Chapter Nine.The Russian Steppes (concluded).Pleasant Times—A Glorious Hide—A Happy Christmas—Boar-hunting—Attacked by Wolves.Still pleasantly passed the time of our heroes away at Captain Varde’s delightful residence. He did all in his power to render them happy and comfortable; he even invited friends from a distance to visit at the house, in case they should be dull in the evenings, with no one to talk to but himself; and very pleasant people they turned out to be. As autumn wore away, and the days got shorter and colder, they were, of course, confined a good deal to the house; but, what with whist and chess, music and dancing, they never thought a day too long.Fred’s “little love affair,” as Chisholm somewhat irreverently styled it, flourished apace. In fact he was engaged to Miss Varde, and the engagement received the sanction of her parents.“What a pity it is,” said Captain Varde, one day, “that I cannot find a match for you, Mr O’Grahame.”“You are very kind, I am sure, to think of me,” said Chisholm.“Yes,” continued Varde, “for then, you know, there would be no more occasion for you to leave Russia.”“Ah! but,” said Chisholm, “I have that young dog, Frank, to show the world to. He is in my charge and in Fred’s. After we have done the needful by him, we may return—Fred is bound to—and then there is no saying what might happen.”One day, when our friends came out to have their usual run before breakfast, they found the ground all white with snow. This would have warned them, if nothing else had, that Christmas was on ahead; but they also found the moudjiks busy at work getting ready the sledges, and preparations going on everywhere for a long journey.The morning arrives, and the sledges are brought round, and soon filled with as happy a party, probably, as ever set out on a long dreary mid-winter journey in the wilds of Russia. Crack go the whips; the horses toss their saucy heads and manes in the air; then, with a brave plunge, forward they flee, and, with a cheer from the servants left behind, and a shout from onlooking moudjiks, they are off. Paddy, in the song of “The Groves of Blarney,” talks about “the complatest thing in nature being a coach-and-six or a feather bed;” had he ridden in a Russian travelling-sledge, I daresay he would have considered it a sort of combination of the two. Conversation is easy, as there is no rattling of vile wheels; the air is bracing, and the scenery charming, though hills and dales, and the great still forests themselves, are robed in a garment of snow. At noon they stop for rest and refreshment, then mount and go on again; but in the evening they reach a town of some importance, and here they stop for the night. Onward again next day, and onward the next; and at noon of the fourth the country gets wilder; there is hardly a house to be seen; there are giant trees in the wide, wild forests they traverse, and giant hills on the horizon. Suddenly, at a bend of the road, a great lake—frozen hard, and partially snow-clad—makes its appearance; and not far from its banks, though almost hidden by trees, a lordly mansion, from many of the chimneys of which blue smoke is curling upwards, against the white of a hill that almost overhangs it.Captain Varde hails the second sledge, and points laughingly towards this mansion, and they know they are nearing the home of his people. Half an hour afterwards, everybody is dismounting from the sledges, greetings are being exchanged, and steaming horses led away to their stables by smiling retainers.I am not going to describe the life our heroes led at this mansion, which might well be termed a castle; nor even to tell you of the many adventures—some of them wild enough—they had among the hills and in the forests around.One evening the sledge containing Captain Varde and Chisholm got behind the others, and they were attacked by a pack of hungry wolves in fine form. They had had a good day among the boars—our friends, I mean, not the wolves—and one was towing astern. This particular “piggie” the wolves thought would make them an excellent supper; although, for that matter, being, as they are, hippophagists, they would not have objected to a bite of horse-flesh. The sun was declining in the west, as the sledge tore along through the forest; they had still many versts to ride, and attacked in flank and rear by such a number of these unwelcome guests—for the woods seemed alive with them—the danger was one not to be made light of. Happily for them, their horses were hardy and fleet; they had good guns, and plenty of ammunition, so the slaughter was immense. Kept at bay for a time, the wolves, being reinforced, rallied and pressed the sledgemen closely. Chisholm thought of cutting the boar adrift, but Varde wouldn’t hear of it.“Nay, my boy, nay,” he cried, “we will never strike our colours while we’ve a single cartridge left unfired.”Chisholm laughed, and peppered away, and with such good effect, that ere the sun had quite gone down, the enemy drew off and left them, and they soon after regained their companions.There was much more of this kind of thing; suffice it to say that they spent a Christmas of never-to-be-forgotten happiness, and left at last with the heartfelt farewells of their kind entertainers ringing in their ears, and promises that, if Providence spared them, this visit would certainly not be their last.
Still pleasantly passed the time of our heroes away at Captain Varde’s delightful residence. He did all in his power to render them happy and comfortable; he even invited friends from a distance to visit at the house, in case they should be dull in the evenings, with no one to talk to but himself; and very pleasant people they turned out to be. As autumn wore away, and the days got shorter and colder, they were, of course, confined a good deal to the house; but, what with whist and chess, music and dancing, they never thought a day too long.
Fred’s “little love affair,” as Chisholm somewhat irreverently styled it, flourished apace. In fact he was engaged to Miss Varde, and the engagement received the sanction of her parents.
“What a pity it is,” said Captain Varde, one day, “that I cannot find a match for you, Mr O’Grahame.”
“You are very kind, I am sure, to think of me,” said Chisholm.
“Yes,” continued Varde, “for then, you know, there would be no more occasion for you to leave Russia.”
“Ah! but,” said Chisholm, “I have that young dog, Frank, to show the world to. He is in my charge and in Fred’s. After we have done the needful by him, we may return—Fred is bound to—and then there is no saying what might happen.”
One day, when our friends came out to have their usual run before breakfast, they found the ground all white with snow. This would have warned them, if nothing else had, that Christmas was on ahead; but they also found the moudjiks busy at work getting ready the sledges, and preparations going on everywhere for a long journey.
The morning arrives, and the sledges are brought round, and soon filled with as happy a party, probably, as ever set out on a long dreary mid-winter journey in the wilds of Russia. Crack go the whips; the horses toss their saucy heads and manes in the air; then, with a brave plunge, forward they flee, and, with a cheer from the servants left behind, and a shout from onlooking moudjiks, they are off. Paddy, in the song of “The Groves of Blarney,” talks about “the complatest thing in nature being a coach-and-six or a feather bed;” had he ridden in a Russian travelling-sledge, I daresay he would have considered it a sort of combination of the two. Conversation is easy, as there is no rattling of vile wheels; the air is bracing, and the scenery charming, though hills and dales, and the great still forests themselves, are robed in a garment of snow. At noon they stop for rest and refreshment, then mount and go on again; but in the evening they reach a town of some importance, and here they stop for the night. Onward again next day, and onward the next; and at noon of the fourth the country gets wilder; there is hardly a house to be seen; there are giant trees in the wide, wild forests they traverse, and giant hills on the horizon. Suddenly, at a bend of the road, a great lake—frozen hard, and partially snow-clad—makes its appearance; and not far from its banks, though almost hidden by trees, a lordly mansion, from many of the chimneys of which blue smoke is curling upwards, against the white of a hill that almost overhangs it.
Captain Varde hails the second sledge, and points laughingly towards this mansion, and they know they are nearing the home of his people. Half an hour afterwards, everybody is dismounting from the sledges, greetings are being exchanged, and steaming horses led away to their stables by smiling retainers.
I am not going to describe the life our heroes led at this mansion, which might well be termed a castle; nor even to tell you of the many adventures—some of them wild enough—they had among the hills and in the forests around.
One evening the sledge containing Captain Varde and Chisholm got behind the others, and they were attacked by a pack of hungry wolves in fine form. They had had a good day among the boars—our friends, I mean, not the wolves—and one was towing astern. This particular “piggie” the wolves thought would make them an excellent supper; although, for that matter, being, as they are, hippophagists, they would not have objected to a bite of horse-flesh. The sun was declining in the west, as the sledge tore along through the forest; they had still many versts to ride, and attacked in flank and rear by such a number of these unwelcome guests—for the woods seemed alive with them—the danger was one not to be made light of. Happily for them, their horses were hardy and fleet; they had good guns, and plenty of ammunition, so the slaughter was immense. Kept at bay for a time, the wolves, being reinforced, rallied and pressed the sledgemen closely. Chisholm thought of cutting the boar adrift, but Varde wouldn’t hear of it.
“Nay, my boy, nay,” he cried, “we will never strike our colours while we’ve a single cartridge left unfired.”
Chisholm laughed, and peppered away, and with such good effect, that ere the sun had quite gone down, the enemy drew off and left them, and they soon after regained their companions.
There was much more of this kind of thing; suffice it to say that they spent a Christmas of never-to-be-forgotten happiness, and left at last with the heartfelt farewells of their kind entertainers ringing in their ears, and promises that, if Providence spared them, this visit would certainly not be their last.
Chapter Ten.Part IV—The Wilds of Africa.Off to the Cape—Among the Rock Rabbits—A Wild Ride—Lost on the plains.“Isn’t it a glorious morning,” said Chisholm, coming on deck and joining his friends Frank and Fred, who were reclining in their lounge chairs, books in hand, under the awning reading, or pretending to read. And Chisholm himself looked glorious, glorious in the strength and beauty of his young manhood. He was dressed in white from top to toe, with sun hat and low cut collar, which showed his brown and shapely neck to perfection. His face was weather-beaten, that was the least that could be said of it, and loosely dressed as he was, you seemed to see the play of every muscle in his manly form, as he moved; and, when he waved his arms almost rejoicingly in the balmy but bracing breeze, that fanned the sunny sea, he looked as lithe and graceful as a young tiger.“A glorious morning,” he said again.“Beautiful,” said Fred, gazing languidly around him.“You seem in fine form,” said Frank, smiling.“Just had a salt water bath. The other fellows in my cabin had soda and brandy. I feel fresher now than they do.”The ship was a steamer,Druid, but she was staggering along under a power of canvas and, bar accident, two more days would see them safe in Cape Town.Fred Freeman had been very loth and sorry to leave his friends in Russia, for reasons well known to the reader. Frank, for reasons of a similar nature, had been just as anxious to get back to dear old Wales, to enjoy, so he said, six weeks’ hunting. But Chisholm had looked at him with a right merry twinkle in his blue eyes as he replied,—“Nay, boy, nay, the next hunting you’ll do will be at the Cape. I promised your father to take you right round the world, and I told some one else that some one else wouldn’t see you again for three years at the very least. So there!”Here is an extract from Chisholm’s diary, written three months after:—“The Cape hills in sight at last. But I shouldn’t sayat last, because our passage has been everything one could wish. Fred and Frank are both a bit low, leastways they don’t talk enough, perhaps they think. Wonder if it is their late lotus-eating life that is telling upon their constitutions, or is it merely that they’re in love. A little bit of both, perhaps. But they’ll wake up ere long without a doubt.”Chisholm was perfectly correct in his surmises, both Fred and Frank did wake up, and as soon as the roaring of the steam from the funnel, and the rattling of the anchor chains, convinced them that the voyage was indeed at an end, they threw aside their hooks, pulled themselves together, and entered heart and soul into the excitement of shore going.A whole week was to be spent at Cape Town, and it was the best and sweetest time of all the year they could have chosen to visit the place. In the town itself and the suburbs the gardens were gorgeous in their floral beauty, and all the wild romantic hills around were crimson and white with geraniums, and the rarest and loveliest of heaths and wild flowers. Roaming among the mountains was pleasant even by day, for the sub-tropical heat of the sun was tempered by the pleasant breeze that blew inland from the ocean. Although they never went abroad for a ramble without taking their guns along with them, of sport, properly so-called, there was but little. They managed to make several good bags of rock rabbits, nevertheless. These funny little creatures are as much like rats as rabbits, but they are delicious eating. It was quite half a day’s journey to reach their haunts, over the hills and through the stunted bush, and across broad uplands where little else save a kind of hard, tough grass grew, and walking among which was dangerous, owing to the number of deadly snakes that slept or crept among it. Beyond this there would be more bush, in which bright-winged but songless birds flitted noiselessly about, then the rocks or cliffs where dwelt the coneys.There is one trait in the character of a rock rabbit which breeds it a deal of harm, and that is curiosity. They like to know all they can learn about any one who honours them with a domiciliary visit. No sooner had our heroes appeared at the foot of the chaos of boulders which formed the cliff, than one rock rabbit mounted a stone to see what they looked like. I suppose he meant to go back and report to his comrades, but Frank’s gun spoiled his good intention, and he came tumbling down to meet them. The crack of the fowling-piece brought a dozen at least of his relations out, to see what on earth the matter was, and many of them, not content with the advantage of the good view which a bit of boulder gave them, must needs stand on their hind-legs to add to their elevation; then it was bang, bang, right and left, and bang, bang, left and rightad libitum, or as fast at least as the rabbits appeared. Did they kill all they fired at? Oh! no, not by a very great deal. Many downed to the flash, and many that were knocked over succeeded in reaching the friendly shelter of their holes, and it is to be hoped, for their sakes, that their hospital arrangements were as complete as possible, else many of these poor curious creatures must have suffered a good deal more than our heroes meant them to.On their way to and from these little shooting excursions snakes were shot wherever seen, whip snakes and sand snakes, black snakes and cobras.“It’s no sin to slay a snake,” Fred would say, “and it expends the ammunition, you know.”Well, this sort of life was certainly less slow than lotus-eating, but a week of it was enough. They felt “crowded,” as the Yankees call it, even at Cape Town. They wanted to be off and away into the wilds; the only question was how to get into the interior. The subject was broached one day at thetable d’hôte, at which they were dining, and Chisholm thought the best plan would be to hire a dhow to take them on to Zanzibar.“For it strikes me,” he said, “that it is quite the orthodox plan to start for the interior of Africa by way of Zanzibar, just as it is to go to New York from Liverpool.”“It is,” said a gentleman present, “but you’ll find it slow work getting to Zanzibar in a dhow, and precious rough work too. I’m Commander Lyell of theDodo; my gunboat sails to-morrow for Zanzibar. I’ve heard you mention my uncle’s name, General Lyell, and if you like to rough it with me, I’ll take you.”A nephew of General Lyell! This was news indeed, to Frank at least; and it is needless to say the offer was gladly accepted.Three spare cots were rigged in the Commander’s cabin, and in every way they were made as comfortable as could be.Half a gale of wind was what they had to start with, up the Mozambique; next day it had increased to nearly hurricane force. They saw many ships lying-to, but theDododid nothing of that sort; wet enough though, she was in all conscience, in fact she seemed to spend most of her time under instead of over the waves; very wet she was, and likewise very lively, but she made a good passage, and in little over a week, she had cast anchor in a beautiful wooded hay on the African coast, where white-roofed houses, close by the shore, peeped out through the greenery of trees.“There is a bit of fun to be got not far from here,” said Captain Lyell, “for a day’s journey beyond the little Portuguese village there, the antelope swarm, and horses, too, are procurable, by paying for them.”Frank was a splendid horseman, and his delight at the prospect of a hunt was unbounded.Horses they could and did procure, and wild and unmanageable brutes they proved at first, but after the third day they became quiet enough. Their way led through a most beautiful well-timbered undulating country, and travelling was far from difficult, but as they journeyed more inland, and bore more to the north, not only their difficulties, but their dangers too, increased; the land got more rugged and mountainous, the jungles more dense and impenetrable, and the forests grew darker and deeper. They found themselves, too, bordering on a country, the inhabitants of which were far from friendly, and it was then they found their Portuguese guides of the greatest of use; they could speak the language of these savages, and their relations with them were the relations of trade. Portuguese the natives could bear with. Englishmen they both feared and hated. But little cared our heroes; in fact they treated the blacks with the coolest indifference, and probably that was the best way they could have treated them.Many a lordly antelope fell to their guns, they had days on days of good sport, and the very dangers that surrounded them, seemed only to make their life in the bush all the more enjoyable. A glorious hunt Frank had one day all to himself. It was a ride he is never likely to forget, either, for it came nigh costing him dear life itself. Out on the open plain one morning, though but a little way from the camp, he started a fine buck. It seemed positively to invite him to the chase; well, his horse was fresh, he was fresh himself, a ten miles’ run he thought would do them both good, and yonder was the deer, so off he went. Off went man and horse, and buck, but the latter seemed never to tire, and the plain over which he rode seemed interminable. Hours flew by; then Frank’s horse began to flag, for he must have ridden thirty miles in a bee line; so the buck won the day, he took to cover in a small bit of scrub, and from that he would not be moved. If he had, Frank thought, but one good hound, he could rest his horse, then start the chase, and probably turn him again towards the camp, and thus finish a day that would make the roaster of Her Majesty’s Staghounds envy him even to read of it. But no, he must mount his horse again and ride back. Back? Yes, it seemed about the easiest thing in the world to find his way back; but when, after journeying on and on all the day, without seeing a sign or token of the camp he had left, when, faint and weary, he saw the sun dipping slowly downwards to the western horizon, then his heart sank within him, and for the first time he realised the terribleness of his situation—he was lost! Lost! and it mattered little to him now which way he rode; he allowed the bridle to hang loose on the neck of his jaded horse, his own chin to fall on his breast; a sense of weariness crept over him that almost induced sleep, and more than once he nearly slipped from the saddle. Presently it was night, and big bright stars shone over him, which he did not care even to glance at. He only felt tired, cold, sleepy.“Coo—oo—ee!” Hark! does he dream? No, for list! once again that long unearthly yell. The horse pricks up his ears and neighs. Frank seizes the bridle, and once more listens himself, for well he knows what he hears is the night-shout of the outpost African sentinels. In ten minutes more he is beside the camp-fire. Thanks to the sagacity of that good horse.
“Isn’t it a glorious morning,” said Chisholm, coming on deck and joining his friends Frank and Fred, who were reclining in their lounge chairs, books in hand, under the awning reading, or pretending to read. And Chisholm himself looked glorious, glorious in the strength and beauty of his young manhood. He was dressed in white from top to toe, with sun hat and low cut collar, which showed his brown and shapely neck to perfection. His face was weather-beaten, that was the least that could be said of it, and loosely dressed as he was, you seemed to see the play of every muscle in his manly form, as he moved; and, when he waved his arms almost rejoicingly in the balmy but bracing breeze, that fanned the sunny sea, he looked as lithe and graceful as a young tiger.
“A glorious morning,” he said again.
“Beautiful,” said Fred, gazing languidly around him.
“You seem in fine form,” said Frank, smiling.
“Just had a salt water bath. The other fellows in my cabin had soda and brandy. I feel fresher now than they do.”
The ship was a steamer,Druid, but she was staggering along under a power of canvas and, bar accident, two more days would see them safe in Cape Town.
Fred Freeman had been very loth and sorry to leave his friends in Russia, for reasons well known to the reader. Frank, for reasons of a similar nature, had been just as anxious to get back to dear old Wales, to enjoy, so he said, six weeks’ hunting. But Chisholm had looked at him with a right merry twinkle in his blue eyes as he replied,—
“Nay, boy, nay, the next hunting you’ll do will be at the Cape. I promised your father to take you right round the world, and I told some one else that some one else wouldn’t see you again for three years at the very least. So there!”
Here is an extract from Chisholm’s diary, written three months after:—
“The Cape hills in sight at last. But I shouldn’t sayat last, because our passage has been everything one could wish. Fred and Frank are both a bit low, leastways they don’t talk enough, perhaps they think. Wonder if it is their late lotus-eating life that is telling upon their constitutions, or is it merely that they’re in love. A little bit of both, perhaps. But they’ll wake up ere long without a doubt.”
Chisholm was perfectly correct in his surmises, both Fred and Frank did wake up, and as soon as the roaring of the steam from the funnel, and the rattling of the anchor chains, convinced them that the voyage was indeed at an end, they threw aside their hooks, pulled themselves together, and entered heart and soul into the excitement of shore going.
A whole week was to be spent at Cape Town, and it was the best and sweetest time of all the year they could have chosen to visit the place. In the town itself and the suburbs the gardens were gorgeous in their floral beauty, and all the wild romantic hills around were crimson and white with geraniums, and the rarest and loveliest of heaths and wild flowers. Roaming among the mountains was pleasant even by day, for the sub-tropical heat of the sun was tempered by the pleasant breeze that blew inland from the ocean. Although they never went abroad for a ramble without taking their guns along with them, of sport, properly so-called, there was but little. They managed to make several good bags of rock rabbits, nevertheless. These funny little creatures are as much like rats as rabbits, but they are delicious eating. It was quite half a day’s journey to reach their haunts, over the hills and through the stunted bush, and across broad uplands where little else save a kind of hard, tough grass grew, and walking among which was dangerous, owing to the number of deadly snakes that slept or crept among it. Beyond this there would be more bush, in which bright-winged but songless birds flitted noiselessly about, then the rocks or cliffs where dwelt the coneys.
There is one trait in the character of a rock rabbit which breeds it a deal of harm, and that is curiosity. They like to know all they can learn about any one who honours them with a domiciliary visit. No sooner had our heroes appeared at the foot of the chaos of boulders which formed the cliff, than one rock rabbit mounted a stone to see what they looked like. I suppose he meant to go back and report to his comrades, but Frank’s gun spoiled his good intention, and he came tumbling down to meet them. The crack of the fowling-piece brought a dozen at least of his relations out, to see what on earth the matter was, and many of them, not content with the advantage of the good view which a bit of boulder gave them, must needs stand on their hind-legs to add to their elevation; then it was bang, bang, right and left, and bang, bang, left and rightad libitum, or as fast at least as the rabbits appeared. Did they kill all they fired at? Oh! no, not by a very great deal. Many downed to the flash, and many that were knocked over succeeded in reaching the friendly shelter of their holes, and it is to be hoped, for their sakes, that their hospital arrangements were as complete as possible, else many of these poor curious creatures must have suffered a good deal more than our heroes meant them to.
On their way to and from these little shooting excursions snakes were shot wherever seen, whip snakes and sand snakes, black snakes and cobras.
“It’s no sin to slay a snake,” Fred would say, “and it expends the ammunition, you know.”
Well, this sort of life was certainly less slow than lotus-eating, but a week of it was enough. They felt “crowded,” as the Yankees call it, even at Cape Town. They wanted to be off and away into the wilds; the only question was how to get into the interior. The subject was broached one day at thetable d’hôte, at which they were dining, and Chisholm thought the best plan would be to hire a dhow to take them on to Zanzibar.
“For it strikes me,” he said, “that it is quite the orthodox plan to start for the interior of Africa by way of Zanzibar, just as it is to go to New York from Liverpool.”
“It is,” said a gentleman present, “but you’ll find it slow work getting to Zanzibar in a dhow, and precious rough work too. I’m Commander Lyell of theDodo; my gunboat sails to-morrow for Zanzibar. I’ve heard you mention my uncle’s name, General Lyell, and if you like to rough it with me, I’ll take you.”
A nephew of General Lyell! This was news indeed, to Frank at least; and it is needless to say the offer was gladly accepted.
Three spare cots were rigged in the Commander’s cabin, and in every way they were made as comfortable as could be.
Half a gale of wind was what they had to start with, up the Mozambique; next day it had increased to nearly hurricane force. They saw many ships lying-to, but theDododid nothing of that sort; wet enough though, she was in all conscience, in fact she seemed to spend most of her time under instead of over the waves; very wet she was, and likewise very lively, but she made a good passage, and in little over a week, she had cast anchor in a beautiful wooded hay on the African coast, where white-roofed houses, close by the shore, peeped out through the greenery of trees.
“There is a bit of fun to be got not far from here,” said Captain Lyell, “for a day’s journey beyond the little Portuguese village there, the antelope swarm, and horses, too, are procurable, by paying for them.”
Frank was a splendid horseman, and his delight at the prospect of a hunt was unbounded.
Horses they could and did procure, and wild and unmanageable brutes they proved at first, but after the third day they became quiet enough. Their way led through a most beautiful well-timbered undulating country, and travelling was far from difficult, but as they journeyed more inland, and bore more to the north, not only their difficulties, but their dangers too, increased; the land got more rugged and mountainous, the jungles more dense and impenetrable, and the forests grew darker and deeper. They found themselves, too, bordering on a country, the inhabitants of which were far from friendly, and it was then they found their Portuguese guides of the greatest of use; they could speak the language of these savages, and their relations with them were the relations of trade. Portuguese the natives could bear with. Englishmen they both feared and hated. But little cared our heroes; in fact they treated the blacks with the coolest indifference, and probably that was the best way they could have treated them.
Many a lordly antelope fell to their guns, they had days on days of good sport, and the very dangers that surrounded them, seemed only to make their life in the bush all the more enjoyable. A glorious hunt Frank had one day all to himself. It was a ride he is never likely to forget, either, for it came nigh costing him dear life itself. Out on the open plain one morning, though but a little way from the camp, he started a fine buck. It seemed positively to invite him to the chase; well, his horse was fresh, he was fresh himself, a ten miles’ run he thought would do them both good, and yonder was the deer, so off he went. Off went man and horse, and buck, but the latter seemed never to tire, and the plain over which he rode seemed interminable. Hours flew by; then Frank’s horse began to flag, for he must have ridden thirty miles in a bee line; so the buck won the day, he took to cover in a small bit of scrub, and from that he would not be moved. If he had, Frank thought, but one good hound, he could rest his horse, then start the chase, and probably turn him again towards the camp, and thus finish a day that would make the roaster of Her Majesty’s Staghounds envy him even to read of it. But no, he must mount his horse again and ride back. Back? Yes, it seemed about the easiest thing in the world to find his way back; but when, after journeying on and on all the day, without seeing a sign or token of the camp he had left, when, faint and weary, he saw the sun dipping slowly downwards to the western horizon, then his heart sank within him, and for the first time he realised the terribleness of his situation—he was lost! Lost! and it mattered little to him now which way he rode; he allowed the bridle to hang loose on the neck of his jaded horse, his own chin to fall on his breast; a sense of weariness crept over him that almost induced sleep, and more than once he nearly slipped from the saddle. Presently it was night, and big bright stars shone over him, which he did not care even to glance at. He only felt tired, cold, sleepy.
“Coo—oo—ee!” Hark! does he dream? No, for list! once again that long unearthly yell. The horse pricks up his ears and neighs. Frank seizes the bridle, and once more listens himself, for well he knows what he hears is the night-shout of the outpost African sentinels. In ten minutes more he is beside the camp-fire. Thanks to the sagacity of that good horse.
Chapter Eleven.Cruising in the Dodo—The Bluebell—How oysters grow on trees—Away up the beautiful river—The Bluebell aground—Noontide on the river.On board theDodoonce more, steaming steadily northwards; some times far out at sea, with nothing but the blue all round them: sometimes hugging the green-wooded shore: sometimes casting anchor at the mouths of mighty rivers, and sending armed boats away to seek for the slave dhows that hid all day under the hanging boughs, and stole out to sea at night. Chisholm, the oldest of our heroes, confessed he had never enjoyed a voyage so much in his life. At last, however, they cast anchor in Zanzibar, and were nothing loth to go on shore to stretch their legs. The captain accompanied them in his gig, dressed in full uniform—cocked-hat, epaulettes, and sword. He was going to visit the Consulate, and expected news of some importance.Accompanied by a black boy, who wore no clothes worth mentioning, but could speak English and prided himself thereon, they went for a grand tour of inspection. The streets were narrow, long, and winding, and oftentimes bridged over at the top, so that the residents in one house could cross over to see their friends on the other side of the way, without the trouble of coming downstairs. There was a singular absence of windows in the houses of the gentlemen Arabs, Banians, or Hindus; every room of which, although furnished luxuriantly, is very dark and cool. In the bazaar and in the streets where the shops were, there was hardly any moving along, so great was the motley crowd, and, saving the women and the innumerable slaves, every one they met was armed to the teeth. The warrior Arabs, with their long flowing hair, dressed in embroidered robes of snowy white, with cloaks of camel’s hair, gilded turbans and jewelled sword-belts, looked boldly picturesque; these mingled in the streets with—white-gowned Hindus, and long-faced, dark-coated Parsees; sailors in blue and soldiers in scarlet, and sacred solemn-looking cows with gilded horns, which many a one touched with fond reverence, as they walked quietly along. And the background of all this picture was slavery; slavery panting and perspiring as it dragged itself along in chains; slavery cowering under the lash of the driver’s whip; slavery bent to the ground under loads of cowrie shells; slavery, dark unhappy slavery.Our heroes were glad to find themselves at last out in the green and flowery country, wandering under the shade of giant trees, and inhaling the sweet perfume of orange blossom. The first person they met on their return from shore was Captain Lyell himself. He shook hands with them all round, at which they were not a little surprised, but they could see by his face there was something in the wind.“Come down below,” he said. When he got them there he continued, “I’ve got good news, gentlemen, in fact, I may say glorious news; let me tell it to you all in one sentence. First, then, I’m promoted; I’m now Captain Lyell in reality, and not by courtesy alone; secondly, I’m going home—another officer has arrived to take command of theDodo; thirdly, I’ve applied to the Commodore for four months’ leave; fourthly, I’ve got it; fifthly and lastly, I’ve hired a pretty little river steamboat from a Scotch friend on shore here, one that takes all to pieces for the boys to carry, quite an African explore boat, and I’m ready to start with you to-morrow if you like for the interior, and if we don’t get the rarest of sport, why I shan’t believe that my name is plain John Lyell.”It is needless to say that after this there was another round of hand-shaking, or that the dinner that day was enlivened by some of the captain’s very best and rarest of reminiscences.The little steamer which Lyell had hired was indeed a beauty, quite a fairy boat. Getting her ready for the voyage and packing the stores, getting in all necessaries, and hiring “the boys” occupied quite a week. Then they went out on their trial trip. The day was beautiful—it was the sunny season in the Indian ocean—there was just enough wind to temper the heat and ripple the sea. The many pretty islands they visited seemed, at a distance, to float in the sky; they were emerald green, and fringed with a beach of snowy sand. They landed on some of these and shot a species of small deer and rabbits—wild rabbits such as we have at home. (I cannot account for the presence of rabbits on some islands in the channel of the Mozambique, but there they are.) In a little sandy cove of one of these islands, they took luncheonal fresco, previously enjoying the luxury of a bath, all taking a header at once and making all the noise they could to keep the sharks at bay.The trial trip was perfectly satisfactory; so next morning early, it was up anchor and off. TheBluebirdhadn’t much space between decks, but they had an awning spread, and lounging on deck was delightful. They headed north, keeping two or three miles from the shore. This shore was a cloudland of green, without beach or sea border of any kind.“Yonder,” said Lyell, “is where oysters grow on trees.”There was a laugh at this; but next morning the captain verified his statement, and he took Frank with him in the little boat, and they brought off a bucketful. The explanation is this: the roots of the mangrove trees grow among the water, to these the oysters cling, and at low water can be gathered.Now here they are at the mouth of a great river; they can hear the thundering of the breakers on the terrible bar as they approach it, over these mountain waves their boat must go, and it is lucky for them that they have so experienced a sailor as Lyell at the helm. But beyond all is peace; the peace that reigns on the broad bosom of a great river whose waters roll slowly seaward. On each side the banks are wooded to the water’s edge. The trees are mangroves, but here and there are bunches of feathery palms.After dinner they land among a clump of these to drink cool delicious cocoa-nut milk. (This glorious nectar can only be had in perfection in lands where the cocoa palms grow. Each green nut before the fruit is formed contains about a quart of it.) In Africa, wherever you find cocoa-nut trees you find human beings, and here was a negro village, but at sight of the white faces of the travellers the natives fled screaming into the dark depths of the forest. So they had to help themselves. Onward again, and now a thick fog envelopes them, and in a few minutes theBluebellhas run aground and refuses to budge. Then it is all hands to strip and get overboard to lighten ship; all save the little engineer; he stays aboard to go all speed astern. All speed astern means no speed at all for ten minutes at least, during which time it comes on to rain in fearful torrents, and the surface of the river becomes all at once so hot, that they are glad when theBluebellmoves again, and they can get up out of it. They hadn’t bargained for a warm bath. But the mist rolls off presently, and they can once more see their way. But this running aground becomes an almost every day occurrence, so that at last they quite look forward to the order to strip and plunge.They have left the last Portuguese settlement, and the last Arab encampment, leagues and leagues behind them; they have passed the countries of many different tribes of natives. Most of these fled on their approach, but the warriors of some lined the shores, yelling maniacally, and brandishing their war spears. They have come at last to a portion of the stream where they are but little troubled with the presence of the aborigines, a few only being seen in their log canoes peacefully fishing. But where mankind does not abound in Africa birds and beasts hold sway; and one day, on rounding a point of land, they came upon a scene of such animation, as my poor pen would fail in any attempt to describe. It was noontide on the river; countless herds of zebus and zebras had come down to drink, hippopotami wallowed in the shallows, and the sky above was alive with myriads of strange and beautiful birds, that floated screaming around, or perched on the trees, deafening the ear with their noise and chatter; parrots and lories, ibises, flamingoes and storks—some of these as they circled high in the air being arrayed in plumage of pure white and scarlet, looked strangely beautiful against the sky’s azure blue.“O!” cried Chisholm, “we mustn’t let such an opportunity as this pass for a big shoot.”“Give them time to drink,” said Fred; “it would be a shame to disturb them yet a little.”This was agreed to, and theBluebirdlay still for two hours, which gave ample time to watch the strange manners and customs of these curious specimens of animal life, and after this shooting began. The larger game were wilder than they imagined, and soon made themselves very scarce indeed; but the birds took hardly any heed of their presence, and even when dozens of them fluttered down dead, instead of being afraid, the majority seemed to look upon the matter as a very pretty joke, and the parrots in particular shrieked and laughed till the very welkin rang.The scenery got more varied as they proceeded more inland; the river swept at times through vast treeless wastes, and on its banks lay alligators basking in the sunshine. This was a temptation never to be resisted. It afforded good ball practice, and I daresay it tickled the alligators up a little if it did nothing else. At other times the river was bounded by gigantic cliffs; here it narrowed, and the current was so strong that a mile an hour of headway was all that could be made, under the highest pressure of steam commensurate with safety.They had come to the right hunting grounds at last, so thought Chisholm, Frank, and Fred. But Lyell, although always willing to lie to for a day to enjoy the wild scenery, and the shooting the jungles afforded, always counselled going on and on. Early in the morning and an hour or two before the shades of evening fell, were the times they generally chose to disembark for a ramble in the forest.One day they crept quietly through the bush to a spot whence some noise proceeded. They expected a shot at something. Suddenly they found themselves within a stone’s throw of a herd of most beautiful zebras; they had come to a pool to drink. But beyond them were quite a regiment of giraffes.Theycould sniff the danger from afar if the zebras could not; they swung their heads as if they were gigantic hammers, stamped with rage, and bounded off ere ever a trigger could be drawn. But our heroes were rewarded half-an-hour afterwards, by falling in with a quantity of hippopotami. These unwieldly monsters were quietly browsing on the rank herbage that the plain afforded them. Probably they never ran so quickly before as they did when fire was opened on them from the bush. Before they had began to shoot, “I say, boys,” said Chisholm, “what a charming view, a nobleman’s castle on a hill, park and trees and all complete! Doesn’t it look like it, though?”“Yes,” Fred replied, laughing; “and deer and all in it. Don’t they look elegant with their short legs and their swollen mouths?”Bang—bang—bang!
On board theDodoonce more, steaming steadily northwards; some times far out at sea, with nothing but the blue all round them: sometimes hugging the green-wooded shore: sometimes casting anchor at the mouths of mighty rivers, and sending armed boats away to seek for the slave dhows that hid all day under the hanging boughs, and stole out to sea at night. Chisholm, the oldest of our heroes, confessed he had never enjoyed a voyage so much in his life. At last, however, they cast anchor in Zanzibar, and were nothing loth to go on shore to stretch their legs. The captain accompanied them in his gig, dressed in full uniform—cocked-hat, epaulettes, and sword. He was going to visit the Consulate, and expected news of some importance.
Accompanied by a black boy, who wore no clothes worth mentioning, but could speak English and prided himself thereon, they went for a grand tour of inspection. The streets were narrow, long, and winding, and oftentimes bridged over at the top, so that the residents in one house could cross over to see their friends on the other side of the way, without the trouble of coming downstairs. There was a singular absence of windows in the houses of the gentlemen Arabs, Banians, or Hindus; every room of which, although furnished luxuriantly, is very dark and cool. In the bazaar and in the streets where the shops were, there was hardly any moving along, so great was the motley crowd, and, saving the women and the innumerable slaves, every one they met was armed to the teeth. The warrior Arabs, with their long flowing hair, dressed in embroidered robes of snowy white, with cloaks of camel’s hair, gilded turbans and jewelled sword-belts, looked boldly picturesque; these mingled in the streets with—white-gowned Hindus, and long-faced, dark-coated Parsees; sailors in blue and soldiers in scarlet, and sacred solemn-looking cows with gilded horns, which many a one touched with fond reverence, as they walked quietly along. And the background of all this picture was slavery; slavery panting and perspiring as it dragged itself along in chains; slavery cowering under the lash of the driver’s whip; slavery bent to the ground under loads of cowrie shells; slavery, dark unhappy slavery.
Our heroes were glad to find themselves at last out in the green and flowery country, wandering under the shade of giant trees, and inhaling the sweet perfume of orange blossom. The first person they met on their return from shore was Captain Lyell himself. He shook hands with them all round, at which they were not a little surprised, but they could see by his face there was something in the wind.
“Come down below,” he said. When he got them there he continued, “I’ve got good news, gentlemen, in fact, I may say glorious news; let me tell it to you all in one sentence. First, then, I’m promoted; I’m now Captain Lyell in reality, and not by courtesy alone; secondly, I’m going home—another officer has arrived to take command of theDodo; thirdly, I’ve applied to the Commodore for four months’ leave; fourthly, I’ve got it; fifthly and lastly, I’ve hired a pretty little river steamboat from a Scotch friend on shore here, one that takes all to pieces for the boys to carry, quite an African explore boat, and I’m ready to start with you to-morrow if you like for the interior, and if we don’t get the rarest of sport, why I shan’t believe that my name is plain John Lyell.”
It is needless to say that after this there was another round of hand-shaking, or that the dinner that day was enlivened by some of the captain’s very best and rarest of reminiscences.
The little steamer which Lyell had hired was indeed a beauty, quite a fairy boat. Getting her ready for the voyage and packing the stores, getting in all necessaries, and hiring “the boys” occupied quite a week. Then they went out on their trial trip. The day was beautiful—it was the sunny season in the Indian ocean—there was just enough wind to temper the heat and ripple the sea. The many pretty islands they visited seemed, at a distance, to float in the sky; they were emerald green, and fringed with a beach of snowy sand. They landed on some of these and shot a species of small deer and rabbits—wild rabbits such as we have at home. (I cannot account for the presence of rabbits on some islands in the channel of the Mozambique, but there they are.) In a little sandy cove of one of these islands, they took luncheonal fresco, previously enjoying the luxury of a bath, all taking a header at once and making all the noise they could to keep the sharks at bay.
The trial trip was perfectly satisfactory; so next morning early, it was up anchor and off. TheBluebirdhadn’t much space between decks, but they had an awning spread, and lounging on deck was delightful. They headed north, keeping two or three miles from the shore. This shore was a cloudland of green, without beach or sea border of any kind.
“Yonder,” said Lyell, “is where oysters grow on trees.”
There was a laugh at this; but next morning the captain verified his statement, and he took Frank with him in the little boat, and they brought off a bucketful. The explanation is this: the roots of the mangrove trees grow among the water, to these the oysters cling, and at low water can be gathered.
Now here they are at the mouth of a great river; they can hear the thundering of the breakers on the terrible bar as they approach it, over these mountain waves their boat must go, and it is lucky for them that they have so experienced a sailor as Lyell at the helm. But beyond all is peace; the peace that reigns on the broad bosom of a great river whose waters roll slowly seaward. On each side the banks are wooded to the water’s edge. The trees are mangroves, but here and there are bunches of feathery palms.
After dinner they land among a clump of these to drink cool delicious cocoa-nut milk. (This glorious nectar can only be had in perfection in lands where the cocoa palms grow. Each green nut before the fruit is formed contains about a quart of it.) In Africa, wherever you find cocoa-nut trees you find human beings, and here was a negro village, but at sight of the white faces of the travellers the natives fled screaming into the dark depths of the forest. So they had to help themselves. Onward again, and now a thick fog envelopes them, and in a few minutes theBluebellhas run aground and refuses to budge. Then it is all hands to strip and get overboard to lighten ship; all save the little engineer; he stays aboard to go all speed astern. All speed astern means no speed at all for ten minutes at least, during which time it comes on to rain in fearful torrents, and the surface of the river becomes all at once so hot, that they are glad when theBluebellmoves again, and they can get up out of it. They hadn’t bargained for a warm bath. But the mist rolls off presently, and they can once more see their way. But this running aground becomes an almost every day occurrence, so that at last they quite look forward to the order to strip and plunge.
They have left the last Portuguese settlement, and the last Arab encampment, leagues and leagues behind them; they have passed the countries of many different tribes of natives. Most of these fled on their approach, but the warriors of some lined the shores, yelling maniacally, and brandishing their war spears. They have come at last to a portion of the stream where they are but little troubled with the presence of the aborigines, a few only being seen in their log canoes peacefully fishing. But where mankind does not abound in Africa birds and beasts hold sway; and one day, on rounding a point of land, they came upon a scene of such animation, as my poor pen would fail in any attempt to describe. It was noontide on the river; countless herds of zebus and zebras had come down to drink, hippopotami wallowed in the shallows, and the sky above was alive with myriads of strange and beautiful birds, that floated screaming around, or perched on the trees, deafening the ear with their noise and chatter; parrots and lories, ibises, flamingoes and storks—some of these as they circled high in the air being arrayed in plumage of pure white and scarlet, looked strangely beautiful against the sky’s azure blue.
“O!” cried Chisholm, “we mustn’t let such an opportunity as this pass for a big shoot.”
“Give them time to drink,” said Fred; “it would be a shame to disturb them yet a little.”
This was agreed to, and theBluebirdlay still for two hours, which gave ample time to watch the strange manners and customs of these curious specimens of animal life, and after this shooting began. The larger game were wilder than they imagined, and soon made themselves very scarce indeed; but the birds took hardly any heed of their presence, and even when dozens of them fluttered down dead, instead of being afraid, the majority seemed to look upon the matter as a very pretty joke, and the parrots in particular shrieked and laughed till the very welkin rang.
The scenery got more varied as they proceeded more inland; the river swept at times through vast treeless wastes, and on its banks lay alligators basking in the sunshine. This was a temptation never to be resisted. It afforded good ball practice, and I daresay it tickled the alligators up a little if it did nothing else. At other times the river was bounded by gigantic cliffs; here it narrowed, and the current was so strong that a mile an hour of headway was all that could be made, under the highest pressure of steam commensurate with safety.
They had come to the right hunting grounds at last, so thought Chisholm, Frank, and Fred. But Lyell, although always willing to lie to for a day to enjoy the wild scenery, and the shooting the jungles afforded, always counselled going on and on. Early in the morning and an hour or two before the shades of evening fell, were the times they generally chose to disembark for a ramble in the forest.
One day they crept quietly through the bush to a spot whence some noise proceeded. They expected a shot at something. Suddenly they found themselves within a stone’s throw of a herd of most beautiful zebras; they had come to a pool to drink. But beyond them were quite a regiment of giraffes.Theycould sniff the danger from afar if the zebras could not; they swung their heads as if they were gigantic hammers, stamped with rage, and bounded off ere ever a trigger could be drawn. But our heroes were rewarded half-an-hour afterwards, by falling in with a quantity of hippopotami. These unwieldly monsters were quietly browsing on the rank herbage that the plain afforded them. Probably they never ran so quickly before as they did when fire was opened on them from the bush. Before they had began to shoot, “I say, boys,” said Chisholm, “what a charming view, a nobleman’s castle on a hill, park and trees and all complete! Doesn’t it look like it, though?”
“Yes,” Fred replied, laughing; “and deer and all in it. Don’t they look elegant with their short legs and their swollen mouths?”
Bang—bang—bang!
Chapter Twelve.An Inland Lake—Enchanting Scenery—The Encampment—Tropical Storms—Hunting the Rhinoceros—Frank Unhorsed—Lyell’s Adventure with a Lion—Encounter with a Gorilla.Some degrees south of the Equator, and nearly four hundred miles from the eastern shores of Africa, a tributary of the river up which the saucy littleBluebellwas so quietly steaming, suddenly broadened out into a beautiful lake. Here about a week after the events narrated in last chapter, our friends found themselves. Not even Captain Lyell knew the name of this sheet of water. Perhaps it never had one, but Chisholm was equal to the occasion.“Call it,” he said, “Loch Row Allan, in honour of my departed friend the lion killer.” (Row Allan Gordon Cumming.)And so, Loch Row Allan it was called.I hope my young reader has not been taught at school to believe that the interior of Africa is composedentirelyof deep, dark forests, entangled bush, and dismal swamp. If he has been, and could catch but one glance at the wild and charming scenery around this inland lake; how speedily he would be undeceived. It is a bold and rugged mountain land, hills above hills towering skywards, clusters of hills, not round but façaded—peaked, and clad to two-thirds of their height with gigantic forest trees and feathery palms. There is many a bosky glen and dell encompassed by these hills, and many a dark, wide wooded strath, and it did not detract in the least from the charm of the scenery, in our heroes’ view, to know that these glens and straths were the home of the elephant, the rhinoceros, and the king of the forest himself—the lordly lion. They determined to make this country their home for two or three months at the least, and with this end they built themselves and their people huts high up on the green side of a swelling hill that overlooked the lake.The woods and the plains beyond, nature had stocked with herds of deer, the lake teemed with fish, there were patches of pine apples acres in extent, mango-trees, guava trees, oranges, citron, limes and pomolos, with bananas and plantains, and a hundred other delicious fruits they knew not even the names of. Surely in a land like this, there was but little chance of their falling short of the means of subsistence.But do not imagine they had not to rough it, for that they often had; nor that the sun always shone, for that it did not. Sometimes great dark clouds would roll rapidly up from the horizon, and above them the fast disappearing blue of the sky looked preternaturally deep and intense, and from out these clouds the storm would burst in all its fierce intensity, lightning such as they had never seen before, thunder that seemed to rend the very hills, and rain that soon gathered into cataracts that steamed and foamed down the mountain sides, on their way to the lakes beneath. These storms ended almost as quickly as they had begun, and probably our heroes would have minded them but very little, had it not been for the fact that, a few minutes before the rain began to fall, scorpions, centipedes, and the largest and most loathsome of spiders, came hastily trooping into the hut to seek for shelter. What instinct teaches them to do this I wonder?Many gigantic specimens of the rhinoceros fell before the fire of their rifles. They afforded good but not always safe sport, as Frank one day found to his cost. He appeared one morning dressed “after the fashion of the country,” as he termed it, with shoulders, arms, and face well greased and stained, and when he mounted his horse, every one was obliged to admit that, to say the least, he looked “a noble savage.”Frank was greatly pleased at this, and away he rode, in company with his friend Chisholm, determined, he said, to put in a good day. There was a plain not far away from the encampment which Chisholm, who liked to retain Scottish nomenclature wherever he went, used to call the moor. Here, on this particular occasion, they had the good luck to fall in with several rhinoceroses, and rare sport they had with them. They did not wish to kill, they came out to chase, and rough though the ground was, they had the best of it. Frank slung his rifle behind him, and when he got alongside any of the monsters he used his riding whip, causing them at first to increase their speed, but soon to lose temper and stand at bay, and use their terrible horns. This gave the young man a chance of showing his horsemanship off to perfection.Several deer were brought down from the saddle, and, on the whole, Chisholm, and the noble savage Frank, made a glorious day of it, and were returning about four in the afternoon, tired and hungry, when, just on the verge of the forest, lo! and behold, a rhinoceros scratching his chin, and looking as mild as any old cow.Frank rode up to flick him with his whip. The beast backed for a moment, but charged again fiercely and furiously, the dead wood snapped, and, when Chisholm looked up, he saw his friend and horse rolling on the ground. The next to roll on the ground was the huge beast himself, for Chisholm was handy with the rifle. Frank got up smiling, and but little hurt, but, alas! for the poor horse, he was stabbed to the heart. The noble savage had to ride into camp ignominiously perched on the crupper of Chisholm’s saddle.But perhaps the sport which our friends enjoyed above all others was elephant shooting, either on horseback or on foot, according to the nature of the ground. Of their haunts in the forests around the camp they knew nothing at first, nor did their Zanzibar boys, and the first to lead them on their sport was young ’Mboona, the son of a king of one of the native tribes, who had become servant and guide-in-chief to the camp. His reward was to be a rifle, and well he earned it.People who have never seen an elephant in his native fastnesses, can have no idea of the strength, the ferocity, ay, and the cunning of the animal. Our sporting party took back with them in the littleBluebellmany hundreds of pounds’ worth of valuable ivory, but if they did they had to pay for it with many a hard day’s work, in many a wild ride, and many a hair-breadth escape.As a rule, the elephants would run when pursued by men and dogs; then, as they passed the spot where the rifles were stationed, they fell easy victims to the hardened bullets. They were not always particular in which way they did run, however, and when they did not run right in the direction of the guns, our friends would rush out in pursuit, when all at once perhaps the herd would be turned, and come crashing back upon them and their people. They were not always angry; perhaps they were thinking more of escape than revenge; but to be run down by even a small herd of cow elephants is no joke. Their feet are terribly heavy, and they are not particular where they place them, so whenever a stampede was checked and rolled back on the pursuers, it wassauve qui peutwith a vengeance.Frank was one day rolled down thus, while on foot, and not only down, but over and over; indeed the herd seemed for a time to be playing at football with him. He was covered from top to toe with blood and earth.“Eton style of football is all very well,” Frank said afterwards, “but I never had such a doing as that before.”Chisholm had a worse doing, however. He had fired at, without killing, a gigantic bull. The brute was on him ere he could either reload or escape. He was picked up as one might seize a kitten, and dashed into a tree beyond even the elephant’s reach. The dogs would not tackle this monster. Hearing the terrible screaming, Lyell rode down to attack the foe next, but the wounded animal was careering madly through the forest, and trees that would be thought far from small in a park at home, were snapping before him with the fury and impetus of the rush. Lyell had served in the Crimea, but he confessed himself he had never been nearer to death before, except once. He had been out shooting with a party in the rough and solitary plains, that bound the Zulu land to the north and west. They had come principally for buffalo-shooting, but they soon found out that there was wilder game than these to be found; and on the very first night on which they bivouacked under the stars, they were fain to entrench themselves well, and to keep the fires alight till morning, for every now and then they could hear the peevish scream of the hyena, the shrill bark of the jackal, and the appalling roar of the lion. Next day they found the carcases of the buffaloes they had slain torn and devoured, and even their enormous bones broken and gnawed. Lions are not looked upon by the true sportsman as very brave animals, but a lion at bay, or a man-eating lion, is a terrible foe to encounter.“One night,” said Captain Lyell, “just as my biggest and strongest Caffre servant was putting the finishing touch to our laager, he was seized by an immense lion and home away, as one might say, from our very midst; borne away, shrieking for help, into the darkness of the adjoining bush. The silence that succeeded the shrieks made our blood run cold, for we knew that the poor boy was dead, and that the man-eater had commenced his revolting feast. We knew well, that having once tasted human flesh, our camp, while he lived, would not be safe from his attacks. We lost no time, you may be sure, in carrying out the execution of our plans. It was a long weary day’s work, and we were about to return to camp, too exhausted by the heat and fatigue to do much more, when suddenly there arose a shout from the party nearest the laager—a shout and a roar—quickly followed by the report of rifles, then more shouting and warning cries. Then I could see the tawny monster appearing suddenly in front of us. I had no time to fire; my comrade did, but I think he missed, and with a howl that seemed to shake the earth, he sprang full upon me, seized me by the side, and bore me almost fainting away, my two hands clutched in his murderous mane. He carried me far off into the jungle, running at first, then walking, finally lying down with his burden under a tree. The terrible moment, then, had arrived, he was about to rend me in pieces, and no power on earth could save me. Overcome by fear and weakness, and by the loss of blood, I fainted, and was found hours after by my comrades in the same condition, with the lion extended by my side—dead of his wounds!”TheBluebellmade many a run to different parts of the lake, and it was during one of these excursions that Frank and Chisholm landed, for the purpose of exploring a part of a forest that grew down close to the water’s edge. It was not a likely place for lions—they are fond of more light than this gloomy wood afforded—but they might, they thought, get a chance shot at an elephant. The ground was carpetted with moss, and, with the exception of monkey ropes, so called, the stems of the sturdy creepers, there was but little undergrowth. Chisholm and Frank strolled on and on, fearing nothing.How silent it is in that dark wood, and how still! Not a leaf moves, not a fern frond quivers, only high over head there is a gentle sighing, and when they gaze upwards they can see the sparkling of the leaves in the sunshine, but that leafy canopy seems very far away.Chisholm lags behind for a moment, he is looking to his rifle, and sighting it for close quarters. Frank strolls on. Suddenly the silence of the forest is broken by the most terrible yells, and Chisholm rushes forward to find his poor friend in the clutches of a gorilla, with his rifle torn from his grasp, and brandished high in air by the awful beast. But Frank, clutched by the throat, is quite insensible. There is not a moment, not a second, to be lost, and Chisholm fires almost at close quarters, and the gorilla rolls dead at his feet.It was well for both Frank and him that assistance was close at hand. Dreading some danger, Fred and Lyell had followed them into the forest, and come up just in time, for now the woods all around rang again with the screams of the enraged gorillas, who, it would almost seem, had only allowed Chisholm and Frank to penetrate so far into their domains, with the hopes of encompassing the destruction of both. But all the way back to the boat, it was a close hand-to-hand fight with these wild and terrible apes. Frank, once on board, and laid on deck, with theBluebellwell clear of the wood, and the gentle breeze blowing in his face, revival was a mere question of time; but he never forgot his first and only encounter with the savage pongo.
Some degrees south of the Equator, and nearly four hundred miles from the eastern shores of Africa, a tributary of the river up which the saucy littleBluebellwas so quietly steaming, suddenly broadened out into a beautiful lake. Here about a week after the events narrated in last chapter, our friends found themselves. Not even Captain Lyell knew the name of this sheet of water. Perhaps it never had one, but Chisholm was equal to the occasion.
“Call it,” he said, “Loch Row Allan, in honour of my departed friend the lion killer.” (Row Allan Gordon Cumming.)
And so, Loch Row Allan it was called.
I hope my young reader has not been taught at school to believe that the interior of Africa is composedentirelyof deep, dark forests, entangled bush, and dismal swamp. If he has been, and could catch but one glance at the wild and charming scenery around this inland lake; how speedily he would be undeceived. It is a bold and rugged mountain land, hills above hills towering skywards, clusters of hills, not round but façaded—peaked, and clad to two-thirds of their height with gigantic forest trees and feathery palms. There is many a bosky glen and dell encompassed by these hills, and many a dark, wide wooded strath, and it did not detract in the least from the charm of the scenery, in our heroes’ view, to know that these glens and straths were the home of the elephant, the rhinoceros, and the king of the forest himself—the lordly lion. They determined to make this country their home for two or three months at the least, and with this end they built themselves and their people huts high up on the green side of a swelling hill that overlooked the lake.
The woods and the plains beyond, nature had stocked with herds of deer, the lake teemed with fish, there were patches of pine apples acres in extent, mango-trees, guava trees, oranges, citron, limes and pomolos, with bananas and plantains, and a hundred other delicious fruits they knew not even the names of. Surely in a land like this, there was but little chance of their falling short of the means of subsistence.
But do not imagine they had not to rough it, for that they often had; nor that the sun always shone, for that it did not. Sometimes great dark clouds would roll rapidly up from the horizon, and above them the fast disappearing blue of the sky looked preternaturally deep and intense, and from out these clouds the storm would burst in all its fierce intensity, lightning such as they had never seen before, thunder that seemed to rend the very hills, and rain that soon gathered into cataracts that steamed and foamed down the mountain sides, on their way to the lakes beneath. These storms ended almost as quickly as they had begun, and probably our heroes would have minded them but very little, had it not been for the fact that, a few minutes before the rain began to fall, scorpions, centipedes, and the largest and most loathsome of spiders, came hastily trooping into the hut to seek for shelter. What instinct teaches them to do this I wonder?
Many gigantic specimens of the rhinoceros fell before the fire of their rifles. They afforded good but not always safe sport, as Frank one day found to his cost. He appeared one morning dressed “after the fashion of the country,” as he termed it, with shoulders, arms, and face well greased and stained, and when he mounted his horse, every one was obliged to admit that, to say the least, he looked “a noble savage.”
Frank was greatly pleased at this, and away he rode, in company with his friend Chisholm, determined, he said, to put in a good day. There was a plain not far away from the encampment which Chisholm, who liked to retain Scottish nomenclature wherever he went, used to call the moor. Here, on this particular occasion, they had the good luck to fall in with several rhinoceroses, and rare sport they had with them. They did not wish to kill, they came out to chase, and rough though the ground was, they had the best of it. Frank slung his rifle behind him, and when he got alongside any of the monsters he used his riding whip, causing them at first to increase their speed, but soon to lose temper and stand at bay, and use their terrible horns. This gave the young man a chance of showing his horsemanship off to perfection.
Several deer were brought down from the saddle, and, on the whole, Chisholm, and the noble savage Frank, made a glorious day of it, and were returning about four in the afternoon, tired and hungry, when, just on the verge of the forest, lo! and behold, a rhinoceros scratching his chin, and looking as mild as any old cow.
Frank rode up to flick him with his whip. The beast backed for a moment, but charged again fiercely and furiously, the dead wood snapped, and, when Chisholm looked up, he saw his friend and horse rolling on the ground. The next to roll on the ground was the huge beast himself, for Chisholm was handy with the rifle. Frank got up smiling, and but little hurt, but, alas! for the poor horse, he was stabbed to the heart. The noble savage had to ride into camp ignominiously perched on the crupper of Chisholm’s saddle.
But perhaps the sport which our friends enjoyed above all others was elephant shooting, either on horseback or on foot, according to the nature of the ground. Of their haunts in the forests around the camp they knew nothing at first, nor did their Zanzibar boys, and the first to lead them on their sport was young ’Mboona, the son of a king of one of the native tribes, who had become servant and guide-in-chief to the camp. His reward was to be a rifle, and well he earned it.
People who have never seen an elephant in his native fastnesses, can have no idea of the strength, the ferocity, ay, and the cunning of the animal. Our sporting party took back with them in the littleBluebellmany hundreds of pounds’ worth of valuable ivory, but if they did they had to pay for it with many a hard day’s work, in many a wild ride, and many a hair-breadth escape.
As a rule, the elephants would run when pursued by men and dogs; then, as they passed the spot where the rifles were stationed, they fell easy victims to the hardened bullets. They were not always particular in which way they did run, however, and when they did not run right in the direction of the guns, our friends would rush out in pursuit, when all at once perhaps the herd would be turned, and come crashing back upon them and their people. They were not always angry; perhaps they were thinking more of escape than revenge; but to be run down by even a small herd of cow elephants is no joke. Their feet are terribly heavy, and they are not particular where they place them, so whenever a stampede was checked and rolled back on the pursuers, it wassauve qui peutwith a vengeance.
Frank was one day rolled down thus, while on foot, and not only down, but over and over; indeed the herd seemed for a time to be playing at football with him. He was covered from top to toe with blood and earth.
“Eton style of football is all very well,” Frank said afterwards, “but I never had such a doing as that before.”
Chisholm had a worse doing, however. He had fired at, without killing, a gigantic bull. The brute was on him ere he could either reload or escape. He was picked up as one might seize a kitten, and dashed into a tree beyond even the elephant’s reach. The dogs would not tackle this monster. Hearing the terrible screaming, Lyell rode down to attack the foe next, but the wounded animal was careering madly through the forest, and trees that would be thought far from small in a park at home, were snapping before him with the fury and impetus of the rush. Lyell had served in the Crimea, but he confessed himself he had never been nearer to death before, except once. He had been out shooting with a party in the rough and solitary plains, that bound the Zulu land to the north and west. They had come principally for buffalo-shooting, but they soon found out that there was wilder game than these to be found; and on the very first night on which they bivouacked under the stars, they were fain to entrench themselves well, and to keep the fires alight till morning, for every now and then they could hear the peevish scream of the hyena, the shrill bark of the jackal, and the appalling roar of the lion. Next day they found the carcases of the buffaloes they had slain torn and devoured, and even their enormous bones broken and gnawed. Lions are not looked upon by the true sportsman as very brave animals, but a lion at bay, or a man-eating lion, is a terrible foe to encounter.
“One night,” said Captain Lyell, “just as my biggest and strongest Caffre servant was putting the finishing touch to our laager, he was seized by an immense lion and home away, as one might say, from our very midst; borne away, shrieking for help, into the darkness of the adjoining bush. The silence that succeeded the shrieks made our blood run cold, for we knew that the poor boy was dead, and that the man-eater had commenced his revolting feast. We knew well, that having once tasted human flesh, our camp, while he lived, would not be safe from his attacks. We lost no time, you may be sure, in carrying out the execution of our plans. It was a long weary day’s work, and we were about to return to camp, too exhausted by the heat and fatigue to do much more, when suddenly there arose a shout from the party nearest the laager—a shout and a roar—quickly followed by the report of rifles, then more shouting and warning cries. Then I could see the tawny monster appearing suddenly in front of us. I had no time to fire; my comrade did, but I think he missed, and with a howl that seemed to shake the earth, he sprang full upon me, seized me by the side, and bore me almost fainting away, my two hands clutched in his murderous mane. He carried me far off into the jungle, running at first, then walking, finally lying down with his burden under a tree. The terrible moment, then, had arrived, he was about to rend me in pieces, and no power on earth could save me. Overcome by fear and weakness, and by the loss of blood, I fainted, and was found hours after by my comrades in the same condition, with the lion extended by my side—dead of his wounds!”
TheBluebellmade many a run to different parts of the lake, and it was during one of these excursions that Frank and Chisholm landed, for the purpose of exploring a part of a forest that grew down close to the water’s edge. It was not a likely place for lions—they are fond of more light than this gloomy wood afforded—but they might, they thought, get a chance shot at an elephant. The ground was carpetted with moss, and, with the exception of monkey ropes, so called, the stems of the sturdy creepers, there was but little undergrowth. Chisholm and Frank strolled on and on, fearing nothing.
How silent it is in that dark wood, and how still! Not a leaf moves, not a fern frond quivers, only high over head there is a gentle sighing, and when they gaze upwards they can see the sparkling of the leaves in the sunshine, but that leafy canopy seems very far away.
Chisholm lags behind for a moment, he is looking to his rifle, and sighting it for close quarters. Frank strolls on. Suddenly the silence of the forest is broken by the most terrible yells, and Chisholm rushes forward to find his poor friend in the clutches of a gorilla, with his rifle torn from his grasp, and brandished high in air by the awful beast. But Frank, clutched by the throat, is quite insensible. There is not a moment, not a second, to be lost, and Chisholm fires almost at close quarters, and the gorilla rolls dead at his feet.
It was well for both Frank and him that assistance was close at hand. Dreading some danger, Fred and Lyell had followed them into the forest, and come up just in time, for now the woods all around rang again with the screams of the enraged gorillas, who, it would almost seem, had only allowed Chisholm and Frank to penetrate so far into their domains, with the hopes of encompassing the destruction of both. But all the way back to the boat, it was a close hand-to-hand fight with these wild and terrible apes. Frank, once on board, and laid on deck, with theBluebellwell clear of the wood, and the gentle breeze blowing in his face, revival was a mere question of time; but he never forgot his first and only encounter with the savage pongo.
Chapter Thirteen.Part V—The Indian Jungle.A Tête-à-Tête Dinner—Letters from Home—The Journey Junglewards—The Camp and Scenery around it—A Sportsman’s Paradise—Lost in the Forest.In a large and beautiful room in one of the upper storeys of a Club, on the outskirts of Bombay, four gentlemen are seated at dinner one evening, not long after the events related in the last chapter. It is evidently quite atête-à-têteaffair, for they are all by themselves in a corner, at the extreme end of the spacious apartment, close to the great windows that lead on to the verandah. The balmy evening air, laden with the scent of a thousand flowers, steals in, and is put in motion by an immense punkah which hangs above them, and kept moving by a little nigger-boy, dressed in a jacket of snow apparently, who squats in a far corner like a monkey, and requires the united efforts of the three servants who wait at table to keep him awake. No matter what these men are carrying, they always stop as they pass to give Jumlah a kick, making some such remark as—“Jumlah, you asleep again, you black rascal! I kick ebery bit of skin off you presently?” Or, “Jumlah, you young dog, suppose you go asleep just one oder time, den I break ebery bone in your black body!”The jalousies are wide open, for the day has been hot, and every breath of air is precious. Although the waiters indignantly refer to the colour of poor Jumlah’s skin, they themselves are black, though dressed in cool white linen.You have guessed already who the gentlemen are. Let us follow them out to the verandah, where they have gone to sip their fragrant coffee. Stars are twinkling in the bright sky, fireflies flit from bush to bush in the gardens beneath, the distant sound of music falls upon their ear, mingling with the far-off city’s hum, the beating of tom-toms, and shrill screams and yells, which may mean anything from mirth to murder.Conversation during dinner had been very animated indeed; but sitting out here on the cool verandah no one seemed much inclined to speak. Frank had received letters from home, Fred had received letters from Russia; and very pleasant letters, I ween, they were, for they bore reading over and over and over again. Chisholm’s letters were what he called “jolly enough,” only as soon as he had read them, and laughed over them, he just tore them up and pitched them into the basket.“Hallo, you fellows!” cried Chisholm suddenly. “Awake from your slumbers.”“I wasn’t asleep,” said Frank.“No; but you were dreaming, you young rascal.”“Do you know howIfeel?” said Lyell. “I’m feeling sad at the thoughts of parting with you fellows and going back to England.”“Then, my dear fellow, don’t go,” said matter-of-fact Chisholm O’Grahame.“By George, then,” cried Lyell, “and I won’t. I’ll apply for more leave; and while the application is going home, and the reply coming back, I’ll run off with you boys into the jungles. I know a deal more about the country than either of you.”“Lyell,” said Chisholm, “I knew you were a brick the very first day I clapped eyes upon you.”They were indeed lucky to have made the acquaintance of such a man as Lyell. He had been pretty much at home in Africa; but in India he was more so; and as soon as he had made up his mind to go with our heroes, he commenced forthwith making preparations for the campaign against big beasts.He explained everything he did to his three friends, and told them his reasons for acting as he did. Tents were bought in Bombay, and additional rifles—he was very learned on the subject of rifles and rifle-bullets—and Chisholm, being the biggest man, was furnished with a regular bone-smasher. Twenty servants were hired, and a boat was chartered to take their little expedition on to Madras. Just three days were spent in that city.“If we stay any longer,” Chisholm said to Lyell, “my youngconfrèreswill be starting lotus-eating again. Let us be off as soon as we can.”And so the very next day the journey up country was commenced: by train at first, for a long long way; nobody was sorry when this part of the cruise came to an end at a station near a tall forest, with a name that was worse than Welsh to every one save Captain Lyell and a few of the attendants. By seven o’clock next morning, a start was made in the direction of the south and east.By the evening of the third day they had left civilisation a long way behind them; they had journeyed on and on through vast tracts of jangle lands, and mighty forests clad in all the rich and varied luxuriance of a tropical summer. They had passed many a strange romantic hamlet; from the doors of the huts of grass and clay, little innocent naked children had waddled forth to stare in wonder at the cavalcade, while the simple owners offered them fruits of many kinds to eat, and water to drink. They were often tempted to get down and spend a few hours shooting, for they came to places where feathered game of many kinds abounded, especially duck and peafowl. But Lyell’s counsel was always taken, and his advice was, “Let us go on as speedily as possible towards the mountain forests, and there encamp.” And so, as the last rays of the setting sun shimmered down through the trees on them, they reached a spot which Lyell thought would do excellently well as a camping-ground.“Oh, isn’t this a charming sight?” said Chisholm, addressing Frank, who lounged on the howdah by his side.They were a long way behind the others. They did not mind that, however; indeed, the elephant on which they were seated, pleased the two friends far better than any other could have done. He was slow, but wondrous sure. No fears of Jowser, as Frank baptised him, taking sudden fright and dashing suddenly off and away over the jungle, as elephants sometimes do, and ending by dashing their brains out, or tumbling over some mighty precipice with them. Jowser was somewhat more than a hundred years old—a very experienced matter-of-fact old fellow, who knew better than to hurry himself. He required but little guidance—a gentle touch with a cane on his left ear or his right, as the case might be, was quite enough for him. When he stopped short sometimes, to reach above him for a few leaves to munch, his attendant would gently goad him; but Jowser would turn up the tip of his trunk to him as much as to say, “Put a handful of rice into that. That’s what Jowser wants. Jowser is hungry.”But it suited Frank and Chisholm to be a little late of an evening, because they found their friends already encamped, probably under the banian-tree, and, better than all, supper ready—a curry of such fragrance, that even a sniff at it would have made them hungry, if they had not, as they always did have, the appetite of hunters.The master of ceremonies did allow them one day, however, among the peafowl. In a piece of jungle—which Chisholm as usual persisted in calling a moor—they found these beautiful birds in great abundance: they were early astir that morning. They had their own beaters, who were principally Mahratta men, whom they had engaged in Bombay, and whom Lyell had armed with rifles as well as spears. “It is a mean thing,” this gallant officer said to our heroes, “to send a man into the bush unarmed; yet Englishmen constantly do it.”Independently of these they had volunteers from among the simple Hindoo folks in whose country they were. Brave, fool-hardy in fact, but as a rule indolent, these men would work all day, for the sake of earning a morsel of tobacco.It was a glorious day’s shooting our sportsmen, had, and it was but one of many such days they enjoyed, after their encampment at the foot of the mountains had been fairly formed. Neither of them were fond of what is called battue shooting, deeming it, as every true sportsman must, somewhat unjust to the birds; but here there were very many mouths to fill, and four guns to do all the work of filling them. So they had to make good bags.And they did too. It was always their custom to be early astir, but they did not start on an empty stomach you may be well sure; and they were quite ready for luncheon at twelve. Then would come the hour for siesta; for during the time of day when the sun is at its highest and its hottest, it is neither pleasant nor safe to be out of the shade in India.“Why, Lyell,” Fred Freeman said on the evening of the first day’s big shoot, “you have brought us to a perfect paradise, and a sportsman’s paradise too.”A sportsman’s paradise? Yes, surely the contents of those lordly bags testified to that. And what was it that was wanting in that bag, I wonder? Nothing you could wish to see. Here were pigeons by the dozen, and peafowls and jungle-fowls, to shoot which they had threaded the dark mazes of the forest. Here were ducks and geese, ay, and snipe and teal, which they had waded neck-deep in paddy fields to find, to say nothing of big fat bustards, and grouse and red-legged partridge, that had fallen to their guns while crossing the moor; and last, but certainly not least, a hare or two as well.Now, when I say that there were growing around them, everywhere, the most luscious fruits that can be imagined; when I say that the earth yielded its turmeric (the basis of curry powder), and its deliciously esculent roots; that spices of all kinds could be had for the gathering, that the cocoa-nut palms held high aloft their tempting fruits, and that the river abounded with fish, will you wonder when I tell you that our friends lived like fighting-cocks. Would they not have been fools if they hadn’t?Chisholm and Frank occupied one sleeping tent, Fred Freeman and Captain Lyell another. Very comfortably too those tents were furnished, and each canvas bed had its own mosquito curtain. One night, however, Frank found it impossible to sleep, so he got up quietly, dressed, and went out. What a heavenly night! Never, except in the far-off sea of ice, had he seen stars so bright and large. There was light enough almost to read by. He could see everything around him—the men lying asleep at the foot of the snow-white dining tent, the elephants and the picketed horses, and, farther away, jungle and plain, forest and hills, all bathed in starlight. Frank could hear, high over the loud hum of insect life, the distant yelp of the jackal, the gibber of the striped hyaena, and the unearthly yell of the jungle cat.“If there is nothing more terrible than that about,” he said to himself, “I shall go for a walk, just a little way. Jooma,” he continued, addressing the sentinel, “I’m going to the banks of the river.”“Take care, sahib, take care,” was the sentinel’s warning.When two whole hours passed away, and there were no signs of Frank’s return, Jooma became alarmed, and roused Chisholm, and Chisholm aroused the whole camp. Frank must be found, and that right speedily; but where were they to seek him? While they were deliberating which way to go, the report of a rifle fell on their ears, coming from the forest behind the camp. Meanwhile clouds had banked up and obscured a great portion of the sky.“Now, hurry men, hurry, get your torches and come, there isn’t a moment to be lost if you would save my friend.”In ten minutes more they were on his track: by bent grass by a single footprint, by a broken twig, and a hundred little signs that the eye of a European would never have noticed, these men followed the trail by torchlight, till far into the deepest and darkest part of the great forest. But now a pause ensued. The trackers were puzzled. The truth is, that it was just at this spot that the disagreeable truth flashed upon poor Frank that he was lost. He had felt sure he could easily retrace his steps, but trying to do so only led to a series of useless wanderings up and down and round and round, often coming back again to the same spot, though he knew it not, until the starlight forsook him, and he found himself at last in the terrible position presently to be described.The trackers are at fault, and no wonder, yet not three hundred yards away Frank lies at the bottom of a pit, into which he had stumbled, and pulled after him the large withered branch of a mango-tree, and his rifle had gone off as he fell. He hears his friends firing to attract his attention, he cannot reach his rifle to reply. But there adown the wind at last comes a thrice-welcome shout, “Coo-ee-ee!” He tries to answer, but the branch lies across his chest, and he can hardly breathe. “Coo-ee-ee! Coo-ee-ee!” They hear his muffled tones at last; they look no more for track nor trail. Forward they dash, holding the torches high over head. “Coo-oo-ee!” A gigantic leopard rises from his lair, but with a startled yell disappears in a moment in the darkness. Was that a huge python coiled round the tree? If it was he had no time to strike, so quickly do they speed along. “Coo-ee-ee!” They are close at hand now, and now they are at the very mouth of the pit, and Frank can talk to them and tell them how he is trapped.Chisholm was so glad to see his friend once more safe and alive, that he forgot entirely that he had resolved to scold him properly for his rashness and folly. But Frank never afterwards cared to have any allusion made to his night ramble, and resented almost warmly Fred Freeman’s attempt to dub him the “somnambulist.”
In a large and beautiful room in one of the upper storeys of a Club, on the outskirts of Bombay, four gentlemen are seated at dinner one evening, not long after the events related in the last chapter. It is evidently quite atête-à-têteaffair, for they are all by themselves in a corner, at the extreme end of the spacious apartment, close to the great windows that lead on to the verandah. The balmy evening air, laden with the scent of a thousand flowers, steals in, and is put in motion by an immense punkah which hangs above them, and kept moving by a little nigger-boy, dressed in a jacket of snow apparently, who squats in a far corner like a monkey, and requires the united efforts of the three servants who wait at table to keep him awake. No matter what these men are carrying, they always stop as they pass to give Jumlah a kick, making some such remark as—“Jumlah, you asleep again, you black rascal! I kick ebery bit of skin off you presently?” Or, “Jumlah, you young dog, suppose you go asleep just one oder time, den I break ebery bone in your black body!”
The jalousies are wide open, for the day has been hot, and every breath of air is precious. Although the waiters indignantly refer to the colour of poor Jumlah’s skin, they themselves are black, though dressed in cool white linen.
You have guessed already who the gentlemen are. Let us follow them out to the verandah, where they have gone to sip their fragrant coffee. Stars are twinkling in the bright sky, fireflies flit from bush to bush in the gardens beneath, the distant sound of music falls upon their ear, mingling with the far-off city’s hum, the beating of tom-toms, and shrill screams and yells, which may mean anything from mirth to murder.
Conversation during dinner had been very animated indeed; but sitting out here on the cool verandah no one seemed much inclined to speak. Frank had received letters from home, Fred had received letters from Russia; and very pleasant letters, I ween, they were, for they bore reading over and over and over again. Chisholm’s letters were what he called “jolly enough,” only as soon as he had read them, and laughed over them, he just tore them up and pitched them into the basket.
“Hallo, you fellows!” cried Chisholm suddenly. “Awake from your slumbers.”
“I wasn’t asleep,” said Frank.
“No; but you were dreaming, you young rascal.”
“Do you know howIfeel?” said Lyell. “I’m feeling sad at the thoughts of parting with you fellows and going back to England.”
“Then, my dear fellow, don’t go,” said matter-of-fact Chisholm O’Grahame.
“By George, then,” cried Lyell, “and I won’t. I’ll apply for more leave; and while the application is going home, and the reply coming back, I’ll run off with you boys into the jungles. I know a deal more about the country than either of you.”
“Lyell,” said Chisholm, “I knew you were a brick the very first day I clapped eyes upon you.”
They were indeed lucky to have made the acquaintance of such a man as Lyell. He had been pretty much at home in Africa; but in India he was more so; and as soon as he had made up his mind to go with our heroes, he commenced forthwith making preparations for the campaign against big beasts.
He explained everything he did to his three friends, and told them his reasons for acting as he did. Tents were bought in Bombay, and additional rifles—he was very learned on the subject of rifles and rifle-bullets—and Chisholm, being the biggest man, was furnished with a regular bone-smasher. Twenty servants were hired, and a boat was chartered to take their little expedition on to Madras. Just three days were spent in that city.
“If we stay any longer,” Chisholm said to Lyell, “my youngconfrèreswill be starting lotus-eating again. Let us be off as soon as we can.”
And so the very next day the journey up country was commenced: by train at first, for a long long way; nobody was sorry when this part of the cruise came to an end at a station near a tall forest, with a name that was worse than Welsh to every one save Captain Lyell and a few of the attendants. By seven o’clock next morning, a start was made in the direction of the south and east.
By the evening of the third day they had left civilisation a long way behind them; they had journeyed on and on through vast tracts of jangle lands, and mighty forests clad in all the rich and varied luxuriance of a tropical summer. They had passed many a strange romantic hamlet; from the doors of the huts of grass and clay, little innocent naked children had waddled forth to stare in wonder at the cavalcade, while the simple owners offered them fruits of many kinds to eat, and water to drink. They were often tempted to get down and spend a few hours shooting, for they came to places where feathered game of many kinds abounded, especially duck and peafowl. But Lyell’s counsel was always taken, and his advice was, “Let us go on as speedily as possible towards the mountain forests, and there encamp.” And so, as the last rays of the setting sun shimmered down through the trees on them, they reached a spot which Lyell thought would do excellently well as a camping-ground.
“Oh, isn’t this a charming sight?” said Chisholm, addressing Frank, who lounged on the howdah by his side.
They were a long way behind the others. They did not mind that, however; indeed, the elephant on which they were seated, pleased the two friends far better than any other could have done. He was slow, but wondrous sure. No fears of Jowser, as Frank baptised him, taking sudden fright and dashing suddenly off and away over the jungle, as elephants sometimes do, and ending by dashing their brains out, or tumbling over some mighty precipice with them. Jowser was somewhat more than a hundred years old—a very experienced matter-of-fact old fellow, who knew better than to hurry himself. He required but little guidance—a gentle touch with a cane on his left ear or his right, as the case might be, was quite enough for him. When he stopped short sometimes, to reach above him for a few leaves to munch, his attendant would gently goad him; but Jowser would turn up the tip of his trunk to him as much as to say, “Put a handful of rice into that. That’s what Jowser wants. Jowser is hungry.”
But it suited Frank and Chisholm to be a little late of an evening, because they found their friends already encamped, probably under the banian-tree, and, better than all, supper ready—a curry of such fragrance, that even a sniff at it would have made them hungry, if they had not, as they always did have, the appetite of hunters.
The master of ceremonies did allow them one day, however, among the peafowl. In a piece of jungle—which Chisholm as usual persisted in calling a moor—they found these beautiful birds in great abundance: they were early astir that morning. They had their own beaters, who were principally Mahratta men, whom they had engaged in Bombay, and whom Lyell had armed with rifles as well as spears. “It is a mean thing,” this gallant officer said to our heroes, “to send a man into the bush unarmed; yet Englishmen constantly do it.”
Independently of these they had volunteers from among the simple Hindoo folks in whose country they were. Brave, fool-hardy in fact, but as a rule indolent, these men would work all day, for the sake of earning a morsel of tobacco.
It was a glorious day’s shooting our sportsmen, had, and it was but one of many such days they enjoyed, after their encampment at the foot of the mountains had been fairly formed. Neither of them were fond of what is called battue shooting, deeming it, as every true sportsman must, somewhat unjust to the birds; but here there were very many mouths to fill, and four guns to do all the work of filling them. So they had to make good bags.
And they did too. It was always their custom to be early astir, but they did not start on an empty stomach you may be well sure; and they were quite ready for luncheon at twelve. Then would come the hour for siesta; for during the time of day when the sun is at its highest and its hottest, it is neither pleasant nor safe to be out of the shade in India.
“Why, Lyell,” Fred Freeman said on the evening of the first day’s big shoot, “you have brought us to a perfect paradise, and a sportsman’s paradise too.”
A sportsman’s paradise? Yes, surely the contents of those lordly bags testified to that. And what was it that was wanting in that bag, I wonder? Nothing you could wish to see. Here were pigeons by the dozen, and peafowls and jungle-fowls, to shoot which they had threaded the dark mazes of the forest. Here were ducks and geese, ay, and snipe and teal, which they had waded neck-deep in paddy fields to find, to say nothing of big fat bustards, and grouse and red-legged partridge, that had fallen to their guns while crossing the moor; and last, but certainly not least, a hare or two as well.
Now, when I say that there were growing around them, everywhere, the most luscious fruits that can be imagined; when I say that the earth yielded its turmeric (the basis of curry powder), and its deliciously esculent roots; that spices of all kinds could be had for the gathering, that the cocoa-nut palms held high aloft their tempting fruits, and that the river abounded with fish, will you wonder when I tell you that our friends lived like fighting-cocks. Would they not have been fools if they hadn’t?
Chisholm and Frank occupied one sleeping tent, Fred Freeman and Captain Lyell another. Very comfortably too those tents were furnished, and each canvas bed had its own mosquito curtain. One night, however, Frank found it impossible to sleep, so he got up quietly, dressed, and went out. What a heavenly night! Never, except in the far-off sea of ice, had he seen stars so bright and large. There was light enough almost to read by. He could see everything around him—the men lying asleep at the foot of the snow-white dining tent, the elephants and the picketed horses, and, farther away, jungle and plain, forest and hills, all bathed in starlight. Frank could hear, high over the loud hum of insect life, the distant yelp of the jackal, the gibber of the striped hyaena, and the unearthly yell of the jungle cat.
“If there is nothing more terrible than that about,” he said to himself, “I shall go for a walk, just a little way. Jooma,” he continued, addressing the sentinel, “I’m going to the banks of the river.”
“Take care, sahib, take care,” was the sentinel’s warning.
When two whole hours passed away, and there were no signs of Frank’s return, Jooma became alarmed, and roused Chisholm, and Chisholm aroused the whole camp. Frank must be found, and that right speedily; but where were they to seek him? While they were deliberating which way to go, the report of a rifle fell on their ears, coming from the forest behind the camp. Meanwhile clouds had banked up and obscured a great portion of the sky.
“Now, hurry men, hurry, get your torches and come, there isn’t a moment to be lost if you would save my friend.”
In ten minutes more they were on his track: by bent grass by a single footprint, by a broken twig, and a hundred little signs that the eye of a European would never have noticed, these men followed the trail by torchlight, till far into the deepest and darkest part of the great forest. But now a pause ensued. The trackers were puzzled. The truth is, that it was just at this spot that the disagreeable truth flashed upon poor Frank that he was lost. He had felt sure he could easily retrace his steps, but trying to do so only led to a series of useless wanderings up and down and round and round, often coming back again to the same spot, though he knew it not, until the starlight forsook him, and he found himself at last in the terrible position presently to be described.
The trackers are at fault, and no wonder, yet not three hundred yards away Frank lies at the bottom of a pit, into which he had stumbled, and pulled after him the large withered branch of a mango-tree, and his rifle had gone off as he fell. He hears his friends firing to attract his attention, he cannot reach his rifle to reply. But there adown the wind at last comes a thrice-welcome shout, “Coo-ee-ee!” He tries to answer, but the branch lies across his chest, and he can hardly breathe. “Coo-ee-ee! Coo-ee-ee!” They hear his muffled tones at last; they look no more for track nor trail. Forward they dash, holding the torches high over head. “Coo-oo-ee!” A gigantic leopard rises from his lair, but with a startled yell disappears in a moment in the darkness. Was that a huge python coiled round the tree? If it was he had no time to strike, so quickly do they speed along. “Coo-ee-ee!” They are close at hand now, and now they are at the very mouth of the pit, and Frank can talk to them and tell them how he is trapped.
Chisholm was so glad to see his friend once more safe and alive, that he forgot entirely that he had resolved to scold him properly for his rashness and folly. But Frank never afterwards cared to have any allusion made to his night ramble, and resented almost warmly Fred Freeman’s attempt to dub him the “somnambulist.”