A MIXED BAG IN ORANGE EIVER COLONY 137 



the veldt until the growth of reeds in question was 

 reached. Then, having divested ourselves of nether 

 garments and boots, we commenced to wade through 

 tepid, knee-deep slime and water, disturbing sundry 

 huge and hideous barbars, or mud-fish, as we went, 

 now sinking up to our waists in a hole, and now flounder- 

 ing through a deep deposit of foully- smelHng vegetable 

 matter, the accumulation of ages. I took up my stand 

 in a clump of wild rice, from which a fairly clear view of 

 the lagoon was obtainable, while my companion squelched 

 on to the next growth of reed cover, which lay some 



80 yards to my right. At length de V also reached 



his goal, and the signal — a shrill, long-drawn whistle — 

 was given for the natives to move forward. " The first 

 boy who shouts during the drive shall have a good 

 sjamboking when the day's work is over," had been 



de V 's last words to the beaters as we left them. 



But it would be a strange Kaffir who could keep 

 his blubber lips closed when engaged in anything apper- 

 taining to sport, and, yelling and whooping like so many 

 demons incarnate, our little band of ebon beaters 

 plunged into the muddy water in more or less open 

 order. In a moment every head of fowl on the pan — 

 with the exception of the cunning old coots, which crept 

 into every available bit of cover the moment they 

 " twigged " the enemy — was a- wing, among them a 

 small gaggle of spur-wing geese and a big flock of sacred 

 ibises, the latter appearing for all the world like a herd 

 of great black-and-white curlews. Almost before I had 



