Silence fell on the little group. It testified to the rugged nature of the country that no one suggested a march inland or along the shore. As if painted on the back-cloth of a stage, before their faces rose the encircling wall of the dead volcano. Sheer cliffs that any advance inland must scale. The broken formation, which Norah had noticed from the lake, of spurs and buttresses, that radiated inwards from the crater sides, interset with mountain torrents and precipitous valleys, made progress parallel to the lake almost impossible. Should the castaways be bold enough to attempt either of these desperate marches, braving the risk of sleeping sickness, where could they find carriers for their loads—tents, cooking pots, ammunition, and food?
'The mouse has indeed fallen into the bucket,' thought Norah, as she walked forward with Dick. Alibaba, crestfallen at the failure of his charge, offering no cure but patience, retired in silence to the engine-room.
Dick dropped heavily on to his bed.
'Well,' he said at last, 'it looks like staying here a fortnight till we're rescued by a crowd of grinning Bulamatadi.'[[2]]
[[2]] Belgians.
'A fortnight will soon be over,' said Norah cheerfully. But she felt a shadow had fallen between her and the sun. In a fortnight she had hoped to be on the high seas, steaming towards Europe. It did not seem so easy to escape from Africa.
Dick did not answer, misfortune had pricked his buoyancy.
'It's lucky we have got the oxen on board,' she went on. 'We've only two days' food in the boxes, and I don't want you to go shooting with S.S.[[3]] about...'
[[3]] Sleeping sickness.
She caught her breath in the middle of the sentence.