This sensible reasoning convinced Jack and me also, when the minister continued—
“As certainly we have no chance of sighting a ship here, suppose we make our course as straight in advance as we can, when we shall assuredly reach the banks of some river such as the Imfolosi or Umlalaze, along whose banks we can proceed till we again reach the shore, where then, if you like, we can build a hut, for we shall have both fish and fresh water close at hand.”
There could not be a better plan proposed, and we were for instantly putting it into execution.
“We must wait till the sun has set, and then we shall not be able to go far to-night, for we must traverse the bush, not to be seen by the Kaffirs. Indeed, I do not think we shall do more than cross the plain, and wait for the moon to rise that we may each select the branches of some tree to rest in till dawn, when we must start instantly, taking the bush, and working towards the east, for the Kaffirs generally build their kraals far inland.”
Accordingly, directly the night closed in, we set out. Our “straight course” led us nearly in the same tracks the Kaffirs had gone, that is as well as we could judge in the darkness; therefore we had to proceed with much caution, and hoped to reach the crest of the hill before the moon rose, least our figures, crouch down as we would, should attract the keen glance of some Kaffir, whose kraal might be for what we knew, within a few yards of the other side.
As we went, distant sounds, such as a distant roar and creaking of branches, told us that the fierce dwellers among its luxuriance were out in search of food, and we all shuddered at the idea of what our position would have been at that moment, had we lost ourselves in the terrible bush.
We had more than half crossed the plain, and were hurrying on in silence, when my steps were suddenly arrested by a cry, partly of surprise, partly of terror from Jack Thompson who had been walking by my side. I started round, fully expecting to find ourselves once more in the presence of the King of Beasts or some other animal, though I do not think its red eyes would have astonished me more than what did indeed meet my view—which was nothing; yes, nothing. Jack Thompson had entirely vanished.
“Good heavens! Mr Ferguson,” I exclaimed, catching his arm, “where is Thompson; just now he was by my side, and see, he has gone!”
As I spoke, a voice coming up apparently from our feet addressed us—
“Shiver my top-sails, but if I ain’t in another cussed fix! Here, Galbraith lad, lend a hand to help us out.”