Part 5

Mr. Cumming’s adventures with elephants are no less thrilling. He had selected for the aim of his murderous rifle two huge female elephants from a herd. “Two of the troop had walked slowly past at about sixty yards, and the one which I had selected was feeding with two others on a thorny tree before me. My hand was now as steady as the rock on which it rested, so, taking a deliberate aim, I let fly at her head, a little behind the eye. She got it hard and sharp, just where I aimed, but it did not seem to affect her much. Uttering a loud cry, she wheeled about, when I gave her the second ball, close behind the shoulder. All the elephants uttered a strange rumbling noise, and made off in a line to the northward at a brisk ambling pace, their huge fanlike ears flapping in the ratio of their speed. I did not wait to load, but ran back to the hillock to obtain a view. On gaining its summit, the guides pointed out the elephants; they were standing in a grove of shady trees, but the wounded one was some distance behind with another elephant, doubtless its particular friend, who was endeavouring to assist it. These elephants had probably never before heard the report of a gun; and having neither seen nor smelt me, they were unaware of the presence of man, and did not seem inclined to go any further. Presently my men hove in sight, bringing the dogs; and when these came up, I waited some time before commencing the attack, that the dogs and horses might recover their wind. We then rode slowly towards the elephants, and had advanced within two hundred yards of them, when, the ground being open, they observed us, and made off in an easterly direction; but the wounded one immediately dropped astern, and next moment she was surrounded by the dogs, which, barking angrily, seemed to engross her attention. Having placed myself between her and the retreating troop, I dismounted, to fire within forty yards of her, in open ground. Colesberg was extremely afraid of the elephants, and gave me much trouble, jerking my arm when I tried to fire. At length I let fly; but, on endeavouring to regain my saddle, Colesberg declined to allow me to mount; and when I tried to lead him, and run for it, he only backed towards the wounded elephant. At this moment I heard another elephant close behind; and on looking about I beheld the ‘friend,’ with uplifted trunk, charging down upon me at top speed, shrilly trumpeting, and following an old black pointer named Schwart, that was perfectly deaf, and trotted along before the enraged elephant quite unaware of what was behind him. I felt certain that she would have either me or my horse. I, however, determined not to relinquish my steed, but to hold on by the bridle. My men, who of course kept at a safe distance, stood aghast with their mouths open, and for a few seconds my position was certainly not an enviable one. Fortunately, however, the dogs took off the attention of the elephants; and just as they were upon me I managed to spring into the saddle, where I was safe. As I turned my back to mount, the elephants were so very near, that I really expected to feel one of their trunks lay hold of me. I rode up to Kleinboy for my double-barrelled two-grooved rifle: he and Isaac were pale and almost speechless with fright. Returning to the charge, I was soon once more alongside, and, firing from the saddle, I sent another brace of bullets into the wounded elephant. Colesberg was extremely unsteady, and destroyed the correctness of my aim. The ‘friend’ now seemed resolved to do some mischief, and charged me furiously, pursuing me to a distance of several hundred yards. I therefore deemed it proper to give her a gentle hint to act less officiously, and accordingly, having loaded, I approached within thirty yards, and gave it her sharp, right and left, behind the shoulder; upon which she at once made off with drooping trunk, evidently with a mortal wound. Two more shots finished her: on receiving them she tossed her trunk up and down two or three times, and falling on her broadside against a thorny tree, which yielded like grass before her enormous weight, she uttered a deep hoarse cry and expired.”

Mr. Cumming’s exploits in the water are no less exciting than his land adventures. Here is an account of his victory over a hippopotamus, on the banks of the Limpopo river, near the northernmost extremity of his journeyings.

“There were four of them, three cows and an old bull; they stood in the middle of the river, and, though alarmed, did not appear aware of the extent of the impending danger. I took the sea-cow next me, and with my first ball I gave her a mortal wound, knocking loose a great plate on the top of her skull. She at once commenced plunging round and round, and then occasionally remained still, sitting for a few minutes on the same spot. On hearing the report of my rifle two of the others took up stream, and the fourth dashed down the river; they trotted along, like oxen, at a smart pace as long as the water was shallow. I was now in a state of very great anxiety about my wounded sea-cow, for I feared that she would get down into deep water, and be lost like the last one; her struggles were still carrying her down stream, and the water was becoming deeper. To settle the matter I accordingly fired a second shot from the bank, which, entering the roof of her skull, passed out through her eye; she then kept continually splashing round and round in a circle in the middle of the river. I had great fears of the crocodiles, and I did not know that the sea-cow might not attack me. My anxiety to secure her, however, overcame all hesitation; so, divesting myself of my leathers, and armed with a sharp knife, I dashed into the water, which at first took me up to my arm-pits, but in the middle was shallower. As I approached Behemoth her eye looked very wicked. I halted for a moment, ready to dive under the water if she attacked me, but she was stunned, and did not know what she was doing; so, running in upon her, and seizing her short tail, I attempted to incline her course to land. It was extraordinary what enormous strength she still had in the water. I could not guide her in the slightest, and she continued to splash, and plunge, and blow, and make her circular course, carrying me along with her as if I was a fly on her tail. Finding her tail gave me but a poor hold, as the only means of securing my prey, I took out my knife, and cutting two deep parallel incisions through the skin on her rump, and lifting this skin from the flesh, so that I could get in my two hands, I made use of this as a handle, and after some desperate hard work, sometimes pushing and sometimes pulling, the sea-cow continuing her circular course all the time and I holding on at her rump like grim Death, eventually I succeeded in bringing this gigantic and most powerful animal to the bank. Here the Bushman quickly brought me a stout buffalo-rheim from my horse’s neck, which I passed through the opening in the thick skin, and moored Behemoth to a tree. I then took my rifle, and sent a ball through the centre of her head, and she was numbered with the dead.”

There is nothing in “Waterton’s Wanderings,” or in the “Adventures of Baron Munchausen” more startling than this “Waltz with a Hippopotamus!”

In the all-wise disposition of events, it is perhaps ordained that wild animals should be subdued by man to his use at the expense of such tortures as those described in the work before us. Mere amusement, therefore, is too light a motive for dealing such wounds and death Mr. Cumming owns to; but he had other motives,—besides a considerable profit he has reaped in trophies, ivory, fur, &c., he has made in his book some valuable contributions to the natural history of the animals he wounded and slew.

CHIPS.

A MARRIAGE IN ST. PETERSBURG.

A fair Correspondent supplies us with the following “Chip” from St. Petersburg:—

In England we used to think the marriage ceremony, with all its solemn adjuncts, an impressive affair; but it is child’s play when compared with the elaborate formalities of a Russian wedding. In England, the bride, though a principal, is a passive object; but in Russia she has, before and at the ceremony, to undergo as much physical fatigue and exertion as a prima donna who has to tear through a violent opera, making every demonstration of the most passionate grief. But you shall hear how they manage on these occasions.

The housekeeper of Mons. A., who has been in his service for eighteen years, and consequently no very youthful bride, took it into her head to marry a shoemaker, who, like his intended, is not remarkable for his personal beauty. Friday was fixed for the happy day, and about two in the afternoon I caught sight of the bride, weeping and wailing in a most doleful manner. I saw or heard no more of her till six in the evening, when she appeared in Mad. A.’s room, attired for the ceremony. Her dress was of dark silk, (she not being allowed to wear white, in consequence of some early indiscretions,) with a wreath of white roses round her head, and a long white veil, which almost enveloped her. She sobbed, howled, went off into hysterics, and fainted; I felt excessively sorry for her, but did all my soothing in vain, for she refused to be comforted. As soon as she became calm, we all assembled in the drawing-room, and Mons. A.’s godson, a little fellow of five years old, entered the room first, bearing the patron saint, St. Nicholas, then came the bride, followed by her train of female friends. She knelt down before Mons. and Mad. A., and they each in turn held the image over her head, saying they blessed her, and hoped she would “go to her happiness.” She kissed their feet frantically; and they then assisted her up, kissed her, and she was conducted weeping to the carriage.

On arriving at the church about half-past seven we were met by friends of the bridegroom, who stood at one end of the church, surrounded by his family, and every now and then casting anxious and tender looks at the beloved one, who was again howling and sobbing like a mad woman. I thought how painful it must be for him, poor man, to witness such distress, and wondered why she should marry any one for whom she manifested so much dislike. After administering restoratives, she became calmer, and the priests appeared—when off she went again into a fit of hysterics more sudden, though not so violent as her previous performances; but, this time, was soon restored, and the ceremony commenced.

One priest stood at the altar, and two others at a kind of table or reading-desk at some distance. The un-happy couple were placed beside each other, behind the priests, who commenced chaunting the service in beautiful style. The bride and bridegroom held each a lighted wax taper in their hand; a little more chaunting, and rings were exchanged; more chaunting, and then a small piece of carpet was brought, upon which they both stood; two crowns were then presented to them, and after they had kissed the saint upon them, these were held over their heads by the bridesmen. More chaunting; then there was wine brought, which they were obliged to drink, first he and then she; they made three sups of it, though, at first, there appeared only about a wine-glassful; after this the Priest took hold of them and walked them round the church three times, the bridegroom’s man following holding the crowns over their heads to the best of his ability; but he fell short of his duty, for the bridegroom was rather tall and his man rather short: hence there was some difficulty and slight awkwardness in this part of the proceedings; then followed a kind of exhortation, delivered in a very impressive manner by the senior Priest. After this, they proceeded to the altar, prostrated themselves before it, kissing the ground with great apparent fervour; then all the saints on the wall were kissed, and lastly the whole of the party assembled. We then adjourned to the carriages, and after a quick ride soon found ourselves at home.

Here Monsieur and Madame A. performed the part of _Père et Mère_, met the bridal party, carrying the black bread and salt which is always given on such occasions. This was, with some words—a blessing, of course—waved over the heads of the newly married couple, who were on their knees kissing most vehemently the feet of their _Père et Mère_. After this ceremony, which means “May you never want the good here offered you,” they arose, and again the kissing mania came upon the whole party with greater vehemence than ever. Nothing was heard for some time but the sound of lips; at length a calm came, and with it champagne, in which every one of them drank “Long life and happiness to the newly-wed pair,” all striking their glasses till I thought there would be a universal smash, so violently were they carried away by their enthusiasm; then came chocolate, and lastly fruit.

As soon as the feasting was over, the dancing commenced with a Polonaise; the steward, a great man in the house, leading off the bride, who by this time had forgotten all her sorrows. About twenty couple followed, and away they went, through one room, out at another, until they had made the whole circuit of the apartments.

We left them at half-past eleven, but they kept up the fun till five in the morning, when they conducted the happy pair to their dwelling.

Upon my expressing pity for the bride, and also my astonishment why she married a man who appeared so very repugnant to her, I learnt that she would not be considered either a good wife or a good woman unless she was led to the altar in a shower-bath of tears; in fact, in Russia, the more tears a woman sheds, the better her husband likes her!

A NEW JOINT-STOCK PANDEMONIUM COMPANY.

Gaming without risk, certainty in chance, Fortune showering her favours out of the dice-box, are promised by the promoters of a New Joint-Stock Company just set on foot in Paris, the prospectus of which now lies before us. This is nothing less than a society for the propagation of gambling in San Francisco; “capital, one hundred and fifty thousand francs, in three hundred shares of five hundred francs each, provisionally registered on May 10, 1850. Chief Office, No. 17, Rue Vivienne.”

The promoters of this precious CERCLE DE SAN FRANCISCO declare that certainty will be the issue of this notable scheme, the essence of which is hazard. “There never was,” they say, “an enterprise more sure of gain. Three years, with twelve dividends, paid once a quarter, will produce enormous results. These have been accurately tested by the most conscientious (?) calculations, based on the produce of the German gaming-houses, and we have ascertained that each share of five hundred francs will yield an annual dividend of three thousand francs over and above interest at six per cent!”

The future House itself is thus painted in bright perspective:—“A fine house of wood, of two stories, with a magnificent coffee-room on the ground floor; a vast saloon on the first-floor for two roulette-tables; on the second, apartments for the manager, the servants; and the officers; the whole completely furnished, with all necessary appurtenances for warming and lighting. Tables, implements, counters, iron coffers for the specie, &c., are to be immediately exported by a sailing vessel. M. Mauduit, the manager, will accompany these immense munitions, together with subordinates of known probity. M. Charles, chief-of-the-play at Aix, in Savoy, is to follow, as director of the expedition, at the end of October, by steamer. It is expected that preparations will be complete, so as to open the Cercle in San Francisco on the 31st December of this year.”

Of all the bare-faced schemes that was ever presented to a French public, this is surely the most extravagant. There is nothing in _Jerome Patûrot_ that equals it in impudence.

YOUTH AND SUMMER.

It is Summer. Day is now at its longest, the season at its brightest; and the heat comes down through the glowing heavens—broiling the sons of labour, but whitening the fields for the harvest. Like hapless Semele, consumed by the splendours of her divine lover, Earth seems about to perish beneath the ardent glances of the God of Day. The sun comes bowling from the Tropics to visit the Hyperboreans. The strange phenomenon of the Polar day—when for six months he keeps careering through the sky, without a single rising or setting, rolling like a fiery ball along the edge of the horizon, glittering like a thousand diamonds on the fields of ice—is now melting the snows that hide the lichens, the rein-deer’s food; and, quivering down through the azure shallows of the Greenland coast, infuses the fire of love and the lust for roaming into the “scaly myriads” of the herring tribe.

On ourselves, the Summer sun is shining, glowing—robing in gold the declining days of July, and taking her starry jewels from the crown of Night—nay, lifting the diadem from her sable brow, and invading the skies of midnight with his lingering beams. Oh, what a glory in those evening skies! The sun, just set, brings out the summits of the far-off hills sharp and black against his amber light: Nature is dreaming; yonder sea is calm as if it had never known a storm. It is the hour of Reverie: old memories, half-forgotten poetry, come floating like dreams into the soul. We wander in thought to the lonely Greek Isle, where Juan and Haidee are roaming with encircling arms upon the silvery sands, or gaze in love’s reverie from the deserted banquet-room upon the slumbering waters of the Ægean. We see the mariner resting on his oars within the shadow of Ætna, and hear the “Ave Sanctissima” rising in solemn cadence from the waveless sea. We stand beneath the lovely skies of Italy—we rest on the woody slopes of the Apennines, where the bell of some distant convent is proclaiming sundown, and the vesper hymn floats on the rosy stillness, a vocal prayer.

“Ave Maria! blessed be the hour, The time, the clime, the spot where I so oft Have felt that moment in its fullest power Sink o’er the earth so beautiful and soft; While swung the deep bell in the distant tower, And the faint dying day-hymn stole aloft; While not a breath stole through the rosy air, And yet the forest leaves seem’d stirr’d with prayer!”

Study is impossible in the Summer evenings—those long, clear, mellow nights, when the Evening Star hangs like a diamond lamp in the amber skies of the West, and the hushed air seems waiting for serenades. The very charm of our Study is then our ruin. Whenever we lift our eyes from the page, we look clear away, as from a lofty turret, upon the ever-shifting glories of sunset, where far-off mountains form the magic horizon, and a wide arm of the sea sleeps calmly between, reflecting the skyey splendours. Our heart is not in our task. There is a vague yearning within us, for happiness more ethereal than any we have yet beheld, a happiness which the eye cannot figure, which only the soul can feel—it is the Spirit dreaming of its immortal home. Now and then we pause—the beauty without, half-unconsciously fixes upon itself our dreamy gaze.

“Oh, Summer night! So soft and bright!”

That air, that lovely serenade of Donizetti’s, seems floating in the room. A sweet voice is singing it in my ear, in my heart. Ah, those old times! I think of the hour when first I heard that strain, and of the fair creature singing it—with the twilight shadows around us, and her lip, that might have tempted an Angel, curling, half-proudly, half-kindly, as “upon entreaty” she resumed the strain. I fall into deeper reverie as I recollect it all—those evenings of entrancement, those days of boyish pain and jealousy. And ever the melody comes floating in through my brain, yet without attracting my thoughts—a strain of sweetest sounds accompanying the dissolving views which are dreamily, perpetually, forming and changing, gathering and dispersing, before my mind’s eye, like the rose-clouds of sunset. Those shapes are too ethereal for the mind to grasp them. Is it a Juno-like form, beneath the skies and amid the flowers of Summer—with Zephyr playing among her golden curls, as she lifts from her neck a hair-chain to yield it to the suit of love! Or is it a zigzag path on a hill-side—a steed backing on a precipice—a lovely girl on the green bank, clinging to her preserver—sinking, swooning, quivering from that vision of sudden death! Who shall daguerreotype those airy shapes? We feel their presence rather than know their form, and the instant we try to see what we are seeing, they are gone!

We are no bad risers in the morning, but we never saw the sun rise on Midsummerday but once. It is many years ago, yet we remember it as vividly as if it had been this morning. It was from the summit of the Calton Hill, the unfinished Acropolis, the still-born ruin of Modern Athens. The whole sky in the south and west, opposite to where the sun was about to appear, was suffused from the horizon to the zenith with a deep pink or rose hue; and in the midst, spanning the heavens, stood a magnificent Rainbow! A symbol of peace in a sea of blood! There lay the palatial edifices of the New Town, white and still in the hush of early morning, and high above them and around them rose that strange emblem of mercy amid judgment. Such an apparition might fitly have filled the skies of the Cities of the Plain on that woeful morn, the last the blessed sun ever rose upon them;—ere amid mutterings in the earth and thunders in the clouds, the volcano awoke from its sleep, and the red lava poured from its sources of fire—when clouds of stones and ashes, falling, falling, falling, gathered deeper and deeper above the Plain, and the descending lightnings set fire to the thousand founts of naphtha bubbling up from their subterranean reservoirs—when a whirlwind of flame shot up against the face of the sky, like the last blasphemy of a godless world; and with a hollow groaning, the sinking, convulsed earth hid the scene of pollution and wrath beneath the ever mournful-looking waters of the Dead Sea. The skies of night and morning are familiar to me as those of day, but never but that once did that Heavenly Spectre meet my eye.