Hunting Giraffes – Out and About With The Kafirs One Day

1878

Hunting the Giraffe

A writer says: Giraffes, if not hard pressed, do not go at any great pace, so that before long we were within one hundred yards of them. Even in the ardor of the chase it struck me as a glorious sight to see these huge beasts dashing along in front, clattering over the stones or bursting a passage through opposing bushes, their long, graceful necks stretched forward, sometimes bent almost to the ground to avoid horizontal branches, and their bushy black tails twisted up. And how easily, and with how little exertion they seemed to get over the ground with that long, sweeping stride of theirs! Yet they were going at a great rate, for I felt that my old nag was doing his best, and I could not now lessen the distance between us by an inch.

I now saw that D. was about to make a push, and, as the horse he was riding was pretty fast, I knew that he would press them into a much quicker pace and leave me behind altogether; so, reining in at once, I jumped off, and, taking as steady aim as my arm, tired with flogging, would allow, fired at a large dark colored cow that looked to me in good condition. The bullet clapped loudly and I saw her stagger, but, recovering immediately, she went on, though slightly in the rear of the troop. At this moment my friend jumped off close behind them and gave another cow a shot.

I was now a long way behind, but my horse, though slow, possessed good staying powers; so that, by dint of keeping on a hard gallop and cutting angles when I could, I again crept up and gave my cow another shot, quickly followed by a third, which brought her to the ground with a crash. She was not dead, however, for as I approached she raised her lofty head once more and gazed reproachfully at me with her large soft, dark eyes. A pang of remorse went through me, and for an instant I wished the shots unfired that had laid low this beautiful and inoffensive creature.

But now the cries of my Kafirs and Masaras, following like famished wolves on the blood spoor, broke upon my ear; so, stifling the still small voice, I again raised my rifle and put an end to the miseries of my victim, whose head, pierced with a two-ounce ball, fell with a thud upon the ground, never to be raised again. Leaving some of the boys to cut up the meat I rode on with the rest to look for my friend, whom I found beside another prostrate giraffe, which he had killed a little further on. As the one I had shot was the fatter of the two officers, we left the Kafirs here and went back to mine.

It was now late; so, hastily dividing the boys into two parties, and bidding them sleep by the two giraffes respectively and cut them up and bring in the meat the following day, we started for the wagons with our gun carriers, who also carried a few of the fattest bits of meat. I may here remark that it is difficult to imagine anything more tasty and succulent than a steak of a young giraffe cow when in good condition, though it may be that hunger, the sauce with which I have always eaten it, had something to do with this opinion.