adventure with an ostrich.

time passed rapidly, and the settlers, both highland and lowland, struck their roots deeper and deeper into the soil of their adoption—watched and criticised more or less amiably by their predecessors, the few dutch-african farmers who up to that time had struggled on the frontier all alone.

one day hans marais was riding with charlie considine on the karroo, not far from the farm-house. they had been conversing on the condition and prospects of the land, and the trials and difficulties of the british settlers. suddenly they came on an ostrich sitting on its eggs under a bush. the bird rose and ran on seeing the horsemen.

“i daresay the cock-bird is not far off,” observed hans, riding up to the nest, which was merely a slight hollow scraped in the sandy soil, and contained a dozen eggs. “he is a gallant bird; guards his wife most faithfully, and shares her duties.”

“i’ve sometimes thought,” said considine musingly, “that the ostrich might be tamed and bred on your farms. with such valuable feathers it would be worth while to try.”

“you are not the first who has suggested that, charlie. my own mother has more than once spoken of it.”

“stay a minute,” said considine; “i shall take one of the eggs home to her.”

“not fit to eat. probably half hatched,” said hans.

“no matter,” returned the other, dismounting.

“well, i’ll ride to the ridge and see if the papa is within hail.”

hans did but bare justice to the cock ostrich when he said he was a gallant bird. it is within the mark to say that he is not only a pattern husband, but a most exemplary father, for, besides guarding his wife and her nest most jealously by day, he relieves her at night, and sits himself on the nest, while his better-half takes food and relaxation.

while hans rode forward a few hundred yards, the cock, which chanced to be out feeding on the plain, observed his wife running excitedly among the bushes, and at the same moment caught a glimpse of the dutchman.

seven-league boots could not have aided that ostrich! with mighty strides and outstretched wings the giant bird rushed in furious rage to defend its nest. hans saw it, and, instantly putting spurs to his horse, also made for the nest, but the ostrich beat him.

“look out, charlie!” shouted hans.

charlie did look out, somewhat anxiously too, turning his head nervously from side to side, for while the thunder of hoofs and the warning cry of hans assailed him on one side, a rushing and hissing sound was heard on the other. the suspense did not last long. a few seconds later, and the ostrich appeared, bearing down on him with railway speed. he raised his gun and fired, but in the haste of the moment missed. the cap of the second barrel snapped. he clubbed his gun, but, before he could raise it, the ferocious bird was on him. towering high over his head, it must have been between eight and nine feet in height. one kick of its great two-toed foot sufficed. the ostrich kicks forward, as a man might when he wishes to burst in a door with his foot, and no prize-fighter can hit out with greater celerity, no horse can kick with greater force. if the blow had taken full effect it would probably have been fatal, but considine leaped back. it reached him, however—on the chest,—and knocked him flat on the nest, where he lay stunned amid a wreck of eggs.

the vicious bird was about to follow up its victory by dancing on its prostrate foe, when hans galloped up. the bird turned on him at once, with a hiss and a furious rush. the terrified horse reared and wheeled round with such force as almost to throw hans, who dropped his gun in trying to keep his seat. jumping into the air, and bringing its foot down with a resounding smack, the bird sent its two formidable nails deep into the steed’s flank, from which blood flowed copiously. the horse took the bit in its teeth, and ran.

hans marais was very strong, but fear was stronger. the horse fairly ran off, and the ostrich pursued. being fleeter than the horse, it not only kept up with ease, but managed ever and anon to give it another kick on flank, sides, or limbs. hans vainly tried to grasp his assailant by the neck. if he succeeded in this he knew that he could easily have choked it, for the ostrich’s weak point is its long slender neck—its strong point being its tremendous leg, the thigh of which, blue-black, and destitute of feathers, resembles a leg of mutton in shape and size.

at last hans bethought him of his stirrup. unbuckling it, he swung it by the leather round his head, and succeeded, after one or two attempts, in hitting his enemy on the head with the iron. the ostrich dropped at once and never rose again.

returning to the nest with his vanquished foe strapped to his saddle, he found considine sitting somewhat confused among the egg-débris, much of which consisted of flattened young ones, for the eggs were in an advanced state of incubation.

“why, charlie, are you going to try your hand at hatching?” cried hans, laughing in spite of himself.

considine smiled rather ruefully. “i believe my breast-bone is knocked in. just help me to examine; but first catch my horse, like a good fellow.”

it was found on examination that no bones were broken, and that, beyond a bruise, considine was none the worse of his adventure.

one egg was found to have survived the general destruction. this was taken to the farm and handed to mrs marais, and that amiable lady adopted and hatched it! we do not mean to assert that she sat upon it, but having discovered, from mysterious sounds inside, that the young ostrich contained in it was still alive, and, being a woman of an experimental tendency, she resolved to become a mother to it. she prepared a box, by lining it with a warm feather pillow, above which she spread several skin karosses or blankets, and into this she put the egg. every morning and every evening she visited the nest, felt the egg to ascertain its temperature, and added or removed a blanket according to circumstances. how the good woman knew the proper temperature is a mystery which no one could explain, but certain it is that she succeeded, for in a few days the little one became so lively in its prison as to suggest the idea that it wanted out. mrs marais then listened attentively to the sounds, and, having come to a decision as to which end of the egg contained the head of the bird, she cracked the shell at that point and returned it to the nest.

thus aided, the infant ostrich, whose head and feet lay in juxtaposition, began life most appropriately with its strongest point—put its best foot foremost; drove out the end of its prison with a kick, and looked astonished. one or two more kicks and it was out. next time its foster-mother visited the nest she found the little one free,—but subdued, as if it knew it had been naughty,—and with that “well—what—next?” expression of countenance which is peculiar to very young birds in general.

when born, this little creature was about the size of a small barn-door hen, but it was exceeding weak as well as long in the legs, and its first efforts at walking were a mere burlesque.

the feeding of this foundling was in keeping with its antecedents. mrs marais was a thoroughgoing but incomprehensible woman. one would have thought that boiled sheep’s liver, chopped fine, and hens’ eggs boiled hard, were about the most violently opposed to probability in the way of food for an ostrich, old or young. yet that is the food which she gave this baby. the manner of giving it, too, was in accordance with the gift.

sitting down on a low stool, she placed the patient—so to speak—on its back, between her knees, and held it fast; then she rammed the liver and egg down its throat with her fingers as far as they would reach, after which she set it on its legs and left it for a few minutes to contemplation. hitching it suddenly on its back again, she repeated the operation until it had had enough. in regard to quantity, she regulated herself by feeling its stomach. in the matter of drink she was more pronounced than a teetotaler, for she gave it none at all.

thus she continued perseveringly to act until the young ostrich was old enough to go out in charge of a little hottentot girl named hreikie, who became a very sister to it, and whose life thence-forward was spent either in going to sleep under bushes, on the understanding that she was taking care of baby, or in laughing at the singular way in which her charge waltzed when in a facetious mood.

there is no doubt that this ostrich would have reached a healthy maturity if its career had not been cut short by a hyena.

not until many years after this did “ostrich-farming” and feather-exporting become, as it still continues, one of the most important branches of commercial enterprise in the cape colony; but we cannot avoid the conclusion, that, as watt gave the first impulse to the steam-engine when he sat and watched the boiling kettle, so mrs marais opened the door to a great colonial industry when she held that infant ostrich between her knees, and stuffed it with minced eggs and liver.