5. A Holiday Trip
The only means of exit from our township is by three rugged roads or by the railway.
Eailway travelling in South Africa is, even under the best circumstances, an experience which one does not readily wish to repeat oftener than is necessary. So, when contemplating a day's holiday, we make our arrangements so as to depend on the railway as little as possible. Bullock waggons are the usual substitute chosen. These have long open bodies roughly planked at the bottom. A tent is usually rigged over the after part as a screen for the women and children, who are also accommodated with mattresses and cushions to reduce the severe joltings caused by the waggons passing over rough parts of the road ; as the waggons have no springs, these vibrations are considerable.
Bullock waggons are drawn by teams of oxen yoked together in couples, often twelve span, or even more. The last two oxen are yoked to the disselboom, to which is attached a long chain, or rope of hemp, or plaited thongs of raw hide ; to this the other yokes are attached. The two front oxen are under the care of a "leader," who is usually. picturesquely attired in airy clothing, and crowned with a nondescript hat. It is the leader's duty to haul his two oxen out of the way of passing vehicles, big boulders, or other obstructions. The leader also assists when the waggon is to be brought to a standstill, which they begin to do some hundred yards before reaching their stopping-place, and accomplish with a great deal of shouting and most blood-curdling yells. The driver's favourite seat is on the disselboom, or the front part of the waggon, from which he can keep an eye on his oxen and encourage them with his gigantic whip - which cracks like rifle shots over their heads, and never misses its mark.
Great preparations are necessary as, whatever place may be chosen for the holiday, no assistance can be expected in the way of provisions when the destination is reached. Water must be taken, besides cooking-pots, cups, plates, knives, food, and even firewood. As a consequence, picnics are few and far between, and when they do occur, as many as possible take advantage of them for a holiday.
A day having been chosen, and all preparations completed, the start is made on some moonlight night, for the double purpose of getting as long a holiday as possible, and also that the oxen may get part of their work done whilst it is cool.
Climbing into the waggons, we make ourselves as comfortable as circumstances will allow, amongst buckets, barrels, and baskets, with cautions not to sit on the butter or the jam-pots. All are at last settled down, and the baggage stowed away. To the cracking of whips and yelling of drivers and onlookers, the oxen are induced to start, and we begin our journey.
Such occasions are red-letter days, and every one comes out to see us off. Our musical friends get up an improvised band, consisting of concertinas, tin-whistles, and paraffin tins for drums, and play us out of the town.
At last we have left the township behind, and are bumping along in the dark, over rocky roads and through rough river-drifts. The drivers urge on their cattle with whip and voice, while the parties in the different waggons amuse themselves in various ways : some trying to go to sleep, others singing all sorts of songs, which now and then change to cries, as some thorny branch stretching across the waggons sweeps every one to the bottom amongst miscellaneous articles of food.
And so we jolt along through gorges and along steep mountain slopes, sometimes through thick bush, which often almost meets overhead, to our great discomfort. The wild country round is lit up by the moon, which brings the white rocks and treetrunks out from their darker surroundings with ghostly distinctness.
About midnight the camping ground chosen for spending the rest of the night is reached, the waggons are drawn up on an old clearing and the oxen outspanned.
The men of the party light a fire and build it up high with dried bush. The iron pot is brought out, filled with water and set on the fire. When the water is boiling, cofiee is made and served out. We then settle ourselves in our warmest cloaks and rugs round the fire and prepare for rest. But when a large party are out for a holiday, sleep is more easily thought of than accomplished. One of our native drivers considered himself a wit, and, having such a good audience upon which to practise it, gave his humour full play. He was neither witty nor brilliant, but we laughed heartily all the same; the truth was, that we were willing to laugh at anything in that clear air, with the dancing fire in our midst and the stars overhead. But presently the wit himself was exhausted, and get&g . large pofto b.g. he withdrew into it, head and all, and went to sleep. Soon there was no sound to be heard but contented grunting and snoring. Now and then the fire settles down, throwing up a few sparks into the clear air, the only other sound being the sweet and clear notes of the nachtuile, besides which there is not even a whisper of wind to stir the leaves, or the sound of a single insect.
Soon the night wears away. The moon sinks, and a faint line of light shows in the east, which lengthens and spreads across the sky, bringing the birds out of their nests to shake the night's creases from their wings, and clear their throats to welcome the sun. Our trippers, too, wake up, and all eyes are turned to the east. As a blazing segment of the sun shows over the hills, we all exclaim " There he is! " and set to work making the fire up for breakfast before starting again.
While we breakfast, the drivers hunt up and inspan the oxen, and very soon we are again on our way. How different everything looks by daylight 1 We can now enjoy the flowers and green bush, which spreads around us as far as we can see, and the birds too, flitting about singly or in flocks.
We have now reached the top of a hill, and neax by is a farm, round which are acres of land, cleared of bush, ploughed and sown with various crops, which already show green above the red soil. The dam of water, surrounded by oak trees covered with vivid green, is a sight which refreshes us after the desolations through which we have been passing.
Now we go down into a hollow, the waggon often skidding with the steepness of the descent. At the bottom are clumps of Kaffir plum-trees, surrounded by luxuriant bush, which tells of water in the neighbourhood. Then we enter a narrow kloof, the rocky walls of which rise rugged and high on either side of us ; flaming aloes with their soft, green-coloured leaves, and hardy bushes, clinging to every ledge and cleft where they can find enough earth to sustain them. The bumping promised from the roughness of the road through the kloof is not tempting, so we get down and walk. Leaving the road, we scramble along the bed of a rivulet of clear cool water, whose banks are lined with arum lilies, and shaded by beautifiil trees, boshes, and creepers. Leaving the cool shade at the other end of the kloof, we come out again into the scorching sunshine, and for the first time realizing how hot it really is, are only too glad to scramble into the waggons again.
Passing one or two more farms, surrounded by cultivated land, we again get into wild but more open country, covered with smaller bush and carpeted with flowers, of which some are very bright and beautiful. Here the secretary birds seem plentiful, and are often pointed out as they fly to the top of some prominent bush, holding their snaky prey in their claws.
In places where the country is almost bare of bush, it is covered with ant-heaps, which look like innumerable warts, varying in colour with the soil; they often stand three feet above the ground, and are exceedingly hard and impervious. It is wonderful how such small insects can build up these domes of solid soil, every mouthful of which has been worked into mortar before being placed in position. If we break a hole in one of these " hills/' we find it honeycombed with galleries, out of which swarm thousands of the inhabitants, who at once set to work repairing the breach. Many ant-hills may be seen neatly repaired in places where they have been broken, the soil usually varying slightly in colour, but exactly joining the edges of the old fracture. In some places we see ant-heaps which have been torn open by the powerful claws of an ant-bear, or by the side of the road the hollowed-out and blackened remains of an ant-hill marks the place where some wayfarer has cooked his meal, using the nest as his fire-place. The natives often use them as ovens, by scraping out the interior, and after heating it with a fire they draw out the ashes and replace them with their dough.
Arrived at our destination, the oxen are again outspanned, and the party divides up into companies, who, after careful enquiries about dinner, betake themselves to various occupations. One party will penetrate some secluded kloof in search of orchids, maidenhair ferns, and other treasures - some will lie on their backs in the shade of the bushes or waggons to talk and read, while those with a superfluous amount of energy play cricket and football - the more responsible members of the party busying themselves with preparations for the coming meal.
All too quickly the day wears away, and the lengthening shadows warn us that it is time to pack up and get home again. Every one is healthily tired, and when the ozen have been inspanned and everything is ready, we are glad to stretch ourselves out in the bottom of the waggons amongst the ruins of pies and other provisions, empty casks and baskets, in the hope of getting rest.
When nearing home we shake ourselves together, knowing that every one who can manage to do so will be on the look-out for our return, and no returning hero likes to appear sleepy and good-for-nothing when facing an admiring crowd. So we sing our best and briskest, pretending that it is not hard work to keep our eyes open.
The most extraordinary thing is how the native drivers and leaders, who have been walking most of the way and have been always busy, are able to keep awake and at their work. Our "wit" was the liveliest member of our party when we got back again, being apparently quite uninfluenced by the journey and heat.
Arrived at home again, the expectant crowd receives us with noisy cheers and greetings, and our holiday is over, only another pleasant memory added to the record of our lives.