Long before the tired hunter woke, a party headed by the missionary had
brought in the carcass of the lion, as well as those of the springbok
and panther, and strange to say, the baboon had followed them, refusing
to be driven away. It was in vain to pelt it with sticks and stones,
for dashing away into the bush it would climb a tree, making the most
hideous grimaces, chattering and crying, but the moment all was quiet,
back it would come again. Worn out with fatigue and watching, the
soldier had slept late, and the sun was high in the heavens when he
awoke.
Looking about him, roused by the noise, he was just in time to save the
baboon's life. Luji had been engaged for some time pelting it with
sticks and stones, but the agile brute was too much for him. Masheesh
stood in the act of poising his assegai, when Hughes stopped him.
"The monkey saved my life, Wyzinski," said he; "and besides, it would be
hard to kill the creature which evidently trusts in us."
"Trusts in you, it would appear," replied the other; for at this moment,
as if recognising Hughes, it came towards him, showing the wounds on its
back, and holding out its bloody hands.
"Fetch me the arnica and some water, Luji; we will soon put those
scratches to rights, though they are caused by the lion's claws."
"The lion's claws!" asked the missionary; "why, what had the monkey and
lion in common?"
"I'll tell you when I have had a good wash, and some breakfast," replied
the other.
The baboon was soon caught, and his back freely bathed with the arnica
water, when the intense smarting, and the grotesque grimaces and loud
chattering consequent on it, caused shouts of laughter.
A good wash in the river, a hearty meal of eland meat, with a dessert of
the mobala fruit, strongly resembling in flavour the English strawberry,
and then the hunter told his tale. The news as to the wounded elephant
soon spread through the little camp, and every one, from the missionary
downwards, was eager to follow up the spoor.
They soon found it, leading from the trampled river bank up the slope,
and entering the wood, they at once came upon the animal itself, lying
quite dead on its side; a young tree having been borne down by the heavy
weight, had broken short off and lay under it. Standing near was the
young elephant, waiting for its dead mother to wake, and on the approach
of the party it struck the carcass several times with its trunk, and
failing to rouse it, trotted away in a lumbering fashion, its trunk
raised in the air, then turned to look. Like the baboon, it showed no
fear, barely refusing to be caught. The men were set to work to cut out
the tusks, but being unpractised hands, it took them all day to do it.
The best parts of the meat were brought into camp, and then the jackals
and hyenas assembled in large numbers, holding high carnival, while the
tusks, together with the panther and lion skins, remained as a memento
of the night. For two days the party halted on this spot, and each
night the one or other watched the pool, with varying success, but not
seeing any more elephants, and only hearing the lions in the distance.
Still travelling northwards, they pushed on through a fertile country,
which gradually became more and more of forest. Elephants were often
seen, but it was useless to encumber their march by carrying the tusks,
and Wyzinski's sole purpose seemed to be the finding of the supposed
ruins. Giraffe, buffalo, antelope of all kinds, quaggas, and zebra,
were plentiful, while an occasional lion was seen. The hippopotami and
rhinoceros were often met with on the river banks.
The natives, who appeared from time to time, yet bore the stamp of the
Zulu race, but were not friendly, though guilty of no overt act of
enmity. They were men of good stature, well formed, and clean limbed;
their woolly hair often surmounted with plumes of ostrich feathers.
They were well armed. Vast forests of what appeared to be magnificent
cedars, impeded their way. The natives, both men and women, were nearly
naked, the latter particularly showing great fear of the white men, so
much so as to leave their huts on the approach of the party, carrying
with them their children. In some of the huts slabs of stone were seen,
evidently having been fashioned by hand, and used in the construction of
some building, but no information could be gathered. Gold was known,
and its value appreciated among these tribes. The men, fully armed,
would venture into the camp, bringing with them quills filled with gold,
sealed at both ends, and offering them for sale, evidently fancying the
white men traders, and asking for calico and beads in return. The young
elephant actually followed the party for three days, and on the fourth
was found dead close to camp, evidently from its inability to supply
itself with the food its mother alone could give. The hippopotami were
numerous on the rivers, and unlike those more to the south, they showed
little fear of man. Shaped like a huge pig, the head massive, and the
eyes placed very high in the forehead, these ponderous animals, whose
carcass of a brownish-red looks like a great barrel, have thick hanging
lips, and such short stumpy legs, that the belly nearly touches the
ground. All day long they might be seen feeding on the sweet grasses;
and on the approach of strangers would slide off the bank into the
water, gradually subsiding until the whole disappeared, and then rising
again slowly for air. On the Quissanga river they were very numerous.
Heavy and lumbering looking, none would give these animals credit for
the intelligence they really possess, and yet they will only feed on the
sweetest grasses, and are nearly as cautious and cunning as the
elephant, in avoiding the traps and pitfalls of the natives. They
display a strong and peculiar affection for their young, and though
quiet and peaceable enough, will fight for them.
"See, Wyzinski," said Hughes one evening, as with their rifles in their
hands the two were walking up the banks of the Quissanga river, "look at
that unwieldy young hippopotamus feeding alone. I'll give it a start."
"Take care what you are doing," replied the missionary, who was busy
watching some birds building near the stream.
"Never fear for me," exclaimed the soldier, bent on the fun of cutting
off the lumbering young animal from the water.
Besting his rifle against a tree, Hughes ran to intercept it, which he
easily did, for the ugly little brute did not see him until he was quite
close to it, and then it seemed to lose its head, waddling away towards
the bush, its pursuer shouting and laughing behind. A loud call from
the missionary caused Hughes to turn, and he at once saw that the
situation of matters was reversed. Right up the bank came a very large
female hippopotamus, in pursuit of him. Unarmed, there was nothing for
it but to use his legs, and this he did; but the hippopotamus diverged,
and so the pursuer pursued must cross the line of its advance, for the
bush was too thick to be entered.
It was a question of speed, as the great animal came on, its enormous
mouth wide open and menacing. Slow as its motion appeared, the animal
would have cut off the man, but just as they neared one another, a ball
from Wyzinski's rifle struck it in the open mouth. The hippopotamus
stopped as the breathless soldier dashed by, and seized his rifle, when
a ball hit it right in the eye, and it fell dead.
This animal measured eleven feet six inches in length, add in girth ten
feet five inches. No one of the party ever after this attempted any
trifling with the hippopotami.
The baboon had grown very tame, and had taken a great fancy to Luji.
The two lived together, and seemed inseparable, and whenever it became
tired on the march, it would take its place on his shoulders. It was
always in mischief. Seated the same night, after the adventure with the
hippopotamus, round the camp fire, near the banks of the Quissanga
river, Wyzinski was laughing at the morning's adventure.
"I hadn't a notion you could run so fast, Hughes," he continued.
"Hadn't you," replied the soldier, not half liking the missionary's
quiet way of chaffing.
"No, indeed I hadn't," answered the other. "I see now why they gave you
the Light Company in the gallant 150th."
Luji's wide mouth was opened to the fullest possible extent.
"Master no like Quissango hippopotamus? Luji no like Zoutpansburgh
lion!"
"I'll tell you what, Wyzinski," answered Hughes, "I may live to see you
run just as fast yet."
A cry from Masheesh, at this moment, drew attention for the time from
the subject. The baboon darted out of the small tent holding something
he had stolen. Luji, with a loud shout, dashed after him. Away went
the two round and round, the monkey chattering and screaming, but still
firmly grasping the object, which proved to be the captain's
powder-flask.
"You should try your hand, Hughes," drily remarked the missionary.
"Your pace beat that this morning."
Hardly were the words spoken when, with a scream of delight, the baboon
vaulted right over the stooping missionary, using his shoulders for the
spring, and alighting close to the fire, dropped the flask just into the
centre of the blaze, and then bounding off a few paces, stood jabbering
and grimacing.
The tent was only a few yards away.
"Run, Wyzinski," shouted the soldier, "all our powder is in the tent."
The whole thing was done in a second, and the soldier and missionary
scudding down the slope at a tremendous pace the next. Losing his
footing, away went Wyzinski, rolling among the stones and bushes, just
as the explosion took place.
Luckily, there was little powder in the flask, but the burning embers
were blown right and left, and the tent struck by them. The baboon was
dreadfully singed, and awfully frightened, and not a beauty before,
became literally hideous; but no further harm was done.
"You had better exchange your robes against a subaltern's epaulettes in
the Light Company of the 150th Regiment," laughed Hughes.
"I'll think of it," replied the missionary; "but, Hughes, will you give
me a certificate?"
"Most certainly. I can't hold a candle to you at running away,
Wyzinski," for the soldier thought he had the best of it now.
"Oh, I didn't mean that sort of a certificate. Will you certify there
are no monkeys in your Light Company?" remarked the missionary.
"Good-night, Wyzinski," was the only answer vouchsafed; and they both
turned in laughing.
Passing Quissanga and Goanha, the little caravan kept steadily on to the
northward, making short marches daily, until a period of three weeks had
elapsed since they had outspanned from the banks of the Limpopo. Their
camp was pitched at the foot of the spur of the Nyamonga mountain range
called Gorongoza. It was a pleasant spot, and here they determined to
rest a while. Several streams of bright, clear, cold water burst from
the mountains, and, after wandering about for some distance, threw
themselves into a river, which ran away towards the sea. Forests of the
cedar-trees clothed the mountain-sides, and to these Wyzinski pointed
triumphantly, asserting that they must now be close to the ruins, "There
they are," would he say; "and though there may exist a marked difference
between them and the far-famed cedar of Lebanon, though they may have
degenerated since the days when Pharaoh Necho's seamen lived under their
shade, yet in those cedar groves lie the fallen ruins of the old cities
of Zulu land, and there is enough timber to supply the world."
"I wonder what we should do without the custard-apples?" said Hughes,
the evening of the day when they arrived at Gorongoza.
"But why call it custard-apple, Hughes?"
"Because it is exactly like the custard-apple of the Madras Presidency,
black, rough, and repulsive-looking outside, and a white, delicious
custard inside, cool as if iced. It grows plentifully, like
blackberries, up-country there."
"Well, I almost prefer the mobala fruit. Under the tropical sun, which,
by the way, has tanned you to a mahogany colour, Hughes, it reminds one
of the strawberries of England. I shall open a campaign against the
wild duck. There seems lots of them."
"Here comes the Matabele chief; what has he got? Eggs, ducks' eggs, as
I am a sinner. Won't that be a treat after weeks of venison diet?"
The chief gravely stalked up to the two, and placing his eggs on the
ground, squatted down, and looking the missionary full in the face,
pointed down the course of the river, merely uttering the word "Sofala,"
then changing the direction of his finger, pointed to the north-west,
letting fall the dreaded word, "Tetse."
The two Europeans looked at each other. A volume could not have better
expressed his meaning. Down the stream lay the ruins which had been
formerly mentioned. Right in their onward path was the dreaded
tetse-fly, sure death to cattle.
"Let us hold a council of war, Wyzinski," said Hughes, after the two had
looked at each other in dead silence. "Here, Luji, come here. We are
going to have a palaver."
"Masheesh, must we send back the waggon?"
The Matabele chief spoke volubly, frequently using the word "Tati," and
then pointing to the river which was running near them, calling it
sometimes the Sabe, sometimes the Ouro.
"Do you hear?" asked Wyzinski, eagerly. "The Thati and the Ramaquotan
rivers run into the Limpopo, and this river he calls the Ouro, or golden
river."
"Who owns the land, Luji?" asked Hughes.
"Mozelkatse once owned it, master. Now it is the country of Machin, the
Batonga, and the Banyai."
"Can Masheesh procure a canoe? and can we go down the river?" were the
next questions.
Both were answered satisfactorily. The Batonga were a friendly people,
like the Bechuanas, and feared the Matabele Kaffirs, whose chief,
Mozelkatse, had more than once punished them; and after a long talk, it
was determined to send back the waggons and horses to the nearest
mission, that at Santa Lucia Bay, and go down the river to the sea,
before breaking up the camp at Gorongoza.
"It is hard to send back our waggon," exclaimed Hughes, during a pause
in the work of packing.
"We should but have to leave it and all it contains on the way, if we
met with the tetse-fly. Its sting is sure death to cattle."
"And does it harm man?" inquired Hughes.
"Singular to say it does not and I do not believe in its existence so
near this coast-line; still it's no use running the risk."
"We then resolve to strike the Zambesi, somewhere near Tete or Senna?"
"Yes, passing through the kingdom of this same chief, Machin, who seems
to be almost a rival to Mozelkatse."
It was with feelings of great regret the two saw the waggon with its
great tilt, lumbering away an hour or two before sunset, under the
charge of the missionary's men, and bound for the station of Saint Lucia
Bay,--it had been their home so long, that the cattle and horses seemed
to them as friends. It was hard to part with them. The ground was
strewed with packages, which were to be made up in the most commodious
form for carrying, and the party was reduced to its original number of
seven, with the addition of the Matabele and the two Europeans. A
smaller tent had been fashioned by Noti and Luji, out of some spare
canvas, easily carried, and it was now pitched by the river side, under
the thick shade of a group of trees. Just as the last rays of the sun
were gilding the river with gold, making it, indeed, look like the Gold
River, Masheesh dropped down it in a canoe, and sunrise saw them on
their way to Sofala. The crew of the boat consisted of the missionary,
Captain Hughes, Masheesh, and the powerful Kaffir, Noti; Luji being left
in charge of the camp at Gorongoza. Floating down the river in a
comfortable canoe, between banks whose verdure was most luxuriant, was a
pleasant change after the days of toilsome march. The palmyra, the wild
date, mohanno, mowanna, and many other tropical trees grew in rich
luxuriance, while the thick tangled undergrowth, mixed up with a host of
creeping cane-like plants, rendered it impossible to penetrate the
forest-land. Long reeds of various kinds hung over the banks, and
beautiful water-lilies of gigantic size floated on the water. Wherever
a break occurred among the trees, grew grass, or fields of wild maize or
wild cotton were to be seen, and now and then the water antelope would
dash into the stream and swim across. The party trusted to their rifles
for food, and one of these antelopes coming well within range, Wyzinski
fired, wounding the animal severely just as he reached the shore. The
canoe dashed on to overtake it, which would easily have been done, for
the deer was unable to climb the steep bank, and twice failed in the
attempt, falling back into the water, when a huge alligator rose,
showing his long shovel-shaped snout above the river. A ball struck the
alligator, but without penetrating its mail. The deer struggled wildly
for a moment, several other dark log-like forms showed on the bank, and
the antelope disappeared, the water bubbling crimson for a moment; the
next the canoe moved gently over the reddened river, and all was still.
A second deer swam the stream, and this time it was different.
"Let him go, Wyzinski," whispered Hughes; "the alligators won't touch
him while he is swimming."
"Take the shot yourself; see, he nears the bank."
The report of the rifle rang out just as the deer scrambled up it,
startling whole flocks of wild duck out of the reeds and rushes. The
antelope, with a broken leg, fell, but quickly struggling up again,
would have escaped into the bush, when a second ball from Wyzinski's
rifle stopped it. The deer proved to be a fine buck, of an ashy grey,
with long horns like a goat, of a yellowish brown colour. The horns at
first when starting from the head trended directly backwards, and then
curved forwards, the tips being very pointed. The legs were remarkably
short for a deer, and it could not be very swift on land, for, added to
the shortness of limb, the girth round the carcass was very large. The
dead buck measured nearly eleven feet in length, and ten in
circumference.
"What a beautiful spot!" remarked Hughes, towards three o'clock in the
afternoon. "The green bank slopes down to the water's edge, and the
turf, dotted with its clumps of palmyra, acacia, and date-trees, looks
for all the world like a gentleman's park. Behind rises the forest,
where we can suppose the baronial hall to lie, and in the distance the
lofty range of the Nyamonga mountains. We only want the lodge gates to
complete the picture."
"You are a bad auctioneer, Hughes," laughed his comrade; "you have
omitted the greatest charm. I mean the river, with its beautiful reeds
waving in the breeze, its magnificent water-lilies, and the flocks of
wild duck floating in and out."
"Some of them are really very beautiful, and I never saw any like them.
Look at that lot sailing away before us, their necks, backs, and throats
a beautiful orange, while the head is glossy black. They must be
splendid divers, and what a rate they go at."
"I never saw ducks before," replied the more scientific missionary,
"possessing the power of partially submerging themselves; only the head
and top of the back is above water as they paddle along. Steer the
canoe in shore, there are quantities of wild duck there."
"But not the same sort; see, the head is brown, beautifully pencilled
with black," said Hughes, as they all ceased rowing, and the boat, left
to the current, glided among the broad leaves of the water-lilies, "the
body and wings the same, while a deep yellow ring runs round the neck.
There they go," he continued, "spattering along the water, just like
water-hens, and then diving."
Floating slowly on, the canoe entered a little bay, where a quantity of
drift wood had accumulated. "Only look, Hughes; why there are hundreds
of them feeding apparently on insects found on the floating wood," cried
Wyzinski.
"Again another species, for these are of a brownish-red, intermixed with
dirty white. What say you to landing in our park, taking possession,
and having our dinner there?"
"Agreed; but first of all I must have that bird; I never saw one like
it," replied the missionary. Strange birds of brilliant plumage were
flying about; among others, a small one, which hovered over the water
like a hawk, espying its finny prey doubtless from its dizzy height; and
then, apparently shutting its wings, would drop or dart into the river,
like a stone, making the water splash around. A shot gun had been
placed in the boat, and the missionary wounded one of these birds. For
fully ten minutes the canoe chased it, the bird diving and remaining so
long under water that it was almost impossible to tell where it would
rise, and eventually it got away.
The day was hot, although a cool breeze was blowing on the river,
bending down the long reeds on the banks, as heated with their long
chase, and laughing at their failure, the boat was forced through the
drift wood into the little bay, and eventually made fast by a rope to
the trunk of a tree.
"Here, Noti, help me to haul out the carcass of the water-buck, and
we'll make a fire under yonder clump," shouted Hughes as he leaped
ashore.
The fire was soon blazing merrily, and great collops of venison roasting
before it. The monkeys came grinning and chattering among the branches,
looking at the intruders, and occasionally pelting pieces of bark at
them; strange birds of bright plumage circled round them, and whole
flocks of ducks went winding about among the leaves of the water-lilies
before their eyes.
Seated under the shade of a splendid tree, the bright knives were soon
at work, and a hearty meal made, washed down by clear cool water from
the springs of Gorongoza.
"What do you say to making an hour or two of halt here, Wyzinski?" said
Hughes, with his mouth full of venison meat. "It's a sweet spot, and we
could pull gently down the river in the cool of the night."
"I should like very much to secure some specimens of the strange birds I
see here," replied the missionary, "and the moon rises early."
"Well, then, take Noti with you, and Masheesh and I will be
boat-keepers. I shall have a sleep."
Taking a short gun, and calling to Noti to fetch his rifle and follow
him, Wyzinski strolled away leisurely into the bush, having first taken
the bearings of the place by means of a small pocket compass he always
carried.
Covering up the remains of the buck with green branches to keep it
fresh, Hughes took a good pull at the gourd of water, and then lay down,
Masheesh strolling towards the boat. The mosquitos were too
troublesome, however, so he rose, joined the Matabele in pushing off the
canoe, anchored her by means of a rope and stone, lay down, and was soon
fast asleep at the bottom of the boat. Half awake at first, the faint
report of Wyzinski's gun came now and then upon his ear, but at last
sleep prevailed. The sun was low, and his beams slanting over the
forest-land, when, aroused by Masheesh shaking the branches with which
he had covered him, Captain Hughes awoke. It is a peculiarity common to
those who lead a life of danger and adventure, that the moment of
awakening at once restores all their faculties. They begin, as it were,
where they left off. Such was the case in the present instance, for one
look at the Matabele's face at once told Hughes that something was
wrong. Carefully raising himself in the light canoe, a glance showed
the danger. There, on the beautiful green patch where the party had
eaten their meal, three splendid lions were walking to and fro, rolling
on the grass, growling and playing, and a lioness with one cub had shown
herself and retired previously. It was a splendid sight to watch these
magnificent animals at their gambols; but what of Wyzinski, what of
Noti, the one armed with a shot gun, the other with a rifle he only half
understood, and what was worse, both utterly unconscious of the presence
of the owners of the land. Presently one of the old lions stopped for a
moment, snuffing like a dog with his nose in the air, and then walking
deliberately to the travellers' impromptu, larder, drew forth the
remains of the water-buck. A second at once seized it, the third came
up, and a tremendous _melee_ ensued, during which the body of the deer
was riven into pieces, and lions and carrion seemed rolling about in one
heap. Motioning to the Matabele, and with his help gently lifting the
anchor clear of the ground, the boat was suffered to drop down the
stream, its occupants using their hands as paddles on the off side. By
this means it arrived within fifteen paces of the bank, where the lions
were now feeding quietly, when the stone was again dropped, and the
canoe swung head to stream. They, thinking it to be an alligator, had
not taken the slightest notice of the boat, and went on feeding, tearing
and riving the flesh, but stopping now and then to growl savagely at
each other. Just then, Hughes caught a faint report, and the noise of
the shot gun being even at that distance easily distinguished from the
sharper crack of the rifle, it told him that the missionary was as yet
safe and far away, the report coming to his ears only as a distant echo.
Thinking it better to leave the animals to feed, he and Masheesh watched
them. Half an hour passed, the flesh being nearly gone, and a few of
the larger bones only remaining. The ducks were sailing about the
canoe, the birds gliding here and there; but sunset was approaching, and
it became absolutely necessary to get rid of them. Leaning his rifle
across the slight gunwale, Hughes took a steady aim. Just in front of
him sat a great lion, with the last remnants of the buck's forequarters
flung over his paws, crunching at the bones. The report rang out,
startling the whole crew, but whether from nervousness, or from some
motion of the boat, he knew not, the shot missed; the startled animals,
after gazing for a moment, trotted deliberately off, Hughes firing
another barrel after them. One of them turned at the second shot,
growling fiercely, then the whole disappeared in the cover, while the
ring of the shot gun was heard about a mile away, replying to that from
the river. The report came from a direction exactly opposite to that in
which the lions had disappeared. A quarter of an hour later the long
plaintive cry of the Australian bushranger was heard and replied to, and
then Wyzinski made his appearance, breaking his way through the bush,
his dress torn, and about thirty different kinds of birds dangling round
his waist. To his great surprise, Hughes rushed forward and shook him
by the hand.
"Why, what's the matter?" he asked.
"Matter enough; have you seen any lions?"
"I have not seen anything except these birds, some snakes, and a great
many different kinds of monkeys, some of them very large."
"Where's Noti?" was the next question, "I'm sure I don't know," replied
the missionary. "He left me to follow a caracal."
"Did you hear any lions about?"
"No, nor was I likely; that beast does not ramble during the day. I saw
great quantities of monkeys, I repeat."
Hughes told his tale, and the full danger of Noti's situation was
realised. Night, too, was now falling. The three set to work to
collect brushwood, and the shot gun soon procured them some ducks for
supper. A roaring fire was lighted, and enough wood got together to
keep it up. All night long the lions were heard roaring, the cry of the
jackals and hyenas showed that they too were very numerous, and several
large snakes, one of them more than eight feet long, came within the
light of the fire. The bush swarmed with monkeys, and when the moon
rose, silvering the river with her light two lions were seen to cross
the open. Still there were no tidings of the missing Noti. The three
men watched by turns all night in the canoe, one of them landing from
time to time to keep up the fire. Wyzinski's Australian bush cry rang
out at times on the still air of the African night. It was since the
affair of the lioness of Zoutpansburgh perfectly well-known to all in
camp, but no responsive shout came back, though the night was so still
that the watchers often thought they could distinguish the roar of the
far distant surf. Morning dawned on the anxious men, the birds woke up
and began skimming about, the ducks sailed out from among the reeds and
water-lilies, and still no signs of Noti.
"I fear we have lost one of our number," observed the missionary, as he
let fly into a flock of duck, knocking over four. "Let us ask Masheesh
to pluck and cook those, and you and I go in search of poor Noti."
"Agreed," replied the soldier, who was standing in the water of a small
pool, having a good wash. A loud cry from Masheesh, who had just
secured the fourth duck, was heard, when a figure was seen staggering
out of the wood, into the open. It was Noti, who came on, his gun
raised above his head, reeling like a drunken man, and before he had
traversed half the space, falling heavily on his face to the ground.
Rising, the black stumbled forward a few paces and again fell heavily.
Lifting him gently, the three carried the poor fellow to the canoe,
placed him in it, washed the clotted gore from his face, breast, and
left side, covering him with branches.
Attracted by the blood, the flow of which it was impossible to stop, the
flies came round in myriads, and it was deemed best to paddle down the
river, Masheesh tending the dying man, for such he evidently was.
An hour afterwards, Noti was no more; but just before he breathed his
last, consciousness returned, and he was able to tell his tale.
He had lost his way following the caracal, had wandered about he knew
not where. Had heard the shots fired at the lions, and one of the
animals passing not far from him, he had climbed into a tree, knowing he
would not be deserted. All night long they had roamed about him, one
apparently wounded lying down under the tree where he lay concealed.
Towards morning it got up and walked into the bush.
Guided by the Australian bush cry, which he had heard perfectly, Noti
had come down from his tree. Trembling with fear, the black moved
cautiously on, and suddenly found himself face to face with the wounded
lion, who instantly sprang upon him. The rifle exploded, but how, the
poor frightened wretch never knew, for beast and man were rolling on the
ground together, and doubtless startled by the report, similar to that
which preceded his wound, the lion bounded away, leaving the mangled
insensible Noti on the ground. Its claws had dreadfully disfigured his
face, and the powerful jaws had crushed in the ribs of the right side.
The whole had passed in a few seconds, and now at the bottom of the boat
lay the corpse of poor Noti.
About one o'clock that day the bar was reached, and the three gazed upon
the long blue line of ocean, with its restless waves, tipped with foam.
"I had no idea the river was so marshy at its mouth, nor that we should
find a bar," said Hughes.
"There is almost invariably one at the mouth of African rivers; and look
at the herons fishing. There are quantities of these birds, and they
seem smaller than any I have seen before. What a beautiful dark purple;
and the throat, too, streaked with purple lines, only they have no
tail," said Wyzinski. "And the birds' nests, only see what a number of
them; they actually overhang the water, seeming to all but touch the
river."
"That is almost always the case where snakes abound," replied the
missionary. "The birds know that water is their best protector from
these reptiles; and these are the nest builders, those bright yellow
birds scarce seven inches long. How active they are."
In truth the river abounded with life. There were hawks and eagles
soaring near, birds of beautiful colours darting to and fro. The
kingfisher, with its heavy scarlet bill, and its wings of bright blue,
came dashing past, while another and even more beautiful bird kept
crossing before the canoe as if accompanying it, its head a bright green
colour, with wings of purple and green mixed, and long dark purple tail.
"Well, I am not sorry to see the blue waves once more, and to hear the
scream of the gulls and Mother Carey's chickens," exclaimed Hughes, as
they stepped on shore, and hauled the canoe up bodily on the bank.
"Look yonder, under the palm and date-trees, are some Kaffir huts. Let
us see what they are," said Wyzinski.
Telling Masheesh to stop by the boat, which yet contained the body of
the dead Noti, the two took their way to the kraal. There were about
twenty huts, and the tribe seemed very poor. The first group they came
to was composed of women.
"There, Hughes," said the missionary, "that smacks of Egyptian customs,
anyway."
"What does?" inquired the other. "I see nothing but some women grinding
maize."
"Just so, but look at the mode of doing it. The old Egyptian
hieroglyphics exactly reproduce it."
This was indeed the case, but the chief of the tribe now advanced to
meet them. He was a tall long-limbed man of a deep brown tint, with
grey hair and regular features--not in any one respect resembling the
Kaffirs, except as to dress, or rather the want of it.
"Well, that is strange," remarked Hughes. "If I was in India, I should
say I saw an Arab. Speak to him, Wyzinski."
The missionary, using the Zulu dialect, asked his name.
"Achmet Ben Arif," replied the man. "It is the first time for many
years the trader has reached the ruins of Sofala."
"Ruins!" exclaimed Wyzinski, at once mounting his favourite hobby,
"where are they?"
The Arab, for such in effect he was, together with all his tribe, raised
his hand, pointing to a spot a few hundred yards distant, where mounds
and fragments of fallen masonry were visible.
The missionary was moving away before the chief had done speaking, eager
to reach the ruins.
"But how," asked Hughes, speaking his own tongue, which he had acquired
in India, "how comes an Arab tribe settled here?"
"We know not," replied the chief. "For ages have our fathers lived
here, near the ruins of the white man's fort."
"And yet you have preserved the Arab language, and the Arab blood."
"Pure and unchanged, our customs, language and tradition remain as they
were; the dress of our people alone is altered. And instead of the
bournous of our fathers, we wear skins like the Kaffir. It is our
destiny. We have gold if the white chiefs will trade."
"We are not traders, chief. But what are the ruins yonder? Who built
them?"
"The fathers of your own people; the white traders of _Tete_ and the
Zambesi."
These, then, were the ruins of the Portuguese fort of Sofala,
consequently the river the party had descended, which Masheesh called
the Golden River, was once the means of extensive trade with the
interior. Leaving the chief, Hughes joined the missionary,
communicating to him the result of his conversation. The ruins of a
large stone fort were crumbling away before them, the masses of fallen
masonry gradually disappearing before the slow but steady action of
time, besides being partially buried in the sand drifted up before the
winter gales. The Arab chief followed them, after having spoken to the
men near him, several of whom started off in different directions, two
sauntering lazily down to the boat. The old man seemed puzzled as to
what interest could attach to the ruins.
"The stones," said he, raising his hand as he spoke, and pointing over
the ocean, whose waves were rolling in thunder on the bar,--"the stones
came from over the big water to build the white man's fort."
"That's nonsense," exclaimed the missionary, speaking in English, and
wandering from mound to mound. "They were taken from some ruins in the
interior, and it is those we seek. The mined cities of Zulu land."
"How firmly you have got that into your head, Wyzinski," replied his
companion.
"Into my head. Do you not see, do you not remember what Masheesh told
us this morning?" returned the missionary in an excited tone. "Away
yonder to the north and west, running through a territory disputed
between Mozelkatse and Machin, are the rivers Thati and Ramaquotan.
There lie the gold fields of Solomon somewhere in that neighbourhood;
the ruined cities of the mighty old Egyptians, the ancient gold diggers,
crumble into dust."
"You are crazy on the subject, Wyzinski. What has an old Portuguese
fort to do with all this?" replied Hughes, seriously.
"You are blind, Hughes, or will not see," returned the other, in a sharp
tone. "Did not Masheesh call yonder river the Golden River--and why?"
"Because gold may have been found in its banks, or on its bar. The
thing is simple enough, Wyzinski."
"It is you that are simple," said the excited man. "The river brought
down the boats with their cargo of gold, dug near the sources of the
Limpopo. The Sofala of the Portuguese is the Ophir of Solomon. Here
the ships of Tarshish came, and from that trade in gold the river took,
and still keeps its name--the Golden River."
There was nothing for it but to accept the dogma. The Arab chief looked
on in grave silence, but no further information could be extracted from
him, and except the direct visual evidence that a strong stone fort had
existed here, which was known to have been Portuguese, nothing could be
discovered. The ruins were nearly buried in sand, but there they still
remain on the shores of South Africa, the fort of Sofala being
well-known to all the traders on the coast, and the high headland near
them being a much-used landmark for mariners. The moon rose, and
Masheesh having borrowed a hoe, the whole party set to work to bury
their dead. They took it in turns, the Matabele chief at first
objecting, but ultimately taking his spell at it. Wyzinski was in the
hole, working vigorously and silently, the regular roll of the ocean on
the bar being the only sound heard. Masheesh was squatted by the open
grave, his knees drawn up and his elbows resting on them, the palms of
his hands supporting his head. Hughes stood gazing over the broad
expanse of the Indian Ocean, with his forage-cap in his hand, the cool
sea breeze playing amidst the heavy masses of dark hair which waved
uncared for over his sun-burnt forehead. Suddenly the vigorous strokes
of the hoe ceased, its sharp broad edge had struck something, and the
missionary stooping lifted that something, tossed it on the bank, and
jumped out of the grave. A piece of massive masonry overshadowed the
spot casting a long dark shadow over the Kaffir's resting-place among
the ruins of Sofala, as snatching up what looked like a mere stone,
Wyzinski stepped into the moonlight and began rubbing away the sand and
dust from what proved to be a bar of pure gold, evidently smelted and
worked into its present shape. It was a curious sight, the moon shining
brightly on the ruined masses of masonry, streaming over the rolling
ocean waves, lighting up the date and palmyra trees, with their long
fan-like leaves, and showing the group eagerly bending over the gold,
while stiff and stark beside them lay the dead body of the Kaffir, Noti.
Then came a warning cry from the Matabele warrior, and the next moment
a line of dusky savages, armed with their assegais and war-clubs, swept
round them.
It was a peculiarity of the missionary's never to lose the quiet
calmness of his manner, under any circumstances, however trying. The
greater the danger the more quiet, cool, and methodical he seemed to
become. Unarmed, for their rifles were in the canoe, and consequently
utterly defenceless, the whole party stood among the ruins of Sofala,
surrounded by the warriors of the Arab tribe, while Wyzinski, as if
nothing more than ordinary had happened, seated himself on a ruined
slab, more accurately to examine the bar of gold.
The old chief Achmet advanced, and using the Arab tongue, addressed the
soldier, who felt none of the stern coolness of the missionary.
"I thought the white men were not merchants, and refused gold," the old
man remarked. "They are then thieves who rob, and not fair traders who
barter."
"We found the gold by chance, chief."
The Arab laughed. "The white men came down the river by chance, to the
very spot where we find from time to time the gold buried; by chance
they dig for it and find it. Let them not laugh at an old man, whose
grey hairs will not bear it. Mashallah, let them give back the gold, or
my children take it."
"You are welcome, chief," replied the soldier, taking the bar from
Wyzinski, who seemed sunk in reverie, and giving it to Achmet. "And now
withdraw your warriors, and let us finish what we are about."
"Are the white men murderers as well as gold seekers?" asked Achmet Ben
Arif, pointing to the dead body which lay dark and motionless in the
moonlight.
"Look for yourself, chief. The wounds will tell their own tale,"
answered the other.
The old man bent over the corpse, putting his hand on the torn face, and
feeling the broken ribs. His fingers followed the wounds for several
minutes, then rising, "It is a lion which has done this," he said.
"It is, chief," and Hughes told how the death had occurred.
Achmet turned to his warriors, spoke a few words with them, when they
retired, vanishing among the trees as silently as they had appeared, the
old chief alone remaining.
"And you say," asked Wyzinski, "that you often find worked and smelted
gold here?"
"Yes," replied the chief, "often."
"It is Portuguese, and wherever they have drawn it from is the country
we seek, the ancient Ophir of Solomon. There can be no doubt of that."
"Let the white men bury their dead," answered Achmet; "and let them seek
Machin, chief of Manica, and the Makoapa."
And so poor Noti was lowered into his grave, and the missionary breathed
the white man's prayer over the Kaffir resting-place, among the
crumbling ruins of Sofala. Heavy stones were rolled over the spot to
baulk the jackals of their prey, and the old chief stood calmly by,
finally escorting the party to their canoe. All that night and the
following they toiled up the stream, resting during the day, bearing the
roar of the lion occasionally, and often startled by the plop of the
alligators, as they slid off the bank into the water. The afternoon of
the third day only, the camp at Gorongoza was reached, their numbers
reduced by one.
Volume 1, Chapter IX.