A Breath from the Veldt 85 



francolin {Francolinus pileatus) and the little grey-winged francolin {Francolinus 

 afer), most excellent sport can be obtained. Every evening as the sun approaches 

 the horizon the bush khoorhan rises from the grass, and mounting perpendicularly 

 into the air, to a height of from lOO to 200 feet, it closes its wings and drops 

 head-first to earth, only opening its wings to break its fall when within a few 

 feet of the ground — one of the most extraordinary aerial feats I have ever seen. 

 Whether it is a form of evening sun worship or a mere " good-night " to the 

 golden orb, I must leave my readers to determine. This peculiar habit of the 

 bush khoorhan was of great advantage to me, for instead of tramping after the 

 bird through miles of monotonous " wait-a-bit " and getting an occasional point 

 from " Pointer," which never " held," I found it far easier to sit on the front of 

 the waggon at sunset and mark the exact position of the khoorhans after 

 towering and dropping to earth. Then, advancing rapidly upon them, I could 

 generally get within shot. In my illustration of the khoorhans at evening 

 play the outlines of the several figures of birds must be taken to represent 

 the aerial course of a single specimen when engaged in these antics. 



Now I must notice little Cornellis Van Staden, aged six, the youngest son 

 of the old hunter, a miniature of the father both in body and mind, and so 

 engaging a little monkey that I took him with me now and then on short 

 excursions into the bush to look for khoorhan. His joy was to come with me 

 without his "veldt schoens " (shoes), in the hope of carrying some trophy back 

 to camp ; and not infrequently he had to pay for this amusement by a thorn in 

 his foot, which with loud chatter and many grimaces he stopped to extract. 

 The pain, however, was nothing by comparison with the pleasure of disobeying 

 his father's injunctions against going shoeless, and I was amused by the way in 

 which his father, who rather spoils him, endeavoured to enforce obedience. 

 Producing his hunting-knife, and clipping some formidable-looking wait-a-bit 

 and camel-doorn thorns from the nearest bushes, he pursues his little son, and 

 throwing the thorns down in his path, compels him to tread on them until he 

 runs to camp and obtains his shoes. The boy is now getting very wary, and as 

 he keeps a sharp eye on his parent, the latter has only to put his hand in his 

 pocket in search of his knife, to insure the presence of the shoes in their proper 

 place. 



Master Cornellis presently became my constant companion at breakfast, his 

 affection, I regret to say, savouring rather of an attachment to my tins of 

 condensed milk than to myself. Nevertheless he afforded me much amusement 

 as a charming illustration of the funny little ways of Dutch child-life, and of 



