Chapter Twenty Two.
A Starlight Tramp.
Although by a concatenation of unforeseen circumstances—that is to say, the accidental possession of a bottle of chloroform, and the Caffres’ extraordinary craze for European medicaments—Tom Flinders and Frank Jamieson were freed from their savage guards, they felt by no means certain that they would even now be able to make good their escape. The untimely fate of Waishlahla and his men had, so to speak, left our friends “prisoners at large;” and this was a step—a long step!—in the right direction; but it was no use disguising the fact that there were still almost insurmountable difficulties to overcome, and unknown perils to encounter, before they could consider themselves fairly out of the wood.
They were alone in a hostile country, with only a scanty supply of food and almost without means of procuring more when that was gone (for, situated as they were, it would be running a great risk to use Waishlahla’s gun, save in self-defence), whilst between them and Albany—the nearest British territory—lay the Amatola Mountains, which they knew to be swarming with their bloodthirsty foes. Moreover, Frank Jamieson had grave misgivings as to whether there might not be a certain amount of truth in what their old jailer had told him—namely, that Colonel Somerset had suffered a serious reverse, and that Albany was now overrun by the victorious Caffres; and, lest this should be the case, he thought it better for them to keep clear of that district altogether, and endeavour to reach—by a long and circuitous route—one of the more distant provinces, where they might reasonably hope the war had not yet spread. And so, after much anxious deliberation, he proposed to his companion that they should shape their course for the Storm Bergen (which lay almost due north), and having crossed that range, should travel in a westerly direction until they reached the Tarka River, and then proceed along its banks to Cradock—a small town in Somerset province, 70 miles north-west of Graham’s Town.
“It will be a serious undertaking,” said Frank, “and we shall have to undergo any amount of privation and hardship; but I know you will agree with me that anything is better than running the risk of falling again into the hands of the Caffres; for, depend upon it, we should not get off so easily a second time! Of course,” he added, “we must travel by night, and conceal ourselves during the day—at any rate until we’re clear of the enemy’s country.”
“But how are you going to find your way?” was Tom’s doubtful query.
“I shall steer by the stars,” replied the other. Then, seeing that his friend’s face still wore a dubious expression, he said, “Remember, Tom, I don’t for a moment suppose that it will be all plain sailing—quite the contrary! But I do honestly believe that in following this route, lies our best—nay, our only chance of eluding the Caffres.”
“All right, old fellow,” cried Tom cheerfully. “I am ready to trust myself to your guidance, and we’ll sink or swim together. Now, the sooner we’re off the better. I feel fresh as possible after my long caulk.”
Frank then resumed his clothes (which luckily for him the Caffres had not put on), whilst Tom despoiled the unfortunate Waishlahla of his gun and ammunition; he also took his knobkerrie, shield, and bundle of assegais; and a bag of green mealies.
“Are you ready, Tom?” asked Frank.
“Ay, ay!” was the prompt reply; “quite ready.”
The air was mild and calm, and the glorious constellations of the south shone down on the young men as they started on the first stage of their perilous journey; not knowing where that stage might end, but resolved to keep moving forward throughout the night. Setting their faces in the proposed direction, they trudged on; now dipping into a deep hollow where the grass grew tall and rank, now topping a gentle rise; now clambering over masses of rock, now forcing their way through spiky mimosa jungle or tangled coppice.
Tom Flinders was deeply impressed by the weird novelty of their first night march.
Strange indeed were the noises that sounded through the still night air—the deep hum of myriads of insects, the melancholy “croak, croak” of the bull-frog, or the shrill scream of the night bird mingling with the moaning bark of the jackal, the laughing cry of the hyaena, or the sullen roar of some prowling leopard; stranger still the gaunt, spectre-like forms which loomed through the darkness or moved from the path with snort of terror or angry growl.
At length the morning dawned, and then the weary, foot-sore fugitives—their faces and limbs scratched and bleeding, their garments rent and torn—climbed into the wide-spreading branches of a well-grown baobab tree, and sought shelter and rest amidst its dark green foliage.
Thus—turning night into day and day into night—our friends journeyed on for a week and a day, covering on an average eight miles betwixt sundown and sunrise.
Not very rapid travelling! True; something less than a mile an hour; but be it remembered that the travellers had to make their way by starlight through an unknown country; up hill and down dale, over “bosch” and “bron,” through deep, rugged, watercourses, and (twice) across rapid streams; keeping all the while a sharp lookout least any of the savage beasts, whose howlings and roarings made the night hideous, should spring upon them as they passed along. Of water, they happily found abundance; but all they had to eat during that wearisome tramp were the green mealies they had taken from the dead Caffres; they certainly might have killed some small birds or even animals, but then they dared not light a fire to cook them, and had no mind to devour raw flesh.
The ninth morning of their journey brought them to a grassy plain watered by a clear, shallow stream, which bubbled over a pebbly bed. This plain was bounded on the north by a long range of lofty mountains exhibiting a magnificent front, clothed with overhanging woods, diversified with hoary rocks, and steep buttresses of green turf.
“Look yonder, Tom!” cried Frank Jamieson, gazing with admiration and thankfulness on the view before; “there are the Storm Bergen! By this time to-morrow I trust we shall be on the far side of them.”