OFF TO THE CAPE--AMONG THE ROCK RABBITS--A WILD RIDE--LOST ON THE
PLAINS.
"Isn't it a glorious morning," said Chisholm, coming on deck and joining
his friends Frank and Fred, who were reclining in their lounge chairs,
books in hand, under the awning reading, or pretending to read. And
Chisholm himself looked glorious, glorious in the strength and beauty of
his young manhood. He was dressed in white from top to toe, with sun
hat and low cut collar, which showed his brown and shapely neck to
perfection. His face was weather-beaten, that was the least that could
be said of it, and loosely dressed as he was, you seemed to see the play
of every muscle in his manly form, as he moved; and, when he waved his
arms almost rejoicingly in the balmy but bracing breeze, that fanned the
sunny sea, he looked as lithe and graceful as a young tiger.
"A glorious morning," he said again.
"Beautiful," said Fred, gazing languidly around him.
"You seem in fine form," said Frank, smiling.
"Just had a salt water bath. The other fellows in my cabin had soda and
brandy. I feel fresher now than they do."
The ship was a steamer, _Druid_, but she was staggering along under a
power of canvas and, bar accident, two more days would see them safe in
Cape Town.
Fred Freeman had been very loth and sorry to leave his friends in
Russia, for reasons well known to the reader. Frank, for reasons of a
similar nature, had been just as anxious to get back to dear old Wales,
to enjoy, so he said, six weeks' hunting. But Chisholm had looked at
him with a right merry twinkle in his blue eyes as he replied,--
"Nay, boy, nay, the next hunting you'll do will be at the Cape. I
promised your father to take you right round the world, and I told some
one else that some one else wouldn't see you again for three years at
the very least. So there!"
Here is an extract from Chisholm's diary, written three months after:--
"The Cape hills in sight at last. But I shouldn't say _at last_,
because our passage has been everything one could wish. Fred and Frank
are both a bit low, leastways they don't talk enough, perhaps they
think. Wonder if it is their late lotus-eating life that is telling
upon their constitutions, or is it merely that they're in love. A
little bit of both, perhaps. But they'll wake up ere long without a
doubt."
Chisholm was perfectly correct in his surmises, both Fred and Frank did
wake up, and as soon as the roaring of the steam from the funnel, and
the rattling of the anchor chains, convinced them that the voyage was
indeed at an end, they threw aside their hooks, pulled themselves
together, and entered heart and soul into the excitement of shore going.
A whole week was to be spent at Cape Town, and it was the best and
sweetest time of all the year they could have chosen to visit the place.
In the town itself and the suburbs the gardens were gorgeous in their
floral beauty, and all the wild romantic hills around were crimson and
white with geraniums, and the rarest and loveliest of heaths and wild
flowers. Roaming among the mountains was pleasant even by day, for the
sub-tropical heat of the sun was tempered by the pleasant breeze that
blew inland from the ocean. Although they never went abroad for a
ramble without taking their guns along with them, of sport, properly
so-called, there was but little. They managed to make several good bags
of rock rabbits, nevertheless. These funny little creatures are as much
like rats as rabbits, but they are delicious eating. It was quite half
a day's journey to reach their haunts, over the hills and through the
stunted bush, and across broad uplands where little else save a kind of
hard, tough grass grew, and walking among which was dangerous, owing to
the number of deadly snakes that slept or crept among it. Beyond this
there would be more bush, in which bright-winged but songless birds
flitted noiselessly about, then the rocks or cliffs where dwelt the
coneys.
There is one trait in the character of a rock rabbit which breeds it a
deal of harm, and that is curiosity. They like to know all they can
learn about any one who honours them with a domiciliary visit. No
sooner had our heroes appeared at the foot of the chaos of boulders
which formed the cliff, than one rock rabbit mounted a stone to see what
they looked like. I suppose he meant to go back and report to his
comrades, but Frank's gun spoiled his good intention, and he came
tumbling down to meet them. The crack of the fowling-piece brought a
dozen at least of his relations out, to see what on earth the matter
was, and many of them, not content with the advantage of the good view
which a bit of boulder gave them, must needs stand on their hind-legs to
add to their elevation; then it was bang, bang, right and left, and
bang, bang, left and right _ad libitum_, or as fast at least as the
rabbits appeared. Did they kill all they fired at? Oh! no, not by a
very great deal. Many downed to the flash, and many that were knocked
over succeeded in reaching the friendly shelter of their holes, and it
is to be hoped, for their sakes, that their hospital arrangements were
as complete as possible, else many of these poor curious creatures must
have suffered a good deal more than our heroes meant them to.
On their way to and from these little shooting excursions snakes were
shot wherever seen, whip snakes and sand snakes, black snakes and
cobras.
"It's no sin to slay a snake," Fred would say, "and it expends the
ammunition, you know."
Well, this sort of life was certainly less slow than lotus-eating, but a
week of it was enough. They felt "crowded," as the Yankees call it,
even at Cape Town. They wanted to be off and away into the wilds; the
only question was how to get into the interior. The subject was
broached one day at the _table d'hote_, at which they were dining, and
Chisholm thought the best plan would be to hire a dhow to take them on
to Zanzibar.
"For it strikes me," he said, "that it is quite the orthodox plan to
start for the interior of Africa by way of Zanzibar, just as it is to go
to New York from Liverpool."
"It is," said a gentleman present, "but you'll find it slow work getting
to Zanzibar in a dhow, and precious rough work too. I'm Commander Lyell
of the _Dodo_; my gunboat sails to-morrow for Zanzibar. I've heard you
mention my uncle's name, General Lyell, and if you like to rough it with
me, I'll take you."
A nephew of General Lyell! This was news indeed, to Frank at least; and
it is needless to say the offer was gladly accepted.
Three spare cots were rigged in the Commander's cabin, and in every way
they were made as comfortable as could be.
Half a gale of wind was what they had to start with, up the Mozambique;
next day it had increased to nearly hurricane force. They saw many
ships lying-to, but the _Dodo_ did nothing of that sort; wet enough
though, she was in all conscience, in fact she seemed to spend most of
her time under instead of over the waves; very wet she was, and likewise
very lively, but she made a good passage, and in little over a week, she
had cast anchor in a beautiful wooded hay on the African coast, where
white-roofed houses, close by the shore, peeped out through the greenery
of trees.
"There is a bit of fun to be got not far from here," said Captain Lyell,
"for a day's journey beyond the little Portuguese village there, the
antelope swarm, and horses, too, are procurable, by paying for them."
Frank was a splendid horseman, and his delight at the prospect of a hunt
was unbounded.
Horses they could and did procure, and wild and unmanageable brutes they
proved at first, but after the third day they became quiet enough.
Their way led through a most beautiful well-timbered undulating country,
and travelling was far from difficult, but as they journeyed more
inland, and bore more to the north, not only their difficulties, but
their dangers too, increased; the land got more rugged and mountainous,
the jungles more dense and impenetrable, and the forests grew darker and
deeper. They found themselves, too, bordering on a country, the
inhabitants of which were far from friendly, and it was then they found
their Portuguese guides of the greatest of use; they could speak the
language of these savages, and their relations with them were the
relations of trade. Portuguese the natives could bear with. Englishmen
they both feared and hated. But little cared our heroes; in fact they
treated the blacks with the coolest indifference, and probably that was
the best way they could have treated them.
Many a lordly antelope fell to their guns, they had days on days of good
sport, and the very dangers that surrounded them, seemed only to make
their life in the bush all the more enjoyable. A glorious hunt Frank
had one day all to himself. It was a ride he is never likely to forget,
either, for it came nigh costing him dear life itself. Out on the open
plain one morning, though but a little way from the camp, he started a
fine buck. It seemed positively to invite him to the chase; well, his
horse was fresh, he was fresh himself, a ten miles' run he thought would
do them both good, and yonder was the deer, so off he went. Off went
man and horse, and buck, but the latter seemed never to tire, and the
plain over which he rode seemed interminable. Hours flew by; then
Frank's horse began to flag, for he must have ridden thirty miles in a
bee line; so the buck won the day, he took to cover in a small bit of
scrub, and from that he would not be moved. If he had, Frank thought,
but one good hound, he could rest his horse, then start the chase, and
probably turn him again towards the camp, and thus finish a day that
would make the roaster of Her Majesty's Staghounds envy him even to read
of it. But no, he must mount his horse again and ride back. Back?
Yes, it seemed about the easiest thing in the world to find his way
back; but when, after journeying on and on all the day, without seeing a
sign or token of the camp he had left, when, faint and weary, he saw the
sun dipping slowly downwards to the western horizon, then his heart sank
within him, and for the first time he realised the terribleness of his
situation--_he was lost_! Lost! and it mattered little to him now which
way he rode; he allowed the bridle to hang loose on the neck of his
jaded horse, his own chin to fall on his breast; a sense of weariness
crept over him that almost induced sleep, and more than once he nearly
slipped from the saddle. Presently it was night, and big bright stars
shone over him, which he did not care even to glance at. He only felt
tired, cold, sleepy.
"Coo--oo--ee!" Hark! does he dream? No, for list! once again that long
unearthly yell. The horse pricks up his ears and neighs. Frank seizes
the bridle, and once more listens himself, for well he knows what he
hears is the night-shout of the outpost African sentinels. In ten
minutes more he is beside the camp-fire. Thanks to the sagacity of that
good horse.
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
CRUISING IN THE DODO--THE BLUEBELL--HOW OYSTERS GROW ON TREES--AWAY UP
THE BEAUTIFUL RIVER--THE BLUEBELL AGROUND--NOONTIDE ON THE RIVER.
On board the _Dodo_ once more, steaming steadily northwards; some times
far out at sea, with nothing but the blue all round them: sometimes
hugging the green-wooded shore: sometimes casting anchor at the mouths
of mighty rivers, and sending armed boats away to seek for the slave
dhows that hid all day under the hanging boughs, and stole out to sea at
night. Chisholm, the oldest of our heroes, confessed he had never
enjoyed a voyage so much in his life. At last, however, they cast
anchor in Zanzibar, and were nothing loth to go on shore to stretch
their legs. The captain accompanied them in his gig, dressed in full
uniform--cocked-hat, epaulettes, and sword. He was going to visit the
Consulate, and expected news of some importance.
Accompanied by a black boy, who wore no clothes worth mentioning, but
could speak English and prided himself thereon, they went for a grand
tour of inspection. The streets were narrow, long, and winding, and
oftentimes bridged over at the top, so that the residents in one house
could cross over to see their friends on the other side of the way,
without the trouble of coming downstairs. There was a singular absence
of windows in the houses of the gentlemen Arabs, Banians, or Hindus;
every room of which, although furnished luxuriantly, is very dark and
cool. In the bazaar and in the streets where the shops were, there was
hardly any moving along, so great was the motley crowd, and, saving the
women and the innumerable slaves, every one they met was armed to the
teeth. The warrior Arabs, with their long flowing hair, dressed in
embroidered robes of snowy white, with cloaks of camel's hair, gilded
turbans and jewelled sword-belts, looked boldly picturesque; these
mingled in the streets with--white-gowned Hindus, and long-faced,
dark-coated Parsees; sailors in blue and soldiers in scarlet, and sacred
solemn-looking cows with gilded horns, which many a one touched with
fond reverence, as they walked quietly along. And the background of all
this picture was slavery; slavery panting and perspiring as it dragged
itself along in chains; slavery cowering under the lash of the driver's
whip; slavery bent to the ground under loads of cowrie shells; slavery,
dark unhappy slavery.
Our heroes were glad to find themselves at last out in the green and
flowery country, wandering under the shade of giant trees, and inhaling
the sweet perfume of orange blossom. The first person they met on their
return from shore was Captain Lyell himself. He shook hands with them
all round, at which they were not a little surprised, but they could see
by his face there was something in the wind.
"Come down below," he said. When he got them there he continued, "I've
got good news, gentlemen, in fact, I may say glorious news; let me tell
it to you all in one sentence. First, then, I'm promoted; I'm now
Captain Lyell in reality, and not by courtesy alone; secondly, I'm going
home--another officer has arrived to take command of the _Dodo_;
thirdly, I've applied to the Commodore for four months' leave; fourthly,
I've got it; fifthly and lastly, I've hired a pretty little river
steamboat from a Scotch friend on shore here, one that takes all to
pieces for the boys to carry, quite an African explore boat, and I'm
ready to start with you to-morrow if you like for the interior, and if
we don't get the rarest of sport, why I shan't believe that my name is
plain John Lyell."
It is needless to say that after this there was another round of
hand-shaking, or that the dinner that day was enlivened by some of the
captain's very best and rarest of reminiscences.
The little steamer which Lyell had hired was indeed a beauty, quite a
fairy boat. Getting her ready for the voyage and packing the stores,
getting in all necessaries, and hiring "the boys" occupied quite a week.
Then they went out on their trial trip. The day was beautiful--it was
the sunny season in the Indian ocean--there was just enough wind to
temper the heat and ripple the sea. The many pretty islands they
visited seemed, at a distance, to float in the sky; they were emerald
green, and fringed with a beach of snowy sand. They landed on some of
these and shot a species of small deer and rabbits--wild rabbits such as
we have at home. [I cannot account for the presence of rabbits on some
islands in the channel of the Mozambique, but there they are.] In a
little sandy cove of one of these islands, they took luncheon _al
fresco_, previously enjoying the luxury of a bath, all taking a header
at once and making all the noise they could to keep the sharks at bay.
The trial trip was perfectly satisfactory; so next morning early, it was
up anchor and off. The _Bluebird_ hadn't much space between decks, but
they had an awning spread, and lounging on deck was delightful. They
headed north, keeping two or three miles from the shore. This shore was
a cloudland of green, without beach or sea border of any kind.
"Yonder," said Lyell, "is where oysters grow on trees."
There was a laugh at this; but next morning the captain verified his
statement, and he took Frank with him in the little boat, and they
brought off a bucketful. The explanation is this: the roots of the
mangrove trees grow among the water, to these the oysters cling, and at
low water can be gathered.
Now here they are at the mouth of a great river; they can hear the
thundering of the breakers on the terrible bar as they approach it, over
these mountain waves their boat must go, and it is lucky for them that
they have so experienced a sailor as Lyell at the helm. But beyond all
is peace; the peace that reigns on the broad bosom of a great river
whose waters roll slowly seaward. On each side the banks are wooded to
the water's edge. The trees are mangroves, but here and there are
bunches of feathery palms.
After dinner they land among a clump of these to drink cool delicious
cocoa-nut milk. [This glorious nectar can only be had in perfection in
lands where the cocoa palms grow. Each green nut before the fruit is
formed contains about a quart of it.] In Africa, wherever you find
cocoa-nut trees you find human beings, and here was a negro village, but
at sight of the white faces of the travellers the natives fled screaming
into the dark depths of the forest. So they had to help themselves.
Onward again, and now a thick fog envelopes them, and in a few minutes
the _Bluebell_ has run aground and refuses to budge. Then it is all
hands to strip and get overboard to lighten ship; all save the little
engineer; he stays aboard to go all speed astern. All speed astern
means no speed at all for ten minutes at least, during which time it
comes on to rain in fearful torrents, and the surface of the river
becomes all at once so hot, that they are glad when the _Bluebell_ moves
again, and they can get up out of it. They hadn't bargained for a warm
bath. But the mist rolls off presently, and they can once more see
their way. But this running aground becomes an almost every day
occurrence, so that at last they quite look forward to the order to
strip and plunge.
They have left the last Portuguese settlement, and the last Arab
encampment, leagues and leagues behind them; they have passed the
countries of many different tribes of natives. Most of these fled on
their approach, but the warriors of some lined the shores, yelling
maniacally, and brandishing their war spears. They have come at last to
a portion of the stream where they are but little troubled with the
presence of the aborigines, a few only being seen in their log canoes
peacefully fishing. But where mankind does not abound in Africa birds
and beasts hold sway; and one day, on rounding a point of land, they
came upon a scene of such animation, as my poor pen would fail in any
attempt to describe. It was noontide on the river; countless herds of
zebus and zebras had come down to drink, hippopotami wallowed in the
shallows, and the sky above was alive with myriads of strange and
beautiful birds, that floated screaming around, or perched on the trees,
deafening the ear with their noise and chatter; parrots and lories,
ibises, flamingoes and storks--some of these as they circled high in the
air being arrayed in plumage of pure white and scarlet, looked strangely
beautiful against the sky's azure blue.
"O!" cried Chisholm, "we mustn't let such an opportunity as this pass
for a big shoot."
"Give them time to drink," said Fred; "it would be a shame to disturb
them yet a little."
This was agreed to, and the _Bluebird_ lay still for two hours, which
gave ample time to watch the strange manners and customs of these
curious specimens of animal life, and after this shooting began. The
larger game were wilder than they imagined, and soon made themselves
very scarce indeed; but the birds took hardly any heed of their
presence, and even when dozens of them fluttered down dead, instead of
being afraid, the majority seemed to look upon the matter as a very
pretty joke, and the parrots in particular shrieked and laughed till the
very welkin rang.
The scenery got more varied as they proceeded more inland; the river
swept at times through vast treeless wastes, and on its banks lay
alligators basking in the sunshine. This was a temptation never to be
resisted. It afforded good ball practice, and I daresay it tickled the
alligators up a little if it did nothing else. At other times the river
was bounded by gigantic cliffs; here it narrowed, and the current was so
strong that a mile an hour of headway was all that could be made, under
the highest pressure of steam commensurate with safety.
They had come to the right hunting grounds at last, so thought Chisholm,
Frank, and Fred. But Lyell, although always willing to lie to for a day
to enjoy the wild scenery, and the shooting the jungles afforded, always
counselled going on and on. Early in the morning and an hour or two
before the shades of evening fell, were the times they generally chose
to disembark for a ramble in the forest.
One day they crept quietly through the bush to a spot whence some noise
proceeded. They expected a shot at something. Suddenly they found
themselves within a stone's throw of a herd of most beautiful zebras;
they had come to a pool to drink. But beyond them were quite a regiment
of giraffes. _They_ could sniff the danger from afar if the zebras
could not; they swung their heads as if they were gigantic hammers,
stamped with rage, and bounded off ere ever a trigger could be drawn.
But our heroes were rewarded half-an-hour afterwards, by falling in with
a quantity of hippopotami. These unwieldly monsters were quietly
browsing on the rank herbage that the plain afforded them. Probably
they never ran so quickly before as they did when fire was opened on
them from the bush. Before they had began to shoot, "I say, boys," said
Chisholm, "what a charming view, a nobleman's castle on a hill, park and
trees and all complete! Doesn't it look like it, though?"
"Yes," Fred replied, laughing; "and deer and all in it. Don't they look
elegant with their short legs and their swollen mouths?"
Bang--bang--bang!
CHAPTER TWELVE.
AN INLAND LAKE--ENCHANTING SCENERY--THE ENCAMPMENT--TROPICAL STORMS--
HUNTING THE RHINOCEROS--FRANK UNHORSED--LYELL'S ADVENTURE WITH A LION--
ENCOUNTER WITH A GORILLA.
Some degrees south of the Equator, and nearly four hundred miles from
the eastern shores of Africa, a tributary of the river up which the
saucy little _Bluebell_ was so quietly steaming, suddenly broadened out
into a beautiful lake. Here about a week after the events narrated in
last chapter, our friends found themselves. Not even Captain Lyell knew
the name of this sheet of water. Perhaps it never had one, but Chisholm
was equal to the occasion.
"Call it," he said, "Loch Row Allan, in honour of my departed friend the
lion killer." [Row Allan Gordon Cumming.]
And so, Loch Row Allan it was called.
I hope my young reader has not been taught at school to believe that the
interior of Africa is composed _entirely_ of deep, dark forests,
entangled bush, and dismal swamp. If he has been, and could catch but
one glance at the wild and charming scenery around this inland lake; how
speedily he would be undeceived. It is a bold and rugged mountain land,
hills above hills towering skywards, clusters of hills, not round but
facaded--peaked, and clad to two-thirds of their height with gigantic
forest trees and feathery palms. There is many a bosky glen and dell
encompassed by these hills, and many a dark, wide wooded strath, and it
did not detract in the least from the charm of the scenery, in our
heroes' view, to know that these glens and straths were the home of the
elephant, the rhinoceros, and the king of the forest himself--the lordly
lion. They determined to make this country their home for two or three
months at the least, and with this end they built themselves and their
people huts high up on the green side of a swelling hill that overlooked
the lake.
The woods and the plains beyond, nature had stocked with herds of deer,
the lake teemed with fish, there were patches of pine apples acres in
extent, mango-trees, guava trees, oranges, citron, limes and pomolos,
with bananas and plantains, and a hundred other delicious fruits they
knew not even the names of. Surely in a land like this, there was but
little chance of their falling short of the means of subsistence.
But do not imagine they had not to rough it, for that they often had;
nor that the sun always shone, for that it did not. Sometimes great
dark clouds would roll rapidly up from the horizon, and above them the
fast disappearing blue of the sky looked preternaturally deep and
intense, and from out these clouds the storm would burst in all its
fierce intensity, lightning such as they had never seen before, thunder
that seemed to rend the very hills, and rain that soon gathered into
cataracts that steamed and foamed down the mountain sides, on their way
to the lakes beneath. These storms ended almost as quickly as they had
begun, and probably our heroes would have minded them but very little,
had it not been for the fact that, a few minutes before the rain began
to fall, scorpions, centipedes, and the largest and most loathsome of
spiders, came hastily trooping into the hut to seek for shelter. What
instinct teaches them to do this I wonder?
Many gigantic specimens of the rhinoceros fell before the fire of their
rifles. They afforded good but not always safe sport, as Frank one day
found to his cost. He appeared one morning dressed "after the fashion
of the country," as he termed it, with shoulders, arms, and face well
greased and stained, and when he mounted his horse, every one was
obliged to admit that, to say the least, he looked "a noble savage."
Frank was greatly pleased at this, and away he rode, in company with his
friend Chisholm, determined, he said, to put in a good day. There was a
plain not far away from the encampment which Chisholm, who liked to
retain Scottish nomenclature wherever he went, used to call the moor.
Here, on this particular occasion, they had the good luck to fall in
with several rhinoceroses, and rare sport they had with them. They did
not wish to kill, they came out to chase, and rough though the ground
was, they had the best of it. Frank slung his rifle behind him, and
when he got alongside any of the monsters he used his riding whip,
causing them at first to increase their speed, but soon to lose temper
and stand at bay, and use their terrible horns. This gave the young man
a chance of showing his horsemanship off to perfection.
Several deer were brought down from the saddle, and, on the whole,
Chisholm, and the noble savage Frank, made a glorious day of it, and
were returning about four in the afternoon, tired and hungry, when, just
on the verge of the forest, lo! and behold, a rhinoceros scratching his
chin, and looking as mild as any old cow.
Frank rode up to flick him with his whip. The beast backed for a
moment, but charged again fiercely and furiously, the dead wood snapped,
and, when Chisholm looked up, he saw his friend and horse rolling on the
ground. The next to roll on the ground was the huge beast himself, for
Chisholm was handy with the rifle. Frank got up smiling, and but little
hurt, but, alas! for the poor horse, he was stabbed to the heart. The
noble savage had to ride into camp ignominiously perched on the crupper
of Chisholm's saddle.
But perhaps the sport which our friends enjoyed above all others was
elephant shooting, either on horseback or on foot, according to the
nature of the ground. Of their haunts in the forests around the camp
they knew nothing at first, nor did their Zanzibar boys, and the first
to lead them on their sport was young 'Mboona, the son of a king of one
of the native tribes, who had become servant and guide-in-chief to the
camp. His reward was to be a rifle, and well he earned it.
People who have never seen an elephant in his native fastnesses, can
have no idea of the strength, the ferocity, ay, and the cunning of the
animal. Our sporting party took back with them in the little _Bluebell_
many hundreds of pounds' worth of valuable ivory, but if they did they
had to pay for it with many a hard day's work, in many a wild ride, and
many a hair-breadth escape.
As a rule, the elephants would run when pursued by men and dogs; then,
as they passed the spot where the rifles were stationed, they fell easy
victims to the hardened bullets. They were not always particular in
which way they did run, however, and when they did not run right in the
direction of the guns, our friends would rush out in pursuit, when all
at once perhaps the herd would be turned, and come crashing back upon
them and their people. They were not always angry; perhaps they were
thinking more of escape than revenge; but to be run down by even a small
herd of cow elephants is no joke. Their feet are terribly heavy, and
they are not particular where they place them, so whenever a stampede
was checked and rolled back on the pursuers, it was _sauve qui peut_
with a vengeance.
Frank was one day rolled down thus, while on foot, and not only down,
but over and over; indeed the herd seemed for a time to be playing at
football with him. He was covered from top to toe with blood and earth.
"Eton style of football is all very well," Frank said afterwards, "but I
never had such a doing as that before."
Chisholm had a worse doing, however. He had fired at, without killing,
a gigantic bull. The brute was on him ere he could either reload or
escape. He was picked up as one might seize a kitten, and dashed into a
tree beyond even the elephant's reach. The dogs would not tackle this
monster. Hearing the terrible screaming, Lyell rode down to attack the
foe next, but the wounded animal was careering madly through the forest,
and trees that would be thought far from small in a park at home, were
snapping before him with the fury and impetus of the rush. Lyell had
served in the Crimea, but he confessed himself he had never been nearer
to death before, except once. He had been out shooting with a party in
the rough and solitary plains, that bound the Zulu land to the north and
west. They had come principally for buffalo-shooting, but they soon
found out that there was wilder game than these to be found; and on the
very first night on which they bivouacked under the stars, they were
fain to entrench themselves well, and to keep the fires alight till
morning, for every now and then they could hear the peevish scream of
the hyena, the shrill bark of the jackal, and the appalling roar of the
lion. Next day they found the carcases of the buffaloes they had slain
torn and devoured, and even their enormous bones broken and gnawed.
Lions are not looked upon by the true sportsman as very brave animals,
but a lion at bay, or a man-eating lion, is a terrible foe to encounter.
"One night," said Captain Lyell, "just as my biggest and strongest
Caffre servant was putting the finishing touch to our laager, he was
seized by an immense lion and home away, as one might say, from our very
midst; borne away, shrieking for help, into the darkness of the
adjoining bush. The silence that succeeded the shrieks made our blood
run cold, for we knew that the poor boy was dead, and that the man-eater
had commenced his revolting feast. We knew well, that having once
tasted human flesh, our camp, while he lived, would not be safe from his
attacks. We lost no time, you may be sure, in carrying out the
execution of our plans. It was a long weary day's work, and we were
about to return to camp, too exhausted by the heat and fatigue to do
much more, when suddenly there arose a shout from the party nearest the
laager--a shout and a roar--quickly followed by the report of rifles,
then more shouting and warning cries. Then I could see the tawny
monster appearing suddenly in front of us. I had no time to fire; my
comrade did, but I think he missed, and with a howl that seemed to shake
the earth, he sprang full upon me, seized me by the side, and bore me
almost fainting away, my two hands clutched in his murderous mane. He
carried me far off into the jungle, running at first, then walking,
finally lying down with his burden under a tree. The terrible moment,
then, had arrived, he was about to rend me in pieces, and no power on
earth could save me. Overcome by fear and weakness, and by the loss of
blood, I fainted, and was found hours after by my comrades in the same
condition, with the lion extended by my side--dead of his wounds!"
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The _Bluebell_ made many a run to different parts of the lake, and it
was during one of these excursions that Frank and Chisholm landed, for
the purpose of exploring a part of a forest that grew down close to the
water's edge. It was not a likely place for lions--they are fond of
more light than this gloomy wood afforded--but they might, they thought,
get a chance shot at an elephant. The ground was carpetted with moss,
and, with the exception of monkey ropes, so called, the stems of the
sturdy creepers, there was but little undergrowth. Chisholm and Frank
strolled on and on, fearing nothing.
How silent it is in that dark wood, and how still! Not a leaf moves,
not a fern frond quivers, only high over head there is a gentle sighing,
and when they gaze upwards they can see the sparkling of the leaves in
the sunshine, but that leafy canopy seems very far away.
Chisholm lags behind for a moment, he is looking to his rifle, and
sighting it for close quarters. Frank strolls on. Suddenly the silence
of the forest is broken by the most terrible yells, and Chisholm rushes
forward to find his poor friend in the clutches of a gorilla, with his
rifle torn from his grasp, and brandished high in air by the awful
beast. But Frank, clutched by the throat, is quite insensible. There
is not a moment, not a second, to be lost, and Chisholm fires almost at
close quarters, and the gorilla rolls dead at his feet.
It was well for both Frank and him that assistance was close at hand.
Dreading some danger, Fred and Lyell had followed them into the forest,
and come up just in time, for now the woods all around rang again with
the screams of the enraged gorillas, who, it would almost seem, had only
allowed Chisholm and Frank to penetrate so far into their domains, with
the hopes of encompassing the destruction of both. But all the way back
to the boat, it was a close hand-to-hand fight with these wild and
terrible apes. Frank, once on board, and laid on deck, with the
_Bluebell_ well clear of the wood, and the gentle breeze blowing in his
face, revival was a mere question of time; but he never forgot his first
and only encounter with the savage pongo.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN.