ON

N the 12th day of March I was seated on the veranda of my house at Rondebusch, a suburb of Cape Town, when my boy David handed me a letter, which contained an invitation from a friend asking me to join him on a trekking trip through the Caledon district. I was to meet him at Caledon, a town one hundred miles distant, prepared to spend a month camping along the southern coast of Africa.

He had obtained permission from Messrs. Kingsmill and Christian to shoot over a range known as Ratel River, which abounds with game.

After procuring a shooting license I set out on my journey to Caledon, leaving Cape Town by the Cape Colony Railroad. In four hours I reached Sir Lowrie's Pass, the terminus of a branch of this road, situated twenty miles west of the Cape of Good Hope.

I proceeded by the stage which car ries the mail, and soon began ascending a steep mountain. The road wound around

rocky cliffs, and when we reached the summit we had an impressive view of Simon's Bay, which lay at our feet, with the sun reflecting from its surface. The African sky at this season is often spotted with wind clouds, which glow in the sunlight, and at sunrise and sunset produce effects more beautiful than I have ever seen in the Sierra Nevada or Rocky Mountains.

Our first stopping - place was Howe Hook, a farm half way between Sir Lowrie's Pass and Caledon, where we changed horses. The road to Caledon proceeded through deep cañons, with mountains on either side rising abruptly to the height of eight hundred feet. ery where along the horizon I could see mountain ranges with bold peaks standing out against the sky. Far to the right glimpses of the sandy coast added variety to the landscape.

Ev

After a long and dusty drive of fifty miles we came in sight of Caledon. The

road approaching the town was lined with small trees, which looked much out of place planted amongst rocks and rhinoceros-bushes. Here, as in all South African towns, the churches attract one's attention from their size and prominent location. The stage stopped in front of the Alexandra Hotel, a two-story house with two verandas, one above the other. Here my friends greeted me with the information that we would start the next day to trek for Ratel River.

The following morning our baggage and the necessary provisions were roped on the rack along the sides of a large wagon, which was standing in front of the hotel. At one o'clock the driver cracked his long whip and the ten mules started on a trot. As we passed out of the little town of Caledon the old Dutch inhabitants congregated along our route to see us off. Our two dogs, Clara and Point,

A VIEW IN CALEDON,

THE HOUSE AT RONDEBUSCH.

were chained in a Cape cart which followed close behind. This cart we often used to make trips into the veldt, and found it a very necessary addition to the large unwieldy mule-wagon.

After we had trekked four hours we reached Goudini's Farm, and decided to camp there. As our tents had not arrived

from Cape Town

when we set out, we spent our first night in the veldt huddled together under a sheet of canvas, which we fastened from the wheels of the large wagon to the ground.

Soon after breakfast the ten mules were inspanned, and

we were once more

trekking towards Ratel River. We gave the dogs a chance to work for partridges along the road, and the hills resounded with the echoes of our guns. Clara, in her anxiety to outdo Point, often flushed a covey, and each time had to be punished.

At noon we reached the old Dutch house on the De Kock Farm. There is a large vineyard in

front of it, and when you have added a few shade trees you have the picture of a typical South African farm. The country about was hilly and covered with rhinoceros - bush, which only grows on dry soil where irrigation is impossible. The soil in this district is not very fertile; the farmers, who are few and far between, cultivate chiefly the grape. They plant enough tobacco for their own use, and at the end of the rainy season sow their crops. The range is only fitted for sheep, and these are raised in considerable numbers. Along the waterways where the soil is good, any kind of fruit trees will thrive, especially the fig.

From this point the road became very sandy. Our ten mules hauled our wagon with great difficulty, and progress was slow and irksome. In order to help the mules out of sandy spots in the road, we were sometimes forced to resort to shovels. In our driver's anxiety to keep the wagon moving he would wind his big lash quite around the poor beasts; and he pleaded with them in such personal terms that I soon became familiar with their names. We arrived at Papies Flay in the evening and camped for the night.

OUR CAMP.

The tents had arrived in the mean time, and were soon pitched in a circle; the stretchers were arranged, blankets were unfolded, and we supped on partridges, tea, and toast.

Our neighbor at this camp was the

sheep king of this district, a Mr. Vreel, one of whose farms is the celebrated Franz Kraal, situated opposite Danger Point Light-house. We wished to get leave to shoot over as much of the southern coast as possible, and my friends selected me to call upon him. The Cape cart was ready, and bundling the two dogs under the seat, I set out. From the top of the last hill his farm-house came in view. With the help of my field-glasses I saw my first flock of ostriches; they were feeding in a large enclosure, heedless of the men who were at work repairing fences and building ditches close by.

On meeting Mr. Vreel I touched cautiously upon my mission. To my astonishment, he not only gave us full right to shoot over his land, but offered to put his house and servants at Franz Kraal entirely at our disposal. Coffee was served, as is customary among the Dutch inhabitants, and we were soon strolling about the farm.

We spent some time admiring the thirty ostriches. They stepped proudly around, as though conscious of the splendor of their plumes. Mr. Vreel plucked me two feathers from a big cock bird,

warning me at the same time to keep very near the gate. Though these ostriches are quite tame, two or three of them occasionally become ugly with strangers. At such times their legs turn pink, and it is dangerous to approach them. They strike violently with their feet, and the only way to protect one's self is to drop flat on the ground. Our mule wagon had long since trekked past this farm, and after a hearty handshaking I bade Mr.

Vreel good-by. It is impossible for me to find words to express my feelings at the kind reception tendered me.

My friends had outspanned at a mission station at a primitive native village, called Elim, and were awaiting my ar

rival anxiously. I caught sight of the wagon on the outskirt of the village, and drove rapidly through it. The natives, whose curiosity had been aroused by the mule-wagon, ran out of their huts in the endeavor to see me pass.

Elim was founded years ago by the Moravians. The length of time during which the missionaries have been working in Cape Colony is, indicated by the fact that the water-mill at Gnadedal was built in 1796. The missions own the land, and have built the huts in which the natives live, receiving nominal rents for them. The children are educated in the mission schools. The only building of any size is the church, which stands prominently in a square.

We left this station soon after dinner, and reached Ratel River Farm at five o'clock. The road had become even more sandy. As we neared the ocean our wheels would sink up to the hubs, and we had to dig them out repeatedly. After descending the last hill we trekked for three miles over a flat country which was on a level with the sea.

At the farm-house the foreman met us, offered the use of the saddle-horses, and helped us to find a suitable camp.

We

decided on a level spot not far from the large farm-house, and pitched our three tents in line. That evening we spent planning our first day's hunt, and preparing our guns for an early start.

The sun had hardly risen above the horizon the next morning when I woke up to the fact that one of my friends had already been out on the downs and shot a vlok-bok with his Mannlicher rifle. This bok stood about two feet high, was of reddish color, and had two small straight horns three inches long. His legs were long, and the body slender and very shapely.

Soon after breakfast, while my friends went with their dogs after partridges and pheasants, I hunted the downs for small antelope. The soil along my path was very sandy, covered with brush, which only grew to the height of from two to three feet. It was not difficult to find game-paths, which led in all directions, and which had been used by generations of antelope. I had not gone more than a thousand yards when a vlok-bok came in sight. By careful stalking, and by keeping behind the tallest bushes in my path, I approached within a hundred yards. I missed him, and he stood as

FRANZ KRAAL.

if undecided which way to run, giving me another opportunity. This time the bullet struck the shoulder, and turning a number of somersaults, he fell dead.

I left his body on a conspicuous tree and wound my way along slowly until, reaching a slight elevation. I saw a small bok feeding on the opposite side of a hollow, at a distance of three hundred yards. Lying flat on the ground, and raising my sights, I fired. The bullet had scarcely left the muzzle of my gun when the downs suddenly looked like a huge zoological garden: boks, all of the small varieties, jumped out of their hidingplaces and ran in every direction, like a lot of big jack rabbits, some of them trotting, others jumping high up in the air to clear any bushes that might lie in their path of flight. It never occurred to me to reload my gun.

My boy led me in pursuit of the bok I had wounded, and after running fully a mile over bushes and through the sand, finally captured him on the beach. I was out of breath, and as I sat down to rest by my game I could not help admiring it. It was somewhat heavier than the vlok-bok, and its horns, though of the same general character, grew closer together, and were more slantingly set on its head. It proved to be of a variety called duyker-bok, which is very numerous in these parts. When startled, their bounding flight resembles a series of dives. From this fact they have re

ed.

ceived the name duyker, which means, in Dutch, diver, or ducker.

The coast along this portion of Africa, which is all sand, with frequent inlets, looks as if it had been heaped up by the ocean into hillocks. It is covered with a growth of bushes, which in some places I found impassable.

My boy shouldered the duykerbok and followed me back. We reached camp after a smart walk of two hours, picking up my other prize on the way. My friends soon appeared with a bag of six pheasants and eleven partridges. They also brought a puff-adder, a most repulsive reptile. He was four feet long, and had a large flat head. Two long fangs grew from his upper jaw, and upon close observation we discovered the hole through which the poison is ejectThis snake is one of the most poisonous in Africa. Though his heavy body makes him slow to move, he strikes quickly, usually sidewise, and sometimes throws himself backward to a distance greater than his own length. Our specimen had been discovered by the little Dutch boy, who was picking up the birds my friends had brought down. He jumped up in the air as if shot, and called out, "Master, slit slange," which means, "Master, shoot the snake." He had had a very narrow escape, for he was barefoot, and his legs were entirely unprotect ed. A load of bird-shot soon put an end to this reptile, and he was brought into camp for my inspection.

We had all been warned against the snakes which infest the coast, and especially the black cobra, against which the leather leggings with which we had provid ed ourselves would hardly have saved us. The cobra is somewhat longer and more