Six Months at the Cape by Robert Michael Ballantyne (good books to read for young adults txt) 📕

I soon forgot where I was, forgot Hobson, forgot time, forgot every thing in fact except the glowing face of nature, when a sound recalled me. I looked round and observed eight or ten huge ostriches stalking towards me with slow funereal gait. I felt somewhat uneasy,--for their youth, of which Hobson had assured me, was in no way indicated by their huge bodies and dreadful legs. However, I had taken the precaution to carry my forked stick, and drawing it nearer continued at my work with an easier mind. If they meant war I knew escape to be hopeless, for the nearest wall was a quarter of a mile off.

The females halted at a respectful distance, but two of the largest black males came stalking close up to me and stood still, gazing intently, first with one eye, then with the other, at a distance of about six yards.

Meanwhile some of the females sat down, and one of them put herself in an attitude so absurd that I introduced her into the drawing. Presently the largest male advanced a little nearer, and kept somewhat behind me. This was embarrassing. It occurred to me that, in the art of war, an attacking party is supposed to have the advantage of one that is assaulted. I therefore rose, brought my fork to the charge, and went at the bird with a furious roar. It turned and ran a few yards, but stopped when I stopped, and began to return slowly, as before, the moment I had sat down. As it drew nearer I observed that it eyed my colour-box curiously. Stories about the peculiar taste of these giant birds recurred to me. People say they will eat anything. Their digestive powers have passed into a proverb. The day before I had given an ostrich a large apple, which it coolly bolted, and I could trace the progress of the apple by the lump in its throat as it passed rather slowly down. Some one--Bonny I rather think--had told me he had seen an ostrich accept and swallow a bottle of shoe-blacking! Anything bright is sure to attract the eye of an ostrich and be coveted. I trembled for my colour-box, and, seizing my fork, charged again.

About this time Bonny himself came to say that the cart was ready. We therefore packed up and came away. The ostriches, he said, were too young to think of molesting us, though he admitted that they would probably have swallowed the colour-box if I had allowed them. They followed us down to the gate, and finally saw us safely off their premises.

"Father once had an ostrich," said Bonny, as we walked towards the house, "that caught a couple of thieves for him."

"Indeed! how was that, Bonny?"

"You are aware that Kafirs are terrible thieves?" he replied.

"Yes, I've been given to understand that they have propensities that way."

"Oh! but you have no idea how clever they are at it, and the Totties are just as bad, if not worse. On one occasion we had a nest of eggs in the field over there, which we had left to be hatched in the natural way by the hen-ostrich. One night it rained very hard--so hard that we feared the young ones would be drowned in the nest, so brother Johnny was sent to look after them. He took two Totties with him. It was very dark, but he found the nest with the cock bird sitting on it. You know the cock always sits at night. Well, Johnny took him by the nose and pulled him off the nest, and gave him to the two Totties to hold. It was hard work, but they kept his head well down, so that he couldn't kick. Johnny soon bagged all the little ones, leaped over the wall, and then called out to let go the cock. It was so dark that he couldn't see very well. He could only hear a scuffle, and then saw the two men bounding over the wall like indiarubber balls while the cock went bang against it like a battering-ram. We got the little ones home all safe, but, would you believe it? these rascally Totties had managed to pull out all the best wing-feathers while they were holding the cock--each feather worth, perhaps, twenty shillings or more--and got clear away with them to the canteen, where they can always sell stolen goods.

"But that is not what I was going to tell you," continued Bonny. "It was about two Kafir thieves who were going round the country stealing. They came to our place one evening, and, in the course of their depredations, happened to cross one of the fields where a pair of our ostriches had a nest. The cock had not yet commenced his night duty on the nest. He caught sight of the two Kafirs, and was down on them instantly like lightning. They took refuge in a mimosa-thorn, and there he kept them all night. It was no use their trying to make a bolt for it, because twice or three times their speed could not have saved them from the ostrich. There they remained, and there father found them next morning, when he rode out to feed the birds."

The sturdy sons of this Karroo farmer had no light duty to perform each day. The farm was twenty miles in length, and of variable breadth. There were no crops raised on it, save the fruit of the splendid garden already mentioned, some grapes, and a few mealies. The sources of gain were ostriches and their feathers, Angora goat hair, (mohair), horses, sheep-wool, and cattle, looking after which kept father and sons pretty constantly in the saddle. It was a dashing style of life, requiring robust health and spirits. I have seen one or both of the boys return of an evening--after having been up at five or six, and out all day,-- scarce able to decide whether to eat or sleep! Counting and guarding the flocks formed a part of the duty.

One evening the report was brought that a horse and thirteen bucks had disappeared. The Kafir thief had driven them off in the direction of Somerset. There he had been questioned closely as to where he came from, etcetera. His replies not being satisfactory, the animals were seized and put in the pound, whence they were afterwards reclaimed, while the thief escaped being put in the "tronk," or jail, by a sudden dart into the jungle of the Boschberg!

My friend and I were soon on the road which led to the farm of his brother Jonathan. It stood about two miles distant. On our way we had to pass one corner of the private domain of Black Jack, or David Marais, I forget which--I think it was the former. He was there ready for us, and evidently in a rage at the mere possibility of our intrusion, for the wings were going like flails and the tail was up. Hobson pulled up to look at him for a minute. I got down and went to the wall, knowing that it afforded perfect security. Black Jack came up slowly, as if he meant no mischief. I leant over the wall, which was breast-high, and poked fun at him. In an instant, like a flash of light, he came at me. I saw his great claw over my head, and almost before I could jump back, a couple of heavy stones were driven violently off the top of the wall. To bolt and jump into the cart was almost an involuntary and instantaneous impulse on my part, though there was no need for haste, because the furious biped could not leap the wall.

"Yes," remarked my friend, with a quiet chuckle, as we drove along; "I expected as much. Black Jack is in a bad humour to-day."

The farm of Jonathan lay at the side of the stream which watered that of his brother. It was a pretty place. We drove through the stream to get to the house. On entering we found Jonathan standing in his hall, besprinkled with his own blood, and smiling. He was one of those tall, thin, powerful sort of men, with genial good-humour wrinkling the corners of their eyes, who seem to be ready to smile at everything, pleasant or otherwise, that befalls them.

"Hallo! what's wrong, Jonathan?" asked his brother, with a touch of tenderness in his tone.

"Nothing particular," replied the other; "I've just had a tussle with one of my birds. He wriggled out of the stick and kicked me."

On more particular inquiry we found that Jonathan and his son--another powerful six-footer--had gone that morning to search for eggs, which they felt sure must have been laid somewhere about the enclosed field. To keep the male bird in play while the search was being made, the father took his forked stick, met the cock in single combat, clapped the fork on his neck, and let him kick away. All might have gone well, for the father, besides being strong, was accustomed to such work; but the bird, instead of keeping up a straightforward assault, as it ought to have done, turned its back to its foe, wriggled its neck, in some inexplicable manner, out of the fork, and before it could be refixed had given Jonathan several tremendous kicks. One of these nearly tore his trousers to pieces, and another cut him across the right wrist into the bone. This rendered his right arm powerless for the moment, and it might have gone ill with him, had not his son, who was still in sight, observed what had occurred, and run back to the rescue. As it was, the father's wrist was severely, though I hope not permanently, damaged.

On a certain occasion three friends visited Ebenezer. One of these--we shall call him Squib--was a sporting character, and anxious to have a shot at the guinea-fowl which abounded on the farm. Hobson, with his usual kindness, readily agreed to pilot him and his friends.

"The ground, however," said Hobson, "is part of the domain which belongs to one of my ostriches, whose temper is uncertain. I don't feel sure of him. Perhaps it would be better--"

"Oh! never mind that," interrupted Squib; "we're not afraid of ostriches. Come along."

"Very well," returned the host, "come along."

And along they went to the domain of Gouws, who was found pacing solemnly inside the wall of his enclosure. His wings were active, and his tail was cocked. Otherwise he was calm enough to all appearance. Hobson knew that the bird was in a rage, and said so, but his friends, who were young and reckless, insisted on entering the enclosure.

They did so, and Gouws followed them with a stately air, but did not attack, being no doubt perplexed by numbers.

They walked in Indian file, Hobson being the last of the line.

"I could turn him with a bit of a bush," said Squib, glancing at Gouws, who was drawing gradually nearer to the party. "Just cut one for me, Hobson, will you, like a good fellow?"

Hobson turned aside and stooped to cut a branch from a mimosa bush.

Just then the ostrich, which had marched ahead of the party, turned sharp round and charged.