CONTENTS LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 1 Union’s End Crossing the River - Frontispiece 2 The Forgotten Outpost Beacon at Union’s End 3 Lost City of the Kalahari Ice in the Kalahari 4 Unknown Game Reserve The waterhole at Grootkolk 5 Half-Castes and Pioneers Relic of the German-Hottentot War 6 Frontier Police Von Schauroth’s “Castle” 7 Scotty Smith Scotty Smith with his wife and family 8 Upington and the River Aughrabies Falls from the north bank 9 Aughrabies The Orange River at Goodhouse 10 The Lonely River Paauw, largest of game-birds shot in Kalahari 11 Bushmanland Bogenfels, the rock archway on the “Sperr- 12 Peace Beneath the Palms gebiet” Coast 13 Mystery in the River Trekboer in Bushmanland 14 Infinite Fortitude The author enters the forbidden territory 15 One Night in Aus A small “parcel” of diamonds 16 “Sperrgebiet” One of the diamond terraces 17 Bushmen of the “Sperrgebiet” The Orange River at Hohenfels 18 To the River’s End Index AUTHOR’S NOTE “To The River’s End” was first published in 1948. Naturally there have been changes along the Orange River since then and some of the fine old characters who told me their tales of adventure have passed on. Thank heaven I was able to save something of those remarkable lives for posterity. This edition is produced by photo-lithographic process, which means that it is a replica of a previous edition. For that reason I have not been able to make alterations or corrections. Looking through the book, however, I find that the narrative has come through the years without calling for many drastic changes. Lawrence G. GREEN. CHAPTER 1 way alarmed. I still have a full water-bottle, a UNION’S END rifle, cartridges, a box of matches and cigarettes. My compass, however, is safely stowed away THIS, YOU WOULD SAY, is the end of all things, with my kit in camp. and indeed it is almost within a rifle-shot of the last, remote beacon marked on the largest maps I was telling you about Union’s End. Three of South Africa as Union’s End. territories meet at this point - the Union, South- West Africa and the Bechuanaland Protectorate. Union’s End! There is a name for you, like I believe the surveyor who fixed the position of Ultima Thule and Cape Horn, Finisterre and this spot also gave it the appropriate name. Not Cape Farewell. I have driven nearly a thousand very many white people have been here to miles from Cape Town, more than four hundred admire the beacon since the surveyor raised it. miles into the Kalahari, to reach Union’s End. The bore-hole is four hundred feet deep, and And now, soon after arrival, I am lost. Bushmen sometimes make use of it. I cannot say To understand my plight you should be able to that the bore-hole was sunk for their benefit; it visualise Union’s End. Probably you have never was authorised long before anyone thought of heard of it before, and even a “Brains Trust” the welfare of wild Bushmen. Nevertheless, the might be hard put to it to fix the position. In fact, Bushmen came upon it, and these ingenious little it is nothing more than a beacon and a borehole, people then linked up the longest gemsbok riem set in what the old desert travellers called “park- ever seen in the Kalahari and secured water at like country.” Only here there are no gates, Union’s End. fences or park-keepers. Later, if I fail to find my way back to camp, I may long for any symbol of That, I imagine, is the only historic event at civilisation. At the moment I am lost, but in no Union’s End worth recording. The dry bed of the Nossob River passes through the place; and it is also neatly intersected by the twentieth parallel Now I know better. A voortrekker would have of longitude. All round Union’s End are the found his way out of this corner by now, whereas dimes, the kameeldoorn and mimosa trees, the I am here. Still, I have the springbok as an pans, the vast expanse of sand that undulates like excuse. No one born in South Africa can fail to an ocean, a waterless ocean. All round, but react to the sight of the finest of all the world’s unseen at the moment, are lions and herds of antelope. They went “pronking” over the rise, game. the large ones weighing eighty pounds apiece - and it is my ambition to take a sack of springbok Union’s End is not much of a metropolis, but I biltong back to Cape Town with me. That is not would prefer to be standing beside the beacon the way to preserve our vanishing game, I know; now to being lost on this unmapped patch of but I want the biltong. veld. I could walk back to camp from Union’s End simply by following the dry watercourse Those springbok got me into this situation. I was southwards. If I start walking from where I have fascinated by the lyre-shaped horns, the dark- halted I may easily become a mystery and a brown stripes on their sides, the white bellies, legend, like Colonel Fawcett. and above all by the white blaze of the manes they raised on their arched backs. They held their My predicament arises out of some instinct heads low as they bounded over the rise, and all which I am not disposed to analyse too deeply. I the time I had the sights of my rifle up and I like a romantic explanation when I can find a walked fast after them and waited for a safe shot plausable one; and this afternoon, when I left the at a hundred yards. car in the river bed and followed a herd of springbok over the rise, I thought of myself as a I thought they would halt on the rise, silhouetted voortrekker hunting his meat in a new country. on the skyline. Instead, I saw them for the last time leaping ten feet in the air. I heard a shrill whistle of fright, as though they knew I was after they did not put more water in the boats, and them with soft-nosed bullets. Then they went fewer cigarettes. But now I am in the same over the rise, and I never saw them again. They position ... one water-bottle and one tin of were wiser than I was, for they knew where they nearly twenty cigarettes. It is no use being wise were going. after the event. It is time to send out my first distress signal. I The burning end of my cigarette reminds me fire shot after shot at regular intervals, a sort of that I still have another way of making my Kalahari salute, until the magazine is empty. position known. It is not yet dark, and I look Then I listen keenly. At this moment the sound round for bonfire materials. Not far ahead is a of answering shots would be reassuring; but tree broken down under the weight of a nest nothing breaks the great hush that rests over the built by social weaver birds. There must have bleak country round Union’s End. The sun has been hundreds of pairs of birds under this gone, and I have not even noted the spot where it decayed roof; but now the nest is within reach dropped over the dunes. of the jackals, and the prudent birds have departed. I wish to be certain on this point, so I Far the first time I glance at my water-bottle. walk all round the nest kicking it with my top- Instead of drinking, however, I light a cigarette boots and prodding with the butt of my rifle. and smoke thoughtfully. Smoking will not Not a protest. The first match sends up a sheet increase my thirst, I tell myself. The men in the of flame in the growing darkness. No longer do Trevessa’s boats, I read somewhere, had plenty I feel alone. of cigarettes but little water. They lived for a month on water measured out in the lid of a This is a satisfying blaze, and to add to the cigarette tin, they smoked a lot, and it never dramatic effect I ram a new clip of cartridges made them thirstier. I always wondered why into the magazine and fire another Kalahari salute. This, I think, will do the trick. The whole police career was spent in Bushmanland. He veld is lit up, and I have to retreat from the gave me valuable advice with the rifle, did roaring, crackling nest. But still there is no Birch, and I have remembered enough of it to answering signal. avoid walking round in circles. But what would Birch do now? Start a fire in the long desert grass and there is no knowing where it will end. I had forgotten I decide that Birch would wait for daylight, take that. The blaze spreads beyond the broken tree, his direction from the rising sun, and then walk and I find myself frantically clearing a firepath - steadily westwards towards the dry river. and all to no purpose. For a time that fire Probably, with his desert sense, Birch would worries me. My friends, I imagine, cannot fail have found his way back in the dark. Hungry as I to see the inferno; but where will it end? I stand am, I shall not attempt that.