Chapter Twenty Eight.
Led out to die.
Another day passed over, and no change was made in the treatment of the prisoners. In fact very little notice was taken of them, except by the women and children. The chief with some others of the tribe spent the day amusing themselves by firing the captured guns at a target, and learning the use of the various articles they had taken from their captives.
“What are they waiting for?” exclaimed Hendrik in an impatient tone. “If they are going to put us to death, it would be almost better for us than to endure this misery.”
“True,” rejoined Willem; “life is not worth much, suffering as we do; still, where there’s uncertainty, there is hope. Think of that, Hendrik. We have seen nothing of Sindo to-day. How carefully the ungrateful wretch keeps out of our sight!”
“If we were not in need of a friend,” said Hendrik, “I dare say he would acknowledge our acquaintance. But never mind. He’s the last that will ever prove ungrateful, since we’re not likely ever again to have an opportunity of befriending any one in distress.”
Night came on, and amongst the tribe the captives observed an unusual excitement. Several of the men were hurrying to and fro carrying torches and evidently making preparations for some great event. The horses were also being saddled.
“I tole you so,” said Congo. “They take us away to die.”
Willem and Hendrik remained silent spectators of what was going on. A party of the natives then approached them, and the three prisoners were set loose from the trees. Some scene, solemn and serious, was about to be enacted; but worn out with their misery, and weary of their long imprisonment, almost any change appeared a relief.
The chief of the tribe was now seen mounted on Willem’s horse, heading a procession of from ten to twelve men. He rode off towards the pool, where his horses had been killed. The prisoners were conducted after him. Spoor’em and the other dogs accompanied the party, wholly unconscious of the fears that troubled their masters. As the procession passed out of the village, the old men, women, and children were ranged along the road, to see them depart. These gazed after them with expressions of curiosity, not unmingled with pity, though there were some that appeared to show satisfaction. The captives observed this, and talked of it. Why did they, the villagers, feel so much interested in their departure? They had not taken much heed of their arrival; and but little attention had been paid to them while bound to the trees. Why should there be now? There was but one answer to these questions. The natives were looking upon them with that expression of sad curiosity with which men gaze upon one who is about to suffer a violent death.