country. Tom and Poeskop attended untiringly to the wild boy's
education, Mr. Blakeney occasionally rendering them assistance. In
another day's time Tom had induced the child to wear an old flannel
shirt. He showed no inclination to run away. Still they took the
precaution to fasten him up with a cord fixed to a broad piece of
leather, which Tom sewed round his waist. And at night Tom--who was
becoming really interested in the little creature, and had no intention
of losing him again--gave up sleeping in the tent with Guy, and lay down
under his sheepskin kaross by the fire, with a blanket under him, Peter
meanwhile sleeping at the length of his cord two or three yards away.
They had washed the little fellow thoroughly with carbolic soap and
water, and made him clean. And Poeskop now washed him daily. As a
matter of fact, he was not objectionably dirty when first captured.
Baboons in the wild state keep themselves remarkably clean, and the
child evidently was not afraid of fresh water.
For two days Peter still ran about on all fours, much to Tom's
annoyance. On the third day the force of example began to tell, and he
attempted to walk after the manner of the other human beings he saw
about him. He had so long shambled along like a baboon on his hands and
feet, that his attempts at walking upright were not at first completely
successful. Still he persevered, and was occasionally rewarded by Tom
with bits of sugar or a piece of bread and jam. It was a matter of some
vexation to Tom that, as they strolled around the camp at outspan
places, Peter still chose to avail himself of the strange veldt fare to
which he had been accustomed. He would pull up and devour certain roots
and bulbs. Once he caught and ate a small lizard, rejecting only the
head. And he would eat spiders, caterpillars, and even scorpions--after
he had carefully and most deftly torn away the sting--and other
unpleasant trifles. Tom's annoyance at these habits was extreme.
"Here I'm feeding him on Christian fare three times a day," he would
say, "and the little beast must go and make me sick by devouring all
these filthy things which he picks up in the veldt."
"My dear Tom," replied Guy chaffingly, "the poor beggar must have his
dessert! Even we Christians enjoy nuts, ginger, raisins, wine, and
other things, after dinner, when we're living in a state of complete
civilization. And, after all, what's the difference between poor Peter
wolfing down a lizard, or a caterpillar, or a chrysalis, while we white
folk delight in oysters, and periwinkles and whelks, lobsters and
prawns, which are nothing but marine insects; frogs, eels, spawn (I'm
thinking of cod's roe), the livers and lights of various beasts--I mean
what we call 'fry'--kidneys, tripe, and other things of that sort. The
French eat snails. The whole thing is only a matter of individual taste
and environment, as scientific folk call it."
"That's all very fine, Guy," retorted Tom, "but we ought to draw the
line somewhere. And Peter, now that he is becoming a respectable biped,
has got to draw it at lizards and scorpions and caterpillars."
After the very next meal the two cousins and Peter went for a stroll
through some timber just outside the camp. Peter, ranging at the end of
his cord, suddenly turned aside at a tree, pulled off with two little
horny fingers a piece of bark, and drawing forth a huge fat grub from
its hole, devoured it instantly, with manifest gusto. Even Guy, who had
just enjoyed an excellent dinner, as had Peter, was disgusted at this
performance.
"Nasty little beggar!" he exclaimed angrily, jerking at Peter by his
cord. "You ought to know better. Come out of it, and don't do that
again!"
Peter grinned angrily, and showed his white teeth. He knew he was being
scolded, and he resented it. Tom laughed heartily.
"I'm glad you're convinced at last," he said. "Now you'll agree with me
that Peter needs reform, and that he must be broken off his baboon
propensities."
"I'm convinced, absolutely," answered Guy, with a disgusted look still
on his face. "It's enough to make one sick. I'll help you all I know
to wean the little beggar of these disgusting practices.--Peter, you
little beast," he added, again plucking the wild boy by the cord,
"you're not to do it. Here, come and take my hand, and walk like a
gentleman."
The little, wild creature, after looking intently into Guy's face, and
seeing a smile of good humour replace the frown of disgust, came up, put
his black paw into Guy's strong, sunburnt hand, and together the three
wandered back to the wagon.
On the sixth day after the adventure with the baboons, they reached a
long range of hills, among which Poeskop's sharp eyes soon detected
signs of native life. He informed Mr. Blakeney that the last time he
had travelled that way the place was uninhabited. Entering a broad, open
valley, here and there littered with boulders and adorned with patches
of bush, they outspanned not far from a stream of water that ran by.
Then Poeskop, accompanied by Mr. Blakeney and the boys, all fully armed,
went up the slope of a low hill towards some huts that nestled among
trees and rocks. It was manifest that natives were about, and that the
little settlement was a good deal perturbed at the advent of the
travellers. Black figures flitted hither and thither, and cries could
be heard.
"What are they, Poeskop?" asked Mr. Blakeney.
"Berg Damaras, I think, baas," replied the Bushman; "but I don't quite
understand the place. They seem to have houses up in the trees. I'll
go forward and see what they have to say. I don't think they'll harm
us; but if they try to, do you and the young baases shoot."
They moved on together for another hundred and fifty yards, and then
Poeskop went ahead, and keeping about a hundred yards in front neared
the village. The commotion became yet louder, shrill female voices were
heard, and men appeared, armed with bows and arrows and assegais; the
aspect of affairs looked by no means peaceful. Still advancing, and
without betraying an atom of fear or suspicion, the Bushman moved
confidently forward till he was within earshot. Then, raising his
voice, he addressed the natives. As he had supposed, they were Berg
Damaras, a wild, miserable, down-trodden people, who are infamously
treated by other tribes, and shelter themselves in the remotest places
they are able to find among the wide and unpeopled deserts of this part
of Africa.
Poeskop soon calmed their apprehensions and established friendly
relations with them. They had a curious tale to tell. They had been in
this place no more than a few months, having been driven from their
previous locality by the assaults of lions, which had destroyed a good
many of their clan and created a terror among them. The lions had
either followed them to this valley, or they had stumbled upon a fresh
band of man-eaters, and their lives were rendered a burden to them by
the night attacks of these dangerous Carnivora. They had at last
resorted to the expedient of building huts among the trees, where they
passed their nights, and, as lions cannot climb, managed to escape
annihilation.
Poeskop having opened up amicable relations with these unfortunates, Mr.
Blakeney and the boys came up and were introduced. The Berg Damaras
seemed miserably poor. They numbered not more than seventy or eighty
souls, men, women, and children, and evidently lived a harassed,
shuddering kind of existence. Occasionally stronger tribes, such as the
Ovampo and Ganguellas, raided them, murdered such of them as they
caught, and carried off their women and children as slaves. The lions
seemed to have completed their dejection, and they had little spirit
left in them. These people speak a pure Hottentot tongue, and have many
ancient Hottentot manners and customs. Yet, unlike the yellow-skinned
Hottentots, their skins are black. They are supposed to have been a
feeble, aboriginal negroid race, who became enslaved by the Namaqua
Hottentots, and, acquiring the tongue of their conquerors, lost their
own language.
Having given the headman of these miserable people some tobacco and
beads, and gained his confidence, Mr. Blakeney and the boys strolled
round the kraal. They were especially interested in the sleeping huts,
placed among the foliage of some tallish trees. These had been very
ingeniously devised, platforms of stout poles serving for floors. The
walls were composed of ant-hill clay and branches, the whole being
covered by deep thatches of reeds and grass.
"Well," said Mr. Blakeney, "I've heard of such a thing before, but I
never expected to see natives driven by lions to make their huts among
the branches of trees. Many years ago, when Moselikatse, father of
Lobengula, swept over a great part of South Africa and destroyed whole
kraals of Basutos and Bechuanas, the people were so reduced, and the
lions, from feeding on human flesh, became so bold, that some of the
tribesfolk were compelled for a time to roost among the trees in this
way. But they must be poor creatures to put up with such a terrorism. A
kraal, even a little one, of Zulus or Kaffirs, or indeed even Bechuanas
and Basutos, would in ordinary circumstances never submit to such a
state of things. They would just sally out, hunt up the lions in
daylight, and kill them with their assegais. They might lose a few
slain in the operation, but they would clear out the lions somehow."
"I suppose," said Guy, "these poor creatures are too weak and too few in
number to tackle a lion. They look far too depressed for anything of
the kind."
"Yes," replied Mr. Blakeney, "no doubt that's the case. And, after all,
one can hardly blame them. Even for a white man and a good shot, armed
with a modern rifle, a lion is by no means a pleasant beast to tackle.
One is never quite sure how the affray is going to turn out. The Zulus
must have been hardy fellows indeed in the old days, in the time of
Chaka and Dingaan, and Panda and Cetywayo. If a lion annoyed a kraal
and killed oxen or goats, a number of young soldiers were told off to
kill it. And kill it they had to, with their spears, and no other
weapon. Of course, on the other hand, they knew that if they didn't
kill the lion, their own lives were forfeit. Chaka and Dingaan, and
even Cetywayo, allowed of no failures of this kind. Cowardice meant
death. Not that the Zulus ever feared death. A braver and bolder race
of savages never existed."
That afternoon the white man's camp was visited by a number of the Berg
Damaras. They were hospitably entertained, and regaled with coffee and
some small presents. One of them noticed Peter, the wild boy, and,
drawing his comrades' attention to the child, they were soon engaged in
a conversation of which the lad evidently was the main topic. Poeskop
noticed this, and asked them what the boy was. They at once said that
he was one of their own race, and asked the Bushman where the lad came
from. Poeskop related the tale of his capture. This stirred much
debate and interest among the group. They surrounded the child,
examined him closely, handled him, and talked excitedly the while. Again
the headman held animated converse with Poeskop. Meanwhile the white
men gathered round. They could see that something of interest was
passing.
Poeskop presently came up to Mr. Blakeney and told his story. The boy
was a Berg Damara right enough, and had undoubtedly belonged to their
kraal. About a year and a half before, when they were making their way
from their last place of habitation thither, the child had strayed away,
or in some way become missing, no one quite knew how. They had little
time or energy for prolonged search, being then half-starved and in
great distress, and they went on their way without him. Undoubtedly he
had fallen among baboons, or been stolen by them; they had heard of such
things before. They recognized the boy, not only by his likeness to the
child they had lost, but by certain tribal marks. Questioned further,
they said the boy's mother was dead, killed and devoured by a lion a few
months before. The father was up at the kraal. At Mr. Blakeney's
request he was sent for. He came shortly, was shown the child, whom he
at once recognized, and was told the tale of its capture. This he
listened to unmoved, rather as if he were listening to the tale of some
dog that he had formerly owned. Presently he went up to Peter, looked
into the child's face, and spoke to him--in fact, asked him a question.
Peter looked up very eagerly, as if he knew the voice. The man went on
to repeat his name, "Amral." This he spoke in a low, kindly voice,
repeating the word several times. Again it was clear the boy recognized
the voice and the name. Something in the intonation probably touched
some chord of memory long forgotten. He opened his mouth, strove
visibly and painfully to find speech, and, failing, lowered his eyes.
At that moment a shadow passed lightly over the group and rested for a
moment upon the child. All looked up. Far above, between them and the
sun, a great vulture swung in mid-air.
"_Tkoobi kanisi!_" said the man, his face turned now to the semblance of
a stone image, and, taking no further interest in the child, he moved
away.
"What does he mean?" asked Mr. Blakeney of Poeskop.
"When the shadow of the vulture rested upon the child," replied the
Bushman, in a serious voice, "the father took it as an evil sign.
'Death sees thee!' he said, and you will find that he will have nothing
further to do with the boy. I know these Berg Damaras. They are a
strange people, stranger even than my own race."
Poeskop was right. The man, though he knew himself to be the father of
the boy, would have nothing further to say to him. Probably, as Poeskop
explained, he was so poor and spiritless, so little desirous of
undertaking the further maintenance of a child upon his drooping
shoulders, that he was not sorry to throw the blame upon the shadow of
ill omen, and wash his hands of his long-lost offspring.
"Never mind," said Tom; "I'll be a father to Peter. I bring him up, look
after him, make a decent Kaffir of him, and he shall work for me at
Bamborough when we get home again. I'm sure he'll make a smart lad and
a good herd boy. He's got brains--look at his great bulging head; and
there's a knowing look in his funny baboon face, which tells me he'll be
all there when the time comes. Won't you, Peter?"
Peter looked up, grinned at his young master--he really began to smile
now--and ejaculated a strange grunt which Tom quite comprehended.
*Chapter XII.*
*THE LION CAMP.*
Evening, the swift evening of Africa, was stealing on apace. The Berg
Damaras now left the camp, their chief warning the white men to be
prepared for an assault by lions, which, he declared, were here so bold
that they feared neither thorn kraals, fires, nor assegais. Mr.
Blakeney pronounced himself well prepared for any eventuality. During
the afternoon Jan Kokerboom and his assistants had cut down a large
number of thorn bushes, and made a strong scherm or fence, within which
the oxen, after grazing, were enclosed for the night. The horses were
fastened up to the wagon wheels on the side close to the main camp fire.
Four fires in all were lighted and kept going. They sat down to supper,
therefore, all in high spirits, feeling that they were well prepared
against the night assaults of lions or any other Carnivora.
Peter, the wild boy, was still with them. His father, as they believed
him to be, had, after the episode of the vulture's shadow, declined
resolutely to have anything further to do with him. The Berg Damara
headman, whom Mr. Blakeney had asked to take charge of the child, had
shaken his head, and manifested extreme disinclination to add further to
his responsibilities by taking a useless encumbrance into his tribe.
They could scarcely feed themselves as it was, he explained. The white
men had found the child; they were rich and powerful; they could keep
him, and take him away with them. Tom was delighted, and, backed up by
Guy, begged that he might be allowed to keep Peter. He would make a
useful servant some day, he pointed out. He was already becoming
attached to the party, especially to Tom, whom he seemed to regard as
his master and protector. Mr. Blakeney turned over the matter in his
mind. At supper time he called Poeskop, and asked him what, in his
opinion, the Berg Damaras would do if the boy was left on their hands.
Poeskop's reply was readily forthcoming. He smiled grimly, and said,--
"What do I think, baas? Well, I think they will leave him to the lions.
The chances are that, if he escapes the lions, he will be starved to
death. I don't think they will give him food. Already, as you can see,
they are half starved themselves; and when Berg Damaras and Bushmen are
in such a plight, and hard put to it, they can't afford to be kind and
compassionate like the white people. I know them well, and I know that
the boy would die. If his mother were alive, it would be different.
She would find him food somehow."
"Well, Tom," said Mr. Blakeney, "you can have your way, and keep the
boy. It would be a cruel thing to leave him to the mercies of these
starving people. We'll take him with us, and make the best of the poor
little beggar."
Tom promptly showed his contentment by taking a steinbuck cutlet from
the frying-pan and handing it to Peter, who squatted near him, watching
with elfish eyes the white men having their supper. The wild boy
snatched eagerly at the savoury morsel. Tom drew back the cutlet, and,
pointing a rebuking forefinger, said in a tone of reproof,--
"No, not that way, Peter. I've told you before. Take your food like a
gentleman."
The wild boy already understood much of Tom's tutelage. Still gazing
with greedy eyes, he held out his paw, and allowed Tom to hand him the
food. Then, conveying it to his mouth, he quickly made short work of
it, devouring it very much as an ape devours its food. The white men
having supped, Peter was fed, Tom superintending the process, and seeing
to it that his charge made his repast in a reasonably decent fashion.
"Peter," said Tom, when all was finished, "I have hopes of you. You
certainly are improving. You didn't lick your plate to-night--of course
I was keeping an eye on you--and you are learning not to snatch at
everything like a beastly monkey. I do believe I shall make a man of
you yet."
The wild boy looked at his instructor's face; it was a strange,
yearning, almost pathetic look--the look of a dog trying to make out his
master's meaning. Then he reached out a black hand, and softly laid it
on Tom's arm. It was the most gentle, the most human-like, gesture he
had yet exhibited.
"Poor little chap!" said Mr. Blakeney; "I believe he begins to feel the
instincts of humanity working within him."
"Yes," said Guy, "I'm sure he does. He'll do all right, Tom. You're
making a first-class reformer."
Tom patted the little fellow on the shoulder, and went to the wagon and
took down a blanket, which he handed to Peter. The wild boy, who now
showed no sign of any inclination to run away, and had for the last
twenty-four hours been allowed complete liberty, at once wrapped himself
up, snuggled close to the fire, and fell fast asleep. For another two
hours the three white men sat round the fire, the boys writing up their
diaries, Mr. Blakeney smoking and reading. Then they chatted for a
while, and at nine o'clock or thereabouts prepared to turn in for the
night. Guy went to the tent; Mr. Blakeney climbed to his wagon. Tom
prepared his blanket and kaross by the fire, as he had done since
Peter's capture. He still judged it advisable to keep the boy under his
control at night, and, fastening the cord to his belt, made the other
end secure round the belt which Peter wore for the purpose. Then
settling himself with his feet to the comfortable blaze, he gazed for a
few minutes upwards at the brilliant array of stars, and was quickly
sleeping the wonderful and refreshing sleep of the wilderness.
How long Tom had slept he knew not, but he was suddenly awakened by a
sharp tug at his belt. Snatching up his loaded rifle, which lay by his
side, he sat up and looked around him. Peter was crouching on his hams
two or three yards away, his blanket fallen from his shoulders, his eyes
wildly excited. He was barking fiercely, just as a baboon barks when
enraged or alarmed. In another instant there was violent commotion in
the ox kraal. The native servants, sleeping at the fire near by, had
been awakened by the wild boy's warning barks; they were now on their
feet, and, rushing to the kraal with their guns and blazing fire-sticks,
began letting off their rifles at some object among the oxen. Mr.
Blakeney jumped down from his wagon in his pyjamas, rifle in hand. Guy,
similarly equipped, burst out of his tent. Tom, unbuckling the cord at
his belt, sprang up with his weapon. The three ran towards the scherm.
"A lion, baas! a lion!" cried Jan Kokerboom excitedly, as they neared
the scene. "There he is. Shoot, boys, shoot!" Then, putting up his
gun, he again fired. Poeskop and Seleti were reloading; Mangwalaan held
up a flaming torch to give light. It was a weird scene, only fitfully
illuminated by the blazing torch and the light of the men's fire close
at hand. Another rush took place among the oxen; then a dark figure
cleared the thorn fence just behind the group of affrighted animals.
"He's gone!" yelled Poeskop, who had just got another cartridge into the
breech of his Snider. "He's gone!"
It was quite clear that the warnings of the Berg Damaras had not been
given without reason. The lions had begun their assaults. Fortunate it
was for the camp that they had confined their attentions to the ox
kraal. Now, pulling aside the thorns at the entrance, and lighted by
fresh firebrands, Mr. Blakeney and the rest of the party entered the
kraal. On the far side lay a dark object, which a closer approach
showed to be a dying ox. The poor brute had evidently been seized upon
by the lion at its first assault. Its shoulders and back had been badly
scored and bitten, and the ferocious brute, gripping the nose of the ox
in one of its powerful forepaws, had evidently, by a mighty wrench,
dislocated the unfortunate beast's neck. In another minute, even as
they looked, it breathed its last. The rest of the oxen stood huddled
together in a bunch to the right hand, snorting and bellowing,
manifestly in a state of intense fear and excitement.
There was not much to be done. It was, of course, far too risky to
think of cutting more thorns to make the fence higher and more secure.
With lions about it would be worse than madness to venture out into the
darkness beyond the light of the camp fires. They made up and lighted a
fresh fire in the middle of the ox kraal, and Jan Kokerboom had strict
injunctions to keep it going all night. As for the lion, both Poeskop
and Jan believed it to be wounded; probably it would scarcely venture to
return that night. Still, as Poeskop said, with lions you never know
where you are, especially if they are hungry. The remaining fires were
strengthened, and the white party returned to their quarters.
"Hullo!" said Tom, on getting back to his fire, "where's Peter?"
Peter had disappeared. Just then Guy, entering his tent, cried out,--
"Here's the little beggar, cowering behind my camp bed. You'd better
have him out."
Tom fetched him out, calmed his apprehensions, and set him by the fire
again. The wild boy seemed at last persuaded that the danger was past,
and his young master having fastened the cord dangling at the child's
waist to his own belt again, Peter once more wrapped himself in his
blanket and went to sleep. Tom, lying a few feet away from him, was not
slow to follow his example.
It seemed but a few minutes to the English lad, yet the space of a full
hour had certainly elapsed, when Tom was violently startled from his
sleep by a wild, terrified yell, which sounded close to his ears. There
was something so horrifying about that wild scream, violently shattering
the previous stillness of the night, that a shudder of apprehension went
thrilling through Tom's whole person. In the same instant there was a
rough pull at the lad's belt; he was turned half over. and, before he
had time to snatch up the rifle by his side, he felt himself being
dragged away over the ground at a rapid pace. The lad's mind instantly
grasped the situation. Something--a lion, no doubt--had got hold of the
unfortunate Peter, and was dragging him off; and Tom, being coupled to
him by the long cord, was being dragged also. In an instant Tom had
unbuckled his belt and was free. Springing to his feet and looking
round, he saw by the light of the fire a huge yellow-maned lion, which
had Peter by the neck, and was dragging him away into the darkness.