Afar in the Forest

by William Henry Giles Kingston

My uncle’s waggon was one day bringing up the rear of the train; and our water being nearly exhausted, we were pushing forward as fast as the oxen could move, in the hope of reaching a stream before dark, when one of the wheels came off, and the waggon, in falling over, suffered considerable damage. Under other circumstances, the train would have stopped till our waggon was put to rights; but as most of the oxen were suffering from thirst, and many of the party had no water remaining, it was important for them to push forward without delay. We were therefore compelled to remain by ourselves; but no Indians had as yet been seen in this part of the country, and we hoped that we should escape without being attacked.

My uncles were not men to be frightened by difficulties. They and Mike, with Quambo and I, immediately set to work to do what was necessary. We unloaded the waggon, and commenced repairing the damage it had received. This, however, took us some time, and it was quite dark before we got the wheel on again and the waggon reloaded. Having been more provident than the rest of the party, we were able to wet our beasts’ muzzles, and still have sufficient water to last ourselves for a few hours.

As we wished to overtake our companions as soon as possible, we immediately pushed forward, and soon got into a somewhat more level country than we had lately been passing through; but the ground was very hard, and in the darkness we could not perceive the tracks made by those in advance. Had an Indian guide been with us, he would undoubtedly have discovered them; but we had to trust to our own sagacity, and we had not gone far when we found that we had got out of the right road. We did our utmost to regain it, but in vain. Still, believing that we were going in the proper direction, we proceeded onwards. The stars came out brightly from the sky, and we shaped our course as directly as we could by them.

While Uncle Stephen drove, Uncle Mark and I, with Mike and Quambo, marched on either side, our faithful dogs following at our heels. We kept a look-out in every direction, lest we should chance to be observed by a band of Indians, who, seeing a small party, might pounce down upon us; still, we were all accustomed to look on the bright side of things, and though we were aware of the possible danger, we were not unnecessarily alarmed. Our chief anxiety arose from a fear of not finding water for our thirsty beasts. They might hold out during the cool hours of night; but should they not be supplied with the necessary fluid, they must in a short time succumb, and dreadful indeed would be the consequences to ourselves.

When I occasionally went up to the waggon, I found Aunt Hannah and Lily awake. They kept up their spirits very well, and naturally inquired whether we had as yet discovered the track of those who had gone before.

“Not yet,” I answered in as cheerful a voice as I could command; “but we soon shall, I dare say; and, at all events, we are going in the right direction. The stars are shining brightly, and by them Uncle Stephen can guide the waggon as well as if we had the train of our friends in view. But we shall soon be up with them, I hope, and find them all comfortably encamped.”

“I trust that we may,” said Aunt Hannah, “if not, we shall find water, I suppose, in a few hours, and we shall certainly overtake them to-morrow.”

This showed what was passing in her mind. She had begun to suspect—what really was the case—that we had widely deviated from our course. One thing was very certain,—that it would be destruction to stop; so, although our oxen were beginning to show signs of fatigue, and we felt our own legs aching, we continued to move forward.

At length, about a couple of hours before dawn, we arrived at the edge of a ravine, the sides of which, though not precipitous, appeared to be very steep, and down which it would have been madness to attempt taking the waggon in the dark. We must either stop, or try to find a passage across to the north or south. We had observed that the valleys already passed by us were shallower to the southward; we therefore turned our waggon in that direction, hoping shortly to discover a practicable path, though we suspected that it would lead us even further from the track of our friends.

We went on and on, fancying that we could discern the bottom of the valley more clearly than at first, and hoping soon to discover a sufficiently gentle slope which we might be able to descend. But we were deceived, and though Uncle Mark and I made our way down in several places, we saw that the waggon would certainly be upset should we attempt to get it down. We were almost in despair of success, for the ravine appeared to run on to the southward with equally rugged sides as at first. The panting oxen, too, could scarcely drag on the waggon, and we began to fear that they would fall unless water should be found. We urged them on, however, for stopping to rest would not avail them, and might prove our destruction.