“There is not the least danger of crocodiles here,” thought he while in the water hanging on to the rock. “Should one pass this way, it would not have time for touching me, even if it were starving.” All night long did he continue in this dread position.
Morning dawned, and once more he had to endure the agony of gazing on the bank within a few feet of where he stood, though as unapproachable as if miles of moving water separated him from it.
Fortune seemed determined to torture him to the last extreme.
There was no hope of his gaining the bank above, and it now occurred to him to look below. Craning out as far as he could, he made an inspection of the fall. It was about thirty feet in clear descent. Below, the water ran frothing away and soon became smooth and tranquil, as if reposing after the violent leap.
Should he allow himself to be carried over the cataract? This was the question he now commenced considering. If he could only have assured himself that there was deep water underneath, he would at once have decided to commit himself to the descent. But there was the probability that he might be precipitated upon jagged rocks, and of course killed by the fall. Besides, he saw that the banks below were steep on both sides, and he might have to swim for a long distance before being able to land. After a descent of thirty feet he might be incapable of continuing above the surface of the water. At all events, he would be in no condition for a long swim.
After long and earnestly debating the question in his own mind he gave up the thought of making the too perilous attempt.
Notwithstanding the agony arising from his own position, he was not free from concern for his comrades left upon the rock.
Willem and Arend would in all likelihood come after him, if they had not already done so. One or the other, or both, might have left the rock and been carried over the cataract in the night, unseen by him during the darkness.
As the time passed on, his sufferings approached the point of despair. They at length became so great that once or twice was he tempted to put a termination to them by giving his body to the cataract, and his soul to Him who had bestowed it. But this demon of temptation was driven out of his mind by a mental vision of angelic loveliness.
The remembrance of Wilhelmina Van Wyk came before him like some fair angel, commanding him to hope and wait. He obeyed the command.
Chapter Twenty Four.
Reunion.
Time was passing. They upon the islet rock were getting very impatient for the return of Congo. They were certain that he would bring assistance with as little delay as possible, but most of his journey would have to be made in the night,—a dangerous time for travelling.
He had now been gone long enough to reach the camp and return. “Sister Ann” on the watch-tower of Bluebeard’s castle could not have gazed more earnestly than did they for his reappearance upon the bank above them. Their anxious vigil was at length rewarded. Near the hour of noon their ears were greeted by shouts, and shortly after they saw Hans, Congo, and Macora standing on the bank above them. The chief was accompanied by about a score of his followers, carrying long ropes by the direction of Congo.
“Where is Hendrik?” was the first question of Hans, asked in a trembling voice.
“We cannot tell,” was the reply. “He swam down the river in the hope of being able to make the bank below. We have great fear that some misfortune has befallen him.”
While the three yägers continued the solemn conversation, Macora took a number of his people a short distance up the river.
Near the bank was found the prostrate trunk of a tree about fifty feet in length. It had long been down; and was quite dead and dry. After making the lines fast to one end of it, it was pushed into the stream and directed in such a manner as to drift down to the rock on which the two youths were standing. The other end of the rope was firmly grasped by several of Macora’s men.
Swiftly the log, carried by the current, came in contact with the rock; when the men, keeping the rope on a taut stretch, prevented it from going farther.
With the nimbleness of a couple of cats, Willem and Arend sprang on to it, and, setting themselves astride, were hauled to the bank, where both were at length safely landed.
The first thing they saw, was the body of the elephant at which they had fired so many shots. The animal had at length succumbed, sinking into its eternal sleep in spite of its implacable anger.
As the hunters were no longer in any anxiety for themselves, their apprehensions became all the more keen for the fate of their missing friend. Although suffering greatly from fatigue as well as the want of food, Willem and Arend would not stay even to eat, till a search had been made for him.
There is no sentiment of the human mind, unless it is self esteem, that is capable of resting on so unstable a foundation as hope. Hendrik had now been absent more than twenty-four hours. The chances were a hundred to one against their ever seeing him again, either dead or alive; and yet they had hope.
Provided with food to eat along the way, they started down the river,—many of the Makololo very unwillingly. They had just performed a journey of near thirty miles in only a few hours’ time, and of course they were weary.
But this was not the only reason why their exertions were prolonged with some reluctance. They had been told of the manner in which Hendrik had left his companions; and, guided by reason,—instead of a strong feeling of friendship,—unlike Hans, Willem, and Arend, they had no hope of seeing him again. For, from their acquaintance with the country, they knew of the cataract; and were confident that he must have been carried over the falls; thence a shattered, inanimate mass rolling onward to ocean.
When little more than a mile down stream, Groot Willem discharged his gun. The report echoed in afar along the banks. Every one paused and stood listening to hear if there should be any response.
It came.
Faintly and from afar they could distinguish the sounds of a human voice. Uttering a shout of joy, the three hunters rushed forward, and soon after, when Hans shouted “Hendrik,” they heard from the river the words, “Here, this way.”
A minute more, and they were standing within a few feet of the object of their search, and had a full comprehension of what had hindered him from returning to the succour of his companions.
As the Makololo had come out well provided with comestibles, the hungry hunters were fed to their full satisfaction and then all went back to the place where the elephant had breathed its last. There forming their camp, they kindled fires, and made ready to pass the night,—the followers of Macora feasting upon one of their favourite dishes,—baked elephant’s foot.
Congo had still his tale to tell. When deserted by the others in their pursuit of the giraffes, he had waited two or three hours, expecting them to return. He then started off along their spoor, but being hampered by caring for the pack-horse, he progressed but slowly.
Night overtook him by the body of the dead giraffe. Unable through the darkness to follow the trail any farther, he remained by the carcass till morning.
By that time, the heavy rain had obliterated the spoor so completely that even Spoor’em, the hound, could only follow it with great difficulty. After a time, Congo saw that the horse-tracks separated, going in different directions. He followed one set of them for some time till the horse himself was found, but without saddle, bridle, or rider.
This was Willem’s horse, that had taken flight on the approach of the elephants.
Congo had gone the wrong way for finding his master, and he now returned upon the horse’s tracks. This, of course, brought him to the place where the elephant had first charged; and, on reaching the bank of the river and looking over, he saw the situation in which the hunters were placed. But the wounded elephant was there, and this, charging upon him, hindered him from continuing the observation. He had seen enough to knew that he must go to the camp for assistance, and this was just what he did.
They passed the night by the pool, pleasantly enough. The joy of once more being together would have deprived them of sleep, had it not been for their extreme weariness. But Hans and the chief, seeing the other three so exhausted, did not insist on hearing the details of the dangerous adventure; and at an early hour the camp was buried in the silence of slumber.
Two horses had been lost. This, under the circumstances, was a serious misfortune; but their own lives had been miraculously preserved; and none of them was now disposed to find fault with fortune for anything that had occurred.
Next morning, they started back to the place where the giraffe-trap was being constructed. On reaching it, they found Swartboy impatiently waiting for their return. His expressions of joy at seeing them once more safe and sound were accompanied with the declaration that they had been more fortunate than he had expected, considering that they had gone forth with only Congo for their guide.
Chapter Twenty Five.
Mistakes of a Night.
As nearly two weeks would be required for constructing the hopo, Groot Willem determined on making another hunting expedition. There was plenty of game in the immediate neighbourhood; but the chief strongly protested against the firing of guns, lest the sounds should betray their presence in the place.
Several giraffes had been seen in the mimosa groves, and the banks of the river were marked with their spoor.
Macora objected to their being alarmed, as it would drive them away before the pen could be got ready for them.
Groot Willem was a hunter, and out on a hunting expedition. This being the case, he could not remain for two weeks idle; and taking Hendrik and Congo along with him, he left the camp to visit a river, which, according to the chief’s account, lay about thirty miles to the north-west. They expected to reach it in one day, and could have done so, but for a large drove of elands, which was encountered upon the way, and the pursuit of which delayed them.
They encamped that night, as they supposed, about five miles from the river, and the next morning continued on, to reach it. A ride of between ten and fifteen miles was made, but no river was arrived at.
Early in the afternoon, they came upon a tiny rivulet running out of a pool, or vley. Supposing it to be a tributary of the river they were in search of, they concluded that by following it down, they should reach the main stream. This, however, they were in no haste to do, since the country around the pool appeared to be the best sort of hunting-ground. The fresh tracks of many varieties of animals could be seen in the mud; and Willem proposed that they should stay over night and lie in wait by the vley.
To this Hendrik agreed; and the horses were tethered out to graze.
A suitable place for a pit was chosen twenty paces from the pool, and, in less than an hour, two excavations were made, in which the hunters might conveniently conceal themselves.
Early in the evening, leaving Congo at some distance off, under the protection of a large fire, they repaired to the pits, and there commenced their silent vigil.
The first animals that made their appearance were antelopes of a small species; and, as the hunters were not in want of food, no attempt was made to hinder the little creatures from having their drink and retiring.
Suddenly there was a commotion in the herd, which ended in a rush from the pool. A leopard had pounced on one of them, and, as the others left the ground, the leopard was seen shouldering its victim with the intention to carry it off. As it turned side towards them, Willem fired, and the large heavy bullet from the roer went crashing through the creature’s ribs.
With a loud roar it sprang upwards; then, standing on its hind feet, it walked forward a few paces and fell. The shot had been discharged at random through the dim light, but a better could not have been made with the most deliberate aim, and in the light of day.
After this, the pool was visited by hyenas, jackals, and various other creatures not worth the powder that would be required in killing them.
Some time elapsed, during which the hunters had nothing else to interest them than listening to the snarls, laughter, and growling of the carrion-eaters assembled around the pool.
“I can’t say there’s much sport in this,” muttered Hendrik, discontentedly. “I’ve hard work in keeping awake.”
Another hour passed without their seeing any game worthy of their attention, when Willem, too, became weary of inaction.
They were thinking of vacating the pits and joining Congo by the camp-fire, when something heavier than hyenas was heard approaching the spot. With only their eyes above the surface of the ground, they gazed eagerly in the direction from which proceeded the sound. Two large animals appeared through the darkness, evidently approaching the vley.
“Quaggas!” whispered Willem, as he strained his eyes to assure himself of their species.
“Yes,” answered Hendrik. “Let us knock them over. They’re not much good, but it will serve to wake us up.”
Doubtful whether a shot at anything better might be had that night, Groot Willem was nothing loath, and was the first to fire. The animal at which he had aimed fell forward, and they heard a heavy plunging, as it rolled over into the pool.
Its companion was about turning to make off when Hendrik fired. There was no apparent interruption to its flight, and Hendrik was under the impression that his shot had missed. He was soon undeceived, however, by hearing the animal fall to the earth with a dull heavy sound, at the same time uttering a groan, which did not seem unfamiliar, and yet was not the cry of a quagga.
Without saying a word, both leaped out of the pits, and hastened towards the fallen animals, with a strong presentiment that there was something amiss.
The animal brought down by Hendrik was first reached.
It was not a quagga, but a horse!
“A horse!” exclaimed Willem as he stooped over the carcass to examine it. “It is not mine, thank God, nor yours neither.”
“That is rather a selfish remark of yours, Willem,” said Hendrik. “The horse belongs to some one. I can see a saddle-mark on its back.”
“May be,” muttered Willem, who thought nearly as much of his steed as his great roer. “For all that I’m glad it isn’t mine.”
They then proceeded to the vley, where the other horse was still struggling in the shallow water. As it was evidently unable to get to its feet, and wounded to the death, another shot was fired to release it from its misery.
Wondering to whom the two horses could belong, they returned to the camp-fire; both under the impression that they had destroyed enough of animal life for that night.
Early the next morning they left the pool, and, continuing down stream, within two hours reached the river they had been so long in search of. Here they determined to stop until the next day, and their horses were again tethered out; and, as they were somewhat wearied, they lay down to take repose under the shade of a mokhala tree. From this they were startled by the loud barking of Spoor’em and the calls of Congo.
