Генри Райдер Хаггард - Marie - An Episode in the Life of the Late Allan Quatermain

“Why! here is our little Englishman come to shoot off his match like a man of his word. Friend Marais, stop talking about your losses”—this in a warning voice—”and give him good day.”

So Marais came, and with him Marie, who blushed and smiled, but to my mind looked more of a grown woman than ever before; one who had left girlhood behind her and found herself face to face with real life and all its troubles. Following her close, very close, as I was quick to notice, was Hernan Pereira. He was even more finely dressed than usual and carried in his hand a beautiful new, single-barrelled rifle, also fitted to take percussion caps, but, as I thought, of a very large bore for the purpose of goose shooting.

“So you have got well again,” he said in a genial voice that yet did not ring true. Indeed, it suggested to me that he wished I had done nothing of the sort. “Well, Mynheer Allan, here you find me quite ready to shoot your head off.” (He didn’t mean that, though I dare say he was.) “I tell you that the mare is as good as mine, for I have been practising, haven’t I, Marie? as the ‘aasvogels’” (that is, vultures) “round the stead know to their cost.”

“Yes, Cousin Hernan,” said Marie, “you have been practising, but so, perhaps, has Allan.”

By this time all the company of Boers had collected round us, and began to evince a great interest in the pending contest, as was natural among people who rarely had a gun out of their hands, and thought that fine shooting was the divinest of the arts. However, they were not allowed to stay long, as the Kaffirs said that the geese would begin their afternoon flight within about half an hour. So the spectators were all requested to arrange themselves under the sheer cliff of the kloof, where they could not be seen by the birds coming over them from behind, and there to keep silence. Then Pereira and I—I attended by my loader, but he alone, as he said a man at his elbow would bother him—and with us Retief, the referee, took our stations about a hundred and fifty yards from this face of cliff. Here we screened ourselves as well as we could from the keen sight of the birds behind some tall bushes which grew at this spot.

I seated myself on a camp-stool, which I had brought with me, for my leg was still too weak to allow me to stand long, and waited. Presently Pereira said through Retief that he had a favour to ask, namely, that I would allow him to take the first six shots, as the strain of waiting made him nervous. I answered, “Certainly,” although I knew well that the object of the request was that he believed that the outpost geese—”spy-geese” we called them —which would be the first to arrive, would probably come over low down and slow, whereas those that followed, scenting danger, might fly high and fast. This, in fact, proved to be the case, for there is no bird more clever than the misnamed goose.

When we had waited about a quarter of an hour Hans said:

“Hist! Goose comes.”

As he spoke, though as yet I could not see the bird, I heard its cry of “Honk, honk” and the swish of its strong wings.

Then it appeared, an old spur-winged gander, probably the king of the flock, flying so low that it only cleared the cliff edge by about twenty feet, and passed over not more than thirty yards up, an easy shot. Pereira fired, and down it came rather slowly, falling a hundred yards or so behind him, while Retief said:

“One for our side.”

Pereira loaded again, and just as he had capped his rifle three more geese, also flying low, came over, preceded by a number of ducks, passing straight above us, as they must do owing to the shape of the gap between the land waves of the veld above through which they flighted. Pereira shot, and to my surprise, the second, not the first, bird fell, also a good way behind him.

“Did you shoot at that goose, or the other, nephew?” asked Retief.

“At that one for sure,” he answered with a laugh.

“He lies,” muttered the Hottentot; “he shot at the first and killed the second.”

“Be silent,” I answered. “Who would lie about such a thing?”

Again Pereira loaded. By the time that he was ready more geese were approaching, this time in a triangle of seven birds, their leader being at the point of the triangle, which was flying higher than those that had gone before. He fired, and down came not one bird, but two, namely, the captain and the goose to the right of and a little behind it.

“Ah! uncle,” exclaimed Pereira, “did you see those birds cross each other as I pulled? That was a lucky one for me, but I won’t count the second if the Heer Allan objects.”

“No, I did not, nephew,” answered Retief, “but doubtless they must have done so, or the same bullet could not have pierced both.”

Both Hans and I only looked at each other and laughed. Still we said nothing.

From the spectators under the cliff there came a murmur of congratulation not unmixed with astonishment. Again Pereira loaded, aimed, and loosed at a rather high goose—it may have been about seventy yards in the air. He struck it right enough, for the feathers flew from its breast; but to my astonishment the bird, after swooping down as though it were going to fall, recovered itself and flew away straight out of sight.

“Tough birds, these geese!” exclaimed Pereira. “They can carry as much lead as a sea-cow.”

“Very tough indeed,” answered Retief doubtfully. “Never before did I see a bird fly away with an ounce ball through its middle.”

“Oh! he will drop dead somewhere,” replied Pereira as he rammed his powder down.

Within four minutes more Pereira had fired his two remaining shots, selecting, as he was entitled to do, low and easy young geese that came over him slowly. He killed them both, although the last of them, after falling, waddled along the ground into a tuft of high grass.

Now murmurs of stifled applause broke from the audience, to which Pereira bowed in acknowledgment.

“You will have to shoot very well, Mynheer Allan,” said Retief to me, “if you want to beat that. Even if I rule out one of the two birds that fell to a single shot, as I think I shall, Hernan has killed five out of six, which can scarcely be bettered.”

“Yes,” I answered; “but, mynheer, be so good as to have those geese collected and put upon one side. I don’t want them mixed up with mine, if I am lucky enough to bring any down.”

He nodded, and some Kaffirs were sent to bring in the geese. Several of these, I noted, were still flapping and had to have their necks twisted, but at the time I did not go to look at them. While this was being done I called to Retief, and begged him to examine the powder and bullets I was about to use.

“What’s the good?” he asked, looking at me curiously. “Powder is powder, and a bullet is a bullet.”

“None, I dare say. Still, oblige me by looking at them, my uncle.”

Then at my bidding Hans took six bullets and placed them in his hand, begging him to return them to us as they were wanted.

“They must be a great deal smaller than Hernan’s,” said Retief, “who, being stronger, uses a heavier gun.”

“Yes,” I answered briefly, as Hans put the charge of powder into the rifle, and drove home the wad. Then, taking a bullet from Retief’s hand, he rammed that down on to the top of it, capped the gun, and handed it to me.

By now the geese were coming thick, for the flight was at its full. Only, either because some of those that had already passed had sighted the Kaffirs collecting the fallen birds and risen—an example which the others noted from afar and followed—or because in an unknown way warning of their danger had been conveyed to them, they were flying higher and faster than the first arrivals.