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Title: Meridiana: The Adventures of Three Englishmen and Three Russians - In South Africa
Author: Verne, Jules
Language: English
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ENGLISHMEN AND THREE RUSSIANS IN SOUTH AFRICA ***
MERIDIANA:
THE ADVENTURES OF
THREE ENGLISHMEN AND THREE RUSSIANS
IN SOUTH AFRICA.
BY JULES VERNE.
_Translated from the French. With numerous Illustrations._
NEW YORK:
SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG & CO.,
654 BROADWAY.
1874.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. ON THE BANKS OF THE ORANGE RIVER
CHAPTER II. OFFICIAL PRESENTATIONS
CHAPTER III. THE LAND JOURNEY
CHAPTER IV. A FEW WORDS ABOUT THE "METRE"
CHAPTER V. A HOTTENTOT VILLAGE
CHAPTER VI. BETTER ACQUAINTANCE
CHAPTER VII. THE BASE OF THE TRIANGLE
CHAPTER VIII. THE TWENTY-FOURTH MERIDIAN
CHAPTER IX. THE KRAAL
CHAPTER X. THE RAPID
CHAPTER XI. A MISSING COMPANION
CHAPTER XII. A STATION TO SIR JOHN'S LIKING
CHAPTER XIII. PACIFICATION BY FIRE
CHAPTER XIV. A DECLARATION OF WAR
CHAPTER XV. A GEOMETRIC PROGRESSION
CHAPTER XVI. DANGER IN DISGUISE
CHAPTER XVII. AN UNEXPECTED BLIGHT
CHAPTER XVIII. THE DESERT
CHAPTER XIX. SCIENCE UNDAUNTED
CHAPTER XX. STANDING A SIEGE
CHAPTER XXI. SUSPENSE
CHAPTER XXII. HIDE AND SEEK
CHAPTER XXIII. HOMEWARD BOUND
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
FRONTISPIECE.
William Emery and the Bushman
At length an exclamation of the Bushman made his heart beat
Meeting of Members of the Expedition
"The Hunter Mokoum," said William Emery, presenting his Companion
All these Objects were deposited on the Beach
The Mission Home Establishment
Chief Moulibahan
William Emery and Michael Zorn in advance of the Expedition
The Bushman pointing to the Plain
Commencement of the Geodesic Operations
Measuring the Arc of the Meridian
Taking the Measurements
The Astronomers at Work
Encampment under an immense Baobab
The Hunters
The Elephant and the Dog
"He is ours! he is ours!"
The Hippopotamus did not quit his hold, but shook the Boat as a Dog
would a Hare
"There he is," cried Mokoum
A missing Companion
It was a deep Grotto, strewn with Bones and stained with Blood
The Entrance to the Lion's Den
A Ball from the Bushman arrested the Lioness
"Well," said Mokoum, "I hope you like our African Partridges"
Sir John was soon asleep
The Forest on Fire
"War is declared between England and Russia"
The Parting of Emery and Zorn
"The Rhinoceros!" exclaimed Sir John
The Advance of the Caravan
The Hunters glided through the Creepers and Brushwood
The empty Oryx Skin
Emery and two Natives struck by Lightning
A strange Cloud
Crossing the Desert
"The Ngami! the Ngami!"
The English come to the relief of the Russians
On Guard on Mount Scorzef
An Attack on Mount Scorzef
The Rice of the Bochjesmen
Watching for the Signal from Mount Volquiria
The Steamboat leaving Mount Scorzef
Palander robbed by the Chacma
Palander's Combat with the Chacma
Descending the Zambesi
Adieu to Mokoum
The Natives regarded with superstitious admiration the smoking vessel
MERIDIANA;
THE ADVENTURES OF THREE ENGLISHMEN AND THREE RUSSIANS.
CHAPTER I.
ON THE BANKS OF THE ORANGE RIVER.
On the 27th of January, 1854, two men lay stretched at the foot of an
immense weeping willow, chatting, and at the same time watching most
attentively the waters of the Orange River. This river, the Groote of
the Dutch, and the Gariep of the Hottentots, may well vie with the
other three great arteries of Africa--the Nile, the Niger, and the
Zambesi. Like those, it has its periodical risings, its rapids and
cataracts. Travellers whose names are known over part of its course,
Thompson, Alexander, and Burchell, have each in their turn praised the
clearness of its waters, and the beauty of its shores.
At this point the river, as it approached the Duke of York Mountains,
offered a magnificent spectacle to the view. Insurmountable rocks,
imposing masses of stone, and trunks of trees that had become
mineralized by the action of the weather, deep caverns, impenetrable
forests, not yet disturbed by the settler's axe, all these, shut in by
a background formed by the mountains of the Gariep, made up a scene
matchless in its magnificence. There, too, the waters of the river, on
account of the extreme narrowness of their bed, and the sudden falling
away of the soil, rushed down from a height of 400 feet. Above the
fall there were only surging sheets of water, broken here and there
by points of rock wreathed with green boughs; below, there was only a
dark whirlpool of tumultuous waters, crowned with a thick cloud of damp
vapour, and striped with all the colours of the rainbow. From this gulf
there arose a deafening roar, increased and varied by the echoes of the
valley.
Of these two men, who had evidently been brought into this part of
South Africa by the chances of an exploration, one lent only a vague
attention to the beauties of nature that were opened to his view. This
indifferent traveller was a hunting bushman, a fine type of that brave,
bright-eyed, rapidly-gesticulating race of men, who lead a wandering
life in the woods. Bushman, a word derived from the Dutch "Bochjesman,"
is literally "a man of the bushes," and is applied to the wandering
tribes that scour the country in the N.W. of Cape Colony. Not a
family of these bushmen is sedentary; they pass their lives in roaming
over the region lying between the Orange River and the mountains of
the East, in pillaging farms, and in destroying the crops of the
overbearing colonists, by whom they have been driven back towards the
interior of the country, where more rocks than plants abound.
This bushman, a man of about forty years of age, was very tall, and
evidently possessed great muscular strength, for even when at rest
his body presented the attitude of action. The clearness, ease, and
freedom of his movements stamped him as an energetic character, a man
cast in the same mould as the celebrated "Leather-stocking," the hero
of the Canadian prairies, though perhaps possessing less calmness than
Cooper's favourite hunter, as could be seen by the transient deepening
of colour in his face, whenever he was animated by any unusual emotion.
The bushman was no longer a savage like the rest of his race, the
ancient Laquas; for, born of an English father and a Hottentot mother,
the half-breed, through his association with strangers, had gained more
than he had lost, and spoke the paternal tongue fluently. His costume,
half-Hottentot, half-European, consisted of a red flannel shirt, a
loose coat and breeches of antelope hide, and leggings made of the skin
of a wild cat; from his neck hung a little bag containing a knife, a
pipe, and some tobacco; he wore on his head a kind of skull-cap of
sheep-skin; a belt, made from the thick thong of some wild animal,
encircled his waist; and on his naked wrists were rings of ivory,
wrought with remarkable skill. From his shoulders flowed a "kross,"
a kind of hanging mantle, cut out of a tiger's skin, and falling as
low as the knees. A dog of native breed was sleeping near him, while
he himself was smoking a bone pipe in quick puffs, giving unequivocal
signs of impatience.
"Come, let's be calm, Mokoum," said his interlocutor. "You are truly
the most impatient of mortals whenever you are not hunting; but do
understand, my worthy companion, that we can't change what is. Those
whom we are expecting will come sooner or later--to-morrow, if not
to-day."
The bushman's companion was a young man, from twenty-five to twenty-six
years of age, and quite a contrast to him. His calm temperament was
shown in every action; and it could be decided without a moment's
hesitation that he was an Englishman. His much too homely costume
proved him to be unaccustomed to travelling. He gave one the idea
of a clerk who had wandered into a savage country, and one looked
involuntarily to see if he carried a pen behind his ear, like a
cashier, clerk, accountant, or some other variety of the great family
of the bureaucracy.
In truth, this young man was not a traveller, but a distinguished
_savant_, William Emery, an astronomer attached to the Observatory at
the Cape--a useful establishment, which has for a long time rendered
true services to science.
The scholar, rather out of his element, perhaps, in this uninhabited
region of South Africa, several hundred miles from Cape Town, could
hardly manage to curb the impatience of his companion.
"Mr. Emery," replied the hunter in good English, "here we have been
for eight days at the place appointed on the Orange, the cataract of
Morgheda. It is indeed a long time since it has befallen a member of
my family to remain eight days in one place: you forget that we are
rovers, and that our feet burn at lingering here."
"My friend Mokoum," replied the astronomer, "those we are waiting
for are coming from England, and surely we can allow them eight days
of grace: we must take into account the length of the passage, and
the hindrances which a steam-vessel must meet with in ascending the
Orange; and, in short, the thousand difficulties belonging to such an
undertaking. We have been told to make every preparation for a journey
of exploration in South Africa, and that being done, to come here to
the Falls of Morgheda and wait for my colleague, Colonel Everest, of
the Cambridge Observatory. Well, here are the Falls of Morgheda, we
are at the place appointed, and we are waiting: what more do you want,
my worthy bushman?"
The hunter doubtless did want more, for his fingers played feverishly
with the lock of his rifle, an excellent Manton, a weapon of precision
with conical shot, and which could bring down a wild cat or an antelope
at a distance of eight or nine hundred yards. Thus it may be seen that
the bushman had put aside the quiver of aloes and the poisoned darts of
his fellow-countrymen for the use of European weapons.
"But are you not mistaken, Mr. Emery?" replied Mokoum. "Is it really at
the Falls of Morgheda, and towards the end of this month of January,
that they have appointed to meet you?"
"Yes, my friend," quietly answered William Emery, "and here is the
letter from Mr. Airy, the director of the Greenwich Observatory, which
will show you that I am not mistaken."
The bushman took the letter that his companion gave him. He turned
it over and over like a man not very familiar with the mysteries of
penmanship; then giving it back to William Emery, he said, "Tell me
again what the blotted piece of paper says."
The young astronomer, endowed with a patience proof against every
thing, began again, for the twentieth time, the story he had so often
told to his friend the hunter. At the end of the foregoing year,
William Emery had received a letter telling him of the approaching
arrival of Colonel Everest, and an international scientific commission
in Southern Africa. What the plans of the commission were, and why
it came to the extremity of the continent of Africa, Emery could not
say, Mr. Airy's letter being silent on that point; but following the
instructions that he had received, he hastened to Lattakoo, one of the
most northern stations in the Hottentot country, to prepare waggons,
provisions, and, in short, every thing that could be wanted for the
victualling of a Bochjesman caravan. Then, as he knew the reputation of
the native hunter, Mokoum, who had accompanied Anderson in his hunting
expeditions in Western Africa, and the intrepid David Livingstone on
his first journey of exploration to Lake Ngami and the falls of the
Zambesi, he offered him the command of this same caravan.
This done, it was arranged that the bushman, who knew the country
perfectly, should lead William Emery along the banks of the Orange to
the Morgheda Falls, the place appointed for the scientific commission
to join them. This commission was to take its passage in the British
frigate "Augusta," to reach the mouth of the Orange on the western
coast of Africa, as high as Cape Voltas, and to ascend the river as
far as the cataracts. William Emery and Mokoum had therefore brought a
waggon, which they had left at the bottom of the valley, to carry the
strangers and their baggage to Lattakoo, unless they preferred getting
there by the Orange and its affluents, after they had avoided the Falls
of Morgheda by a land journey of some miles.
[Illustration: William Emery and the Bushman.]
This story ended, and at length really impressed on the bushman's
mind, he advanced to the edge of the gulf to whose bottom the foaming
river threw itself with a crash: the astronomer followed, for there a
projecting point commanded a view of the river, below the cataract,
for a distance of several miles. For some minutes Mokoum and his
companion gazed attentively at the part of the river where it resumed
its tranquillity about a quarter of a mile below them, but not an
object, either boat or pirogue, disturbed its course. It was then
three o'clock. The month of January here corresponds to the July of
northern countries, and the sun, almost vertical in lat. 29°, heated
the atmosphere till the thermometer stood at 105° Fahrenheit in the
shade. If it had not been for the westerly breeze, which moderated the
heat a little, the temperature would have been unbearable for any but
a bushman. Still, the young astronomer, with his cool temperament, all
bone and all nerves, did not feel it too much: the thick foliage of the
trees which overhung the abyss protected him from the direct attacks
of the sun's rays. Not a bird enlivened the solitude during these hot
hours of the day; not an animal left the cool shade of the bushes
to trust itself along the glades; not a sound would have been heard in
this deserted region, even if the cataract had not filled the whole air
with its roar.
After gazing for ten minutes, Mokoum turned to William Emery, stamping
impatiently with his large foot; his penetrating eyes had discovered
nothing.
"Supposing your people don't come?" he asked the astronomer.
"They'll come, my brave hunter," answered William Emery: "they are men
of their word, and punctual, like all astronomers. Besides, what fault
do you find with them? The letter says they are to arrive at the end of
January; this is the 27th, and these gentlemen have still a right to
four more days before they need to reach the Morgheda Falls."
"And supposing they have not come at the end of those four days?" asked
the bushman.
"Well! then, master hunter, there will be a chance for us to show our
patience, for we will wait for them until I have certain proof that
they are not coming at all."
"By our god Ko!" cried the bushman in a sonorous voice, "you are a man
who would wait until the Gariep had emptied all its roaring waters into
that abyss!"
"No, hunter, no," replied Emery in his ever quiet tone; "but we
must let reason govern our actions; and what does reason tell us?
This:--that if Colonel Everest and his companions, wearied with a
tiresome journey, in want perhaps, and lost in this lonely country,
were not to find us at the place of rendezvous, we should be to blame
in every way. If any thing went wrong, the responsibility would rest on
us; we ought, therefore, to stay at our post as long as it is our duty
to do so. And besides, we want for nothing here: our waggon is waiting
for us at the bottom of the valley, and gives us shelter at night; we
have plenty of provisions; nature here is magnificent and worthy of our
admiration; and it is quite a new pleasure to me to spend a few days
in these splendid forests on the banks of this matchless river. As for
you, Mokoum, what can you want more? Game, both hairy and feathered,
abounds in the forests, and your rifle keeps us supplied with venison.
Hunt, my brave hunter! kill time by killing deer and buffaloes! Go, my
good bushman; I'll watch for the loiterers meanwhile, and _your_ feet,
at any rate, will run no risk of taking root."
The hunter thought the astronomer's advice was good, and decided that
he would go for a few hours and beat the neighbouring bushes and
brushwood. Lions, hyenas, and leopards would not disturb such a Nimrod
as he, so well accustomed to the African forests. He whistled to his
dog Top, an animal of the hyena breed from the desert of Kalahari, and
a descendant of that race of which the Balabas formerly made pointers.
The intelligent creature, as impatient, seemingly, as his master,
bounded up, and showed by his joyous barking how much he was gratified
at the bushman's intention. Soon both man and dog disappeared among
the thick masses of wood which crowned the background of the cataract.
William Emery, now alone, again stretched himself at the foot of the
willow, and while he was waiting for the heat to send him to sleep,
began to think over his actual position. Here he was, far away from any
inhabited spot, on the banks of the Orange river, a river as yet but
little explored. He was waiting for Europeans, fellow-countrymen who
had left their homes to run the risks of a distant expedition. But what
was the expedition for? What scientific problem could it want to solve
in the deserts of South Africa? What observation could it be trying
to take in lat. 30° S.? That was just what Mr. Airy, the director of
the Greenwich Observatory, did not tell in his letter. As for Emery
himself, they asked for his co-operation as for that of a scientific
man who was familiar with the climate of those southern latitudes, and
as he was openly engaged in scientific labours, he was quite at the
disposal of his colleagues in the United Kingdom.
As the young astronomer lay musing over all these things, and asking
himself a thousand questions which he could not answer, his eyelids
became heavy, and at length he slept soundly. When he awoke, the sun
was already hidden behind the western hills, whose picturesque outline
stood out sharply against the bright horizon. Some gnawings of hunger
told him that supper-time was near; it was, in fact, six o'clock, and
just the hour for returning to the waggon at the bottom of the valley.
At that very moment a report resounded from a grove of arborescent
heaths, from twelve to fifteen feet high, which was growing along the
slope of the hills on the right. Almost immediately the bushman and
Top made their appearance at the edge of the wood, the former dragging
behind him the animal that he had just shot. "Come, come, master
purveyor!" cried Emery, "what have you got for supper?"
"A spring-bok, Mr. William," replied the hunter, throwing down an
animal with horns curved like a lyre. It was a kind of antelope, more
generally known by the name of "leaping buck," and which is to be met
with in every part of South Africa. It is a charming animal, with its
cinnamon-coloured back, and its croup covered with tufts of silky hair
of a dazzling whiteness, whilst its under part is in shades of chestnut
brown; its flesh, always excellent eating, was on this occasion to form
the evening repast.
The hunter and the astronomer, lifting the beast by means of a pole
placed across their shoulders, now left the head of the cataract,
and in half an hour reached their encampment in a narrow gorge of
the valley, where the waggon, guarded by two Bochjesman drivers, was
waiting for them.
CHAPTER II.
OFFICIAL PRESENTATIONS.
For the next three days, the 28th, 29th, and 30th of January, Mokoum
and William Emery never left the place of rendezvous. While the
bushman, carried away by his hunting instincts, pursued the game
and deer in the wooded district lying near the cataract, the young
astronomer watched the river. The sight of this grand, wild nature
enchanted him, and filled his soul with new emotions. Accustomed as
he was to bend over his figures and catalogues day and night, hardly
ever leaving the eye-piece of his telescope, watching the passage of
stars across the meridian and their occultations, he delighted in the
open-air life in the almost impenetrable woods which covered the slope
of the hills, and on the lonely peaks that were sprinkled by the spray
from the Morgheda as with a damp dust. It was joy to him to take in the
poetry of these vast solitudes, and to refresh his mind, so wearied
with his mathematical speculations; and so he beguiled the tediousness
of his waiting, and became a new man, both in mind and body. Thus did
the novelty of his situation explain his unvarying patience, which the
bushman could not share in the least; so there were continually on the
part of Mokoum the same recriminations, and on the part of Emery the
same quiet answers, which, however, did not quiet the nervous hunter in
the smallest degree.
And now the 31st of January had come, the last day fixed in Airy's
letter. If the expected party did not then arrive, Emery would be in a
very embarrassing position; the delay might be indefinitely prolonged.
How long, then, ought he to wait?
"Mr. William," said the hunter, "why shouldn't we go to meet these
strangers? We cannot miss them; there is only one road, that by the
river, and if they are coming up, as your bit of paper says they are,
we are sure to meet them."
"That is a capital idea of yours, Mokoum," replied the astronomer:
"we will go on and look out below the falls. We can get back to the
encampment by the side valleys in the south. But tell me, my good
bushman, you know nearly the whole course of the river, do you not?"
"Yes, sir," answered the hunter, "I have ascended it twice from Cape
Voltas to its juncture with the Hart on the frontier of the Transvaal
Republic."
"And it is navigable all the way, except at the Falls of Morgheda?"
"Just so, sir," replied the bushman. "But I should add that at the end
of the dry season the Orange has not much water till within five or six
miles of its mouth; there is then a bar, where the swell from the west
breaks very violently."
"That doesn't matter," answered the astronomer, "because at the time
that our friends want to land it will be all right. There is nothing
then to keep them back, so they will come."
The bushman said nothing, but shouldering his gun, and whistling to
Top, he led the way down the narrow path which met the river again 400
feet lower.
It was then nine o'clock in the morning, and the two explorers (for
such they might truly be called) followed the river by its left bank.
Their way did not offer the smooth and easy surface of an embankment or
towing-path, for the river-banks were covered with brushwood, and quite
hidden in a bower of every variety of plants; and the festoons of the
"cynauchum filiform," mentioned by Burchell, hanging from tree to tree,
formed quite a network of verdure in their path; the bushman's knife,
however, did not long remain inactive, and he cut down the obstructive
branches without mercy. William Emery drank in the fragrant air, here
especially impregnated with the camphor-like odour of the countless
blooms of the diosma. Happily there were sometimes more open places
along the bank devoid of vegetation, where the river flowed quietly,
and abounded in fish, and these enabled the hunter and his companion to
make better progress westward, so that by eleven o'clock they had gone
about four miles. The wind being in the west, the roar of the cataract
could not be heard at that distance, but on the other hand, all sounds
below the falls were very distinct. William Emery and the hunter, as
they stood, could see straight down the river for three or four miles.
Chalk cliffs, 200 feet high, overhung and shut in its bed on either
side.
"Let us stop and rest here," said the astronomer; "I haven't your
hunter's legs, Mokoum, and am more used to the starry paths of the
heavens than to those on terra firma; so let us have a rest; we can see
three or four miles down the river from here, and if the steamer should
turn that last bend we are sure to see it."
The young astronomer seated himself against a giant euphorbia, forty
feet high, and in that position looked down the river, while the
hunter, little used to sitting, continued to walk along the bank, and
Top roused up clouds of wild birds, to which, however, his master
gave no heed. They had been here about half an hour, when William
Emery noticed that Mokoum, who was standing about 100 feet below him,
gave signs of a closer attention. Was it likely that he had seen the
long-expected boat? The astronomer, leaving his mossy couch, started
for the spot where the hunter stood, and came up to him in a very few
moments.
"Do you see any thing, Mokoum?" he asked.
"I _see_ nothing, Mr. William," answered the bushman, "but it seems to
me that there is an unusual murmur down the river, different to the
natural sounds that are so familiar to my ears." And then, telling his
companion to be quiet, he lay down with his ear on the ground, and
listened attentively. In a few minutes he got up, and shaking his head,
said,--
"I was mistaken; the noise I thought I heard was nothing but the breeze
among the leaves or the murmur of the water over the stones at the
edge; and yet----"
The hunter listened again, but again heard nothing.
"Mokoum," then said Mr. William Emery, "if the noise you thought you
heard is caused by the machinery of a steamboat, you would hear better
by stooping to the level of the river; water always conducts sound more
clearly and quickly than air."
"You are right, Mr. William," answered Mokoum, "for more than once I
have found out the passage of a hippopotamus across the river in that
way."
The bushman went nimbly down the bank, clinging to the creepers and
tufts of grass on his way. When he got to the level of the river, he
went in to his knees, and stooping down, laid his ear close to the
water.
"Yes!" he exclaimed, in a few minutes, "I was not mistaken; there is a
sound, some miles down, as if the waters were being violently beaten;
it is a continual monotonous splashing which is introduced into the
current."
"Is it like a screw?" asked the astronomer.
"Perhaps it is, Mr. Emery; they are not far off."
William Emery did not hesitate to believe his companion's assertion,
for he knew that the hunter was endowed with great delicacy of sense,
whether he used his eyes, nose, or ears. Mokoum climbed up the bank
again, and they determined to wait in that place, as they could easily
see down the river from there. Half an hour passed, which to Emery, in
spite of his calmness, appeared interminable. Ever so many times he
fancied he saw the dim outline of a boat gliding along the water, but
he was always mistaken. At last an exclamation from the bushman made
his heart leap.
[Illustration: At length an exclamation of the Bushman made his heart
beat.]
"Smoke!" cried Mokoum.
Looking in the direction indicated by the bushman, Emery could just
see a light streak rolling round the bend of the river: there was
no longer any doubt. The vessel advanced rapidly, and he could soon
make out the funnel pouring forth a torrent of black smoke mingling
with white steam. They had evidently made up their fires to increase
their speed, so as to reach the appointed place on the exact day. The
vessel was still about seven miles from the Falls of Morgheda. It
was then twelve o'clock, and as it was not a good place for landing,
the astronomer determined to return to the foot of the cataract: he
told his plan to the hunter, who only answered by turning back along
the path he had just cleared along the left bank of the stream. Emery
followed, and, turning round for the last time at a bend in the river,
saw the British flag floating from the stern of the vessel. The return
to the falls was soon effected, and in an hour's time the bushman and
the astronomer halted a quarter of a mile below the cataract; for
there the shore, hollowed into a semicircle, formed a little creek,
and as the water was deep right up to the bank, the steamboat could
easily land its passengers. The vessel could not be far off now, and
it had certainly gained on the two pedestrians, although they had
walked so fast; it was not yet in sight, for the lofty trees which
hung quite over the river-banks into the water, and the slope of the
banks themselves, did not allow of an extensive view. But although
they could not hear the sound made by the steam, the shrill whistle
of the machinery broke in distinctly on the monotonous roar of the
cataract; and as this whistling continued, it was evident that it was
a signal from the boat to announce its arrival near the falls. The
hunter replied by letting off his gun, the report being repeated with a
crash by the echoes of the shore. At last the vessel was in sight, and
William Emery and his companion were seen by those on board. At a sign
from the astronomer the vessel turned, and glided quietly alongside the
bank; a rope was thrown ashore, which the bushman seized and twisted
round the broken stump of a tree, and immediately a tall man sprang
lightly on to the bank, and went towards the astronomer, whilst his
companions landed in their turn. William Emery also advanced to meet
the stranger, saying inquiringly, "Colonel Everest?"
"Mr. William Emery?" answered the Colonel.
The astronomer bowed and shook hands.
"Gentlemen," then said Colonel Everest, "let me introduce you to Mr.
William Emery, of the Cape Town Observatory, who has kindly come as far
as the Morgheda Falls to meet us."
[Illustration: Meeting of Members of the Expedition.]
Four of the passengers who stood near Colonel Everest bowed to the
young astronomer, who did the same; and then the Colonel, with his
British self-possession, introduced them officially, saying,--
"Mr. Emery, Sir John Murray, of the county of Devon, your
fellow-countryman; Mr. Matthew Strux, of the Poulkowa Observatory; Mr.
Nicholas Palander, of the Helsingfors Observatory; and Mr. Michael
Zorn, of the Kiew Observatory, three scientific gentlemen who represent
the Russian government in our international commission."
CHAPTER III.
THE LAND JOURNEY.
These introductions over, William Emery put himself at the disposal
of the new arrivals, for in his position of astronomer at the Cape,
he was inferior in rank to Colonel Everest, a delegate of the English
Government, and, with Matthew Strux, joint president of the commission.
He knew, as well, that he was a distinguished man of science,
famous for his reductions of the nebulæ and his calculations of the
occultations of the stars. He was a cold, methodical man, of about
fifty years of age, every hour of his life being portioned out with
mathematical accuracy. Nothing unforeseen ever happened to him, and his
punctuality in every thing was like that of the stars in passing the
meridian, and it might be said that all his doings were regulated by
the chronometer. William Emery knew all this, and had therefore never
doubted that the commission would arrive on the appointed day. During
this time he was waiting for the Colonel to tell him the object of this
mission to South Africa; but as he was still silent on the point,
Emery thought it better not to ask any questions, as very likely the
hour fixed in the Colonel's mind for the subject had not yet come.
Emery also knew by repute the wealthy Sir John Murray, who (almost
a rival to Sir James Ross and Lord Elgin) was, although without
office, an honour to England by his scientific labours. His pecuniary
sacrifices to science were likewise considerable, for he had devoted
£20,000 to the establishment of a giant reflector, a match for the
telescope at Parson Town, by whose means the elements of a number of
double stars had just been determined. He was a man of about forty
years of age, with an aristocratic bearing, but whose character it was
impossible to discover through his imperturbable exterior.
As to the three Russians, Strux, Palander, and Zorn, their names were
also well known to William Emery, although he was not personally
acquainted with them. Nicholas Palander and Michael Zorn paid a certain
amount of deference to Matthew Strux, as was due to his position, if it
had not been to his merit.
The only remark that Emery made was that they were in equal numbers,
three English and three Russians; and the crew of the "Queen and Czar"
(for that was the name of the steamboat) consisted of ten men, five
English and five Russians.
"Mr. Emery," said Colonel Everest, when the introductions were over,
"we are now as well acquainted as if we had travelled together from
London to Cape Voltas. Besides, your labours have already earned you a
just renown, and on that account I hold you in high esteem. It was at
my request that the English Government appointed you to assist in our
operations in South Africa."
William Emery bowed in acknowledgment, and thought that he was now
going to hear the object of the scientific commission to the southern
hemisphere; but still Colonel Everest did not explain it.
"Mr. Emery," he went on, "are your preparations complete?"
"Quite, Colonel," replied the astronomer. "According to the directions
in Mr. Airy's letter, I left Cape Town a month ago, and went to the
station at Lattakoo, and there I collected all the materials for an
expedition into the interior of Africa, provisions, waggons, horses,
and bushmen. There is an escort of 100 armed men waiting for you at
Lattakoo, and they will be under the command of a clever and celebrated
hunter, whom I now beg to present to you, the bushman Mokoum."
"The bushman Mokoum!" cried the Colonel (if his usual cold tone could
justify such a verb), "the bushman Mokoum! I know his name perfectly
well."
"It is the name of a clever, brave African," added Sir John Murray,
turning to the hunter, who was not at all discomposed by the grand airs
of the Europeans.
"The hunter Mokoum," said William Emery, as he introduced his companion.
[Illustration: "The Hunter Mokoum," said William Emery, presenting his
Companion.]
"Your name is well known in the United Kingdom, bushman," replied
Colonel Everest. "You were the friend of Anderson and the guide of
David Livingstone, whose friend I have the honour of being. I thank
you in the name of England, and I congratulate Mr. Emery on having
chosen you as the chief of our caravan. Such a hunter as you must be a
connoisseur of fire-arms, and as we have a very fair supply, I shall
beg you to take your choice of the one which will suit you the best; we
know that it will be in good hands."
A smile of satisfaction played round the bushman's lips, for although
he was no doubt gratified by the recognition of his services in
England, yet the Colonel's offer touched him the most: he then returned
thanks in polite terms, and stepped aside, while Emery and the
Europeans continued their conversation.
The young astronomer went through all the details of the expedition he
had prepared, and the Colonel seemed delighted. He was anxious to reach
Lattakoo as quickly as possible, as the caravan ought to start at the
beginning of March, after the rainy season.
"Will you be kind enough to decide how you will get to the town,
Colonel Everest?" said William Emery.
"By the Orange River, and one of its affluents, the Kuruman, which
flows close to Lattakoo."
"True," replied the astronomer, "but however well your vessel may
travel, it cannot possibly ascend the cataract of Morgheda!"
"We will go round the cataract, Mr. Emery," replied the Colonel, "and
by making a land journey of a few miles, we can re-embark above the
falls; and from there to Lattakoo, if I am not mistaken, the rivers are
navigable for a vessel that does not draw much water."
"No doubt, Colonel," answered William Emery, "but this steamboat is too
heavy...."
"Mr. Emery," interrupted the Colonel, "this vessel is a masterpiece
from Leard and Co's manufactory in Liverpool. It takes to pieces, and
is put together again with the greatest ease, a key and a few bolts
being all that is required by men used to the work. You brought a
waggon to the falls, did you not?"
"Yes, Colonel," answered Emery, "our encampment is not a mile away."
"Well, I must beg the bushman to have the waggon brought to the
landing-place, and it will then be loaded with the portions of the
vessel and its machinery, which also takes to pieces; and we shall then
get up to the spot where the Orange becomes navigable."
Colonel Everest's orders were obeyed. The bushman disappeared quickly
in the underwood, promising to be back in less than an hour, and
while he was gone, the steamboat was rapidly unloaded. The cargo was
not very considerable; it consisted of some cases of philosophical
instruments; a fair collection of guns of Purdey Moore's manufacture,
of Edinburgh; some kegs of brandy; some canisters of preserved meat;
cases of ammunition; portmanteaus reduced to the smallest size;
tent-cloths and all their utensils, looking as if they had come out
of a travelling-bazaar; a carefully packed gutta-percha canoe, which
took up no more room than a well-folded counterpane; some materials
for encamping, &c., &c.; and lastly, a fan-shaped mitrailleuse, a
machine not then brought to perfection, but formidable enough to
terrify any enemy who might come across their path. All these were
placed on the bank; and the engine, of 8-horse power, was divided
into three parts: the boiler and its tubes; the mechanism, which was
parted from the boiler by a turn of a key; and the screw attached to
the false stern-post. When these had been successively carried away,
the inside of the vessel was left free. Besides the space reserved for
the machinery and the stores, it was divided into a fore-cabin for the
use of the crew, and an aft-cabin, occupied by Colonel Everest and his
companions. In the twinkling of an eye the partitions vanished, all the
chests and bedsteads were lifted out, and now the vessel was reduced to
a mere shell, thirty-five feet long, and composed of three parts,
like the "Mâ-Robert," the steam-vessel used by Dr. Livingstone in his
first voyage up the Zambesi. It was made of galvanized steel, so that
it was light, and at the same time resisting. The bolts, which fastened
the plates over a framework of the same metal, kept them firm, and
also prevented the possibility of a leakage. William Emery was truly
astounded at the simplicity of the work and the rapidity with which
it was executed. The waggon, under the guidance of Mokoum and the two
Bochjesmen, had only arrived an hour when they were ready to load it.
This waggon, rather a primitive vehicle, was mounted on four massive
wheels, each couple being about twenty feet apart; it was a regular
American "car" in length. This clumsy machine, with its creaking
axles projecting a good foot beyond the wheels, was drawn by six tame
buffaloes, two and two, who were extremely sensitive to the long goad
carried by their driver. It required nothing less than such beasts
as these to move the vehicle when heavily laden, for in spite of the
adroitness of the "leader," it stuck in the mire more than once. The
crew of the "Queen and Czar" now proceeded to load the waggon so as to
balance it well every where. The dexterity of sailors is proverbial,
and the lading of the vehicle was like play to the brave men. They laid
the larger pieces of the boat on the strongest part of the waggon,
immediately over the axles of the wheels, so that the cases, chests,
barrels, and the lighter and more fragile packages easily found room
between them. As to the travellers themselves, a four miles' walk was
nothing to them. By three o'clock the loading was finished, and Colonel
Everest gave the signal for starting. He and his companions, with
William Emery as guide, took the lead, while the bushman, the crew,
and the drivers of the waggon followed more slowly. They performed the
journey without fatigue, for the slopes that led to the upper course
of the Orange made their road easy, by making it longer, and this was
a happy thing for the heavily-laden waggon, as it would thus reach its
goal more surely, if more slowly.
[Illustration: All these Objects were deposited on the Beach.]
The different members of the commission clambered lightly up the side
of the hill, and the conversation became general, but there was still
no mention of the object of the expedition. The Europeans were admiring
the splendid scenes that were opened to their view, for this grand
nature, so beautiful in its wildness, charmed them as it had charmed
the young astronomer, and their voyage had not yet surfeited them with
the natural beauties of this African region, though they admired every
thing with a quiet admiration, and, English-like, would not do any
thing that might seem "improper." However, the cataract drew forth some
graceful applause, and although they clapped perhaps with only the tips
of their fingers, yet it was enough to show that "nil admirari" was
not quite their motto. Besides, William Emery thought it his duty to
do the honours of South Africa to his guests; for he was at home, and
like certain over-enthusiastic citizens, he did not spare a detail of
his African park. Towards half-past four they had passed the cataract
of Morgheda, and being now on level ground, the upper part of the river
lay before them as far as their eye could reach, and they encamped on
the bank to await the arrival of the waggon. It appeared at the top of
the hill about five o'clock, having accomplished the journey in safety,
and Colonel Everest ordered it to be unloaded immediately, announcing
that they were to start at daybreak the next morning. All the night
was passed in different occupations. The shell of the vessel was put
together again in less than an hour; then the machinery of the screw
was put into its place; the metal partitions were fixed between the
cabins; the store-rooms were refurnished, and the different packages
neatly arranged on board, and every thing done so quickly that it told
a great deal in favour of the crew of the "Queen and Czar." These
Englishmen and Russians were picked men, clever and well disciplined,
and thoroughly to be depended on. The next day, the 1st of February,
the boat was ready to receive its passengers at daybreak. Already there
was a volume of black smoke pouring from the funnel, and the engineer,
to put the machinery in motion, was causing jets of white steam to
fly across the smoke. The machine being at high pressure, without a
condenser, the steam escaped at every stroke of the piston, according
to the system applied to locomotives; and as to the boiler, with its
ingeniously contrived tubes, presenting a large surface to the furnace,
it only required half an hour to furnish a sufficient quantity of
steam. They had laid in a good stock of ebony and guiacum, which were
plentiful in the neighbourhood, and they were now lighting the great
fire with this valuable wood.
At six o'clock Colonel Everest gave the signal for starting, and
passengers and crew went on board the "Queen and Czar." The hunter,
who was acquainted with the course of the river, followed, leaving the
two Bochjesmen to take the waggon back to Lattakoo. Just as the vessel
was slipping its cable, Colonel Everest turned to the astronomer, and
said,--
"By-the-bye, Mr. Emery, you know why we have come here?"
"I have not the least idea, Colonel."
"It is very simple, Mr. Emery: we have come to measure an arc of
meridian in South Africa."
CHAPTER IV.
A FEW WORDS ABOUT THE "MÈTRE."
The idea of an invariable and constant system of measurement, of
which nature herself should furnish the exact value, may be said to
have existed in the mind of man from the earliest ages. It was of the
highest importance, however, that this measurement should be accurately
determined, whatever had been the cataclysms of which our earth had
been the scene, and it is certain that the ancients felt the same,
though they failed in methods and appliances for carrying out the
work with sufficient accuracy. The best way of obtaining a constant
measurement was to connect it with the terrestrial sphere, whose
circumference must be considered as invariable, and then to measure
the whole or part of that circumference mathematically. The ancients
had tried to do this, and Aristotle, according to some contemporary
philosophers, reckoned that the stadium, or Egyptian cubit, formed
the hundred-thousandth part of the distance between the pole and the
equator, and Eratosthenes, in the time of the Ptolemies, calculated
the value of a degree along the Nile, between Syene and Alexandria,
pretty correctly; but Posidonius and Ptolemy were not sufficiently
accurate in the same kind of geodetic operations that they undertook;
neither were their successors.
Picard, for the first time in France, began to regulate the methods
that were used for measuring a degree, and in 1669, by measuring the
celestial and terrestrial arcs between Paris and Amiens, found that
a degree was equal to 57,060 toises, equivalent to 364,876 English
feet, or about 69.1 miles. Picard's measurement was continued either
way across the French territory as far as Dunkirk and Collioure by
Dominic Cassini and Lahire (1683-1718), and it was verified in 1739,
from Dunkirk to Perpignan, by Francis Cassini and Lacaille; and at
length Méchain carried it as far as Barcelona in Spain; but after
his death (for he succumbed to the fatigue attending his operations)
the measurement of the meridian in France was interrupted until it
was subsequently taken up by Arago and Biot in 1807. These two men
prolonged it as far as the Balearic Isles, so that the arc now extended
from Dunkirk to Formentera, being equally divided by the parallel of
lat. 45° N., half way between the pole and the equator; and under
these conditions it was not necessary to take the depression of the
earth into account in order to find the value of the quadrant of the
meridian. This measurement gave 57,025 toises as the mean value of an
arc of a degree in France.
It can be seen that up to that time Frenchmen especially had undertaken
to determine that delicate point, and it was likewise the French
Convention that, according to Talleyrand's proposition, passed a
resolution in 1790, charging the Academy of Sciences to invent an
invariable system of weights and measures. Just at that time the
statement signed by the illustrious names of Borda, Lagrange, Laplace,
Monge, and Condorcet, proposed that the unit of measure should be the
_mètre_, the ten-millionth part of the quadrant of the meridian; and
that the unit of weight should be the _gramme_, a cubic centimètre
of distilled water at the freezing-point; and that the multiples and
subdivisions of every measure should be formed decimally.
Later, the determinations of the value of a terrestrial degree were
carried on in different parts of the world, for the earth being not
spherical, but elliptic, it required much calculation to find the
depression at the poles.
In 1736, Maupertuis, Clairaut, Camus, Lemonnier, Outhier, and the
Swedish Celsius measured a northern arc in Lapland, and found the
length of an arc of a degree to be 57,419 toises. In 1745, La
Condamine, Bouguer, and Godin, set sail for Peru, where they were
joined by the Spanish officers Juan and Antonio Ulloa, and they then
found that the Peruvian arc contained 56,737 toises.
In 1752, Lacaille reported 57,037 toises as the length of the arc he
had measured at the Cape of Good Hope.
In 1754, Father Boscowitch and Father le Maire began a survey of the
Papal States, and in the course of their operations found the arc
between Rome and Rimini to be 56,973 toises.
In 1762 and 1763, Beccaria reckoned the degree in Piedmont at 57,468
toises, and in 1768, the astronomers Mason and Dixon, in North America,
on the confines of Maryland and Pennsylvania, found that the value of
the degree in America was 56,888 toises.
Since the beginning of the 19th century numbers of other arcs have been
measured, in Bengal, the East Indies, Piedmont, Finland, Courland,
East Prussia, Denmark, &c., but the English and Russians were less
active than other nations in trying to decide this delicate point,
their principal geodetic operation being that undertaken by General Roy
in 1784, for the purpose of determining the difference of longitude
between Paris and Greenwich.
It may be concluded from all the above-mentioned measurements that the
mean value of a degree is 57,000 toises, or 25 ancient French leagues,
and by multiplying this mean value by the 360 degrees contained in the
circumference, it is found that the earth measures 9000 leagues round.
But, as may be seen from the figures above, the measurements of the
different arcs in different parts of the world do not quite agree.
Nevertheless, by taking this average of 57,000 toises for the value of
a degree, the value of the mètre, that is to say, the ten-millionth
part of the quadrant of the meridian, may be deduced, and is found to
be 0.513074 of the whole line, or 39.37079 English inches. In reality,
this value is rather too small, for later calculations (taking into
account the depression of the earth at the poles, which is 1/(299.15)
and not 1/134, as was thought at first) now give nearly 10,000,856
mètres instead of 10,000,000 for the length of the quadrant of the
meridian. The difference of 856 mètres is hardly noticeable in such a
long distance; but nevertheless, mathematically speaking, it cannot be
said that the mètre, as it is now used, represents the ten-millionth
part of the quadrant of the terrestrial meridian exactly; there is an
error of about 1/5000 of a line, i.e. 1/5000 of the twelfth part of an
inch.
The mètre, thus determined, was still not adopted by all the civilized
nations. Belgium, Spain, Piedmont, Greece, Holland, the old Spanish
colonies, the republics of the Equator, New Granada, and Costa Rica,
took a fancy to it immediately; but notwithstanding the evident
superiority of this metrical system to every other, England had refused
to use it. Perhaps if it had not been for the political disturbances
which arose at the close of the 18th century, the inhabitants of
the United Kingdom would have accepted the system, for when the
Constituent Assembly issued its decree on the 8th of May, 1790, the
members of the Royal Society in England were invited to co-operate
with the French Academicians. They had to decide whether the measure
of the mètre should be founded on the length of the pendulum that
beats the sexagesimal second, or whether they should take a fraction
of one of the great circles of the earth for a unit of length; but
events prevented the proposed conference, and so it was not until
the year 1854 that England, having long seen the advantage of the
metrical system, and that scientific and commercial societies were
being founded to spread the reform, resolved to adopt it. But still
the English Government wished to keep their resolution a secret until
the new geodetic operations that they had commenced should enable them
to assign a more correct value to the terrestrial degree, and they
thought they had better act in concert with the Russian Government,
who were also hesitating about adopting the system. A Commission of
three Englishmen and three Russians was therefore chosen from among
the most eminent members of the scientific societies, and we have seen
that they were Colonel Everest, Sir John Murray, and William Emery,
for England; and Matthew Strux, Nicholas Palander, and Michael Zorn,
for Russia. The international Commission having met in London, decided
first of all that the measure of an arc of meridian should be taken in
the Southern hemisphere, and that another arc should subsequently be
measured in the Northern hemisphere, so that from the two operations
they might hope to deduce an exact value which should satisfy all the
conditions of the programme. It now remained to choose between the
different English possessions in the Southern hemisphere, Cape Colony,
Australia, and New Zealand. The two last, lying quite at the antipodes
of Europe, would involve the Commission in a long voyage, and, besides,
the Maoris and Australians, who were often at war with their invaders,
might render the proposed operation difficult; while Cape Colony, on
the contrary, offered real advantages. In the first place, it was under
the same meridian as parts of European Russia, so that after measuring
an arc of meridian in South Africa, they could measure a second one
in the empire of the Czar, and still keep their operations a secret;
secondly, the voyage from England to South Africa was comparatively
short; and thirdly, these English and Russian philosophers would find
an excellent opportunity there of analyzing the labours of the French
astronomer Lacaille, who had worked in the same place, and of proving
whether he was correct in giving 57,037 toises as the measurement of a
degree of meridian at the Cape of Good Hope. It was therefore decided
that the geodetic operation should be commenced at the Cape, and as the
two Governments approved of the decision, large credits were opened,
and two sets of all the instruments required in a triangulation
were manufactured. The astronomer William Emery was asked to make
preparations for an exploration in the interior of South Africa, and
the frigate "Augusta," of the royal navy, received orders to convey the
members of the Commission and their suite to the mouth of the Orange
River.
It should here be added, that besides the scientific question,
there was also a question of national vainglory that excited these
philosophers to join in a common labour; for, in reality, they were
anxious to out-do France in her numerical calculations, and to surpass
in precision the labours of her most illustrious astronomers, and that
in the heart of a savage and almost unknown land. Thus the members of
the Anglo-Russian Commission had resolved to sacrifice every thing,
even their lives, in order to obtain a result that should be favourable
to science, and at the same time glorious for their country. And this
is how it came to pass that the astronomer William Emery found himself
at the Morgheda Falls, on the banks of the Orange River, at the end of
January, 1854.
CHAPTER V.
A HOTTENTOT VILLAGE.
The voyage along the upper course of the river was soon accomplished,
and although the weather soon became rainy, the passengers, comfortably
installed in the ship's cabin, suffered no inconvenience from the
torrents of rain which usually fall at that season. The "Queen and
Czar" shot along rapidly, for there were neither rapids nor shallows,
and the current was not sufficiently strong to retard her progress.
Every aspect of the river-banks was enchanting; forest followed upon
forest, and quite a world of birds dwell among the leafy branches.
Here and there were groups of trees belonging to the family of
the "proteaceæ," and especially the "wagenboom" with its reddish
marbled-wood, forming a curious contrast with its deep blue leaves and
large pale yellow flowers: then there were the "zwarte-basts" with
their black bark, and the "karrees" with dark evergreen foliage. The
banks were shaded every where by weeping willows, while the underwood
extended beyond for several miles. Every now and then vast open
tracks presented themselves unexpectedly, large plains, covered with
innumerable colocynths, mingled with "sugar-bushes," out of which
flew clouds of sweet-singing little birds, called "suiker-vogels" by
the Cape colonists. The winged world offered many varieties, all of
which were pointed out to Sir John Murray by the bushman. Sir John was
a great lover of game, both hairy and feathered, and thus a sort of
intimacy arose between him and Mokoum, to whom, according to Colonel
Everest's promise, he had given an excellent long-range rifle, made
on the Pauly system. It would be useless to attempt a description of
the bushman's delight when he found himself in possession of such
a splendid weapon. The two hunters understood each other well, for
though so learned, Sir John Murray passed for one of the most brilliant
fox-hunters in old Caledonia, and he listened to the bushman's stories
with an interest amounting to envy. His eyes sparkled when Mokoum
showed him the wild ruminants in the woods; here a herd of fifteen
to twenty giraffes; there, buffaloes six feet high, with towering
black horns: farther on, fierce gnus with horses' tails; and again,
herds of "caamas," a large kind of deer, with bright eyes, and horns
forming a threatening-looking triangle; and every where, in the dense
forests as well as in the open plains, the innumerable varieties of
antelopes which abound in Southern Africa; the spurious chamois, the
gems-bok, the gazelle, the duiker-bok, and the spring-bok. Was not
all this something to tempt a hunter, and could the fox-hunts of the
Scottish lowlands vie with the exploits of a Cumming, an Anderson, or
a Baldwin? It must be confessed that Sir John Murray's companions were
less excited than himself at these magnificent specimens of wild game.
William Emery was watching his colleagues attentively, and trying to
discover their character under their cold exterior. Colonel Everest
and Matthew Strux, men of about the same age, were equally cold,
reserved, and formal; they always spoke with a measured slowness, and
from morning to night it seemed as if they had never met before. That
any intimacy should ever be established between two such important
personages was a thing not to be hoped for; two icebergs, placed side
by side would join in time, but two scientific men, each holding a high
position, never.
Nicholas Palander, a man of about fifty-five years of age, was one
of those who have never been young, and who will never be old. The
astronomer of Helsingfors, constantly absorbed in his calculations,
might be a very admirably constructed machine, but still he was nothing
but a machine, a kind of abacus, or universal reckoner. He was the
calculator of the Anglo-Russian Commission, and one of those prodigies
who work out multiplications to five figures in their head, like a
fifty-year-old Mondeux.
Michael Zorn more nearly resembled William Emery in age, enthusiasm,
and good humour. His amiable qualities did not prevent his being an
astronomer of great merit, having attained an early celebrity. The
discoveries made by him at the Kiew Observatory concerning the nebula
of Andromeda had attracted attention in scientific Europe, and yet with
this undoubted merit he had a great deal of modesty, and was always
in the background. William Emery and Michael Zorn were becoming great
friends, united by the same tastes and aspirations; and most generally
they were talking together, while Colonel Everest and Matthew Strux
were coldly watching each other, and Palander was mentally extracting
cube roots without noticing the lovely scenes on the banks, and Sir
John Murray and the bushman were forming plans for hunting down whole
hecatombs of victims.
No incident marked the voyage along the upper course of the Orange.
Sometimes the granite cliffs which shut in the winding bed of the
river seemed to forbid further progress, and often the wooded islands
which dotted the current seemed to render the route uncertain; but
the bushman never hesitated, and the "Queen and Czar" always chose
the right route, and passed round the cliffs without hindrance. The
helmsman never had to repent of having followed Mokoum's directions.
In four days the steamboat had passed over the 240 miles between the
cataract of Morgheda and the Kuruman, an affluent which flowed exactly
past the town of Lattakoo, whither Colonel Everest's expedition was
bound. About thirty leagues above the falls the river bends from its
general direction, which is east and west, and flows south-east as
far as the acute angle which the territory of Cape Colony makes in
the north, and then turning to the north-east, it loses itself in the
wooded country of the Transvaal Republic. It was early in the morning
of the 5th of February, in a driving rain, that the "Queen and Czar"
arrived at Klaarwater, a Hottentot village, close to the meeting of the
Orange and Kuruman. Colonel Everest, unwilling to lose a moment, passed
quickly by the few Bochjesmen cabins that form the village, and under
the pressure of her screw, the vessel began to ascend the affluent.
The rapid current was to be attributed, as the passengers remarked, to
a peculiarity in the river, for the Kuruman being wide at its source,
was lessened as it descended by the influence of the sun's rays; but at
this season, swollen by the rains, and further increased by the waters
of a sub-affluent, the Moschona, it became very deep and rapid. The
fires were therefore made up, and the vessel ascended the Kuruman at
the rate of three miles an hour.
During the voyage the bushman pointed out a good many hippopotami in
the water; but these great pachyderms, clumsy, thickset beasts, from
eight to ten feet long, which the Dutch at the Cape call "sea-cows,"
were by no means of an aggressive nature, and the hissing of the steam
and the panting of the screw quite frightened them, the boat appearing
to them like some great monster which they ought to distrust, and in
fact, the arsenal on board would have rendered approach very difficult.
Sir John Murray would have very much liked to try his explosive bullets
on the fleshy masses, but the bushman assured him that there would be
no lack of hippopotami in the more northerly rivers, so he determined
to wait for a more favourable opportunity.
The 150 miles which separated the mouth of the Kuruman from the station
of Lattakoo were traversed in fifty hours, and on the 7th of February
the travellers had reached the end of their journey. As soon as the
steamboat was moored to the bank which served as a quay, a man of fifty
years of age, with a grave air but kind countenance, stepped on board,
and offered his hand to William Emery. The astronomer introduced the
new-comer to his travelling companions, as--
"The Rev. Thomas Dale, of the London Missionary Society, Governor of
the station of Lattakoo."
The Europeans bowed to Mr. Dale, who gave them welcome, and put himself
at their service.
The town of Lattakoo, or rather the village of that name, is the
most northerly of the Cape Missionary stations, and is divided into
Old and New. The first, which the "Queen and Czar" now reached, had
12,000 inhabitants at the beginning of the century, but they have
since emigrated to the north-east, and the town, now fallen into
decay, has been replaced by New Lattakoo, which is built close by, on
a plain which was formerly covered with acacias, and thither Mr. Dale
conducted the Europeans. It consisted of about forty groups of houses,
and contained 5000 or 6000 inhabitants of the tribe of the Bechuanas.
Dr. Livingstone stayed in this town for three months before his first
voyage up the Zambesi in 1840, previously to crossing the whole of
Central Africa, from the bay of Loanda to the port of Kilmana on the
coast of Mozambique.
When they reached New Lattakoo, Colonel Everest presented a letter
from Dr. Livingstone, which commended the Anglo-Russian Commission to
his friends in South Africa. Mr. Dale read it with much pleasure, and
returned it to the Colonel, saying that he might find it useful on
his journey, as the name of David Livingstone was known and honoured
throughout that part of Africa.
The members of the Commission were lodged in the missionary
establishment, a large house built on an eminence and surrounded by
an impenetrable hedge like a fortification. The Europeans could be
more comfortably lodged here than with the Bechuanas; not that their
dwellings were not kept properly in order; on the contrary, the smooth
clay floors did not show a particle of dust, and the long-thatched
roofs were quite rain-proof; but at best, their houses were little
better than huts with a round hole for a door, hardly large enough to
admit a man; moreover, they all lived in common, and close contact
with the Bechuanas would scarcely have been agreeable.
[Illustration: The Mission Home Establishment.]
The chief of the tribe, one Moulibahan, lived at Lattakoo, and thought
it right to come and pay his respects to the Europeans. He was rather
a fine man, without the thick lips and flat nose of the negro, with
a round face not so shrunken in its lower part as that of the other
Hottentots. He was dressed in a cloak of skins, sewn together with
considerable art, and an apron called a "pujoke." He wore a leather
skull-cap, and sandals of ox-hide: ivory rings were wound round his
arms, and from his ears hung brass plates about four inches long--a
kind of ear-ring--which is also a charm; an antelope's tail stood
up in his skull-cap, and his hunting-stick was surmounted by a tuft
of small black ostrich feathers. The natural colour of his body was
quite invisible through the thick coating of ochre with which he was
besmeared from head to foot, while some ineffaceable incisions in his
legs denoted the number of enemies he had slain.
[Illustration: Chief Moulibahan.]
The chief, as grave as Matthew Strux himself, stepped up to the
Europeans, and took them in turn by the nose. The Russians permitted
this to be done quite gravely, the English rather more reluctantly, but
still it had to be done, for according to African custom, it denoted a
solemn engagement to fulfil the duties of hospitality to the Europeans.
When the ceremony was over, Moulibahan retired without having uttered a
word.
"And now that we are naturalized Bechuanas," said Colonel Everest, "let
us begin our operations without losing a day or an hour."
And indeed no time was lost; still, such is the variety of detail
required in the organization of an expedition of this character, the
Commission was not ready to start until the beginning of March. That,
however, was the time appointed by Colonel Everest; because then the
rainy season just being over, the water, preserved in the fissures
of the earth, would furnish a valuable resource to travellers in the
desert.
On the 2nd of March, then, the whole caravan, under Mokoum's command,
was ready. The Europeans took farewell of the missionaries at Lattakoo,
and left the village at seven o'clock in the morning.
"Where are we going, Colonel?" asked William Emery, as the caravan
passed the last house in the town.
"Straight on, Mr. Emery," answered the Colonel, "until we reach a
suitable place for establishing a base."
At eight o'clock the caravan had passed over the low shrubby hills
which skirt the town, and soon the desert, with its dangers, fatigues,
and risks, lay unfolded before the travellers.
CHAPTER VI.
BETTER ACQUAINTANCE.
The escort under the bushman's command was composed of 100 men, all
Bochjesmen--an industrious, good-tempered people, capable of enduring
great physical fatigue. In former times, before the arrival of the
missionaries, these Bochjesmen were a lying, inhospitable race,
thinking of nothing but murder and pillage, and ever taking advantage
of an enemy's sleep to massacre him. To a great extent the missionaries
have modified these barbarous habits, but the natives are still more or
less farm-pillagers and cattle-lifters.
Ten waggons, like the vehicle which Mokoum had taken to the Morgheda
Falls, formed the bulk of the expedition. Two of these were like moving
houses, fitted up as they were with a certain amount of comfort, and
served as an encampment for the Europeans; so that Colonel Everest
and his companions were followed about by a wooden habitation with
dry flooring, and well tilted with water-proof cloth, and furnished
with beds and toilet furniture. Thus, on arriving at each place of
encampment, the tent was always ready pitched. Of these waggons, one
was appropriated to Colonel Everest and his countrymen, Sir John Murray
and William Emery: the other was used by the Russians, Matthew Strux,
Nicholas Palander, and Michael Zorn. Two more, arranged in the same
way, belonged, one to the five Englishmen and the other to the five
Russians who composed the crew of the "Queen and Czar."
The hull and machinery of the steamboat, taken to pieces and laid on
one of the waggons, followed the travellers, in case the Commission
might come across some of the numerous lakes which are found in the
interior of the continent.
The remaining waggons carried the tools, provisions, baggage, arms,
and ammunition, as well as the instruments required for the proposed
triangular survey. The provisions of the Bochjesmen consisted
principally of antelope, buffalo, or elephant meat, preserved in long
strips, being dried in the sun or by a slow fire: thus economizing the
use of salt, here very scarce. In the place of bread, the Bochjesmen
depended on the earth-nuts of the arachis, the bulbs of various species
of mesembryanthemums, and other native productions. Animal food would
be provided by the hunters of the party, who, adroitly employing their
bows and lances, would scour the plains and revictual the caravan.
Six native oxen, long-legged, high-shouldered, and with great horns,
were attached to each waggon with harness of buffalo hide. Thus the
primitive vehicles moved slowly though surely on their massive wheels,
ready alike for heights or valleys. For the travellers to ride there
were provided small black or grey Spanish horses, good-tempered, brave
animals, imported from South America, and much esteemed at the Cape.
Among the troops of quadrupeds were also half-a-dozen tame quaggas, a
kind of ass with plump bodies and slender legs, who make a noise like
the barking of a dog. They were to be used in the smaller expeditions
necessary to the geodetic operations, and were adapted to carry the
instruments where the waggons could not venture. The only exception to
the others was the bushman, who rode a splendid zebra with remarkable
grace and dexterity. This animal (the beauty of whose coat with its
brown stripes especially excited the admiration of the connoisseur
Sir John Murray) was naturally defiant and suspicious, and would not
have borne any other rider than Mokoum, who had broken it in for his
own use. Some dogs of a half-savage breed, sometimes wrongly called
"hyena-hunters," ran by the side of the waggons, their shape and long
ears reminding one of the European brach-hound.
Such was the caravan which was about to bury itself in the deserts.
The oxen advanced calmly under the guidance of their drivers, ever
and again pricking them in the flank with their "jambox;" and it was
strange to see the troop winding along the hills in marching order.
After leaving Lattakoo, whither was the expedition going? Colonel
Everest had said, "Straight on;" and indeed he and Matthew Strux could
not yet follow a fixed course. What they wanted, before commencing
their trigonometrical operations, was a vast level plain, on which
to establish the base of the first of the triangles, which, like a
network, were to cover for several degrees the southern part of Africa.
The Colonel explained to the bushman what he wanted, and with the
calmness of one to whom scientific language is familiar, talked to him
of triangles, adjacent angles, bases, meridians, zenith distances, and
the like. Mokoum let him go on for a few moments, then interrupted him
with an impatient movement, saying, "Colonel, I don't know any thing
about your angles, bases, and meridians. I don't understand even in
the least what you are going to do in the desert: but that is your
business. You are asking for a large level plain; oh well, I can find
you that."
And at his orders, the caravan, having just ascended the Lattakoo
hills, turned down again towards the south-west. This took them rather
more to the south of the village, towards the plain watered by the
Kuruman, and here the bushman expected to find a suitable place for the
Colonel's plans. From that day, he always took the head of the caravan.
Sir John Murray, well mounted, never left him, and from time to time
the report of a gun made his colleagues aware that he was making
acquaintance with the African game. The Colonel, quite absorbed in
contemplating the difficulties of the expedition, let his horse carry
him on. Matthew Strux, sometimes on horseback, sometimes in the waggon,
according to the nature of the ground, seldom opened his lips. Nicholas
Palander, as bad a rider as could be, was generally on foot; at other
times he shut himself up in his vehicle, and there lost himself in the
profoundest mathematical abstractions.
Although William Emery and Michael Zorn occupied separate waggons at
night, they were always together when the caravan was on the march.
Every day and every incident of the journey bound them in a closer
friendship. From one stage to another they rode, talked, and argued
together. Sometimes they fell behind the train, and sometimes rode on
several miles ahead of it, when the plain extended as far as they could
see. They were free here and lost amidst the wildness of nature. How
they forgot figures and problems, calculations and observations, and
chatted of every thing but science! They were no longer astronomers
contemplating the starry firmament, but were more like two youths
escaped from school, revelling in the dense forests and boundless
plains. They laughed like ordinary mortals. Both of them had excellent
dispositions, open, amiable, and devoted, forming a strange contrast to
Colonel Everest and Matthew Strux, who were formal, not to say stiff.
These two chiefs were often the subject of their conversation, and
Emery learnt a good deal about them from his friend.
[Illustration: William Emery and Michael Zorn in advance of the
Expedition.]
"Yes," said Michael Zorn, that day, "I watched them well on board the
'Augusta,' and I profess I think they are jealous of each other. And if
Colonel Everest appears to be at the head of things, Matthew Strux is
not less than his equal: the Russian Government has clearly established
his position. One chief is as imperious as the other; and besides, I
tell you again, there is the worst of all jealousy between them, the
jealousy of the learned."
"And that for which there is the least occasion," answered Emery,
"because in discoveries every thing has its value, and each one derives
equal benefit. But, my dear Zorn, if, as I believe, your observations
are correct, it is unfortunate for our expedition: in such a work there
ought to be a perfect understanding."
"No doubt," replied Zorn, "and I fear that that understanding does
not exist. Think of our confusion, if every detail, the choice of a
base, the method of calculating, the position of the stations, the
verification of the figures, opens a fresh discussion every time!
Unless I am much mistaken I forbode a vast deal of quibbling when we
come to compare our registers, and the observations we shall have made
to the minutest fraction."
"You frighten me," said Emery. "It would be sorrowful to carry an
enterprise of this kind so far, and then to fail for want of concord.
Let us hope that your fears may not be realized."
"I hope they may not," answered the young Russian; "but I say again, I
assisted at certain scientific discussions on the voyage, which showed
me that both Colonel Everest and his rival are undeniably obstinate,
and that at heart there is a miserable jealousy between them."
"But these two gentlemen are never apart," observed Emery. "You never
find one without the other; they are as inseparable as ourselves."
"True," replied Zorn, "they are never apart all daylong, but then they
never exchange ten words: they only keep watch on each other. If one
doesn't manage to annihilate the other, we shall indeed work under
deplorable conditions."
"And for yourself," asked William, hesitatingly, "which of the two
would you wish--"
"My dear William," replied Zorn with much frankness, "I shall loyally
accept him as chief who can command respect as such. This is a question
of science, and I have no prejudice in the matter. Matthew Strux and
the Colonel are both remarkable and worthy men: England and Russia
should profit equally from their labours; therefore it matters little
whether the work is directed by an Englishman or a Russian. Are you not
of my opinion?"
"Quite," answered Emery; "therefore do not let us be distracted by
absurd prejudices, and let us as far as possible use our efforts for
the common good. Perhaps it will be possible to ward off the blows
of the two adversaries; and besides there is your fellow countryman,
Nicholas Palander----"
"He!" laughed Zorn, "he will neither see, hear, nor comprehend any
thing! He would make calculations to any extent; but he is neither
Russian, Prussian, English, or Chinese; he is not even an inhabitant of
this sublunary sphere; he is Nicholas Palander, that's all."
"I cannot say the same for my countryman, Sir John Murray," said Emery.
"He is a thorough Englishman, and a most determined hunter, and he
would sooner follow the traces of an elephant and giraffe than give
himself any trouble about a scientific argument. We must therefore
depend upon ourselves, Zorn, to neutralize the antipathy between our
chiefs. Whatever happens, we must hold together."
"Ay, whatever happens," replied Zorn, holding out his hand to his
friend.
The bushman still continued to guide the caravan down towards the
south-west. At midday, on the 4th of March, it reached the base of
the long wooded hills which extend from Lattakoo. Mokoum was not
mistaken; he had led the expedition towards the plain, but it was still
undulated, and therefore unfitted for an attempt at triangulation.
The march continued uninterrupted, and Mokoum rode at the head of the
riders and waggons, while Sir John Murray, Emery, and Zorn pushed on
in advance. Towards the end of the day, they all arrived at a station
occupied by one of the wandering "boers," or farmers, who are induced
by the richness of the pasture-land to make temporary abodes in various
parts of the country.
[Illustration: The Bushman pointing to the Plain.]
The colonist, a Dutchman, and head of a large family, received
the Colonel and his companions most hospitably, and would take no
remuneration in return. He was one of those brave, industrious men,
whose slender capital, intelligently employed in the breeding of
oxen, cows, and goats, soon produces a fortune. When the pasturage is
exhausted, the farmer, like a patriarch of old, seeks for new springs
and fertile prairies, pitching his camp afresh where the conditions
seem favourable.
The farmer opportunely told Colonel Everest of a wide plain, fifteen
miles away, which would be found quite flat. The caravan started next
morning at daybreak. The only incident that broke the monotony of the
long morning march, was Sir John Murray's taking a shot, at a distance
of more than 1000 yards, at a gnu, a curious animal about five feet
high, with the muzzle of an ox, a long white tail, and pointed horns.
It fell with a heavy groan, much to the astonishment of the bushman,
who was surprised at seeing the animal struck at such a distance. The
gnu generally affords a considerable quantity of excellent meat, and
was accordingly in high esteem among the hunters of the caravan.
The site indicated by the farmer was reached about midday. It was
a boundless prairie stretching to the north without the slightest
undulation. No better spot for measuring a base could be imagined,
and the bushman, after a short investigation, returned to Colonel
Everest with the announcement that they had reached the place they were
seeking.
CHAPTER VII.
THE BASE OF THE TRIANGLE.
The work undertaken by the Commission was a triangulation for the
purpose of measuring an arc of meridian. Now the direct measurement
of one or more degrees by means of metal rods would be impracticable.
In no part of the world is there a region so vast and unbroken as to
admit of so delicate an operation. Happily, there is an easier way of
proceeding by dividing the region through which the meridian passes
into a number of imaginary triangles, whose solution is comparatively
easy.
These triangles are obtained by observing signals, either natural or
artificial, such as church-towers, posts, or reverberatory lamps, by
means of the theodolite or repeating-circle. Every signal is the vertex
of a triangle, whose angles are exactly determined by the instruments,
so that a good observer with a proper telescope can take the bearings
of any object whatever, a tower by day, or a lamp by night. Sometimes
the sides of the triangles are many miles in length, and when Arago
connected the coast of Valencia in Spain with the Balearic Islands,
one of the sides measured 422,555 toises. When one side and two angles
of any triangle are known, the other sides and angle maybe found; by
taking, therefore, a side of one of the known triangles for a new base,
and by measuring the angles adjacent to the base, new triangles can be
successively formed along the whole length of the arc; and since every
straight line in the network of triangles is known, the length of the
arc can be easily determined. The values of the sides and angles may be
obtained by the theodolite and repeating circle, but the _first_ side,
the base of the whole system, must be actually measured on the ground,
and this operation requires the utmost care.
When Delambre and Méchain measured the meridian of France from Dunkirk
to Barcelona, they took for their base a straight line, 12,150 mètres
in length, in the road from Melun to Lieusaint, and they were no
less than 42 days in measuring it. Colonel Everest and Matthew Strux
designed proceeding in the same way, and it will be seen how much
precision was necessary.
The work was begun on the 5th of March, much to the astonishment of
the Bochjesmen, who could not at all understand it. Mokoum thought it
strange for these learned men to measure the earth with rods six feet
long; but any way, he had done his duty; they had asked him for a level
plain, and he had found it for them.
The place was certainly well chosen. Covered with dry, short grass,
the plain was perfectly level as far as the horizon. Behind lay a line
of hills forming the southern boundary of the Kalahari desert; towards
the north the plain seemed boundless. To the east, the sides of the
tableland of Lattakoo disappeared in gentle slopes; and in the west,
where the ground was lower, the soil became marshy, as it imbibed the
stagnant water which fed the affluents of the Kuruman.
"I think, Colonel Everest," said Strux, after he had surveyed the
grassy level, "that when our base is established, we shall be able here
also to fix the extremity of our meridian."
"Likely enough," replied the Colonel. "We must find out too, whether
the arc meets with any obstacles that may impede the survey. Let us
measure the base, and we will decide afterwards whether it will be
better to join it by a series of auxiliary triangles to those which the
arc must cross."
[Illustration: Commencement of the Geodesic Operations.]
They thus resolved to proceed to the measurement of the base. It would
be a long operation, for they wanted to obtain even more correct
results than those obtained by the French philosophers at Melun.
This would be a matter of some difficulty: since when a new base was
measured afterwards near Perpignan to verify the calculations, there
was only an error of 11 inches in a distance of 330,000 toises.
Orders were given for encamping, and a Bochjesman village, a kind of
kraal, was formed on the plain. The waggons were arranged in a circle
like the houses, the English and Russian flags floating over their
respective quarters. The centre was common ground. The horses and
buffaloes, which by day grazed outside, were driven in by night to the
interior, to save them from attacks of the wild beasts around.
Mokoum took upon himself to arrange the hunting expedition for
revictualling; and Sir John Murray, whose presence was not
indispensable in the measurement of the base, looked after the
provisions, and served out the rations of preserved meat and fresh
venison. Thanks to the skill and experience of Mokoum and his
companions, game was never wanting. They scoured the district for miles
round, and the report of their guns resounded at all hours.
The survey began on the next day, Zorn and Emery being charged with the
preliminaries.
"Come along," said Zorn, "and good luck be with us."
The primary operation consisted in tracing a line on the ground where
it was especially level. This chanced to be from S.E. to N.W., and
pickets being placed at short intervals to mark the direction, Zorn
carefully verified the correctness of their position by means of the
thread-wires of his telescope. For more than eight miles (the proposed
length of the base) was the measurement continued, and the young men
performed their work with scrupulous fidelity.
The next step was to adjust the rods for the actual measurement,
apparently a very simple operation, but which, in fact, demands the
most continuous caution, as the success of a triangulation in a great
measure is contingent on its preciseness.
On the morning of the 10th, twelve wooden pedestals were planted along
the line, securely fastened in their position, and prepared to support
the rods. Colonel Everest and Matthew Strux, assisted by their young
coadjutors, placed the rods in position, and Nicholas Palander stood
ready, pencil in hand, to write down in a double register the figures
transmitted to him.
The rods employed were six in number, and exactly two toises in length.
They were made of platinum, as being (under ordinary circumstances)
unaffected by any condition of the atmosphere. In order, however, to
provide against any change of temperature, each was covered with a rod
of copper somewhat shorter than itself, and a microscopic vernier was
attached, to indicate any contraction or expansion that might occur.
The rods were next placed lengthwise, with a small interval between
each, in order to avoid the slight shock which might result from
immediate contact. Colonel Everest and Matthew Strux with their own
hands placed the first rod. About a hundred toises farther on, they
had marked a point of sight, and as the rods were each provided with
iron projections, it was not difficult to place them exactly in the
proper direction. Emery and Zorn, lying on the ground, saw that the
projections stood exactly in the middle of the sight.
"Now," said Colonel Everest, "we must define our exact starting-point.
We will drop a line from the end of our first rod, and that will
definitely mark the extremity of our base."
"Yes," answered Strux, "but we must take into account the radius of the
line.
"Of course," said the Colonel.
The starting-point determined, the work went on. The next proceeding
was to determine the inclination of the base with the horizon.
"We do not, I believe, pretend," said Colonel Everest, "to place the
rod in a position which is perfectly horizontal."
"No," answered Strux, "it is enough to find the angle which each rod
makes with the horizon, and we can then deduce the true inclination."
Thus agreed, they proceeded with their observations, employing their
spirit-level, and testing every result by the vernier. As Palander was
about to inscribe the record, Strux requested that the level should
be reversed, in order that by the division of the two registers a
closer approximation to truth might be attained. This mode of double
observation was continued throughout the operations.
Two important points were now obtained: the direction of the rod with
regard to the base, and the angle which it made with the horizon. The
results were inscribed in two registers, and signed by the members of
the Commission.
There were still two further observations, no less important, to be
made: the variation of the rod caused by differences of temperature,
and the exact distance measured by it. The former was easily determined
by comparing the difference in length between the platinum and copper
rods. The microscope gave the variation of the platinum, and this
was entered in the double register, to be afterwards reduced to 16°
Centigrade.
They had now to observe the distance actually measured. To obtain
this result, it was necessary to place the second rod at the end of
the first, leaving a small space between them. When the second rod
was adjusted with the same care as the former, it only remained to
measure the interval between the two. A small tongue of platinum,
known as a slider, was attached to the end of the platinum bar that
was not covered by the copper, and this Colonel Everest slipped gently
along until it touched the next rod. The slider was marked off into
10,000ths of a toise, and as a vernier with its microscope gave the
100,000ths, the space could be very accurately determined. The result
was immediately registered.
Michael Zorn, considering that the covered platinum might be sooner
affected by heat than the uncovered copper, suggested another
precaution: accordingly they erected a small awning to protect the rod
from the sun's rays.
For more than a month were these minutiæ patiently carried on. As soon
as four bars were adjusted, and the requisite observations complete,
the last of the rods was carried to the front. It was impossible to
measure more than 220 to 230 toises a day, and sometimes, when the wind
was violent, operations were altogether suspended.
Every evening, about three quarters of an hour before it became too
dark to read the verniers, they left off work, after taking various
anxious precautions. They brought forward temporarily the rod "No.
1," and marked the point of its termination. Here they made a hole,
and drove in a stake with a leaden plate attached. They then replaced
"No. 1" in its original position, after observing the inclination, the
thermometric variation, and the direction. They noted the prolongation
measured by rod "No. 4," and then with a plumb-line touching the
foremost end of rod "No. 1," they made a mark on the leaden plate.
They carefully traced through this point two lines at right angles,
one signifying the base, the other the perpendicular. The plate was
then covered with a wooden lid, the hole filled in, and the stake left
buried till the morning. Thus, if any accident had happened to their
apparatus during the night they would not be obliged to begin afresh.
The next day, the plate was uncovered, and rod "No. 1" replaced in the
same position as on the evening before, by means of the plumb-line,
whose point ought to fall exactly on the point intersected by the two
straight lines.
These operations were carried on for thirty-eight days along the plain,
and every figure was registered doubly, and verified, compared, and
approved, by each member of the Commission.
Few discussions arose between Colonel Everest and his Russian
colleague; and if sometimes the smallest fraction of a toise gave
occasion for some polite cavillings, they always yielded to the opinion
of the majority. One question alone called for the intervention of Sir
John Murray. This was about the length of the base. It was certain
that the longer the base, the easier would be the measurement of the
opposite angle. Colonel Everest proposed 6000 toises, nearly the same
as the base measured at Melun; but Matthew Strux wished that it should
be 10,000 toises, since the ground permitted. Colonel Everest, however,
remained firm, and Strux seemed equally determined not to yield. After
a few plausible arguments, personalities began: they were no longer two
astronomers, but an Englishman and a Russian. Happily the debate was
interrupted by some days of bad weather, which allowed their tempers
to cool. It was subsequently decided by the majority that they should
"split the difference," and assign 8000 toises as the measurement of
the base. The work was at length completed. Any error which occurred,
in spite of their extreme precision, might be afterwards corrected by
measuring a new base from the northern extremity of the meridian.
[Illustration: Taking the Measurements.]
The base measured exactly 8037.75 toises, and upon this they were now
to place their series of triangles.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE TWENTY-FOURTH MERIDIAN.
The measurement of the base occupied thirty-eight days, from the 6th
of March to the 13th of April, and without loss of time the chiefs
decided to begin the triangles. The first operation was to find the
southern extremity of the arc, and the same being done at the northern
extremity, the difference would give the number of degrees measured.
[Illustration: Measuring the Arc of the Meridian.]
On the 14th they began to find their latitude. Emery and Zorn had
already on the preceding nights taken the altitude of numerous stars,
and their work was so accurate that the greatest error was not more
than 2", and even this was probably owing to the refraction caused by
the changes in the atmospheric strata. The latitude thus carefully
sought was found to be 27.951789°. They then found the longitude, and
marked the spot on an excellent large scale map of South Africa, which
showed the most recent geographical discoveries, and also the routes
of travellers and naturalists, such as Livingstone, Anderson, Magyar,
Baldwin, Burchell, and Lichtenstein. They then had to choose on what
meridian they would measure their arc. The longer this arc is the less
influence have the errors in the determination of latitude. The arc
from Dunkirk to Formentera, on the meridian of Paris, was exactly 9°
56´. They had to choose their meridian with great circumspection. Any
natural obstacles, such as mountains or large tracts of water, would
seriously impede their operations; but happily, this part of Africa
seemed well suited to their purpose, since the risings in the ground
were inconsiderable, and the few water-courses easily traversed. Only
dangers, and not obstacles, need check their labours.
This district is occupied by the Kalahari desert, a vast region
extending from the Orange River to Lake Ngami, from lat. 20° S. to
lat. 29°. In width, it extends from the Atlantic on the west as far
as long. 25° E. Dr. Livingstone followed its extreme eastern boundary
when he travelled as far as Lake Ngami and the Zambesi Falls. Properly
speaking, it does not deserve the name of desert. It is not like the
sands of Sahara, which are devoid of vegetation, and almost impassable
on account of their aridity. The Kalahari produces many plants; its
soil is covered with abundant grass; it contains dense groves and
forests; animals abound, wild game and beasts of prey; and it is
inhabited and traversed by sedentary and wandering tribes of Bushmen
and Bakalaharis. But the true obstacle to its exploration is the
dearth of water which prevails through the greater part of the year,
when the rivers are dried up. However, at this time, just at the end
of the rainy season, they could depend upon considerable reservoirs
of stagnant water, preserved in pools and rivulets. Such were the
particulars given by Mokoum. He had often visited the Kalahari,
sometimes on his own account as a hunter, and sometimes as a guide to
some geographical exploration.
It had now to be actually considered whether the meridian should be
taken from one of the extremities of the base, thus avoiding a series
of auxiliary triangles[1].
[Illustration]
[Footnote 1: By the aid of the accompanying figure, the work called
a triangulation may be understood. Let A B be the arc. Measure the
base A C very carefully from the extremity A to the first station C.
Take other stations, D, E, F, G, H, I, &c., on alternate sides of the
meridian, and observe the angles of the triangles, A C D, C D E, D E
F, E F G, &c. Then in the triangle A C D, the angles and the side A C
being known, the side C D may be found. Likewise in the triangle C D E,
C D and the angles being known, the side D E may be found; and so on
through all the triangles. Now determine the direction of the meridian
in the ordinary way, and observe the angle M A C which it makes with
the base A C. Then in the triangle A C M, because A C and the adjacent
angles are known. A M, C M, and the angle A C M, may be found, and A M
is the first portion of the arc. Then in the triangle D M N, since the
side D M = C D - C M, and the adjacent angles are known, the sides M
N, D N, and the angle M N D may be found, and M N is the next portion
of the arc. Again, in the triangle N E P, because E N = D E - D N, and
the adjacent angles are known, N P, the third portion of the arc, may
be found. By proceeding thus through all the triangles, piece by piece,
the whole length of the arc A D may be determined.]
After some discussion, it was decided that the southern extremity of
the base would serve for a starting-point. It was the twenty-fourth
meridian east from Greenwich, and extended over seven degrees of
latitude, from 20° to 27°, without any apparent natural obstacle.
Towards the north it certainly crossed the eastern end of Lake Ngami,
but Arago had met with greater difficulties than this when he applied
his geodesy to connect the coast of Spain with the Balearic Islands. It
was accordingly decided that meridian 24° should be measured, since, if
it were afterwards prolonged into Europe, a northern arc of the same
meridian might be measured on Russian territory.
[Illustration: The Astronomers at Work.]
The astronomers proceeded at once to choose a station which should
form the vertex of the first triangle. This was a solitary tree to the
right of the meridian, standing on a mound about ten miles away. It was
distinctly visible from each extremity of the base, and its slender top
facilitated the taking of its bearings. The angle made by the tree with
the south-east extremity of the base was first observed, with the
help of one of Borda's repeating circles.
The two telescopes were adjusted so that their axes were exactly in the
plane of the circle, in such a way that their position represented the
angular distance between the tree and the north-west extremity of the
base. This admirably-constructed instrument corrects nearly all the
errors of observation, and indeed, if the repetitions are numerous, the
errors tend to counterbalance and correct each other.
The Commission had four repeating circles: two for measuring angles,
and two more with vertical circles for obtaining zenith distances, and
so calculating in a single night, to the smallest fraction of a second,
the latitude of any station. And indeed, in this important survey,
it was not only necessary to obtain the value of the angles of the
triangles, but also to measure the meridian altitude of the stars, that
being equal to the latitude of each station.
The work began on the 14th of April. Colonel Everest, Zorn, and
Palander observed the angle at the south-east extremity of the base,
while Strux, Emery, and Sir John Murray observed that at the north-west
extremity.
Meantime the camp was raised, and the bullocks harnessed, and Mokoum
conducted the caravan to the first station as a halting-place. Two
caravans, with their drivers, accompanied the observers, to carry
the instruments. The weather was bright, but had the atmosphere been
unfavourable by day, the observations would have been made by night by
means of reverberators or electric lamps.
On the first day, the two angles were measured, and the result
inscribed on the double register; and the astronomers all met in the
evening at the camp which had been formed round the tree which had
served for their point of sight. It was an immense baobab, more than
80 feet in circumference. Its syenite-coloured bark gave it a peculiar
appearance. The whole caravan found room beneath its wide branches,
which were inhabited by crowds of squirrels, which greedily devoured
the white pulp of its egg-shaped fruit.
Supper was prepared for the Europeans by the ship's cook. There was no
lack of venison, for the hunters had scoured the neighbourhood, and
killed some antelopes; and soon the air was filled with an odour of
broiled meat, which still further aroused the appetite of the hungry
savants.
[Illustration: Encampment under an immense Baobab.]
After the comforting repast, the astronomers retired to their
respective waggons, whilst Mokoum placed sentinels round the camp.
Large fires of the dead branches of the baobab burnt throughout the
night, and kept at a respectful distance the tawny beasts, who were
attracted by the odour of the reeking flesh.
After two hours' sleep, however, Emery and Zorn got up, their
observations not yet finished. They must find the altitudes of some
stars to determine the latitude of the station, and both, regardless
of the day's fatigues, stood at their telescopes, and rigorously
determined the change of zenith caused by the removal from the first
station to the second, while the laugh of the hyena and the roar of the
lion resounded over the sombre plain.
CHAPTER IX.
THE KRAAL.
The next day operations were continued. The angle made by the baobab
with the extremities of the base was measured, and the first triangle
solved. Two more stations were chosen to the right and left of the
meridian; one formed by a distinct mound, six miles away; the other,
marked out by a post about seven miles distant.
The triangulation went on uninterruptedly for a month, and by the 15th
of May the observers had advanced northwards 1°, having formed seven
triangles. During this first series of operations, the Colonel and
Strux were rarely together. The division of labour separated them, and
the circumstance of their daily work being several miles apart was a
guarantee against any dispute. Each evening they returned to their
several abodes, and although at intervals discussions arose about the
choice of stations, there was no serious altercation. Hence Zorn and
his friend were in hopes that the survey would proceed without any open
rupture.
After advancing 1° from the south, the observers found themselves in
the same parallel with Lattakoo, from which they were distant 35 miles
to the west.
Here a large kraal had lately been formed, and as it was a marked
halting-place, Sir John Murray proposed that they should stay for
several days. Zorn and Emery could take advantage of the rest, to take
the altitude of the sun; and Palander would employ himself in reducing
the measurements made at different points of sight to the uniform
level of the sea. Sir John himself wanted to be free from scientific
observations, that he might divert himself with his gun among the
fauna of the country. A kraal, as it is termed by the natives of South
Africa, is a kind of moving village, wandering from one pasturage
to another. It is an enclosure composed ordinarily of about thirty
habitations, and containing several hundred inhabitants. The kraal
now reached was formed by a group of more than sixty huts, enclosed
for protection from wild animals by a palisade of prickly aloes, and
situated on the banks of a small affluent of the Kuruman. The huts,
made of water-proof rush mats fastened to wooden beams, were like low
hives. The doorway, protected by a skin, was so small that it could
only be entered on hands and knees, and from this, the only aperture,
issued such dense wreaths of smoke as would make existence in these
abodes problematical to any but a Bochjesman or a Hottentot.
The whole population was roused by the arrival of the caravan. The
dogs, of which there was one for the protection of each cabin, barked
furiously, and about 200 warriors, armed with assagais, knives, and
clubs, and protected by their leathern shields, marched forward.
A few words from Mokoum to one of the chiefs soon dispelled all hostile
feeling, and the caravan obtained permission to encamp on the very
banks of the stream. The Bochjesmen did not even refuse to share the
pastures, which extended for miles away.
Mokoum having first given orders for the waggons to be placed in a
circle as usual, mounted his zebra, and set off in company with Sir
John Murray, who rode his accustomed horse. The hunters took their dogs
and rifles, showing their intention of attacking the wild beasts, and
went towards the woods.
"I hope, Mokoum," said Sir John, "that you are going to keep the
promise you made at the Morgheda Falls, that you would bring me into
the best sporting country in the world. But understand, I have not come
here for hares or foxes; I can get them at home. Before another hour--"
"Hour!" replied the bushman. "You are rather too fast. A little
patience, please. For myself, I am never patient except when hunting,
and then I make amends for all my impatience at other times. Don't you
know, Sir John, that the chase of large beasts is quite a science.
Here you must wait and watch. You must not step or even look too
quickly. For my part, I have laid in wait for days together for a
buffalo or gems-bok, and if I have had success at last, I have not
considered my trouble in vain."
"Very good," replied Sir John, "I can show you as much patience as you
can wish; but mind, the halt only lasts for three or four days, and we
must lose no time."
"There is something in that," said the bushman, so calmly that Emery
would not have recognized his companion of the Orange River; "we will
just kill that which comes first, Sir John, antelope or deer, gnu or
gazelle, any thing must do for hunters in a hurry."
"Antelope or gazelle!" cried Sir John, "why, what more could I ask, my
good fellow?"
"As long as your honour is satisfied I have nothing more to say," said
the bushman, somewhat ironically. "I thought that you would not let
me off with any thing less than a rhinoceros or two, or at least an
elephant."
"Any thing and any where," said Sir John, "we only waste time in
talking."
The horses were put to a hand-gallop, and the hunters advanced quickly
towards the forest. The plain rose with a gentle slope towards the
north-east. It was dotted here and there with shrubs in full bloom,
from which issued a viscous resin, transparent and odorous, of which
the colonists make a balm for wounds. In picturesque groups rose the
"nwanas," a kind of sycamore fig, whose trunks, leafless to the height
of 30 or 40 feet, supported a spreading parasol of verdure. Among the
foliage chattered swarms of screaming parrots, eagerly pecking the
sour figs. Farther on were mimosas with their yellow clusters, "silver
trees," shaking their silky tufts, and aloes with spikes so red that
they might pass for coral plants torn from the depths of the sea. The
ground, enamelled with amaryllis with their bluish foliage, was smooth
and easy for the horses, and in less than an hour after leaving the
kraal, the sportsmen reached the wood. For several miles extended a
forest of acacias, the entangled branches scarcely allowing a ray of
sunlight to penetrate to the ground below, which was encumbered by
brambles and long grass.
The hunters had little difficulty, however, in urging on both horse
and zebra, in spite of every obstacle, resting at the recurring
glades to examine the thickets around them. The first day was not
very favourable. In vain was the forest scoured; not a single beast
stirred, and Sir John's thoughts turned more than once to the plains of
Scotland, where a shot is rarely long delayed. Mokoum evinced neither
surprise nor vexation; to him it was not a hunt, but merely a rush
across the forest.
[Illustration: The Hunters.]
Towards six in the evening they had to think about returning. Sir
John was more vexed than he would allow. Rather than that he, the
renowned hunter, should return empty-handed, he resolved to shoot
whatever first came within range, and fortune seemed to favour him.
They were not more than three miles from the kraal when a hare (of the
species called "lepus rupestris") darted from a bush about 150 paces
in front of them. Sir John did not hesitate a moment, and sent his
explosive ball after the poor little animal.
The bushman gave a cry of indignation at such a ball being employed
for such an aim; but the Englishman, eager for his prey, galloped to
the spot where the victim fell. In vain! the only vestiges of the hare
were the bloody morsels on the ground. Whilst the dogs rummaged in the
brushwood, Sir John looked keenly about, and cried,--
"I am sure I hit it!"
"Rather too well," replied the bushman quietly.
And sure enough, the hare had been blown into countless fragments.
Sir John, greatly mortified, remounted his horse, and returned to camp,
without uttering another word.
The next day the bushman waited for Sir John Murray to propose another
expedition; but the Englishman applied himself for a time to his
scientific instruments. For pastime he watched the occupants of the
kraal as they practised with their bows, or played on the "gorah,"
an instrument composed of a piece of catgut stretched on a bow, and
kept in vibration by blowing through an ostrich feather. He remarked
that the women, while occupied in their domestic duties, smoked
"matokouané," that is, the unwholesome hemp-plant, a practice indulged
in by most of the natives. According to some travellers, this inhaling
of hemp increases physical strength to the damage of mental energy;
and, indeed, many of the Bochjesmen appeared stupefied from its effects.
At dawn, however, the following day, Sir John Murray was aroused by
the appearance of Mokoum, who said, "I think, sir, we may be fortunate
enough to-day to find something better than a hare."
Sir John, not heeding the satire, declared himself ready; and the two
hunters, accordingly, were off betimes. This time, Sir John, instead
of his formidable rifle, carried a simple gun of Goldwin's, as being
a more suitable weapon. True, there was a chance of meeting some
prowling beast from the forest; but he had the hare on his mind, and
would sooner use small shot against a lion than repeat an incident
unprecedented in the annals of sport.
Fortune, to-day, was more favourable to the hunters. They brought
down a couple of harrisbucks, a rare kind of black antelope, very
difficult to shoot. These were charming animals, four feet high, with
long diverging horns shaped like scimitars. The tips of their noses
were narrow; they had black hoofs, close soft hair, and pointed ears.
Their face and belly, white as snow, contrasted well with their black
back, over which fell a wavy mane. Hunters may well be proud of such
shots, for the harrisbuck has always been the _desideratum_ of the
Delegorgues, Vahlbergs, Cummings, and Baldwins, and it is one of the
finest specimens of the southern fauna.
But what made the Englishman's heart beat fastest, was Mokoum's showing
him certain marks on the edge of the thick underwood, not far from a
deep pool, surrounded by giant euphorbias, and whose surface was dotted
with sky-blue water-lilies.
"Come and lie in ambush here to-morrow, sir," said Mokoum, "and this
time you may bring your rifle. Look at these fresh footprints."
"What are they? Can they be an elephant's?" asked Sir John.
"Yes," replied Mokoum, "and, unless I am mistaken, of a male
full-grown."
Eagerly, then, was the engagement made for the following day. Sir
John's horse, as they returned, carried the harrisbucks. These fine
creatures, so rarely captured, excited the admiration of the whole
caravan, and all congratulated Sir John, except perhaps Matthew Strux,
who knew little of animals, except the Great Bear, the Centaur,
Pegasus, and other celestial fauna.
At four o'clock the next morning, the hunters, attended by their
dogs, were already hidden in the underwood. They had discovered by new
footmarks that the elephants came in a troop to drink at the pool.
Their grooved rifles carried explosive bullets. Silent and still, they
watched for about half-an-hour, when they observed a movement in the
grove, about fifty paces from the pool. Sir John seized his gun, but
the bushman made him a sign to restrain his impatience. Soon large
shadows appeared: the thickets rustled under the violence of some
pressure; the brushwood snapped and crackled, and the sound of a loud
breathing was perceptible through the branches. It was the herd of
elephants. Half-a-dozen gigantic creatures, almost as large as those
of India, advanced slowly towards the pool. The increasing daylight
allowed Sir John, struck with admiration, to notice especially a male
of enormous size. His colossal proportions appeared in the partial
light even greater than they really were. While his trunk was extended
above the underwood, with his curved tusks he struck the great stems,
which groaned under the shock. The bushman leant down close to Sir
John's ear, and whispered,--
"Will he suit you?"
Sir John made a sign of affirmation.
"Then," said Mokoum, "we will separate him from the rest."
At this instant, the elephants reached the edge of the pool, and their
spongy feet sank into the soft mud. They pumped up the water with
their trunks, and poured it into their throats with a loud gurgling.
The great male looked uneasily about him, and seemed to scent some
approaching danger.
Suddenly the bushman gave a peculiar cry. The dogs, barking furiously,
darted from concealment, and rushed towards the herd. At the same
moment, Mokoum, charging his companion to remain where he was, went off
on his zebra to intercept the elephant's retreat. The animal made no
attempt to take flight, and Sir John, with his finger on the lock of
his rifle, watched him closely. The brute beat the trees, and lashed
his tail furiously, showing signs not of uneasiness, but of anger. Now,
for the first time, catching sight of his enemy, he rushed upon him at
once.
Sir John was about sixty paces distant; and waiting till the elephant
came within forty paces, he aimed at his flank and fired. But a
movement of the horse made his aim unsteady, and the ball only entered
the soft flesh without meeting any obstacle sufficient to make it
explode.
The enraged beast increased its pace, which was rather a rapid walk
than a run, and would have soon distanced the horse. Sir John's horse
reared, and rushed from the thicket, his master unable to hold him in.
The elephant followed, ears erect, and bellowing like a trumpet Sir
John, thus carried away, held on to his horse tightly with his knees,
and endeavoured to slip a cartridge into the chamber of his rifle.
Still the elephant gained on him. They were soon beyond the wood, and
out on the plain. Sir John vigorously used his spurs, and the two dogs
rushed panting in the rear. The elephant was not two lengths behind.
Sir John could hear the hissing of his trunk, and almost feel his
strong breath. Every moment he expected to be dragged from his saddle
by the living lasso. All at once the horse sunk on his hind-quarters,
struck by the elephant on his haunches. He neighed, and sprung to one
side, thus saving Sir John. The elephant, unable to check his course,
passed on, and sweeping the ground with his trunk, caught up one of the
dogs, and shook it in the air with tremendous violence. No resource
remained except to re-enter the wood, and the horse's instinct carried
him thither. The elephant continued to give chase, brandishing the
unlucky dog, whose head he smashed against a sycamore as he rushed
into the forest. The horse darted into a dense thicket entangled with
prickly creepers, and stopped.
[Illustration: The Elephant and the Dog.]
Sir John, torn and bleeding, but not for an instant discomposed, turned
round, and shouldering his rifle, took aim at the elephant close to the
shoulder, through the network of creepers. The ball exploded as it
struck the bone. The animal staggered, and almost at the same moment a
second shot from the edge of the wood struck his left flank. He fell on
his knees near a little pool, half-hidden in the grass. There, pumping
up the water with his trunk, he began to wash his wounds, uttering
plaintive cries. The bushman now appeared, shouting, "He is ours! he is
ours!"
[Illustration: "He is ours! he is ours!"]
And in truth the animal was mortally wounded. He groaned piteously,
and breathed hard. His tail moved feebly, and his trunk, fed from the
pool of his blood, poured back a crimson stream on the surrounding
brushwood. Gradually failed his strength, and the great beast was dead.
Sir John Murray now emerged from the grove. He was half naked, little
of his hunting costume remaining but rags. But he felt as though he
could have given his very skin for this triumph.
"A glorious fellow!" he exclaimed, as he examined the carcase; "but
rather too big to carry home."
"True, sir," answered Mokoum; "we will cut him up on the spot, and
carry off the choice parts. Look at his magnificent tusks! Twenty-five
pounds a-piece at least! And ivory at five shillings a-pound will mount
up."
Thus talking, the hunter proceeded to cut up the animal. He took off
the tusks with his hatchet, and contented himself with the feet and
trunk, as choice morsels with which to regale the members of the
Commission. This operation took some time, and he and his companion did
not get back to camp before midday. The bushman had the elephant's feet
cooked according to the African method, that is, by burying them in a
hole previously heated, like an oven, with hot coals.
The delicacy was fully appreciated by all, not excepting the phlegmatic
Palander, and Sir John Murray received a hearty round of compliments.
CHAPTER X.
THE RAPID.
During their sojourn by the kraal, Colonel Everest and Matthew Strux
had been absolutely strangers. On the eve of their departure for their
divided labours, they had ceremoniously taken leave one of the other,
and had not since met. The caravan continued its northward route,
and the weather being favourable, during the next ten days two fresh
triangles were measured. The vast verdant wilderness was intersected
by streams flowing between rows of the willow-like "karree-hout," from
which the Bochjesmen make their bows. Large tracts of desert land
occurred, where every trace of moisture disappeared, leaving the soil
utterly bare but for the cropping-up occasionally of those mucilaginous
plants which no aridity can kill. For miles there was no natural object
that could be used for a station, and consequently the astronomers
were obliged to employ natural objects for their point of sight. This
caused considerable loss of time, but was not attended with much real
difficulty. The crew of the "Queen and Czar" were employed in this part
of the work, and performed their task well and rapidly; but the same
jealousy that divided their chiefs crept in sometimes among the seamen.
Zorn and Emery did all they could to neutralize any unpleasantness, but
the discussions sometimes took a serious character. The Colonel and
Strux continually interfered in behalf of their countrymen, whether
they were right or wrong, but they only succeeded in making matters
worse. After a while Zorn and Emery were the only members of the party
who had preserved a perfect concord. Even Sir John Murray and Nicholas
Palander (generally absorbed as they were, the one in his calculations,
the other in his hunting), began to join the fray.
One day the dispute went so far that Strux said to the Colonel, "You
must please to moderate your tone with astronomers from Poulkowa:
remember it was their telescope that showed that the disc of Uranus is
circular."
"Yes," replied the Colonel; "but ours at Cambridge enabled us to
classify the nebula of Andromeda."
The irritation was evident, and at times seemed to imperil the fate
of the triangulation. Hitherto the discussions had had no injurious
effect, but perhaps rather served to keep every operation more
scrupulously exact.
On the 30th the weather suddenly changed. In any other region a storm
and torrents of rain might have been expected: angry-looking clouds
covered the sky, and lightning, unaccompanied by thunder, gleamed
through the mass of vapour. But condensation did not ensue--not a drop
of rain fell on to the thirsty soil. The sky remained overcast for
some days, and the fog rendered the points of sight invisible at the
distance of a mile. The astronomers, however, would not lose time, and
determined to set up lighted signals and work at night. The bushman
prudently advised caution, lest the electric lights should attract the
wild beasts too closely to their quarters; and in fact, during the
night, the yelp of the jackal and the hoarse laugh of the hyena, like
that of a drunken negro, could plainly be heard.
In the midst of this clamour, in which the roar of a lion could
sometimes be distinguished, the astronomers felt rather distracted,
and the measurements were taken at least less rapidly, if not less
accurately. To take zenith distances while gleaming eyes might be
gazing at them through the darkness, required imperturbable composure
and the utmost _sang-froid_. But these qualities were not wanting in
the members of the Commission, and after a few days they regained their
presence of mind, and worked away in the midst of the beasts as calmly
as if they were in their own observatories. Armed hunters attended them
at every station, and no inconsiderable number of hyenas fell by their
balls. Sir John thought this way of surveying delightful, and whilst
his eye was at his telescope his hand was on his gun, and more than
once he made a shot in the interval between two observations.
Nothing occurred to check the steady progress of the survey, so that
the astronomers hoped before the end of June to measure a second degree
of the meridian. On the 17th they found that their path was crossed
by an affluent of the Kuruman. The Europeans could easily take their
instruments across in their india-rubber canoe; but Mokoum would have
to take the caravan to a ford which he remembered some miles below.
The river was about half-a-mile wide, and its rapid current, broken
here and there by rocks and stems of trees embedded in the mud, offered
considerable danger to any light craft. Matthew Strux did not fail to
represent this, but finding that his companions did not recoil from the
attempt he gave way.
Nicholas Palander alone was to accompany the caravan in its _détour_.
He was too much absorbed in his calculations to give any thought to
danger; but his presence was not indispensable to his companions, and
the boat would only hold a limited number of passengers. Accordingly,
he gave up his place to an Englishman of the crew of the "Queen and
Czar," who would be more useful under the circumstances.
After making an arrangement to meet to the north of the rapid, the
caravan disappeared down the left bank of the stream, leaving Colonel
Everest, Strux, Emery, Zorn, Sir John, two sailors, and a Bochjesman,
who was the pioneer of the caravan, and had been recommended by Mokoum
as having much experience in African rapids.
"A pretty river," observed Zorn to his friend, as the sailors were
preparing the boat.
"Very so, but hard to cross," answered Emery. "These rapids have not
long to live, and therefore enjoy life. With a few weeks of this dry
season there will hardly remain enough of this swollen torrent to water
a caravan. It is soon exhausted; such is the law of nature, moral and
physical. But we must not waste time in moralizing. See, the boat is
equipped, and I am all anxiety to see her performances."
In a few minutes the boat was launched beside a sloping bank of red
granite. Here, sheltered by a projecting rock, the water quietly
bathed the reeds and creepers. The instruments and provisions were
put in the boat, and the passengers seated themselves so as not to
interfere with the action of the oars. The Bochjesman took the helm;
he spoke but a few words of English, and advised the travellers to
keep a profound silence while they were crossing. The boat soon felt
the influence of the current. The sailors carefully obeyed every order
of the Bochjesman. Sometimes they had to raise their oars to avoid
some half-emerged stump; sometimes to row hard across a whirlpool.
When the current became too strong they could only guide the light
boat as it drifted with the stream. The native, tiller in hand, sat
watchful and motionless, prepared for every danger. The Europeans were
half uneasy at their novel situation; they seemed carried away by an
irresistible force. The Colonel and Strux gazed at each other without a
word; Sir John, with his rifle between his knees, watched the numerous
birds that skimmed the water; and the two younger astronomers gazed
with admiration at the banks, past which they flew with dizzy speed.
The light boat soon reached the true rapid, which it was necessary to
cross obliquely. At a word from the Bochjesman, the sailors put forth
their strength; but, despite all their efforts, they were carried down
parallel to the banks. The tiller and oars had no longer any effect,
and the situation became really perilous; a rock or stump of a tree
would inevitably have overturned the boat. In spite of the manifest
peril, no one uttered a word. The Bochjesman half rose, and watched
the direction which he could not control. Two hundred yards distant
rose an islet of stones and trees, which it was impossible to avoid.
In a few seconds the boat apparently must be lost; but the shock came
with less violence than had seemed inevitable. The boat lurched and
shipped a little water, but the passengers kept their places. They were
astonished to observe that what they had presumed to be rock had moved,
and was plunging about in the rush of the waters. It was an immense
hippopotamus, ten feet long, which had been carried by the current
against the islet, and dared not venture out again into the rapid.
Feeling the shock, he raised and shook his head, looking about him with
his little dull eyes, and with his mouth wide open, showing his great
canine teeth. He rushed furiously on the boat, which he threatened to
bite to pieces.
[Illustration: The Hippopotamus did not quit his hold, but shook the
Boat as a Dog would a Hare.]
But Sir John Murray's presence of mind did not forsake him. Quietly
shouldering his rifle, he fired at the animal near the ear. The
hippopotamus did not quit his hold, but shook the boat as a dog would a
hare. A second shot was soon lodged in his head. The blow was mortal.
After pushing the boat with a last effort off the islet, the fleshy
mass sank in the deep water. Before the dismayed voyagers could collect
their thoughts, they were whirled obliquely into the rapid. A hundred
yards below, a sharp bend in the river broke the current; thither was
the boat carried, and was arrested by a violent shock. Safe and sound
the whole party leapt to the bank. They were about two miles below the
spot where they had embarked.
CHAPTER XI.
A MISSING COMPANION.
In continuing the survey the astronomers had to be on their guard
against the serpents that infested the region, venomous mambas, ten to
twelve feet long, whose bite would have been fatal.
Four days after the passage of the rapid, the observers found
themselves in a wooded country. The trees, however, were not so high
as to interfere with their labours, and at all points rose eminences
which afforded excellent sites for the posts and electric lamps. The
district, lying considerably lower than the rest of the plain, was
moist and fertile. Emery noticed thousands of Hottentot fig-trees,
whose sour fruit is much relished by the Bochjesmen. From the ground
arose a soft odour from the "kucumakranti," a yellow fruit two or three
inches long, growing from bulbous roots like the colchicum, and eagerly
devoured by the native children. Here, too, in this more watered
country, re-appeared the fields of colocynths and borders of the mint
so successfully naturalized in England. Notwithstanding its fertility,
the country appeared little frequented by the wandering tribes, and not
a kraal or a camp-fire was to be seen; yet water was abundant, forming
some considerable streams and lagoons.
The astronomers halted to await the caravan. The time fixed by Mokoum
had just expired, and if he had reckoned well, he would join them
to-day. The day, however, passed on, and no Bochjesman appeared. Sir
John conjectured that the hunter had probably been obliged to ford
farther south than he had expected, since the river was unusually
swollen. Another day passed and the caravan had not appeared. The
Colonel became uneasy; he could not go on, and the delay might affect
the success of the operations. Matthew Strux said that it had always
been his wish to accompany the caravan, and that if his advice had been
followed they would not have found themselves in this predicament; but
he would not admit that the responsibility rested on the Russians.
Colonel Everest began to protest against these insinuations, but Sir
John interposed, saying that what was done could not be undone, and
that all the recriminations in the world would make no difference.
It was then decided that if the caravan did not appear on the following
day, Emery and Zorn, under the guidance of the Bochjesman, should
start to ascertain the reason of the delay. For the rest of the
day the rivals kept apart, and Sir John passed his time in beating
the surrounding woods, He failed in finding any game, but from a
naturalist's point of view he ought to have been satisfied, since he
brought down two fine specimens of African birds. One was a kind of
partridge, a francolin, thirteen inches long, with short legs, dark
grey back, red beak and claws, and elegant wings, shaded with brown.
The other bird, with a red throat and white tail, was a species of
falcon. The Bochjesman pioneer cleverly took off the skins, in order
that they should be preserved entire.
The next day was half over, and the two young men were just about to
start on their search, when a distant bark arrested them. Soon Mokoum,
on his zebra, emerged at full speed from the thicket of aloes on the
left, and advanced towards the camp.
"Welcome," cried Sir John joyfully, "we had almost given you up, and
apart from you I should be inconsolable. I am only successful when you
are with me. We will celebrate your return in a glass of usquebaugh."
Mokoum made no answer, but anxiously scanned and counted the Europeans.
Colonel Everest perceived his perplexity, and as he was dismounting,
said,--
"For whom are you looking, Mokoum?"
"For Mr. Palander," replied the bushman.
"Is he not with you?" said the Colonel.
"Not now," answered Mokoum. "I thought I should find him with you. He
is lost!"
At these words, Matthew Strux stepped forward.
"Lost!" he cried. "He was confided to your care. You are responsible
for his safety, and it is not enough to say he is lost."
Mokoum's face flushed, and he answered impatiently,--
"Why should you expect me to take care of one who can't take care of
himself? Why blame me? If Mr. Palander is lost, it is by his own folly.
Twenty times I have found him absorbed in his figures, and have brought
him back to the caravan. But the evening before last he disappeared,
and I have not seen him since. Perhaps if you are so clever, you can
spy him out with your telescope."
The bushman would doubtless have become more irritable still, if Sir
John had not pacified him. Matthew Strux had not been able to get in a
word, but now turned round unexpectedly to the Colonel, saying,--
"I shall not abandon my countryman. I suppose that if Sir John Murray
or Mr. Emery were lost, you would suspend operations; and I don't see
why you should do less for a Russian than for an Englishman."
"Mr. Strux," cried the Colonel, folding his arms, and fixing his eyes
on his adversary, "do you wish to insult me? Why should you suppose
that we will not seek this blundering calculator?"
"Sir!" said Strux.
"Yes, blundering," repeated the Colonel. "And to return to what
you said, I maintain that any embarrassment to the progress of the
operations from this circumstance would be due to the Russians alone."
"Colonel," cried Strux, with gleaming eyes, "your words are hasty."
"My words, on the contrary, are well weighed. Let it be understood that
operations are suspended until Mr. Palander is found. Are you ready to
start?"
"I was ready before you spoke a word," answered Strux sharply.
The caravan having now arrived, the disputants each went to his waggon.
On the way Sir John could not help saying,--
"It is lucky that the stupid fellow has not carried off the double
register."
"Just what I was thinking," said the Colonel.
The Englishmen proceeded more strictly to interrogate Mokoum. He told
them that Palander had been missing for two days, and had last been
seen alongside of the caravan about twelve miles from the encampment;
that after missing him, he at once set out to seek for him, but being
unsuccessful in all his search, had concluded that he must have made
his way to his companions.
Mokoum proposed that they should now explore the woods to the
north-east, adding that they must not lose an hour if they wanted to
find him alive, knowing that no one could wander with impunity for
two days in a country infested like that with wild beasts. Where any
one else could find a subsistence, Palander, ever engrossed by his
figures, would inevitably die of starvation. At one o'clock, guided by
the hunter, they mounted and left the camp. The grotesque attitudes of
Strux, as he clung uneasily to his steed, caused considerable diversion
to his companions, who, however, were polite enough to pass no remark.
Before leaving the camp, Mokoum asked the pioneer to lend him his
keen-scented dog. The sagacious animal, after scenting a hat belonging
to Palander, darted off in a north-easterly direction, whilst his
master urged him on by a peculiar whistle. The little troop followed,
and soon disappeared in the underwood.
All the day the Colonel and his companions followed the dog, who
seemed instinctively to know what was required of him. They shouted,
they fired their guns, but night came on when they had scoured the
woods for five miles round, and they were at length obliged to rest
until the following day. They spent the night in a grove, before which
the bushman had prudently kindled a wood fire. Some wild howls were
heard, by no means reassuring. Hours passed in arguing about Palander,
and discussing plans for his assistance. The English showed as much
devotion as Strux could desire; and it was decided that all work should
be adjourned till the Russian was found, alive or dead.
After a weary night the day dawned. The horses were saddled, and the
little troop again followed the dog. Towards the north-east they
arrived at a district almost swampy in its character. The small
water-courses increased in number, but they were easily forded, care
being taken to avoid the crocodiles, of which Sir John, for the first
time in his life, now saw some specimens. The bushman would not permit
that time should be wasted in any attack upon the reptiles, and
restrained Sir John, who was always on the _qui-vive_ to discharge a
ball. Whenever a crocodile, snapping its prey with its formidable jaw,
put its head out of water, the horses set off at a gallop to escape.
The troop of riders went on over woods, plains, and marshes, noting the
most insignificant tokens: here a broken bough; there a freshly-trodden
tuft of grass; or farther on some inexplicable mark; but no trace of
Palander.
When they had advanced ten miles north of the last encampment, and were
about to turn south-east, the dog suddenly gave signs of agitation. He
barked, and in an excited way wagged his tail. Sniffing the dry grass,
he ran on a few steps, and returned to the same spot.
"The dog scents something," exclaimed the bushman.
"It seems," said Sir John, "he is on a right track. Listen to his
yelping: he seems to be talking to himself. He will be an invaluable
creature if he scents out Palander."
Strux did not quite relish the way in which his countryman was treated
as a head of game; but the important thing now was to find him, and
they all waited to follow the dog, as soon as he should be sure of the
scent.
Very soon the animal, with a loud yelp, bounded over the thicket and
disappeared. The horses could not follow through the dense forest, but
were obliged to take a circuitous path. The dog was certainly on the
right track now, the only question was whether Palander was alive or
dead.
In a few minutes the yelping ceased, and the bushman and Sir John,
who were in advance, were becoming uneasy, when suddenly the barking
began again outside the forest, about half a mile away. The horses
were spurred in that direction, and soon reached the confines of the
marsh. The dog could distinctly be heard, but, on account of the lofty
reeds, could not be seen. The riders dismounted, and tied their horses
to a tree. With difficulty they made their way through the reeds, and
reached a large space covered with water and aquatic plants. In the
lowest part lay the brown waters of a lagoon half a mile square. The
dog stopped at the muddy edge, and barked furiously.
[Illustration: "There he is," cried Mokoum.]
"There he is!" cried Mokoum.
And sure enough, on a stump at the extremity of a sort of peninsula,
sat Nicholas Palander, pencil in hand, and a note-book on his knees,
wrapt in calculations. His friends could not suppress a cry. About
twenty paces off a number of crocodiles, quite unknown to him, lay
watching, and evidently designing an attack.
[Illustration: A missing Companion.]
"Make haste," said Mokoum, in a low voice; "I don't understand why
these animals don't rush on him."
"They are waiting till he is gamey," said Sir John, alluding to the
idea common among the natives that these reptiles never touch fresh
meat.
The bushman and Sir John, telling their companions to wait for them,
passed round the lagoon, and reached the narrow isthmus by which alone
they could get near Palander. They had not gone two hundred steps, when
the crocodiles, leaving the water, made straight towards their prey.
Palander saw nothing, but went on writing.
"Be quick and calm," whispered Mokoum, "or all is lost."
Both, kneeling down, aimed at the nearest reptiles, and fired. Two
monsters rolled into the water with broken backs, and the rest
simultaneously disappeared beneath the surface.
At the sound of the guns Palander raised his head. He recognized his
companions, and ran towards them waving his note-book, and like the
philosopher of old exclaiming "Eureka!" he cried, "I have found it!"
"What have you found?" asked Sir John.
"An error in the last decimal of a logarithm of James Wolston's."
It was a fact. The worthy man had discovered the error, and had secured
a right to the prize offered by Wolston's editor. For four days had the
astronomer wandered in solitude. Truly Ampère, with his unrivalled gift
of abstraction, could not have done better!
CHAPTER XII.
A STATION TO SIR JOHN'S LIKING.
So the Russian mathematician was found! When they asked him how he had
passed those four days, he could not tell; he thought the whole story
of the crocodiles was a joke, and did not believe it. He had not been
hungry; he had lived upon figures. Matthew Strux would not reproach his
countryman before his colleagues, but there was every reason to believe
that in private he gave him a severe reprimand.
The geodetic operations were now resumed, and went on as usual till the
28th of June, when they had measured the base of the 15th triangle,
which would conclude the second and commence the third degree of the
meridian. Here a physical difficulty arose. The country was so thickly
covered with underwood, that although the artificial signals could be
erected, they could not be discerned at any distance. One station was
recognized as available for an electric lamp. This was a mountain 1200
feet high, about thirty miles to the north-west. The choice of this
would make the sides of this triangle considerably longer than any
of the former, but it was at length determined to adopt it. Colonel
Everest, Emery, Zorn, three sailors, and two Bochjesmen, were appointed
to establish the lighted signal, the distance being too great to work
otherwise than at night.
The little troop, accompanied by mules laden with the instruments and
provisions, set off in the morning. The Colonel did not expect to reach
the base of the mountain till the following day, and however few might
be the difficulties of the ascent, the observers in the camp would not
see the lighted signal till the night of the 29th or 30th.
In the interval of waiting, Strux and Palander went to their usual
occupations, while Sir John and the bushman shot antelopes. They
found opportunity of hunting a giraffe, which is considered fine
sport. Coming across a herd of twenty, but so wild that they could not
approach within 500 yards, they succeeded in detaching a female from
the herd. The animal set off at first at a slow trot, allowing the
horsemen to gain upon her; but when she found them near, she twisted
her tail, and started at full speed. The hunters followed for about two
miles, when a ball from Sir John's rifle threw her on to her side, and
made her an easy victim.
In the course of the next night the two Russians took some altitudes
of the stars, which enabled them to determine the latitude of the
encampment. The following night was clear and dry, without moon and
stars, and the observers impatiently watched for the appearance of the
electric light. Strux, Palander, and Sir John relieved guard at the
telescope, but no light appeared. They concluded that the ascent of
the mountain had offered serious difficulty, and again postponed their
observations till the next night. Great, however, was their surprise,
when, about two o'clock in the afternoon, Colonel Everest and his
companions suddenly re-appeared in camp.
In answer to inquiries whether he had found the mountain inaccessible,
Colonel Everest replied that although in itself the mountain was
entirely accessible, it was so guarded that they had found it necessary
to come back for reinforcements.
"Do you mean," said Sir John, "that the natives were assembled in
force?"
"Yes, natives with four paws and black manes, who have eaten up one of
our horses."
The Colonel went on to say that the mountain was only to be approached
by a spur on the south-west side. In the narrow defile leading to
the spur a troop of lions had taken up their abode. These he had
endeavoured to dislodge, but, insufficiently armed, he was compelled to
beat a retreat, after losing one of his horses by a single blow of a
lion's paw.
The recital kindled the interest of Sir John and the bushman. Clearly
it was a station worth conquering, and an expedition was at once
arranged. All the Europeans, without exception, were eager to join, but
it was necessary that some should remain at the camp to measure the
angles at the base of the triangle, therefore the Colonel resolved to
stay behind with Strux and Palander, while Sir John, Emery, and Zorn
(to whose entreaties their chiefs had been obliged to yield), Mokoum,
and three natives on whose courage he could rely, made up the party for
the attack.
They started at four in the afternoon, and by nine were within
two miles of the mountain. Here they dismounted, and made their
arrangements for the night. No fire was kindled, Mokoum being unwilling
to provoke a nocturnal attack from the animals, which he wished to meet
by daylight.
Throughout the night the roar of the lions could almost incessantly be
heard. Not one of the hunters slept for so much as an hour, and Mokoum
took advantage of their wakefulness to give them some advice from his
own experience.
"From what Colonel Everest tells us," he said calmly, "these are
black-maned lions, the fiercest and most dangerous species of any. They
leap for a distance of sixteen to twenty paces, and I should advise you
to avoid their first bound. Should the first fail, they rarely take a
second. We will attack them as they re-enter their den at daybreak;
they are always less fierce when they are well filled. But they will
defend themselves well, for here, in this uninhabited district, they
are unusually ferocious. Measure your distance well before you fire;
let the animal approach, and take a sure aim near the shoulder. We
must leave our horses behind; the sight of a lion terrifies them, and
therefore the safety of their rider is imperilled. We must fight on
foot, and I rely on your calmness."
All listened with silent attention: Mokoum was now the patient hunter.
Although the lion seldom attacks a man without provocation, yet his
fury, when once aroused, is terrible; and therefore the bushman
enjoined composure on his companions, especially on Sir John, who was
often carried away by his boldness.
"Shoot at a lion," said Mokoum, "as calmly as if you were shooting a
partridge."
At four o'clock, only a few red streaks being visible in the far east,
the hunters tied up their horses securely and left their halting-place.
"Examine your guns, and be careful that your cartridges are in good
trim," continued Mokoum, to those who carried rifles; for the three
natives were armed otherwise, satisfied with their bows of aloe, which
already had rendered them good service.
The party, in a compact group, turned towards the defile, which had
been partially reconnoitred the evening before. They crept, like Red
Indians, silently between the trees, and soon reached the narrow gorge
which formed the entrance. Here, winding between piles of granite,
began the path leading to the first slopes of the spur. Midway the path
had been widened by a landslip, and here was the cave tenanted by the
lions.
It was then arranged that Sir John, one of the natives, and Mokoum,
should creep along the upper edge of the defile, with the intention of
driving out the animals to the lower extremity of the gorge. There the
two young Europeans and the other two Bochjesmen should be in ambush to
receive the fugitive beasts with shot and arrows.
No spot could be better adapted for the manœuvres. The forked branches
of a gigantic sycamore afforded a safe position, since lions do not
climb; and the hunters, perched at a considerable height, could escape
their bounds and aim at them under favourable conditions.
William Emery objected to the plan as being dangerous for Sir John and
the bushman, but the latter would hear of no modification, and Emery
reluctantly acquiesced.
Day now began to dawn, and the mountain-top was glowing in the sun.
Mokoum, after seeing his four companions installed in the sycamore,
started off with Sir John and the Bochjesman, and soon mounted the
devious path which lay on the right edge of the defile. Cautiously
examining their path, they continued to advance. In the event of the
lions having returned to their den and being at repose, it would be
possible to make short work of them.
After about a quarter of an hour the hunters, reaching the landslip
before the cave to which Zorn had directed them, crouched down and
examined the spot. It seemed a wide excavation, though at present they
could hardly estimate the size. The entrance was marked by piles of
bones and remains of animals, demonstrating, beyond doubt, that it was
the lions' retreat.
Contrary to the hunter's expectation, the cave seemed deserted. He
crept to the entrance and satisfied himself that it was really empty.
Calling his companions, who joined him immediately, he said,--
"Our game has not returned, Sir John, but it will not be long: I think
we had better install ourselves in its place. Better to be besieged
than besiegers, especially as we have an armed succour at hand. What do
you think?"
"I am at your orders, Mokoum," replied Sir John.
[Illustration: It was a deep Grotto, strewn with Bones and stained with
Blood.]
All three accordingly entered. It was a deep grotto, strewn with bones
and stained with blood. Repeating their scrutiny, lest they should be
mistaken as to the cave being empty, they hastened to barricade the
entrance by piling up stones, the intervening spaces being filled with
boughs and dry brushwood. This only occupied a few minutes, the
mouth of the cave being comparatively narrow. They then went behind
their loop-holes, and awaited their prey, which was not long in coming.
A lion and two lionesses approached within a hundred yards of the cave.
The lion, tossing his mane and sweeping the ground with his tail,
carried in his teeth an entire antelope, which he shook with as much
ease as a cat would a mouse. The two lionesses frisked along at his
side.
[Illustration: The Entrance to the Lion's Den.]
Sir John afterwards confessed that it was a moment of no little
trepidation; he felt his pulses beat fast, and was conscious of
something like fear; but he was soon himself again. His two companions
retained their composure undisturbed.
At the sight of the barricade, the beasts paused. They were within
sixty paces. With a harsh roar from the lion, they all three rushed
into a thicket on the right, a little below the spot where the hunters
had first stopped. Their tawny backs and gleaming eyes were distinctly
visible through the foliage.
"The partridges are there," whispered Sir John; "let us each take one."
"No," answered Mokoum softly, "the brood is not all here, and the
report of a gun would frighten the rest. Bochjesman, are you sure of
your arrow at this distance?"
"Yes, Mokoum," said the native.
"Then aim at the male's left flank, and pierce his heart."
The Bochjesman bent his bow, and the arrow whistled through the
brushwood. With a loud roar, the lion made a bound and fell. He lay
motionless, and his sharp teeth stood out in strong relief against his
blood-stained lips.
"Well done, Bochjesman!" said Mokoum.
At this moment the lionesses, leaving the thicket, flung themselves
on the lion's body. Attracted by their roar, two other lions and a
third lioness appeared round the corner of the defile. Bristling with
anger, they looked twice their ordinary size, and bounded forward with
terrific roars.
"Now for the rifles," cried the bushman, "we must shoot them on the
wing, since they will not perch."
[Illustration: A Ball from the Bushman arrested the Lioness.]
The bushman took deliberate aim, and one lion fell, as it were
paralyzed. The other, his paw broken by Sir John's bullet, rushed
towards the barricade, followed by the infuriated lionesses. Unless the
rifles could now be brought successfully to bear, the three animals
would succeed in entering their den. The hunters retired; their guns
were quickly re-loaded; two or three lucky shots, and all would be well;
but an unforeseen circumstance occurred which rendered the hunters'
situation to the last degree alarming.
All at once a dense smoke filled the cave. One of the wads, falling
on the dry brushwood, had set it alight, and soon a sheet of flames,
fanned by the wind, lay between the men and the beasts. The lions
recoiled, but the hunters would be suffocated if they remained where
they were. It was a terrible moment, but they dared not hesitate.
"Come out! come out!" cried Mokoum.
They pushed aside the brushwood with the butt ends of their guns,
knocked down the stones, and, half choked, leaped out of the cloud of
smoke.
The native and Sir John had hardly time to collect their senses when
they were both knocked over. The African, struck on the chest by one of
the lionesses, lay motionless on the ground; Sir John, who received a
blow from the tail of the other, thought his leg was broken, and fell
on his knees. But just as the animal turned upon him, a ball from the
bushman arrested her, and, meeting a bone, exploded in her body. At
this instant Zorn, Emery, and the two Bochjesmen appeared opportunely,
although unsummoned, hastening up the defile. Two lions and one lioness
were dead; but two lionesses and the lion with the broken paw were
still sufficiently formidable. The rifles, however, performed their
duty. A second lioness fell, struck in both head and flank. The third
lioness and the wounded lion bounded over the young men's heads, and
amid a last salute of balls and arrows disappeared round the corner of
the defile.
Sir John uttered a loud hurrah. The lions were conquered, four
carcasses measured the ground.
With his friend's assistance, Sir John was soon on his feet again; his
leg was not broken. The native soon recovered his consciousness, being
merely stunned by the blow from the animal's head. An hour later, the
little troop, without further trace of the fugitive couple, regained
the thicket where they had left their horses.
"Well," said Mokoum to Sir John, "I hope you like our African
partridges."
[Illustration: "Well," said Mokoum, "I hope you like our African
Partridges."]
"Delightful! delightful!" said Sir John, rubbing his leg, "but what
tails they have, to be sure!"
CHAPTER XIII.
PACIFICATION BY FIRE.
At the camp Colonel Everest and his colleagues, with a natural
impatience, anxiously abided the result of the lion-hunt. If the
chase proved successful, the light would appear in the course of the
night. The Colonel and Strux passed the day uneasily; Palander, always
engrossed, forgot that any danger menaced his friends. It might be said
of him, as of the mathematician Bouvard, "He will continue to calculate
while he continues to live;" for apart from his calculations life for
him would have lost its purpose.
The two chiefs certainly thought quite as much of the accomplishment of
their survey as of any danger incurred by their companions; they would
themselves have braved any peril rather than have a physical obstacle
to arrest their operations.
At length, after a day that seemed interminable, the night arrived.
Punctually every half-hour the Colonel and Matthew Strux silently
relieved guard at the telescope, each desiring to be the first to
discover the light. But hours passed on, and no light appeared. At
last, at a quarter to three, Colonel Everest arose, and calmly said.
"The signal!"
The Russian, although he did not utter a word, could scarcely conceal
the chagrin which he felt at chance favouring the Colonel.
The angle was then carefully measured, and was found to be exactly 73°
58' 42.413".
Colonel Everest being anxious to join his companions as soon as
possible, the camp was raised at dawn, and by midday all the members of
the Commission had met once more. The incidents of the lion-hunt were
recounted, and the victors heartily congratulated.
During the morning Sir John, Emery, and Zorn had proceeded to the
summit of the mountain, and had thence measured the angular distance
of a new station situated a few miles to the west of the meridian.
Palander also announced that the measurement of the second degree was
now complete.
For five weeks all went on well. The weather was fine, and the country,
being only slightly undulated, offered fair sites for the stations.
Provisions were abundant, and Sir John's revictualling expeditions
provided full many a variety of antelopes and buffaloes. The general
health was good, and water could always be found. Even the discussions
between the Colonel and Strux were less violent, and each seemed to vie
with the other in zeal for success, when a local difficulty occurred
which for a while hindered the work and revived hostilities.
It was the 11th of August. During the night the caravan had passed
through a wooded country, and in the morning halted before an immense
forest extending beyond the horizon. Imposing masses of foliage formed
a verdant curtain which was of indescribable beauty. There were the
"gounda," the "mosokoso," and the "mokoumdon," a wood much sought for
ship-building; great ebony trees, their bark covering a perfectly
black wood; "bauhinias," with fibre of iron; "buchneras," with their
orange-coloured flowers; magnificent "roodeblatts," with whitish
trunks, crowned with crimson foliage, and thousands of "guaiacums,"
measuring fifteen feet in circumference. There was ever a murmur like
that of the surf on a sandy coast; it was the wind, which, passing
across the branches, was calmed on the skirts of the forest. In answer
to a question from the Colonel, Mokoum said,--
"It is the forest of Rovouma."
"What is its size?"
"It is about forty-five miles wide, and ten long."
"How shall we cross it?"
"Cross it we cannot," said Mokoum. "There is but one resource: we must
go round either to the east or to the west."
At this intelligence the chiefs were much perplexed. In the forest they
could not establish stations; to pass round would involve them in an
additional series of perhaps ten auxiliary triangles.
Here was a difficulty of no little magnitude. Encamping in the shade of
a magnificent grove about half a mile from the forest, the astronomers
assembled in council. The question of surveying across the mass of
trees was at once set aside, and it now remained to determine whether
they should make the circuit to the east or the west, since the
meridian passed as nearly as possible through the centre of the forest.
On this point arose a violent discussion between the Colonel and Strux.
The two rivals recovered their old animosity, and the discussion ended
in a serious altercation. Their colleagues attempted to interfere,
but to no purpose. The Englishman wished to turn to the right, since
that direction approached the route taken by Dr. Livingstone in his
expedition to the Zambesi Falls, and the country would on that account
be more known and frequented. The Russian, on the contrary, insisted on
going to the left, but apparently for no other reason than to thwart
the Colonel. The quarrel went so far that a separation between the
members of the Commission seemed imminent. Zorn, Emery, Sir John, and
Palander withdrew and left their chiefs to themselves. Such was their
obstinacy that it seemed as if the survey must continue from this point
in two oblique series of triangles.
The day passed away without any reconciliation, and the next morning
Sir John, finding matters still in the same condition, proposed to
Mokoum to beat the neighbourhood. Perhaps meanwhile the astronomers
would come to an understanding: any way, some fresh venison would not
be despised.
Mokoum, always ready, whistled to his dog Top, and the two hunters
ventured several miles from the encampment. The conversation naturally
turned on the subject of the difficulty.
"I expect," said the bushman, "we shall be encamped some time here. Our
two chiefs are like ill-paired oxen, one pulls one way and the other
another, and the consequence is that the waggon makes no headway."
"It is all very sad," answered Sir John, "and looks like a separation.
The interests of science are compromised, otherwise I should be
indifferent to it all. I should amuse myself with my gun until the
rivals made it up."
"Do you think they _will_ make it up? For my part, I am almost afraid
that our halt will be indefinitely prolonged."
"I fear so, Mokoum," replied Sir John. "The matter is so trivial, and
it is no question of science. Our chiefs would doubtless have yielded
to a scientific argument, but they will never make concession in a pure
matter of opinion. How unfortunate that the meridian happens to cross
this forest!"
"Hang the forests!" exclaimed the bushman, "don't let them stop your
measuring, if you want to measure. But I can't see the good of your
getting at the length and breadth of the earth? Who will be any better
off when every thing is reduced to feet and inches? I should just like
to think of the globe as infinite; to measure it is to make it small.
No, Sir John, if I were to live for ever, I could never understand the
use of your operations."
Sir John could not help smiling. They had often debated the subject,
and the ignorant child of nature could evidently not enter into the
interest attached to the survey. Whenever Sir John attempted to
convince him, he answered eloquently with arguments stamped with a
genuine naturalness, of which Sir John, half-_savant_ and half-hunter,
could fully appreciate the charm.
Thus conversing, the hunters pursued the rock-hares, the shrill-toned
plovers, the partridges (with brown, yellow, and black plumage), and
other small game. But Sir John had all the sport to himself. The
bushman seldom fired; he was pre-occupied. The quarrel between the two
astronomers seemed to trouble him more than it did his companion, and
the variety of game hardly attracted his notice. In truth there was
an idea floating through his brain, which, little by little, took more
definite form. Sir John heard him talking to himself, and watched him
as he quietly let the game pass by, as engrossed as Palander himself.
Two or three times in the course of the day he drew near Sir John and
said,--
"So you really think that Colonel Everest and Mr. Strux will not come
to terms?"
Sir John invariably replied that agreement seemed unlikely, and that he
feared there would be a separation between Englishmen and Russians. The
last time Mokoum received this answer he added,--
"Well, you may be easy; I have found a means to satisfy both the
chiefs. Before to-morrow, if the wind is favourable, they will have
nothing to quarrel about."
"What do you mean to do, Mokoum?"
"Never mind, Sir John."
"Very well, I will leave it to you. You deserve to have your name
preserved in the annals of science."
"That would be too great an honour for me, Sir John," answered the
bushman, and then continued silently to ponder over his project. Sir
John made no further inquiries, but could not at all guess how the
bushman proposed to re-unite the two adversaries.
Towards evening the hunters returned to camp, and found matters even
worse than before. The oft-repeated intervention of Zorn and Emery had
been of no avail, and the quarrel had now reached such a height that
reconciliation seemed impossible. It appeared only too probable that
the survey would be continued in two separate directions. The thought
of this was sorrowful to Emery and Zorn, who were now so nearly bound
by mutual sympathy. Sir John guessed their thoughts, and was eager
to reassure them; but however much he was secretly disposed to trust
to the bushman, he abstained from raising any hopes which might be
fallacious.
Throughout the evening Mokoum did not leave his ordinary occupations.
He arranged the sentinels, and took the usual precautions. Sir John
began to think that he had forgotten his promise. Before going to rest
he tried to sound Colonel Everest, whom he found immovably resolved
that, unless Strux yielded, the English and Russians must part. "There
are things," added the Colonel, in a tone of decision, "that cannot be
borne, even from a colleague."
[Illustration: Sir John was soon asleep.]
Sir John, very uneasy, retired to his bed, and being fatigued with his
day's sport, was soon asleep. Towards eleven o'clock he was suddenly
aroused by the natives running to and fro in the camp. He quickly rose,
and found every one on their feet. The forest was on fire. In the dark
night, against the black sky, the curtain of flame seemed to rise
to the zenith; and in this incredibly short time the fire had extended
for several miles.
[Illustration: The Forest on Fire.]
Sir John looked at Mokoum, who, standing near, made no answer to his
glance; but he at once understood. The fire was designed to open a road
through that forest which had stood impervious for ages. The wind,
from the south, was favourable. The air, rushing as from a ventilator,
accelerated the conflagration, and furnished an ever fresh supply of
oxygen. It animated the flames, and kept the kindled branches burning
like a myriad brands. The scattered fragments became new centres for
fresh outbreaks of flame; the scene of the fire became larger, and the
heat grew intense. The dead wood piled under the dark foliage crackled,
and ever and anon louder reports and a brighter light told that the
resinous trees were burning like torches. Then followed explosions
like cannonades, as the great trunks of ironwood burst asunder with a
reverberation as of bombs. The sky reflected the glow, and the clouds
carried the rosy glare high aloft. Showers of sparks emitted from the
wreaths of smoke studded the heavens like red-hot stars.
Then, on every side, were heard the howls, shrieks, and bellowings of
herds of bewildered hyenas, buffaloes, and lions; elephants rushed in
every direction, like huge dark spectres, and disappeared beyond the
horizon.
The fire continued throughout the following day and night; and when
day broke on the 14th a vast space, several miles wide, had been opened
across the forest. A passage was now free for the meridian. The daring
genius of Mokoum had arrested the disaster which threatened the survey.
CHAPTER XIV.
A DECLARATION OF WAR.
All pretext for quarrelling being now removed, the Colonel and Strux,
somewhat rancorous at heart, recommenced their joint labours. About
five miles to the left of the gap made by the conflagration, rose an
eminence which would serve as the vertex of a new triangle. When the
requisite observations were complete, the caravan set off across the
burnt forest.
The road was paved with embers. The soil was still burning, and here
and there smouldered stumps of trees, while a hot steam rose around.
In many places lay the blackened carcasses of animals which had been
unable to make their escape. Wreaths of smoke gave evidence that the
fire was not yet extinct, and might still be rekindled by the wind.
Had the flames burst out again the caravan must inevitably have been
destroyed. Towards the middle of the day, however, it was safely
encamped at the foot of the hill. Here was a mass of rock which seemed
to have been arranged by the hand of man. It was a kind of cromlech--a
surprising erection to find in that locality--resembling the structures
attributed to the Druids, and which ever furnish fresh interest to the
archæologist. The most credible suggestion was that it must be the
remains of some primitive African altar.
The two young astronomers and Sir John Murray wished to visit the
fantastic construction, and, accompanied by the bushman, they ascended
the slope. They were not above twenty paces from the cromlech when a
man, hitherto concealed behind one of the many stones at the base,
appeared for a moment, and, descending the hill, stole quickly away
into a thicket that had been untouched by the fire. The momentary
glance was enough for the bushman. "A Makololo!" he cried, and rushed
after the native. Sir John followed, and both in vain searched the
wood. The native, knowing the short paths, had escaped where the most
experienced hunter could not have traced him. When the incident was
related to Colonel Everest he sent for Mokoum, and asked him who the
man was? what he was doing? and why he had followed him?
"He is a Makololo, Colonel," replied Mokoum. "He belongs to one of the
northern tribes that haunt the affluents of the Zambesi. Not only is
he an enemy of us Bochjesmen, but he is a plunderer of all who venture
into the country; he was spying us, and we shall be lucky if we have
not cause to regret that we couldn't get hold of him."
"But what have we to fear from a band of robbers?" asked the Colonel;
"are not our numbers sufficient to resist them?"
"At present, yes," replied the bushman; "but in the north these tribes
are more frequent, and it is difficult to avoid them. If this Makololo
is a spy, as I suspect, he will not fail in putting several hundred
of these robbers on our track, and then, Colonel, I would not give a
farthing for all your triangles."
The Colonel was vexed. He knew that the bushman was not the man to
exaggerate danger, and that all he said ought to be duly weighed.
The intentions of the native were certainly suspicious; his sudden
appearance and immediate flight showed that he was caught deliberately
spying. No doubt he would announce the approach of the Commission to
the tribes of the north. There was, however, no help for it now; the
caravan must continue its march with extra precautions.
On the 17th of August the astronomers completed their twenty-second
triangle, and with it the third degree of the meridian. Finding by the
map that the village of Kolobeng was about 100 miles to the north-east,
they resolved to turn thither for a few days' rest. For nearly six
months they had had no communication with the civilized world, and
at Kolobeng, an important village and missionary station, they would
probably hear news from Europe, besides being able to re-provision the
caravan.
The remarkable cromlech was at once chosen as the landmark whence
subsequent operations should commence, and the Colonel gave the
signal for departure. With no further incident the caravan reached
Kolobeng on the 22nd. The village was merely a mass of native huts,
the uniformity of which was relieved by the depôt of the missionaries
who had settled there. Formerly called Lepelolé, it is marked on some
maps Litoubarouka. Here Dr. Livingstone stayed for some months in 1843,
to learn the habits of the Bechuanas, or Bakouins, as they are more
generally termed in this part of the country.
With all hospitality the missionaries received the Europeans, and put
every available resource at their disposal. Livingstone's house was
still to be seen, sacked and ruined, as when visited by Baldwin; the
Boërs had not spared it in their incursion of 1852.
All eagerly asked for news from Europe; but their curiosity could not
be immediately satisfied, as no courier had reached the mission in the
last six months; but in about a week the principal said they expected
journals and despatches, since they had already heard of the arrival
of a carrier on the banks of the Upper Zambesi. A week was just the
period that the astronomers desired for their rest, and all except
Palander, who constantly revised his calculations, passed the time in
a complete _far niente_. The stern Matthew Strux held himself aloof
from his English colleagues, and Emery and Zorn took many walks in
the neighbourhood. The firmest friendship united these two, and they
believed that nothing could break the closeness of their sympathy.
On the 30th the eagerly-expected messenger arrived. He was a native of
Kilmaine, a town by the delta of the Zambesi. A merchantman from the
Mauritius, trading in gum and ivory, had landed on that coast early in
July, and delivered the despatches for the missionaries. The papers
were dated two months back, for the native had taken four weeks to
ascend the Zambesi.
On the arrival of the messenger, the principal of the mission had
handed to Colonel Everest a bundle of European newspapers, chiefly
the _Times_, the _Daily News_, and the _Journal des Débats_. The
intelligence they contained had, under the circumstances, a special
importance, and produced an unexpected emotion among the entire party.
The members of the Commission were altogether in the chief room of the
mission. Colonel Everest drew out the _Daily News_ for the 13th of May,
with the intention of reading aloud to his colleagues. Scarcely had he
glanced at the first leading article, when his brow contracted, and
the paper trembled in his hand. In a few moments he recovered his usual
composure.
"What does the paper say, Colonel?" asked Sir John.
"It is grave news, gentlemen," said the Colonel, "that I have to
communicate."
He kept the paper in his hand, and his colleagues waited eagerly for
him to speak. To the surprise of all he rose, and, advancing to Matthew
Strux, said,--
"Before communicating the intelligence conveyed in this paper, I should
wish to make an observation to you."
"I am ready to hear any thing you may say," said Strux, much astonished.
The Colonel then said solemnly,--
"Mr. Strux, hitherto there has been between us a rivalry more personal
than scientific, which has rendered our co-operation in the common
cause somewhat difficult. This, I believe, is to be attributed to the
fact of there being _two_ of us at the head of this expedition. To
avoid antagonism, there should be only one chief to every enterprise.
You agree with me, do you not?"
Strux bowed in assent. The Colonel went on,--
"This position, unpleasant for each of us, must, through recent
circumstances, now be changed. First, sir, let me say that I esteem you
highly, as your position in the scientific world demands. I beg you to
believe that I regret all that has passed between us."
These words were uttered with great dignity, even with pride. There
was no humiliation in the voluntary apology, so nobly expressed, and
neither Strux nor his colleagues could guess his motive. Perhaps the
Russian, not having the same incentive, was not equally disposed to
forget any personal resentment. However, mastering his ill-feeling, he
replied,--
"With you, Colonel, I think that no rivalry on our part should be
permitted to injure the scientific work with which we are entrusted.
I likewise hold _you_ in the esteem that your talents deserve, and in
future I will do all in my power to efface any personality from our
relations. But you spoke of a change; I do not understand----"
"You will soon be made to understand, Mr. Strux," replied the Colonel,
with a touch of sadness in his tone, "but first give me your hand."
"Here it is," rejoined Strux, with a slight hesitation. Without another
word the astronomers joined hands.
"Now you are friends," cried Sir John.
"Alas! no," said the Colonel, dropping the Russian's hand; "henceforth
we are enemies, separated by an abyss which must keep us apart even on
the territory of science."
[Illustration: "War is declared between England and Russia."]
Then turning to his colleagues, he added,--
"Gentlemen, war is declared between England and Russia. See, the news
is conveyed by these English, French, and Russian newspapers."
And, in truth, the war of 1854 had begun. The English, with their
allies the French and Turks, were fighting before Sebastopol, and the
Eastern question was being submitted to the ordeal of a naval conflict
on the Black Sea.
The Colonel's words fell like a thunderbolt. The English and Russians,
with their strong sentiment of nationality, started to their feet.
Those three words, "War is declared," were enough. They were no
longer companions united in a common labour, but already eyed one
another as avowed antagonists. Such is the influence of these national
duels on the heart of man. An instinctive impulse had divided the
Europeans--Nicholas Palander himself yielding to the feeling: Emery and
Zorn alone regarded each other with more of sadness than animosity,
and regretted that they had not shaken hands before Colonel Everest's
communication. No further conversation ensued; exchanging bows, English
and Russians retired.
This novel situation, although it would not interrupt the survey,
would render its continuation more difficult. For the interest of
its country, each party desired to pursue the operations; but the
measurements must be carried along two different meridians. In a formal
interview subsequently arranged between the chiefs, it was decided by
lot that the Russians should continue the meridian already begun, while
the English should choose an arc 60 or 80 miles to the west, and unite
it to the first by a series of auxiliary triangles; they would then
continue their survey as far as lat. 20°.
All these arrangements were made without any outbreak: personal rivalry
was swallowed up by national feeling, and the Colonel and Strux did
not exchange an uncivil word, but kept within the strictest limits of
politeness.
The caravan was equally divided, each party preserving its own stores.
The steamboat fell by lot to the Russians.
Mokoum, especially attached to Sir John, followed the English caravan.
The pioneer, equally experienced, headed the Russians. Each party
retained its instruments and one of the registers.
On the 31st of August the Commission divided. The English cordially
thanked the missionaries for their kind hospitality, and started first
to connect their last station with their new meridian.
[Illustration: The Parting of Emery and Zorn.]
If, before their departure, any one had entered the privacy of the
inner room, he would have seen Emery grasping the hand of Zorn, once
his friend, but now, by the will of their Majesties the Queen of
England and the Czar of Russia, no longer friend, but foe.
CHAPTER XV.
A GEOMETRIC PROGRESSION.
After the separation the English astronomers continued their labours
with the same care and precision as hitherto. Three had now to do the
work of six, and consequently the survey advanced more slowly, and
was attended with more fatigue; but they were not the men to spare
themselves; the desire that the Russians should not surpass them in any
way sustained them in their task, to which they gave all their time
and thoughts. Emery had to indulge in fewer reveries, and Sir John
could not so often spare his time for hunting. A new programme was
drawn up, assigning to each astronomer his proper share of the labour.
Sir John and the Colonel undertook all observations both in the sky
and in the field; while Emery replaced Palander as calculator. All
questions were decided in common, and there was no longer any fear that
disagreement should arise. Mokoum was still the guide and hunter to the
caravan. The English sailors, who formed half the crew of the "Queen
and Czar," had, of course, followed their countrymen; and although
the Russians were in possession of the steam-vessel, the India-rubber
boat, which was large enough for ordinary purposes, was the property
of the English. The provision-waggons were divided, thus impartially
ensuring the revictualling of each caravan. The natives likewise had
to be severed into two equal troops, not without some natural signs
of displeasure on their part; far from their own pasturages and
water-courses, in a region inhabited by wandering tribes hostile to the
tribes of the south, they could scarcely be reconciled to the prospect
of separation. But at length, by the help of the bushman and the
pioneer, who told them that the two detachments would be comparatively
a short distance apart, they consented to the arrangement.
On leaving Kolobeng the English caravan re-entered the burnt forest
and arrived at the cromlech which had served for their last station.
Operations were resumed, and a large triangle carried the observers at
once ten or twelve miles to the west of the old meridian.
Six days later the auxiliary series of triangles was finished, and
Colonel Everest and his colleagues, after consulting the maps, chose
the new arc one degree west of the other, being 23° east of the
meridian of Greenwich. They were not more than sixty miles from the
Russians, but this distance put any collision between the two parties
out of the question, as it was improbable that their triangles would
cross.
All through September the weather was fine and clear. The country was
fertile and varied, but scantily populated. The forests, which were
few, being broken by wide, open tracts, and with occasional mounds
occurring in the prairies, made the district extremely favourable
for the observations. The region was well provided with natural
productions. The sweet scent of many of the flowers attracted swarms
of scarabæi, and more especially a kind of bee as nearly as possible
like the European, depositing in clefts of rocks and holes of trees
a white liquid honey with a delicious flavour. Occasionally at night
large animals ventured near the camp; there were giraffes, varieties of
antelopes, hyenas, rhinoceroses, and elephants. But Sir John would not
be distracted, he resolutely discarded his rifle for his telescope.
Under these circumstances, Mokoum and some of the natives became
purveyors to the caravan, and Sir John had some difficulty in
restraining his excitement when he heard the report of their guns. The
bushman shot three prairie-buffaloes, the Bokolokolos of the Bechuanas,
formidable animals, with glossy black skins, short strong legs, fierce
eyes, and small heads crowned with thick black horns. They were a
welcome addition to the fresh venison which formed the ordinary fare.
The natives prepared the buffalo-meat as the Indians of the north do
their pemmican. The Europeans watched their proceedings with interest,
though at first with some repugnance. The flesh, after being cut into
thin slices and dried in the sun, was wrapped in a tanned skin, and
beaten with flails till it was reduced to a powder. It was then pressed
tightly into leathern sacks, and moistened with boiling tallowy suet
collected from the animal itself. To this they added some marrow and
berries, whose saccharine matter modified the nitrous elements of the
meat. This compound, after being mixed and beaten, formed, when cold, a
cake as hard as a stone. Mokoum, who considered his pemmican a national
delicacy, begged the astronomers to taste the preparation. At first
they found it extremely unpalatable, but, becoming accustomed to the
flavour, they soon learnt to partake of it with great relish. Highly
nourishing, and not at all likely to be tainted, containing, moreover,
its nutritive elements closely compacted, this pemmican was exactly
suited to meet the wants of a caravan travelling in an unknown country.
The bushman soon had several hundred pounds in reserve, and they were
thus secure from any immediate want.
Days and nights passed away in observations. Emery was always thinking
of his friend, and deploring the fate which had so suddenly severed
the bond of their friendship. He had no one to sympathize with his
admiration of the wild characteristics of the scenery, and, with
something of Palander's enthusiasm, found refuge in his calculations.
Colonel Everest was cold and calm as ever, exhibiting no interest
in any thing beyond his professional pursuits. As for Sir John, he
suppressed his murmurs, but sighed over the loss of his freedom.
Fortune, however, sometimes made amends; for although he had no
leisure for hunting, the wild beasts occasionally took the initiative,
and came near, interrupting his observations. He then considered
defence legitimate, and rejoiced to be able to make the duties of the
astronomer and of the hunter to be compatible.
One day he had a serious rencontre with an old rhinoceros, which cost
him "rather dear." For some time the animal had been prowling about
the flanks of the caravan. By the blackness of his skin Mokoum had
recognized the "chucuroo" (such is the native for this animal) as a
dangerous beast, and one which, more agile than the white species,
often attacks man and beast without any provocation.
On this day Sir John and Mokoum had set off to reconnoitre a
hill six miles away, on which the Colonel wished to establish an
indicating-post. With a certain foreboding, Sir John had brought his
rifle with conical shot instead of his ordinary gun; for although the
rhinoceros had not been seen for two days, yet he did not consider
it advisable to traverse unarmed an unknown country. Mokoum and
his companions had already unsuccessfully chased the beast, which
probably now had abandoned its designs. There was no reason to regret
the precaution. The adventurers had reached the summit of the hill,
when at the base, close to a thicket, of no large extent, appeared the
chucuroo. He was a formidable animal; his small eyes sparkled, and his
horns, planted firmly one over the other on his bony nose, furnished a
most powerful weapon of attack.
The bushman caught sight of him first, as he crouched about half a mile
distant in a grove of lentisk.
"Sir John," he cried, "fortune favours you: here is your chucuroo!"
"The rhinoceros!" exclaimed Sir John, with kindling eyes, for he had
never before been so near the animal.
[Illustration: "The Rhinoceros!" exclaimed Sir John.]
"Yes; a magnificent beast, and he seems inclined to cut off our
retreat," said the bushman. "Why he should attack us, I can hardly say;
his tribe is not carnivorous: but any way, there he is, and we must
hunt him out."
"Is it possible for him to get up here to us?" asked Sir John.
"No; his legs are too short and thick, but he will wait."
"Well, let him wait," said Sir John; "and when we have examined this
station, we will try and get him out."
They then proceeded with their reconnoitring, and chose a spot on
which to erect the indicating-post. They also noticed other eminences
to the north-west which would be of use in constructing a subsequent
triangle.
Their work ended, Sir John turned to the bushman, saying, "When you
like, Mokoum."
"I am at your orders, Sir John: the rhinoceros is still waiting."
"Well, let us go down, a ball from my rifle will soon settle matters."
"A ball!" cried Mokoum; "you don't know a rhinoceros. He won't fall
with one ball, however well it may be aimed."
"Nonsense!" began Sir John, "that is because people don't use conical
shot."
"Conical or round," rejoined the bushman, "the first will not bring
down such an animal as that."
"Well," said Sir John, carried away by his self-confidence, "as you
have your doubts, I will show you what our European weapons can do."
And he loaded his rifle, to be ready to take aim as soon as he should
be at a convenient distance.
"One moment, Sir John," said the bushman, rather piqued, "will you bet
with me?"
"Certainly," said Sir John.
"I am only a poor man," continued Mokoum, "but I will willingly bet you
half-a-crown against your first ball."
"Done!" replied Sir John instantly. "Half-a-crown to you if the
rhinoceros doesn't fall to my first shot."
The hunters descended the steep slope, and were soon posted within
range of the rhinoceros. The beast was perfectly motionless, and on
that account presented an easy aim.
Sir John thought his chance so good, that at the last moment he turned
to Mokoum and said,--
"Do you keep to your bargain?"
"Yes," replied the bushman.
The rhinoceros still being as motionless as a target, Sir John could
aim wherever he thought the blow would be mortal. He chose the muzzle,
and, his pride being roused, he aimed with the utmost care, and fired.
The ball failed in reaching the flesh; it had merely shattered to
fragments the extremity of one of the horns. The animal did not appear
to experience the slightest shock.
"That counts nothing," said the bushman, "you didn't touch the flesh."
"Yes, it counts," replied Sir John, rather vexed; "I have lost my
wager. But come now, double or quits?"
"As you please, Sir John, but you will lose."
"We shall see."
The rifle was carefully re-loaded, and Sir John, taking rather a random
aim, fired a second time; but meeting the horny skin of the haunch, the
ball, notwithstanding its force, fell to the ground. The rhinoceros
moved a few steps.
"A crown to me," said Mokoum.
"Will you stake it again?" asked Sir John, "double or quits."
"By all means," said Mokoum.
This time Sir John, who had begun to get angry, regained his composure,
and aimed at the animal's forehead. The ball rebounded, as if it had
struck a metal plate.
"Half-a-sovereign," said the bushman calmly.
"Yes, and another," cried Sir John, exasperated.
The shot penetrated the skin, and the rhinoceros made a tremendous
bound; but instead of falling, he rushed furiously upon the bushes,
which he tore and crushed violently.
"I think he still moves," said the bushman quietly.
Sir John was beside himself; his composure again deserted him, and he
risked the sovereign he owed the bushman on a fifth ball. He continued
to lose again and again, but persisted in doubling the stake at every
shot. At length the animal, pierced to the heart, fell, impotent to
rise to its feet.
Sir John uttered a loud hurrah; he had killed his rhinoceros. He had
forgotten his disappointment, but he did not forget his bets. It was
startling to find that the perpetually redoubled stakes had mounted at
the ninth shot to 32_l_. Sir John congratulated himself on his escape
from such a debt of honour; but in his enthusiasm he presented Mokoum
with several gold pieces which the bushman received with his usual
equanimity.
CHAPTER XVI.
DANGER IN DISGUISE.
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 midday 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 of 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 of
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.
[Illustration: The Advance of the Caravan.]
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 merest 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 Cumming 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.
[Illustration: The Hunters glided through the Creepers and
Brushwood.]
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.
[Illustration: The empty Oryx Skin.]
"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."
CHAPTER XVII.
AN UNEXPECTED BLIGHT.
After the oryx hunt the bushman had a long conversation with the
Colonel. He felt sure, he said, that they were watched and followed,
and that the only reason why they had not been attacked before was
because the Makololos wished to get them farther north, where their
hordes were larger. The question thus arose whether, in presence of
this danger, they should retrace their steps; but they were reluctant
to suffer that which nature had favoured to be interrupted by the
attacks of a few African savages. The Colonel, aware of the importance
of the question, asked the bushman to tell him all he knew about the
Makololos.
Mokoum explained that they were the most northerly branch of the great
tribe of the Bechuanas. In 1850 Dr. Livingstone, during his first
journey to the Zambesi, was received at Sesheki, the usual residence
of Sebitouani, the chief of the Makololos. This native was a man of
remarkable intelligence, and a formidable warrior. In 1824 he had
menaced the Cape frontier, and, little by little, had gained an
ascendency over the tribes of Central Africa, and had united them in
a compact group. In the year before the arrival of the Anglo-Russian
expedition the chief had died in Livingstone's arms, and his son
Sekeleton succeeded him.
At first Sekeleton was very friendly towards the Europeans who visited
the Zambesi, and Dr. Livingstone had no complaint to make. But after
the departure of the famous traveller, not only strangers but the
neighbouring tribes were harassed by Sekeleton and his warriors. To
these vexations succeeded pillage on a large scale, and the Makololos
scoured the district between Lake Ngami and the Upper Zambesi.
Consequently nothing was more dangerous than for a caravan to venture
across this region without a considerable escort, especially when its
progress had been previously known.
Such was the history given by Mokoum. He said that he thought it right
to tell the Colonel the whole truth, adding, that for his own part (if
the Colonel so wished) he should not hesitate to continue the march.
Colonel Everest consulted with his colleagues, and it was settled
that the work, at all risks, should be continued. Something more than
half of the project was now accomplished, and, whatever happened, the
English owed it to themselves and their country not to abandon their
undertaking. The series of triangles was resumed. On the 27th the
tropic of Capricorn was passed, and on the 3rd of November, with the
completion of the forty-first triangle, a fifth degree was added to the
meridian.
For a month the survey went on rapidly, without meeting a single
natural obstacle. Mokoum, always on the alert, kept a constant look-out
at the head and flanks of the caravan, and forbade the hunters to
venture too great a distance away. No immediate danger, however,
seemed to threaten the little troop, and they were sanguine that the
bushman's fears might prove groundless. There was no further trace
of the native who, after eluding them at the cromlech, had taken so
strange a part in the oryx chase: nor did any other aggressor appear.
Still, at various intervals, the bushman observed signs of trepidation
among the Bochjesmen under his command. The incidents of the flight
from the old cromlech, and the stratagem of the oryx hunt, could
not be concealed from them, and they were perpetually expecting an
attack. A deadly antipathy existed between tribe and tribe, and, in
the event of a collision, the defeated party could entertain no hope
of mercy. The Bochjesmen were already 300 miles from their home, and
there was every prospect of their being carried 200 more. It is true
that, before engaging them, Mokoum had been careful to inform them of
the length and difficulties of the journey, and they were not men to
shrink from fatigue; but now, when to these was added the danger of a
conflict with implacable enemies, regret was mingled with murmuring,
and dissatisfaction was exhibited with ill-humour, and although Mokoum
pretended neither to hear nor to see, he was silently conscious of an
increasing anxiety.
On the 2nd of December a circumstance occurred which still further
increased the spirit of complaint amongst this superstitious people,
and provoked them to a kind of rebellion. Since the previous evening
the weather had become dull. The atmosphere, saturated with vapour,
gave signs of being heavily charged with electric fluid. There was
every prospect of the recurrence of one of the storms which in this
tropical district are seldom otherwise than violent. During the morning
the sky became covered with sinister-looking clouds, piled together
like bales of down of contrasted colours, the yellowish hue distinctly
relieving the masses of dark grey. The sun was wan, the heat was
overpowering, and the barometer fell rapidly; the air was so still that
not a leaf fluttered.
Although the astronomers had not been unconscious of the change of
weather, they had not thought it necessary to suspend their labours.
Emery, attended by two sailors and four natives in charge of a waggon,
was sent two miles east of the meridian to establish a post for the
vertex of the next triangle. He was occupied in securing his point of
sight, when a current of cold air caused a rapid condensation, which
appeared to contribute immediately to a development of electric matter.
Instantly there fell a violent shower of hail, and by a rare phenomenon
the hailstones were luminous, so that it seemed to be raining drops of
boiling silver. The storm increased; sparks flashed from the ground,
and jets of light gleamed from the iron settings of the waggon. Dr.
Livingstone relates that he has seen tiles broken, and horses and
antelopes killed, by the violence of these hail-storms.
Without losing a moment, Emery left his work for the purpose of calling
his men to the waggon, which would afford better shelter than a tree.
But he had hardly left the top of the hill, when a dazzling flash,
instantly followed by a peal of thunder, inflamed the air.
[Illustration: Emery and two Natives struck by Lightning.]
Emery was thrown down, and lay prostrate, as though he were actually
dead. The two sailors, dazzled for a moment, were not long in rushing
towards him, and were relieved to find that the thunderbolt had spared
him. He had been enveloped by the fluid, which, collected by the
compass which he held in his hand, had been diverted in its course, so
as to leave him not seriously injured. Raised by the sailors, he soon
came to himself; but he had narrowly escaped. Two natives, twenty paces
apart, lay lifeless at the foot of the post. One had been struck by the
full force of the thunderbolt, and was a black and shattered corpse,
while his clothes remained entire; the other had been locally struck
on the skull by the destructive fluid, and had been killed at once. The
three men had been undeniably struck by a single flash. This trisection
of a flash of lightning is an unusual but not unknown occurrence, and
the angular division was very large. The Bochjesmen were at first
overwhelmed by the sudden death of their comrades, but soon, in spite
of the cries of the sailors and at the risk of being struck themselves,
they rushed back to the camp. The two sailors, having first provided
for the protection of Emery, conveyed the two dead bodies to the
waggon, and then found shelter for themselves, being sorely bruised by
the hailstones, which fell like a shower of marbles. For three quarters
of an hour the storm continued to rage; the hail then abated so as to
allow the waggon to return to camp.
The news of the death of the natives had preceded them, and had
produced a deplorable effect on the minds of the Bochjesmen, who
already looked upon the trigonometrical operations with the terror
of superstition. They assembled in secret council, and some more
timid than the rest declared they would go no farther. The rebellious
disposition began to look serious, and it took all the bushman's
influence to arrest an actual revolt. Colonel Everest offered the poor
men an increase of pay; but contentment was not to be restored without
much trouble. It was a matter of emergency; had the natives deserted,
the position of the caravan, without escort and without drivers, would
have been perilous in the extreme. At length, however, the difficulty
was overcome, and after the burial of the natives, the camp was raised,
and the little troop proceeded to the hill where the two had met their
death.
Emery felt the shock for some days: his left hand, which had held the
compass, was almost paralyzed; but after a time it recovered, and he
was able to resume his work.
For eighteen days no special incident occurred. The Makololos did
not appear, and Mokoum, though still distrustful, exhibited fewer
indications of alarm. They were not more than fifty miles from the
desert; and the karroo was still verdant, and enriched by abundant
water. They thought that neither man nor beast could want for any thing
in this region so rich in game and pasturage; but they had reckoned
without the locusts, against whose appearance there is no security in
the agricultural districts of South Africa.
On the evening of the 20th, about an hour before sunset the camp
was arranged for the night. A light northerly breeze refreshed the
atmosphere. The three Englishmen and Mokoum, resting at the foot of a
tree, discussed their plans for the future. It was arranged that during
the night the astronomers should take the altitude of some stars, in
order accurately to find their latitude. Every thing seemed favourable
for the operations; in a cloudless sky the moon was nearly new, and
the constellations might be expected to be clear and resplendent. Great
was the disappointment, therefore, when Emery, rising and pointing to
the north, said,--
"The horizon is overcast: I begin to fear our anticipations of a fine
night will hardly be verified."
[Illustration: A strange Cloud.]
"Yes," replied Sir John, "I see a cloud is rising, and if the wind
should freshen, it might overspread the sky."
"There is not another storm coming, I hope," interposed the Colonel.
"We are in the tropics," said Emery, "and it would not be surprising;
for to-night I begin to have misgivings about our observations."
"What is your opinion, Mokoum?" asked the Colonel of the bushman.
Mokoum looked attentively towards the north. The cloud was bounded by a
long clear curve, as definite as though traced by a pair of compasses.
It marked off a section of some miles on the horizon, and its
appearance, black as smoke, seemed to excite the apprehensions of the
bushman. At times it reflected a reddish light from the setting sun,
as though it were rather a solid mass than any collection of vapour.
Without direct reply to the Colonel's appeal, Mokoum simply said that
it was strange.
In a few minutes one of the Bochjesmen announced that the horses
and cattle showed signs of agitation, and would not be driven to the
interior of the camp.
"Well, let them stay outside," said Mokoum; and in answer to the
suggestion that there would be danger from the wild beasts around, he
added significantly, "Oh, the wild beasts will be too much occupied to
pay any attention to them."
After the native had gone back, Colonel Everest turned to ask what the
bushman meant; but he had moved away, and was absorbed in watching the
advance of the cloud, of which, too accurately, he was aware of the
origin.
The dark mass approached. It hung low and appeared to be but a few
hundred feet from the ground. Mingling with the sound of the wind was
heard a peculiar rustling, which seemed to proceed from the cloud
itself. At this moment, above the cloud against the sky, appeared
thousands of black specks, fluttering up and down, plunging in and out,
and breaking the distinctness of the outline.
"What are those moving specks of black?" asked Sir John.
"They are vultures, eagles, falcons, and kites," answered Mokoum, "from
afar they have followed the cloud, and will never leave it until it is
destroyed or dispersed."
"But the cloud?"
"Is not a cloud at all," answered the bushman, extending his hand
towards the sombre mass, which by this time had spread over a quarter
of the sky. "It is a living host; to say the truth, it is a swarm of
locusts."
The hunter was not mistaken. The Europeans were about to witness one
of those terrible invasions of grasshoppers which are unhappily too
frequent, and in one night change the most fertile country into an
arid desert. These locusts, now arriving by millions, were the "grylli
devastorii" of the naturalists, and travellers have seen for a distance
of fifty miles the beach covered with piles of these insects to the
height of four feet.
"Yes," continued the bushman, "these living clouds are a true scourge
to the country, and it will be lucky if we escape without harm."
"But we have no crops and pasturages of our own," said the Colonel;
"what have we to fear?"
"Nothing, if they merely pass over our heads; every thing, if they
settle on the country over which we must travel. They will not leave a
leaf on the trees, nor a blade of grass on the ground; and you forget,
Colonel, that if our own sustenance is secure, that of our animals
is not. What do you suppose will become of us in the middle of a
devastated district?"
The astronomers were silent for a time, and contemplated the animated
mass before them. The cries of the eagles and falcons, who were
devouring the insects by thousands, sounded above the redoubled murmur.
"Do you think they will settle here?" said Emery.
"I fear so," answered Mokoum, "the wind carries them here direct. The
sun is setting, and the fresh evening breeze will bear them down;
should they settle on the trees, bushes, and prairies, why, then I tell
you----;" but the bushman could not finish his sentence. In an instant
the enormous cloud which overshadowed them settled on the ground.
Nothing could be seen as far as the horizon but the thickening mass.
The camp was bestrewed; waggons and tents alike were veiled beneath the
living hail. The Englishmen, moving knee-deep in the insects, crushed
them by hundreds at every step.
Although there was no lack of agencies at work for their destruction,
their aggregate defied all check. The birds, with hoarse cries, darted
down from above, and devoured them greedily; from below, the snakes
consumed them in enormous quantities; the horses, buffaloes, mules, and
dogs fed on them with great relish; and lions and hyenas, elephants
and rhinoceroses, swallowed them down by bushels. The very Bochjesmen
welcomed these "shrimps of the air" like celestial manna; the insects
even preyed on each other, but their numbers still resisted all sources
of destruction.
The bushman entreated the English to taste the dainty. Thousands of
young locusts, of a green colour, an inch to an inch and a half long,
and about as thick as a quill, were caught. Before they have deposited
their eggs, they are considered a great delicacy by connoisseurs, and
are more tender than the old insects, which are of a yellowish tinge,
and sometimes measure four inches in length. After half an hour's
boiling and seasoning with salt, pepper, and vinegar, the bushman
served up a tempting dish to the three Englishmen. The insects,
dismembered of head, legs, and skin, were eaten just like shrimps,
and were found extremely savoury. Sir John, who ate some hundreds,
recommended his people to take advantage of the opportunity to make a
large provision.
At night they were all about to seek their usual beds; but the interior
of the waggons had not escaped the invasion. It was impossible to
enter without crushing the locusts, and to sleep under such conditions
was not an agreeable prospect. Accordingly, as the night was clear
and the stars bright, the astronomers were rejoiced to pursue their
contemplated operations, and deemed it more pleasant than burying
themselves to the neck in a coverlet of locusts. Moreover, they would
not have had a moment's sleep, on account of the howling of the beasts
which were attracted by their unusual prey.
The next day the sun rose in a clear horizon, and commenced its course
over a brilliant sky foreboding heat. A dull rustling of scales among
the locusts showed that they were about to carry their devastations
elsewhere; and towards eight o'clock the mass rose like the unfurling
of an immense veil, and obscured the sun. It grew dusk as if night were
returning, and with the freshening of the wind the whole mass was in
motion. For two hours, with a deafening noise, the cloud passed over
the darkened camp, and disappeared beyond the western horizon.
After their departure the bushman's predictions were found to be
entirely realized. All was demolished, and the soil was brown and bare.
Every branch was stripped to utter nakedness. It was like a sudden
winter settling in the height of summer, or like the dropping of a
desert into the midst of a land of plenty. The Oriental proverb which
describes the devastating fury of the Osmanlis might justly be applied
to these locusts, "Where the Turk has passed, the grass springs up no
more."
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE DESERT.
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.
[Illustration: Crossing the Desert.]
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, 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."
[Illustration: "The Ngami! the Ngami!"]
"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.
[Illustration: The English come to the relief of the Russians.]
"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!"
CHAPTER XIX.
SCIENCE UNDAUNTED.
Noble words were those just uttered by the Colonel. In the face of the
Makololos it was no time for hesitation or discussion, and English and
Russians, forgetting their national quarrel, were now re-united for
mutual defence more firmly than ever. Emery and Zorn had warmly greeted
each other, and the others had sealed their new alliance with a grasp
of the hand.
The first care of the English was to quench their thirst. Water, drawn
from the lake, was plentiful in the Russian camp. Then, as soon as the
Makololos were quiet enough to afford some respite, the astronomers,
sheltered by a sort of casemate forming part of a deserted fortress,
talked of all that had happened since their separation at Kolobeng.
It appeared that the same reason had brought the Russians so far to
the left of their meridian as had caused the English to turn to the
right of theirs. Mount Scorzef, halfway between the two arcs, was the
only height in that district which would serve as a station on the
banks of Lake Ngami. Each of the meridians crossed the lake, whose
opposite shores it was necessary to unite trigonometrically by a large
triangle. Naturally, therefore, the two rival expeditions met on the
only mountain which could serve their purpose.
Matthew Strux then gave some details of his operations. After leaving
Kolobeng, the Russian party had continued without irregularity. The
old meridian, which had fallen by lot to the Russians, fell across a
fertile and slightly undulated country, which offered every facility
for the formation of the triangles. Like the English, they had suffered
from the heat, but they had experienced no hardship from the want of
water. Streams were abundant, and kept up a wholesome moisture. The
horses and oxen had roamed over an immense pasturage, across verdant
prairies broken by forests and underwood. The wild animals by night
had been safely kept at a distance by sentinels and fires, nor had any
natives been seen except those stationary in the villages in which Dr.
Livingstone had always found a hospitable reception. All through the
journey the Bochjesmen of the caravan had given no cause for complaint,
nor was it until the previous day, when the Makololos to the number of
200 or 300 had appeared on the plain, that they had shown themselves
faithless, and deserted. For thirty-six hours the expedition had now
occupied the little fortress. The Makololos had attacked them in the
evening, after plundering the waggons left at the foot of the hill.
The instruments fortunately, having been carried into the fort, were
secure. The steamboat had also escaped the ravages of the natives; it
had been immediately put together by the sailors, and was now at anchor
in a little creek of Lake Ngami, behind the enormous rocks that formed
the base of the mountain. Mount Scorzef sloped with sudden abruptness
down to the lake, and there was no danger of an attack from that side.
Such was Matthew Strux's account. Colonel Everest, in his turn, related
the incidents of his march, the fatigues and difficulties, and the
revolt of the Bochjesmen, and it was found by comparison that the
Russians had had a less harassing journey than their rivals.
The night of the 21st passed quietly. The bushman and sailors kept
watch under the walls of the fort; the Makololos on their part did not
renew any attack, but the bivouac-fires at the foot of the mountain
proved that they had not relinquished their project. At daybreak the
Europeans left their casemate for the purpose of reconnoitring the
plain. The early morning light illumined the vast extent of country
as far as the horizon. Towards the south lay the desert, with its
burnt brown grass and barren aspect. Close under the mountain was the
circular camp, containing a swarm of 400 to 500 natives. The fires were
still alight, and some pieces of venison broiling on the hot embers.
The encampment was something more than temporary; the Makololos were
evidently determined not to abandon their prey. Either vengeance or
an instinctive thirst for blood appeared to be prompting them, since
all the valuables of both caravans, the waggons, horses, oxen, and
provisions, had fallen into their power; or perhaps it might be that
they coveted the fire-arms which the Europeans carried, and of which
they made such terrible use. The united English and Russians held a
long consultation with the bushman, and it was felt that they could not
relax their watch until they should arrive at a definite decision. This
decision must depend on a variety of circumstances, and first of all it
was necessary to understand exactly the position of Mount Scorzef.
The mountain overlooked to the south, east, and west the vast desert
which the astronomers, having traversed it, knew extended southwards
to the karroo. In the west could be discerned the faint outlines of
the hills bordering the fertile country of the Makololos, one of
whose capitals, Maketo, lies about a hundred miles north-west of Lake
Ngami. To the north the mountain commanded a country which was a great
contrast to the arid steppes of the south. There were water, trees, and
pasturage. For a hundred miles east and west lay the wide Lake Ngami,
while from north to south its length was not more than 30 to 40 miles.
Beyond appeared a gentle, undulated country, enriched with forests and
watered by the affluents of the Zambesi, and shut in to the extreme
north by a low chain of mountains. This wide oasis was caused by the
great artery, the Zambesi, which is to South Africa what the Danube is
to Europe, or the Amazon to South America.
The side of the mountain towards the lake, steep as it was, was not
so steep but that the sailors could accomplish an ascent and descent
by a narrow way which passed from point to point. They thus contrived
to reach the spot where the "Queen and Czar" lay hid, and, obtaining
a supply of water, enabled the little garrison to hold out in the
deserted fort as long as their provisions lasted.
The astronomers wondered why this little fort had been placed on
the top of the mountain. Mokoum, who had visited the country as
Livingstone's guide, explained that formerly the neighbourhood of Lake
Ngami was frequented by traders in ivory and ebony. The ivory was
furnished by the elephants and rhinoceroses; but the ebony trade was
but too often another name for that traffic in human beings which is
still carried on by the slave-traders in the region of the Zambesi.
A great number of prisoners are made in the wars and pillages in the
interior of the country, and these prisoners are sold as slaves. Mount
Scorzef had been a centre of encampment for the ivory-traders, and it
was there that they had been accustomed to rest before descending the
Zambesi. They had fortified their position, to protect themselves and
their slaves from depredations, since it was not an uncommon occurrence
for the prisoners to be recaptured for fresh sale by the very men who
had recently sold them. The route of the traders was now changed;
they no longer passed the shores of the lake, and the little fort was
falling into ruins. All that remained was an enclosure in the form of
the sector of a circle, from the centre of which rose a small casemated
redoubt, pierced with loop-holes, and surmounted by a small wooden
turret.
But notwithstanding the condition of ruin into which it had fallen,
the fortress offered the Europeans a welcome retreat. Behind the thick
sandstone walls, and armed with their rapidly-loading guns, they were
confident that they could keep back an army of Makololos, and, unless
their provisions and ammunition failed, they would be able to complete
their observations. At present they had plenty of ammunition; the
coffer in which it was contained had been placed on the same waggon
which carried the steamboat, and had therefore escaped the rapacity
of the natives. The great difficulty would be the possible failure of
provisions. The Colonel and Strux made a careful inspection of the
store, and found that there was only enough to last the eighteen men
for two days. After a short breakfast, the astronomers and the bushman,
leaving the sailors still to keep watch round the walls, assembled in
the redoubt to discuss their situation.
"I cannot understand," said Mokoum, "why you are so uneasy. You say
that we have only provisions for two days; but why stay here? Let us
leave to-morrow, or even to-day. The Makololos need not hinder us;
they could not cross the lake, and in the steamboat we may reach the
northern shore in a few hours."
The astronomers looked at each other; the idea, natural as it was, had
not struck them before. Sir John was the first to speak.
"But we have not yet completed the measurement of our meridian."
"Will the Makololos have any regard for your meridian?" asked the
hunter.
"Very likely not," answered Sir John; "but _we_ have a regard for it,
and will not leave our undertaking incomplete. I am sure my colleagues
agree with me."
"Yes," said the Colonel, speaking for all; "as long as one of us
survives, and is able to put his eye to his telescope, the survey shall
go on. If necessary, we will take our observations with our instrument
in one hand and our gun in the other, even to the last extremity."
The energetic philosophers shouted out their resolution to proceed at
every hazard.
When it was thus decided that the survey should at all risks be
continued, the question arose as to the choice of the next station.
"Although there will be a difficulty," said Strux, "in joining Mount
Scorzef trigonometrically to a station to the north of the lake, it is
not impracticable. I have fixed on a peak in the extreme north-east, so
that the side of the triangle will cross the lake obliquely."
"Well," said the Colonel, "if the peak exists, I do not see any
difficulty."
"The only difficulty," replied Strux, "consists in the distance."
"What is the distance?"
"Over a hundred miles, and a lighted signal must be carried to the top
of the peak."
"Assuredly that can be done," said the Colonel.
"And all that time, how are we to defend ourselves against the
Makololos?" asked the bushman.
"We will manage that too."
Mokoum said that he would obey the Colonel's orders, and the
conversation ended. The whole party left the casemate, and Strux
pointed out the peak he had chosen. It was the conical peak
of Volquiria, 300 feet high, and just visible in the horizon.
Notwithstanding the distance, a powerful reflector could thence be
discerned by means of a magnifying telescope, and the curvature of
the earth's surface, which Strux had taken into account, would not be
any obstacle. The real difficulty was how the lamp should be hoisted
to the top of the mountain. The angle made at Mount Scorzef with
Mount Volquiria and the preceding station would probably complete the
measurement of the meridian, so that the operation was all important.
Zorn and Emery offered to take this journey of a hundred miles in an
unknown country, and, accompanied by the pioneer, prepared to start.
One of the canoes of birch-bark, which are manufactured by the natives
with great dexterity, would be sufficient to carry them over the lake.
Mokoum and the pioneer descended to the shore, where were growing some
dwarf birches, and in a very short time had accomplished their task,
and prepared the canoe.
At eight o'clock in the evening the newly-constructed craft was loaded
with instruments, the apparatus for the reverberator, provisions, arms,
and ammunition. It was arranged that the astronomers should meet again
in a small creek known to both Mokoum and the pioneer; it was also
agreed that as soon as the reverberator on Mount Volquiria should be
perceived, Colonel Everest should light a signal on Mount Scorzef, so
that Emery and Zorn, in their turn, might take the direction.
The young men took leave of their colleagues, and descended the
mountain in the obscurity of night, having been preceded by the pioneer
and two sailors, one English and one Russian. The mooring was loosened,
and the frail boat turned quietly across the lake.
CHAPTER XX.
STANDING A SIEGE.
Not without anxiety had the astronomers witnessed the departure of
their young colleagues: they could not tell what dangers awaited them
in that unknown country. Mokoum tried to reassure them by praising the
courage of the pioneer, and besides, he said, the Makololos were too
much occupied around Mount Scorzef to beat the country to the north of
Lake Ngami. He instinctively felt that the Colonel and his party were
in a more dangerous position than the two young astronomers.
[Illustration: On Guard on Mount Scorzef.]
The sailors and Mokoum kept watch in turns through the night. But "the
reptiles," as the bushman termed the Makololos, did not venture another
attack. They seemed to be waiting for reinforcements, in order to
invade the mountain from all sides, and overcome by their numbers the
resistance of the besieged.
The hunter was not mistaken in his conjectures; and when daylight
appeared Colonel Everest perceived a sensible increase in the number
of the natives. Their camp, carefully arranged round the base of
the mountain, shut off escape on every side except that towards the
lake. This side could not be invested, so that unless unforeseen
circumstances occurred, retreat to the water was always practicable.
But the Europeans had no thought of escaping: they occupied a post of
honour, and were all agreed that it must not be abandoned. No allusion
was ever made to the war between England and Russia, and both parties
strove together to accomplish their scientific labour.
The interval of waiting for the signal on Mount Volquiria was employed
in completing the measurement of the preceding triangle and in finding
the exact latitude of Mount Scorzef by means of the altitudes of the
stars.
Mokoum was called upon to say what would be the shortest possible
space of time that must elapse before Emery and Zorn could reach Mount
Volquiria. He replied that as the journey was to be performed on foot,
and the country was continually crossed by rivers, he did not think
that they could arrive in less than five days at least. They therefore
adopted a maximum of six days, and portioned out their supplies to
serve for that period. Their reserve was very limited, consisting
only of a few pounds of biscuit, preserved meat, and pemmican,
and had already been diminished by the portion furnished to the
pioneer's little troop. Colonel Everest and his companions, anxiously
anticipating the sixth day, decided that the daily ration must be
reduced to a third of their previous allowance. The thirteen men would
doubtless suffer much from this small amount of nourishment, but there
was an unflinching determination to bear up bravely.
"Besides," said Sir John, "we have room enough to hunt."
Mokoum shook his head doubtfully: he thought that game would be rare
on the mountain. However, his gun need not be idle, and leaving the
astronomers to examine and correct their registers, he set off with Sir
John.
The Makololos were quietly encamped, and apparently patient in
their intention of reducing the besieged by famine. The two hunters
reconnoitred the mountain. The fort occupied a space of ground
measuring not more than a quarter of a mile in its widest part. The
soil was covered with flints and grass, dotted here and there with low
shrubs, and bright with gladioli. Red heaths, silvery-leaved proteæ,
and ericæ with wavy fronds, formed the flora of the mountain, and
beneath the angles formed by the projections of rock sprung up thorny
bushes ten feet high, with bunches of a sweet-smelling white flower.
The bushman was ignorant of its name, but it was doubtless the _Arduina
bispinosa_, which bears fruit like the barberry.
After an hour's search Sir John had seen no trace of game. Some little
birds with dark wings and red beaks flew out of the bushes, but at the
first shot they disappeared, no more to return. It was evident that the
garrison must not depend on the products of the chase for sustenance.
"We can fish in the lake," said Sir John, standing and contemplating
the fine extent of water.
"To fish without net or line," replied the bushman, "is as difficult as
to lay hands on birds on the wing. But we will not despair; chance has
hitherto favoured us."
"Chance! nay, not chance, but Providence," said Sir John. "That does
not forsake us; it has brought us to the Russians, and will no doubt
carry us on to our goal."
"And will Providence feed us, Sir John?" asked the bushman.
"No doubt, Mokoum," said Sir John encouragingly; and the bushman
thought to himself that no blind trust in Providence should prevent him
from using his own best exertions.
The 25th brought no change in the relative positions of besiegers and
besieged. The Makololos, having brought in the plundered waggons,
remained in their camp. Herds and flocks were grazing in the pasturages
at the foot of the mountain, and some women and children, who had
joined the tribe, went about and pursued their ordinary occupations.
From time to time, some chief, recognizable by the richness of the
skins which he wore, ascended the slope of the mountain and tried to
examine the approaches to the summit; but the report of a rifle always
took him speedily back to the plain. The Makololos then raised their
war-cry, brandished their assagais, and all became quiet.
[Illustration: An Attack on Mount Scorzef.]
The following day the natives made a more serious attempt, and about
fifty of them at once scaled three sides of the mountain. The whole
garrison turned out to the foot of the enclosure, and the European
arms caused considerable ravage among the Makololos. Five or six were
killed, and the rest abandoned their project, but it was quite evident
that if several hundred were to assault the mountain simultaneously,
the besieged would find it difficult to face them on all sides. Sir
John now thought of the mitrailleuse, which was the principal weapon
of the "Queen and Czar," and proposed that it should be brought up to
defend the front of the fortress. It was a difficult task to hoist the
machine up the rocks, which in some parts were almost perpendicular;
but the sailors showed themselves so agile and daring, that in the
course of the day the mitrailleuse was installed in the embrasure of
the embattled enclosure. Thence, its twenty-five muzzles, arranged in
the shape of a fan, would cover the front of the fort, and the natives
would thus early make acquaintance with the engine of death which in
after-years was to effect such devastation amongst the civilized
armies of the European continent.
The dry air and clear sky had enabled the astronomers each night to
pursue their observations. They had found the latitude of Mount Scorzef
to be 19°, 37´, which result confirmed their opinion that they were
less than half a degree from the northern extremity of their meridian,
and that consequently the next triangle would complete the series.
The night passed without any fresh alarm. If circumstances had favoured
the pioneer, he and his companions would reach Mount Volquiria the
following day, so that the astronomers kept unflagging watch through
the next night for the appearance of the light. Strux and the Colonel
had already pointed the telescope to the peak, so that it was
continuously embraced in the field of the object-glass, otherwise it
would have been difficult to discern on a dark night; as it was, the
light would doubtless be perceived immediately on its appearance.
All day Sir John beat fruitlessly the bushes and long grass. He
could not unearth a single animal that was fit to eat. The very
birds, disturbed from their retreats, had gone to the underwood on
the shore for shelter. Sir John was extremely vexed, inasmuch as he
was not hunting merely for personal gratification, but to supply the
necessities of the party. Perhaps he himself suffered from hunger more
than his three colleagues, whose attention was more riveted by their
application to science. The sailors and Mokoum suffered equally with
Sir John. One more day and their scanty reserve would be at an end, and
if the pioneer's expedition were delayed, they would soon be exposed to
a severe extremity of hunger.
The dark, calm night was passed in watching; but the horizon remained
wrapped in shade, and no light appeared in the object-glass of the
telescope. The minimum of time, however, allowed to the expedition had
hardly expired, and they felt that they were bound to exhibit patience
for a while.
The next day the garrison ate their last morsel of meat and biscuit;
but their courage did not fail, and, though they should be obliged to
feed on what herbs they could gather, they were resolved to hold out.
The succeeding night passed without any result. More than once the
astronomers believed that they had seen the light, but it was always
proved to be a star in the misty horizon.
On the 1st of March they were compelled absolutely to fast. Having been
for some time accustomed to meagre and inadequate nourishment, they
passed the first day without much acute suffering, but on the morrow
they began to experience the pangs of craving. Sir John and Mokoum,
haggard-eyed, and sensitive to the gnawings of hunger, wandered over
the top of the mountain; but no game whatever was to be seen. They
began to think that, as the Colonel had said, they should literally
have to feed on grass. If they only had the stomachs of ruminants,
thought poor Sir John, as he eyed the abundant pasturage, they would be
able to hold out; but still no game, still not even a bird! He gazed
intently over the lake, in which the sailors had fished in vain; and
it was impossible to get near the wary aquatic birds that skimmed the
tranquil waters.
At last, worn out with fatigue, Sir John and his companion lay down on
the grass at the foot of a mound of earth some five or six feet high.
Here they fell, not precisely into a sleep, but into a heavy torpor,
which for a while benumbed their sufferings. How long this drowsiness
would have lasted neither of them could have said; but in about an hour
Sir John was aroused by a disagreeable pricking. He tried to slumber
again, but the pricking continued, and at last impatiently he opened
his eyes.
He was entirely covered, face, hands, and clothes, with swarms of
white ants. He started to his feet, and his sudden movement aroused
the bushman, who was covered in the same way. But to Sir John's great
surprise, the bushman, instead of shaking off the insects, carried them
by handfuls to his mouth, and devoured them greedily. Sir John's first
sensation was disgust at his voracity.
"Come, eat, do as I do!" said the bushman; "it is the rice of the
Bochjesmen."
[Illustration: The Rice of the Bochjesmen.]
And that was, in truth, the native term for these insects. The
Bochjesmen feed on both the black and white species, but they consider
the white to be of superior quality. The only drawback is, that they
must be swallowed in large quantities to satisfy any longing for food.
The Africans generally mix them with the gum of the mimosa, thus
rendering them capable of affording a less unsubstantial meal; but as
the mimosa did not grow on Mount Scorzef, the bushman had to content
himself with his rice _au naturel_.
Sir John, in spite of his repugnance, resolved to imitate him. The
insects poured forth by thousands from their enormous ant-hill, which
was none other than the mound of earth by which the weary sufferers
had reclined. Sir John took them by handfuls, and carried them to his
lips; he did not dislike the flavour, which was a grateful acid; and
gradually he felt his hunger moderated.
Mokoum did not forget his companions in misfortune. He ran to the fort,
and brought out the garrison. The sailors were without difficulty
induced to attack the singular food, and although the astronomers
hesitated a moment, yet, encouraged by Sir John's example, and half
dead with inanition, they soon at least assuaged the intenseness of
their hunger by devouring considerable quantities of these ants.
But an unexpected incident procured for the starving men a more solid
meal. In order to lay in a provision of the insects, Mokoum resolved to
destroy one side of the enormous ant-hill. It consisted of a central
conical mound, with smaller cones arranged at intervals round its base.
The hunter had already made several blows with his hatchet, when a
singular grunting sound from the centre attracted his attention: he
paused in his work of destruction, and listened, while his companions
watched him in silence. He struck a few more blows, and the groan
was repeated more audibly than before. The bushman rubbed his hands,
whilst his eyes evidently sparkled. Once more attacking the ant-hill,
he opened a cavity about a foot wide. The ants were escaping on every
side; but of them he took no heed, leaving the sailors to collect them
in sacks. All at once a strange animal appeared at the mouth of the
hole. It was a quadruped with a long snout, small mouth, and flexible
tongue, which protruded to a great length; its ears were straight, its
legs short, and its tail long and pointed. Long grey bristles with
a reddish tinge covered its lank body, and its feet were armed with
enormous claws. Mokoum killed it at once with a sharp blow on the
snout. "There is our supper," he said. "It has been some time coming,
but it will not taste the worse for that. Now for a fire, and a ramrod
for a spit, and we will feast as we have never feasted in our lives."
The bushman speedily began to skin the animal, which was a species of
octeropus or ant-eater, very common in South Africa, and known to the
Dutch at the Cape under the name of "earth-pig." Swarms of ants are
devoured by this creature, which catches them by means of its long
glutinous tongue.
The meal was soon cooked; perhaps it would have been better for a
few more turns of the spit, but the hungry men were impatient. The
firm, wholesome flesh was declared to be excellent, although slightly
impregnated with the acid of the ants.
After the repast the Europeans felt re-invigorated, and animated with
more steadfast purpose to persevere; and in truth there was need of
encouragement. All through the following night no light appeared on
Mount Volquiria.
CHAPTER XXI.
SUSPENSE.
It was now the ninth day since Zorn and Emery had started on their
expedition. Their colleagues, detained on the summit of Mount
Scorzef, began to give way to the fear that they had fallen into some
irretrievable misfortune. They were all well aware that the young
astronomers would omit nothing that lay in their power to ensure the
success of their enterprise, and they dreaded lest their courageous
spirit should have exposed them to danger, or betrayed them into the
hands of the wandering tribes. They waited always impatiently for the
moment when the sun sank behind the horizon, that they might begin
their nightly watch, and then all their hopes seemed concentrated on
the field of their telescope.
All through the 3rd of March, wandering up and down the slopes, hardly
exchanging a word, they suffered as they had never suffered before; not
even the heat and fatigues of the desert, nor the tortures of thirst,
had equalled the pain that arose from their apprehensions. The last
morsel of the ant-eater had been devoured, and nothing now remained
but the insufficient nourishment afforded by the ants.
Night came, dark and calm, and extremely favourable to their
operations; but although the Colonel and Strux watched alternately with
the utmost perseverance, no light appeared, and the sun's rays soon
rendered any longer observations futile.
There was still nothing immediate to fear from the Makololos; they
seemed resolved to reduce the besieged by famine, and it seemed
hardly likely that they would desist from their project. The unhappy
Europeans were tortured afresh with hunger, and could only diminish
their sufferings by devouring the bulbs of the gladioli that sprang up
between the rocks.
Yet they were hardly prisoners; their detention was voluntary. At any
moment the steamboat would have carried them to a fertile land, where
game and fruit abounded. Several times they discussed the propriety of
sending Mokoum to the northern shore to hunt for the little garrison;
but this manœuvre might be discovered by the natives; and there would
be a risk to the steam-vessel, and consequently to the whole party, in
the event of finding other hostile tribes to the north of the lake:
accordingly the proposal was rejected, and it was decided that they
must abide in company, and that all or none must depart. To leave
Mount Scorzef before the observations were complete was an idea that
was not entertained for a moment; the astronomers were determined
to wait patiently until the faintest hope of success should be
extinguished.
"We are no worse off," remarked the Colonel in the course of the day to
his assembled companions, "than Arago, Biot, and Rodriguez were when
they were measuring the arc from Dunkirk to Ivica: they were uniting
the Spanish coast and the island by a triangle of which the sides were
more than eighty miles long. Rodriguez was installed on an isolated
peak, and kept up lighted lamps at night, while the French astronomers
lived in tents a hundred miles away in the desert of Las Palmas. For
sixty nights Arago and Biot watched for the signal, and, discouraged
at last, were about to renounce their labour, when, on the sixty-first
night, appeared a light, which it was impossible to confound with a
star. Surely, gentlemen, if those French astronomers could watch for
sixty-one nights in the interests of science, we English and Russians
must not give up at the end of nine."
The Colonel's companions most heartily approved the sentiment; but they
could have said that Arago and Biot did not endure the tortures of
hunger during their long vigil.
In the course of the day Mokoum perceived an unusual agitation in the
Makololo camp. He thought at first that they were about to raise
the siege, but, after some contemplation, he discovered that their
intentions were evidently hostile, and that they would probably
assault the mountain in the course of the night. All the women and
children, under the protection of a few men, left the encampment,
and turned eastward to the shores of the lake. It was probable that
the natives were about to make a last attack on the fortress before
retiring finally to Maketo. The bushman communicated his opinion to
the Europeans. They resolved to keep a closer watch all night, and to
have their guns in readiness. The enclosure of the fort was broken
in several places, and as the number of the natives was now largely
increased they would find no difficulty in forcing their way through
the gaps. Colonel Everest therefore thought it prudent to have the
steamboat in readiness for a retreat. The engineer received orders to
light the fire, but not until sunset, lest the smoke should reveal the
presence of the vessel to the natives; and to keep up the steam, in
order to start at the first signal. The evening repast was composed of
white ants and gladiolus bulbs--a meagre supper for men about to fight
with several hundred savages; but they were resolute, and staunchly
awaited the engagement which appeared imminent.
Towards six o'clock, when night was coming on with its tropical
celerity, the engineer descended the mountain, and proceeded to light
the fire of the steamboat. It was still the Colonel's intention not
to effect an escape until the last extremity: moreover, he was firm
in his determination to abide until the night was advanced, that he
might give himself the last chance of observing the signal from Mount
Volquiria. The sailors were placed at the foot of the rampart, with
orders to defend the breaches to the last. All arms were ready, and
the mitrailleuse, armed with the heaviest ammunition that they had in
store, spread its formidable mouth across the embrasure.
[Illustration: Watching for the Signal from Mount Volquiria.]
For several hours the Colonel and Strux, posted in the narrow donjon,
kept a constant watch on the peak of Volquiria. The horizon was dark,
while the finest of the southern constellations were resplendent in the
zenith. There was no wind, and not a sound broke the imposing stillness
of nature. The bushman, however, posted on a projection of rock, heard
sounds which gradually became more distinct. He was not mistaken; the
Makololos were at length commencing their assault on the mountain.
Until ten o'clock the assailants did not move; their fires were
extinguished, and camp and plain were alike wrapped in obscurity.
Suddenly Mokoum saw shadows moving up the mountain, till the besiegers
seemed but a few hundred feet from the plateau on which stood the fort.
"Now then, quick and ready!" cried Mokoum.
The garrison immediately advanced to the south side of the fort, and
opened a running fire on the assailants. The Makololos answered
by a war-cry, and, in spite of the firing, continued to advance. In
the light caused by the flash of the guns, the Europeans perceived
such swarms of natives that resistance seemed impossible. But still
they trusted that their well-directed balls were doing considerable
execution, and they discerned that not a few of the natives were
rolling down the sides of the mountain. Hitherto, however, nothing
arrested them: with savage cries they continued to press on in
compacted order, without even waiting to hurl a single dart. Colonel
Everest put himself at the head of his little troop, who seconded him
admirably, not excepting Palander, who probably was handling a gun
for almost the first time. Sir John, now on one rock now on another,
sometimes kneeling sometimes lying, did wonders, and his gun, heated
with the rapidity of the repeated loading, began to burn his hands.
Mokoum, as ever, was patient, bold, and undaunted in his confidence.
But the valour and precision of the besieged could avail nothing
against the torrent of numbers. Where one native fell, he was replaced
by twenty more, and, after a somewhat prolonged opposition, Colonel
Everest felt that he must be overpowered. Not only did the natives
swarm up the south slope of the mountain, but they made an ascent also
by the side slopes. They did not hesitate to use the dead bodies of the
fallen as stepping-stones, and they even lifted them up, and sheltered
themselves behind them, as they mounted. The scene revealed by the
flash of the fire-arms was appalling, and the Europeans saw enough to
make them fully aware that they could expect no quarter, and that they
were being assaulted by barbarians as savage as tigers.
At half-past ten the foremost natives had reached the plateau. The
besieged, who were still uninjured (the natives not yet having employed
their arrows and assagais), were thoroughly conscious they were
impotent to carry on a combat hand to hand. The Colonel, in a calm,
clear voice that could be heard above the tumult, gave the order to
retire. With a last discharge the little band withdrew behind the
walls. Loud cries greeted their retreat, and the natives immediately
made a nearer approach in their attempt to scale the central breach.
A strange and unlooked for reception awaited them. Suddenly at first,
and subsequently repeated at intervals but of a few minutes, there was
a growling reverberation as of rolling thunder. The sinister sound
was the report of the exploding mitrailleuse, which Sir John had been
prepared to employ, and now worked with all his energy. Its twenty-five
muzzles spread over a wide range, and the balls, continually supplied
by a self-adjusting arrangement, fell like hail among the assailants.
The natives, swept down at each discharge, responded at first with a
howl and then with a harmless shower of arrows.
"She plays well," said the bushman, approaching Sir John. "When you
have played your tune, let me play mine."
But there was no need for Sir John to be relieved; the mitrailleuse
was soon silent. The Makololos were struck with consternation, and had
sought shelter from the torrent of grape-shot, having retired under the
flanks of the fort, leaving the plateau strewn with numbers of their
dead.
In this instant of respite the Colonel and Strux regained the donjon,
and there, collecting themselves to a composure as complete as if they
were under the dome of an observatory, they kept a constant eye upon
their telescope, and scanned the peak of Volquiria. When, after a short
period of rest, the yells of the Makololos made them aware that the
combat was renewed, they only persevered in their determination, and
resolved that they would alternately remain to guard their invaluable
instrument.
The combat, in truth, had been renewed. The range of the mitrailleuse
was inadequate to reach all the natives, who, uttering their cries of
mortal vengeance, rallied again, and swarmed up every opening. The
besieged, protected by their fire-arms, defended the breaches foot by
foot; they had only received a few scratches from the points of the
assagais, and were able to continue the fight for half an hour with
unabated ardour.
Towards half-past eleven, while the Colonel was in the thick of the
fray, in the middle of an angry fusillade, Matthew Strux appeared at
his side. His eye was wild and radiant: an arrow had just pierced his
hat and quivered above his head.
"The signal! the signal!" he cried.
The Colonel was incredulous, but ascertaining the correctness of the
welcome announcement, discharged his rifle for the last time, and with
an exuberant shout of rejoicing, rushed towards the donjon, followed by
his intrepid colleague. There, kneeling down, he placed his eye to the
telescope, and perceived with the utmost delight the signal, so long
delayed and yet so patiently expected.
It was truly a marvellous sight to see these two astronomers work
during the tumult of the conflict. The natives had by their numbers
forced the enclosure, and Sir John and the bushman were contending for
every step. The Europeans fought with their balls and hatchets, while
the Makololos responded with their arrows and assagais.
Meanwhile the Colonel and Strux intently continued their observations,
and Palander, equally composed, noted down their oft-repeated readings.
More than once an arrow grazed their head, and broke against the inner
wall of the donjon. But their eye was ever fixed on the signal, and
reading the indications of the vernier, they incessantly verified each
other's calculations.
"Only once more," said Strux, sliding the telescope along the
graduated scale. An instant later, and it would have been too late for
any observations, but the direction of the light was calculated to the
minutest fraction of a second; and at that very instant an enormous
stone, hurled by a native, sent the register flying from Palander's
hands, and smashed the repeating-circle.
They must now fly in order to save the result which they had obtained
at the cost of such continuous labour. The natives had already
penetrated the casemate, and might at any moment appear in the donjon.
The Colonel and his colleagues caught up their guns, and Palander his
precious register, and all escaped through one of the breaches. Their
companions, some slightly wounded, were ready to cover their retreat,
but just as they were about to descend the north side of the mountain,
Strux remembered that they had failed to kindle the signal. In fact,
for the completion of the survey, it was necessary that the two
astronomers on Mount Volquiria should in their turn observe the summit
of Mount Scorzef, and were doubtless anxiously expecting the answering
light.
The Colonel recognized the imperative necessity for yet one more
effort, and whilst his companions, with almost superhuman energy,
repulsed the natives, he re-entered the donjon. This donjon was formed
of an intricate framework of dry wood, which would readily ignite
by the application of a flame. The Colonel set it alight with the
powder from the priming of his gun, and, rushing out, rejoined his
companions. In a few moments, rolling their mitrailleuse before them,
the Europeans, under a shower of arrows and various missiles, were
descending the mountain, and, in their turn, driving back the natives
with a deadly fire, reached the steamboat. The engineer, according to
orders, had kept up the steam. The mooring was loosened, the screw set
in motion, and the "Queen and Czar" advanced rapidly over the dark
waters. They were shortly far enough out to see the summit of the
mountain. The donjon was blazing like a beacon, and its light would
be easily discerned from the peak of Volquiria. A resounding cheer of
triumph from English and Russians greeted the bonfire they had left
behind.
Emery and Zorn would have no cause for complaint; they had exhibited
the twinkling of a star, and had been answered by the glowing of a
sun.
CHAPTER XXII.
HIDE AND SEEK.
When daylight re-appeared, the vessel was nearing the northern shore
of the lake. There was no trace of natives, consequently the Colonel
and his companions, who had been ready armed, laid aside their guns
as the "Queen and Czar" drew up in a little bay hollowed in the
rocks. The bushman, Sir John, and one of the sailors set out at once
to reconnoitre the neighbourhood. They could perceive no sign of
Makololos, and fortunately they found game in abundance. Troops of
antelopes grazed in the long grass and in the shelter of the thickets,
and a number of aquatic birds frequented the shores of the lake. The
hunters returned with ample provision, and the whole party could enjoy
the savoury venison, a supply of which was now unlikely to fail them
again.
[Illustration: The Steamboat leaving Mount Scorzef.]
The camp was arranged under the great willows near the lake, on the
banks of a small river. The Colonel and Strux had arranged to meet
on the northern shore with the pioneer's little party, and the rest
afforded by the few days of expectation was gratefully enjoyed by
all. Palander employed himself in rectifying and adjusting the results
of the latest observations, while Mokoum and Sir John hunted most
vigorously over the fertile, well-watered country, abounding in game,
of which the Englishman would have been delighted, had it been in his
power, to complete a purchase on behalf of the British government.
Three days after, on the 8th of March, some gun-shots announced the
arrival of the remainder of the party for whom they tarried. Emery,
Zorn, the two sailors, and the pioneer, were all in perfect health.
Their theodolite, the only instrument remaining to the Commission, was
safe. The young astronomers and their companions were received with
joyous congratulations. In a few words they related that their journey
had not been devoid of difficulty. For two days they had lost their way
in the forests that skirted the mountainous district, and with only
the vague indications of the compass they would never have reached
Mount Volquiria, if it had not been for the shrewd intelligence of the
pioneer. The ascent of the mountain was rough, and the delay had caused
the young astronomers as much impatience as it had their colleagues
on Mount Scorzef. They had carefully, by barometrical observations,
calculated that the summit of Volquiria was 3200 feet above the level
of the sea. The light, increased by a strong reflector, was first
lighted on the night of the 4th; thus the observers on Mount Scorzef
had perceived it as soon as it appeared. Emery and Zorn had easily
discerned the intense fire caused by the burning fortress, and with the
theodolite had completed the measurement of the triangle.
"And did you determine the latitude of the peak?" said the Colonel to
Emery.
"Yes, most accurately," replied Emery, "we found it to be 19° 37'
35.337"."
"Well, gentlemen," said the Colonel, "we may say that our task is
ended. We have measured, by means of sixty-three triangles, an arc
of more than eight degrees in length; and when we have rigidly
corrected our results, we shall know the exact value of the degree, and
consequently of the _mètre_, in this part of the globe."
A cheer of satisfaction could not be repressed amongst the others.
"And now," added the Colonel, "we have only to descend the Zambesi in
order to reach the Indian Ocean: is it not so, Mr. Strux?"
"It is so," answered Strux; "but I think we ought still to adopt
some means of testing our previous operations. Let us continue our
triangles until we find a place suitable for the direct measurement of
a base. The agreement between the lengths of the base, obtained by the
calculations and by the direct measurement, will alone tell what degree
of accuracy we ought to attribute to our observations."
Strux's proposition was unanimously adopted. It was agreed to construct
a series of subsidiary triangles until a side could be measured with
the platinum rods. The steamboat, descending the affluents of the
Zambesi, was to await the travellers below the celebrated Victoria
Falls. Every thing being arranged, the little troop, with the exception
of four sailors on board the "Queen and Czar," started the next day
at sunrise. Some stations had been chosen to the east and the angles
measured, and along this favourable country, they hoped easily to
accomplish their auxiliary series. The bushman had adroitly caught a
quagga, of which, willing or unwilling, he made a beast of burden to
carry the theodolite, the measuring-rods, and some other luggage of the
caravan.
The journey proceeded rapidly. The undulated country afforded many
points of sight for the small accessory triangles. The weather
was fine, and it was not needful to have recourse to nocturnal
observations. The travellers could nearly always find shelter in the
woods, and, besides, the heat was not insufferable, since some vapours
arose from the pools and streams which tempered the sun's rays. Every
want was supplied by the hunters, and there was no longer any thing to
be feared from the natives, who seemed to be more to the south of Lake
Ngami.
Matthew Strux and the Colonel seemed to have forgotten all their
personal rivalry, and although there was no close intimacy between
them, they were on the most perfect terms of courtesy.
Day after day, during a period of three weeks, the observations
steadily proceeded. For the measurement of a base the astronomers
required a tract of land that should be level for several miles,
and the very undulations of the soil that were desirable for the
establishment of the points of sight were unfavourable for that
observation. They proceeded to the north-east, sometimes following
the right bank of the Cnobi, one of the principal tributaries of the
Upper Zambesi, in order to avoid Maketo, the chief settlement of the
Makololos. They had now every reason to anticipate that their return
would be happily accomplished, and that no further natural obstacle
would occur, and they hoped that their difficulties were all at an
end. The country which they were traversing was comparatively well
known and they could not be far from the villages of the Zambesi which
Livingstone had lately visited. They thus thought with reason that all
the most arduous part of their task was over, when an incident, of
which the consequences might have been serious, almost compromised the
result of the whole expedition.
Nicholas Palander was the hero, or rather was nearly being the victim,
of the adventure.
The intrepid but thoughtless calculator, unwarned by his escape from
the crocodiles, had still the habit of withdrawing himself from his
companions. In an open country there was no great danger in this, but
in woods Palander's abstraction might lead to serious consequences.
Strux and the bushman gave him many warnings, and Palander, though much
astonished at what he considered an excess of prudence, promised to
conform to their wishes.
On the 27th, some hours had passed since Strux and Mokoum had seen any
thing of Palander. The little troop were travelling through thickets of
low trees and shrubs, extending as far as the horizon. It was important
to keep together, as it would be difficult to discover the track of any
one lost in the wood. But seeing and fearing nothing, Palander, who had
been posted, pencil in one hand, the register in the other, on the left
flank of the troop, was not long in disappearing.
When, towards four o'clock, Strux and his companions found that
Palander was no longer with them, they became extremely anxious. His
former aberrations were still fresh in their remembrance, and it
was probably the abstracted calculator alone by whom they had been
forgotten. The march was stopped, and they all shouted in vain. The
bushman and the sailors dispersed for a quarter of a mile in each
direction, beating the bushes, trampling through the woods and long
grass, firing off their guns, but yet without success. They became
still more uneasy, especially Matthew Strux, to whose anxiety was
joined an extreme irritation against his unlucky colleague. This
was not the first time that Palander had served them thus, and if the
Colonel had laid any blame on him, Strux would not have known what to
say. Under the circumstances, the only thing to be done was to encamp
in the wood, and begin a more careful search.
The Colonel and his companions had just arranged to place their camp
near a glade of considerable extent, when a cry, unlike any thing
human, resounded at some distance to the left. Almost immediately,
running at full speed, appeared Palander. His head was bare, his hair
dishevelled, and his clothes torn in some parts almost to rags. His
companions plied him with questions; but the unhappy man, with haggard
and distended eye, whose compressed nostrils still further hindered his
short jerking respiration, could not bring out a word.
What had happened? why had he wandered away? and why did he appear so
terrified? At last, to their repeated questions, he gasped out, in
almost unintelligible accents, something about the registers.
The astronomers shuddered; the registers, on which was inscribed every
result of their operations, and which the calculator had never allowed
out of his possession, even when asleep, these registers were missing.
No matter whether Palander had lost them, or whether they had been
stolen from him; they were gone, and all their labour was in vain!
While his companions, mutely terrified, only looked at each other,
Matthew Strux could no longer restrain his anger. He burst forth into
all manner of invective against the miserable man, threatening him with
the displeasure of the Russian government, and adding, that if he did
not suffer under the knout he should linger out his life in Siberia.
To all this Palander answered but by a movement of the head: he seemed
to acquiesce in all these condemnations, and even thought the judgment
would be too lenient.
[Illustration: Palander robbed by the Chacma.]
"But perhaps he has been robbed," said the Colonel at last.
"What matters?" cried Strux, beside himself; "what business had he so
far away from us, after our continual warning?"
"True," replied Sir John, "but we ought to know whether he has lost the
registers or been robbed of them. Has any one robbed you, Palander?"
continued he, turning to the poor man, who had sunk down with fatigue.
Palander made a sign of affirmation.
"Who?" continued Sir John. "Natives? Makololos?"
Palander shook his head.
"Well, then, Europeans?" asked Sir John.
"No," answered Palander in a stifled voice.
"Who then?" shouted Strux, shaking his clenched fists in Palander's
face.
"They were neither natives--nor white men--but monkeys," stammered out
Palander at last.
It was a fact that the unhappy man had been robbed by a monkey, and if
the consequences of the incident had been less serious, the whole party
would have broken out into laughter. Mokoum explained that what had
just happened was of frequent occurrence. Many times, to his knowledge,
had travellers been rifled by these pig-headed chacmas, a species of
baboon very common in South African forests. The calculator had been
plundered by these animals, though not without a struggle, as his
ragged garments testified. Still, in the judgment of his companions,
there was no excuse to be made: if he had remained in his proper place
this irreparable loss would not have occurred.
"We did not take the trouble," began Colonel Everest, "to measure an
arc of meridian in South Africa for a blunderer like you--"
He did not finish his sentence, conscious that it was useless to
continue to abuse the unhappy man, whom Strux had not ceased to load
with every variety of vituperation. The Europeans were, without
exception, quite overpowered by emotion; but Mokoum, who was less
sensitive to the importance of the loss, retained his self-possession.
"Perhaps even yet," he said, "something may be done to assist you in
your perplexity. These chacmas are always careful of their stolen
goods, and if we find the robber we shall find the registers with him.
But time is precious, and none must be lost."
The bushman had opened a ray of hope. Palander revived at the
suggestion: he arranged his tattered clothes as best he could, and
having accepted the jacket of one sailor and the hat of another,
declared himself ready to lead his companions to the scene of his
adventure.
They all started off towards the west, and passed the night and the
ensuing day without any favourable result. In many places, by traces
on the ground and the bark of the trees, the bushman and the pioneer
recognized unmistakable vestiges of the baboons, of which Palander
affirmed that he was sure he had seen no less than ten. The party was
soon on their track, and advanced with the utmost precaution, the
bushman affirming that he could only count on success in his search by
taking the chacmas by surprise, since they were sagacious animals, such
as could only be approached by some device of secrecy.
Early the following morning one of the Russian sailors, who was
somewhat in front, perceived, if not the actual thief, yet one of its
associates. He prudently returned to the little troop, who came at once
to a halt. The Europeans, who had resolved to obey Mokoum in every
thing, awaited his instructions. The bushman begged them to remain in
quietness where they were, and, taking Sir John and the pioneer, turned
towards the part of the wood already visited by the sailor, carefully
keeping under shelter of the trees and bushwood.
In a short time the bushman and his two companions caught sight of one
chacma, and almost immediately of nine or ten more, gambolling among
the branches. Crouching behind a tree, they attentively watched the
animals. Their long tails were continually sweeping the ground, and
their powerful muscles, sharp teeth, and pointed claws, rendered them
formidable even to the beasts of prey. These chacmas are the terror
of the Boërs, whose fields of corn and maize, and occasionally whose
habitations, are plundered by them.
Not one of the animals had as yet espied the hunters, but they all
continued their sport, yelping and barking as though they were great
ill-favoured dogs. The important point for determination was, whether
the actual purloiner of the missing documents was there. All doubt was
put aside when the pioneer pointed out a chacma wrapped in a rag of
Palander's coat. Sir John felt that this creature must be secured at
any price, but he was obliged to act with great circumspection, aware
as he was that a single false movement would cause the whole herd to
decamp at once.
"Stay here," said Mokoum to the pioneer; "Sir John and I will return to
our companions, and set about surrounding the animals; but meanwhile do
not lose sight of them."
The pioneer remained at his post, while Sir John and the bushman
returned to Colonel Everest. The only means of securing the suspected
culprit was to surround the whole troop. To accomplish this, the
Europeans divided into separate detachments; one composed of Strux,
Emery, Zorn, and three sailors, was to join the pioneer, and to form a
semicircle around him; and the other, comprising the Colonel, Mokoum,
Sir John, Palander, and the other three sailors, made a _détour_ to the
left, in order to fall back upon the herd from the other side.
Implicitly following the bushman's advice, they all advanced with the
utmost caution. Their guns were ready, and it was agreed that the
chacma with the rags should be the aim for every shot.
Mokoum kept a watchful eye upon Palander, and insisted upon his
marching close to himself, lest his unguardedness should betray him
into some fresh folly. The worthy astronomer was almost beside himself
in consternation at his loss, and evidently thought it a question of
life or death.
After marching with the frequent halts which the policy of being
unobserved suggested, and continuing to diverge for half an hour,
the bushman considered that they might now fall back. He and his
companions, each about twenty paces apart, advanced like a troop of
Pawnees on a war-trail, without a word or gesture, avoiding even the
least rustling in the branches. Suddenly the bushman stopped; the rest
instantly followed his example, and standing with their finger on
the lock of their guns, were ready to raise them to their shoulder.
The band of chacmas was in sight, they were already sensible of some
danger, and seemed on the look-out. The great animal which had stolen
the registers had, to their fancy, an appearance of being especially
agitated. It had been already recognized by Palander, who muttered
something like an imprecation between his teeth.
The chacma looked as if it was making signs to its companions: some
females, with their young ones on their shoulders, had collected in a
group, and the males went to and fro around them. The hunters still
drew on, one and all keeping a steady eye direct towards the ostensible
thief. All at once, by an involuntary movement, Palander's gun went off
in his hands. Sir John broke out into an exclamation of disgust, and
instantly afterwards fired. Ten reports followed: three chacmas lay
dead on the ground, and the rest, with a prodigious bound, passed over
the hunters' heads.
The robber baboon alone remained: it darted at the trunk of a sycamore,
which it climbed with an amazing agility, and disappeared among the
branches. The bushman, having keenly surveyed the spot, asserted that
the registers were there concealed, and fearing lest the chacma should
escape across the trees, he calmly aimed and fired. The animal, wounded
in the leg, fell from branch to branch. In one of its fore-claws it was
seen to clutch the registers, which it had taken from a fork of the
tree.
At the sight, Palander, with a leap like a chamois, darted at the
chacma, and a tremendous struggle ensued. The cries of both man and
beast mingled in harsh and discordant strain, and the hunters dared
not take aim at the chacma for fear of wounding their comrade. Strux,
beside himself with rage, shouted again and again that they should
fire, and in his furious agitation he would probably have done so, if
it had not been that he was accidentally without a cartridge for his
gun, which had been already discharged.
The combat continued; sometimes Palander, sometimes the chacma, was
uppermost. The astronomer, his shoulders lacerated by the creature's
claws, tried to strangle his adversary. At last the bushman, seizing a
favourable moment, made a sudden dash, and killed the ape with one blow
of his hatchet.
[Illustration: Palander's Combat with the Chacma.]
Nicholas Palander, bleeding, exhausted, and insensible, was picked up
by his colleagues: in his last effort he had recaptured his registers,
which he was found unconsciously grasping to his bosom.
The carcase of the chacma was conveyed with glee to the camp. At the
evening repast it furnished a delicious meal to the hunters. To all
of them, but especially to Palander, not only had the excitement of
the chase quickened their appetite for the palatable dish, but the
relish was heightened by the gratifying knowledge that vengeance was
satisfied.
CHAPTER XXIII.
HOMEWARD BOUND.
Palander's wounds were not serious: the bushman dressed the contused
limbs with herbs, and the worthy astronomer, sustained by his triumph,
was soon able to travel. Any exuberance on his part, however, was of
short duration, and he quickly became again engrossed in his world of
figures. He only now retained one of the registers, because it had been
thought prudent that Emery should take possession of the other. Under
the circumstances, Palander made the surrender with entire good-humour.
The operation of seeking a plain suitable for a base was now resumed.
On the 1st of April the march was somewhat retarded by wide marshes;
to these succeeded numerous pools, whose waters spread a pestilential
odour; but, by forming larger triangles, Colonel Everest and his
companions soon escaped the unhealthy region.
The whole party were in excellent spirits. Zorn and Emery often
congratulated themselves on the apparent concord that existed between
their chiefs. Zorn one day expressed his hope to his friend that when
they returned to Europe they would find that peace had been concluded
between England and Russia, so that they might remain as good friends
as they had been in Africa.
Emery replied that he acquiesced entirely in the hope: in days when
war is seldom long protracted they might be sanguine all would be
terminated by the date of their return.
Zorn had already understood from Emery that it was not his intention to
return immediately to the Cape, and expressed his hope that he might
introduce him to the observatory at Kiew. This proposal Emery expressed
his desire to embrace, and added that he should indulge the expectation
that Zorn would at some future time visit the Cape.
With these mutual assignations they made their plans for future
astronomical researches, ever reiterating their hopes that the war
would be at an end.
"Anyhow," observed Emery, "Russia and England will be at peace before
the Colonel and Strux; I have no trust in any reconciliation of theirs."
For themselves, they could only repeat their pledges of mutual
good-will.
Eleven days after the adventure with the chacmas, the little troop,
not far from the Zambesi Falls, arrived at a level plain several miles
in extent, and perfectly adapted for the establishment of a base. On
the edge of the plain rose a native village, composed of a few huts
containing a small number of inhabitants, who kindly received the
Europeans. Colonel Everest found the proximity of the natives very
opportune, since the measurement of the base would occupy a month, and
being without waggons, or any materials for an encampment, he would
have had no resource but to pass the time in the open air, with no
other shelter than that afforded by the foliage.
The astronomers took up their abode in the huts, which were quickly
appropriated for the use of their new occupants. Their requirements
were but small; their one thought was directed towards verifying their
calculations by measuring the last side of their last triangle.
The astronomers at once proceeded to their work. The trestles and
platinum rods were arranged with all the care that had been applied to
the earliest base. Nothing was neglected; all the conditions of the
atmosphere, and the variations of the thermometer, were taken into
account, and the Commission, without flagging, brought every energy to
bear upon their final operation.
The work, which lasted for five weeks, was completed on the 15th of
May. When the lengths obtained had been estimated and reduced to the
mean level of the sea at the temperature of 61° Fahrenheit, Palander
and Emery presented to their colleagues the following numbers:--
Toises.
New base actually measured 5075.25
The same base deduced trigonometrically from
the entire series 5075.11
-------
Difference between the calculation and the observation 14
Thus there was only a difference of less than 1/6 of a toise that is
to say, less than ten inches; yet the first base and the last were six
hundred miles apart.
When the meridian of France was measured from Dunkirk to Perpignan,
the difference between the base at Melun and that at Perpignan was
eleven inches. The agreement obtained by the Anglo-Russian Commission
was still more remarkable, and thus made the work accomplished in the
deserts of Africa, amid dangers of every kind, more perfect than any
previous geodetic operation.
The accuracy of this unprecedented result was greeted by the
astronomers with repeated cheers.
According to Palander's reductions, the value of a degree in this part
of the world was 57037 toises. This was within a toise, the same as
was found by Lacaille at the Cape in 1752: thus, at the interval of a
century, the French astronomer and the members of the Anglo-Russian
Commission had arrived at almost exactly the same result. To
deduce the value of the mètre, they would have to wait the issue of
the operations which were to be afterwards undertaken in the northern
hemisphere. This value was to be the 1/10000000 of the quadrant of the
terrestrial meridian. According to previous calculations, the quadrant,
taking the depression of the earth into account, comprised 10,000,856
mètres, which brought the exact length of the mètre to .013074 of a
toise, or 3 feet 0 inches 11.296 lines. Whether this was correct the
subsequent labours of the Commission would have to decide.
* * * * *
The astronomers had now entirely finished their task, and it only
remained for them to reach the mouth of the Zambesi, by following
inversely the route afterwards taken by Dr. Livingstone in his second
voyage from 1858 to 1864.
[Illustration: Descending the Zambesi.]
On the 25th of May, after a somewhat laborious journey across a country
intersected with rivers, they reached the Victoria Falls. These fine
cataracts fully justified their native name, which signifies "sounding
smoke." Sheets of water a mile wide, crowned with a double rainbow,
rushed from a height twice that of Niagara. Across the deep basalt
chasm the enormous torrent produced a roar like peal after peal of
thunder.
Below the cataract, where the river regained its calmness, the
steamboat, which had arrived a fortnight previously by an inferior
affluent of the Zambesi, awaited the astronomers, who soon took their
places on board.
There were two to be left behind. Mokoum and the pioneer stood on the
bank. In Mokoum the English were leaving, not only a devoted guide,
but one whom they might call a friend. Sir John was especially sorry
to part from him, and had offered to take him to Europe, and there
entertain him as long as he pleased to remain. But Mokoum had previous
engagements; in fact, he was to accompany Livingstone on the second
voyage which the brave traveller was about to undertake up the Zambesi,
and Mokoum was not a man to depart from his word. He was presented with
a substantial recompense, and, what he prized still more, the kind
assurances of regard of the Europeans, who acknowledged how much they
owed to him. As the steamer left the shore to take the current in the
middle of the river, Sir John's last gesture was to wave an adieu to
his associate.
[Illustration: Adieu to Mokoum.]
The descent of the great river, whose banks were dotted with numerous
villages, was soon accomplished. The natives, regarding with
superstitious admiration the smoking vessel as it moved by mysterious
mechanism, made no attempt to obstruct its progress.
[Illustration: The Natives regarded with superstitious admiration the
smoking vessel.]
On the 15th of June the Colonel and his companions arrived at
Quilimane, one of the principal towns at the mouth of the Zambesi.
Their first thought was to ask for news of the war. They found
that it had not yet come to a termination, and that Sebastopol was
still holding out against the allied armies. This was a disappointment
to the Europeans, now so united in one scientific object; but they
received the intelligence in silence, and prepared to start. An
Austrian merchant-vessel, "La Novara," was just setting out for Suez;
in that they resolved to take their passage.
Three days after, as they were on the point of embarking, the Colonel
assembled his colleagues, and in a calm voice reminded them how in the
last eighteen months they had together experienced many trials, and how
they had been rewarded by accomplishing a work which would call forth
the admiration of all scientific Europe. He could not refrain from
giving expression to his trust that they would feel themselves bound in
the common fellowship of a true alliance.
Strux bowed slightly, but did not interrupt the Colonel, who proceeded
to deplore the tidings of the continuation of warfare. When he referred
to the expected capitulation of Sebastopol, Strux indignantly rejected
the possibility of such an event, which no union of France and England,
he maintained, could ever effect.
There was, however, it was admitted on all hands, a propriety in the
Russians and English submitting to the national status of hostility.
The necessities of their position were thus clearly defined, and under
these conditions they embarked in company on board "La Novara."
In a few days they arrived at Suez. At the moment of separation Emery
grasped Zorn's hand, and said,--
"We are always friends, Michael!"
"Always and every where, William!" ejaculated Zorn; and with this
sentiment of mutual devotion they parted.
The Commission was dissolved.
THE END.
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and the many American readers of his prose works will be delighted at
this opportunity of becoming acquainted with his poetry.
"All Mr. MacDonald's usual moral and spiritual subtlety and
tendencies are there, and the story is full of the most lovely
light."--_Contemporary Review._
* * * * *
WILFRID CUMBERMEDE.
Author of "_Alec. Forbes_," "_Annals of a Quiet Neighborhood_," &c.
1 Vol., 12mo. Price $1.75. Cheap edition, paper, 75c., cloth, $1.25.
CRITICAL NOTICES.
"This book is full of intellectual wealth. It will teach us as many
wise thoughts, and nurture as many noble feelings, as either 'Robert
Falconer' or 'Alec. Forbes.'"--_British Quarterly Review._
"It is simple, natural, pathetic, and playful by turns, interesting in
plot and development of character, and written in such limpid English
as it does one good to meet with."--_N. Y. Journal of Commerce._
"The best story of him who is the best of living story-writers. It may
be enjoyed almost in perfection by one who has not read the beginning,
and who will never read the sequel; and it will remain in the memory
like a beautiful song."--_N. Y. Independent._
"Mr. MacDonald's writings are beautiful in style, powerful in
description, pathetic and pure in their design."--_Christian
Intelligencer._
_These works sent, post-paid, upon receipt of the price.
* * * * *
The Erckmann-Chatrian Novels
_THE CONSCRIPT: A Tale of the French War of 1813._ With four full-page
Illustrations. One vol. 12mo. Price, in paper, 75 cents; cloth, $1.25.
_From the Cincinnati Daily Commercial._ "It is hardly fiction,--it
is history in the guise of fiction, and that part of history which
historians hardly write, concerning the disaster, the ruin, the
sickness, the poverty, and the utter misery and suffering which war
brings upon the people."
_WATERLOO: A Story of the Hundred Days. Being a Sequel to "The
Conscript."_ With four full-page Illustrations. One vol. 12mo. Price,
in paper, 75 cents; cloth, $1.25.
_From the New York Daily Herald._ "_Written in that charming style of
simplicity which has made the_ ERCKMANN-CHATRIAN _works popular in
every language in which they have been published._"
_THE BLOCKADE OF PHALSBURG._ An Episode of the Fall of the First
French Empire. With four full-page Illustrations and a Portrait of the
authors. One vol. 12mo. Price, in paper, 75 cents; cloth, $1.25.
_From the Philadelphia Daily Inquirer._ "Not only are they interesting
historically, but intrinsically a pleasant, well-constructed plot,
serving in each case to connect the great events which they so
graphically treat, and the style being as vigorous and charming as it
is pure and refreshing."
_INVASION OF FRANCE IN 1814._ With the Night March past Phalsburg. With
a Memoir of the Authors. With four full-page Illustrations. One vol.
12mo. Price, in paper, 75 cents; cloth, $1.25.
_From the New York Evening Mail._ "All their novels are noted for
the same admirable qualities,--simple and effective realism of plot,
incident, and language, and a disclosure of the horrid individual
aspects of war. They are absolutely perfect of their kind."
_MADAME THERESE; or, The Volunteers '92._ With four full-page
Illustrations. One vol. 12mo. Price, in paper, 75 cents; cloth, $1.25.
_From the Boston Commonwealth._ "It is a boy's story--that is, supposed
to be written by a boy--and has all the freshness, the unconscious
simplicity and _naiveté_ which the imagined authorship should imply;
while nothing more graphic, more clearly and vividly pictorial, has
been brought before the public for many a day."
_Any or all of the above volumes sent, post-paid, upon receipt of the
price by the publishers_,
SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG & CO.,
(SUCCESSORS TO CHARLES SCRIBNER & CO.),
_654 Broadway, New York_
* * * * *
"The very best, the most sensible, the most practical, the most honest
book on this matter of getting up good dinners, and living in a decent
Christian way, that has yet found its way in our household."--_Watchman
and Reflector._
COMMON SENSE
_In the Household._
A MANUAL OF PRACTICAL HOUSEWIFERY,
By MARION HARLAND,
Author of "Alone," "Hidden Path," "Nemesis," &c., &c.
One vol. 12mo, cloth. Price $1 75
_SEE WHAT THE CRITICS, AND PRACTICAL HOUSEKEEPERS, say of it_:
"And now we have from another popular novelist a cookery book, whereof
our housekeeper (this literary recorder is not a bachelor) speaks
most enthusiastically. She says that simplicity and clearness of
expression, accuracy of detail, a regard to economy of material, and
certainty of good results, are requisites in a useful receipt-book for
the kitchen, and Marion Harland has comprehended all these. That she
has by experience proved the unsatisfactoriness of housekeepers' helps
in general is shown by the arrangement of her book. She has appended
a star to such recipes as, after having tried them herself, she can
recommend as safe and generally simple. Such a directory will be a
great help to one who goes to the book for aid in preparing a pleasant
and savory meal without much experience in cooking. The language is so
simple, and the directions so plain, that a reasonably intelligent cook
might avail herself of it to vary her manner of preparing even ordinary
dishes. The introduction to the book should be printed as a tract and
put in every house. The simple advice for the management of servants,
the general directions at the head of each department of cooking,
and the excellent pages on the sick-room, make as complete an aid to
housekeepers as can well be desired."--_Harper's Monthly._
"In the hands of the author, whose name is well known in another
department of literature, the subject has been treated with
thoroughness and skill, showing that a little common sense may be as
successful in the concoction of a toothsome viand as in the composition
of a romance."--_N. Y. Daily Tribune._
"It inspires us with a great respect for the housewifery of a literary
lady, and we cannot err in predicting for it a wide popularity."--_N.
Y. Evening Post._
"Unites the merits of a trustworthy receipt-book with the freshness of
a familiar talk on household affairs."--_Albany Evening Journal._
"The directions are clear, practical, and so good in their way that the
only wonder is, how any one head could hold so many pots, kettles, and
pans, and such a world of gastronomic good things."--_Hearth and Home._
"The recipes are clearly expressed, easy to follow, and not at all
expensive. The suggestions about household affairs are _chic_. On a
test comparison with three other American cook-books, it comes out
ahead upon every count. Beyond this _experto credo_ nothing more need
be said."--_Christian Union._
_Copies sent, post-paid, on receipt of the price, by_
SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG & CO.,
_654 Broadway, New York_
* * * * *
A CAPITAL STORY
BY JULES VERNE,
_Author of "A Journey to the Centre of the Earth."_
FROM THE EARTH TO THE MOON DIRECT
In 97 Hours, 20 Minutes,
AND A TRIP AROUND IT.
EIGHTY FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS.
_One vol., 12mo, bevelled boards, $3.00._
This is one of the most stirring and exciting of Jules Verne's famous
and popular stories. Three adventurers take passage for the moon in
a hollow, conical shell, weighing 20,000 lbs., and projected from a
cannon 900 feet long by the explosion of 400,000 lbs. of gun-cotton.
The tremendous results of this explosion; the rush through space of
the shell and its passengers; the extent to which they were able to
conquer the laws of gravitation, and the results of their extraordinary
exploit, make up as thrilling a series of adventures as the fancy of
this very imaginative French author is capable of painting. Numerous
facts in philosophy, astronomy, and other sciences, are woven into
the story, which is spiced with not a little good-humored satire upon
American peculiarities, for the scene of the narrative is laid to a
great extent in the United States.
_Sent post-paid on receipt of price, by the Publishers_,
SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG & CO.,
_654 Broadway, New York_.
* * * * *
"Infinite Riches in a Little Room."--_Marlowe._
THE BRIC-A-BRAC SERIES.
Personal reminiscences of famous poets, novelists, wits and humorists,
artists, actors, musicians, and the like.
Edited by RICHARD HENRY STODDARD.
NOW READY THE INITIAL VOLUME:
Personal Reminiscences,
CHORLEY, PLANCHE, and YOUNG.
One volume, square 12mo. beautifully bound in extra cloth, black and
gilt, price $1.50.
Seldom has so much amusement been crowded between a single set of not
large covers as may be found in the first volume of the BRIC-A-BRAC
SERIES. Owing to Mr. Stoddard's careful and judicious editing, we
have here in a nutshell all the best things from the three recently
issued books of biography and reminiscence, by or about Chorley, the
Athenæum's musical critic, Planche, the popular dramatist, and Young
the eminent actor. The pages fairly brim with descriptions, quips and
anecdotes anent famous philosophers, poets, wits, actors, singers,
politicians--men and women now out of the world in which they were
once so busy and conspicuous. It would require the repetition of the
entire index to give a full idea of the number of interesting people
discussed and described here. Napoleon III., with the diamond eagle,
just before he sported the famous real one at Boulogne; George III.,
with his querulous ways; delightful Malibran; our own Hawthorne; Byron
the reckless; Count D'Orsay, still princely in his poverty; Thackeray
the rollicksome; Bulwer, Kean, Lady Blessington, Tom Hood, and scores
of others, for whose names even there is not room.
CRITICAL NOTICES.
"No more refreshing volumes could be carried into the country or to the
sea-shore, to fill up the niches of time which intervene between the
pleasures of the summer holidays."--_Boston Post._
"If this first volume is a fair specimen of his [the editor's] judgment
and skill, the series will prove first-class and popular, among lovers
of pure literature."--_Providence Press._
"A well-dressed book. In a light May suit, with a spring overcoat....
None more entertaining for the odd hours of leisure, and especially
for the after-dinner breathing-time of day has for a long time been
published.... We commend the book to the summer tourist who can be
content with anything better than a novel, and will condescend to be
amused."--_Worcester Gazette._
"Mr. Stoddard's work appears to be done well-nigh perfectly. There is
not a dull page in the book."--_N. Y. Evening Post._
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