CHAPTER XV
THE “PANS” OF THE KALAHARI DESERT—THE MOLOPO ROUTE—BOOMPLAATS—ENTERING THE RESERVE—SPOORS—THE WATER CAMP—THIRST—THE GREAT SALT PAN—LOST!
The first few days of our trek lay through the route referred to in Chapter V—the post road to Rietfontein and the north. Except that both grass and water were even scarcer than on that occasion, everything was exactly the same—the infrequent “homesteads,” naturally somewhat dirtier and more dilapidated, and the accumulation of dead animals and similar horrors somewhat increased on account of the drought. This latter, however, did not appear to be as bad as we had been led to expect, as water was still plentiful at the usual wells and water-pits. The veldt was very bare, and Du Toit was often obliged to drive his tired oxen many miles from the outspan before he could get a mouthful of grass for them.
So our trekking was of necessity slow, and, on account of the great heat, most of it was done at night. Thus we crawled through Areachap, Steenkams Puts, Grondneus, and Zwartmodder, into the old bed of the Molopo, where there was water in the deep wells, but fodder was non-existent, and the oxen apparently lived on pebbles. We were now skirting the south-west extremity of the Reserve, which stretched east in a vast, dim, featureless, and apparently boundless world of sand-dunes, but the spot at which we intended entering it was still days to the north. The few habitations became fewer and wider apart, a long day’s journey of heavy sand-dunes usually dividing “neighbours” in this lonely fringe of huge desert farmlands on the Kalahari border, and water being unobtainable in betweenthem. In fact, numbers of these vast surveyed desert farms had neither permanent water nor habitation on them.
Ten days of trekking, and our eyes were gladdened by the most welcome of all sights in such a country, a large vley of water, in which cattle stood knee-deep, and over which flew Namaqua partridges in countless thousands. This was “Abiqwas” Pits, close to the tiny police post of “Obopogorop,” where two unfortunate young police troopers were stationed, within a mile or so of the equally desolate German border. Here we shot partridges to our hearts’ content, browning the big coveys shamelessly, for cartridges begin to be valued by the time one has spent a few months in the veldt.
There were several waggons here, Boer families trekking to Upington for their periodicalnachtmaal(communion), which festivity, if it may be termed as such, appeared to be the one exciting event of their dreary, monotonous existence. They were incredulous as to our being allowed into the Reserve—with rifles!
“Allemachtig!”—why, then, should weverdommte uitlandersbe allowed in the Reserve, whenthey, who lived on its border, scarce dare follow a strayed beast a day’s trek into it without the police being after them?
But there—we should see! The police would take but little notice of our precious permit, and we had better look out! They were cantankerous and surly, and evidently wished us all the bad luck they prophesied. According to them, there was no t’samma in the whole Reserve; we should die of thirst.
We asked them how they came to know this, considering that they professed never to have been in the forbidden area. They said they had “heard so.”
We had nodopto placate them with, though we made coffee all day long for them. They were living on mutton, or goat, rather, when their half-bred greyhound lurchers failed to bring down a buck for them, that is to say; for they were out of cartridgestoo. And when I say “mutton”—I mean just that—not with its attendant “fixings” of potatoes, or carrots, or turnips, or caper sauce, or even bread, but justvleeschalong with every meal, every day! They had been out of Boer meal for weeks, so there was no bread, or even mealie pap, to accompany it; the meat was hacked off in shapeless chunks, and half-boiled in a Kaffir pot, or thrown in the embers, and torn apart by the teeth as a native would tear it—cinders and all! Coffee they had not seen for weeks, using as a substitute a vile-smelling and vile-tasting decoction made from the root of thewit boom(carrion-tree). Yet these men had property, broad farms (even though of poor land) and plenty of flocks and herds, and undoubtedly a goodly number of sovereigns tied up in a skin bag, and buried somewhere in or near the hovel they called a “home.”
The only time they relaxed their sour visages was when, after tobacco and coffee and the loan of all the meal we could spare had failed to make them more companionable, we had the happy idea of inviting them to try our rifles. Then they became quite jocose, and as we had plenty of rifle cartridges, we had a regular Bisley of it there in the sand-dunes. They were good shots, but only when they could choose their own position—that is to say, lying down. This, of course, not only gives them a better chance at game, but is their normal posture. Stand and shoot they could not, and their attempts at doing so were weird and wonderful.
The abundance of water at Abiqwas Pits made us careless, for the next day, after passing a most desolate little homestead called Klip Aar, we discovered that each man had left it to the other to see to filling the water-casks, with the result that they were all empty, and we were in the middle of a long waterless stretch.
The driver said he knew of an old water-hole a mile or two from the trail, and that evening late we turned off towards it. Though we had only been without water since morning we were parched, forthe heat had been at its very height. We found the “pit” all right, a well of about 40 feet deep, covered with a sheet of galvanised iron, and a splash from a dropped stone showed we had come to the right place for a cool, deep drink.
Hastily we lowered a bucket and heard the delightful cool “splash, splash,” as we hauled it up with thirsty anticipation. I had a tin beaker in my hand to get first dip, but van Reenen, always the thirstiest, was not standing on ceremony, but flung himself down and tilted the whole bucket to his lips, and simultaneously with the yell he gave as he emitted that long draught came aSMELL! There are no words to describe it!... Rotten eggs and black powder principally, perhaps, and scientifically I believe it was only sulphuretted hydrogen, and rather healthy than otherwise; at the same time I quite sympathised with the near-side leading ox, who promptly kicked van Reenen severely when he hopefully offered the innocent animal the remainder of that bucketful. These aromatic wells are calledstink waterorstink fonteinsby the Boers, whose language is both terse and expressive. Fourteen days from our leaving Upington we arrived at the farm from which we proposed to enter the Reserve, a place called Boomplaats, where the dry Molopo—which most of the journey had been bare of trees or any vestige of vegetation—was scattered with magnificent camel-thorn trees of great age and girth, and shaped like a very symmetrical oak. Here there was a small homestead and good water, the owner, a well-to-do Boer named Rauchtenbach, had plenty of trek animals and waggons, and we hoped to be able to arrange for water transport to our first camp, as far as practicable eastward in the Reserve.
Rauchtenbach assured us that there could be no t’samma for months, as he had entered the Reserve after strayed cattle a few days previously, and had for a full day’s journey seen no sign of rain having fallen, without which there would be no t’samma.
Old Gert had wished us to enter a day farthersouth and make for “Aar Pan,” where he considered it would be best to work from to locate the nearest diamond pan, but we had feared to venture with the waggons until we had spied out the land.
On hearing Rauchtenbach’s report as to the nonexistence of t’samma, however, the old man again strongly urged his plan, and now claimed that there was a deep pit at Aar Pan, where water had never failed in his day, and that there would be no danger in trekking on. However, it would mean at least two hard days’ trek to reach it with the waggons, and should there be no water we should scarcely get the oxen out alive, for though these Kalahari cattle can go that time (four days) without great inconvenience when simply ranging the veldt, it is quite another matter when they are hauling heavy waggons through deep sand and over veritable mountains of sand-dunes.
Were the water there, however, it would make matters easy for us, so to make sure we decided to send Du Toit in with a native on horseback to find out how the land lay.
He was gone two days, and came back with the horses absolutely exhausted. The pit was there, but it was bone dry, there was not a drop of water between the Molopo and the pan, and although there was an abundance of grass, the horses had suffered badly: for it too was dry. Of the various succulent sorrels and other juicy plants and grasses that spring up immediately after rain there was not a vestige, nor of t’samma.
This was bad news, and we now for the first time realised what the failure to obtain camels would mean to us.
Our specially made water-tanks would be almost useless, and our idea of pack-oxen as bad, for obviously they could not carry water for their own consumption, and could therefore only work within a very limited radius of the water base. We were two months too early, the reports as to t’samma in abundance that we had received before leaving Cape Town were without foundation; and as we could not afford towait, there was nothing else for it but to attempt to arrange a water depot as far in as practicable, and do our exploring on foot.
Rauchtenbach strongly advised us not to make for Aar Pan, but to camp at a spot about eighteen hours’ trek due east of his farm, from which spot we should be within a reasonable distance of the better-known pans, and which would be the farthest distance to which he would be able to convey water for our actual need.
As Old Gert knew this spot and approved of the plan, this was agreed to, and we trekked up to the water-pits at the northern part of the farm, from which we should in future draw our supplies. For days past the clouds had hung heavily to the eastward, and it appeared to be raining in that direction, though so far no drop had fallen near us during the whole journey; but as we now trekked towards the well, a violent sand-storm came up behind us, and within a few minutes of its overtaking us we could scarcely see a yard. We were sitting in the after-part of the waggon, talking to Du Toit, who was holding on behind, when suddenly he gave a yell and began dancing and kicking frantically.
“There’s a snake up my leg!” he shouted, and we jumped down just as a frantic kick sent it squirming and wriggling into the sand, whence it made off like greased lightning. We killed it under the waggon. It was a younggeel capell(yellow cobra), about 2 feet long, quite big enough to have killed Du Toit, who was very lucky not to have been bitten. All kinds of reptiles and venomous insects seem to “trek” and run amok during these sand-storms, probably seeking for shelter from the rain that usually follows. In this case the rain followed immediately, thunder-clouds rolling up all around with incredible rapidity, and before we could properly cover the forepart of the waggon, the longed-for rain was pouring down in sheets. In a few minutes it was pitch dark, except for the vivid lightning, and we huddled in the waggon under a big bucksail which covered and halfsuffocated us—four white men and half a dozen Hottentots. So heavy was the downpour, and so near the almost incessant flashes of violet lightning, that the driver himself crept under the sail, and his weird screams at the frightened oxen, the roar of the wind and thunder, the crash and bump of the waggon as the scared animals scuttled along at their own sweet will, the darkness, heat, and perfume of Araby from the sweating natives, all combined to make that little joy-ride a thing to be remembered.
SaltON THE GREAT SALT PAN, IN THE CENTRE OF THE SOUTHERN KALAHARI DESERT.
ON THE GREAT SALT PAN, IN THE CENTRE OF THE SOUTHERN KALAHARI DESERT.
ON THE GREAT SALT PAN, IN THE CENTRE OF THE SOUTHERN KALAHARI DESERT.
Eventually a big tree-stump brought the waggon to an abrupt stop, and the storm ceasing as suddenly as it had begun, we were able to get a light and disentangle ourselves from the most appalling jumble of gear imaginable. Guns had fallen from their slings, clothing, boots, cartridges, food, and Lord knows what, were piled all around and on top of us; but all might have been well had it not been for young van Reenen, who had taken advantage of the darkness to abstract a tin of marmalade from the “scoff-box” and was, as he confessed, making good going, when the waggon hit a snag, and he lost the run of the tin. Every blessed thing in the waggon was sticky for days afterwards.
At the pits we left our reserve stores, every available utensil was filled with water, and in addition two hogsheads belonging to Rauchtenbach were lashed upon a further waggon; the oxen drank their fill, and we made our entry into the Reserve.
On leaving the Molopo, in which the well was situated, we immediately entered the Reserve, the huge sand-dunes here trending in the right direction, and for a time making the going fairly easy. For in the long valleys between the wave-like dunes the sand was comparatively firm, being bound by various stunted roots and grasses, mostly dry, and showing but little signs of life, but capable of bursting forth into luxuriant growth with astonishing rapidity at the most meagre encouragement in the shape of a passing thunderstorm.
The bare-looking little bushes were principallythedrie doornandzout boschcommon all over South Africa, whilst here and there on the slopes of the dunes were thickhaak doornbushes of vivid green. These were covered with huge cocoons, the size of one’s thumb and very firmly attached to the twigs. This cocoon is of the consistency of very tough, thick cardboard, and contains a large black larvæ which is eaten by the Bushmen, who utilise the strong case for snuffboxes, etc., also making bracelets and anklets of them, stringing them together, and placing small stones inside so that in their favourite “baboon dance” they give forth a swishing, rattling sound with each movement. They also eat the huge white maggot which bores so freely into the larger gum-trees, scorching them on hot stones as they do their otherbonne bouche, the locust.
As we got farther into the dunes, the going became more and more difficult, for the long parallel waves of sand, though trending at first south-east, soon curved away from our course, and we were forced to cross them, diagonally at first, but later they lay right athwart our path. So high were they, so steep and close together, and so soft the sand near their summits, that our progress became slow to a degree, and only possible at all by infinite labour and difficulty. Often the second team had to be outspanned and added to the leading waggon to haul it over the crest of some sand-mountain, whence it plunged down a perilous slope, to encounter a similar obstacle immediately. In addition to this laborious crawling over wall after wall of sand, the hollows between were now frequently honeycombed with the huge holes of the ant-bear, or the burrows of large colonies of musk-rats, meer-cats, jackals, porcupine, and other small animals, amongst which the oxen fell and floundered, at imminent risk of breaking their legs, and we were therefore often forced to make tedious detours from our already difficult course.
Track or path, of course, there was none. We were making our own waggon-path through country where no waggon had ever ventured within thememory of Rauchtenbach’s Hottentots who were guiding us. No sign was there anywhere of a man’s footprint, though the soft sand was as a closely written page with the spoors of countless animals.
Dainty littleslotsof steinbok and duiker, quaint little hand-like paw-marks of the porcupine, dog-like pads of the jackal; here a wide swath of country trampled and torn up by the sturdy hooves of a vast troop of trotting gemsbok, proud monarch of these desert wastes—there the fast trail of a pack of the ferocious wild hunting-dog, most dangerous and destructive of pests. Huge spoors of the ostrich, like a grotesque, deformed human foot, and showing by its gigantic strides where the big bird had flown like the wind before us; tiny, dainty pads of wild-cat and genet, larger ones of therooi kator lynx, and, too frequently to be pleasant, the big spoors of the treacherous sand-leopard, which, when wounded, is more to be feared than the lion. The queer-looking footprints of thetijger woolf(spotted hyena), with two huge paws and two quite small ones, were often to be seen covering these spoors of the leopard, showing where the hulking, cowardly beast had followed the bolder animal, content to eat his leavings when he had killed and eaten his fill. And prominent among all these signs of the dune-dwellers were the huge claw-marks of the giantgom paauw, a magnificent game bird of the bustard family, which attains a weight of 50 lb. or more, and which, superb in spread of wing, could be seen getting up from the crest of the dunes well in advance of the waggon. With the exception of these fine and wary birds, and of the noisy korhaan, whose harsh, warning cackle sounded from all quarters, no game whatever could be seen, for the yells of our drivers, the cracking of whips, and the creaking of the waggon gave plenty of warning of our approach.
Moreover, here, deep in the dunes, our scope of vision was extremely limited. In the hollows between them nothing could be seen except the crest of the sand-wave we had passed or were climbing, and thelong narrowstraaton either hand, whilst from the crest itself vision was bounded by the nearest dune a few feet higher than its neighbours, and rarely could a view be obtained of anything more than a few hundred yards ahead. Occasionally we climbed one of the most prominent dunes, and could see an apparently limitless expanse of wave after wave of dunes, covered with grey-green grass and scrub, monotonous in form and colour, and with no single distinctive feature, as far as the eye could see. No landmarks, no paths, each dune the counterpart of its neighbour, nothing to guide us, nothing to rely upon but the sense of direction, this waterless wilderness made it easy to understand the tales of men who had wandered in a circle for days searching vainly for t’samma or water or a way back, and dying within a mile or so of safety.
With an occasional brief outspan, we trekked all afternoon, evening, and throughout the night, for the drivers were most anxious to reach our camping-place before the sun gained power the following morning, and with the exception of a precarious perch now and again on the waggon, we walked the whole time. Towards morning the steep and difficult dunes came to an end, and we entered astraata hundred yards or more in width, and trending in the right direction. Here the going, after the switchbacking of the previous twelve hours, was easy and pleasant, and we climbed thankfully into the waggon, and had just fallen asleep, when a chorus of yells and shrieks and the waggon coming to a standstill woke us all up again. Rauchtenbach’s waggon with the water-supply, which had been leading, had crashed into a big ant-bear hole and overturned, and one hogshead lay broached with all its precious contents spilt in the thirsty sand, whilst several of the smaller tanks were badly battered and leaking.
We lit fires of drytoagrass, outspanned the oxen, and all hands had to turn to and worked hard till daybreak before we salved the rest of our precious water and were ready to trek again; and the sunwas high in the heavens, and both the oxen and ourselves about played out, when, after negotiating a few lines of extremely steep and difficult dunes, we came upon a small pan from which stretched a broad straightstraatleading due east, and which was the spot Rauchtenbach had recommended as a camp. His judgment had not been at fault, for the position was admirable. He had gauged the capabilities of the oxen to a nicety, for it was quite obvious that they could not have dragged the waggons farther with a reasonable chance of getting back to water; thestraatwas open and of firm sand, in which tents could be pitched without fear of being blown away; there was an abundance of dry firewood in the shape of old tree-stumps all along the ridges of the flanking dunes, and the small pan showed traces of having held water, and in the event of rain would hold it again. And, best of all, in the immediate vicinity was an exceptionally high dune, from which we were able to distinguish several of the larger pans eastward, and which would form a most useful landmark as to our camp’s whereabouts when we wandered far afield.
There was grass in profusion—dry, but still good food for the cattle, and barely three dunes’ distance north we found a tract of sand where a heavy shower had fallen some time before, and where the t’samma was already beginning to bloom.
So that everything lookedcouleur-de-rose, and we unpacked stores and tools, pitched our tents, and prepared our camp with a light heart. In the evening the water-waggon left for the return journey, and not before it was time, for the hollow flanks and staring eyes of the poor beasts showed that they were suffering from thirst already. They were to return in a week with a further supply, meanwhile, in spite of the loss of one of the hogsheads, we should have sufficient.
The first two or three days were spent in exploring our immediate neighbourhood. North and south, the dunes were very formidable and close together,and half a day’s toiling in either direction disclosed nothing but the same endless succession of long serried lines, ending in confused and broken country eastward. This preliminary canter was to enable us to get a general idea of our immediate surroundings, and gradually we were able to add other landmarks to our friendly big dune, a solitarywit boomtree, scarcely 10 feet in height, but looming up like a forest giant, and prominent for miles in this treeless waste, a clump ofhaak doornbush, or a peculiarly bare patch of sand, all helping us to steer a course without the tediousness of working by compass, or of having to always follow the return trail over own our spoor. Gradually, too, the seemingly featureless contours of the dunes, each at first appearing the counterpart of the adjoining one, became distinguishable, and we began to gain the faculty of acute and mechanical observation of trifling differences essential for the long journeys we were preparing for in this pathless and unexplored waste.
From the “lookout” dune we studied the country eastward. Almost due east, and apparently only about ten miles distant, a line of pure white sand-ridges showed the position of a big pan, which Old Gert recognised as a famous hunting rendezvous of the Bushmen in his day, and taking his bearings from it, he showed us, several points south of it, a long humped dune which apparently rose to a great height above its surroundings, and which towards evening loomed up like a mountain. This, he said, was “Aar Pan,” and from it he could locate pan after pan, including those which we were in search of. But the time of all times to locate these distant depressions was at daybreak, when for a short period before the sun actually rose, a small, distinct, and well-defined cloud could be seen floating low down over each of the larger pans, due doubtless to the moisture evaporating from their firmer soil, and which was wanting in the loose sand of the surrounding dunes.
The furnace-like heat continued, though eachafternoon storm-clouds gathered, and apparently heavy rain was falling eastward, especially in the direction of Aar Pan, where Old Gert assured us water would now be found.
Our anxiety, however, was not now so much about water, but about Old Gert himself, for he had contracted rheumatism so badly that he could scarcely hobble, and it soon became apparent that, until water fell in the pans, or t’samma made it possible to employ a riding-ox to carry him, we should have to rely upon his instructions, and search out the places for ourselves.
Aar Pan we could not miss, and thence the nearest pan where diamonds had been found was but half a day’s trek. The others were several days’ journey distant, but this nearest pan appeared an easy task to find. Gert tried to dissuade us, however, and suggested that we had better first try to locate a vast salt pan at one time well known to the natives, and which should be, he considered, about six hours’ trek due east, and impossible to miss. The locating of this pan would, he explained, help us greatly in our further operations, and we accordingly set out early one morning with the intention of finding it.
Du Toit, van Reenen, and myself made up the party, as Telfer was indisposed. Each man carried only a water-bottle, a little food, and a rifle, for we fully expected to reach the pan by midday, and be back by night.
Experienced as I thought myself in the desert, that first walk eastward, so lightly undertaken, was to provide a lesson never to be forgotten.
For an hour or so the almost straightstraatin which the camp stood led in the right direction, due east. It ended in broken dunes, very high and confused; still, we were able to keep the general direction for another couple of hours, when we had the “luck” to strike another series of dunes andstraatsapparently in a beeline with our objective, and we pushed on, congratulating ourselves that by noon we should reach the Salt Pan. Unfortunately,however, the rough country had thrown us a point or two out of our bearings, and this easy, wide, and seductive-lookingstraatfooled us nicely. For, as we afterwards discovered, it not only started slightly in the wrong direction, but curved so gradually as to deceive us completely, and without even a glance at the compass we toiled on till the terrific heat of the blazing sun right overhead showed us that it was noon, and our burning feet and aching calves urged a halt. There was an abundance of low bush and thick grass, but not a tree anywhere, and we threw ourselves down and rested for a while in the blazing sunshine. We had been walking about six hours with scarcely a breather, and even allowing for slow progress in the broken dunes, we had, we calculated, come a distance of at least twelve miles, and should be near the Salt Pan. But the crest of the dunes showed us no break in either direction, and with a brief rest we pushed on again for about an hour, when the end of thestraatcame in sight, barred by formidable dunes running right across it. Evidently there was no salt pan in that direction, and a tardy look at our compass showed us that we had gradually been turning from our course, and were heading north-east instead of east. Had we been sensible, we should have turned back to camp, whilst there was still time to get within sight of it by nightfall, but we were so chagrined at having neglected to steer a straight course that we wrong-headedly determined not to return till we had found the Salt Pan. It was a foolish decision. We had brought only a little water, and most of it had gone already, for there had apparently been no need to economise, and we had even given a few precious drops to the two wretched dogs belonging to Old Gert, which had followed us in spite of all our attempts to keep them back. The scorching sand had already played havoc with their feet, and at every short halt we made they scratched themselves frantically into a hole in the sand.
It was about two o’clock, and there was therefore about six hours’ daylight left to us as we left thestraatand plunged into a perfect chaos of broken dunes, from the crests of which the whole of the circumscribed expanse from horizon to horizon revealed nothing but a featureless ocean of ridges.
In vain we swept it for some recognisable landmarks, our big dune near the camp or the vastly bigger one that marked Aar Pan; but either they were hidden from view by intervening dunes, or were no longer recognisable from our new viewpoint.
“Either straight back on our spoors or due south,” said Du Toit, and as we thought of Old Gert’s sardonic grin when we told him we had not found such a big space as the Salt Pan, we unhesitatingly turned due south.
Late in the afternoon, already nearly played out, we crested a prominent rise, and saw an exceptionally high dune a good deal east of us, and from its base there seemed to stretch a white flat space, though but little of it was visible. Evidently this must be the Salt Pan, and we concluded that Old Gert had been mistaken about the time needed to reach it, and that we had not been so far out of the course after all. So we headed for it, thankfully trying to forget that we had scarcely any water, and that we should have a long, thirsty day’s trek back on the morrow. The dune was a great deal farther off than it appeared, and seemed to recede from us; but the pan at its foot showed more plainly from the brow of every dune we toiled over, and at about sunset we struggled clear of the sand and stood on the edge of its flat surface. It was about a mile in width, almost a perfect circle in shape, and across its broad surface there trotted away from us a fine troop of at least a hundred gemsbok, which halted every now and then to stand like statues, gazing back at the intruders. Then, again, a big bull would give a toss of his four-foot horns, and a stamp, and instantly the whole body would break into a rapid trot, keeping line and pace, and wheelingand changing direction as might a well-drilled regiment of cavalry.
We stood for a minute entranced at the fine sight, then, as they cantered off, I said, “Well, boys, here’s the pan at last!”
“Yes,” croaked Du Toit, “but not the Salt Pan!”
Nor was it. The white sand which I had first seen, and taken for granted as salt, only extended round the slopes of the dunes encircling the pan, which was mainly composed of hard-baked greenish mud, covered with a glaze and as smooth as a billiard-table. Here and there lay a few pebbles of jasper and quartz similar to those found all over the north-west, but there was nothing at all approaching the “indications” we were in search of, and we had evidently stumbled upon quite a different pan from any of those described by Old Gert.
Meanwhile it was rapidly growing dark, and Du Toit very sensibly suggested that, whilst there was yet a little light, we should separate and search the pan as much as possible, to see if by great luck there might be a little water in any of the slight hollows. But nothing but a little still moist mud rewarded us, and we wearily sought a nook in the dunes and threw ourselves down to sleep. We had biltong androster-kookenough, but scarcely a gill of water between the three of us, and our mouths and throats were already so parched and dry that it was difficult to sleep.
“Straight back over our spoors, as soon as it’s light enough to see them,” said Gert du Toit as we discussed the situation. We were a full day from water, and although in no danger, we could afford to run no risks.
In the desert the nights are often extremely cold, and before morning we were awake and shivering, and as soon as the first peep of dawn appeared we searched the vicinity for dry bush, and soon had a fire, round which we crouched till daylight. And then we did a sensible thing which, however, led to our doing an extremely stupid one. For it struckus to climb the big dune and spy out our surroundings, instead of turning straight back before the cool of the morning had gone. The dune towered a good fifty feet above the surrounding ridges, and as we reached the top, an extraordinary panorama stretched out before us. For eastward there lay pan after pan, looking exactly like little lakes left in the sand by the receding tide, their white rims and dark blue centres showing up clearly among the surrounding wilderness of reddish dunes and grey-green scrub. At least a dozen of them were in sight, and the little clouds hanging low over the farther distance showed where numerous others were situated. On more than one large numbers of gemsbok could be seen, and the thickness of the vegetation appeared to prove that in that direction at least there would be t’samma. Our resolution to return vanished instantly. Probably these were the very pans of which we were in search, and a few hours might fill our pockets with diamonds! At any rate these pans were entirely different in appearance from the one beneath us, and the deep blue colour of several of them, and their circular shape, were very suggestive. Moreover there would probably be water!
“Wait a minute,” said Du Toit, as we were making a beeline east towards them. “This is exactly how men get lost and die of thirst. Suppose we don’t find water or t’samma? It will take us half a day to reach and search one or two of them, and we shall never get back! We are thirsty now, and by noon we shall be half mad. We’d better go back.”
So far we had not looked in that direction at all, but as we turned reluctantly westward an even more wonderful sight met our eyes. For there, apparently but an hour or two away and slightly to the south, lay the Salt Pan, a wide expanse of snowy white, apparently a frozen lake covered with untrodden snow, and bounded on the far side by gigantic dunes. And beyond it, unmistakable insize and contour, rose the huge dune of “Aar Pan,” whose long blue floor could be seen extending for miles beneath it.
Apparently, then, we had passed within a mile or two of the Salt Pan about noon of the previous day, though the many dunes we had climbed had given us no glimpse of it!
Anyway there it was at last, impossible to miss, and we immediately decided to make for it, for it appeared but a trifling detour from our homeward track, and we had no fear of not finding our way back that way.
Once down from the big dune, and naturally the pan was lost sight of, but we were not taking any more chances, and worked by compass. Terrible work it was too, for we found no obligingstraatleading in the right direction, but had to toil over ridge after ridge of extremely loose, bare sand, which, as the day advanced, became so hot that the hand could scarcely be borne upon it.
The dogs were now suffering greatly, for their paws were cracked and bleeding, and they were half dead with thirst. The few bushes that had afforded them occasional shelter got farther and farther apart as we entered country where apparently rain had never fallen. This was indeed desert, nothing but bare, scorching sand, with the blackened stumps of the deadtoagrass, and here and there a shrivelled salt-bush, alone showing that vegetation had ever existed there.
By noon we were in an extremely bad plight, our tongues and lips cracked and parched, and we were each sucking a small pebble to promote salivation. The dogs dug feebly into each tiny patch of shade from the far-apart bushes, and lay panting and whining until we were almost out of sight over the next dune, when, howling with pain from their bleeding and burning feet, they would scuttle along after and past us, frantically looking for a little shade to lessen their torture.
SaltON THIS GREAT SALT PAN, SOUTHERN KALAHARI.Dogs dying of thirst.
ON THIS GREAT SALT PAN, SOUTHERN KALAHARI.Dogs dying of thirst.
ON THIS GREAT SALT PAN, SOUTHERN KALAHARI.
Dogs dying of thirst.
There seemed little hope of their getting through, and I wished to shoot the unfortunate animals,but Du Toit dissuaded me, saying that there was just a chance that we should find fresh water near the Salt Pan, for he had heard the Hottentots say that in the old days, when they were allowed access to it, they had pits dug in its margin, where they got good fresh water quite near to the salt. He said he hoped also to find traces of the old waggon-road, which would help us get our bearings properly.
Still we could obtain no further glimpse of the pan, for the dunes were all of the same dead level; moreover the mirage was now dancing all round the circumscribed horizon, which ended in every direction in shimmering sheets of water, in which clouds, dunes, and occasionally gemsbok and animals were mirrored to perfection. Our feet were blistered and bleeding, and van Reenen was rapidly getting lame, but we dared not rest; moreover there was no shade, and to sit or lie on the burning sand was worse torture than staggering on.
At length the bare dunes ended abruptly, grass and bushes appeared again, and here and there Du Toit was able to pluck a tiny shoot of young sorrel to chew, which gave us some small relief from what was now torture. Then came a smallgar boomtree, its scanty greyish leaves full of long bean-like pods on which buck feed greedily, and capable of giving us a modicum of shade. We threw ourselves down, panting and anxious. Du Toit, however, made for the first prominent dune we had seen for hours, and, climbing it, brought us the welcome news that the Salt Pan was barely a mile away. So we shuffled on again, and at three o’clock stood on its margin. It was truly a wonderful sight—circular in form, a mile or more in diameter, and covered with salt as pure and white as the driven snow. Across it, and adding to its striking resemblance to a snow-clad Canadian lake, lay the spoors of gemsbok and other large animals, the recent ones showing as black as ink, for the salt is but a few inches deep, and underlying it is a thick black mud.
Into this the poor tortured dogs dug their noses—itwas cool, but pure brine—and with their tails between their legs and howling dismally they crawled back to the sand and bush.
Meanwhile, in spite of our plight, the wide expanse of clean salt had proved as irresistible to us as a clean stretch of sea sand usually does to schoolboys or “cheap trippers,” and we scraped our initials deep into the black mud, till the lettering stood out as clearly as black type upon white paper. Van Reenen wished to cool his burning feet in the wet brine, but was dissuaded, and, separating, we searched the margin of the pan for a sign of the pits spoken of by the Hottentots. But we found no vestige of them, though on the southern margin we found the old waggon-path, plainly visible owing to its thick covering oftoagrass, but useless to us, as it led south-west towards “Aar Pan,” whilst our camp and water lay north-west.
The big dune at Aar Pan loomed up temptingly; it did not appear more than an hour’s walk, and remembering the thunder-clouds and apparent rainfall we had seen in that direction, we were for a moment tempted to make for it, but sanity prevailed—for to have gone there and found no water would have meant death; as we afterwards found, the distance between the Salt Pan and the water-pit there took a good four hours to negotiate.
We therefore made for the north-west edge and climbed the highest dune, whence we hoped to distinguish the big dune near our camp, but could not identify it. It was nearly sunset, we were utterly worn out and tortured with thirst, and could only talk in a whisper, but few words were necessary. We had traversed one side and the base of an elongated triangle, and to find our camp we must complete it, steering so as to cut, if possible, our spoor of the day before, and the longstraatleading to our camp. Had we been able to rest the night and look for it by daylight, this would have been child’s play, but we could not disguise the fact that we were almost at the end of our tether, and unless we didthe journey in the cool of the night we should never live through the heat of another day. It was now nearly sundown, and we realised that at any rate we could not hope to reach our old spoors before the light failed. However, we had to push on, and, marking our course very carefully, we started again.
One dog limped behind, the other poor brute lay dying, and we gave it a merciful bullet. We calculated that our camp lay about twelve miles north-east; twelve miles—a trivial distance to a pedestrian on a good road, but here in the dunes a difficult day’s march, even if we could make our way to it direct, which was extremely doubtful.
One thing buoyed us up somewhat, and that was the belief that our non-arrival in camp would cause them to light a beacon-fire on the high dune, and as night fell, again and again, we were deceived by the bright stars that came up over the horizon, twinkling so brightly—even low down and directly over the dunes—in the clear atmosphere, that for a time they appeared exactly like a blazing fire.
The night was by no means dark, but even so we stumbled terribly amongst the tufts oftoagrass, low salt-bushes, and the numerous meer-cat holes, and by ten o’clock van Reenen, whose feet were bleeding, and who was suffering worse than any of us from thirst, threw himself down and said he would go no farther. He was light-headed and raving for water, and we could do nothing to help him. So, after an anxious discussion, we decided to rest for an hour or two and slept for awhile, dreaming of cool, sparkling water. Du Toit roused me or I might be sleeping there now. My head was throbbing wildly, and my lips, tongue, and throat like the dryest of leather; indeed, it seemed as though every vital organ in me was drying up, and I felt that I should soon go mad. I could make no articulate sound till Du Toit gave me a few leaves of sorrel he had found, and which moistened my tongue somewhat. We had to kick resentment into van Reenen, who lay like a log, and who was in a very bad way.At last he staggered up, and, drawing his hunting-knife, cut his boots off and threw them away. This discarding of clothing is a bad sign with a man suffering from thirst; many a dead man had been found in the dunes, stark naked, his boots and clothing scattered along his staggering trail. But van Reenen had simply done it on account of his bleeding, aching feet, and, in spite of thorns, got on better without them.
Thus, painfully and with frequent rests, we toiled on, till about midnight we came to a longstraatwhich led the right way, and which we fondly hoped might have been the path of our outward journey. But a patient search from side to side of it showed no spoor; and now began a heart-breaking period, for we found that a whole series of thesestraatslay side by side in this direction, all of them unmarked by human footprints. Tortured and anxious, we began to doubt whether we were not out of the track altogether, and whether we had not passed it, and I remember that I at least was for making due west towards the Molopo—a good eighteen hours’ trek for a strong man, and which we should never have reached. But Du Toit persisted: we could not be more than an hour or two from camp, and he would yet find the spoor. Again and again we fired our rifles and listened in vain for an answering shot, again and again we climbed the highest dunes, and gazed into the night for a fire that never shone there; now one, now the other, would fall and lie there till pulled up, but somehow we managed to struggle on a bit farther.
And at length, when despair had absolutely seized us, and van Reenen lagged behind me and I lagged behind Du Toit, I saw him again light a match and search the sand, and this time there came a hoarse cry. He had found the spoor; and revived, and with the terrible fear and anxiety lifted from us, we threw ourselves down and rested, knowing that we were saved. By daybreak our terrible thirst had conquered fatigue and we moved on again,and within an hour our rifle-shots were answered, and our “boy,” Gert Louw, was on his way to meet us with blessed, Heaven-sent nectar in the shape of a canvas bag of muddy water.
The fire had been lit, but not on the big dune.
Now, we had only been forty-eight hours away from camp and a bare thirty-six without water, yet we were nearly dead, and without a shadow of a doubt should have been dead of thirst before another sunset without water. Yet I have read of men living four or five days under like circumstances. The experience taught us several things. In future no broad, pleasantstraatever tempted us in the wrong direction, we carried more water, even for short trips, and took compass bearings more accurately. Moreover we set the “boys” to work collecting dry wood, and made them stack it on the summit of the big dune, where a fire would have been seen from the Salt Pan, and where their laziness had prevented them from taking it before.