After a few hours’ rest and some quinine I felt better, but water was getting a pressing matter now, for though the pan was soft mud all over, we could find none, and our flasks were empty. At last we found a little liquid mud, so full of lime that it curdled into a sort of “curds and whey” when we tried to boil it. However, van Reenen shot a duiker, and we stewed some of its flesh in this semi-liquid, and made a sort of broth which appeased both hunger and thirst, and saved our little remaining water.
As no more could be found, however, and I was still groggy with fever and van Reenen had gone lame, we decided to get back to Aar Pan, if we could, and leave further exploration for a later day. So, after a night in the rocks, we turned back, taking the last of the liquid mud in our bottles, and chewing sorrel and other grasses to allay our thirst. The journey back was painful to a degree; we could only go slowly, and as nightfall found us still a long way off Aar Pan and water, we struggled on most of the night by compass and the stars.
Then we slept an hour or so, but were too anxious to sleep much, and were wide awake before sunrise, waiting for daylight to show us if we had kept the path. Luckily we had, and soon were climbing the big dune at Aar Pan which separated us from water. Suddenly van Reenen stopped and pointed. “Camels!” he said.
There were two of them, hobbled, feeding close to us, and at our tree we found quite a party—two police troopers, Telfer, and several “boys.”
The police had been sent from Witdraai, their post on the Kuruman River, to examine our permits, and their coming was extremely welcome. Their big shambling mounts carry a big load, besides the rider, with ease, and their saddle-bags were full of all kinds of luxuries. Soon we were feasting on coffee and real bread and tinned salmon, and began to realise that there was something in civilisation after all.
After a few hours they left us to patrol towards Tilrey Pan, through a country unknown to them, and with them went Telfer, who hoped thus to be enabled to reach a far-distant pan which Old Gert called “Wolverdanse” (Wolf’s Dance), where lay the green stones thought to be emeralds, and which we feared we should never reach on foot.
The patrol dropped him a few miles away from us about a week later. He had not succeeded in finding the emeralds, but he had a finer collection of bruises and blisters from sitting on and falling off the camels than he ever possessed before.
Meanwhile we thoroughly explored Aar Pan and several small pans near, finding more Kimberlite, but being handicapped by the utter impossibility of washing the ground. Our food ran short, and we had a very rough time; but at length our cart turned up with food and tools, and the first post we had had since leaving Upington. The newspapers contained the news of Scott’s death, and the story of his heroism and sufferings made us feel ashamed of having grumbled at our own few privations.
Unfortunately, the water in the small pit had now shrunk to a few bucketfuls of bad-smelling liquid, so full of insects as to be almost undrinkable; and as no rain fell in the pan, and t’samma was not yet available, we had to make up our minds to abandon the camp, and make an attempt to establish a new water-base somewhere along the Kuruman River till t’samma gave us a better opportunity of reaching the farthest pans.
We therefore filled our bottles, gave the oxen the rest of the liquid mud, and trekked due west, having first sent a “boy” to the main camp to warn the water-waggon to take back our belongings there.