Chapter VII: Front Matter (7)

It has sometimes happened that a flock of sheep has strayed into the line of march. In such cases the flock has been overlapped, enveloped in the springbok army, and forced to join in the march. A most astonishing example of the united power of the springbok was witnessed by a well known hunter.

Just as the lemming hosts are attended by the birds and beasts of prey of their own country, so it is with the springbok. These parasites do not attack the main body, but watch for the stragglers and pounce upon them. During the passage of one of these springbok armies a lion was seen in the midst of the antelopes, forced to take unwilling part in the march.

He had evidently miscalculated his leap and sprung too far, alighting upon the main body. Those upon whom he alighted must have recoiled sufficiently to allow him to reach the ground, and then the pressure from both flanks and the rear prevented him from escaping from his strange captivity.

As only the front ranks of these armies can put their heads to the ground, we very naturally wonder how those in the middle and rear can feed. The mode which is adopted is equally simple and efficacious.

When the herd arrives at pasturage, those animals which occupy the front feed greedily until they can eat no more. Then, being ruminants, they need rest in order to enable them to chew the cud. So they fall out of the ranks and quietly chew the cud until the column has almost passed them, when they fall in at the rear, and gradually work their way to the front again.

As to water, they do not require it, many of these South African antelopes possessing the singular property of being able to exist for months together without drinking. Dr. Livingstone has offered a very remarkable theory on this subject, but the limited space will not permit me to cite it.

Let us again visit in imagination a different part of the world, and suppose ourselves to be on the prairies of North America. There we find another ruminant, the bison, wrongly called the buffalo.

This creature migrates with tolerable regularity, and not many years ago, when the red men possessed the vast expanses of North America, the native tribes were dependent upon the bison for their very existence. The bison was to the red Indian what the seal tribe is to the Esquimaux.

From the skins were made their tents or “wigwams,” their warm clothing for winter, and their shields; while the bones afforded rude tools, and handles for weapons, the sinews gave strength and toughness to their wonderful little bows, while there was scarcely a portion of the animal that was not put to some useful purpose.

The annual migrations brought the creatures within the reach of the various tribes, who, being in a state of perpetual warfare, did not dare to venture out of their own district in search of the bison.

So utterly dependent, indeed, were they upon the migrations of the bison, that if the coming of the animals was delayed a few weeks beyond the usual period, death from hunger would be an almost certain result. The reader may perhaps remember that several tribes of Esquimaux were lately exterminated by a similar failure, the walrus having deserted its usual haunts, and gone off to some land whither they could not follow it.

In some respects the bison resembles the lemming, being equally stupid, and equally determined to press forward. Nothing will stop the bison herd when it is “on the run.” The animals do not march slowly, like the springbok, but dash forward at full speed, their heads down, their long hair hanging over their eyes, and each only intent on following those which are in front of it.

The hunters, whether native or European, take advantage of this peculiarity. The country in which these creatures live is intersected here and there with ravines many hundreds of feet in depth, having nearly perpendicular sides. At a distance of a hundred yards these ravines are as invisible as the trenches of a modern fortress.

The hunters, however, know every inch of the country, and when they learn that a bison herd is on the run they contrive to frighten the leaders, who compose the front rank, until they are taking a direct course for a ravine.

Then, nothing is needed but to let the bisons alone. When they come within forty yards or so of the ravine, the leaders see the danger, and try to stop; but the pressure from behind is so irresistible that they are forced onward, and pushed over the edge of the precipice. The rest of the herd follow them, scarcely any of them even seeing the ravine until they are falling into it.

In this reckless way thousands of bisons are destroyed in less than an hour. Not one hundredth part of them can be used by the hunters, the remainder being left to feed the vultures, coyotes, and other scavengers. It is no wonder that the animal becomes gradually scarce, and that the hunters are obliged year by year to go farther afield in search of it.—_London Sunday Magazine._

* * * * *

Every man must patiently bide his time. He must wait. More particularly in lands like my native land, where the pulse of life beats with such feverish and impatient throbs, is the lesson needful. Our national character wants the dignity of repose. We seem to live in the midst of a battle—there is such a din, such a hurrying to and fro. In the streets of a crowded city it is difficult to walk slowly. You feel the rushing of the crowd, and rush with it onward. In the press of our life it is difficult to be calm. In this stress of wind and tide, all professions seem to drag their anchors, and are swept out into the main. The voices of the present say, “Come!” But the voices of the past say, “Wait!” With calm and solemn footsteps the rising tide bears against the rushing torrent up stream, and pushes back the hurrying waters. With no less calm and solemn footsteps, nor less certainty, does a great mind bear up against public opinion, and push back its hurrying stream. Therefore should every man wait—should bide his time.—_Longfellow’s “Hyperion.”_

* * * * *

He is not dead who departs this life with high fame; dead is he, though still living, whose brow is branded with infamy.—_Tieck._