Looking down in surprise we discovered that we were on the very edge of what in the darkness appeared a vast chasm, the depths of which we could not penetrate. Instinctively I recoiled from my close proximity; but the next moment drew near again, for it was from this pit that Jack Thompson’s voice had proceeded.
“Jack!” I called down; “is it deep? I can’t see you; are you hurt, or can you reach me your hand?”
“I have fallen on my wounded arm and the pain’s awful,” he responded; then as if he had tried, he added, “no, I don’t think you can reach me, for it’s precious deep. But can’t you find some way to get me out of this infernal place?”
“What shall we do?” I asked, turning to Mr Ferguson, “how ever are we to help him?”
“The darkness may make him misjudge the depth,” he replied. “Let us try to reach the poor fellow.”
Lying flat on the ground, therefore, I bade him, if possible, seize my hand, but soon found he was unable to do so—being remarkably short of stature, besides which his falling on his wounded arm had rendered him faint and unfit for exertion.
“It is useless,” said Mr Ferguson, after he also had tried. “One of us must go to the bush, and get some baboon ropes.”
I was on my feet in an instant, but the next moment’s reflection made me say—
“That plan would be useless, sir, for in this vast plain, even if I got the ropes, how could I find you again in the darkness, and to call for directions would undoubtedly bring the Kaffirs upon us.”
“True; you ever have your wits about you, Galbraith, but what are we to do?”