On the following morning accordingly they resumed their route. Each of them carried some of the flesh of the kids, a dozen medlars, and a melon. It was found that the strength of the Hottentot was now so far restored that he could keep up with the usual pace at which the others walked, and only required a rest of half an hour or so, every two or three miles. They accomplished about a dozen miles that day; and at nightfall had reached a wide stony plain, covered here and there with patches of grass, but entirely destitute of shrub or tree. Omatoko pointed out a place where a deep projecting slab of rock, resting on two enormous stones, and bearing a rude resemblance to a giant’s chimney-piece, afforded as convenient a shelter for the night as might be desired. It would effectually protect the party from rain and wind, nor was there the least fear of wild animals, as none were ever known to come within two or three miles of the spot, there being neither pasturage nor water.
“No water,” repeated Frank, “that’s rather a doubtful advantage, isn’t it? What are we to drink, I wonder?”
The Hottentot only grinned in reply; and disengaging the knife which always hung at Nick’s girdle, began grubbing in the ground among the stones. In a few minutes he dug up several round, or rather spherical roots, two or three feet in circumference. These he cut open with the knife, displaying the inside, which had a white appearance, and was soft and pulpy. The boys had no sooner applied this to their lips than they broke out into exclamations of delight. “That’s your sort,” exclaimed Nick; “it’s like a delicious melon, only it’s twice as refreshing.”
“Omatoko, you’re a trump,” cried Frank. “You’d make a fortune, if you could only sell these in Covent Garden market. Nobody that could get them would ever drink water again.”
“What are they called, Charles,” asked Warley. “Are they to be met with elsewhere in South Africa, or only here?”
“The root is called the ‘markwhae,’ I believe,” answered the doctor, “and it is to be found in almost every neighbourhood where there is a want of water. It is another of those wonderful provisions of Divine Wisdom for the wants of its creatures, with which this land abounds. In some parts, such of the wild animals as are herbivorous, are continually digging up and devouring these roots. Vangelt told me that he once came upon a tribe of Hottentots which subsisted entirely without water, the succulent plants supplying even the cattle with sufficient liquid.”
“Well, that is very wonderful,” said Frank. “I declare I feel more refreshed by that one root, than if I had drunk a pailful of water. Are there any more of these roots on the way to your village, Omatoko?”
“Omatoko’s village, one, two days away. No roots, plenty water,” returned the Hottentot. “Well, that will do as well, I suppose. But this is a thing worth knowing, if one should find one’s self in a place where there is no water.”
The next day at sunrise they resumed their way, and made their mid-day halt on the skirts of a dense growth of mingled aloes and underwood, which was scarcely anywhere more than five feet in height. Here they sat down by the side of a spring, which gushed forth from a limestone rock into a small natural basin, whence it spread itself in all directions, sustaining a rich emerald carpet for a few feet round, but soon disappearing in the sand.
“Plenty of visitors here at night,” remarked Warley, gazing curiously round him on the numerous footmarks of all shapes and sizes, with which the borders of the spring were indented. “It must be a curious sight to witness such an omnium gatherum. Only I suppose the more timid animals make sure that the lions and leopards are well out of the way, before they venture here themselves.”