CHAPTER XVI.DANGER IN DISGUISE.[edit]
By the end of September the astronomers had accomplished
half their task. Their diminished numbers added
to their fatigue, so that, notwithstanding their zeal, they
occasionally had to recruit themselves by resting for several
days. The heat was very overpowering. October in lat.
24° S. corresponds to April in Algeria, and for some
hours after mid-day work was impossible. The bushman
was alone uneasy at the delay, for he was aware that the
arc was about to pass through a singular region called a
“karroo,” similar to that at the foot of the Roggeveld
mountains in Cape Colony. In the damp season this district
presents signs of the greatest fertility; after a few
days of rain the soil is covered with a dense verdure; in a
very short time flowers and plants spring up every where;
pasturage increases, and water-courses are formed; troops
of antelopes descend from the heights and take possession
of these unexpected prairies. But this strange effort of
nature is of short duration. In a month, or six weeks
at most, all the moisture is absorbed by the sun; the soil
becomes hardened, and chokes the fresh germs; vegetation
disappears in a few days; the animals fly the region; and
where for a while there was a rich fertility, the desert again
asserts its dominion.
This karroo had to be crossed before reaching the permanent
desert bordering on Lake Ngami. The bushman was
naturally eager to traverse this region before the extreme
aridity should have exhausted the springs. He explained
his reasons to the Colonel, who perfectly understood, and
promised to hurry on the work, without suffering its precision
to be affected. Since, on account of the state ot the
atmosphere, measuring was not always practicable, the
operations were not unfrequently retarded, and the bushman
became seriously concerned lest when they reached
the karroo its character of fertility should have disappeared.
Meanwhile the astronomers could not fail to appreciate
the magnificence around. Never had they been in finer
country. In spite of the high temperature, the streams
kept up a constant freshness, and thousands ot flocks would
have found inexhaustible pasturage. Clumps of luxuriant
trees rose here and there, giving the prospect at times the
appearance of an English park.
Colonel Everest was comparatively indifferent to these
beauties, but the others were fully alive to the romantic
aspect of this temporary relief to the African deserts,
Emery now especially regretted the alienation of his friend
Zorn, and often thought how they would have mutually
delighted in the charming scenery around them.
The advance of the caravan was enlivened by the movements
as well as by the song-notes of a variety of birds.
Some of these were edible, and the hunters shot some
brace of “korans,” a sort of bustard peculiar to the South
African plains, and some “dikkops,” whose flesh is very
delicate eating. They were frequently followed by voracious
crows, instinctively seeking to avert attention from
their eggs in their nests of sand. In addition to these,
blue cranes with white throats, red flamingoes, like flames
in the thinly scattered brushwood, herons, curlews, snipes,
“kalas,” often perching on a buffalo's neck, plovers, ibises,
which might have flown from some hieroglyphic obelisk,
hundreds of enormous pelicans marching in file,—all were
observed to find congenial habitats in this district, where
man alone is the stranger. But of all the varieties of the
feathered race, the most noticeable was the ingenious
weaver-bird, whose green nests, woven with rushes and
blades of grass, hung like immense pears from the branches
of the willows. Emery, taking them for a new species of
fruit, gathered one or two, and was much surprised to hear
them twitter like sparrows. There seemed some excuse
for the ancient travellers in Africa, who reported that
certain trees in the country bore fruit producing living
birds.
The karroo was reached while still it was lovely in its
verdure. Gnus, with their pointed hoofs, caamas, elks,
chamois, and gazelles abounded. Sir John could not resist
the temptation to obtain two days' leave from the Colonel,
which he devoted with all his energy to his favourite
pastime. Under the guidance of the bushman, while
Emery accompanied as an amateur, he obtained many a
success to inscribe in his journal, and many a trophy to
carry back to his Highland home. His hand, skilful with
the delicate instruments of the survey, was at home still
more on his gun; and his eye, keen to discern the remotest
of stars, was quick to detect the nearest movement of a
gazelle. It was ever with something of self-denial that he
laid aside the character of the hunter to resume the duties
of the astronomer. The bushman's uneasiness was ere
long renewed. On the second day of Sir John's interval of
recreation, Mokoum had espied, nearly two miles to the
right, a herd of about twenty of the species of antelope
known as the oryx. He told Sir John at once, and advised
him to take advantage of the fortune that awaited him,
adding that the oryx was extremely difficult to capture,
and could outstrip the fleetest horse, and that Cumraing
himself had not brought down more than four.
This was more than enough to arouse the Englishman.
He chose his best gun, his best horse, and his best dogs,
and, in his impatience preceding the bushman, he turned
towards the copse bordering the plain where the antelopes
had been seen. In an hour they reined in their horses,
and Mokoum, concealed by a grove of sycamores, pointed
out to his companion the herd grazing several hundred
paces to leeward. He remarked that one oryx kept
apart.
“He is a sentinel,” he said, “and doubtless cunning
enough. At the slightest danger, he will give his signal,
and the whole troop will make their escape. We must fire
from a long distance, and hit at the first shot.”
Sir John nodded in reply, and sought for a favourable
position.
The oryxes continued quietly grazing. The sentinel, as
though the breeze had brought suspicions of danger, often
raised his head, and looked warily around. But he was
too far away for the hunters to fire at him with success,
and to chase the herd over the plain was out of the question.
The only hope of a lucky issue was that the herd
might approach the copse.
Fortune seemed propitious. Gradually following the lead
of the sentinel male, the herd drew near the wood, their instinct,
perchance, making them aware that it was safer than
the plain. When their direction was seen, the bushman
asked his companion to dismount. The horses were tied
to a sycamore, and their heads covered to secure them
from taking alarm.
Followed by the dogs, the hunters glided through the
creepers and brushwood till they were within three hundred
paces of the troop. Then, crouching in ambush, and waiting
with loaded guns, they could admire the beauty of the
animals. By a strange freak of nature, the females were
armed with horns more formidable than those of the males.
The whole herd approached the wood, and awhile remained
stationary. The sentinel oryx, as it seemed, was urging
them to leave the plain; he appeared to be driving them,
something like a sheep-collie congregates a flock, into a
compact mass. The herd seemed strangely indifferent, and
indisposed to submit to the guidance of their leader. The
bushman was perplexed; he could not understand the
relative movements of the sentinel and the herd.
Sir John began to get impatient. He fidgeted with his
rifle, sometimes wanting to fire, sometimes to advance; and
the bushman had some trouble to restrain him. An hour
passed away in this manner, when suddenly one of the dogs
gave a loud bark, and rushed towards the plain. The bushman
felt angry enough to send a ball into the excited brute.
The oryxes fled, and Sir John saw at once that pursuit was
useless; in a few seconds they were no more than black
specks in the grass. But to the bushman's astonishment it
was not the old male which had given the signal for flight.
The oryx remained in its place, without attempting to follow,
and only tried to hide in the grass.
“Strange,” said the bushman; “what ails the creature?
Is he hurt, or crippled with age?”
“We shall soon see,” said Sir John, advancing towards
the animal.
The oryx crouched more and more in the grass; only the
tips of his long horns were visible above the surface; but
as he did not try to escape. Sir John could easily get near
him. When within a hundred paces he took aim, and fired.
The ball had struck the head, for the horns sunk into the
grass. The hunters ran hastily to the spot. The bushman
held in his hand his hunting-knife, in case the animal
should still live. This precaution was unnecessary; the
oryx was so dead, that when Sir John took hold of the
horns, he pulled nothing but an empty flabby skin, containing
not so much as a bone.
“By St. Andrew! these things happen to no one but
me,” he cried, in a tone so comical that any one but the
immovable Mokoum would have laughed outright. But
Mokoum did not even smile. His compressed lips and
contracted brow showed him to be utterly bewildered.
With his arms crossed, he looked quickly right and left.
Suddenly he caught sight of a little red leather bag,
ornamented with arabesques, on the ground, which he
picked up and examined carefully.
“What's that?” asked Sir John.
“A Makololo's pouch,” replied Mokoum.
“How did it get there?”
“The owner let it fall as he fled.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” said Mokoum, clenching his fists, “that the
Makololo was in the oryx skin, and you have missed him.”
Sir John had not time to express his astonishment, when
Mokoum, observing a movement in the distance, with all
speed seized his gun and fired.
He and Sir John hastened to the suspected spot. But the
place was empty: they could perceive by the trampled grass
that some one had just been there; but the Makololo was
gone, and it was useless to think of pursuit across the prairie.
The two hunters returned, much discomposed. The
presence of a Makololo at the cromlech, together with his
disguise, not unfrequently adopted by oryx hunters, showed
that he had systematically followed the caravan. It was
not without design that he was keeping watch upon the
Europeans and their escort. The more they advanced to
the north, the greater danger there would be of being
attacked by the plunderers.
Emery was inclined to banter Sir John on his return
from his holiday without booty; but Sir John replied,—
“I hadn't a chance, William; the first oryx I hunted was
dead before I shot at him.”
