the nose and pulled him
off the nest, and gave him to the two Totties to hold.
It was hard work, but they kept his head well down,
so that he couldn’t kick. Johnny soon bagged
all the little ones, leaped over the wall, and then
called out to let go the cock. It was so dark
that he couldn’t see very well. He could
only hear a scuffle, and then saw the two men bounding
over the wall like indiarubber balls while the cock
went bang against it like a battering-ram. We
got the little ones home all safe, but, would you
believe it? these rascally Totties had managed to pull
out all the best wing-feathers while they were holding
the cock-each feather worth, perhaps, twenty
shillings or more-and got clear away with
them to the canteen, where they can always sell stolen
goods.
“But that is not what I was
going to tell you,” continued Bonny. “It
was about two Kafir thieves who were going round the
country stealing. They came to our place one
evening, and, in the course of their depredations,
happened to cross one of the fields where a pair of
our ostriches had a nest. The cock had not yet
commenced his night duty on the nest. He caught
sight of the two Kafirs, and was down on them instantly
like lightning. They took refuge in a mimosa-thorn,
and there he kept them all night. It was no
use their trying to make a bolt for it, because twice
or three times their speed could not have saved them
from the ostrich. There they remained, and there
father found them next morning, when he rode out to
feed the birds.”
The sturdy sons of this Karroo farmer
had no light duty to perform each day. The farm
was twenty miles in length, and of variable breadth.
There were no crops raised on it, save the fruit of
the splendid garden already mentioned, some grapes,
and a few mealies. The sources of gain were
ostriches and their feathers, Angora goat hair, (mohair),
horses, sheep-wool, and cattle, looking after which
kept father and sons pretty constantly in the saddle.
It was a dashing style of life, requiring robust
health and spirits. I have seen one or both of
the boys return of an evening-after having
been up at five or six, and out all day,-
scarce able to decide whether to eat or sleep!
Counting and guarding the flocks formed a part of
the duty.
One evening the report was brought
that a horse and thirteen bucks had disappeared.
The Kafir thief had driven them off in the direction
of Somerset. There he had been questioned closely
as to where he came from, etcetera. His replies
not being satisfactory, the animals were seized and
put in the pound, whence they were afterwards reclaimed,
while the thief escaped being put in the “tronk,”
or jail, by a sudden dart into the jungle of the Boschberg!
My friend and I were soon on the road
which led to the farm of his brother Jonathan.
It stood about two miles distant. On our way
we had to pass one corner of the private domain of
Black Jack, or David Marais, I forget which-I
think it was the former. He was there ready for
us, and evidently in a rage at the mere possibility
of our intrusion, for the wings were going like flails
and the tail was up. Hobson pulled up to look
at him for a minute. I got down and went to the
wall, knowing that it afforded perfect security.
Black Jack came up slowly, as if he meant no mischief.
I leant over the wall, which was breast-high, and
poked fun at him. In an instant, like a flash
of light, he came at me. I saw his great claw
over my head, and almost before I could jump back,
a couple of heavy stones were driven violently off
the top of the wall. To bolt and jump into the
cart was almost an involuntary and instantaneous impulse
on my part, though there was no need for haste, because
the furious biped could not leap the wall.
“Yes,” remarked my friend,
with a quiet chuckle, as we drove along; “I
expected as much. Black Jack is in a bad humour
to-day.”
The farm of Jonathan lay at the side
of the stream which watered that of his brother.
It was a pretty place. We drove through the
stream to get to the house. On entering we found
Jonathan standing in his hall, besprinkled with his
own blood, and smiling. He was one of those tall,
thin, powerful sort of men, with genial good-humour
wrinkling the corners of their eyes, who seem to be
ready to smile at everything, pleasant or otherwise,
that befalls them.
“Hallo! what’s wrong,
Jonathan?” asked his brother, with a touch of
tenderness in his tone.
“Nothing particular,”
replied the other; “I’ve just had a tussle
with one of my birds. He wriggled out of the
stick and kicked me.”
On more particular inquiry we found
that Jonathan and his son-another powerful
six-footer-had gone that morning to search
for eggs, which they felt sure must have been laid
somewhere about the enclosed field. To keep the
male bird in play while the search was being made,
the father took his forked stick, met the cock in
single combat, clapped the fork on his neck, and let
him kick away. All might have gone well, for
the father, besides being strong, was accustomed to
such work; but the bird, instead of keeping up a straightforward
assault, as it ought to have done, turned its back
to its foe, wriggled its neck, in some inexplicable
manner, out of the fork, and before it could be refixed
had given Jonathan several tremendous kicks.
One of these nearly tore his trousers to pieces,
and another cut him across the right wrist into the
bone. This rendered his right arm powerless for
the moment, and it might have gone ill with him, had
not his son, who was still in sight, observed what
had occurred, and run back to the rescue. As
it was, the father’s wrist was severely, though
I hope not permanently, damaged.
On a certain occasion three friends
visited Ebenezer. One of these-we
shall call him Squib-was a sporting character,
and anxious to have a shot at the guinea-fowl which
abounded on the farm. Hobson, with his usual
kindness, readily agreed to pilot him and his friends.
“The ground, however,”
said Hobson, “is part of the domain which belongs
to one of my ostriches, whose temper is uncertain.
I don’t feel sure of him. Perhaps it
would be better-”
“Oh! never mind that,”
interrupted Squib; “we’re not afraid of
ostriches. Come along.”
“Very well,” returned the host, “come
along.”
And along they went to the domain
of Gouws, who was found pacing solemnly inside the
wall of his enclosure. His wings were active,
and his tail was cocked. Otherwise he was calm
enough to all appearance. Hobson knew that the
bird was in a rage, and said so, but his friends,
who were young and reckless, insisted on entering the
enclosure.
They did so, and Gouws followed them
with a stately air, but did not attack, being no doubt
perplexed by numbers.
They walked in Indian file, Hobson
being the last of the line.
“I could turn him with a bit
of a bush,” said Squib, glancing at Gouws, who
was drawing gradually nearer to the party. “Just
cut one for me, Hobson, will you, like a good fellow?”
Hobson turned aside and stooped to
cut a branch from a mimosa bush.
Just then the ostrich, which had marched
ahead of the party, turned sharp round and charged.
Poor Squib tripped, by good luck, and fell as the
bird passed over him. It kicked down the other
two, and sprang on the shoulders of the stooping Hobson,
who fell and gashed his finger as the bird tumbled
over him.
The whole party rose with marvellous
celerity, and the sportsmen rushed towards the boundary
wall, while Gouws scrambled on his long legs and ran
after them. Had the distance been great, their
chance of escape would have been small. As it
was, Gouws overtook one of the party just as he reached
a part of the wall which had been mended with mimosa-thorn
bushes. With one tremendous kick he sent the
unfortunate man into the midst of the thorns, where
he would certainly have given him further punishment
had he not been attracted by a yell of alarm from another
of the party. Poor Squib was not fleet of foot
or active. He made a clumsy attempt to vault
the wall, which his companions had already leaped.
Leaving his thorn-pierced victim, Gouws made at Squib,
applied his huge foot to his person, with a slap that
must have forcibly recalled the days of childhood,
and sent him over the wall with undignified haste.
It is generally believed that Squib has not gone
guinea-fowl shooting among ostriches since that day!
The profits on ostrich feathers are
very considerable. I do not profess to give
statistical information in these pages, but merely
touch lightly on what came under my observation.
At one farm which I visited near Capetown I was told
that the owner had cleared 2500 pounds in one year.
Timid men are sometimes alarmed by depressions in the
trade in feathers, and some of them have sold off
their birds at heavy loss; but bold and hopeful men
continue to persevere and prosper, as such men always
will in every trade all the world over. That
ostrich-farming has been found worthy of zealous attention
is proved by the fact that, while in 1865 there were
only between eighty and ninety birds in the colony,
in 1875 there were upwards of 22,000. [In 1925 there
were 239,000.]
Some days afterwards, I pretty well
completed my circle of knowledge on this subject by
witnessing the birth of an ostrich!
Hobson and I rode that day over to
a lovely place named Glenbonny, on the edge of that
part of the Karroo where the mountainous lands begin.
It was a charming ride of forty miles-there
and back-with a pleasant visit, and a rest
between. Here dwelt relatives of my friend-a
family named Berrington-one daughter of
which, (with wealth of golden hair), had been a shipmate
on the voyage out. The principal neighbours of
this family were tigers and baboons. There was
a minor population of deer, hyenas, hares, coneys,
monkeys, and moles, but no human beings of any kind.
Their dwelling was low and flat-roofed, the walls
being coated with mud, so that its aspect outside
was not imposing, but inside we found substantial
comfort if not luxury, refinement, and hospitality.
This is not an infrequent combination in the outlying
districts of the Cape, where the nature of life and
things is such that wealth, education, and refinement
are often found robed in a modest homespun garb, and
housed in a mere hut.
Among other objects of interest inside
we found ostriches-very little ones-in
divers stages of progression. There was one,
the size of an ordinary fowl, which had been in existence-after
egg life I mean-a few days, and swaggered
about the premises like an impudent child. There
was another baby-weak in the understanding,
physically as well as mentally-which staggered
about in a drunken manner, with an insane tendency
to use its tail as a support. This creature was
kept in existence by having its food forcibly crammed
down its throat, the amount given each meal being
gauged not by appetite but by the tension of its stomach.
Last, and least, there was one which had succeeded
in bursting out one end of its native egg that morning.
Its already tremendous toes protruded, and were engaged
in further efforts to get out when we arrived.
While we were at dinner that day the creature effected
its liberation, and entered on the staggering and stuffing
phase of its career.
All these birds, and many others,
had been nursed into life through a hot-air and warm
blanket incubator, by the amiable lady of the house,
and were destined to spend the early part of their
lives under the care of some Hottentot stepmother.