A STORM ON THE DRAKENSBERG
Only low-growling Hector and little Theunis, looking down from his
bedroom window, saw them silently depart. In the cold gray dawn-light
Petrus waved a quick "good-by" up to the wondering child and they were
off.
Long before sun-up, faithful Mutla had had the three ponies up-saddled
and waiting under the orchard trees. He had strapped a small roll
containing a pair of blankets and a rain-coat to the front of his
master's saddle, and to that of the lead-horse he had tied a large
piece of biltong, or sun-dried meat, a good supply of biscuit and
coffee, and fastened an iron kettle in which to make it. Petrus
had hurriedly pressed a Testament into the pocket of his moleskin
trousers, and made sure that the two Mausers they were carrying were
well oiled. There was no time to lose. They hoped to overtake Dirk on
the road.
[Illustration: "THE SEARCHING PARTY . . . CARRIED GREAT TORCHES"]
True, the lieutenant had offered a reward of five hundred pounds in
gold to the one who returned his little son alive to him; but love for
his little English friend and neighbor was the real motive for Petrus'
suddenly planned flight over the dangerous Drakensberg Mountains.
All night long the lieutenant, heading a large searching party of
his friends and neighbors, with half a hundred Kafirs, had scoured
the neighboring woods and hills for some trace of George. In a fever
of excitement, Aunt Edith, who spent the night at "Weltefreden,"
declared it was her belief that the poor boy must have been
killed--assegaied--or thrown into some stream and perhaps devoured
alive by the crocodiles.
Aunt Johanna's fears, too, were grave, and Magdalena plainly informed
Hercules that there could be no happy wedding on New Year's Day unless
little George was captured from the Zulu, and brought home alive and
well before that time.
So all night the searching party, headed by the lieutenant, Petrus and
Hercules, carried great torches of flaming grass and tree-branches, and
flooded with light every deep game-pit, every clump of trees, kopje,
and river bank. But no answer had come. So, at sunrise, the party broke
up and returned home. Grief stricken, the lieutenant with the aid of
Hercules, immediately formed a large well-armed party of picked Kafirs
and made straight for the Kalahari Desert. There it was he had first
seen the threatening Zulu. There it was he would no doubt return with
George--and perhaps take his revenge by selling George into slavery to
the Bechuanas. It was a long trip back to that deadly "thirst-land."
They had left by sunrise. Already the party was well on its way.
But Petrus remembered one most significant remark of his Aunt Kotie's.
He remembered her telling him that Dirk had come to her from Natal,
where he had been one of a gang of Zulu dock-hands, piling lumber at
the wharf at Durban. She had also told him that Dirk's people belonged
to the great military kraal at Ekowe, in Zululand, near the Tugela
River. Petrus believed Dirk was making his escape with George, taking
the shortest cut back over the robber-infested Drakensberg Mountains to
the docks.
Moreover, Mutla--who, like all Kafirs, was an expert at "following
the spoor"--had "spoored" the hoof-marks of the Zulu's horse from the
very door of the Chief's kraal. The ground was still moist from recent
rains, and Mutla's keen eyes and quickness of perception had detected
the grass bent down, and pebbles scattered leaving the wet side
up-turned, and often the whole hoof-press of the horse clearly stamped
in the soft ground.
Mutla was certain he was following the very road the Zulu had taken.
The hoof-marks led southwards, towards the Drakensberg Mountains. So
for two days they traveled over the monotonous grasslands of the Orange
Free State with its interminable thorn-bushes, until finally, as they
neared the base of the mountains, the spoor was crossed and re-crossed
by the cloven hoof indentations of the eland, the slipper-like
footprints of the giraffe, and the immense circular depressions made by
the elephant, with now and then, to their horror, the dreaded print of
the lion's paw. Petrus and Mutla kept their rifles ready for instant
use. As the trees grew thicker the whir of wings and sudden flash of
brilliant plumage told them that feathered game was not wanting.
Suddenly there was a mighty rustling in the underbrush with the sound
of breaking branches among the trees close to them. Mutla's pony
buck-jumped, carrying his rider headlong to the ground. Five elephants
burst through the trees and dashed down an embankment on the left of
the road to the water, where, with mighty gurglings and splashings,
the monsters threw the water from their trunks in streams over their
bodies, and a little baby elephant ran about with a tree branch
playfully held in his trunk.
"Oh, Baas,[16] I thought it was lions sure!" exclaimed the frightened
Kafir.
"The big fellows didn't even see us, Mutla, and I don't think they
would have charged us if they had. But let us water our ponies and
hasten on our way."
They came out of the forest into a narrow and very winding road, and
advanced at a tripping pace. Soon they were zigzagging up the face
of the Drakensberg--the loftiest and grandest mountain range in all
South Africa. Soon the darkness of night would overtake them. Something
made them think of robbers. But Petrus was not afraid. He was a daring
rider. His horsemanship had received high praise from the lieutenant
himself, and he had marked skill with weapons. He knew the position
of the sun at all hours of the day, and of the stars by night. They
could not stray far from their way. Mutla had Arab blood in his veins.
With his keen, piercing eyes he could see all the dangerous roads and
precipices in the dark.
Ferus suddenly trembled violently. Petrus gave a quick glance into
the trees close by. Crouching at full length, far out on a branch
overhanging the stream, was a leopard glaring down, ready to spring.
Instantly Petrus' rifle was at his shoulder. The report sounded
through the forest, and the "tiger-cat," as Mutla called it, fell with
a splash into the water below.
"Oh, my master, lions sure about here," protested the still frightened
Mutla, as Petrus dismounted and began to cut down branches with which
to build a fire. With sun-down had come complete darkness there in the
depths of the tropical mountain forest.
"Fires are our best protection against wild beasts. Come, let us
prepare our supper, and sleep, for to-morrow's journey is to be a long
one."
Petrus fastened the ponies to a tree by their head-stalls, while Mutla
piled on branches and sticks, making the little fire crackle and blaze
up warmly as they prepared and ate their supper.
Then, using their saddles for pillows, with their rifles at their sides
and the blankets stretched on the ground under them, they fell asleep,
but only for a short time. Soon they awoke to find the forest flooded
with bright moonlight. It was light as day. Petrus reached for a high
branch of a native tree. This he bent down and broke off a piece about
four feet long.
"I'm making a 'knob-kerrie,' Mutla. It may be useful to-morrow in
killing snakes." Some, like the venomous mamba, are nine feet long.
Mutla watched Petrus as he skillfully formed the knob at one end. Then,
aiming it at an imaginary beast far off among the trees, Petrus sent it
spinning over and over through the air with a twirling motion, until it
fell with a crash that reverberated throughout the forest. Instantly
the whole forest was alive. Mutla grew nervous as he watched the dark
forms everywhere mysteriously moving through the trees.
"Keep your gun ready, Mutla," advised Petrus.
"That I will, Baas," promptly answered the black boy.
After their night's rest, the ponies made good time early next morning,
climbing the ascending jagged roads. The path dropped at times into
deep mountain valleys, then rose to greater heights until at last they
reached the famous "De Beer's Pass,"--which led across the lofty peaks
of the "Dragon Mountains,"[17] to the Natal side. Only after hours of
difficult scaling did the riders succeed in reaching this commanding
ledge, from which they obtained their first view of "fair Natal,"
stretching far below in all its beauty.
More and more lonely and wild became the road as the descent was begun.
Strange they had not overtaken Dirk yet. But they might at any moment.
Gaunt crags rose all about them. From the trees overhead there came
a flapping, hissing, struggling noise. Mutla gasped and uttered a
shriek, as swooping savagely down upon him from its lofty nest was an
immense eagle of the "man-eating" species. Its wings must have measured
six feet from tip to tip. One blow from Petrus' knob-kerrie sent the
"man-eater" flying from his prey.
"You have had a narrow escape, Mutla," said Petrus, springing into
the saddle, as a great peal of thunder sounded and the sky darkened
suddenly. Scarcely could they get into their rain-coats before the
storm broke. First one, then the other of the ponies, slipped on
the soft, wet ground, but quickly recovered themselves. The ponies
continued to lose their footing as they made the irregular, uncertain
descending slopes, often passing by dangerous ledges, dongas and pools.
So dark had it grown they could not see their pony's ears in front of
them.
"Follow me, my master, you're going wrong," came Mutla's caution now
and then, as they traveled on through the blackness.
Late in the afternoon the storm ceased and the sun shone dimly. The
dripping boys wondered where they were, and how far they had traveled,
when a lone rider passed them and--to their delight--told them they
were among the monarch trees at the base of the mountain. He pointed
the way to the nearest human habitation, the hut of a kind Kafir
missionary where they could have supper and pass the night.
Petrus was glad to learn that the kind Kafir was a very intelligent but
aged missionary who spoke the Zulu language. He lighted a fire for them
to dry themselves, while Petrus related to him the events of the day
and why he had undertaken so dangerous a journey.
"In search of the little English boy? The Natal papers are full of
descriptions of the Zulu, the offer of the reward, etc. Only yesterday
just such a powerfully built Zulu, dragging a little lame white boy by
the hand, came begging food at my door. When I began to question him
he left suddenly, but not before I learned from him that he was on his
way to Durban."
"Oh! That must have been Dirk! The boy must have been George!" cried
Petrus, with sparkling eyes. "Mutla, up-saddle the ponies at once! We
have no time to lose!"
"No, wait until morning. Your ponies are tired. The road from here to
Durban is a rough one at best. Even the bravest would not be foolhardy
enough to undertake it by night," insisted the old missionary.
"You are right. We will sleep to-night. In the early morning, long
before you are up, we will be far on our way. Good-night, and thank you
for all your kindness," said Petrus, handing the kind Kafir a sovereign
to aid him in his work.
"Then 'good-night,' my boy, I wish you success and God-speed."
FOOTNOTES:
[16] Master.
[17] Drakensberg.