Blakeney. "Thirst, in this thirsty country, kills a man. The heat and
the terrible anxiety both add to the danger. In most parts of the veldt
you know that if you walk for a certain distance you will strike water.
Here, if you get bushed, as you easily can, it's a matter of
impossibility to find your way to perhaps one waterpit in hundreds of
square miles of country. In 1879 a friend of Selous, the famous hunter,
a Mr. French, died of thirst in very similar country, near the Chobe
River, in less than two days. And in the same year, in the same
country, three Kaffirs died of thirst within twenty-four hours of the
time they had left the last water. This was in September, before the
rains fall, when the heat is always terrific. Thank God once more that
you are so well out of it, Tom. I shall always be chary of letting you
hunt in thirst country again, and it's a lesson never to go out without
full water-bottles. There's just one other thing. Many hunters,
including Selous, in hunting in such country, always have a piece of
cord fastened to the cheek ring of their horse's bridle, and attached at
the other end to the hunting belt. By this precaution, which in future
we will all adopt, you can't lose your horse, as Tom had the bad luck to
do. I'll see to the cords at once, and to-morrow you shall begin to use
them."
They stood at the water, where they were now outspanned, for a full
twenty-four hours longer. By this time the oxen and horses, which had
suffered a good deal from the trek through the thirst, had recovered.
During that day, at Tom's particular request, Poeskop rode back along
the wagon spoor with the freshest pony, and recovered and brought in the
head of the bull eland which Tom had first shot. It was a magnificent
head, and Tom was rightly proud of it; and, in addition, it would be a
reminder to him of a very perilous episode in his life history.
Poeskop turned up late at night with the trophy. He found the body of
the bull picked nearly clean by vultures. The skin of the head was
spoiled, but the horns were, of course, intact, and Tom welcomed them
with an exceeding great joy.
Taking five shillings from his purse, he gave it to the little Bushman.
"There, Poeskop," he said; "you've done a good day's work, and I'm much
obliged to you. I can see by the look of the pony that you've had a
tough ride of it."
The Bushman, tired though he was, grinned his hugest and most pleasant
grin.
"The baas is very welcome," he said, "and I am well paid for my trouble.
And when the baas gets home again and sticks up the horns, as he says he
will, he will remember Poeskop and the hunt in the thirst-land."
"Yes, that I will, Poeskop," said Tom quickly. "You're a good fellow to
bring in the head. It's a fine one, isn't it?"
"Ja, Baas Tom," added Poeskop; "a right good head. That eland was a
big, full-grown bull, seven years old at least."
They trekked next morning, and, travelling for two days over more open
country, reached a picturesque region of hills and kopjes. It was among
these hills that a somewhat singular adventure overtook them. Tom, who
had quite recovered his spirits, had been out with his father, Guy, and
Poeskop in search of klipspringer. They had bagged a brace of these
charming little antelopes, and were now passing through a poort or pass
to another range of hills. On the rocky heights above a troop of
baboons barked angrily at them, from the shelter of some dark bush and
greenery, through which their hideous, satyr-like faces could be
occasionally seen.
"Shall I have a shot at one, uncle?" said Guy. "It would serve the
brutes right for making that hideous row. One might think the place
belonged to them."
"No, don't fire, Guy," answered Mr. Blakeney. "They're troublesome
rascals; but they won't interfere with us, and it's a pity to waste a
cartridge. After all, they are so seldom molested here that I suppose
they consider the place belongs to them. Here they are harmless. Down
in Cape Colony they are a pest, and one is bound to get rid of them.
Years ago some baboon discovered that the milk paunch of a young kid was
a pleasant thing to devour. His discovery spread, and farmers now lose
hundreds of unfortunate goats, killed in this way by baboons. And so
they have to be shot or poisoned, or otherwise got rid of. They're
artful brutes, and very difficult to circumvent."
Guy and Tom looked rather longingly at the big apes, running excitedly
through the bushes above them, and making the while a most unpleasant
din. Presently they crossed the smooth, sandy bed of a periodical
stream. Here Poeskop, who was a little ahead, halted, and began to
examine the ground very curiously. An exclamation or two escaped him.
He moved forward, took a turn towards the hillside, and came back.
"What is it, Poeskop?" asked Mr. Blakeney, who had been watching the
little man curiously.
"Come with me, baas," said the Bushman, with a puzzled look on his face.
"I will show you a strange thing." They walked forward, and Poeskop
directed their attention to the spoor of some animals which had been
moving about the valley. "What does the baas see?" queried the Bushman.
"I see the spoor of _baviaans_ [baboons]," answered Mr. Blakeney,
examining the soil.
"Yes," broke in Tom, "baboons, right enough. But what's
this?--something besides baboons."
Mr. Blakeney and Guy moved forward to where Tom stood, and saw instantly
that other footprints were mingled with those of the great apes. Mr.
Blakeney stooped, and examined critically the smooth sand and the whole
tracery of footprints displayed so clearly.
"It's a strange thing," he said, half to himself; "but one could almost
swear that here was the spoor of a child."
He glanced sharply at Poeskop, who had remained silent, but was now
regarding him with an odd smile on his yellow face.
"Yes," said the little Bushman, in response to his master's look; "that
is the spoor of a child--a baboon boy!"
"A baboon boy, Poeskop?" reiterated Mr. Blakeney. "What do you mean?"
"Well, baas," answered Poeskop, "I mean this. We Bushmen, and other
natives of this country, know that sometimes the baboons carry off a
child and bring it up with them, and the creature lives with them and
grows wild and picks up their habits. It is not often that it happens,
but it does sometimes. There is a baboon boy here, among these
hills--that is certain. Here, you see, is his spoor, as plain as
daylight. There are his footmarks, and there the prints of his fingers.
He runs on all fours, just like a baviaan."
"It seems a queer yarn," said Mr. Blakeney, looking at the spoor
musingly, "and I never heard of such a thing before. Can it be true?
What becomes of the poor thing?"
"Well, baas," answered Poeskop, "I don't think they often grow up. The
life is too hard for them. But my father once told me that he knew of a
wild man who lived among the baboons, far away yonder"--the Bushman
pointed north-east--"and was called the King of the Baboons. He was
killed by a native tribe, who began to be afraid of him and the apes he
lived with."
"A strange story, indeed," said Mr. Blakeney. "Well, we can't let this
poor wretch stay with these baboons. We must hunt them up and try to get
hold of him."
"It will be a tough job, baas," said Poeskop; "but we will try."
"How shall we do it, Poeskop?" said Guy. "Go after them now, and try to
shoot the old men baboons?"
"No, Baas Guy," said the Bushman, "that would be no good. We should
never catch them up these hills, and we might shoot the wrong baboon and
kill the boy. Leave it to me. I will hide up here among the rocks, and
follow up the troop. They will go to rest at sundown in some cave; and
if I can mark the place, we can go for them at night, and perhaps take
the boy."
So Poeskop was left among the wild hills, while Mr. Blakeney and the
boys strolled quietly back to the wagon--which was now outspanned at the
entrance to the kopjes--and made ready for the evening. They had
supper, and presently, a little before eight o'clock, Poeskop walked
quietly into the camp.
"Well, Poeskop," chorused the two boys, "what's the news? Have you
marked them down?"
"Ja, baas," said the Bushman, a pleased smile playing on his features,
"I have marked them down."
"Baboon boy and all?"
"Ja, baboon boy and all. They are gone to sleep in a big cave, not far
from where we saw them, and we shall find them presently."
"That's excellent," said Mr. Blakeney. "Now, Poeskop, get your supper
and have a pipe. When shall we start?"
"Not till the moon gets up a bit, baas," answered the Bushman. "We can
then find our way better, and the baviaans will all be fast asleep."
They waited a couple of hours, till ten o'clock. The moon rose slowly
behind the hills and shed a glorious light, tipping the wild kopjes with
pale silver, and casting blue-black shadows from bush and tree and
ant-hill. Mr. Blakeney had delved among the wagon stores and brought out
some blue lights, with which, as well as with a couple of lanterns, they
were provided for the assault. Three-quarters of an hour's walk brought
them near to the scene of operations. Sheltering behind some bush, they
now lit the two lanterns, and moved forward for the final act. It was a
stirring moment. Not a sound was heard through the vast solitude of
these lonely hills, save for the ceaseless droning of a cicada in a bush
hard by. The very night birds were asleep or absent. The clear moon
gazed down upon the little group of serious men with placid serenity.
Very silently they moved forward, Poeskop and Mr. Blakeney leading.
Turning an angle of bush, Poeskop nudged his master. Mr. Blakeney
swiftly lighted a blue light at his open lantern, and the pair dashed
forward. They stooped and entered a dark cavern, the boys close at
their heels, and then a weird scene, indeed, met their gaze.
They stood in a large cave some thirty yards square. The roof was fairly
lofty, once they had passed the portal, and the wonderful illumination
of the blue light, now held upwards by Mr. Blakeney, lit up every nook
and cranny of the place. In the corner, huddled together as if for
mutual encouragement and protection, was a troop of some score of
baboons, big and little. All the creatures were alarmed and angry. The
older and bigger beasts showed their teeth threateningly, and
_quah-quahed_ fiercely at the intruders. In the centre of the group the
eyes of the onlookers were instantly fixed, on a figure which, as all
could clearly see, differed somewhat from the rest of the apes. It had
a black face, but it was human, and, undoubtedly, the baboon boy.
"Now, lads," said Mr. Blakeney, "you guard the entrance. Let all escape
that will, but whatever happens seize the boy yonder. Shoot any of the
brutes that go for you. I'll stir them up."
As he spoke these words the fury of the baboons seemed to be redoubled;
they barked fiercely, their raucous voices resounding hoarsely through
the cavern. Holding the blue light aloft in his left hand and a revolver
in his right, Mr. Blakeney advanced upon the group. Poeskop kept pace
with him. Two grim old men baboons suddenly quitted the group and ran
at a shamble swiftly upon Mr. Blakeney. The first barrel of his
revolver accounted for the leader at close quarters; before he could
press the trigger again, the second, a huge baboon, leaped for his
throat. Mr. Blakeney somehow managed to elbow the brute off, and its
teeth met in the fleshy part of his shoulder. At the same moment a
bullet from Poeskop's carbine, the barrel pressed against the baboon's
ribs, pierced its body. It relaxed its grip and dropped dead.
[Illustration: A huge baboon leaped for his throat.]
The commotion set up by these attacks and by the firing was
indescribable. It seemed to the two lads guarding the entrance that
they stood in some wild inferno. The hoarse barkings of the older
beasts; the howls and shrieks of the young animals; the smoke drifting
across the startling illumination of the blue light; the dark, rough,
uncouth figures of the apes, now beginning to scatter for flight--all
these things seemed like the strange semblance of some wild dream. Now
the baboons were separating. They ran in two parties round the walls of
the cavern. Eight of the biggest, snapping and feinting in savage
affright, Guy and Tom allowed to pass and escape out at the cave mouth.
Two or three half-grown beasts and some mother baboons, with some quite
small animals, went next. Next came a huge old female, with the baboon
boy running at her heels. Guy and Tom ran back for the entrance, and
planted themselves there. The baboon, grunting savagely and showing her
formidable teeth, ran at Tom, and was in the act of springing at his
throat, when a terrific kick from the lad caught her fairly on the point
of the jaw and stretched her on the sand. Guy fired his Mannlicher
instantly at the creature's head, and the thin bullet at once stretched
her dead. At this the dark figure behind her--the baboon boy--turned
and fled, seeking the farthest corner of the cave. By this time there
seemed little fight left in the small remnant of baboons. The boys came
forward from the entrance once more, and the maddened creatures swept
out and away into the night. Besides themselves, but one figure remained
in the cavern--the baboon boy.
"Now, lads, back to the entrance again!" cried Mr. Blakeney, "and we'll
soon finish the business."
Kindling another blue light, he and Poeskop advanced upon the dark
figure crouching behind a big projection of rock. As they approached,
the thing, with a strange inhuman, angry grunt, manifestly copied from
the baboons, darted away and ran round the cave wall. Poeskop flung down
his carbine and rushed in pursuit. The three Englishmen, the ludicrous
side of the chase overmastering the element of horror in this weird
scene, burst into laughter as the Bushman chased the preternaturally
active baboon boy round and round the cavern. Twice as it passed the
entrance one of the boys made a grab at the creature. It sheered off,
however, and, as they hesitated to leave their post, ran on. But
Poeskop, suddenly ceasing from his pursuit, now made a cut across. Mr.
Blakeney barred the way to the fleeing figure, and the Bushman, throwing
himself upon the naked, black-skinned thing, held it in a grip that
never relaxed. The creature bit, fought, scratched, and struggled
fiercely. It was all of no avail. In five minutes Poeskop and Mr.
Blakeney had the wild thing fastened up securely. Between them they
carried it moaning down the hill and through the valley, and presently
got it to their camp fire. There, surrounded by their curious native
servants, who had heard the tale from Poeskop, they examined their
capture with an interest strangely sharpened by amazement.
*Chapter XI.*
*THE BERG DAMARAS.*
It was, indeed, a strange, wild-looking creature that lay there before
them in the full blaze of the fire, in its face a beast-like, hunted
look, and its eyes glancing fiercely yet furtively at its captors. It
was a black boy, that was certain. It was stark naked, and its skin was
very dark. The head, covered with kinky wool, rather long for an
average African, was big, and the forehead round and prominent.
Poeskop, who knew more about the native races of this part of South
Africa than any man present, pronounced it to be a Berg Damara boy, and
its age somewhere about seven or eight. It had manifestly been
consorting with the baboons for a considerable time, for its knees were
hard and horny from much contact with the ground, as also were its hands
and feet. Evidently it had been running on all fours for many months,
if not for a year or two. It had no power of human speech, but grunted
and chattered like the baboons it had consorted with. Even in its face
it seemed to have acquired something of the savage nature of its
comrades, and at times there was a hideous, ape-like expression which,
as Tom expressed it, "made one feel quite uncomfortable."
They offered the wild boy food, which he refused. Then fastening him
securely to a wagon wheel, and covering him with a blanket, they retired
to rest. Poeskop, who was much interested in the capture, woke several
times in the night, and saw that the wild boy had not tampered with his
fastenings.
When Mr. Blakeney awoke next morning and looked out from his wagon, he
saw before him a curious and most laughable scene. Tom was sitting by
the wild boy, having in front of him a large bowl of mealie-porridge,
sweetened with sugar, into which had been poured some condensed milk and
water. With this savoury mess Tom was evidently trying his hand upon
the wild creature. To his father's astonishment, he had apparently
already met with some success. The wild boy seemed pretty sharp-set,
and having seemingly convinced himself that his captors meant him no
immediate injury, was more at his ease than the terrified,
hunted-looking creature of the previous night. Still there was
something very bestial and uncanny about him.
"Now," said Tom, holding a spoonful of porridge and milk close to the
wild boy's face, "say _skorf_."
The wild boy made a wry face, and lunged with open mouth at the spoon.
Evidently he had tasted the food and wished for more. Tom drew back the
spoon. "_Skorf_," he repeated. "_Skorf, skorf, skorf._" With each
repetition of the word he held the spoon a little closer, and at last,
to Mr. Blakeney's astonishment, the wild boy grunted out some sound
resembling very distantly the word Tom was waiting for. After this feat
Tom rewarded the strange-looking black imp with several spoonfuls of the
porridge. Then again he made him repeat the word, or grunt out some
kind of equivalent. The whole scene was so ludicrous that, as Tom
finished up the basin and administered to the wild boy the last
spoonful, Mr. Blakeney could no longer contain himself, but burst into a
shout of laughter.
"You two are getting on splendidly," he said, as soon as he could gather
speech. "How long have you been at your lesson, Tom?"
"About twenty minutes, pater," returned Tom. "He was awfully annoyed at
first, and wouldn't buck up a bit. I could see he was very hungry,
though, and took time, and in a little while he saw my meaning, and
began to grunt out some kind of imitation of the word I was repeating.
Do you know, pater, I believe the creature has spoken before. I can't
tell you quite why. But there was a queer, knowing look in his eyes, as
if he had heard people speak at some time or other, no doubt long ago,
and was just trying to call to memory something. I wonder how long he's
been living with the baboons."
"Wait a bit, Tom," said his father; "this is very interesting. I shook
myself so much laughing just now at you two that I hurt my shoulder.
Here, Guy," he went on, as his nephew came in with his shot-gun and a
couple of brace of francolin, "give me a hand with this wound. That
bite the old man baboon gave me last night is very painful, and we must
dress it again."
Guy ran for some clean water and carbolic, and, his uncle having taken
off his flannel shirt, unfastened the dressing put on the night before.
The wound was very angry and inflamed, and the shoulder was swollen and
puffy.
"My word, uncle," said Guy, as he gently sponged the wound with carbolic
and water, and then applied a fresh dressing, "that brute gave you a
horrid bite."
"Yes," answered Mr. Blakeney cheerfully, "It's a nasty place. The old
man baboon got his teeth right through my thick, elephant-cord coat as
if it had been tissue paper, and fastened well on to my shoulder. In
another second, if Poeskop hadn't fired and killed him, he would have
had a mouthful of my flesh clean out. A baboon's bite is far worse than
any dog's; in fact, I've seen an old man baboon tear out the throat of a
big hound, and kill him without giving him the ghost of a chance of
retaliation. The brute went at my throat last night. It's a lucky
thing I fended him off, and he only got me by the shoulder. I shall be
all right in a few days. I'll take it quietly, and sit in the wagon and
eat slops."
They sat down to breakfast, and then, calling Poeskop up, held
consultation as to the baboon boy. Poeskop, who knew the Berg Damara
tongue, tried the child in various ways, repeating simple sentences
slowly. The boy made no reply, save by curious grunts and ape-like
contortions of the face; if he had ever possessed the power of speech,
he seemed to have for the present quite lost it. Still, as the Bushman
spoke to him, there was at times a strange glimmer of perception about
his eyes, as if his mind were striving to recover some lost memory.
Once even he opened his mouth, and seemed upon the very verge of speech.
They all waited breathlessly for what was to follow, but the boy closed
his mouth with a snap, assumed the ape-like expression, which he had no
doubt borrowed from his friends the baboons, and they could get no more
out of him.
Tom gazed long and earnestly at the odd-looking little creature.
"I think," he said presently, "we'll call you 'Peter.' I remember
reading once a most curious story about a German lad who was found
without power of speech and as wild as a savage. He was called Peter
the Wild Boy, and there was some strange mystery about his birth. I
forget what became of him, but the mystery of his birth was, I fancy,
never cleared up. Now, Peter," he continued, getting up, "I mean to make
you a respectable member of society. And, first of all, I'm going to
put you into a decent pair of breeks. Clothed, and associating with
high-toned folk like ourselves, by degrees we may get you into your
right mind."
So speaking, he went to the wagon, found an old pair of trousers, which
he cut off at the knees, and brought them back to the group. They tried
to make the wild boy understand what was wanted of him. It was a most
absurd scene, and they all laughed till they ached again and the tears
ran down their cheeks. At first Peter thought some injury was about to
be attempted on him. He showed his teeth, and as Tom and Poeskop laid
hold of him, fought, scratched, and tried hard to bite his would-be
benefactors. They ceased for a few minutes, and then Guy took up the
breeches, held them up, patted his own knee-breeches, and tried to make
the wild creature understand what was wanted.
"The little Juggins!" said Tom angrily; "he ought to have more sense."
Peter at once caught the angry look in Tom's eyes, and grinned and
chattered at him angrily in response. They all shrieked again with
laughter; and then Tom, as if to apologize, sat down by the little wild
creature, patted him on the back, stroked him, and gave him a piece of
bread and marmalade. Peter appreciated this peace offering, and calmed
down rapidly.
"Poor little beggar," said Tom apologetically; "we must go quietly with
him. After all, we can't make a Christian of him in a morning."
Meanwhile Poeskop bethought himself of a plan. Undoing his belt, he took
off his old trousers full in front of Peter, held them out in an
explanatory way, sat down and put them on again. Then coming to the
lad's side, he took the cut-down breeches and gently insinuated, first
one, then the other, of his feet into them. Peter seemed now dimly to
comprehend what was required of him. They hoisted him gently to his
feet, pulled the garments up, buttoned them, pulled the buckle tight at
the back, and the trick was done. Tom, in his delight, patted the boy
on the back and drew his attention to the nether garments of all the
party, finally stroking Peter's new breeches admiringly. The little
creature seemed suddenly to comprehend the whole business. His face
expanded into a broad smile--by far the most human-like expression that
had yet appeared there--and he looked down at his new garments with real
contentment. Thus was his first step towards civilization successfully
accomplished.