Chapter Five.
The Beginning of the Adventure.
The second breakfast over, farewells were spoken—with, in some cases, the promise to meet again speedily—and the voyagers separated, some to make their way home to their sugar or coffee estates in the neighbourhood, others to take train to more distant localities, some three or four being bound as far afield as Johannesburg or Pretoria—and Dick, with his friend Grosvenor, set out to wander about the town of Durban, inspect the shops, pass through the aristocratic quarter of the Berea, per tram, and finally, on a couple of horses hired from the hotel stable, to ride out to the River Umgeni, and thence to Sea Cow Lake, in the vain hope of getting a sight of a few of the hippopotami that were said to still haunt that piece of water; finally returning to the hotel in time for dinner, hot, tired, but supremely happy, and delighted with everything that they had seen.
During the progress of the meal they made the acquaintance of a Mr Gerald Muspratt, a coffee planter, whose estate was situate some twelve miles distant, in the adjoining county of Victoria; and, the acquaintance ripening over the after-dinner coffee, with that breathless celerity which is one of the most charming characteristics of the Colonies, before retiring for the night the two friends had accepted Muspratt’s very pressing invitation to ride out with him to his place next morning, and spend a couple of days there with him to look round the estate and be introduced to Muspratt’s two or three neighbours. This they did in due course, the two days’ visit lengthening itself into four, and ending by the acceptance of another invitation, this time from a sugar planter whose estate, Mount Pleasant, was situate some fourteen miles farther up the coast, on the other side of the Umhloti River. This invitation Dick would fain have declined, for he was impatient to begin the real business that lay before them; but Grosvenor was so charmed with the country and everything that he saw in it, and especially with the spontaneous kindness, friendliness, and hospitality of its people, that he seemed in no hurry to rush away from it all and bury himself in the wilderness. As it happened, neither of the young men had any reason to regret the time thus spent, for their host, an old-time transport rider, named Mitchell, had penetrated far beyond the Zambezi in his younger days, was an experienced hunter, knew the interior, its inhabitants, and their peculiarities as well as, if not better than, any other man living, and was brimful of information and hints absolutely invaluable to the new arrivals, which he freely imparted. When told of the nature and scope of the young men’s projected adventure, however, he shook his head dubiously, and strongly urged them to abandon the idea of attempting more than just a few months’ big-game shooting.
“Mind you,” he said, “I strongly sympathise with you in your very ambitious aims, ridiculous as many men would pronounce them, for I was animated by precisely the same desire myself when I was a youngster of about your age,” turning to Grosvenor.
“By Jove! you don’t say so?” ejaculated Grosvenor, surprised and delighted to meet a man of such wide experience as Mitchell who did not pronounce his plans chimerical; for it must be stated that thus far the enunciation of those plans had been almost invariably received with either covert or open ridicule. “Then,” he continued, “do I understand that you believe in the possibility of finding the site of ancient Ophir?”
“Well—yes—you may understand me to mean that—in a general way,” was Mitchell’s somewhat guarded admission. “But,” he continued, “if you ask whether I think it probable that you will discover either Ophir or the mysterious white race which rumour has asserted to exist somewhere in the far interior, I answer: Certainly not.”
“The dickens!” exclaimed Grosvenor. “But why, my dear sir, why?”
“Well—if you will not be offended by my exceeding candour—chiefly because I think you both much too young and too inexperienced to have any chance of succeeding in so very formidable an undertaking,” was the somewhat discouraging reply.
“Yes, of course,” admitted Grosvenor, “it is true that we are both quite inexperienced; but our youth is surely in our favour rather than against us, for we are strong and healthy, and no doubt will soon become inured to fatigue, hardship, and even privation. We both have splendid constitutions; and, moreover, my friend Maitland here is a doctor and surgeon of quite remarkable ability, which fact I regard as of the utmost importance. Then, as to the matter of experience, I imagine that we are bound to acquire that as we go on; we are not going to be transported into the heart of the wilds in a few hours by express train, you know.”
“No,” answered Mitchell, with a somewhat grim smile, “that is quite true, as is also your contention that you will acquire some experience as you go on. Then, of course, the fact that Mr Maitland is a doctor and surgeon—of which I was unaware—is a great point in your favour. But, when all is said, I still think that you will find the undertaking too much for you. Why— By the way, did you ever hear of a certain Charles Menzies?”
“The explorer, you mean? Yes, I have heard of him; in fact I believe it was an account of his travels that first put this idea into my head,” answered Grosvenor.
“Ah!” remarked Mitchell cryptically; “I wonder just how much you have heard respecting his travels?”
“Well, not very much, I must confess,” acknowledged Grosvenor. “So far as I can remember, it amounted simply to the statement that after one of his long absences from civilisation he returned with the story that he had actually discovered the site of ancient Ophir; and that he had gathered reliable information concerning the existence of the mysterious white race, which is to be one of the objects of my quest.”
“Just so,” commented Mitchell, relapsing into a pregnant silence. It was evident that he was intently considering some difficult question. Presently he looked up and said:
“I knew Menzies very well in my younger days. As a matter of fact I saved his life; for had I not happened to have fallen in with him and picked him up he must have inevitably perished; and in that case the public would never have heard any of the extraordinary rumours respecting his discoveries that afterwards leaked out. I was away up-country elephant hunting at the time, and I found him, some seventy miles this side of the Zambezi, in the last stages of exhaustion from starvation. He was then returning from the journey that made him famous, and had lost everything he possessed, even to his rifle; it is therefore nothing short of marvellous that he had contrived to make his way as far back as he did when I found him. He was too ill to talk much when I first picked him up, but afterwards, when he grew stronger, he told me the whole astounding story of his journey and his adventures. He talked of publishing the narrative, but I very strongly dissuaded him from doing so; for, as I pointed out to him, there were portions of that narrative which were of so absolutely incredible a character that nobody would believe them, and the story would lose all value from the fact that it would be regarded as merely a fantastic fabrication, and he would gain the reputation of an unblushing romancer. To tell you the truth, I was firmly persuaded at the time that what he had gone through had affected his brain, and that he was the victim of a series of the most weird and horrible illusions. But I had reason to modify my opinion in that respect a few years afterward, although I am still unable to make up my mind definitely as to just how much of his story was true and how much was due to an imagination that had become warped and distorted by peril and suffering.”
“By Jove!” exclaimed Grosvenor, with a sort of thrill in his voice. “I say, you know, all this is intensely interesting. Eh, what? I wonder if you would mind repeating to us a few of those statements that you found it so difficult to believe at the time, and with regard to which you were afterwards inclined to modify your opinion?”
“Well,” answered Mitchell, “I am afraid I must ask you to excuse me from doing that. You see, Menzies was my friend, and one of the finest fellows that ever lived. He is dead now, poor chap, and I would not willingly say a single word that might cause you or anyone else to think lightly of him, or picture him in your mind as other than the very soul of truth and honour. Yet if I were to repeat to you some of the statements that I have in my mind, I know that you two hard-headed, matter-of-fact Englishmen would at once set them down as the veriest fairy tales, their author a second Munchausen, and myself a credulous old fool for attaching the slightest weight to them. And yet, let me tell you, Africa is a very queer country—as you will discover if you persist in attempting to carry out your plan—and queer things happen in it, things that strain a man’s credulity to the breaking-point, until he has had personal experience of them. That remark of Shakespeare’s, that ‘there are more things in heaven and earth than are reckoned in our philosophy’ is nowhere more forcefully confirmed than in this continent of Africa, and especially in those parts of it which are practically unknown to the white man. Why, even here, close at hand, among our neighbours the Zulus, there have been happenings—well authenticated, mind you—that are absolutely unexplainable by any knowledge that we whites possess. But I think I have prosed enough for one sitting, and it is growing late—one o’clock, as I am a living sinner!—and you must be growing tired. Do you wonder why I have told you all these things? Well, it is because I should like to dissuade you from this mad scheme of yours, which my experience tells me can only end in disaster, and induce you to content yourselves with a two-months’ hunting trip in the company of some good man who knows the country, and can be trusted to see that you come to no harm. Now, good night, both of you! think over what I have said; sleep well, and don’t dream of fantastic horrors such as my talk may have suggested.”
If Mr Joseph Mitchell, sugar planter, and thoroughly honest, well-meaning man, flattered himself that the foregoing conversation would have any other effect than to stimulate the curiosity of his guests and confirm them in their determination to carry out their plans in their entirety, he very greatly over-estimated his persuasive powers, and completely misread the characters of those to whom he had been talking. For both Grosvenor and Maitland were of a highly adventurous disposition, and what Mitchell had told them had simply whetted their curiosity to a keen edge, and had strongly suggested to them that the adventure promised to be of an even more alluring and thrilling character than they had ever ventured to hope, even in their most sanguine moments. So much, indeed, they made clear to their host when they met him the next morning at the breakfast table; and, when he would have made a further attempt at dissuasion, laughingly assured him that their minds were finally made up, and that the kindest thing he could now do for them would be to give them as much information and as many hints and wrinkles as he could think of to help them to a satisfactory conclusion of the adventure. This Mitchell proceeded to do, when at length the conviction had been borne in upon him that all his efforts at dissuasion were worse than useless; and when, two days later, they took leave of the genial planter, Dick carried away with him a notebook crowded from cover to cover with information that was destined to prove of incalculable value to him and his companion, as well as a sketch map showing the best route to follow, and certain localities that were to be most carefully avoided if they desired to return sane and sound to civilisation.
Arrived in Durban once more, after a most delightful jaunt, they at once set about making their preparations in earnest, one of the first things which Grosvenor insisted upon doing being the payment to Dick of six months’ salary in advance, from the date of their landing upon South African soil. Practically the whole of this Dick was able to remit home to his mother, since Grosvenor would not hear of his contributing so much as a single penny toward the expenses of the expedition, therefore the junior member of the partnership had no need to spend anything, except for a few curios which he thought his mother might like to display to her friends; but he laid in a few additional drugs, and also added a spare instrument or two to his surgical case, to cover the possibility of loss or accident.
Three days later they started for Johannesburg, by way of Delagoa Bay and Pretoria, Grosvenor being very anxious to get a glimpse of life on the Rand and to gain some knowledge of diamonds and diamond mining before he finally bade farewell to civilisation. Since Johannesburg lay on the direct line of their route, and the knowledge sought might possibly prove useful in the future, Dick raised no objection to the proposal, especially as they went armed with letters of introduction from Mitchell to some of the most influential of the Rand magnates and others whose advice and assistance would be exceedingly helpful. A busy three weeks spent in the city and at Witwatersrand enriched them with much very valuable information, both particular and general, and also enabled them to acquire four excellent horses and an Indian coolie groom named Ramoo Samee, who not only bore a most admirable character, but also raised no objection when informed of the nature and scope of the adventure upon which his employers were bound. Here, too, and also at Pretoria, the partners endeavoured to secure the services of a hunter as guide and general superintendent, but were unable to meet with one who conformed in all respects to their requirements; they therefore ultimately decided to defer their further quest until their arrival in Bulawayo, which was to be the point from which they would finally bid farewell to civilisation.
But upon their arrival at Bulawayo, although they met with no difficulty in providing themselves with a brand-new wagon and a team of twenty “salted” oxen, together with a Hottentot driver named Jantje, and a Kafir boy named ’Nkuku as voorlouper, no suitable candidate for the post of guide offered himself or could be found; and finally, after devoting a full week to fruitless search and enquiry, Dick and Grosvenor agreed to start without one, and trust to luck and their own good sense. Everybody, with one solitary exception, declared that it was a most risky thing to do; but the solitary exception, in the shape of an old Boer farmer named Van Zyl, applauded their pluck, and declared that they were far more likely to succeed by learning the lesson of the wild for themselves, and depending upon their own courage and adaptiveness, than if they set out under the guidance of another, and remained more or less in leading strings throughout the journey.
“What I would advise,” he said, “is that you should look out for a good ‘nigger’; he will be far more helpful to you than any white man, and will be content to be a good servant to you—if you are careful to keep him in his proper place—instead of trying to be your master.”
This sounded like good, sensible advice, coming as it did from a man who had been born, brought up, and had spent a long life on the borderline separating civilisation from savagedom, and it finally confirmed them in the determination, to which they had already practically come, to do without a white guide.
According to Mitchell, their route from Bulawayo lay generally in a north-easterly direction, and accordingly, after transacting all their business, making every possible preparation for the long journey before them, and writing their final letters home, announcing the fact that they were about to plunge into the wilderness, and that, therefore, no further news must be expected of them for an indefinite period, they set out about ten o’clock on a certain glorious morning, boldly striking straight out across the veldt, and directing their course by compass. Their wagon was already fully loaded, the load consisting of several air-tight cases of ammunition, six barrels of flour, a cask of sugar, a bag of coffee, a chest of tea, a small keg of brandy—to be used only in cases of the utmost emergency—a case containing pickles, condiments, preserves, salt, and other articles of a similar character, to be regarded as luxuries and used accordingly; their own personal belongings including clothes and firearms, a small tent made of waterproof material for sleeping in, two net hammocks with portable supports, a full set of cooking utensils, four sacks of mealie meal, and, finally, two large boxes of beads of various kinds, a quantity of brass wire, and a case of cheap mechanical and other toys, small mirrors, etcetera which Grosvenor had had the foresight to bring out from England with him, the last three items being destined to be employed in bartering with the natives. All this constituted quite as heavy a load as it was at all desirable to put upon the wagon, although the full team of twenty oxen made light of it, especially as it was now the dry season, and the ground was firm and hard for travelling. As for Dick and Grosvenor, they travelled on horseback, changing their steeds at every outspan, in order to accustom the animals to them, and gradually to get them into good, hard condition by working them to a certain extent every day. They rode armed each with a good, serviceable sporting rifle, capable of dealing with practically any game except elephant, a formidable hunting knife, and a revolver; and, in addition, each of them carried a pair of the finest and most powerful binocular glasses that Grosvenor had been able to procure in London. He had had the foresight to provide two pairs in case of accident, which was fortunate, for now each rider was independent of the other. Acting upon the advice of their friend Van Zyl, they confined themselves strictly to short treks, averaging about five miles each, and three treks per day, for the first four days, in order to keep the oxen in good condition as long as possible.
Those first four days of their march were quite uneventful, the going was good, the grass still rich and abundant, water plentiful, and there was just enough game to keep the party well supplied with meat, while the animals worked well and improved in condition rather than otherwise, especially the horses, which proved to be even more promising than their owners had hoped for when they purchased them.
It was on the morning of the fifth day that the party encountered what might be spoken of as their first exciting incident, and it occurred, or rather began, as they were nearing the end of their first trek, about nine o’clock in the morning. Dick and Grosvenor, mounted as usual, with the half-dozen dogs that constituted their pack quartering the ground ahead of them, were nearly a mile ahead of the wagon, looking out for a suitable spot for the first outspan, when a sudden clamour on the part of the dogs, who had just disappeared over a low rise in the ground, caused the two riders to put spurs to their horses, in order to see what was the cause of the outcry. A short gallop sufficed to carry them to the crest of the ridge, when they beheld the dogs baying and snarling round a fine, well-set-up native “boy”, who, armed with assagais and knobkerrie, constituted one of a party of some thirty in number who appeared to be guarding a herd of about three hundred grazing cattle, while about half a mile farther on was a native village of some fifty Kafir huts of the usual beehived shape, built in the midst of a number of mealie fields occupying an area of, roughly, about half a square mile, situated near the banks of a small stream.
Dick Maitland, who had early developed a rather remarkable aptitude for picking up the language of the natives, at once cantered forward, and, calling off the dogs, demanded to know the name of the village, and where would be the best place at which to outspan. But the native whom he addressed, and who seemed to be labouring under considerable excitement, replied with such a rapid flow of words that his speech was utterly unintelligible, save that his communication had something to do with lions, the boy pointing first to a big clump of bush about a mile distant, and then to the village itself. Dick made several attempts to arrive at a better understanding of the nature of the communication, but without any very marked success, and at length suggested that Grosvenor should ride back to the wagon and hurry it forward, in order that Jantje, the Hottentot driver, might act as interpreter. This was done, and about twenty minutes later the wagon arrived, and the situation was explained to Jantje, who forthwith poured out a flood of eloquence upon the little band of natives, who by this time had gathered round Dick and were earnestly endeavouring to make him understand something that they evidently regarded as of very great importance. A brief but animated conversation at once ensued, at the end of which Jantje turned to his employers and explained:
“Dhese people say, sars, dat dhere is four, five lion in de bush yander and dhey won’ go ’way, and dhey wan’ to know if white gent’men be so kind as to kill dhem lion; because if dhey not be killed dhey kill de poor Kafirs’ cattle. Two day ago dhem lion kill two oxen and mos’ horrible maul de boy dat was herding dhem.”
“Phew! lions, eh?” exclaimed Grosvenor. “I say, Maitland, this is good news, eh, what? I am longing for the chance to have a pot at a lion. All right, Jantje; you tell them that we will kill the lions for them with the greatest of pleasure. We’ll outspan at once and set about the business forthwith. That will be the right thing to do, I suppose, Dick, won’t it?”
“Yes, certainly,” answered Dick, “by all means. But before we think of tackling those lions I must see that poor beggar who was mauled. Two days ago! By Jove, I dread to think of what the state of his wounds must be in this hot weather, that is, if he is still alive. Just ask them, Jantje, whether the boy who was mauled is still living, or whether the lions killed him?”
The question was put, and Jantje duly interpreted the reply.
“Yes, sar, de boy he still alive, but most drefful sick, dhese people say.”
“Good!” exclaimed Dick, dismounting from his horse. “Then say to them that I am a great doctor, and that I intend to save the poor fellow’s life if I can. I want one of them to carry my medicine chest for me, and to take me to the injured man’s hut. Then you had better take the wagon down and outspan near the river, where the grass is good, but where our oxen are not likely to get among the mealies, and then come to me, for I shall probably need you to interpret for me.”
The first part of this speech being interpreted to the little crowd of natives, one of them at once stepped forward, expressing himself as willing to carry the medicine chest and act as guide, while another volunteered to point out a suitable and convenient spot upon which to outspan, the others forthwith breaking into a song of thanksgiving in which they announced to all and sundry that this was their lucky day, inasmuch as that the white ’mlungus were not only going to make well again their brother who was nigh unto death, but were also going to utterly root out and destroy those cunning beasts who refused to come out into the open and face their assagais. Grosvenor announced his intention of accompanying Dick, and five minutes later the pair, with their sable guide leading the way and carrying the medicine chest, were en route for the village, Dick carrying his case of surgical instruments under his arm. Their rifles they left with the wagon, deeming it unnecessary to cumber themselves with superfluous weapons in face of the fact that the villagers were obviously quite friendly disposed to white men, indeed they were still too close to civilisation to anticipate anything else.
As they neared the village the “boy” who preceded them began to shout the great news that the white men were coming to make whole the injured man, and the occupants of the huts, to the number of about two hundred men, women, and children, swarmed out to gaze upon the strangers. The guide, who was inclined to put on airs, upon the strength of being the bearer of the white men’s muti, would fain have made the most of the occasion by pausing in the centre of the village and haranguing his fellows, but Dick nipped the intention ruthlessly in the bud by repeating several times, in an imperative tone of voice, the word hamba (go), and presently the procession—for every occupant of the village formed up and followed the trio—came to a halt in front of one of the huts.
As the bearer of the medicine chest pushed his burden in through the low, narrow entrance of the hut, and dropped on hands and knees in order to follow it, Dick turned and, perceiving a disposition on the part of the crowd to gather close about the entrance, and so exclude what little light and air might otherwise make its way in, took an assagai from the hand of an astonished native, and, holding it by the blade, waved the press back with the butt end of the weapon. Then, still waving the butt end, he described on the ground the arc of a circle of some twelve feet radius from the hut entrance, and, returning the weapon to its owner, pointed to the mark on the ground, and, addressing the curiosity-ridden mob, said impressively in English:
“Now, good people, please have the goodness to keep carefully outside that line, and oblige yours truly!”
There was not one of those odoriferous, dark-skinned Kafirs who comprehended a word of English, but Dick’s actions and the tones of his voice were so expressive that his meaning was almost as distinctly understood as though he had spoken in the language of the tribe. He saw at once that this was so, and that his wishes would be obeyed, and signing to Grosvenor to precede him, forthwith passed into the hut.
Entering the windowless structure straight from the dazzling sunshine that flooded the outside world, the two Englishmen found themselves plunged for the moment in a darkness so profound that they could see nothing, and were fain to stand just where they rose to their feet after creeping through the low doorway, lest, moving, they should stumble over something—possibly the patient. But in addition to the hot, close odour of the interior of the hut there was another taint that assailed their nostrils, the taint of festering wounds, with which Dick was already familiar, and he shook his head doubtfully as he turned to the figure of Grosvenor, just beginning to reveal itself in the midst of the enveloping obscurity, and said:
“I don’t like this at all. I can’t see my patient as yet, but there is a certain something in the atmosphere of this hut which tells me that if the poor beggar’s life is to be saved we have no time to waste. Where is he, I wonder? Oh, I think I see him, there on the ground at the far side from the doorway! Yes, there he is. Another minute and I shall be able to see him clearly. Meanwhile, perhaps his pulse will tell us something.”
And, crossing to the far side of the hut, he knelt down by the side of the indistinctly seen man, felt for his hand, and, having found it, laid his fingers upon the wrist.