At his cries Kali came running up, and after him the two men who were to relieve the guards, and then all the Wa-himas and Samburus assembled, howling and roaring around the place where the crime had been committed. The greatest noise and confusion ensued, the underlying keynote being one of fear. The negroes were not so much disturbed on account of the men having been murdered and a crime committed as they were at having lost their last drop of water, now absorbed by the parched earth of the jungle. Several threw themselves on the ground and pulled up lumps of earth with their fingers and sucked out the remaining moisture. Others cried that wicked spirits had killed the guards and slit the bags. But Stasch and Kali knew how much credit to give to these tales. M’Kunji and M’Pua were missing from the howling throng. More than the murder of two guards and the theft of water had taken place. The water-bags left behind, having been torn, proved that it was done for revenge; it meant death for the whole caravan. The priests of the wicked Msimu had taken revenge on the good Msimu. The sorcerers had taken revenge on the young king because he had brought their deceptions to light and had not permitted them to continue deceiving the stupid Wa-himas. But now death hovered over the caravan like a hawk over a flock of doves.
Kali remembered, when it was too late, that he had been so sad and also so busy that he had forgotten to have the sorcerers bound, as he had done every evening since their attempt to escape. It was also evident that the two negroes guarding the water had lain down and gone to sleep, with the inherent thoughtlessness of their race. This had made the work of the villains easy and permitted them to escape unpunished.
Quite a time elapsed before the excitement subsided and the party recovered from its dismay. The evil-doers could not as yet have gotten far away, for the ground under the slit bags was damp and the blood of the murdered guards was not quite dry. Stasch ordered the fugitives to be pursued, not with the sole purpose of punishing them, but also to recover the last two water-bags. Kali immediately mounted a horse and with several riflemen started in pursuit. It occurred to Stasch, who had first thought of accompanying them, that because of the excitement and the disturbed state of the negroes he could not possibly leave Nell alone with them; so he remained behind, but he ordered Kali to take Saba with him.
He was greatly afraid there would be an uprising, and he felt sure that the Samburus would revolt. But in this he was mistaken. Negroes are given to revolt, and sometimes even for trivial reasons, but when overpowered by misfortune, and especially when the merciless hand of death weighs heavily on them, they yield without making any attempt at resistance. This applies not only to those whom Islam has taught that it is useless to struggle against fate, but to all without exception. Then neither fear nor the agony of their last moments can awaken them from their lethargy. This was the case now. As soon as the first excitement was over and the Wa-himas and the Samburus realized that they must eventually die, they lay down quietly on the ground to wait for death; therefore no rebellion was to be expected; on the contrary, it was doubtful if they would get up the following morning and be willing to continue the journey.
Stasch felt deeply sorry for them.
Kali returned before daybreak, and immediately placed in front of Stasch two torn bags, in which not a drop of water remained.
“Great Man,” he said, “Madi, apana!”
Stasch wiped his forehead, which was streaming with perspiration from fright and worry; then he asked:
“And M’Kunji and M’Pua?”
“M’Kunji and M’Pua are dead,” answered Kali.
“You have killed them?”
“Lion or wobo killed them!”
And he began to relate what had happened. They found the corpses of the two criminals at quite a distance from the camp, where they had been killed. They lay side by side; both had had their skulls crushed in from behind, their shoulders torn, and their backs eaten. Kali conjectured that a wobo or a lion had appeared before them in the moonlight and that they had fallen on their faces to beseech it to spare their lives. But the terrible beast had killed them both; then, having satisfied its appetite, it scented the water and tore the bags to pieces.
“God has punished them,” said Stasch, “and the Wa-himas will now be convinced that the wicked Msimu can save no one.”
And Kali repeated:
“God has punished them, but we have no water.”
“Ahead of us, far off toward the east, I have seen mountains. There must be water there.”
“Kali has also seen them, but to get to them are many, many days——”
A short silence ensued.
“Sir,” said Kali, “good Msimu, Bibi, should pray to the Great Spirit for rain or for a stream of water.”
Stasch made no reply, but moved away. He saw Nell’s little white figure in front of the tent, for the screams and howls of the negroes had awakened her some time before.
“Stasch, what has happened?” she asked, hurrying toward him.
He laid his hand on her little head and said gravely:
“Nell, pray to God for water—or we are all doomed to die!”
And so the little girl raised her small, pale face to heaven; fixing her eyes on the silver disk of the moon, she prayed for deliverance to Him who in heaven guides the stars, and on earth tempers the wind to the shorn lamb.
After a sleepless, noisy, and distracted night the sun appeared on the horizon with the suddenness that prevails only at the equator; at once it was bright daylight. Not a drop of dew on the grass, not a cloud in the sky.
Stasch ordered the riflemen to gather the negroes together, and he addressed a few words to them. He explained that it was impossible to return to the river, for they knew full well that they were five days’ or five nights’ journey from it. But, on the other hand, no one could tell whether they might not find water in the opposite direction. In their immediate neighborhood a spring, a tiny stream, or a pool might be found; for although no trees could be seen, it often happens that on open plains where seeds are blown away by hurricanes there is water, though no trees. The day before they had seen several large antelope and ostriches running eastward, which was a sign that there must be a watering-place somewhere in that direction. Therefore any one not a fool or chicken-hearted, but having a brave heart like the lion and buffalo, would prefer to march on, even though suffering tortures from thirst, rather than to remain lying on the ground waiting for the hawks and hyenas to devour them. At these words he pointed with his hand to some hawks flying in circles over the caravan, the harbingers of disaster. Nearly all the Wa-himas, whom Kali had ordered to arise, stood up when they heard these words; being accustomed to despotic rule, they did not dare to show the least resistance. Many of the Samburus, however, because their king Faru had remained behind at the lake, did not want to get up again, and they said to one another: “Why should we seek death when death is seeking us?”
Thus the caravan, now reduced by nearly one-half, broke camp, and even this exertion caused the men much torture and pain. For twenty-four hours no one had tasted a drop of water or any other liquid. Even in a cooler climate this would have caused most acute suffering, and what must it mean to these—now laboring in this African furnace, in which, even if water be drunk in plenty, the perspiration follows so rapidly that one can wipe it off his skin almost the same moment it is swallowed. It was certain that many of the party would collapse by the way from exhaustion and sunstroke. Stasch protected Nell from the sun as best he could, and would not allow her for a second to put her head out of the palanquin, the roof of which, by the way, he had covered with a piece of white percale to make it a double protection against the blighting rays. He used the water still remaining in the rubber bag to make some strong tea and served it to her without sugar, because sweets increase thirst. The girl pleaded with tears in her eyes for him to drink, too, and at last he put the bottle, in which scarcely a few thimblefuls of water remained, to his lips, and moving his throat, pretended to drink. At the same moment, as he felt the touch of moisture on his lips, it seemed to him as though a flame were burning in his chest and stomach, and that if he could not extinguish it he would drop dead. Red circles began to glimmer before his eyes, terrible stinging pains shot through his jaw as of a thousand needles. His hand trembled so that he came near spilling the last precious drops, but he only moistened his tongue and reserved the rest for Nell.
Another day of suffering and fatigue ensued, which was fortunately followed by a cool night. The next morning the burning heat again beat down and not a breath of air was stirring. The sun, like a spirit of evil, devastated the parched soil with its deadly fire. The edge of the sky down near the horizon was a pale hue, and as far as the eye could reach not even a bush could be seen. Nothing—only a burned, desert plain, covered with tufts of blackened grass and heather. Occasionally a slight rumble of thunder was heard in the far distance, but coming from a clear sky it was a sign of drought, not of rain.
At noon, when the heat was at its worst, it became necessary to halt. The caravan rested in gloomy silence. Two horses had dropped down, and a number of negroes had fallen behind. During this rest no one thought about eating. The eyes of all were sunken, their lips cracked, and on them were dried clots of blood. Nell gasped like a languid little bird, so Stasch handed her two rubber-bags; and crying out, “I have drunk, I have drunk!” ran toward the other side of the camp, fearing that if he remained he would take the water away from her or ask her to share it with him. Perhaps this was the most heroic thing he had done during the entire journey. His sufferings increased under these tortures. Red circles continually glimmered before his eyes. Such a terrible pressure was in his jaws that he could open and shut them only with difficulty. His throat was parched and feverishly hot, there was no saliva in his mouth, and his tongue was dry as wood.
But this was only the beginning of the torture for him and for the caravan. The rumbling of thunder near the horizon, a sign of drought, continued. About three o’clock, when the sun turned toward the western side of the heavens, Stasch ordered the caravan to march. He placed himself at its head and led it toward the east. He had now scarcely seventy men, and now and then one of these would lie down beside his burden never to rise again. The thermometer went down a few degrees, but even then it was murderously hot. The motionless air was filled with suffocating humidity, and they could scarcely breathe. The animals also suffered. Saba’s sides heaved up and down, and he panted laboriously; not a drop of froth fell from his tongue, which was black and hanging out of his mouth. King, who was used to the dry African jungle, did not seem to suffer much, but still he began to be troublesome. A strange light shone in his tiny eyes. He still answered Stasch, and especially Nell, who occasionally talked to him, with a grunt, but when Kali thoughtlessly passed him by King snorted threateningly and waved his trunk so frantically that the boy would probably have been killed had he not sprung quickly aside.
Kali’s eyes were bloodshot, the veins of his throat were swollen, and his lips were cracked like those of the other negroes. Toward five o’clock he approached Stasch, and with great difficulty moved his throat sufficiently to say in a hollow voice:
“Great Man, Kali can go no farther. He will stay here for the night.”
Stasch controlled the pain in his jaw and answered with difficulty:
“All right; let us halt. The night will bring relief.”
“It will bring death,” whispered the young negro. The negroes threw down the burdens, but they did not lie down immediately, as the fever, which had thickened their blood, was now at its height. Their hearts and the pulses in hands and feet beat so heavily that it seemed they must burst. The skin on their bodies, dry and shriveled, began to itch. In their bones they felt an intense restlessness, and a fiery heat seemed to consume their throats and intestines. Many walked restlessly up and down between the piles of baggage. By the rays of the dying sun, others, farther away, could be seen, following each other among the parched bushes until their strength was utterly exhausted. Then one by one they fell to the ground, not resting quietly, but twitching more spasmodically than before. Kali sat down, in Turkish fashion, next to Stasch and Nell, with his mouth open and gasping for air. Between breaths he begged beseechingly:
“Bwana Kubwa, water!”
Stasch looked at him with a glassy stare and was silent.
“Bwana Kubwa, water!”
And after a while:
“Kali die——”
Therefore Mea, who for some reason was able to bear the thirst better than any one else, sat down beside him, and putting her arms around his neck, said in a soft, melodious voice:
“Mea will die along with Kali——”
A long pause ensued.
Meanwhile the sun went down and the night clothed the landscape in darkness. The heavens became dark blue. In the southern sky shone the cross. Over the plain glittered myriads of stars. The moon rose and its light pervaded the darkness, and in the west the pale twilight of the zodiac spread far and wide. The atmosphere became a huge glittering flood. An even more brilliant glow spread over the landscape. The palanquin, which they forgot to remove from King’s back, and the tents shone as if made of white marble. The world sank into deathlike silence; sleep enveloped the earth. And in the midst of nature’s tranquil peacefulness Stasch and his followers writhed in pain, waiting for death. On the silver background of the twilight the huge form of the elephant stood out distinctly. The moonlight illuminated the tent, Stasch’s and Nell’s white clothes, the spaces between the bushes of heather, the dark, cramped, and distorted bodies of the negroes and the baggage-strewn ground. Saba sat on his hind legs in front of the children and howled sadly with head turned toward the moon. Not a thought was left in the soul of Stasch—nothing but dumb despair. He felt there was no help, no way out, that all their terrible fatigue and hardships, all the sufferings and courageous deeds done on the terrible journey—from Medinet to Khartum, from Khartum to Fashoda, from Fashoda to the unknown lake—had been utterly useless, and that they could not escape the inexorable end of the struggle—death. It appeared all the more dreadful to him since it would come on the last stretch of the journey—at whose end lay the ocean. Oh, he could never take Nell to the coast, nor put her on the ship for Port Said; he could never give her back to her father, nor fall into his father’s arms and hear him say that he had acted like a brave boy and a true Pole! It was all over! In a few days the sun would shine but on lifeless bodies; then it would dry them up like the mummies that sleep the everlasting sleep in Egyptian museums!
His brain was turning from the pain and heat and fever; he saw visions of death struggles, and there came to him strange sounds. He distinctly heard the voices of the Sudanese and the Bedouins crying, “Yalla! Yalla!” as they mercilessly whipped their frightened camels. He saw Idris and Gebhr. The Mahdi smiled at him with his thick lips and asked: “Will you drink of the fountain of truth?” A lion standing on a rock gazed at him, then Linde gave him a jar of quinine and said: “Make haste, for the little one is dying!” Then he only saw a pale, sweet little face and two little hands stretched toward him.
Suddenly he shuddered; for a moment consciousness came back to him—close to his ear Nell’s soft, sad, pleading voice whispered:
“Stasch—water!”
She, as did Kali, rested her hope on him. But as he had given her the last drops of water twelve hours before, he now controlled himself and cried out with a voice full of emotion, pain, and despair:
“Oh, Nell, I only pretended to drink! For the last three days I have not tasted a drop!”
And holding his head in despair, he ran away that he might not see how she suffered. Blindly up and down between the tufts of grass and heather he ran, until his strength was utterly exhausted and he sank down on one of the bushes. No weapon of any kind was in his hand. A leopard, lion, or even a large hyena would have found him easy prey. But only Saba came running up, sniffing at him and howling, as if he, too, were asking for help.
No one came to their assistance. Only the calm, indifferent moon looked down upon them from above. For a long time the boy lay as if lifeless. When a cooler breath of wind, unexpectedly blowing from the east, restored him to his senses, he raised himself and tried to stand and go to Nell.
Now there blew another cool breath of wind. Saba ceased to howl, turned toward the east, and began to expand his nostrils. Suddenly he barked once in a sharp bass tone and then a second time, and ran on straight ahead. For a time he seemed to be silent, but soon his bark was heard in the distance. Stasch stood up, and staggering about on his benumbed legs, looked in the direction taken by Saba. The lengthy journeys, the long sojourn in the jungle, the necessity of keeping all his senses strung up to their highest pitch, and the incessant dangers he had encountered had taught the boy to observe everything that was going on about him. And so, notwithstanding the tortures he suffered at the moment, and though he was only semi-conscious, he began from instinct to note the movements of the dog. After a while Saba returned, but he seemed disturbed and very restless. Several times he looked up at Stasch, walked around him, ran away in the heather sniffing and barking, and again returned, and at last taking hold of the boy’s clothes, he began to drag him toward the opposite side of the camp.
Stasch had now fully regained his presence of mind.
“What is that?” he thought. “Either the dog has gone mad from thirst or he has scented water. But no!— If there were water near by he would have run there to drink and his throat would be wet. But if the water be far off he has not scented it—for water has no scent. He is not pulling me toward some kind of prey, for this evening he refused to eat. Then what can it mean?”
And suddenly his heart began to beat faster in his breast.
“Perhaps the wind has brought him the scent of human beings?— Perhaps—perhaps there is a negro village in the distance?—perhaps one of the kites— O merciful Jesus! O Jesus!——”
A faint ray of hope spurred him on; he felt stronger and tried to run toward the camp, in spite of the resistance of the dog, who continually barred the way. From the camp Nell’s white form shone out and her weak voice reached him; soon afterward he stumbled over Kali lying on the ground, but he took no heed of anything. Reaching the piece of baggage in which the rockets were kept, he tore it open, took one out, with trembling hands bound it to a bamboo post, pushed it into the earth, and lighted the fuse.
Soon a red snake shot up, spluttering noisily into the air. Stasch caught hold of the bamboo rod with both hands to prevent himself from falling, and gazed fixedly into the distance. The pulses in his hands and temples beat hard and his lips moved in fervent prayer. He felt that in this his last breath his heart was calling on Heaven for help.
A second, a third, a fourth minute elapsed. Nothing—and again nothing! The boy’s hands fell at his side, his head sank to the ground, and dreadful pain filled his tortured breast.
“In vain! In vain!” he moaned. “I shall go and sit down by Nell, and we shall die together.”
At the same moment far, far off in the silvery background of the moonlit night a fiery streak rose into the air and broke into golden stars, which slowly fell to the ground like large tears.
“We are saved!” cried Stasch.
Then the people, half dead but a moment ago, sprang up, running to and fro, jumping over the grass and tufts of heather. After the first rocket, a second and a third were sent up. Then a gust of wind brought the echo of a peculiar cracking sound, very evidently caused by distant shots. In reply Stasch ordered all the rifles fired off, and from that time the guns answered each other without intermission, and the noises became more and more distinct. The boy now mounted a horse, which also had—as if by a miracle—regained some strength, and holding Nell before him, galloped over the plain toward the sound of deliverance. Saba ran alongside, and behind him tramped the huge King. The two camps were several kilometers apart, but each party was hurrying toward the other, and so the ride was not a long one. The flashes from the guns could now be seen. Another rocket, the last, arose in the air, at a distance of not more than several hundred feet away. Then numerous lights shone. A slight swell of the ground hid them for a while, but when Stasch mounted it he found himself face to face with a line of negroes holding burning torches in their hands.
At the head of the line marched two Europeans wearing English helmets and carrying guns.
At a glance Stasch recognized Captain Glen and Dr. Clary.
The expedition of Captain Glen and Dr. Clary certainly was not organized to seek Stasch and Nell. It was a large and well-equipped government expedition, sent out to explore the northeast slopes of the giant mountain Kilima-Njaro, and also the but little known large tracts to the north of this mountain. It is true that the Captain and the Doctor knew about the kidnapping of the children from Medinet el-Fayoum, for English and Arabic newspapers had published accounts of it, but they thought that both had died or else were languishing as prisoners of the Mahdi, from whom not a single European captive had regained his freedom. Clary, whose sister was married to Rawlison of Bombay, and who on his trip to Cairo had been quite taken with little Nell, missed her very much. But they were also very sorry for the brave boy. They had sent several telegrams from Mombasa to Mr. Rawlison asking whether the children had been found, and only after the last unfavorable answer, which arrived some time before the departure of the caravan, did they finally give up every hope of finding them.
It never even occurred to them that the children, who were kidnapped in distant Khartum, might turn up in this district. But in the evenings, after the day’s work was over, they often conversed about them, for the doctor could not forget the beautiful little girl.
Meanwhile the caravan advanced still farther. After staying quite some time on the eastern slopes of Kilima-Njaro and exploring the upper course of the rivers Sabaki and Tana, as well as the Kenia Mountains, the captain and the doctor turned off northward, and after having crossed the swampy Guasso-Nyjro, came into a wide, uninhabited plain, over which roamed only innumerable herds of antelope. After a journey of more than three months, the people needed a longer rest, and so Captain Glen, after having come to a fairly large lake containing plenty of brown but healthy water, ordered the tents to be erected on its banks for a ten days’ halt.
During the preparations for camping the white people busied themselves with hunting and sorting their geographical and natural science notes, and the negroes fell into their well-beloved idleness. It happened one day that Dr. Clary, rising early, and approaching the shore, saw several Zanzibar negroes belonging to the caravan with their faces upturned looking at the top of a tall tree and repeating over and over again:
“Ndege? Akuna ndege! Ndege?”—“A bird? No bird! A bird?”
The doctor was shortsighted, so he sent to the tent for a telescope; then he looked through it at the object to which the negroes pointed, and great surprise showed on his face:
“Call the captain here!” he said.
Before the negroes had reached him the captain appeared outside the tent; he was about to start on an antelope hunt.
“Glen, look!” cried the doctor, pointing upward.
The captain raised his head, covered his eyes with his hands, and showed as much surprise as did the doctor.
“A kite!” he cried.
“Yes; but negroes don’t send up kites! Where can it come from?”
“There may be a settlement of white people or a mission in the neighborhood——”
“This is the third day the wind has blown from the west, over a region as unknown and perhaps as uninhabited as is this jungle. Besides, you know that there are no settlements or missions hereabouts.”
“Indeed, it is very strange and interesting.”
“We must certainty take down the kite.”
“Yes. Perhaps then we shall find out where it came from.”
The captain gave a short order. The tree was several feet high, but in a moment the negroes had reached the top, carefully unfastened the kite, taken it down, and handed it to the doctor, who examined it quickly and said:
“There’s writing on it—let us look!”
And in order to see better he half closed his eyes and began to read:
Suddenly his face changed and his hand trembled.
“Glen,” he said, “take that; read it through, and convince me that I have not had a sun-stroke, and that I am still in my right senses!”
The captain took the bamboo frame to which the sheet of paper was attached and read the following:
“Nell Rawlison and Stanislaus Tarkowski, who were sent from Khartum to Fashoda, and were transported from Fashoda to the east of the Nile, have freed themselves from the hands of the Dervishes. After a journey of many months they have arrived at a lake which lies to the south of Abyssinia. They are going to the ocean. They beg for help.”
“Nell Rawlison and Stanislaus Tarkowski, who were sent from Khartum to Fashoda, and were transported from Fashoda to the east of the Nile, have freed themselves from the hands of the Dervishes. After a journey of many months they have arrived at a lake which lies to the south of Abyssinia. They are going to the ocean. They beg for help.”
And on the other side of the sheet was found the following postscript:
“This, the fifty-fifth kite, was sent up from a group of mountains which surrounds a lake not mentioned in geography. Whosoever finds it should send the news to the canal administration in Port Said, or to Captain Glen in Mombasa.”Stanislaus Tarkowski.
“This, the fifty-fifth kite, was sent up from a group of mountains which surrounds a lake not mentioned in geography. Whosoever finds it should send the news to the canal administration in Port Said, or to Captain Glen in Mombasa.”
Stanislaus Tarkowski.
When the captain’s voice had ceased the two friends silently regarded each other.
“What does it mean?” at last asked Dr. Clary.
“I can’t believe my eyes!” answered the captain.
“But is there no mistake?”
“No.”
“There it is, plainly written: ‘Nell Rawlison and Stanislaus Tarkowski.’ ”
“There it is as plain as can be——”
“And perhaps they may be in this vicinity?”
“So God has apparently saved them.”
“All thanks be to Him!” cried the doctor enthusiastically.
“But in what direction shall we look for them?”
“Is there nothing more on the kite?”
“There were several other words, but on a part torn by the branches; it is hard to read them.”
Both leaned their heads over the paper, and only after a lengthy examination were they able to spell:
“The rainy season has long since passed.”
“What does that mean?” asked the doctor.
“That the boy has lost his reckoning of time.”
“And in this way he tried to give the date as best he could.”
“You are right. So this kite can not have been sent up such a very long while ago.”
“If that is the case, then they can not be very far off by this time.”
This feverish, abrupt conversation lasted a little longer; then they both began to inspect the document again and to consider every word written on it. But it all seemed so improbable, that had it not come from a place where not even one European could be found—more than six hundred kilometers distant from the nearest coast—the doctor and the captain would have been inclined to think it a joke played by European or mission children after having read in the newspapers about the kidnapping. Still it was hard for them not to believe their eyes; for they had the kite in their hands, and the inscription, being scarcely blurred at all, was quite distinct.
Notwithstanding, there were many things about it that they could not understand. Where could the children have procured the paper for the kites? If they had obtained it from a caravan, they would have joined the caravan, and so would not have been obliged to ask for assistance. Why had the boy not tried to escape to Abyssinia with his little companion? Why had the Dervishes sent them to the east of the Nile in an unknown country? How had they been able to escape from the Dervishes? Where were they hiding? By what miracle had they not starved to death during this journey of many months? By what miracle had they not become the prey of wild beasts? Why had the savages not killed them? To all these questions they could find no answers.
“I can’t understand it. I can’t understand it!” repeated Dr. Clary. “It surely is a miracle of God’s working.”
“It would seem so!” answered the captain.
Then he added:
“But there’s a fine boy for you! This must be his work!”
“And he did not leave the little one in the lurch. God bless his head and his heart.”
“Stanley—yes, even Stanley—placed as he was, could not have kept up over three days.”
“And they are still alive!”
“But they beg for help. What’s past is past. We must depart immediately.”
And so they set out. On the way the two friends continually re-examined the document, trusting that they might find directions on it to guide them in going to the children’s assistance. But no such directions were found. The captain led the caravan in a zigzag path, hoping he might find some trace of them—the remains of some campfire or a tree with marks cut into the bark. In this way they traveled on for several days, when unfortunately they found themselves on a treeless plain, covered with tall heather and tufts of dried grass. The two travelers were now very much alarmed. How easy, they thought, was it to miss even a large caravan on these vast prairies and how much easier it was to miss two children, who, as they supposed, were creeping along somewhere in the tall heather like two little worms. Another day passed. Neither the tin cans with notes inside them which they left behind them tied to bushes, nor the watch-fires burning during the night were of any avail. The captain and the doctor from time to time began to lose hope of ever finding the children; indeed, they felt quite sure they were no longer alive. Nevertheless, they continued searching diligently for several days. At last the scouts whom Glen sent out to reconnoiter brought news that in front of them lay an absolutely arid desert; so when they accidentally came across water in a hollow of the ground they were obliged to halt to make provision for the coming journey.
The hollow was several feet deep and very narrow. At its bottom a hot spring bubbled and boiled, for it was saturated with carbonic gas. The water when cooled proved to be good and wholesome. There was so much water in the spring that thirty men of their caravan were unable to empty it. On the contrary, the more water they dipped out the higher it spurted forth.
“Perhaps in time,” said Dr. Clary, “invalids will come here to be cured by this water, but at present the steep side of the cliff renders it inaccessible even to animals. Can it be possible that the children have found a similar spring?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps there are more like these in this part of the country. If not, the children will surely die of thirst.”
The night approached. They lighted several fires, but no boma was erected, for they could find no materials with which to build it.
After supper the doctor and the captain sat down on camp-stools, lighted their pipes, and began to converse on the subject that weighed most heavily on their hearts.
“Not the least trace!” Clary began.
“It had occurred to me,” answered Glen, “to send ten of our people to the coast with a telegram, stating that news from the children had been received. But I am glad that I did not send it, for the messengers would most likely have given out on the way, and even if they had reached their destination, what good would it do to raise false hopes——”
“And increase their grief——”
The doctor removed his white helmet and wiped his perspiring forehead. “Listen,” said he. “Suppose we were to return to that lake, and have niches cut in the bark of the trees and large fires burning by night! Perhaps the children would see these signs.”
“If they are in the neighborhood we would not need to take these means to find them, and if they are far away the rise in the ground would hide the fires. This plateau only appears to be level; in reality it is covered with ridges and waves like the ocean. Besides, if we were to retrace our steps we would lose all hope of finding a vestige of them.”
“Speak plainly. You have lost all hope?”
“My friend, we are grown, strong, experienced men; just imagine what would have become of us if we had been stranded here by ourselves, even if supplied with water, had we no provisions or men!”
“Yes, unfortunately—yes, I can picture to myself two children traveling through the desert on a night like this——”
“Hunger, thirst, and wild animals——”
“And yet the boy writes that they have dragged through long months in this way.”
“I can not possibly imagine it.”
For a long time all that disturbed the silence of the night was the crackling of the tobacco in their pipes. The doctor stared into the pale depth of the night, and then in a suppressed voice said:
“It is now late; but I can not sleep. And to think that, if they are still alive, perhaps they are wandering around here somewhere in the moonlight between these dried tufts of heather—alone—such young children! Glen, do you remember the angel face of the little one?”
“I remember it perfectly, and shall not forget it.”
“Ah, I would gladly have my hand cut off if——”
He did not finish the sentence, for Captain Glen jumped up as suddenly as if scalding water had been poured over him.
“A rocket in the distance!” he cried. “A rocket!”
“A rocket!” repeated the doctor.
“There must be a caravan ahead of us.”
“Perhaps it has come across the children!”
“Perhaps. Let us make haste to meet them.”
“Forward!”
The captain’s orders were at once heard throughout the camp. The Zanzibar negroes sprang to their feet. Torches were lighted, and in answer to the distant signals Glen ordered rockets sent up in rapid succession and shots to be fired.
In less than a quarter of an hour the entire camp was on its way.
From a distance were heard shots responding to theirs. There was no longer any doubt but that some European caravan was for some unknown reason asking for help.
The captain and the doctor ran as fast as they possibly could, alternately hoping and fearing. Would they find the children or not? The doctor said to himself that if they did not find them they could at least search for their bodies in the dreadful heather-fields.
Half an hour later one of those ridges of which they had spoken shut off the view from the two friends. But they were now so near that they distinctly heard the tramping of horses. A few minutes more and a rider appeared on the top of a hillock; he held a large white object in front of him on the saddle.
“Hold the torches high!” commanded Glen.
At the same moment the rider brought his horse to a standstill within the circle of lights.
“Water! Water!”
“The children!” cried Dr. Clary.
“ ‘Water! Water!’ repeated Stasch.”
“ ‘Water! Water!’ repeated Stasch.”
“ ‘The children!’ cried Dr. Clary.”
“ ‘The children!’ cried Dr. Clary.”
“Water!” repeated Stasch.
And he almost threw Nell into the arms of the captain and then he sprang out of the saddle. The next moment he staggered to the ground as if lifeless.
The rejoicing of the rescuers was boundless, but the credulity of the two Englishmen was put to a severe test, as they had been unable to comprehend how the children by themselves had been able to travel over the measureless tracts of land and the deserts which separated their present position from the Nile and Fashoda; neither could they conjecture how “the young Pole,” as they called Stasch, could have done it, and how it was that he appeared before them as the leader of a large caravan—armed with European weapons—with an elephant who carried a palanquin, with horses, tents, and a considerable amount of provisions. At this astounding sight the captain stretched out his hands, saying over and over again: “Clary, I have seen a great deal in my life, but never a boy like this,” and the good doctor, equally astonished, said:
“And he released the little one from captivity—and saved her!” After having made this remark, he ran to the tents to see how the children were and if they were sleeping comfortably.
After they had had food and drink, the children were undressed and put to bed, and slept during the whole of the following day as soundly as if they were dead, and so did the men belonging to their caravan. Captain Glen attempted to question Kali about their adventures and about Stasch’s part in them, but the young negro merely opened one eye and answered: “The Great Man can do everything,” and went to sleep again. So they were obliged to put off their questions until the following day.
Meanwhile the two friends consulted with each other as to the journey back to Mombasa. They had already traveled farther and explored larger tracts than their commission called for, and so they decided to return at once. The unknown lake had a great fascination for the captain, but the welfare of the children and the desire to take them back to their grief-stricken fathers as soon as possible turned the scales. The doctor insisted that at present they should take a good rest on the cool summits of the Kenia or Kilima-Njaro Mountains. They also decided not to send word to the children’s fathers until they reached the mountains, and then tell them to come to Mombasa.
On the third day, after they were well rested and had bathed several times, they started on their return journey. Now they were obliged to part from Kali. Stasch convinced the little one that it would be selfish for her to take him with them to the ocean, or even as far as Egypt, for even in England Kali would be nothing more than a servant, while if he were to rule over his people he could, as king, spread the Christian religion and ameliorate the savage customs of the Wa-himas, and not only civilize them, but make them good. He also expressed similar sentiments to Kali. Many tears were shed at parting. Stasch was not ashamed to weep, for had not he and Nell been through much happiness and misery in common with Kali? And not only had they both learned to appreciate his kind heart, but they had also grown very fond of him. The young negro lay a long time at the feet of his Bwana Kubwa and of the “good Msimu.” He turned back twice to look at them, but at last the moment of parting had come, and the two caravans separated, going in opposite directions.
It was only after they were under way that the adventures of the two little travelers were told. Stasch, who used to be so fond of boasting, did not sound his own praises at all now, for he had accomplished so many things and gone through so much that he had developed sufficiently to recognize that facts speak louder than words—that deeds alone, even when told as modestly as possible, speak for themselves. Daily, during the hot “white hours,” and evenings in the bivouac, the events and adventures which the children had suffered passed before the eyes of the captain and the doctor like moving pictures. In this way they saw them carried off from Medinet-el-Fayoum, and the terrible journey on camels through the desert—Khartum and Omdurman, which was a hell on earth—and the designing Mahdi. When Stasch told how he had replied to the Mahdi when the latter wanted him to change his religion, the two friends arose and each of them in turn grasped Stasch’s right hand firmly. Then the captain said:
“The Mahdi is not living now!”
“The Mahdi not living now!” repeated Stasch, surprised.
“That’s true,” the doctor continued. “He was suffocated in his own fat, or, properly speaking, he died of fatty degeneration of the heart, and Abdullah[49]has taken command.”
A long pause ensued.
“Ha!” said Stasch. “When he sent us to meet our death in Fashoda he had no idea that death would overtake him first.”
And after a while he added:
“But Abdullah is even more cruel than the Mahdi.”
“And that has led to the present revolts and slaughter,” answered the captain, “and the whole structure of government which the Mahdi erected is bound to fall sooner or later.”
“And what will happen then?”
“England,” answered the captain.
During the rest of the journey Stasch told them about the trip to Fashoda, about the death of old Dinah, their departure from Fashoda, their journey to uninhabited districts, and their search for Smain. When he came to the part where he had killed the lion and then Gebhr and Chamis and the two Bedouins, the captain interrupted him, exclaiming, “All right!” and once more grasping his right hand. He and Clary continued to listen with increasing interest about the taming of King, their dwelling in “Cracow,” Nell’s fever, the finding of Linde, and the kites, which the children sent up from the Karamajo Mountains. The doctor, who grew fonder of little Nell day by day, was so especially interested in all that had threatened to harm her that from time to time he had to strengthen himself with a drop of brandy, and when Stasch began to relate how she had nearly become the prey of the terrible wobo he took the little girl in his arms, and would not let her go for some time, as if afraid that some new beast of prey might threaten her life.
What he and the captain thought of Stasch was expressed in two telegrams which they sent off two weeks later (after they had reached the foot of Kilima-Njaro) by messengers, who had orders to forward as soon as possible to the two fathers.
The first telegram was carefully worded and sent to Port Said. It was as follows: