Clearing the thicker part of the forest, they emerged into much more
open country, where for the first time they obtained a fair view of the
noble herd of game in front of them. It was a goodly sight indeed.
Nearly a hundred great elands, the biggest of them enormous creatures,
heavier and fatter than a heavy ox in the prime of condition, were
trotting along briskly in front of them. The eland seldom runs at a
gallop until very hard pressed; but the fine, slinging trot at which the
great antelopes moved was fast enough to keep the hunters at a steady
canter to hold them in view. Seven or eight enormous bulls ran with the
herd--huge, ponderous fellows, with coats of pale fawn, heavy dewlaps,
massive horns twisted at the base, and dark-brown patches of thick,
brush-like hair growing in the middle of their foreheads. Some fine
young bulls, many splendid cows, and numbers of younger animals,
completed the company. As Guy and Tom cantered side by side, watching
this entrancing spectacle with the keenest interest, Tom exclaimed,--
"What magnificent fellows! We must get a bull as well as the two cows
the pater spoke of. I shall bear to the left; the troop seems to me to
be splitting up. You take those on the right hand, Guy. Now we must
gallop hard."
It was even as Tom had said. Entering more woodland half a mile farther
on, the troop had definitely broken up into two big sections. Tom,
galloping as hard as the mopani growth would allow him, was rapidly
closing up with the hindmost of the left-hand section. In another mile
they had once more entered on a stretch of nearly open grass veldt.
Here Tom set his pony going in earnest. He was quickly up to the tail
of a magnificent old bull, upon which he had fixed his attention. The
great antelope was in far too high condition to stand a prolonged chase.
So fat, so plethoric was he, that he was now practically at the end of
his tether. From the slinging trot he had relapsed to a heavy gallop;
his sleek, short-haired, buff coat was moist with sweat, showing the
bluish skin beneath; clots of foam dripped from his mouth, and strung
out over his mighty neck and shoulders.
Tom saw that the bull was his. His eyes rested upon those magnificent
horns. Firing from the saddle, he gave the bull two bullets at very
close range: the first penetrated the antelope's ribs, but did not stop
him; the second broke his off fore-leg at the shoulder, and the great
beast came down instantly in his tracks, as if struck by a pole-axe.
Never again would the goodly antelope wander through the mopani forest,
or graze peacefully over the grass plains. Tom jumped off instantly,
gave the bull another shot, which put him out of his suffering, cast an
admiring look at the splendid horns, and jumped on his pony again.
Galloping along the spoor of a few of the retreating herd, which he was
easily able to follow, in ten minutes he was within hail of the nearest
of the troop. Now he singled out a fine cow, carrying a remarkably long
and even pair of horns, and turning her from the rest galloped hard at
her. In two miles the cow was beaten, and Tom, having raced past her,
jumped off, and as she came by gave her a shot behind the shoulder which
instantly stretched her dead. The eland is the softest and most easily
slain of all African beasts of chase, and, unlike most of the antelope
family, which are astonishingly tenacious of life, will often fall dead
to a single well-planted bullet. Feeling mightily content, the lad
examined his prize, handled the long, even horns, noted the fine basal
twist, put his knife into the dead beast's loin and saw that she was
very fat, and turned to knee-halter his pony.
To his astonishment Rufus, who had been plucking a few mouthfuls of
grass, suddenly threw up his head and trotted off. Tom called to him in
his most coaxing voice, but in vain; the pony, seeing that he was
followed, broke from a trot to a smart canter, and presently, entering
some thick woodland, became lost to sight. Tom blamed himself bitterly
for his neglect in not having thrown the reins as usual over the pony's
head, so as to hang down in front of its fore-legs. This is an
invariable South African custom, which all ponies understand and obey.
Tom had been so desperately intent on shooting and putting an end to the
eland that he had for once omitted the act. He had ridden Rufus many
times out bird-shooting, but had never hunted heavy game with him
before. Why the pony should thus have bolted off, however, he could not
imagine.
Tom was now in something of a quandary. Should he follow the pony, or
turn to and skin the eland? He decided for the latter. He could then
spoor up the pony, capture it, bring it back for the meat, and go on for
the horns of the bull eland. He would never return to the wagon without
those magnificent trophies, which he pictured to himself lying in the
veldt a few miles away. It was now one o'clock; Tom had a very
respectable thirst already upon him. Most foolishly, as he now
remembered, he and Guy had ridden away from camp without their
water-bottles--an act of folly of which, as Tom confessed to himself, he
at all events ought never to have been guilty. Well, there was nothing
for it; he must skin the eland, cut up some meat, and probably by that
time the other two would have returned in search of him. He had heard
their rifles going. No doubt they had killed a cow, and would be soon
on their way again. If they and he should chance not to meet, he must
go in search of his pony, and somehow find his way back to the wagon.
Thus turning matters over in his mind, Tom drew his hunting-knife from
his belt, and, having first fired a couple of shots to try and attract
his comrades, began to skin the eland.
Meanwhile, Guy and Poeskop had ridden away on the heels of the herd of
eland which had run right-handed. After a stiffish three-mile gallop,
Guy had ridden up to the finest cow he could pick out, and with two
bullets from his Mannlicher brought her down. During the run up he was
somewhat astounded at the agility shown by these great antelopes; the
bulls, it is true, pushed steadily on at a fast trot, but some of the
cows jumped timber and bush in a style that would have done credit to a
red deer. And the cow he had shot had, in her anxiety to escape, bucked
clean over the stern of an animal running by her side.
Poeskop and Guy, who were still together, now set to work to skin the
dead antelope. This they accomplished. Then cutting off the head,
Poeskop set aside that part of the trophy, which Guy meant to carry
himself, intending to skin the skull itself at his leisure after their
return to camp. Next the Bushman cut off a quantity of the best part of
the flesh, especially from the rump, loins, and brisket, and packing
these, with a couple of marrow bones, carefully on the pony he rode,
they prepared to set off. It was now two o'clock. Like Tom, they had
set off hastily from camp without either food or water, and were already
both hungry and thirsty. Guy, in particular, would have given a good
deal for a pull at some lime juice and water or cold tea. The Bushman
led the way; Guy, carrying the eland head in front of him, balanced on
the pommel of his saddle, followed.
Poeskop struck for where he believed he would hit off the spoor of the
wagon as it trekked forward on its route. But he had not quite reckoned
upon the distance they had traversed that morning in pursuit of the
elands, and at four o'clock they halted to rest their nags and take
reckoning. The whole country seemed to Guy absolutely alike--a vast
flat, covered for the most part with bush and thin forest, with here and
there a small grass plain to vary the monotony. Far above them, the
huge vacancy of the hot, brassy sky loomed unutterably vast.
The Bushman looked about him with a puzzled expression. Even he, in
this wilderness where every object seemed to be repeated interminably,
and not a hill, or swelling of the ground, or any kind of landmark,
arose to offer guidance to the traveller, seemed for a few minutes to be
at fault.
"Hallo, Poeskop!" said Guy wearily. "Have you lost your way? I hope
not. I've got a thirst on me that I would give a sovereign to quench."
"Nie, baas," said the Bushman cheerfully. "We have not lost our way
yet. I shall soon show you the wagon spoor."
And, in truth, the little wizened fellow was not many seconds at fault.
To Guy, as the little man looked this way and that, searched the sky,
squinted at the westering sun, and opened his broad nostrils to the
faint breeze that was now beginning to move over the parched veldt, it
seemed almost as if Poeskop was smelling his way. At all events, his
savage instinct quickly reasserted itself. Touching his pony by the
heel, he went resolutely forward. For another hour and a half they
marched on in silence. The veldt seemed very desolate and very sombre.
A few small antelopes fled away from their approach; these were
steinbuck and duyker, which exist apparently as readily without water as
with it. The sun sank below the skyline, leaving the flaming heavens
arrayed in a marvellous glow of radiant colouring; the light quickly
faded.
"Poeskop," said Guy at last, "we shall have to camp out for the night.
It's a bad job. I don't know what we shall do without water."
Scarcely had the words left his mouth when the Bushman pointed to the
sand a few yards in front of them, and said quietly,--
"There's the wagon spoor, baas."
And so, indeed, it was. They rode on in the darkness for something more
than three hours longer. Guy, who suffered much from thirst, and began
to ache all over from the effects of fourteen hours in the saddle, the
weight of his rifle, and the added labour of supporting the eland head
in front of him, began to wonder if he could stick it out much longer.
At last, towards nine o'clock, they saw, twinkling cheerily in the
distance, the light of a fire. It was the camp fire. Their trouble was
instantly at an end; Guy's aches and pains vanished; they cantered
briskly forward, and in ten minutes were at the wagon.
"Hullo!" cried Mr. Blakeney cheerily, as they rode up; "so you've turned
up at last. Who is there?"
"Poeskop and I, uncle," said Guy. "Hasn't Tom turned up yet?"
"Not yet," said Mr. Blakeney, without a trace of anxiety; "but he'll be
here presently, no doubt. How do you feel? Dry?"
"Dry isn't the word for it, uncle," said Guy. "I never knew what thirst
was until to-day; not even when I got lost at Bamborough, hunting
hartebeest. I would have given L5 willingly for a glass of water in the
last hour or two."
"Well, you were a pair of silly fellows to go tearing off without your
water-bottles and without food; and when I heard of it afterwards, I
knew you would suffer for it. Now have a drink, lad. Here, Seleti,
fetch the baas some water."
Seleti brought water from one of the barrels, and, lukewarm, muddy, and
ill-tasted as was the stuff, to Guy it seemed the veriest nectar he had
ever tasted. Then the Bushman drank.
"Now, Guy," said his uncle, "I wouldn't drink much of that muddy stuff.
Have a bowl of tea; it will quench your thirst far better, and pull you
together."
Guy took his uncle's advice, and felt all the better for it. Then he
ate some supper. They sat by the fire till 11 o'clock, expecting Tom to
ride up at any moment; but no Tom appeared. They were in the middle of
a dangerous piece of thirst country, and it was absolutely essential
that the oxen and wagon should trek on. The cattle had already endured
two days and nights without touching water; they must reach the
river-bed in front of them within the next twenty-four hours, or die.
Enough water had been carried in the wagon-barrels to supply human
necessities and give a scant drink to the horses hitherto, but that was
drawing to an end, and the horses must push on also.
Leaving the wagon to go forward, and retaining with them three of the
freshest horses, some food, and full water-bottles, Mr. Blakeney, Guy,
and Mangwalaan stayed behind at the fire waiting for the return of Tom.
Poeskop had now to accompany the wagon and show the way to water. Dawn
came round, but still Tom tarried. Mr. Blakeney began now to betray
some anxiety. He knew that his boy had no water with him, and he knew
that two days and nights of thirst in such a veldt constituted a very
real danger.
They cantered back to their camp of the previous morning and took the
spoor of the three hunters, hoping in that way to trace the wanderings
of the lost lad. Mangwalaan was a splendid tracker, as good almost as
Poeskop himself; but even to Mangwalaan that inhospitable wilderness
refused to yield up its secret. Troops of eland and gemsbuck had
wandered about the country meanwhile, obliterating all traces of the
hunter's devious wanderings; and after searching throughout the long and
hot day, the three camped out in that desolate wilderness, dead tired,
disheartened, and, in the case of two of them, with the foreboding of
some nameless calamity weighing upon their spirits. They lit a fire, and
almost in silence ate some food and drank a portion of the little lime
juice and water that remained to them. Then Guy dozed off--he could
keep awake no longer--and he and Mangwalaan slept.
He was awakened just before the dawn by the touch of his uncle's hand.
Starting up, he looked into Mr. Blakeney's face, and was horrified at
the change that had come over him. He looked ten years older, drawn,
gray, and haggard. He had, in fact, been awake all night, in a state of
intense nervous anxiety about his son.
"My lad," he said in a hoarse voice, "we must saddle up and be off
again. The nags are tired, but they will stand up for a day longer. I
pray God all may yet be well; but I fear--yes, I fear this hateful,
waterless desert. It is a danger far worse than the worst lion veldt,
or the most treacherous natives. I would to God I had never let you two
lads go hunting till we had crossed it."
For the greater part of that day they continued the search, which, to
Guy's sinking heart, seemed to become more and more hopeless.
Occasionally they would fire a shot and listen, but, alas! no answering
shot returned. It was pitiful to watch his uncle's restless anxiety, his
feverish haste. Towards one o'clock it became apparent that their own
horses were already jaded. They were now near the wagon spoor again,
and, with the view of reaching water and obtaining fresh mounts, they
rode, at the best pace their ponies could manage, on the track. At
half-past five o'clock they had reached the outspan and water. Poeskop
came forward with an anxious face.
"Is Baas Tom here?" demanded Mr. Blakeney, in a hard, dry voice.
"Nie, baas," came the answer shakily. "He is not here. But his pony
came in alone, and very done up, two hours since."
"O God!" groaned Mr. Blakeney, in a despairing tone, "what is to be
done?"
It was a blow sufficient to daunt the stoutest heart. Tom had now, as
his father well knew and understood, been wandering for two days and a
night without water. He was a tough and a strong, and above all a
courageous lad, but in this land of thirst even the strongest man can
scarcely expect to hold out for more than three days and nights under
such conditions. That was a miserable night indeed. Nothing could be
done; but two parties were to be out on the search again at daybreak
next morning.
*Chapter X.*
*TOM'S STORY.--THE BABOON BOY.*
Quitting the camp at the first streaks of dawn, after a hurried
breakfast, Mr. Blakeney and Jan Kokerboom, the Koranna, together with
Guy and Poeskop, rode off along the wagon spoor, intending after a mile
or two to turn off into the veldt and search in different directions.
It was a sad and subdued party; Mr. Blakeney's distress of mind was too
obvious to be ignored, and Guy's usually buoyant spirits were depressed
and clouded by anxiety for his cousin's fate. They had cantered two
miles along the wagon track, when suddenly Poeskop, who had been staring
in front of him, ejaculated in his most cheerful voice,--
"_Baas, baas, daar kom Baas Tom_! Heep, hurrah!" and, letting off his
rifle in his excitement, the little man put spurs to his pony and
galloped off. It was true; the Bushman's sharp eyes had caught a
glimpse of a figure far ahead of them among the bush. All galloped
after him at headlong pace, and in three or four minutes they were off
their nags and standing alongside the actual if somewhat dilapidated
figure of Tom Blakeney. Mr. Blakeney was first up, in spite of Poeskop's
start, and, jumping from his nag, had the boy in his arms and was
patting him affectionately on the back.
"My dear, dear old Tom!" he cried. "Thank God you are all right." But
Tom was too far gone to speak. He could stand up, it was true, but after
forty-eight hours of burning thirst and exhaustion he was speechless.
His dry, leathery tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. He tried to
ejaculate a word, but failed, and instead pointed to his mouth. Guy was
the quickest to relieve him. Unstrapping his water-bottle from the
saddle, he unscrewed the stopper and handed Tom some lime juice and
water. The fierce, ravenous look in Tom's eyes, as he clutched the
bottle, told eloquently enough what he had suffered and how great was
his extremity. He took a long draught, and then his father touched his
elbow and said gently,--
"Take it by degrees, Tom, or you may do yourself injury. Have a rest
now, and take it in nips. Sit you down for a bit." Tom sat down, and
they all sat around him. He was a pathetic sight, as he sat there,
sipping at the water-bottle. His shirt was torn by thorns, and hung in
tatters about him. His cheeks had fallen in, and he looked gaunt and
haggard--a strangely altered figure from the fresh and comely lad who
had ridden away so gaily from camp just two mornings before. But thirst
and anxiety, under a burning sun, will make a wreck of most people in
the space of forty-eight hours. At last he could get out a word.
"Thank God, I have reached you," he said. "I thought last night I was
never going to see your faces again."
They put him on to Jan Kokerboom's pony, and took him back to the
wagons, where there was immense rejoicing all round at the young baas's
recovery--for Tom was a general favourite. After more lime juice and
water, the lad ate some food and drank some tea; after which he lay down
on a blanket, under the shade of a tree, and went fast asleep. Towards
sundown he awoke, refreshed, cheerful, and nearly his normal self again.
They had a merry supper together, and Tom told them his adventures, of
which the reader already knows some part.
"After Rufus had bolted," he said, "and I found I couldn't catch him, I
turned back and skinned the cow eland, cut off the head, trimmed it up
as well as I could, and made ready a lot of meat. I had fired two shots
to try and attract Guy and Poeskop, and I kept thinking they would be
riding up. Well, two hours passed and nobody came, and I thought it
time to be off. Taking some meat, I started on the spoor of the pony.
After following it for nearly three hours, it became so mixed up with a
lot of game spoor, and then so faint, that I clean lost it. I hunted
about in every direction, and at last had to own myself beaten,
although, as you know, I'm a pretty fair hand at the business.
"Well, what was to be done now? I had wandered about in so many
different directions on the tracks of the pony that I had by this time
clean lost my bearings. However, I took what I judged to be the
direction of your wagon route, after looking at my compass and the sun,
and marched on. After skinning the eland I had acquired a tremendous
thirst, and could have drunk gallons; before sundown I began to find
serious inconvenience from want of water. You know it has been
desperately hot; and shut up in dense bush and forest on this light,
sandy soil, it seemed blazing. I never felt the heat so much. Well, it
came to sundown that evening, and I knew I was lost. I began to feel
uncomfortable. Still, I thought, I shall be all right in the morning,
and shall hear guns going or find the road. I wouldn't let myself
believe that I was in really a serious mess. I lit a fire and cooked a
bit of meat, but I was too dry to make much of a meal. I slept fairly
well; but every now and again I awoke with my tongue, throat, and mouth
horribly parched, and feeling that I would give anything just for one
little glass of clean water.
"Morning came, and I got up and went on my way. I was too thirsty to
eat: my tongue, throat, and lips were very much swollen, and the mere
action of swallowing was most painful; and so I just tramped on. I took
the direction by sun and compass again, but I was this time so 'bushed,'
and had wandered so far from where we had started, that I knew it would
be a mere chance if I hit off the wagon track again. As for water,
there was none, of course, in that miserable wilderness. Nor, at this
time of year, was there the least speck of dew--everything as dry as a
bone, including myself. Well, I wandered on and on that day, seldom
resting, and gradually getting slower and weaker. All the afternoon I
tired steadily, and by two o'clock could scarcely drag one leg after
another. The veldt was the same: endless bush and mopani forest.
"I rested for an hour, and then, looking at my watch, I determined to
walk for another two hours in as straight a direction as I could manage.
Of course bush and timber divert one constantly from one's course, but I
pushed steadily on at a slow pace. All this afternoon I kept on
thinking of pleasant drinks. Cricket matches came constantly to my
mind, with huge refreshing draughts of shandy-gaff, and so on. And
often I pictured to myself the big dam at Bamborough, and imagined
myself wading in up to my neck and drinking till I could drink no
longer. My thirst, somehow, was not quite so bad as in the morning, but
my mouth and tongue bothered me a great deal--they were just like so
much leather--and my throat was horribly sore.
"Well, I marched steadily from three till close on five o'clock; then I
felt so done that I sank down on the ground, and lay in a kind of stupor
for some minutes. I had done my best. It seemed to me that I was beat,
and that the vultures would soon be picking my bones. Suddenly I pulled
myself together and looked at my watch, which was still going. It was
now five minutes to five. With the three minutes' rest I had taken, I
was still short of the two hours' task I had set myself. Somehow a
stubborn fit took possession of me. I had said I would walk for two
hours. I always had rather a mania for finishing up a task and getting
done with it. Feeble as I felt, I determined, in sheer doggedness, to
walk another eight minutes. Then I would lie down, and for the
rest--well, the worst must come to the worst. So I got up and pulled
myself together, and stumbled on. It was a wonderful thing, but my
blessed obstinacy saved me. In five minutes I came suddenly on the
wagon spoor, going north-east. I could scarcely believe my good luck. I
stared at the tracks of the wheels, at the spoor of the good old oxen.
Never have I seen anything more beautiful. Then, throwing myself on the
sand, I patted the spoor as if it were a friend and a living thing. It
seems absurd now, but that is actually what I did.
"Well, the rest is soon told. It was now nearly sunset. I walked on
till the light went; then I lay down and slept, waiting for the moon to
rise. I awoke just as she climbed up from behind the bush, towards
twelve o'clock. Somehow I felt wonderfully better. I knew that I
should now see home and friends again, which I had begun seriously to
doubt all day yesterday. I could hold the spoor all right in the
moonlight, and tramped along slowly and wearily, but still steadily,
till four o'clock. Then I rested for an hour and a half. Little did I
think I was now within a few miles of camp, or I should have fired a
rifle shot. As soon as dawn began to come I walked on again, and then,
after twenty minutes, looking up, I saw Poeskop and you, dear old pater,
galloping up towards me."
"Well, my boy," said Mr. Blakeney solemnly, "it was a wonderfully lucky
escape. This thirst-land is a terrible country to get lost in, and many
a man has died of thirst in it and left his bones. I think your sudden
resolution to get up and finish your two hours' walk was a kind of
miracle. I see the hand of God in it, my boy, and we ought to be, as
indeed we are, truly thankful for it. I can't tell you what a load is
off my mind. All yesterday and last night I was in an agony of anxiety,
wondering what was to become of you."
"If you hadn't taken that sudden resolution to go on for another eight
minutes, Tom," said Guy, "should you have ever got up again?"
"No, I don't think I should," returned Tom. "I was so dead beat, and I
had practically given up all hope."
"Well, thank God you stuck to your task and went on," said Guy.
"Otherwise you might have lain there, and died actually within five
minutes' walk of salvation. It's a wonderful thing, whichever way you
look at it."