With Airship and Submarine: A Tale of Adventure

by Harry Collingwood

It took them but a few minutes to find the spot at which the okapi had left the water, for the rocks were splashed with blood, leaving a clear trail toward one of the innumerable alleys or “runs” through the forest that debouched upon the drinking-place. But they had no sooner left the open and entered the particular alley along which the animal had retreated than they recognised the absolute hopelessness of attempting to follow the blood-marks without artificial light of some sort. Sir Reginald and Lethbridge, indeed, with a partial return to reasonableness, suggested the abandonment of the chase for the night, and a return to the Flying Fish until the morning, when they could come back to the spot, provided with everything necessary to enable them to carry the pursuit to a successful issue. But von Schalckenberg protested so vehemently against this course, urging with so much plausibility the likelihood that the creature would drop exhausted before it had run a mile, and that, if the search for it were left until the morning, all that they would find of it would probably be its mangled remains, so torn and mauled by other animals as to be utterly valueless, that at length the others allowed themselves to be persuaded against their better judgment. So gathering together such dry rushes and other matters as could be converted into torches, they lighted these, and with the illumination thus obtained, proceeded upon their quest.

The fresh blood spoor was easily followed for the first half-mile or so, at which point their hopes of success were stimulated by a sudden scrambling sound at no great distance ahead of them, as though some heavy animal had been startled by the light of their torches and the noise of their approach, and had hastily betaken itself to flight. Encouraged by the sounds, they hurried forward, and presently came upon a small puddle of blood and a “form” in the thick carpet of ferns and fallen leaves, with which the soil was covered, that plainly pointed to the fact that the wounded animal had here sunk down to rest, and had only just moved on again. This last impression was clearly borne out by the circumstance that, even as the party bent over the spot, examining it, the crushed ferns were slowly raising themselves again.

“Ah!” ejaculated von Schalckenberg, as he commented upon this, “the chase will soon be over; we shall come up with him again within the next ten minutes, and then he will not escape us.”

The ten minutes, however, became twenty, and the twenty lengthened out to forty, and still they had not overtaken the okapi, although they frequently heard sounds at no great distance ahead which led them to believe that they were close upon its heels. But they had been greatly delayed by the constant necessity to pause while they renewed their torches; and latterly the blood spoor had been steadily growing less distinct. It appeared that the wound had almost ceased to bleed, and this had greatly added to the difficulty of pursuit. Finally, the blood-marks ceased altogether, and thenceforward they could do nothing but press forward along what, in the uncertain light of their torches, seemed to be the most well-defined track, finding encouragement for their persistency in those occasional rustlings ahead of them. At length, however, these also ceased, and when they had been plodding doggedly forward for at least a quarter of an hour without hearing a sound save that made by themselves, Lethbridge called a halt.

“Look here, you fellows,” he said, “I don’t want to discourage you—and especially you, Professor—but don’t you think this affair has gone quite far enough? I am bitterly sorry and disappointed to be obliged to say it, but I think there can be no doubt that we have lost that okapi. Whether the poor beast has recovered sufficiently to have been enabled to out-distance us, or whether, on the other hand, finding himself hard pressed, he has made a dash ahead and then quietly slipped into cover somewhere, I am not prepared to say, but I am morally convinced that we shall not see him again. Now, if your opinion upon this matter is the same as mine, I would suggest that we turn back forthwith, since nothing is to be gained by going any farther forward, while there is just a possibility that we may experience some difficulty in finding our way back out of this maze.”

It appeared that Sir Reginald was of the same opinion as Lethbridge. Von Schalckenberg, on the other hand, was so absolutely certain that they were still upon the track of the okapi, and that they would soon come up with it, also that there would be no difficulty whatever in the matter of finding their way back, that, as he explained, he felt quite justified in urging the others to continue the pursuit, pleading at the same time the folly of giving up, now that they had come so far, and done so much. The result was that Sir Reginald and Lethbridge ultimately yielded to the professor’s entreaties, the baronet with a certain amount of inward misgiving, and Lethbridge with a resigned shrug of the shoulders.

The trail—or rather, what von Schalckenberg believed to be the trail—was accordingly followed for another half-hour, but without the discovery of any further sign of the okapi. And then a difficulty arose in connection with the torches. There was nothing now available for these but such dry twigs and branches as they could gather from the ground, or the adjacent scrub, as they went; and while the small twigs were so exceedingly combustible that they were consumed in a minute or two, the larger ones refused to burn at all. And finally even the professor himself at length very reluctantly came to the conclusion that the okapi was irretrievably lost, and that to seek further for it would but be a useless expenditure of time and energy.

With the arrival of the professor at this conclusion, and his admission thereof, the party at once turned back and began to retrace their steps; the difficulty with the torches increasing as they went. They struggled on for a considerable time, however, von Schalckenberg leading the way, until at length they came to a small open space in the centre of which grew an enormous mahogany tree. With one accord the four men came to a dead halt, regarding each other with an expression very nearly approaching to consternation.

“We have missed our way,” exclaimed Sir Reginald, with decision; “I am certain that we never passed that tree on our outward journey.”

The others were equally convinced of the truth of this, as also of Lethbridge’s terse statement that there was nothing for it but to try back by the way that they had come until they again hit the right path. But they decided that, before doing so, they would endeavour to provide themselves with a good supply of torches, a large quantity of dry twigs and branches from the mahogany tree offering them the opportunity to do so, and the professor blaming the inadequacy of the light for his mistake in having led them into a wrong path.