A GUINEA-FOWL DRIVE 131 



This was doubtless due to the pacificatory influence of 

 Oom Jan and his redoubtable sjambok, and presently 

 the covert was ringing with a loud chorus of " Come 

 back, come back, come back " — " music " that put 

 every man armed with a gun on the alert. 



A " pop-popping " of 12-bores now began. It was 

 only a second exodus of the leporine tribe, however, and 

 my cartridge magazine not being too well furnished, I let 

 the majority of the hares which passed me go away 

 unharmed. 



The strange calls of the guinea-fowl came nearer and 

 nearer, and as I stood facing the plantation my attention 

 was suddenly attracted by a number of speckled forms 

 sneaking through a patch of scanty undergrowth. They 

 were guinea-fowl, and, immediately upon sighting me, 

 the wary birds skedaddled back into covert, where they 

 remained hidden until the beaters put them up. Then, 

 with a great to-do, they came past me at a pace that 

 would not have disgraced driven grouse, affording 

 beautiful crossing shots. To my disgust, however, I 

 missed clean with my right, and only succeeded in 

 dropping an old hen with my second barrel. Then, in 

 twos and threes and in small packs, the speckled fowl 

 flashed out of covert, offering in many cases the most 

 sporting shots imaginable, while from the interior of the 

 plantation an incessant " Come back, come back " told 

 its own tale of birds having escaped the beaters. 



Jan Vandevord did not err in stating that some of 

 our gun barrels would get hot during the drive. Indeed, 



