Chapter Twenty.
The Karl-Kop.
So was it; the water, once more gone underground, sank into the sand, just as above. Even worse than above, as regarded navigation, for an exploring party sent forward, returned to report the channel dry to a distance of at least ten miles, twice as far as before.
This made still more intelligible the great congregation of crocodiles. They were the denizens of nigh twenty miles of the stream’s length, driven, by a long-continued drought, into such close companionship. Crowded together, as frogs in a pond, they had devoured every fish, every living thing dammed up along with them in the sheet of stagnant water, and were famishing. Hence their hostility and fearlessness of man, due as much to hunger, as to any natural ferocity.
But the Vee-Boers thought no more about them now. Enough was there to occupy their minds in this second obstruction that had arisen, and which vexed them more than the first, their leader far more—to him a very chagrin—as he reflected on his want of forethought. He should not have been satisfied with such a short, careless reconnaissance, but examined the omaramba to the farthest end, wherever that might be. Resolved to act with more prudence in this second exploration, he had taken charge of it himself, nor turned back, till assured of the stream’s re-issue and onward flow without any other interruption.
This assurance had been obtained by discovering that the sandy tract they were traversing was but a belt of some ten or twelve leagues in breadth, beyond which the nature of the country was different, the surface-soil being firm and clayey. Rivers running over a bed of clay do not go underground, and there was no fear of a third obstruction, at least of that special kind. These facts were not all ascertained in a few hours, nor yet in a single day. Two, and part of a third, were spent in the exploration.
While it was in progress, those left behind had remained inactive, as there was nothing for them to do. Should there be no more stream, there could be no further navigation, and again taking the rafts to pieces would be so much labour lost. In this uncertainty, even their lading was left undisturbed; only such chattels carried on shore as were needed for a camp of temporary occupation. Nor did any of the people, white or coloured, elect to sleep on land, having by this time discovered the be a better place. Upon it they were less exposed to the torture of mosquitoes, to avoid which, the rafts were each night drawn out to some distance from the beach, and there brought to anchor. So shoal was it all round, they had no difficulty in communicating with the shore whenever desirable.
It was an interval of great anxiety, full of doubts and apprehensions. Not all dulness, however, as the monotony of their life was now and then varied by episodes of a curious kind—scenes and incidents of nature, such as may be witnessed only in her wild, untrodden domain. One which occurred on the evening after their arrival was of this character—indeed, so strange as to test the reader’s credulity. Yet is it here chronicled as a fact, on the authority of trustworthy witnesses, the adventurers themselves.
It had got to be near sunset; the people all on shore, and seated at the nacht-maal, when a swishing and crackling among the trees close by, admonished them of some large quadruped making its way towards the water. It might be buffalo, rhinoceros, or hippopotamus; but, judging from the volume of sound, more likely an elephant. And an elephant it was, as was soon seen; one of the largest size, and a Karl-kop, in other words, a tuskless bull. Alone was he, which proclaimed him an outcast from elephantine society—an Ishmaelite in his own land.
All this indicated danger, as they watching him well knew. For the solitary male elephant is vicious beyond conception, being absolutely insane, or musty as it is termed in India.