By this time they had journeyed a few miles beyond the poisoned pond; the shade of night had again commenced gathering over the plain. They saw they would have to continue their journey throughout the night. The emergency would not admit of the least delay, for every hour was fast taking away what little strength was left either to themselves or their animals. But which way should they go? That was the question that required answering.
They did not think of returning to the north; but there were the east, south, and west for them to choose from. Which of those directions was the likeliest for water? This question the young hunters were wholly unable to answer, and must have left themselves to the guidance of chance, had they not been accompanied by Swartboy.
The Bushman suggested a course, of which, not only the Makololo, but Congo approved. For all this, his proposal was prefaced by the usual complaint against the Kaffir, as the cause of all their misfortunes. Having established this fact to his satisfaction, he proceeded to inform his masters, that he had heard much in his boyhood of the manners and customs of the Bechuanas.
Some weak tribe of that nation, he thought, had sought refuge from an enemy by making their home in the great karroo, or desert, through which the expedition was now passing. They had poisoned the pool for the purpose of preventing their enemies from receiving a supply of water while pursuing them. They who had done so could not be expecting an enemy from the north, nor yet from the south, where other tribes of their kindred dwelt. They could only look for foes from the east, from the land of the Zooloo Kaffirs; whom Swartboy declared to be the curse of the earth. For these reasons, Swartboy believed that a tribe of Bechuanas would be found to the west, and that, by a journey of a few hours in that direction, their kraal might be reached.
No one had any argument against this reasoning of Swartboy; and, yielding to his suggestion, the march was again commenced, with their faces turned westward.
There was one thing that gave the hunters a hope. It was the knowledge that they were not in that part of South Africa, where there is any very extensive karroo. They were too far to the south-east to have strayed into the great Kalahari desert. The karroo they were traversing, might be a small one, which could be crossed in a few hours had they been able to travel with any speed. Unfortunately, they were not.
So exhausted were their animals that the use of jamboks and the strongest language, spoken in the Dutch, English, Hottentot, Kaffir, and Makololo tongues could not make them move one step faster than two miles to the hour. This rate of travelling will annihilate a great distance, but only in a great deal of time; and, knowing that their cattle could not hold out much longer, our adventurers began to fear that their hunting expedition would turn out something worst than a failure.
Chapter Forty Seven.
The Water-Root.
Throughout that long and dreary night they toiled on, driving the cattle before them. Guided by the Southern Cross they pursued nearly a straight course. When morning dawned upon the scene, they observed that the surface of the country still continued the same,—presenting that lumpy appearance with which during the last two days they had become so familiar.
Although all were hungry, weary, and suffering grievously from thirst, there was no time for making a stop. The cattle must be taken on as speedily as possible, or abandoned, along with their loads.
Slowly the sun climbed up into the sky, until it was directly over their heads; and yet, judging by the appearance of the country, they had not moved a step from the place where they had first entered upon the karroo. The landscape around them seemed exactly the same!
“We have had about enough of this sort of travelling,” remarked Hendrik, “and it’s quite time that we began to think of ourselves, and not quite so much of our property.”
“What do you wish?” asked Willem. “Abandon the pack-oxen?”
“We shall probably have to do so in the end. It appears as if the time had come. We had better save our horses and ourselves and let the others go.”
“You forget, Hendrik,” rejoined his brother, “that we are not all mounted. We cannot desert those who are afoot.”
“Of course not,” answered the young cornet, “but even Swart, who is not a fast traveller, could go two miles to one he is doing now, with all his time engaged in urging forward the animals.”
This conversation was interrupted by a shout from Swartboy himself. He was standing over a little plant with narrow leaves, that rose not more than six inches above the surface of the plain. It was the stem of the water-root,—a plant that, on the karroos of South Africa, has saved the lives of thousands of thirsty travellers, that would otherwise have perished. Several stems of the plant were seen growing around the spot, and the Bushman knew that the want from which all had been suffering, would be at least partially supplied. A pick-axe and spade were hastily procured from a pack carried by one of the oxen; and Swartboy commenced digging around the stem of the plant first discovered. The earth, baked by the sun nearly as hard as a burnt brick, was removed in large flakes, and the bulb was soon reached,—at the depth of ten or twelve inches below the surface. When taken out, it was seen to be of an oval shape, about seven inches in its longest diameter, and covered with a thin cuticle of a bright brown colour. The juicy pulp of the water-root was cut into slices, and chewed. It tasted like water itself, that is, it had no taste at all. Assegais and knives were now called into active play; and so abundant was the plant growing near, that in a short time every man, horse, and ox had been refreshed with a bulb.
The first root obtained by Congo was shared with Spoor’em, the hound, which, with his tongue far-extended, had been crawling along with much difficulty.
The young hunters might have passed over miles of karroo covered with the bulb, without knowing that its slender, insignificant stems were the indication of a fountain spread bountifully beneath their feet.
Congo and the Makololo were also ignorant of the character of this curious plant; and all would have gone on without discovering it, had Swartboy not been of the party. For the advantage he had given them, by introducing them to the plant, the Bushman claimed nearly as much credit as though he had created it. As no one was disposed to underrate the service he had done, he obtained what appeared full compensation for all the annoyance he had felt at being so long neglected.
Partly refreshed by the cooling sap of the water-root, the cattle behaved as though they thought there was still something worth living for. They moved forward with renewed animation; and a long march was made in the course of the afternoon.
Just as the sun was setting, several huts were descried to the south; and our travellers continued towards them, quite confident that a full supply of water would be found near the huts, which, as they drew towards them, proved to be a kraal of the Bechuanas. The fear of losing their cattle was no longer felt.
Before arriving at the huts, their owners came forth to meet them. Their first salutation was a statement of their surprise that any travellers could have succeeded in reaching their secluded habitation.
Swartboy replied to this by a request to be conducted to the nearest place where water could be obtained,—of course to the stream, pools, or wells that supplied the kraal. The answer was astounding. It was that they knew of no open water within less than a day’s journey! Months had passed since any of them had seen such a thing, and all the inhabitants of the kraal had been living without it!
“What does this mean?” demanded Hendrik. “Surely they are telling lies. They don’t want to give us the water and their story is but a subterfuge to conceal it. Tell them, Swart that we don’t believe them.”
The Bushman did as he was desired, but the Bechuanas only reiterated their previous statement.
“What nonsense!” exclaimed Arend. “They take us for such fools as to suppose people can live without water! They have a supply somewhere. We must make a search for it and help ourselves.”
“No, baas Arend,” interposed Swartboy. “Don’t do this. They show us water by an by. We better wait.”
Acting under the advice of the Bushman, the oxen were unladen, and a camp established close to the kraal. Although pretending to be satisfied with the statement of the Bechuanas, that they were living without water, our travellers had their eyes on the alert, sending glances of inquiry in every direction, in the hope of discovering where the much-desired element was kept. They saw not the slightest indications of stream or pool, well or water-hole, of any kind. The place all around had the same sterile appearance as that of the country over which they had journeyed for the last two days, and certainly things looked confirmatory of the Bechuanas’ statement. After all, they might be telling the truth! It was not very cheering to think so; and our travellers became quite disconsolate.
Swartboy, however, did something to assure them, by counselling them to say nothing, but submit quietly,—trusting to time and patience. They followed his instructions, for the want of knowing what else they could do. They felt that they were in his hands; and, observing his confident manner one and all awaited the end without murmuring.
Chapter Forty Eight.
An odd sort of Suction Pump.
It was not long before all were convinced of the prudent course which Swartboy had counselled them to pursue. Had they insisted on being supplied with water, or made an attempt to take it by force, they would have been disappointed. They would not have been able to find a drop within many miles of the place where more than two hundred people were living. For all this, there was water not far off; and, trusting to that feeling of generosity which rarely fails when relied upon, they were at length supplied with it. Water was brought to them. Not much at first, but in small quantities, and carried in the shells of ostrich-eggs.
They soon had enough to satisfy their own thirst and allow them to turn their attention to the wants of their cattle. After drinking off the contents of an ostrich shell, Groot Willem by signs, directed the attention of the woman who had given it to him, to the suffering condition of his horse. The woman, who could not exactly be called an “ornament to her sex,” only shook her wool-covered head and walked thoughtfully away.
“Unless we can get some drink for our horses,” said Willem, turning to his companions, “we must keep on. If we stop much longer here the animals will die.”
“Wait, baas Willem,” said Swartboy; “the heart of the Bechuana grow bigger soon. He like de Bushman.”
Swartboy’s prophecy proved correct. Not long after it was spoken, one of the Bechuanas came to the camp, and asked to be conducted to the chief. Groot Willem was immediately pointed out by Swartboy as the individual who answered to that appellation, and the black walked up to him. His errand was to say that the horses and cattle could only be watered one at a time. This was satisfactory enough. Willem’s horse, as belonging to the chief of the party, should be supplied first, and was led away by the man, its owner following at its heels. A short distance from the kraal they came to a well, from which a covering of earth had recently been removed. The well, for some purpose, had been concealed, as if it were a pitfall for the capturing of elephants.
With a bucket made of buffalo hide, water was drawn out, until the horse had as much as he cared to drink. He was then led away and another brought to the place, and then another, and after them the cattle, until all the animals had drunk to their satisfaction.
This method of watering them showed some intelligence on the part of the Bechuanas. It avoided the struggle and confusion which would certainly have taken place, had the thirsty animals been driven to the well at the same time.
That evening the hunters had a long conversation with the head man of the kraal, Swartboy acting as interpreter. The chief said that his tribe had once been large and powerful; but what from desertion, and wars with the Kaffirs, they had become reduced to their present number. In order to live in peace and security, he had sought refuge in the solitary karroo, where the hardships to be encountered in reaching his remote home would deter any enemy from making the attempt. In order to make assurance doubly sure, he admitted having caused several water-holes to be poisoned; and he appeared greatly satisfied at telling them how, on one occasion, his plan had met with a splendid success. A party of his Kaffir enemies had partaken of the water from one of the poisoned pools, and had died upon the spot.
This portion of the narrative, which was interpreted by Swartboy, seemed to give the latter as much satisfaction as it did the chief himself. He grinned with intense delight as he translated the account of this strange episode.
In order to give his guests an exalted idea of his greatness the chief informed them that he was brother to Kalatah. Groot Willem expressed a wish to know who or what the great Kalatah might be. The chief was astonished, not to say chagrined, at the confession of so much ignorance, and the hunters were instantly enlightened. Kalatah was the most noble warrior, the best brother, the most loyal subject, in fact the best man in every way, that ever lived, and his memory was, and ought to be, respected over the whole world. This was news to our adventurers, and they were anxious to learn more of the chief and his wonderful relative. Willing to gratify his guests, he further informed them that the Kaffirs had made another attempt to reach the remote kraal in which he now dwelt. They had entered the karroo with a large force well prepared for crossing it, and would probably have succeeded, had they not been led astray. His brother, Kalatah, had deserted to the enemy for the express purpose of becoming a false guide, and under this pretence he had succeeded in drawing them off the scent. He had conducted them far to the north, and into the heart of the great Kalahari desert. Not one of these befooled foemen lived to return to their own country, all having perished by thirst.
“But Kalatah! what of him?” eagerly inquired the listeners. “How did he escape the same fate?”
“Kalatah did not escape it,” coolly answered the chief. “He perished with the rest. He sacrificed his own life for the sake of saving his countrymen!”
This act had endeared him to the memory of his people; and the hunters, on hearing it, became convinced that the Bechuanas, whom they had been taught to regard as a soul-less, degraded people, had still soul enough to respect the performance of a noble action.
Next morning our travellers were made acquainted with the method by which the water was obtained for the daily supply of the kraal. None was allowed to be exposed either to the sun or to view, the well being carefully covered up with a thick stratum of turf. The kraal had been built near a spring, which had of course decided the selection of its site; and over the spring a new surface had been given to the ground, so that the presence of water underneath could not be suspected.
