TOM GIVES THE ALARM--RIFLE VERSUS ASSEGAI--TRIUMPH OF THE WHITE
MAN!--"KICKING JAN" OUTKICKS HIMSELF--A CATASTROPHE--ARRIVAL AT
RALFONTEIN.
The night passed away quietly and day dawned with all the splendour of a
South African morning. By five o'clock the little camp was astir, and
our friends, having first enjoyed a refreshing dip in the clear pool at
the foot of the hill, hastened to prepare breakfast; whilst Patrick
Keown and his sable ally busied themselves making ready for the day's
journey.
"Well, Tom, how did you get on between one and three am?" was Mr
Weston's first question when they sat down to break their fast with the
remains of last night's supper. "Found it rather lonely, didn't you?"
"I should just think I did," was the candid reply; "horribly lonely!
And I was obliged to keep trotting backwards and forwards like a hyaena
in a cage to prevent myself nodding; not that I should have minded that,
if I'd only had someone to talk to."
"Well, you look fresh as a four-year-old this morning," Major Flinders
said. "I'm certain that a trip of this sort is a capital thing for
getting young fellows into condition."
"No doubt of it," assented his friend; "so long as it is not attended
with too much fatigue or hardship."
As soon as Tom had finished his breakfast he expressed his intention of
taking a look round before they inspanned.
"Don't go far, my boy; keep within hail," said his father. "We shall
make a start directly Keown has the carts ready."
"All right, father," replied the boy, taking up his rifle. "I'll just
stroll up the donga and see if I can get a crack at something or other.
There's no fresh meat in the larder, you know." And off he trudged--
"Unknowing what he sought,
And whistling as he went for want of thought."
Tom had not gone many yards when his attention was attracted by a
rustling amongst the reeds, and looking round, his quick eyes espied
several dark forms stealing down the watercourse towards the bivouac.
He at once scented danger, but had the presence of mind not to show that
he was alarmed; and turning coolly about he returned to his friends and
informed them of what he had seen. Hardly had he given the alarm when
thirty or forty dusky figures rushed down the donga and advanced with
threatening gestures--brandishing their weapons and uttering loud cries
of defiance.
"Inspan, Patrick!" shouted Major Flinders to his servant as he seized
his rifle. "We can keep these black rascals off until you are ready."
In order that Keown and his assistant should have time to collect the
few articles which had been unloaded from the carts (the Major was not
the man to abandon any of his impedimenta) and inspan, it was necessary
to meet the enemy in the open and take up a position between them and
the carts. This of course somewhat exposed the little party; but Major
Flinders was pretty well sure that his assailants belonged to a roving
tribe--half Bosjesmans, half Korannas--more renowned for thievish
propensities than for valour or warlike qualities; and he felt satisfied
that if he and his friends received them boldly they would beat a hasty
retreat. These dusky warriors were indeed but sorry specimens of their
race; they were short, narrow-chested, and hippy, whilst their faces
were of a very low type, with thick projecting lips, small depressed
noses, and roguish shifting eyes. Their weapons consisted of rough,
ill-made assegais, iron-wood clubs, or knobkerries, and small oval,
hide-covered shields. However, seeing how small a force they had to
contend with, and animated by the hope of plunder, the dingy troop
advanced with more confidence and _elan_ than might have been expected.
"Give them one barrel first," said Major Flinders, bringing his rifle to
the "present." "Take a steady aim, and low. Now--fire!" The four
rifles rang out nearly together, and three of the enemy rolled over and
over, but their fall did not stop the rush of the others; on they came,
bent on the destruction of the little band of white men.
"Fire again!" shouted the Major as he discharged his second barrel.
This time every bullet found its billet, and four Caffres bit the dust;
whereupon their comrades pulled up, sent a few assegais whistling
harmlessly through the air, and then went to the right-about and bolted.
In the excitement of this, their first fight, Tom and George would have
followed up the flying enemy had not the Major restrained them, saying:
"I have no wish to kill those poor benighted creatures save in
self-defence. Go and help Patrick to inspan, and let us be off as
quickly as possible."
"They're not gone yet!" exclaimed Mr Weston, seeing several woolly
heads pop up amongst the shrubs and bushes to the left of the donga.
"No, indeed! And unless I'm greatly mistaken they intend to renew their
attack," rejoined his friend. "They've more pluck and determination
than I thought for! Get the carts and mules under cover of the trees!"
Patrick Keown at once dragged the carts into the centre of the tope,
whilst the boys and Black William drove in the mules and tethered them
between the carts, forming a sort of laager, into which the Major and
Mr Weston retired. They all took up their rifles and opened fire upon
the advancing enemy, who showed no lack of courage, and sent their
assegais hurtling amongst the trees in a style that would have done
credit to Zulu warriors.
But they did not attempt to come to close quarters, their sole object
being to carry off their dead and wounded, not to renew their attack on
the white men, whose terrible rifles had already done to death so many
of their company. Had they been able to explain their intentions they
might have done this without let or hindrance; as it was, they lost
three more of their number.
At last Black William divined what they were about, and begged his
master to cease firing for a minute or two. The savages then rushed
forward, caught up their unfortunate comrades, and bolted back in
double-quick time.
"The beggars are off now, and no mistake!" cried Tom. "Let us see what
damage they have done us."
"First and foremost there are two mules killed," responded his father;
"Sandboy and Admiral--the best animals in either team."
"And Kicking Jan's got an ugly wound in his flank," put in Keown. "Bad
cess to the contrary baste; he's sure to git into mischief if there's
mischief about!"
"I got hurt too," said Black William with a grin, showing a tear in his
sleeve, which was covered with blood. "And dere's young Mas'r George
been hit by dem niggers!"
An assegai had indeed grazed George Weston's shoulder, but happily no
serious injury had been done to any of the party--nothing, in fact, that
cold water and a strip of lint would not cure.
The dead mules were now stripped of their harness; Kicking Jan's wound
was dressed--an operation that the "contrary baste," true to his nature,
resented to the best of his power; and the travellers resumed their
journey. No sooner were they well on the move, and at a respectable
distance from their late encampment, than the discomfited savages once
more appeared on the scene, and fell tooth and nail on the carcasses of
the slain mules.
"Bedad!" exclaimed the ex-sergeant when he saw the blacks cutting and
hacking away with their short assegais, "they'll be having a foine gorge
now! Sorra a bit of flesh will they lave on the bones of poor Sandboy
and Admiral."
"They have paid dearly for their feast," observed Mr Weston, who was
seated beside him. "Are all the Caffres such gluttons?"
"Indade they are, sorr," was the reply. "Just sit the best of them down
before a dead animal of any sort, from an elephant to a dossie, and
they'd go on eatin' till they were fit to bust."
Deprived of the two best mules in the teams, and having a third
partially disabled, the travellers did not get so quickly over the
ground as they had hitherto done, and it was some time after dusk before
they arrived at Ryk's Drift. Here they were entertained by the German
missionary, and on the following morning they started on the final stage
but one of their journey.
Soon after leaving Ryk's Drift the travellers came in sight of a range
of mountains, whose varied outline struck out into bold, precipitous
spurs, or shot up into craggy peaks, the summits of which shone in the
African sunshine almost like snow.
"On the far side of yonder hills lies Ralfontein," said the Major, "and
crossing them will prove the toughest job of the whole journey."
"That I can believe," rejoined his friend. "My admiration is now
changed to consternation! How ever will our mules contrive to drag the
carts up such precipices?"
"As I said before, it will prove a very tough job," Major Flinders
answered; "but `where there's a will there's a way.'"
"I shall believe that when I _see_ the way," laughed Mr Weston. "At
present I must confess that I am sceptical, for in all my varied
experience I have never come across a quadruped that could fly!
However, it is not for me to give my opinion; I am but a fish out of
water!"
Towards noon the travellers commenced the ascent, and right toilsome it
proved.
The way--for road, or even track, it certainly could not be called--was
rugged in the extreme, and full of rocks and gullies, with here and
there a narrow chasm over which the carts were dragged with the greatest
risk and difficulty.
Every one dismounted and lent a helping hand; the Major and his servants
managing the teams, with much cracking of whips, and loud shouts of
warning or encouragement; whilst Mr Weston and the boys, literally "put
their shoulders to the wheel."
"Oh, for the turnpike roads of old England!" sang, or rather gasped, Mr
Weston, when for about the twentieth time they halted to allow the
distressed mules to recover themselves a little. "This is desperate
work! eh, boys?"
"Slightly warm," said Tom, mopping his perspiring face. "It takes the
superfluous flesh off one's ribs."
"Shure, Misther Weston, we're nearly at the top," said Patrick Keown
encouragingly, "and thin you know, sorr, we'll go down the other side
noice and aisy."
"A little too `aisy,' perchance," muttered Weston. "Facilis descensus!"
At length the highest point of the ascent was reached; but this proved
the most hazardous part, as the track swept round a precipitous ledge
jutting out from a spur of the mountain, so narrow that it hardly
allowed six inches grace to the wheels. Along this dangerous path the
carts were taken at a snail's pace; the one containing Captain
Jamieson's goods and chattels leading the way; whilst the other (which,
save for a few articles used when outspanning, was empty) followed at an
interval of twenty paces; the mules going very gingerly, for, surefooted
though they were, it was no easy matter for them to keep on their legs.
At this critical moment a large bird swept down from its nest in the
overhanging cliff, and with a piercing cry flew close over the tilt of
the hinder cart. Now, as ill-luck would have it, "Kicking Jan" was one
of the four mules attached to this cart, and no sooner did that contrary
and troublesome animal hear the bird's shrill call than he stopped dead;
then down went his head and up went his heels. This unseemly behaviour
set the other mules plunging and kicking, and before Black William, who
had charge of the team, could quiet them, the cart was upset, and fell
half over the ledge; the wheel-mules coming down on their sides at the
same time.
Another plunge--a violent struggle--a wild snort of terror! and over the
precipice rolled the cart, carrying the wheelers with it.
The moment "Kicking Jan" and the other leader felt the traces jerked and
then tighten, they ceased kicking, and strained every nerve to retain
their footing. But their efforts were in vain! The weight the poor
brutes had to sustain was too much for them; they were dragged over the
side of the ledge, and down went the cart and its team: down--down--
down; crashing through trees and bushes and striking against rocks in
their headlong descent; down they fell to the very bottom of the
precipice!
Horrified at this terrible catastrophe, the Major and Mr Weston ran
back and found Black William lying in the middle of the narrow path; a
broken "reim" clenched in his hand.
"Are you much hurt?" inquired Major Flinders, picking him up.
"Not mine vault, baas," blubbered the Hottentot with a frightened stare;
"not mine vault."
"No, no, William," said his master; "we know that. You did all you
could. Are you hurt?"
"I got kick in mine stomach; and all mine vind go," was the reply.
"And our profits have gone with it, I'm afraid," said Mr Weston
dolefully. "'Pon my word, I'm a regular Jonah, and bring misfortune on
all my friends!"
"Don't talk like that, Maurice," said the Major sharply. "Let us thank
Heaven it is no worse--that no life has been lost."
"And it might have been the other cart, you know," put in Tom, who had
joined them. "That _would_ have been a smash!"
"Well, Mat, I am thankful it is no worse--on your account!" Mr Weston
said. "Let us reckon up the damage."
Major Flinders smiled, and replied:--"There's the cart, forty pounds;
four mules, at, let me say, twelve pounds a head--that's as much as they
were worth!--forty-eight pounds; harness and sundries another fifteen.
I think a hundred will cover everything; so we sha'n't lose all our
profits, Maurice. And now, _en avant_!"
The travellers accomplished the descent of the mountain without further
mishap, and found shelter that night at a solitary farm situated in the
plain below.
Here they remained for a couple of days, for the mules were regularly
knocked up, and required a long rest before they were in a condition to
travel the last stage--a distance of forty miles.
Early on the morning of the second day they once more inspanned, and the
team being freshened considerably by their twenty-four hours "play,"
they got over the ground in capital style, and reached Ralfontein an
hour before sundown.