Many are the stories told at the outspan fires of the South African transportriders—some weird, some romantic, some of native wars, some of fierceencounters with the wild beasts of the land. Often have we stopped for a chatwith the rugged transport riders, and some strange and interesting informationis obtained in this way.
The transport rider—the carrier of Africa—with his stout waggon andspan of oxen, travels, year after year, over the rough roads of Cape Colony andbeyond, in all directions, and is constantly encountering all sorts andconditions of men—white, black and off-coloured; and in his wanderings,or over his evening camp fire, he picks up great store of legend and adventurefrom the passing hunters, explorers and traders.
One night, after a day’s journey through the bush-veldt, we lay at afarmhouse, near which was a public outspan. At this outspan two transportriders were sitting snugly over their evening meal; they seemed a couple ofcheery, good fellows—one an English Afrikander, the other an Englishman,an old University man, and well-read, as we afterwards discovered—andnothing would suit them but that we should join them and take pot-luck.Attracted by their hospitable ways and the enticing smell of their game stow,for we were none of us anthobians, we sat us down and ate and drank withvigorous appetites. Their camp-pot contained the best part of a tendersteinbok, and a brace or two of pheasants (francolins); and we heartily enjoyedthe meal, washed down with the inevitable coffee.
Supper finished, some good old Cango (the best home-manufactured brandy of theCape, made in the Oudtshoorn district) was produced, pipes were lighted, andthen we began to “yarn.” For an hour or more we talked upon avariety of topics—old days in England, the voyage to the Cape, theColony, its prospects and its sport.
From these, our conversation wandered up-country, and we soon found that ouracquaintances were old interior traders, who in the days when iv