CHAPTER XVIII.THE DESERT.[edit]
It was indeed no better than a desert which now lay
before the travellers. When, on the 25th of December,
they completed the measurement of another degree, and
reached the northern boundary of the karroo, they found
no difference between the district they had been traversing
and the new country, the real desert, arid and scorching,
over which they were now about to pass. The animals
belonging to the caravan suffered greatly from the dearth
alike of pasturage and water. The last drops of rain in
the pools had dried up, and it was an acrid soil, a mixture
of clay and sand, very unfavourable to vegetation. The
waters of the rainy season filtered quickly through the
sandy strata, so that the region was incapable of preserving
for any length of time a particle of moisture. More than
once has Dr. Livingstone carried his adventurous explorations
across one of these barren districts. The very atmosphere
was so dry, that iron left in the open air did not rust,
and the distinguished traveller relates that the leaves hung
weak and shrivelled; that the mimosas remained closed by
day as well as by night; that the scarabæi, laid on the
ground, expired in a few seconds; and that the mercury in
the ball of a thermometer buried three inches in the soil
rose at midday to 134° Fahrenheit.
These records which Livingstone had made were now
verified by the astronomers between the karroo and Lake
Ngami. The suffering and fatigue, especially of the animals,
continually increased, and the dry dusty grass afforded
them but little nourishment. Nothing ventured on the
desert; the birds had flown beyond the Zambesi for fruit
and flowers, and the wild beasts shunned the plain which
offered them no prey. During the first fortnight in January
the hunters caught sight of a few couples of those antelopes
which are able to exist without water for several weeks.
There were some oryxes like those in whose pursuit Sir
John had sustained so great a disappointment, and there
were besides, some dappled, soft-eyed caamas, which venture
beyond the green pasturages, and which are much esteemed
for the quality of their flesh.
To travel under that burning sun through the stifling
atmosphere, to work for days and nights in the oppressive
sultriness, was fatiguing in the extreme. The reserve of
water evaporated continuously, so they were obliged to
ration themselves to a painfully limited allowance. However,
ever, such were their zeal and courage that they mastered
all their troubles, and not a single detail of their task was
neglected. On the 25th of January they completed their
seventh degree, the number of triangles constructed having
amounted to fifty-seven.
Only a comparatively small portion of the desert had
now to be traversed, and the bushman thought that they
would be able to reach Lake Ngami before their provision
was exhausted. The Colonel and his companions thus had
definite hopes, and were inspirited to persevere. But the
hired Bochjesmen, who knew nothing of any scientific
ardour, and who had been long ago reluctant to pursue their
journey, could hardly be encouraged to hold out: unquestionably
they suffered greatly, and were objects for commiseration.
Already, too, some beasts of burden, overcome
by hard work and scanty food, had been left behind, and
it was to be feared that more would fall into the same
helpless condition. Mokoum had a difficult task to perform,
and as murmurs and recriminations increased, his influence
more and more lost its weight. It became evident that the
want of water would be a serious obstacle, and that the
expedition must either retrace its steps, or, at the risk of
meeting the Russians, turn to the right of the meridian, to
seek some of the villages which were known to be scattered
along Livingstone's route.
It was not long, however, before the bushman one morning
came to the Colonel, and declared himself powerless
against the increasing difficulties. The drivers, he said,
refused to obey him; and there were continued scenes of
insubordination, in which all the natives joined. The
Colonel perfectly well understood the situation; but stern
to himself, he was stern to others. He refused to suspend
his operations, and declared that although he went alone,
he would continue to advance. His two companions of
course agreed, and professed themselves ready to follow
him. Renewed efforts of Mokoum persuaded the natives
to venture a little farther: he felt sure that the caravan
could not be more than five or six days' march from Lake
Ngami, and once there, the animals could find pasturage
and shade, and the men an abundance of fresh water. All
these considerations he laid before the principal Bochjesmen.
He showed them that it was really best to advance
northwards. If they turned to the west, their march would
be perilous, and to turn back was only to find the karroo
desolate and dry. The natives at length yielded to his
solicitations, and the almost exhausted caravan continued
its course.
Happily this vast plain was in itself favourable to all
astronomical observations, so that no delay arose from any
natural obstruction. On one occasion there sprang up a
sudden hope that nature was about to restore to them a
supply of the water of which she had been so niggardly. A
lagoon, a mile or two in extent, was discovered on the
horizon. The reflection was indubitably of water, proving
that what they saw was no mirage, due to the unequal
density of the atmospheric strata. The caravan speedily
turned in that direction, and the lagoon was reached towards
five in the evening. Some of the horses broke away from
their drivers, and galloped to the longed-for water. Having
smelt it, they plunged in to their chests, but almost immediately
returned to the bank. They had not drunk, and
when the Bochjesmen arrived they found themselves by
the side of a lagoon so impregnated with salt that its water
could not be touched. Disappointment was keen, it was
little short of despair. Mokoum thought that he should
never induce the natives to proceed; but fortunately the
only hope was in advancing, and even the natives were alive
to the conviction that Lake Ngami was the nearest point
where water could be procured. In four days, unless
retarded by its labours, the expedition must reach the
shores of the lake.
Every day was momentous. To economize time, Colonel
Everest formed larger triangles and established fewer posts.
No efforts were spared to hurry on the progress of the
survey. Notwithstanding the application of every energy,
the painful sojourn in the desert was prolonged, and it was
not until the 21st of February that the level ground began
to be rough and undulating. A mountain 500 or 600 feet
high was descried about fifteen miles to the north-west.
The bushman recognized it as Mount Scorzef, and, pointing
to the north, said,—
“Lake Ngami is there.”
“The Ngami! the Ngami!” echoed the natives, with noisy
demonstration. They wished to hurry on in advance over the
fifteen miles, but Mokoum restrained them, asserting that the
country was infested by Makololos, and that it was important
to keep together. Colonel Everest, himself eager to reach
the lake, resolved to connect by a single triangle the station
he was now occupying with Mount Scorzef. The instruments
were therefore arranged, and the angle of the last triangle
which had been already measured from the south was
measured again from the station. Mokoum, in his impatience,
only established a temporary camp; he hoped to
reach the lake before night; but he neglected none of his
usual precautions, and prudently sent out horsemen right
and left to explore the underwood. Since the oryx-chase
the Makololos seemed indeed to have abandoned their watch,
still he would not incur any risk of being taken by surprise.
Thus carefully guarded by the bushman, the astronomers
constructed their triangle. According to Emery's calculations
it would carry them nearly to the twentieth parallel,
the proposed limit of their arc. A few more triangles on
the other side of Lake Ngami would complete their eighth
degree; to verify the calculations, a new base would
subsequently be measured directly on the ground, and the
great enterprise would be ended. The ardour of the
astronomers increased as they approached the fulfilment of
their task.
Meanwhile there was considerable curiosity as to what
the Russians on their side had accomplished. For six
months the members of the commission had been separated,
and it seemed probable to the English that the Russians
had not suffered so much from heat and thirst, since their
course had lain nearer Livingstone's route, and therefore in
less arid regions. After leaving Kolobeng they would come
across various villages to the right of their meridian, where
they could easily revictual their caravan. But still it was
not unlikely that in this less arid, though more frequented
country, Matthew Strux's little band had been more exposed
to the attacks of the plundering Makololos, and this was
the more probable, since they seemed to have abandoned
the pursuit of the English caravan.
Although the Colonel, ever engrossed, had no thought
to bestow on these things, Sir John and Emery had often
discussed the doings of their former comrades. They
wondered whether they would come across them again,
and whether they would find that they had obtained the
same mathematical result as themselves, and whether the
two computations of a degree in South Africa would be
identical. Emery did not cease to entertain kind memories
of his friend, knowing well that Zorn, for his part, would
never forget him.
The measurement of the angles was now resumed. To
obtain the angle at the station they now occupied, they had
to observe two points of sight. One of these was formed
by the conical summit of Mount Scorzef, and the other by
a sharp peak three or four miles to the left of the meridian,
whose direction was easily obtained by one of the telescopes
of the repeating circle. Mount Scorzef was much more
distant; its position would compel the observers to diverge
considerably to the right of the meridian, but on examination
they found they had no other choice. The station was
therefore observed with the second telescope of the repeating
circle, and the angular distance between Mount Scorzef
and the smaller peak was obtained.
Notwithstanding the impatience of the natives. Colonel
Everest, as calmly as though he were in his own observatory,
made many successive registries from the
graduated circle of his telescope, and then, by taking the
average of all his readings, he obtained a result rigorously
exact.
The day glided on, and it was not until the darkness
prevented the reading of the instruments, that the Colonel
brought his observations to an end, saying,—
“I am at your orders, Mokoum; we will start as soon as
you like.”
“And none too soon,” replied Mokoum; “better had we
accomplished our journey by daylight.”
The proposal to start met with unanimous approval, and
by seven o'clock the thirsty party were once more on the
march.
Some strange foreboding seemed weighing on the mind
of Mokoum, and he urged the three Europeans to look
carefully to their rifles and to be well provided with ammunition.
The night grew dark, the moon and stars were
repeatedly veiled in mist, but the atmosphere near the
ground was clear. The bushman's keen vision was ever
watching the flanks and front of the caravan, and his
unwonted disquietude could not fail to be noticed by Sir
John, who was likewise on the watch. They toiled through
the weary evening, occasionally stopping to gather together
the loiterers, and at ten o'clock they were still six miles
from the lake. The animals gasped for breath in an atmosphere
so dry that the hygrometer could not have detected
a trace of moisture.
Mokoum was indefatigable in his endeavours to keep the
disorganized party close together; but, in spite of his
remonstrances, the caravan no longer presented a compact
nucleus. Men and beasts stretched out into a long file,
and some oxen had sunk exhausted to the ground. The
dismounted horsemen could hardly drag themselves along,
and any stragglers could have been easily carried off by
the smallest band of natives. Mokoum went in evident
anxiety from one to another, and with word and gestures
tried to rally the troop; but his success was far from
complete, and already, without his knowledge, some of his
men were missing.
By eleven o'clock the foremost waggons were hardly
more than three miles from their destination. In the gloom
of night Mount Scorzef stood out distinctly in its solitary
height, like an enormous pyramid, and the obscurity made
its dimensions appear greater than they actually were.
Unless Mokoum were mistaken, Lake Ngami lay just
behind Mount Scorzef, so that the caravan must pass
round its base in order to reach the tract of fresh water by
the shortest route.
The bushman, in company with the three Europeans,
took the lead, and prepared to turn to the left, when suddenly
some distinct, though distant reports, arrested their attention.
They reined in their horses, and listened with a
natural anxiety. In a country where the natives use only
lances and arrows the report of European fire-arms was
rather startling. The Colonel and Sir John simultaneously
asked the bushman from whence the sound could proceed.
Mokoum asserted that he could perceive a light in the
shadow at the summit of Mount Scorzef, and that he had
no doubt that the Makololos were attacking a party of
Europeans.
“Europeans!” cried Emery.
“Yes,” replied Mokoum; “these reports can only be
produced by European weapons.”
“But what Europeans could they be?” began Sir John.
“Be who they may,” broke in the Colonel, “we must go
to their assistance.”
“Yes; come on,” said Emery, with no little excitement.
Before setting off for the mountain, Mokoum, for the
last time, tried to rally the small band. But when the
bushman turned round the caravan was dispersed, the
horses unyoked, the waggons forsaken, and a few scattered
shadows were flying along the plain towards the south.
“The cowards!” he cried; then turning to the English,
he said, “Well, we must go on.”
The Englishmen and the bushman, gathering up all the
remaining strength of their horses, darted on to the north.
After a while they could plainly distinguish the war-cry
of the Makololos. Whatever was their number, it was
evident they were making an attack on Mount Scorzef
from the summit of which the flashes of fire continued.
Groups of men could be faintly distinguished ascending
the sides. Soon the Colonel and his companions were on
the rear of the besiegers. Abandoning their worn-out
steeds, and shouting loud enough to be heard by the
besieged, they fired at the mass of natives. The rapidity
with which they re-loaded caused the Makololos to imagine
themselves assailed by a large troop. The sudden attack
surprised them, and, letting fly a shower of arrows and
assagais, they retreated. Without losing a moment, the
Colonel, Sir John, Emery, the bushman, and the sailors,
never desisting from firing, darted among the group of
natives, of whose bodies no less than fifteen soon strewed
the ground.
The Makololos divided. The Europeans rushed into the
gap, and, overpowering the foremost, ascended the slope
backwards. In a few minutes they had reached the summit,
which was now entirely in darkness, the besieged having
suspended their fire for fear of injuring those who had
come so opportunely to their aid.
They were the Russian astronomers. Strux, Palander,
Zorn, and their five sailors, all were there: but of all the
natives belonging to their caravan there remained but the
faithful pioneer. The Bochjesmen had been as faithless to
them as they had been to the English.
The instant the Colonel appeared, Strux darted from
the top of a low wall that crowned the summit.
“The English!” he cried.
“Yes,” replied the Colonel gravely; “but now neither
Russian nor English. Nationalities be forgotten; for
mutual defence we are kinsmen, in that we are one and all
Europeans!”
