“I shall steer by the stars,” replied the other. Then, seeing that his friend’s face still wore a dubious expression, he said, “Remember, Tom, I don’t for a moment suppose that it will be all plain sailing—quite the contrary! But I do honestly believe that in following this route, lies our best—nay, our only chance of eluding the Caffres.”
“All right, old fellow,” cried Tom cheerfully. “I am ready to trust myself to your guidance, and we’ll sink or swim together. Now, the sooner we’re off the better. I feel fresh as possible after my long caulk.”
Frank then resumed his clothes (which luckily for him the Caffres had not put on), whilst Tom despoiled the unfortunate Waishlahla of his gun and ammunition; he also took his knobkerrie, shield, and bundle of assegais; and a bag of green mealies.
“Are you ready, Tom?” asked Frank.
“Ay, ay!” was the prompt reply; “quite ready.”
The air was mild and calm, and the glorious constellations of the south shone down on the young men as they started on the first stage of their perilous journey; not knowing where that stage might end, but resolved to keep moving forward throughout the night. Setting their faces in the proposed direction, they trudged on; now dipping into a deep hollow where the grass grew tall and rank, now topping a gentle rise; now clambering over masses of rock, now forcing their way through spiky mimosa jungle or tangled coppice.
Tom Flinders was deeply impressed by the weird novelty of their first night march.
Strange indeed were the noises that sounded through the still night air—the deep hum of myriads of insects, the melancholy “croak, croak” of the bull-frog, or the shrill scream of the night bird mingling with the moaning bark of the jackal, the laughing cry of the hyaena, or the sullen roar of some prowling leopard; stranger still the gaunt, spectre-like forms which loomed through the darkness or moved from the path with snort of terror or angry growl.
At length the morning dawned, and then the weary, foot-sore fugitives—their faces and limbs scratched and bleeding, their garments rent and torn—climbed into the wide-spreading branches of a well-grown baobab tree, and sought shelter and rest amidst its dark green foliage.
Thus—turning night into day and day into night—our friends journeyed on for a week and a day, covering on an average eight miles betwixt sundown and sunrise.