Chapter 2

Mozelkatse.Thanks to a vigorous constitution and to temperate habits, wounds which might have been troublesome under a warm climate soon closed, and though for days the torn shoulder gave a good deal of pain, yet it rapidly healed. Game was plentiful, and the koodoos easily approached, so that Luji and the Kaffir Noti kept the camp provisioned during the week the tent remained pitched on the banks of the Limpolulo until a runner from Mozelkatse arrived, summoning the travellers to meet him at Zoutpansburgh, then a native kraal of some importance, about twenty miles to the northward and westward, on a spur of the Drakenburgh range. The life was a pleasant one. The breakfast round the remains of the camp fire. The loud shouts of the men as they chased and harnessed the lazy oxen. The cracking of the long whip as the lumbering waggon moved off. The mount and the gallop over the plain, with herds of deer flying before the hunters. The dinner under some spreading tree, the house on wheels, oxen and men around it. The tales told round the blaze, as the difficulties of the day were discussed, and those of the morrow canvassed; and then the sound sleep so well earned by fatigue. The evening of the seventh day after the affair with the lioness, the party outspanned at the foot of the mountain range, close to the native kraal Zoutpansburgh, the morrow being fixed by Mozelkatse for the audience.The morning came, bright, warm, and glorious, as usual, and the little camp was early astir.The interview was an important one. The name of Mozelkatse was known all through the land, and his power was great. So implicitly did his people believe in him, that they actually asserted that it was he who had made the moon and the sun, and it was utterly useless to attempt to proceed without his authority. Captain Hughes had been furnished by his relative with a letter to this potentate, and both he and the missionary had resolved that unless the reply given was encouraging they would not go on. It was, therefore, not without some anxiety as to the result, that orders were given to all the men to dress themselves out in any little finery they possessed, an English Union Jack was mounted on a lance, and, the one dressed in the time-stained uniform of the gallant 150th Regiment, the other in his priestly robes, took their way, followed by their men, to the enclosure where the king was to receive them, deeming themselves lucky in that the hunting party had led the chief in their direction to this outlying village, and so spared them a long journey to his capital. They saw but few of Mozelkatse’s personal guards, most of the motley tribe through which they took their way, preceded by Luji as standard-bearer, being natives belonging to the outlying tribe, and as they gained the enclosure, which was at the same time council chamber and reception hall, the gathering seemed a numerous one, for there were upwards of a hundred braves then present, and the number was rapidly increasing. A covering of skins was fastened round the waist of each, and broad rings of copper were worn round the arms and ankles of the chiefs. A plume of feathers adorned the heads of the principal men, while, hanging behind, somewhat after the fashion of a Hungarian pelisse, each warrior wore a panther or other similar skin. The array of dusky savages looked imposing enough, and all were well armed. The left hand supported a shield of tanned buffalo hide, surmounted with plumes of ostrich feathers. The same hand grasped a long spear, while the right firmly held a short stout stick with a heavy knob. Round the neck was a necklace, from which hung a dagger, while the short beard, grizzly black moustache, and clean cut limbs, made Mozelkatse’s braves look formidable as they closed in, forming a circle round the visitors, whose flag waved from the end of an assegai planted in the centre of the circle. The enclosure itself was formed of the branches of the mimosa, strongly and tightly interlaced, and from the height on which it stood, a magnificent view of the plain below, watered by the Limpopo, was obtained. All round were situated the huts of the tribe, looking like beehives, and near each a little walled space, wherein was kept their wealth, in the shape of oxen. No women were permitted to enter the enclosure; and hardly were the new comers arrived when Mozelkatse stalked into the ring. His hut was the only one opening on the enclosure, and a murmur of applause ran through the ranks of his braves as he made his appearance.In compliment, perhaps, to the tribe, he wore nearly the same dress. Slowly seating himself on a rudely chiselled stone, Mozelkatse glanced around his warriors proudly, without noticing his visitors. He was a man of large size, apparently in the full vigour of his age, and of great muscular development, the colour of his skin alone detracting from his appearance.There was an air of thought and command in his face, and, unlike his warriors, his hair was thrown back, his broad forehead being encircled with a fillet of ostrich feathers, terminating in a single plume hanging behind.Heavy rings of highly-polished copper spanned the thick part of the arms, and lighter ones the wrist. The neck was adorned with a necklace, partly formed of bits of gold strung together, from which depended a dagger, and over the broad, hairy, black breast, floated one magnificent ostrich plume. A tawny lion skin was thrown over the stone on which he sat, while a robe of panther skins hung from his waist.His right hand held the same kind of short stick carried by the warriors, while the left rested on his naked knee. Only that the forehead was rather low, and the mouth too large, Mozelkatse might have passed muster as a splendid specimen of coloured humanity.A chief named Masheesh now stepped forward and presented the soldier and the missionary to the king, briefly explaining in his own tongue the object which led the strangers to the country. The missionary next addressed the king, asking his acceptance of the presents, which were laid at his feet by Luji, wrapped in an ox hide, the principal object being a handsome pair of pistols, silver-mounted, which seemed to please Mozelkatse. Bowing his head in token of acceptance, the king waved his hand, and two braves stepping forward took up the hide and its contents, conveying them into the king’s hut.Settling himself in his seat, Mozelkatse looked round the circle, and all at once poured forth a torrent of words, which were those of welcome to the white men who had come to see him, ending with a request that they would settle among and trade with his people. The circle of black warriors applauded, striking their shields with their spears, and as their numbers had greatly increased, there not being less than two hundred and fifty armed men in the enclosure, the applause was noisy enough. As it died away, Wyzinski rose and stood before the chief, his clear silvery voice ringing through the enclosure, “Some years since,” said he, “I was travelling with my brethren far away on the banks of the Limpopo. I saw much of the various nations around, and by chance met with intelligent men of the tribe which calls Mozelkatse king.”The savage bent his head in token of acknowledgment of the compliment, glancing round the circle of his braves proudly.“I began,” continued Wyzinski, “to speak their language, and as I did so became aware of strange stories as to a spot far away towards the north, where stone buildings exist. One of these I was told was as large as Mozelkatse’s kraal, having an opening about half its height, through which they who desire to see the ruins must pass. My Matlokotlopo brethren told also of strange figures cut in stone, and of curiously carved birds also in stone. These houses must have once been the dwellings of the white man, and the legends our fathers have taught tell us of such white men, who came many thousand years since from the regions of the rising sun, landing on these shores. To reach these ruins, to prove that our fathers spoke the truth, is our object, and in the name of our ancestors we ask thy protection, chief.”Drawing his robes round him, Wyzinski sat down, and for fully a minute there was a dead silence.“The broken huts exist,” at length replied the king, “though none of us have ever seen them, and none know what far-away tribe made them. To reach them my white brethren must pass over the vast plains which lie between the Limpopo and the Zambesi, which the foot of the white man has never yet trod. The elephant and the lion abound there. The savage moohoohoo breed undisturbed, and not less cruel tribes, to whom Mozelkatse’s name carries no terror, inhabit them. Let my white brethren stay to hunt, and to trade with us. A party of my braves shall seek the fallen huts and bring back the images.”The rattling sound of the rude applause was once more heard.“No, chief,” replied Wyzinski; “we are not traders. We have turned from our road to ask your aid. Give it, and we shall succeed. The report will go far and wide that through the protection of a great king our fathers’ truth has been manifested, and traders will follow in our footsteps. Speed us on our journey, chief.”Mozelkatse did not reply, and for a few moments there was a deep silence. It was broken in a sudden and startling manner. A little man, almost a dwarf, deformed in person and fearfully ugly, leaped into the circle. Executing a wild dance, which he accompanied with shrill screams, he spun round, the warriors crouching down and applauding, not as heretofore with their spears, but by beating on the hard baked ground with their sticks, sometimes altogether, sometimes in an irregular manner.Stopping as suddenly as he had begun in his mad dance, the sorcerer, for such he was, threw himself violently on the ground at Mozelkatse’s feet, breaking as he did so a necklace of bones which he wore round his neck. For the first time the living circle of dusky braves gave way, and all able to do so crowded round the sorcerer, who with fixed and straining eyes was staring at the masses of bones lying here and there, from the position of which the augury was to be drawn. Luckily for the travellers, the omen was tolerably propitious, the seer pronouncing that though there was danger in the path, the white chiefs should return in safety.The circle was again formed, and a long discussion ensued, in the course of which several of the more noted chiefs joined in, and the result was a mass of evidence as to the existence of ruins somewhere in the neighbourhood of Manica, a country lying to the northward, well watered by tributaries of the Zambesi, all the evidence being however merely hearsay. Eventually the king’s aid and protection were promised, and Mozelkatse retired, two braves as he did so advancing, and taking from their sheaths the long glittering knives, performed a curious dance round the strangers, eventually cutting away the grass upon which they had sat, and burying it in a hole under the stone which had served as a throne. This being a ceremony always performed by the chief who wishes to retain the friendship of his visitors, during their temporary absence, was of good augury. The audience was at an end, the king disappearing inside his hut, and the Union Jack being struck, the new comers, escorted by a band of armed braves, singing a monotonous song, and accompanying themselves with the regular but discordant noise of the spears striking against the shields, marched off to the camp, where an ox previously purchased was slaughtered, cut up, and distributed among the braves, the absent but friendly sorcerer not being forgotten.“A curious interview, Wyzinski and one I am not sorry to have got through,” observed Hughes, as the two were seated that evening, near the camp fire.“At all events, we may look upon the point as gained, and from this day will date our search for the ruined cities of Zulu Land,” replied Wyzinski.The night was dark, and the radius lit up by the blaze was of small extent. Luji and his man had lit their fire under a huge boulder of rock, which had rolled down apparently from the mountain range at whose feet they were encamped. The Matlokotlopo fires could be seen twinkling on the hill-top, and before them lay the plain, watered by the Limpopo, whose sinuous course they had marked, running like a blue thread through the land, from the rude council chamber of the tribe. From the boulder round which the men were squatted came the noise of many tongues, among which that of Luji played a prominent part; away on the plain the jackals and hyenas were to be heard, and the night breeze came rustling the leaves of the tree underneath which the two were talking by the fire.“How strange,” said Hughes, breaking a long silence, “that a land so beautifully situated and so temperate in its climate should be so sparsely populated, and so utterly uncultivated!”“It won’t remain so long,” replied the missionary. “Natal is a sugar and coffee producing country, and that of the Zulus must follow. Both possess the inestimable advantage of being perfectly healthy for human beings, the soil is abundantly fertile, and the land is intersected by rivers.”“You are speaking of Natal, but what about this part of the country?”“Between the Coastland and the Drakenburgh range every variety of tropical and European productions can be cultivated, from the pine apple to the gooseberry, and I have seen wheat, too, unequalled in size and quality, grown near where we now are.”“I thought,” replied Hughes, “that wherever the sugar cane prospers the climate is unhealthy?”“The single exception is that of Natal. The pasture land is eminently adapted for sheep, and nothing but capital is required—capital and labour. As we go more north towards the Zambesi, the nature of the land will alter.”“And Mozelkatse—will he keep his word, think you?”“He is known for never breaking it,” replied the missionary, “he is—.” The sentence was not finished, for a black arm and hand seemed to glide out of the darkness, and was laid on the missionary’s shoulder.Starting up, he seized the intruder by the throat, but instantly released him, laughing. It was Masheesh, the Matabele brave, who had presented them that day to Mozelkatse, and as it may be easily imagined that the king, though able to create the sun and moon, was readier with his spear than his pen; the credentials, which were to make his protection of the party known, assumed the tangible form of the chief who thus unceremoniously startled them, and who soon, squatted beside the blaze, proceeded gravely to light his pipe and smoke in silence. The fire grew low, the two Europeans retired into the tent, but Masheesh smoked on quietly and composedly. One by one the Kaffirs and Hottentots lay down, but still the glow of the chief’s tobacco could be seen by the fire side. Rising at last, he heaped fresh wood on the embers, and calmly taking his place by the tent door and outside, though he had but to lift it to enter, Masheesh rolled himself in his buffalo hide, and, gorged with meat and tobacco, soon slept as soundly as the rest.

Thanks to a vigorous constitution and to temperate habits, wounds which might have been troublesome under a warm climate soon closed, and though for days the torn shoulder gave a good deal of pain, yet it rapidly healed. Game was plentiful, and the koodoos easily approached, so that Luji and the Kaffir Noti kept the camp provisioned during the week the tent remained pitched on the banks of the Limpolulo until a runner from Mozelkatse arrived, summoning the travellers to meet him at Zoutpansburgh, then a native kraal of some importance, about twenty miles to the northward and westward, on a spur of the Drakenburgh range. The life was a pleasant one. The breakfast round the remains of the camp fire. The loud shouts of the men as they chased and harnessed the lazy oxen. The cracking of the long whip as the lumbering waggon moved off. The mount and the gallop over the plain, with herds of deer flying before the hunters. The dinner under some spreading tree, the house on wheels, oxen and men around it. The tales told round the blaze, as the difficulties of the day were discussed, and those of the morrow canvassed; and then the sound sleep so well earned by fatigue. The evening of the seventh day after the affair with the lioness, the party outspanned at the foot of the mountain range, close to the native kraal Zoutpansburgh, the morrow being fixed by Mozelkatse for the audience.

The morning came, bright, warm, and glorious, as usual, and the little camp was early astir.

The interview was an important one. The name of Mozelkatse was known all through the land, and his power was great. So implicitly did his people believe in him, that they actually asserted that it was he who had made the moon and the sun, and it was utterly useless to attempt to proceed without his authority. Captain Hughes had been furnished by his relative with a letter to this potentate, and both he and the missionary had resolved that unless the reply given was encouraging they would not go on. It was, therefore, not without some anxiety as to the result, that orders were given to all the men to dress themselves out in any little finery they possessed, an English Union Jack was mounted on a lance, and, the one dressed in the time-stained uniform of the gallant 150th Regiment, the other in his priestly robes, took their way, followed by their men, to the enclosure where the king was to receive them, deeming themselves lucky in that the hunting party had led the chief in their direction to this outlying village, and so spared them a long journey to his capital. They saw but few of Mozelkatse’s personal guards, most of the motley tribe through which they took their way, preceded by Luji as standard-bearer, being natives belonging to the outlying tribe, and as they gained the enclosure, which was at the same time council chamber and reception hall, the gathering seemed a numerous one, for there were upwards of a hundred braves then present, and the number was rapidly increasing. A covering of skins was fastened round the waist of each, and broad rings of copper were worn round the arms and ankles of the chiefs. A plume of feathers adorned the heads of the principal men, while, hanging behind, somewhat after the fashion of a Hungarian pelisse, each warrior wore a panther or other similar skin. The array of dusky savages looked imposing enough, and all were well armed. The left hand supported a shield of tanned buffalo hide, surmounted with plumes of ostrich feathers. The same hand grasped a long spear, while the right firmly held a short stout stick with a heavy knob. Round the neck was a necklace, from which hung a dagger, while the short beard, grizzly black moustache, and clean cut limbs, made Mozelkatse’s braves look formidable as they closed in, forming a circle round the visitors, whose flag waved from the end of an assegai planted in the centre of the circle. The enclosure itself was formed of the branches of the mimosa, strongly and tightly interlaced, and from the height on which it stood, a magnificent view of the plain below, watered by the Limpopo, was obtained. All round were situated the huts of the tribe, looking like beehives, and near each a little walled space, wherein was kept their wealth, in the shape of oxen. No women were permitted to enter the enclosure; and hardly were the new comers arrived when Mozelkatse stalked into the ring. His hut was the only one opening on the enclosure, and a murmur of applause ran through the ranks of his braves as he made his appearance.

In compliment, perhaps, to the tribe, he wore nearly the same dress. Slowly seating himself on a rudely chiselled stone, Mozelkatse glanced around his warriors proudly, without noticing his visitors. He was a man of large size, apparently in the full vigour of his age, and of great muscular development, the colour of his skin alone detracting from his appearance.

There was an air of thought and command in his face, and, unlike his warriors, his hair was thrown back, his broad forehead being encircled with a fillet of ostrich feathers, terminating in a single plume hanging behind.

Heavy rings of highly-polished copper spanned the thick part of the arms, and lighter ones the wrist. The neck was adorned with a necklace, partly formed of bits of gold strung together, from which depended a dagger, and over the broad, hairy, black breast, floated one magnificent ostrich plume. A tawny lion skin was thrown over the stone on which he sat, while a robe of panther skins hung from his waist.

His right hand held the same kind of short stick carried by the warriors, while the left rested on his naked knee. Only that the forehead was rather low, and the mouth too large, Mozelkatse might have passed muster as a splendid specimen of coloured humanity.

A chief named Masheesh now stepped forward and presented the soldier and the missionary to the king, briefly explaining in his own tongue the object which led the strangers to the country. The missionary next addressed the king, asking his acceptance of the presents, which were laid at his feet by Luji, wrapped in an ox hide, the principal object being a handsome pair of pistols, silver-mounted, which seemed to please Mozelkatse. Bowing his head in token of acceptance, the king waved his hand, and two braves stepping forward took up the hide and its contents, conveying them into the king’s hut.

Settling himself in his seat, Mozelkatse looked round the circle, and all at once poured forth a torrent of words, which were those of welcome to the white men who had come to see him, ending with a request that they would settle among and trade with his people. The circle of black warriors applauded, striking their shields with their spears, and as their numbers had greatly increased, there not being less than two hundred and fifty armed men in the enclosure, the applause was noisy enough. As it died away, Wyzinski rose and stood before the chief, his clear silvery voice ringing through the enclosure, “Some years since,” said he, “I was travelling with my brethren far away on the banks of the Limpopo. I saw much of the various nations around, and by chance met with intelligent men of the tribe which calls Mozelkatse king.”

The savage bent his head in token of acknowledgment of the compliment, glancing round the circle of his braves proudly.

“I began,” continued Wyzinski, “to speak their language, and as I did so became aware of strange stories as to a spot far away towards the north, where stone buildings exist. One of these I was told was as large as Mozelkatse’s kraal, having an opening about half its height, through which they who desire to see the ruins must pass. My Matlokotlopo brethren told also of strange figures cut in stone, and of curiously carved birds also in stone. These houses must have once been the dwellings of the white man, and the legends our fathers have taught tell us of such white men, who came many thousand years since from the regions of the rising sun, landing on these shores. To reach these ruins, to prove that our fathers spoke the truth, is our object, and in the name of our ancestors we ask thy protection, chief.”

Drawing his robes round him, Wyzinski sat down, and for fully a minute there was a dead silence.

“The broken huts exist,” at length replied the king, “though none of us have ever seen them, and none know what far-away tribe made them. To reach them my white brethren must pass over the vast plains which lie between the Limpopo and the Zambesi, which the foot of the white man has never yet trod. The elephant and the lion abound there. The savage moohoohoo breed undisturbed, and not less cruel tribes, to whom Mozelkatse’s name carries no terror, inhabit them. Let my white brethren stay to hunt, and to trade with us. A party of my braves shall seek the fallen huts and bring back the images.”

The rattling sound of the rude applause was once more heard.

“No, chief,” replied Wyzinski; “we are not traders. We have turned from our road to ask your aid. Give it, and we shall succeed. The report will go far and wide that through the protection of a great king our fathers’ truth has been manifested, and traders will follow in our footsteps. Speed us on our journey, chief.”

Mozelkatse did not reply, and for a few moments there was a deep silence. It was broken in a sudden and startling manner. A little man, almost a dwarf, deformed in person and fearfully ugly, leaped into the circle. Executing a wild dance, which he accompanied with shrill screams, he spun round, the warriors crouching down and applauding, not as heretofore with their spears, but by beating on the hard baked ground with their sticks, sometimes altogether, sometimes in an irregular manner.

Stopping as suddenly as he had begun in his mad dance, the sorcerer, for such he was, threw himself violently on the ground at Mozelkatse’s feet, breaking as he did so a necklace of bones which he wore round his neck. For the first time the living circle of dusky braves gave way, and all able to do so crowded round the sorcerer, who with fixed and straining eyes was staring at the masses of bones lying here and there, from the position of which the augury was to be drawn. Luckily for the travellers, the omen was tolerably propitious, the seer pronouncing that though there was danger in the path, the white chiefs should return in safety.

The circle was again formed, and a long discussion ensued, in the course of which several of the more noted chiefs joined in, and the result was a mass of evidence as to the existence of ruins somewhere in the neighbourhood of Manica, a country lying to the northward, well watered by tributaries of the Zambesi, all the evidence being however merely hearsay. Eventually the king’s aid and protection were promised, and Mozelkatse retired, two braves as he did so advancing, and taking from their sheaths the long glittering knives, performed a curious dance round the strangers, eventually cutting away the grass upon which they had sat, and burying it in a hole under the stone which had served as a throne. This being a ceremony always performed by the chief who wishes to retain the friendship of his visitors, during their temporary absence, was of good augury. The audience was at an end, the king disappearing inside his hut, and the Union Jack being struck, the new comers, escorted by a band of armed braves, singing a monotonous song, and accompanying themselves with the regular but discordant noise of the spears striking against the shields, marched off to the camp, where an ox previously purchased was slaughtered, cut up, and distributed among the braves, the absent but friendly sorcerer not being forgotten.

“A curious interview, Wyzinski and one I am not sorry to have got through,” observed Hughes, as the two were seated that evening, near the camp fire.

“At all events, we may look upon the point as gained, and from this day will date our search for the ruined cities of Zulu Land,” replied Wyzinski.

The night was dark, and the radius lit up by the blaze was of small extent. Luji and his man had lit their fire under a huge boulder of rock, which had rolled down apparently from the mountain range at whose feet they were encamped. The Matlokotlopo fires could be seen twinkling on the hill-top, and before them lay the plain, watered by the Limpopo, whose sinuous course they had marked, running like a blue thread through the land, from the rude council chamber of the tribe. From the boulder round which the men were squatted came the noise of many tongues, among which that of Luji played a prominent part; away on the plain the jackals and hyenas were to be heard, and the night breeze came rustling the leaves of the tree underneath which the two were talking by the fire.

“How strange,” said Hughes, breaking a long silence, “that a land so beautifully situated and so temperate in its climate should be so sparsely populated, and so utterly uncultivated!”

“It won’t remain so long,” replied the missionary. “Natal is a sugar and coffee producing country, and that of the Zulus must follow. Both possess the inestimable advantage of being perfectly healthy for human beings, the soil is abundantly fertile, and the land is intersected by rivers.”

“You are speaking of Natal, but what about this part of the country?”

“Between the Coastland and the Drakenburgh range every variety of tropical and European productions can be cultivated, from the pine apple to the gooseberry, and I have seen wheat, too, unequalled in size and quality, grown near where we now are.”

“I thought,” replied Hughes, “that wherever the sugar cane prospers the climate is unhealthy?”

“The single exception is that of Natal. The pasture land is eminently adapted for sheep, and nothing but capital is required—capital and labour. As we go more north towards the Zambesi, the nature of the land will alter.”

“And Mozelkatse—will he keep his word, think you?”

“He is known for never breaking it,” replied the missionary, “he is—.” The sentence was not finished, for a black arm and hand seemed to glide out of the darkness, and was laid on the missionary’s shoulder.

Starting up, he seized the intruder by the throat, but instantly released him, laughing. It was Masheesh, the Matabele brave, who had presented them that day to Mozelkatse, and as it may be easily imagined that the king, though able to create the sun and moon, was readier with his spear than his pen; the credentials, which were to make his protection of the party known, assumed the tangible form of the chief who thus unceremoniously startled them, and who soon, squatted beside the blaze, proceeded gravely to light his pipe and smoke in silence. The fire grew low, the two Europeans retired into the tent, but Masheesh smoked on quietly and composedly. One by one the Kaffirs and Hottentots lay down, but still the glow of the chief’s tobacco could be seen by the fire side. Rising at last, he heaped fresh wood on the embers, and calmly taking his place by the tent door and outside, though he had but to lift it to enter, Masheesh rolled himself in his buffalo hide, and, gorged with meat and tobacco, soon slept as soundly as the rest.

The Matabele Hunt.Masheesh had been deputed by Mozelkatse to accompany them, and there was now nothing to stay their progress northward. The country, too, at the foot of the mountains, was comparatively bare of game, so early the following morning the small party outspanned, and took their way across the plain to strike the banks of the Limpopo.“How easily the Matabele falls into our ways!” said Wyzinski; as on the morning of the second day after leaving the mountains, the two were riding about half a mile ahead of the waggon, which was coming lumbering along behind them, the shouts of the drivers and the cracking of the long whip reaching their ears.“It seems strange to see him take the management of our people, and at the same time associate himself with us on a footing of perfect equality,” replied Hughes, “he a half-naked and totally uneducated savage.”“Turn it the other way, Hughes; he is a chief in the land, known and respected; we are strangers, with nothing but the white man’s prestige placing us at all on the footing of his equal. Masheesh is naturally the leader of our party, and is responsible to his chief for our safety. It is on this I rely.”The Matabele rode well, and he now came dashing along bestriding a small horse which had been given him. He disdained the use of a saddle, and as he came along at full speed, his ostrich feather streaming on the wind, the loose panther skin floating behind, and his long black legs nearly touching the ground, there was something grotesque and yet striking in his appearance. He held his slender assegai in his hand. Dashing up to the two in front, he checked his horse suddenly, bringing it instantly to a standstill, and sending the ground and grit beneath its hoofs flying into the air. Bending down over its shoulder, the savage pointed with the spear head to some marks on the earth, and then looking up into the soldier’s face, uttered some words in a low guttural tone, and laughed.“The track of elephants,” said the missionary, who spoke the Zulu tongue, though imperfectly. In a moment Hughes was off his horse, and stooping low as he examined for the first time the footprint of the mighty denizen of the African forests. Masheesh rode on, and in a few moments, a low guttural cry was heard, and the Matabele was seen, halting under a tree, and signing with his spear for the rest to come on. The path had led through a forest, the trees not growing thickly together, but at intervals, and now and then broken by rich undulating plains. Following the direction of the chief’s assegai, the two halting by his side under the shade of the mohunno trees, saw stretched before them the winding silver line of the Limpopo, one of the favourite hunting grounds of the Bazizulu.Herds of antelope, and of hartebeest, were feeding over the vast plain. They could be counted by thousands, and it was indeed a glorious sight for the hunter’s eye, that vast undulating plain, whose gentle rises concealed the distance, and were covered with rich pasture, over which were feeding great herds of cattle, who owned no master. About five miles distant the line of the Limpopo bordered by trees, was seen glistening through the foliage as it sparkled in the morning sun. To the right and close to them a large snake was curling along the ground like a big black sinuous branch, making off for the shelter of the wood, while a troop of monkeys over head were grinning and chattering at the intruders, and flights of parrots were screaming among the branches.A sense of wildness and of vastness creeps over those who look upon these wide plains in their native grandeur and stillness—a feeling of freedom, and of liberty, and at the same time of respect and adoration for the great Creator of all. Deeply feeling this for several minutes, the three gazed in silence, then as the distant shout of the drivers came on the breeze, the nearest troops of antelope stopped feeding, raised their heads, sniffed the air, and moved off—the next taking alarm in the same way—until the whole plain, far as the eye could roam, was covered with droves of antelope, galloping here and there, and crossing each other in wild confusion. It looked like an intricate and mazy dance, the performers in the wild ballet on the plains of South Africa being the antelope.“His are the cattle on a thousand hills,” exclaimed the missionary, breaking silence at last, and reverently uncovering himself.“Some of them shall be mine before long,” replied the matter-of-fact soldier; “if you will get the chief to ride back and stop those fellows shouting.”“I’ll do so myself,” answered the missionary. “I will halt them here, give you an hour’s advance, and then move straight forward for the Limpopo, where we will outspan. We want meat in the camp.”“And shall have it. Come along, Masheesh,” cried Hughes, elated beyond measure, and letting the Arab he rode feel the spur, he dashed away followed by the Matabele brandishing his assegai. It looked very easy to procure meat among such countless herds, but an hour of violent exertion proved it was not so. The Arab was untrained, could not be brought to a standstill instantly, and was fidgety, so that it was impossible to aim from the saddle. Shy and timid, the hartebeest moved along in herds seldom exceeding ten in number, ever led by some old and cautious buck.Of a yellowish orange colour, striped with black under the horns and down the forehead, they had seemed heavy, lumbering animals. The thighs and extremities were tinged with black, and the horns most curiously formed, curving at first backward and outward, but subsequently sweeping inwards, the eyes being like most of the antelope tribe, large and full. Ever on the watch, the hunters quite failed to get near them, and just as after long and cautious labour, they would be almost within shot, away would scamper the herd, in Indian file, and clumsy and ungainly as they were in their movements, all attempts to cut them off utterly failed. Convinced at last of the impossibility, Hughes followed the advice given him by the Matabele, and, dismounting, concealed himself behind a clump of trees, Masheesh, Luji, and others of the hunters who had now found them, making a long sweep to drive the antelope towards him. This at last proved successful.A herd of hartebeest came cantering along, the leader pausing within ten paces of the clump where he lay hid. The moment sufficed, as a ball crashed through his skull, and he fell heavily, stone dead. The herd instantly turned to fly, but not before another shot had bowled over a second deer.The buck was a noble animal, measuring seven feet ten inches from the nose to the base of the tail, and carrying a splendid pair of horns, one foot ten inches in height; the second being a female, and consequently much smaller in every respect. The deer were slung across the horses and sent to camp, where they proved a most seasonable supply, and after a rest under the trees the hunters prepared to follow. Before them lay a green rise, hardly to be called a hill, and yet high enough to conceal the country beyond. Masheesh, no longer dressed in his savage finery, but quite nude save a hide girded round his loins, was stalking on some paces in advance, the soldier following and looking with a covetous eye at the troops of deer which he could not approach. Suddenly, Masheesh threw himself flat on his face, as though he had been shot, motioning to the other to do the same. Cautiously and noiselessly the two dragged themselves up the rise, and peeping over its crest, saw spread out before them a rich undulating valley, the grass land broken here and there by groves of mimosa trees, a small river wandering through it on its way to join the Limpopo. The country of the Batonga lay mapped before them, while far to the westward rose the hills of the Drakenburgh range.Feeding, not five hundred yards from the crest of the rise, was a herd of strange animals. The head and breast had the appearance of buffalo on a small scale, the horns of the males being enormous and very dangerous looking. Twisting spirally downwards when starting from the head, they then curved upwards like a hook. The head and chest were covered with dark shaggy hair, the eyes looking fiercely from under the tangled covering. The shoulders and neck carried a mane like that of a horse, while the remainder of the body and hind quarters were those of a pony, except the tail, which was that of a cow, and the legs, which were those of an antelope.These strange animals seemed full of fun. Tossing their shaggy, fierce looking heads, one would leave the rest, tear round in a ring at full gallop, and then dash into the centre of the herd, pulling up suddenly.Captain Hughes seemed lost in contemplation, but Masheesh, laying his hand on his shoulder, signed to him to come away, and both letting themselves slide down the slope, the herd remained quite unconscious of their presence.The two were silent for some time, but when the savage deemed they were far enough distant to allow of it without giving the alarm, he spoke rapidly enough. Luji coming up at the moment, Hughes learned that the strange animals were gnus, and a whispered conversation followed, it being agreed that under cover of the crest, or green ridge, Hughes and Masheesh should gain the outlet of the valley, while Luji and Noti were to make a long détour, and coming down the wind, drive the herd before them.The savage carefully posted his companion, and then pointing to a bend in the valley, about forty paces distant, uttered some sentences volubly, and going away buried himself in a neighbouring thicket. All seemed dead silence, and the watcher soon grew weary of it. A quarter dragged itself on into half an hour, and still nothing save the deep silence of the African plain. Suddenly the soldier who had been watching the serried ranks of the ants as they marched along in countless numbers, ever in a straight line, became conscious of a clump of bushes, at the bend of the valley to which Masheesh had pointed, which certainly was not there a quarter of an hour before. The bush had a curious motion, and Captain Hughes concluded there was some wild animal concealed therein—a lion probably, watching the distant herd, and by its presence hindering the gnus coming. His rifle on full cock, firmly grasped in his hands, he eagerly watched the bush. Yes, it certainly moved, slowly but surely.Raising the deadly rifle, the hunter took a deliberate aim right into its centre. Just as the finger was about to pull the trigger, the thought flashed over him, that if it concealed a lion and the fire were not fatal, the risk would be great. Lowering the weapon, he watched the bush intently, determining to wait till the lion made its spring, or to fire if he could get a glimpse of the animal. An hour had passed, and the temptation returned in full force.The dead deep silence weighed upon him, the strange motions of the bush made him nervous. Again the rifle was raised, when a loud trampling noise was heard, as with their heads down and their spiral horns glittering in the sun, the troop of gnus came on at top speed. A more ferocious-looking lot could hardly be imagined, as they headed dead down the valley. Still the hunter’s attention was divided, and more engrossed with the bush than with the game. The gnus rapidly neared it, urged on by the shouts of Noti, while Luji’s voice was plainly to be heard far away in rear. They were close to it; about to pass in safety, when a piercing yell rang from the bush, and a bright spear glancing in the sunshine struck the leading gnu, while Masheesh, casting his leafy covering, sprang to his feet. The report of the soldier’s rifle followed, and one of the herd rolled heavily forward, breaking its horns in the impetus of the fall. The animal struck by the spear halted at once, stamping violently with its forefoot, and lowering its head for the charge. The savage stood awaiting it, his knobstick in his left hand, the long glittering dagger in his right, tall, erect, and fearless, the very picture of a dusky brave. With an angry snort the bull rushed on, but the savage stepped lightly aside, and the steel sank deep into the flesh near the spine. Again the gnu turned to charge, for a moment hesitating, as it lowered its shaggy head, but at that instant a ball from the deadly English rifle struck right between the eyes, and it fell heavily close to Masheesh, the blood gushing from its mouth. It was a much larger one than that first killed, when measured proving fully seven feet four inches from the top of the nose to the base of the tail. The horns were one foot ten inches in length, and the animal stood at least four feet in height at the shoulder. The hoof, as Captain Hughes and the delighted Masheesh stood beside the carcass, seemed too large for the legs, and the knee joints were covered with a hard substance like those of a tame ox. In fact the animal seemed to resemble much the half-wild oxen of India, and, before it charged, the wounded gnu pawed with the forefoot, tossing its head exactly as a wild bull would have done. Hughes now learned that the natives regularly hunt the antelope and zebra in the way Masheesh had done that day, whole herds feeding carelessly up to the supposed bush, but on this occasion the concealed man had run unconsciously a terrible risk.The sun was sinking towards the west—telling that it was time to strike the river, by whose banks the rest of the party had outspanned; so leaving Luji, Noti, and one of the Kaffirs to cut up and bring in the meat, the two stepped out for the Limpopo. Any fatigue, any privation Masheesh would endure, but even such manual labour as that of cutting up the carcasses of the slain he utterly disdained. It was sunset when the camp was at last reached, and there a messenger from Mozelkatse was found.“It would appear,” said the missionary, who was busy preparing some skins of birds he had shot, “that a strong party of the Matabeles have joined their king.”“Well, all I can say is, a good wash and something to eat are of more importance to me just now than all the kings in the world. You don’t know how tired I am, and then nothing to eat besides.”“Look at Masheesh, whom you called an uneducated savage this morning,” replied Wyzinski, pointing towards the individual named, who after a drink of water had quietly seated himself, not even noticing the runner of his people, and was smoking, varying the amusement with an occasional pinch of snuff, and waiting calmly until some meat should be cooked by some one, he cared not by whom, provided he had nothing to do with it.“Well, I suppose you don’t want me to smoke and take snuff as proofs of civilisation.”“You have heard of the man, have you not, who thanked God he had at least reached a civilised country on seeing a gibbet? However,” continued Wyzinski, “yonder runner brings us an invitation from Mozelkatse, to join a great hunt in which the tribe is taking part on the banks of the Limpopo.”“That will be worth seeing. And when is it to take place?” asked Hughes, forgetting hunger and fatigue.“To-morrow.”“Accept it, by all manner of means.”Masheesh was interrupted in the tobacco-smoking process. The runner, who since his arrival in camp, had been gorging himself with meat, was sent back; great steaks and collops of venison cut from the hartebeest were grilling on the clear wood fire, and soon the howling of the hyenas, as they tore the bones of what had been left behind of the two gnus, as not worth bringing away, were the only sounds which disturbed the quiet of the little camp on the banks of the Limpopo.Early morning saw the whole party afoot.“Had we not better send Luji back to the tent?” said Hughes, as the morning light becoming clearer, they looked back from the crest of a rise, and saw it shining in the early sunbeams.“We shall need him as an interpreter, perhaps. I can just manage, and that is all, to be understood,” replied Wyzinski; “everything is safe. Noti will keep a look-out.”“See, there are a lot of Matabeles,” exclaimed Hughes. “They are quite naked, and have bows and arrows.”“And there are more. Look in what numbers they are turning out! Yonder fellows have flint musquets: where did they get them, Luji?” asked the missionary.“The Portuguese on the Zambesi—him sell, Master,” was the answer.And now detachment after detachment came on, spreading out across the country, like infantry skirmishers, some carrying only spears, others bows and arrows, and a few, a very few, musquets, but always in line: shouting, yelling, and driving everything before them. Soon the antelope came bounding past, endeavouring to escape, but were driven back again, as the long line of savages, throwing forward the two flanks, enclosed them in a crescent miles in length, and drove them back on the river. Herds of koodoos, eland, and hartebeest came scouring along, attempting to break through in vain, while the painted zebra, the graceful leche, with its long tapering horns, were remorselessly driven back by the yells and shouts of the Matabele.“I suppose we must find Mozelkatse. Tell Masheesh of our wish, Luji,” said the missionary. He alone of the whole party was mounted, being weak from the effects of fever, and as he spoke, they topped the crest of one of the green ridges so common to the undulating plains bordering the Limpopo, and on passing it the whole party were stopped by the presence, right in their path, of a huge rhinoceros.He was quietly standing under a tree, apparently studying the landscape, and not seeming to think of the distant noise. At the foot of the tree rose one of those curious structures, the nest of the African ant, while a strange little animal, covered with thickly-plated scales of a yellowish tint, the under part of the belly only being undefended, was busy feeding on the ant-hill. In length the ant-eater was not more than three feet, and it was engaged shooting out its tongue into the heap, which tongue, being covered with some glutinous substance, always returned black with ants. The spot was comparatively quiet, for the time at least, and the rhinoceros did not seem in the least alarmed. He was a huge, heavy, massive creature, of a pale brown colour, carrying two horns, one very long and pointed, the second short, strong, but blunt. The longer one rose just above the tip of the nose, and seemed a most dangerous arm. Above the shoulders was a kind of hump. An uglier brute certainly could not have barred the path which ran towards the river; but the moohoohoo would have been perhaps inoffensive had not Masheesh, confiding, doubtless, in the power of the English rifle, crept towards him, throwing his spear. The weapon struck fairly and well, but glanced from the tough hide as though it had been hurled against a brick wall, and being made of the soft native iron, it literally curled up with the force of the blow. Having thrown his spear, which elicited only a wrathful grunt from the animal, Masheesh bolted, just as the huge mass put itself in motion, advancing straight up the path. Luji and the rest disappeared among the reeds and bushes, but Captain Hughes had just time to fire, the ball glancing from the mailed coat like a child’s marble.“Look out!” shouted the missionary; but it was too late, and the next moment the unlucky soldier was lying on the ground, with the enormous bulk of the rhinoceros standing over him.“Lie still, for God’s sake,” cried Wyzinski, as he unslung the heavy rifle, seeing that the animal did not strike at the fallen man. He was just in the act of raising it to his shoulder, when, attracted by the horse, the moohoohoo suddenly charged, the long pointed horn literally burying itself in the pony’s flank, just behind the rider’s leg, the rifle harmlessly exploding as horse and rider rolled over. Not pausing for a second blow, the enraged brute drove on, eventually shambling through the line of natives, who opened their ranks gladly to let him pass.Rising unwounded, but sorely shaken, Hughes extricated the missionary.“Are you hurt, Wyzinski?” he asked, anxiously.“Not a bit,” was the reply; “but look at the poor grey.”“He is past saving,” answered Hughes; and it was evident it was so, for so frightfully had the sharp horn done its work, that the entrails were hanging out, and the animal fast bleeding to death.Placing his revolver to the pony’s head, the report rang out; a few convulsive movements, and the carcase of the horse lay still.“Where is Masheesh?” enquired Hughes, as he returned the smoking weapon to his belt. “If it had not been for his nonsense, that pistol-shot would have been saved.”Wyzinski had seated himself on the grass, for the whole thing had passed so quickly, that it was difficult to realise the danger.Slowly stalking out of the bushes, Masheesh, as though nothing had happened, gravely walked to the foot of the tree, took up the ant-eater which, alarmed at the noise, had rolled itself up like a hedgehog, and brought it to where the missionary was seated.“What on earth does he want with that hedgehog?” asked Hughes. The Matabele, speaking quickly, and in an excited voice, looked up at the missionary as he did so, pointing to the little animal.“He says it is a great prize,” returned the other, “and consoles him for the loss of his spear. It appears that these ant-eaters are scarce, and the possession of one guarantees its owner against loss or sickness among his cattle.”“The loss of his cattle! He nearly lost our lives for us, confound him,” replied Hughes, with some show of humour. “He don’t seem to think of that.”“A native never does, it is not in their nature, and life is held very cheap. Look at yonder group moving over the plain in a line with that stunted acacia. The king Mozelkatse must be among them.”“Can you walk, do you think, Wyzinski?”“Oh, yes. I’m a good deal shaken, but that will wear away. Let us join the king.”The rifles were loaded, and the whole party moved off once more, leaving the carcase of the grey pony lying in a pool of blood where it had fallen, to become a prey to the jackals and hyenas, those scavengers of the African plains.Mozelkatse, in a state of nudity nearly as complete as that of his subjects, was in high good humour, and welcomed them warmly. The hunt, he told them, promised well, and a vast number of deer of all kinds were hemmed in between the horns of the living crescent. He motioned them to take their places by the side of the trap, or barricade, into which the herds were to be forced. Masheesh temporarily left them to place his prize, the ant-eater, in safety; and as the line of beaters was still far distant, there was ample time to examine the stockade.The whole was something like a lobster-trap without a top, or like one of the salmon weirs to be found running out into the sea on the Welsh coast. It was made of stout branches driven deeply into the ground, with lighter ones interlaced horizontally between the upright poles. The opening was at least fifty paces in breadth, gradually narrowing, and as the horns of the living crescent drew inwards, it was the only outlet for the frightened game. It led to a deep square pit, which must have taken the tribe long to dig, whose sides were quite smooth and perfectly steep. Once in it, the deer could not get out, and towards this all the game was being driven. The process was a slow one, and it was afternoon before the long line of the Matabele approached. It was a curious sight. The shouts, screams, and yells of the men as they drove before them antelopes of all kinds, and then the excitement of those near the trap, as herd after herd would come down, find the barricade, and, suspecting danger, turn back. At first the different animals kept to themselves, but as the circle narrowed, quaggas, zebras, antelope of various forms would become mixed together, while the Matabele would rush among them, brandishing their long spears, and frantically striking their ox-hide shields, shrieking, howling, and spearing right and left, until the affrighted wretches, surrounded on every side by the yelling savages, took the only outlet left them, and dashing madly down the path between the stockades, leaped wildly into the pit, falling pell mell in. On they came, quaggas, koodoos, springbok, hartebeest, the shouting and spearing becoming wilder. Hundreds turned, and forced their way through the ever narrowing circle of yelling Matabele, the spears sticking in their bloody hides, while fuller and fuller became the pit, until it was heaped with the dead, dying, and maimed. There was the ferocious-looking gnu, the painted hide of the zebra, the graceful-limbed springbok, the long spiral horned leche, all heaped together in one boiling, seething mass of pain and suffering, the Matabele above, with savage cries, spearing those who in their agony tried to climb the sides of the pit, while still the yelling savages continued driving herd after herd, until, like the fire worshippers’ trap, in Moore’s beautiful poem, the pit was full and would hold no more. There was high feasting in the Matabele camp that night, for the hunt had been most successful, and the slaughter immense; but it was with feelings of pleasure the travellers had a farewell interview with Mozelkatse, and then passing among the dancing, singing savages, took their way across the plain, lighted by a brilliant moon, to their quiet camp by the side of the Limpopo.

Masheesh had been deputed by Mozelkatse to accompany them, and there was now nothing to stay their progress northward. The country, too, at the foot of the mountains, was comparatively bare of game, so early the following morning the small party outspanned, and took their way across the plain to strike the banks of the Limpopo.

“How easily the Matabele falls into our ways!” said Wyzinski; as on the morning of the second day after leaving the mountains, the two were riding about half a mile ahead of the waggon, which was coming lumbering along behind them, the shouts of the drivers and the cracking of the long whip reaching their ears.

“It seems strange to see him take the management of our people, and at the same time associate himself with us on a footing of perfect equality,” replied Hughes, “he a half-naked and totally uneducated savage.”

“Turn it the other way, Hughes; he is a chief in the land, known and respected; we are strangers, with nothing but the white man’s prestige placing us at all on the footing of his equal. Masheesh is naturally the leader of our party, and is responsible to his chief for our safety. It is on this I rely.”

The Matabele rode well, and he now came dashing along bestriding a small horse which had been given him. He disdained the use of a saddle, and as he came along at full speed, his ostrich feather streaming on the wind, the loose panther skin floating behind, and his long black legs nearly touching the ground, there was something grotesque and yet striking in his appearance. He held his slender assegai in his hand. Dashing up to the two in front, he checked his horse suddenly, bringing it instantly to a standstill, and sending the ground and grit beneath its hoofs flying into the air. Bending down over its shoulder, the savage pointed with the spear head to some marks on the earth, and then looking up into the soldier’s face, uttered some words in a low guttural tone, and laughed.

“The track of elephants,” said the missionary, who spoke the Zulu tongue, though imperfectly. In a moment Hughes was off his horse, and stooping low as he examined for the first time the footprint of the mighty denizen of the African forests. Masheesh rode on, and in a few moments, a low guttural cry was heard, and the Matabele was seen, halting under a tree, and signing with his spear for the rest to come on. The path had led through a forest, the trees not growing thickly together, but at intervals, and now and then broken by rich undulating plains. Following the direction of the chief’s assegai, the two halting by his side under the shade of the mohunno trees, saw stretched before them the winding silver line of the Limpopo, one of the favourite hunting grounds of the Bazizulu.

Herds of antelope, and of hartebeest, were feeding over the vast plain. They could be counted by thousands, and it was indeed a glorious sight for the hunter’s eye, that vast undulating plain, whose gentle rises concealed the distance, and were covered with rich pasture, over which were feeding great herds of cattle, who owned no master. About five miles distant the line of the Limpopo bordered by trees, was seen glistening through the foliage as it sparkled in the morning sun. To the right and close to them a large snake was curling along the ground like a big black sinuous branch, making off for the shelter of the wood, while a troop of monkeys over head were grinning and chattering at the intruders, and flights of parrots were screaming among the branches.

A sense of wildness and of vastness creeps over those who look upon these wide plains in their native grandeur and stillness—a feeling of freedom, and of liberty, and at the same time of respect and adoration for the great Creator of all. Deeply feeling this for several minutes, the three gazed in silence, then as the distant shout of the drivers came on the breeze, the nearest troops of antelope stopped feeding, raised their heads, sniffed the air, and moved off—the next taking alarm in the same way—until the whole plain, far as the eye could roam, was covered with droves of antelope, galloping here and there, and crossing each other in wild confusion. It looked like an intricate and mazy dance, the performers in the wild ballet on the plains of South Africa being the antelope.

“His are the cattle on a thousand hills,” exclaimed the missionary, breaking silence at last, and reverently uncovering himself.

“Some of them shall be mine before long,” replied the matter-of-fact soldier; “if you will get the chief to ride back and stop those fellows shouting.”

“I’ll do so myself,” answered the missionary. “I will halt them here, give you an hour’s advance, and then move straight forward for the Limpopo, where we will outspan. We want meat in the camp.”

“And shall have it. Come along, Masheesh,” cried Hughes, elated beyond measure, and letting the Arab he rode feel the spur, he dashed away followed by the Matabele brandishing his assegai. It looked very easy to procure meat among such countless herds, but an hour of violent exertion proved it was not so. The Arab was untrained, could not be brought to a standstill instantly, and was fidgety, so that it was impossible to aim from the saddle. Shy and timid, the hartebeest moved along in herds seldom exceeding ten in number, ever led by some old and cautious buck.

Of a yellowish orange colour, striped with black under the horns and down the forehead, they had seemed heavy, lumbering animals. The thighs and extremities were tinged with black, and the horns most curiously formed, curving at first backward and outward, but subsequently sweeping inwards, the eyes being like most of the antelope tribe, large and full. Ever on the watch, the hunters quite failed to get near them, and just as after long and cautious labour, they would be almost within shot, away would scamper the herd, in Indian file, and clumsy and ungainly as they were in their movements, all attempts to cut them off utterly failed. Convinced at last of the impossibility, Hughes followed the advice given him by the Matabele, and, dismounting, concealed himself behind a clump of trees, Masheesh, Luji, and others of the hunters who had now found them, making a long sweep to drive the antelope towards him. This at last proved successful.

A herd of hartebeest came cantering along, the leader pausing within ten paces of the clump where he lay hid. The moment sufficed, as a ball crashed through his skull, and he fell heavily, stone dead. The herd instantly turned to fly, but not before another shot had bowled over a second deer.

The buck was a noble animal, measuring seven feet ten inches from the nose to the base of the tail, and carrying a splendid pair of horns, one foot ten inches in height; the second being a female, and consequently much smaller in every respect. The deer were slung across the horses and sent to camp, where they proved a most seasonable supply, and after a rest under the trees the hunters prepared to follow. Before them lay a green rise, hardly to be called a hill, and yet high enough to conceal the country beyond. Masheesh, no longer dressed in his savage finery, but quite nude save a hide girded round his loins, was stalking on some paces in advance, the soldier following and looking with a covetous eye at the troops of deer which he could not approach. Suddenly, Masheesh threw himself flat on his face, as though he had been shot, motioning to the other to do the same. Cautiously and noiselessly the two dragged themselves up the rise, and peeping over its crest, saw spread out before them a rich undulating valley, the grass land broken here and there by groves of mimosa trees, a small river wandering through it on its way to join the Limpopo. The country of the Batonga lay mapped before them, while far to the westward rose the hills of the Drakenburgh range.

Feeding, not five hundred yards from the crest of the rise, was a herd of strange animals. The head and breast had the appearance of buffalo on a small scale, the horns of the males being enormous and very dangerous looking. Twisting spirally downwards when starting from the head, they then curved upwards like a hook. The head and chest were covered with dark shaggy hair, the eyes looking fiercely from under the tangled covering. The shoulders and neck carried a mane like that of a horse, while the remainder of the body and hind quarters were those of a pony, except the tail, which was that of a cow, and the legs, which were those of an antelope.

These strange animals seemed full of fun. Tossing their shaggy, fierce looking heads, one would leave the rest, tear round in a ring at full gallop, and then dash into the centre of the herd, pulling up suddenly.

Captain Hughes seemed lost in contemplation, but Masheesh, laying his hand on his shoulder, signed to him to come away, and both letting themselves slide down the slope, the herd remained quite unconscious of their presence.

The two were silent for some time, but when the savage deemed they were far enough distant to allow of it without giving the alarm, he spoke rapidly enough. Luji coming up at the moment, Hughes learned that the strange animals were gnus, and a whispered conversation followed, it being agreed that under cover of the crest, or green ridge, Hughes and Masheesh should gain the outlet of the valley, while Luji and Noti were to make a long détour, and coming down the wind, drive the herd before them.

The savage carefully posted his companion, and then pointing to a bend in the valley, about forty paces distant, uttered some sentences volubly, and going away buried himself in a neighbouring thicket. All seemed dead silence, and the watcher soon grew weary of it. A quarter dragged itself on into half an hour, and still nothing save the deep silence of the African plain. Suddenly the soldier who had been watching the serried ranks of the ants as they marched along in countless numbers, ever in a straight line, became conscious of a clump of bushes, at the bend of the valley to which Masheesh had pointed, which certainly was not there a quarter of an hour before. The bush had a curious motion, and Captain Hughes concluded there was some wild animal concealed therein—a lion probably, watching the distant herd, and by its presence hindering the gnus coming. His rifle on full cock, firmly grasped in his hands, he eagerly watched the bush. Yes, it certainly moved, slowly but surely.

Raising the deadly rifle, the hunter took a deliberate aim right into its centre. Just as the finger was about to pull the trigger, the thought flashed over him, that if it concealed a lion and the fire were not fatal, the risk would be great. Lowering the weapon, he watched the bush intently, determining to wait till the lion made its spring, or to fire if he could get a glimpse of the animal. An hour had passed, and the temptation returned in full force.

The dead deep silence weighed upon him, the strange motions of the bush made him nervous. Again the rifle was raised, when a loud trampling noise was heard, as with their heads down and their spiral horns glittering in the sun, the troop of gnus came on at top speed. A more ferocious-looking lot could hardly be imagined, as they headed dead down the valley. Still the hunter’s attention was divided, and more engrossed with the bush than with the game. The gnus rapidly neared it, urged on by the shouts of Noti, while Luji’s voice was plainly to be heard far away in rear. They were close to it; about to pass in safety, when a piercing yell rang from the bush, and a bright spear glancing in the sunshine struck the leading gnu, while Masheesh, casting his leafy covering, sprang to his feet. The report of the soldier’s rifle followed, and one of the herd rolled heavily forward, breaking its horns in the impetus of the fall. The animal struck by the spear halted at once, stamping violently with its forefoot, and lowering its head for the charge. The savage stood awaiting it, his knobstick in his left hand, the long glittering dagger in his right, tall, erect, and fearless, the very picture of a dusky brave. With an angry snort the bull rushed on, but the savage stepped lightly aside, and the steel sank deep into the flesh near the spine. Again the gnu turned to charge, for a moment hesitating, as it lowered its shaggy head, but at that instant a ball from the deadly English rifle struck right between the eyes, and it fell heavily close to Masheesh, the blood gushing from its mouth. It was a much larger one than that first killed, when measured proving fully seven feet four inches from the top of the nose to the base of the tail. The horns were one foot ten inches in length, and the animal stood at least four feet in height at the shoulder. The hoof, as Captain Hughes and the delighted Masheesh stood beside the carcass, seemed too large for the legs, and the knee joints were covered with a hard substance like those of a tame ox. In fact the animal seemed to resemble much the half-wild oxen of India, and, before it charged, the wounded gnu pawed with the forefoot, tossing its head exactly as a wild bull would have done. Hughes now learned that the natives regularly hunt the antelope and zebra in the way Masheesh had done that day, whole herds feeding carelessly up to the supposed bush, but on this occasion the concealed man had run unconsciously a terrible risk.

The sun was sinking towards the west—telling that it was time to strike the river, by whose banks the rest of the party had outspanned; so leaving Luji, Noti, and one of the Kaffirs to cut up and bring in the meat, the two stepped out for the Limpopo. Any fatigue, any privation Masheesh would endure, but even such manual labour as that of cutting up the carcasses of the slain he utterly disdained. It was sunset when the camp was at last reached, and there a messenger from Mozelkatse was found.

“It would appear,” said the missionary, who was busy preparing some skins of birds he had shot, “that a strong party of the Matabeles have joined their king.”

“Well, all I can say is, a good wash and something to eat are of more importance to me just now than all the kings in the world. You don’t know how tired I am, and then nothing to eat besides.”

“Look at Masheesh, whom you called an uneducated savage this morning,” replied Wyzinski, pointing towards the individual named, who after a drink of water had quietly seated himself, not even noticing the runner of his people, and was smoking, varying the amusement with an occasional pinch of snuff, and waiting calmly until some meat should be cooked by some one, he cared not by whom, provided he had nothing to do with it.

“Well, I suppose you don’t want me to smoke and take snuff as proofs of civilisation.”

“You have heard of the man, have you not, who thanked God he had at least reached a civilised country on seeing a gibbet? However,” continued Wyzinski, “yonder runner brings us an invitation from Mozelkatse, to join a great hunt in which the tribe is taking part on the banks of the Limpopo.”

“That will be worth seeing. And when is it to take place?” asked Hughes, forgetting hunger and fatigue.

“To-morrow.”

“Accept it, by all manner of means.”

Masheesh was interrupted in the tobacco-smoking process. The runner, who since his arrival in camp, had been gorging himself with meat, was sent back; great steaks and collops of venison cut from the hartebeest were grilling on the clear wood fire, and soon the howling of the hyenas, as they tore the bones of what had been left behind of the two gnus, as not worth bringing away, were the only sounds which disturbed the quiet of the little camp on the banks of the Limpopo.

Early morning saw the whole party afoot.

“Had we not better send Luji back to the tent?” said Hughes, as the morning light becoming clearer, they looked back from the crest of a rise, and saw it shining in the early sunbeams.

“We shall need him as an interpreter, perhaps. I can just manage, and that is all, to be understood,” replied Wyzinski; “everything is safe. Noti will keep a look-out.”

“See, there are a lot of Matabeles,” exclaimed Hughes. “They are quite naked, and have bows and arrows.”

“And there are more. Look in what numbers they are turning out! Yonder fellows have flint musquets: where did they get them, Luji?” asked the missionary.

“The Portuguese on the Zambesi—him sell, Master,” was the answer.

And now detachment after detachment came on, spreading out across the country, like infantry skirmishers, some carrying only spears, others bows and arrows, and a few, a very few, musquets, but always in line: shouting, yelling, and driving everything before them. Soon the antelope came bounding past, endeavouring to escape, but were driven back again, as the long line of savages, throwing forward the two flanks, enclosed them in a crescent miles in length, and drove them back on the river. Herds of koodoos, eland, and hartebeest came scouring along, attempting to break through in vain, while the painted zebra, the graceful leche, with its long tapering horns, were remorselessly driven back by the yells and shouts of the Matabele.

“I suppose we must find Mozelkatse. Tell Masheesh of our wish, Luji,” said the missionary. He alone of the whole party was mounted, being weak from the effects of fever, and as he spoke, they topped the crest of one of the green ridges so common to the undulating plains bordering the Limpopo, and on passing it the whole party were stopped by the presence, right in their path, of a huge rhinoceros.

He was quietly standing under a tree, apparently studying the landscape, and not seeming to think of the distant noise. At the foot of the tree rose one of those curious structures, the nest of the African ant, while a strange little animal, covered with thickly-plated scales of a yellowish tint, the under part of the belly only being undefended, was busy feeding on the ant-hill. In length the ant-eater was not more than three feet, and it was engaged shooting out its tongue into the heap, which tongue, being covered with some glutinous substance, always returned black with ants. The spot was comparatively quiet, for the time at least, and the rhinoceros did not seem in the least alarmed. He was a huge, heavy, massive creature, of a pale brown colour, carrying two horns, one very long and pointed, the second short, strong, but blunt. The longer one rose just above the tip of the nose, and seemed a most dangerous arm. Above the shoulders was a kind of hump. An uglier brute certainly could not have barred the path which ran towards the river; but the moohoohoo would have been perhaps inoffensive had not Masheesh, confiding, doubtless, in the power of the English rifle, crept towards him, throwing his spear. The weapon struck fairly and well, but glanced from the tough hide as though it had been hurled against a brick wall, and being made of the soft native iron, it literally curled up with the force of the blow. Having thrown his spear, which elicited only a wrathful grunt from the animal, Masheesh bolted, just as the huge mass put itself in motion, advancing straight up the path. Luji and the rest disappeared among the reeds and bushes, but Captain Hughes had just time to fire, the ball glancing from the mailed coat like a child’s marble.

“Look out!” shouted the missionary; but it was too late, and the next moment the unlucky soldier was lying on the ground, with the enormous bulk of the rhinoceros standing over him.

“Lie still, for God’s sake,” cried Wyzinski, as he unslung the heavy rifle, seeing that the animal did not strike at the fallen man. He was just in the act of raising it to his shoulder, when, attracted by the horse, the moohoohoo suddenly charged, the long pointed horn literally burying itself in the pony’s flank, just behind the rider’s leg, the rifle harmlessly exploding as horse and rider rolled over. Not pausing for a second blow, the enraged brute drove on, eventually shambling through the line of natives, who opened their ranks gladly to let him pass.

Rising unwounded, but sorely shaken, Hughes extricated the missionary.

“Are you hurt, Wyzinski?” he asked, anxiously.

“Not a bit,” was the reply; “but look at the poor grey.”

“He is past saving,” answered Hughes; and it was evident it was so, for so frightfully had the sharp horn done its work, that the entrails were hanging out, and the animal fast bleeding to death.

Placing his revolver to the pony’s head, the report rang out; a few convulsive movements, and the carcase of the horse lay still.

“Where is Masheesh?” enquired Hughes, as he returned the smoking weapon to his belt. “If it had not been for his nonsense, that pistol-shot would have been saved.”

Wyzinski had seated himself on the grass, for the whole thing had passed so quickly, that it was difficult to realise the danger.

Slowly stalking out of the bushes, Masheesh, as though nothing had happened, gravely walked to the foot of the tree, took up the ant-eater which, alarmed at the noise, had rolled itself up like a hedgehog, and brought it to where the missionary was seated.

“What on earth does he want with that hedgehog?” asked Hughes. The Matabele, speaking quickly, and in an excited voice, looked up at the missionary as he did so, pointing to the little animal.

“He says it is a great prize,” returned the other, “and consoles him for the loss of his spear. It appears that these ant-eaters are scarce, and the possession of one guarantees its owner against loss or sickness among his cattle.”

“The loss of his cattle! He nearly lost our lives for us, confound him,” replied Hughes, with some show of humour. “He don’t seem to think of that.”

“A native never does, it is not in their nature, and life is held very cheap. Look at yonder group moving over the plain in a line with that stunted acacia. The king Mozelkatse must be among them.”

“Can you walk, do you think, Wyzinski?”

“Oh, yes. I’m a good deal shaken, but that will wear away. Let us join the king.”

The rifles were loaded, and the whole party moved off once more, leaving the carcase of the grey pony lying in a pool of blood where it had fallen, to become a prey to the jackals and hyenas, those scavengers of the African plains.

Mozelkatse, in a state of nudity nearly as complete as that of his subjects, was in high good humour, and welcomed them warmly. The hunt, he told them, promised well, and a vast number of deer of all kinds were hemmed in between the horns of the living crescent. He motioned them to take their places by the side of the trap, or barricade, into which the herds were to be forced. Masheesh temporarily left them to place his prize, the ant-eater, in safety; and as the line of beaters was still far distant, there was ample time to examine the stockade.

The whole was something like a lobster-trap without a top, or like one of the salmon weirs to be found running out into the sea on the Welsh coast. It was made of stout branches driven deeply into the ground, with lighter ones interlaced horizontally between the upright poles. The opening was at least fifty paces in breadth, gradually narrowing, and as the horns of the living crescent drew inwards, it was the only outlet for the frightened game. It led to a deep square pit, which must have taken the tribe long to dig, whose sides were quite smooth and perfectly steep. Once in it, the deer could not get out, and towards this all the game was being driven. The process was a slow one, and it was afternoon before the long line of the Matabele approached. It was a curious sight. The shouts, screams, and yells of the men as they drove before them antelopes of all kinds, and then the excitement of those near the trap, as herd after herd would come down, find the barricade, and, suspecting danger, turn back. At first the different animals kept to themselves, but as the circle narrowed, quaggas, zebras, antelope of various forms would become mixed together, while the Matabele would rush among them, brandishing their long spears, and frantically striking their ox-hide shields, shrieking, howling, and spearing right and left, until the affrighted wretches, surrounded on every side by the yelling savages, took the only outlet left them, and dashing madly down the path between the stockades, leaped wildly into the pit, falling pell mell in. On they came, quaggas, koodoos, springbok, hartebeest, the shouting and spearing becoming wilder. Hundreds turned, and forced their way through the ever narrowing circle of yelling Matabele, the spears sticking in their bloody hides, while fuller and fuller became the pit, until it was heaped with the dead, dying, and maimed. There was the ferocious-looking gnu, the painted hide of the zebra, the graceful-limbed springbok, the long spiral horned leche, all heaped together in one boiling, seething mass of pain and suffering, the Matabele above, with savage cries, spearing those who in their agony tried to climb the sides of the pit, while still the yelling savages continued driving herd after herd, until, like the fire worshippers’ trap, in Moore’s beautiful poem, the pit was full and would hold no more. There was high feasting in the Matabele camp that night, for the hunt had been most successful, and the slaughter immense; but it was with feelings of pleasure the travellers had a farewell interview with Mozelkatse, and then passing among the dancing, singing savages, took their way across the plain, lighted by a brilliant moon, to their quiet camp by the side of the Limpopo.

A Narrow Escape.Two days after the Matabele hunt the vast plains were once more silent, Mozelkatse, at the head of his gorged hunters, having left Zoutpansburgh for his own kraal, and the party of which the white men were the chiefs, having resumed their march northward. The waggon and horses had not yet been sent back, but the onward march was slow and tedious, and passing through the country of the Batonga, it took five days’ toilsome march before the tent was pitched on a bend of the Suave river. The weather had gradually increased in heat, the native kraals were few and small, and what was worse, the natives themselves seemed more and more unsociable, if not actually unfriendly.The white man appeared known among them, but as the distance from the English frontier daily increased, this knowledge seemed only drawn from that of the Portuguese traders on the Zambesi, a degenerate race, who were looked down upon by the blacks. The plains swarmed with game of every kind, and fruits of different sorts were to be found near the rivers; but as the little party advanced, the forest-land became more frequent and more dense. The tall palmyra and the stately moshanna trees grew luxuriantly. Squirrels of various sorts haunted the groves and thickets, more particularly one species of a pale yellow colour, touched up with black, about eight inches long in the body, and being remarkable for its magnificent tail, also pale yellow, barred with black, and fully as long as the body. This beautiful little animal seemed to look for its food among the stones, and was quite fearless. The pitfalls dug by the natives were so artfully concealed as to be very annoying, and even dangerous. On one occasion a Kaffir fell into one, and was released with some difficulty. One was found close to the banks of the Suave river, and into it a splendid panther had fallen. It must have been days since it had been there, for the sides of the pit were scored with its claws: however, a pistol-shot killed it, and its skin was a most beautiful one. The mosquitos and the soldier ants were another source of trouble; and what with the heat, and the too constant meat diet, sores attacked the whole party, breaking out on all parts of the body.Night had closed round the little camp on the Suave river; the day had been hot and sultry, and the route had lain over plains covered with wild cotton, and among groves of trees closely resembling the orange, but at that time of the year not bearing fruit. Masheesh, who had been a day’s journey to the eastward of north, in order to strike a large native kraal and obtain information, had just rejoined the camp, but his tidings were of a very mixed description. The tent was pitched under the spreading branches of a mashonga tree. A huge fire was lighted; a good supper had closed the fatigues of the day, and the men were fast asleep round the blaze, having gorged themselves with eland meat Captain Hughes was engaged sponging out a rifle, and near him, in the full blaze of the fire, Luji was skinning a small animal shot that day. It was a beautiful little creature of the squirrel tribe, about a foot long, of a bright yellowish red, barred here and there with black. The tail was at least three inches longer than the animal itself, and glossy black at the end. Wyzinski was earnestly studying a piece of broken stone, on which appeared some rude and defaced carvings; while, squatted on the ground, looking up into the missionary’s face, quite naked and his head ornamented with the waving ostrich plume, the firelight danced over Hasheesh’s black face and quick intelligent eyes.“The Batonga tell,” said he, “of a range of mountains to the northward and eastward, called ‘Gorongoza.’”“It is not the place we seek. Gorongoza is known to the Portuguese.”“The white chief seeks the broken stone huts,” replied Masheesh, “and the Batonga tell of graves marked by stones lying on the mountain range of Gorongoza.”“And do not they know of others?” asked the missionary.“Yes,” replied the chief; “far to the eastward. Near the mouth of the river lie ruins, looking over the big water; it is from these that the stone which my father holds in his hand came.”Wyzinski stooped over the fire and carefully examined the fragment. That it had been carved was evident, but it was so broken and defaced that he could make nothing of it. The chief continued—“These ruins by the big water the Batonga call ‘Sofala,’ but to the northward and westward lies a large kraal. It is some days’ journey from Sofala and Gorongoza. Near Manica lie great forests of strange trees, and among those trees lie broken stone huts. In the mountains are caves, where the leopards and the lions hide. The white chief may leave his life there, but he will not see them. The broken huts are sacred, and if the stranger saw them no rain would fall in the country for three years.”The voices of the speakers as they conversed eagerly together, with the wail of the jackals and hyenas, the barking of the foxes, the snort of the hippopotami on the river bank, broke the silence of the starlight night. The blaze occasionally flared up, and then died away, lighting up all to within a certain radius.Luji was just finishing his squirrel, and Hughes had put his rifle together and was trying the lock, when a tremendous roar, apparently close to, startled all, and the flickering blaze of the firelight danced for an instant on the dark hide of a lion, as he dashed past, the next moment passing through the midst of the astonished group, bearing with him the carcass of an eland that day shot.The night was dark, the country unknown; dense thickets existed on the banks of the river,—and so heaping fresh wood on the fire, the whole camp was soon fast asleep, the task of following up the spoor of the lion being deferred till the next morning.The day’s march it was determined should be a short one, for Masheesh, who was down on the river side before daylight, had fallen on the remains of the eland some way off, just where the Suave discharged its meagre waters into another and larger stream, “It would seem,” said Hughes, when relating the matter to Wyzinski, “that the lion must have been actuated by a spirit of fun, for he certainly was not hungry. The greater part of the eland lies in the brush near the river side.”“We will move on a few miles, and camp on the mountain slope,” replied the missionary. “The lion is sure to return for the remains of the eland. You have but to watch for him; and if you don’t, the chances are he follows the camp and pays us another visit.”“More than that,” returned the soldier, “the grass is very much trampled near the pool formed by the junction of the two rivers. Many wild animals must frequent it, and perhaps elephants; but first we must replace the stolen meat,” he continued, shouldering his rifle and moving off, followed by the others across the plain, for eland were very numerous at the foot of the mountain range. Bounding along in single file, led by some old antelope, they looked very pretty, the herds made up into parties of from six to ten, having many young ones among them.The colour of the males is a rusty yellow, with a brownish tinge here and there, giving place to reddish tufts of hair running down the face. The head small in proportion to the body, which is heavily and powerfully built. The eyes full, large, and soft, and the horns sloping backwards and twisted spirally. Taught by former experience, the hunter lay concealed behind the rocks. Masheesh, Luji, and Noti making a long circuit, came upon the rear of the eland, who were quietly grazing like tame deer in a park. The old buck, who generally led the herd, would soon take the alarm, and, raising his head, gaze around. Uttering a whistling cry, the rest would gather round him, as they moved away in single file for the hill-side. The alarm would spread, and at one moment there could not have been less than a hundred and fifty eland moving near them across the plain. Still the hunter’s rifle was not heard, for the deer had taken a wrong direction. At length, a troop of ten headed straight for the rock where Captain Hughes lay; the loud report of his rifle rang out, still more startling the flying antelope, while a deer, bounding several feet into the air, fell stone dead, shot through the heart. The eland was a female, easily distinguished as such from the very great difference of colour, being of a light pale yellow, with a splendid pair of spirally-twisted horns. Without moving, the hunter waited, hoping that some of the herds, now wildly scouring the plain, would come within shot. Trotting jauntily along, his little feet hardly seeming to touch the ground, a young eland came to the side of the dead mother. It was of a different colour to the female. Of a pale orange tint, the horns were short, and not twisted. There were many mouths to feed in camp, and the child eland was three parts grown. Again the sharp crack of the rifle was heard ringing across the plain, and the young antelope fell dead close to the mother, just as a herd of seven came bounding along at top speed within fifteen paces of the ambush. Seizing a spare rifle, the hunter sighted the leader of the troop, and a third sharp report woke up the echoes of the rocks. His foreleg broken, the eland still galloped on, his speed much diminished but yet considerable. Dashing after them came Masheesh, his long straight spear in his hand, his ostrich plume streaming backwards in the wind, his limbs naked save the usual ox hide round the waist. Singling out the wounded buck, the Matabele brave followed it. Its foreleg hanging useless, still the antelope struggled on, bidding fair to get away, but Noti headed it, and the animal came struggling along, in a direction which would lead it to within ten paces of the savage chief. Poising the long bright assegai, Masheesh stood for a moment motionless, while a gleam of light seemed to traverse the air, and the antelope fell heavily forward. The next, Masheesh bent over the struggling deer, the sharp curved knife flashed across the throat, a stream of blood followed, a few convulsive efforts, and all was still. This was a noble buck, measuring nine feet from the horns to the base of the tail, while the length of the horns was fully three, the deer standing nine feet high measured at the shoulder.Sending the eland meat to camp, the hunters took their way to the river bank, searching for the spoor of the lion. Right opposite the spot where the remains of the deer lay, the river running between, a deep hole was dug, so deep that only the head and neck of a man standing in it would appear above the level ground. Between it and the remains of the deer, the stream formed a kind of pool. To the right ran the chain of mountains, while in front the plain was clear, the water a little lower down, pouring over a ledge of rock, so as to form a miniature cataract. Heavy timber grew right down to the river’s edge, the branches of some of the trees dipping into the water. The hole was dug at the foot of a tree, and all round it grew long, rank grass, and tangled brushwood, save where it was cleared away in front.About nine o’clock that night, Captain Hughes, accompanied by Luji, who carried a spare rifle, took his way down to the river.“I climb in tree?” asked Luji. “Master hid away in hole?” His English was plain enough, but not very grammatical.“No, thank you, Luji,” replied the soldier, laughing; “remember the lioness of Zoutpansburgh.”“Three lions there,” replied the other; “and Luji not know missionary in tree.”“Well, well, just you bundle off to camp, Luji, and go to sleep. If I am not back directly after daybreak, send to look for me.”“Luji come himself,” said the man, with the air of a hero. “Good-night, master.”“Good-night, Luji.”The cracking of the brush was heard, then a monotonous chaunt, as the careless fellow took his way back to camp. Both sounds died away in the distance, and the hunter felt himself alone, dependent only on himself, in the middle of the African plain. The moon was in her second quarter, but would not rise before eleven o’clock, and the darkness grew dense. The silence of the day was gradually broken into, the jackals and hyenas began their nightly music, and the watcher, though he could see nothing, became aware that animals of some kind were splashing and drinking in the water close to him. He strained his eyes, but could not make out anything. Soon the jackals scented the carrion, their peculiar wailing cry coming nearer and nearer. Time wore on, the position in the cramped-up hole, without the possibility of seeing anything, was an irksome one, and the hunter, after the fatigues of the day, felt sleep creeping over him.He heard the jackals quarrelling and snarling over the carrion; he heard the sound of the water as it flowed, falling over the neighbouring ledge, with a continued monotonous noise; he was with the 150th, telling many a tale of African adventure; in a word, he had fallen asleep, when a soft, cold, hairy hand was laid on the back of his neck, and a thrill of horror passed through his frame, as he saw two large eyes looking through the darkness into his. At this moment the lion roared on the mountain-side, and the jackals heard it, for they left the carrion, giving a long mournful howl as they scurried away, and, taking up a position about half a mile off, filled the air with their plaintive music. Slowly the upper limb of the moon rose above the mountains, when again the cold, hairy touch was felt by the watcher, followed by a twitch at the fur cap he wore, and now by the feeble light he could distinguish an enormous monkey. It did not seem to have the slightest fear, but clutched at the sealskin cap, clashing its long teeth together, and grimacing hideously. Again the lion roared, this time much nearer, as taking up a broken branch, the hunter struck at the troublesome baboon, who, chattering with fear, dashed into the tangled brush. The lion was evidently coming up very cautiously, but presently the snapping sound of breaking branches was heard, as the animal forced its way onwards. Raising his head to see that the rifles were in position, the startled hunter received the soft, warm breeze right in his face, becoming at once aware that the wind had changed, and was bearing the scent straight down on the lion, who was advancing up the wind, perfectly aware of the presence of some enemy, while the brushwood on that side extended for miles, right up to the mouth of the pit. Another roar, this time close to. What would the ambushed man have given had even Luji been within range? The perspiration rolled down his face as he prepared to get out and meet the “lord of the mountain” on the open. It was too late, for a heavy bank of clouds rose, overshadowing the moon, and the hoarse mutterings of distant thunder came on his ear. The cracking of the brushwood, too, sounded close to the mouth of the pit, as making himself as small as possible, the unfortunate hunter crouched down at the bottom of the hole, and, a cocked revolver in his hand, prepared to meet his fate. A thrill of disgust shook him, for, with a shrill cry, the baboon, startled by the lion’s approach, leaped into the pit, alighting on the hunter’s back, clasping him round the neck. It seemed to him like a horrible nightmare, the long wail of the jackals taking the place of the cry of the fabled Banshee over the living dead. To add to the terror of the situation, the thunder was heard, peal on peal, and the lightning flashed, while the heavy rain-drops spattered on the leaves. He heard, too, the brushwood part, and a deep, hoarse growl told him the lion was looking into the ambush; he fancied he could feel his breath; and then came a shriek of pain from the baboon, as his teeth met in the back of his neck. Lying down at the mouth of the hole, like a huge Newfoundland dog, the lion had reached down with his powerful paw, endeavouring to get at the monkey. In this he had so nearly succeeded, that his long claws had scored the creature’s back, and its warm blood was pouring down the hunter’s neck. A second time the lion made the attempt, when, with a scream of agony, using the recumbent figure for its spring, the baboon leaped out of the pit. The lion was nearly as active, as, with a fierce growl and a tremendous bound, it also cleared the mouth of the hole. The hunter was saved. Covered with blood, stained with dirt, and sorely frightened, Captain Hughes arose just in time to see the animal, chattering with delight, swing himself from branch to branch of a mowanna tree. The lion having unearthed one, had not suspected the existence of another animal in the same place, and, roaring once more loudly, it took its way towards the carrion, where it began tearing and rending the flesh, the wounded ape, now in safety, moaning bitterly, as the clouds cleared away slowly to the southward, the storm passing along the mountain range. At length the lion rose, and, with a low growl as he passed the tree where the noisy baboon was seated, walked down to the river to drink. He was a very large one, his mane and tail being unusually dark. Slowly and deliberately the magnificent animal walked into the pool. The report of the heavy rifle rang out, the ball striking him right between the eyes, as he stooped his head to drink. With a wild convulsive bound, the lion cleared the stream, falling heavily into the brushwood beyond. Sounds somewhat between a moan of pain and a growl of rage followed, one or two heavy sobs, the breaking of the brushwood, as the huge carcass fell over on its side, and then, save the cry of the jackals and hyenas, the moaning of the ape, and the distant rattle of the thunder, all was still.

Two days after the Matabele hunt the vast plains were once more silent, Mozelkatse, at the head of his gorged hunters, having left Zoutpansburgh for his own kraal, and the party of which the white men were the chiefs, having resumed their march northward. The waggon and horses had not yet been sent back, but the onward march was slow and tedious, and passing through the country of the Batonga, it took five days’ toilsome march before the tent was pitched on a bend of the Suave river. The weather had gradually increased in heat, the native kraals were few and small, and what was worse, the natives themselves seemed more and more unsociable, if not actually unfriendly.

The white man appeared known among them, but as the distance from the English frontier daily increased, this knowledge seemed only drawn from that of the Portuguese traders on the Zambesi, a degenerate race, who were looked down upon by the blacks. The plains swarmed with game of every kind, and fruits of different sorts were to be found near the rivers; but as the little party advanced, the forest-land became more frequent and more dense. The tall palmyra and the stately moshanna trees grew luxuriantly. Squirrels of various sorts haunted the groves and thickets, more particularly one species of a pale yellow colour, touched up with black, about eight inches long in the body, and being remarkable for its magnificent tail, also pale yellow, barred with black, and fully as long as the body. This beautiful little animal seemed to look for its food among the stones, and was quite fearless. The pitfalls dug by the natives were so artfully concealed as to be very annoying, and even dangerous. On one occasion a Kaffir fell into one, and was released with some difficulty. One was found close to the banks of the Suave river, and into it a splendid panther had fallen. It must have been days since it had been there, for the sides of the pit were scored with its claws: however, a pistol-shot killed it, and its skin was a most beautiful one. The mosquitos and the soldier ants were another source of trouble; and what with the heat, and the too constant meat diet, sores attacked the whole party, breaking out on all parts of the body.

Night had closed round the little camp on the Suave river; the day had been hot and sultry, and the route had lain over plains covered with wild cotton, and among groves of trees closely resembling the orange, but at that time of the year not bearing fruit. Masheesh, who had been a day’s journey to the eastward of north, in order to strike a large native kraal and obtain information, had just rejoined the camp, but his tidings were of a very mixed description. The tent was pitched under the spreading branches of a mashonga tree. A huge fire was lighted; a good supper had closed the fatigues of the day, and the men were fast asleep round the blaze, having gorged themselves with eland meat Captain Hughes was engaged sponging out a rifle, and near him, in the full blaze of the fire, Luji was skinning a small animal shot that day. It was a beautiful little creature of the squirrel tribe, about a foot long, of a bright yellowish red, barred here and there with black. The tail was at least three inches longer than the animal itself, and glossy black at the end. Wyzinski was earnestly studying a piece of broken stone, on which appeared some rude and defaced carvings; while, squatted on the ground, looking up into the missionary’s face, quite naked and his head ornamented with the waving ostrich plume, the firelight danced over Hasheesh’s black face and quick intelligent eyes.

“The Batonga tell,” said he, “of a range of mountains to the northward and eastward, called ‘Gorongoza.’”

“It is not the place we seek. Gorongoza is known to the Portuguese.”

“The white chief seeks the broken stone huts,” replied Masheesh, “and the Batonga tell of graves marked by stones lying on the mountain range of Gorongoza.”

“And do not they know of others?” asked the missionary.

“Yes,” replied the chief; “far to the eastward. Near the mouth of the river lie ruins, looking over the big water; it is from these that the stone which my father holds in his hand came.”

Wyzinski stooped over the fire and carefully examined the fragment. That it had been carved was evident, but it was so broken and defaced that he could make nothing of it. The chief continued—

“These ruins by the big water the Batonga call ‘Sofala,’ but to the northward and westward lies a large kraal. It is some days’ journey from Sofala and Gorongoza. Near Manica lie great forests of strange trees, and among those trees lie broken stone huts. In the mountains are caves, where the leopards and the lions hide. The white chief may leave his life there, but he will not see them. The broken huts are sacred, and if the stranger saw them no rain would fall in the country for three years.”

The voices of the speakers as they conversed eagerly together, with the wail of the jackals and hyenas, the barking of the foxes, the snort of the hippopotami on the river bank, broke the silence of the starlight night. The blaze occasionally flared up, and then died away, lighting up all to within a certain radius.

Luji was just finishing his squirrel, and Hughes had put his rifle together and was trying the lock, when a tremendous roar, apparently close to, startled all, and the flickering blaze of the firelight danced for an instant on the dark hide of a lion, as he dashed past, the next moment passing through the midst of the astonished group, bearing with him the carcass of an eland that day shot.

The night was dark, the country unknown; dense thickets existed on the banks of the river,—and so heaping fresh wood on the fire, the whole camp was soon fast asleep, the task of following up the spoor of the lion being deferred till the next morning.

The day’s march it was determined should be a short one, for Masheesh, who was down on the river side before daylight, had fallen on the remains of the eland some way off, just where the Suave discharged its meagre waters into another and larger stream, “It would seem,” said Hughes, when relating the matter to Wyzinski, “that the lion must have been actuated by a spirit of fun, for he certainly was not hungry. The greater part of the eland lies in the brush near the river side.”

“We will move on a few miles, and camp on the mountain slope,” replied the missionary. “The lion is sure to return for the remains of the eland. You have but to watch for him; and if you don’t, the chances are he follows the camp and pays us another visit.”

“More than that,” returned the soldier, “the grass is very much trampled near the pool formed by the junction of the two rivers. Many wild animals must frequent it, and perhaps elephants; but first we must replace the stolen meat,” he continued, shouldering his rifle and moving off, followed by the others across the plain, for eland were very numerous at the foot of the mountain range. Bounding along in single file, led by some old antelope, they looked very pretty, the herds made up into parties of from six to ten, having many young ones among them.

The colour of the males is a rusty yellow, with a brownish tinge here and there, giving place to reddish tufts of hair running down the face. The head small in proportion to the body, which is heavily and powerfully built. The eyes full, large, and soft, and the horns sloping backwards and twisted spirally. Taught by former experience, the hunter lay concealed behind the rocks. Masheesh, Luji, and Noti making a long circuit, came upon the rear of the eland, who were quietly grazing like tame deer in a park. The old buck, who generally led the herd, would soon take the alarm, and, raising his head, gaze around. Uttering a whistling cry, the rest would gather round him, as they moved away in single file for the hill-side. The alarm would spread, and at one moment there could not have been less than a hundred and fifty eland moving near them across the plain. Still the hunter’s rifle was not heard, for the deer had taken a wrong direction. At length, a troop of ten headed straight for the rock where Captain Hughes lay; the loud report of his rifle rang out, still more startling the flying antelope, while a deer, bounding several feet into the air, fell stone dead, shot through the heart. The eland was a female, easily distinguished as such from the very great difference of colour, being of a light pale yellow, with a splendid pair of spirally-twisted horns. Without moving, the hunter waited, hoping that some of the herds, now wildly scouring the plain, would come within shot. Trotting jauntily along, his little feet hardly seeming to touch the ground, a young eland came to the side of the dead mother. It was of a different colour to the female. Of a pale orange tint, the horns were short, and not twisted. There were many mouths to feed in camp, and the child eland was three parts grown. Again the sharp crack of the rifle was heard ringing across the plain, and the young antelope fell dead close to the mother, just as a herd of seven came bounding along at top speed within fifteen paces of the ambush. Seizing a spare rifle, the hunter sighted the leader of the troop, and a third sharp report woke up the echoes of the rocks. His foreleg broken, the eland still galloped on, his speed much diminished but yet considerable. Dashing after them came Masheesh, his long straight spear in his hand, his ostrich plume streaming backwards in the wind, his limbs naked save the usual ox hide round the waist. Singling out the wounded buck, the Matabele brave followed it. Its foreleg hanging useless, still the antelope struggled on, bidding fair to get away, but Noti headed it, and the animal came struggling along, in a direction which would lead it to within ten paces of the savage chief. Poising the long bright assegai, Masheesh stood for a moment motionless, while a gleam of light seemed to traverse the air, and the antelope fell heavily forward. The next, Masheesh bent over the struggling deer, the sharp curved knife flashed across the throat, a stream of blood followed, a few convulsive efforts, and all was still. This was a noble buck, measuring nine feet from the horns to the base of the tail, while the length of the horns was fully three, the deer standing nine feet high measured at the shoulder.

Sending the eland meat to camp, the hunters took their way to the river bank, searching for the spoor of the lion. Right opposite the spot where the remains of the deer lay, the river running between, a deep hole was dug, so deep that only the head and neck of a man standing in it would appear above the level ground. Between it and the remains of the deer, the stream formed a kind of pool. To the right ran the chain of mountains, while in front the plain was clear, the water a little lower down, pouring over a ledge of rock, so as to form a miniature cataract. Heavy timber grew right down to the river’s edge, the branches of some of the trees dipping into the water. The hole was dug at the foot of a tree, and all round it grew long, rank grass, and tangled brushwood, save where it was cleared away in front.

About nine o’clock that night, Captain Hughes, accompanied by Luji, who carried a spare rifle, took his way down to the river.

“I climb in tree?” asked Luji. “Master hid away in hole?” His English was plain enough, but not very grammatical.

“No, thank you, Luji,” replied the soldier, laughing; “remember the lioness of Zoutpansburgh.”

“Three lions there,” replied the other; “and Luji not know missionary in tree.”

“Well, well, just you bundle off to camp, Luji, and go to sleep. If I am not back directly after daybreak, send to look for me.”

“Luji come himself,” said the man, with the air of a hero. “Good-night, master.”

“Good-night, Luji.”

The cracking of the brush was heard, then a monotonous chaunt, as the careless fellow took his way back to camp. Both sounds died away in the distance, and the hunter felt himself alone, dependent only on himself, in the middle of the African plain. The moon was in her second quarter, but would not rise before eleven o’clock, and the darkness grew dense. The silence of the day was gradually broken into, the jackals and hyenas began their nightly music, and the watcher, though he could see nothing, became aware that animals of some kind were splashing and drinking in the water close to him. He strained his eyes, but could not make out anything. Soon the jackals scented the carrion, their peculiar wailing cry coming nearer and nearer. Time wore on, the position in the cramped-up hole, without the possibility of seeing anything, was an irksome one, and the hunter, after the fatigues of the day, felt sleep creeping over him.

He heard the jackals quarrelling and snarling over the carrion; he heard the sound of the water as it flowed, falling over the neighbouring ledge, with a continued monotonous noise; he was with the 150th, telling many a tale of African adventure; in a word, he had fallen asleep, when a soft, cold, hairy hand was laid on the back of his neck, and a thrill of horror passed through his frame, as he saw two large eyes looking through the darkness into his. At this moment the lion roared on the mountain-side, and the jackals heard it, for they left the carrion, giving a long mournful howl as they scurried away, and, taking up a position about half a mile off, filled the air with their plaintive music. Slowly the upper limb of the moon rose above the mountains, when again the cold, hairy touch was felt by the watcher, followed by a twitch at the fur cap he wore, and now by the feeble light he could distinguish an enormous monkey. It did not seem to have the slightest fear, but clutched at the sealskin cap, clashing its long teeth together, and grimacing hideously. Again the lion roared, this time much nearer, as taking up a broken branch, the hunter struck at the troublesome baboon, who, chattering with fear, dashed into the tangled brush. The lion was evidently coming up very cautiously, but presently the snapping sound of breaking branches was heard, as the animal forced its way onwards. Raising his head to see that the rifles were in position, the startled hunter received the soft, warm breeze right in his face, becoming at once aware that the wind had changed, and was bearing the scent straight down on the lion, who was advancing up the wind, perfectly aware of the presence of some enemy, while the brushwood on that side extended for miles, right up to the mouth of the pit. Another roar, this time close to. What would the ambushed man have given had even Luji been within range? The perspiration rolled down his face as he prepared to get out and meet the “lord of the mountain” on the open. It was too late, for a heavy bank of clouds rose, overshadowing the moon, and the hoarse mutterings of distant thunder came on his ear. The cracking of the brushwood, too, sounded close to the mouth of the pit, as making himself as small as possible, the unfortunate hunter crouched down at the bottom of the hole, and, a cocked revolver in his hand, prepared to meet his fate. A thrill of disgust shook him, for, with a shrill cry, the baboon, startled by the lion’s approach, leaped into the pit, alighting on the hunter’s back, clasping him round the neck. It seemed to him like a horrible nightmare, the long wail of the jackals taking the place of the cry of the fabled Banshee over the living dead. To add to the terror of the situation, the thunder was heard, peal on peal, and the lightning flashed, while the heavy rain-drops spattered on the leaves. He heard, too, the brushwood part, and a deep, hoarse growl told him the lion was looking into the ambush; he fancied he could feel his breath; and then came a shriek of pain from the baboon, as his teeth met in the back of his neck. Lying down at the mouth of the hole, like a huge Newfoundland dog, the lion had reached down with his powerful paw, endeavouring to get at the monkey. In this he had so nearly succeeded, that his long claws had scored the creature’s back, and its warm blood was pouring down the hunter’s neck. A second time the lion made the attempt, when, with a scream of agony, using the recumbent figure for its spring, the baboon leaped out of the pit. The lion was nearly as active, as, with a fierce growl and a tremendous bound, it also cleared the mouth of the hole. The hunter was saved. Covered with blood, stained with dirt, and sorely frightened, Captain Hughes arose just in time to see the animal, chattering with delight, swing himself from branch to branch of a mowanna tree. The lion having unearthed one, had not suspected the existence of another animal in the same place, and, roaring once more loudly, it took its way towards the carrion, where it began tearing and rending the flesh, the wounded ape, now in safety, moaning bitterly, as the clouds cleared away slowly to the southward, the storm passing along the mountain range. At length the lion rose, and, with a low growl as he passed the tree where the noisy baboon was seated, walked down to the river to drink. He was a very large one, his mane and tail being unusually dark. Slowly and deliberately the magnificent animal walked into the pool. The report of the heavy rifle rang out, the ball striking him right between the eyes, as he stooped his head to drink. With a wild convulsive bound, the lion cleared the stream, falling heavily into the brushwood beyond. Sounds somewhat between a moan of pain and a growl of rage followed, one or two heavy sobs, the breaking of the brushwood, as the huge carcass fell over on its side, and then, save the cry of the jackals and hyenas, the moaning of the ape, and the distant rattle of the thunder, all was still.

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