The War of the Axe; Or, Adventures in South Africa by J. Percy Groves
no mind to devour rawflesh.
The ninth morning of their journey brought them to a grassy plainwatered by a clear, shallow stream, which bubbled over a pebbly bed.This plain was bounded on the north by a long range of lofty mountainsexhibiting a magnificent front, clothed with overhanging woods,diversified with hoary rocks, and steep buttresses of green turf.
"Look yonder, Tom!" cried Frank Jamieson, gazing with admiration andthankfulness on the view before; "there are the Storm Bergen! By thistime to-morrow I trust we shall be on the far side of them."
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
CROSSING THE STORM BERGEN--A SCENE OF SLAUGHTER--TOM'S LASTADVENTURE--"OUT OF THE WOOD" AT LAST!
Nearly opposite to the spot where the travellers had halted, the StormBergen were pierced by a narrow "poort" or valley, presenting a gloomyand terrific aspect of solitude. Through the "poort"--and winding inand out amongst huge boulders of moss-covered rock and beneath frowningprecipices, past wild and gorgeous hollows rank with semi-tropicalvegetation so peculiar to those regions--a rough track led to the opencountry north of the range.
Anxious to pass through the mountains before nightfall, our hero and hiscompanion--after a very short rest, and a mouthful of mealie--enteredthe "poort," and followed the tortuous path until the sun rose high inthe heavens, and its burning rays beat down into the valley with cruelforce; then, unable in their debilitated condition to stand the fierceheat, they came to a halt, and concluded to rest until the cool of theevening.
"This _has_ been a tramp!" exclaimed Tom Flinders, dropping on his kneesbeside a tiny rivulet, that bubbled and sparkled across their path, andlapping up the cool, clear water, like a thirsty hound. "'Pon my life,"he added, when he had quenched his thirst, "there's nothing to becompared to `Adam's ale,' when one is really parched! I say, Frank," hewent on in more serious tones, "we've a lot to be thankful for."
"We have that, old fellow," was Frank Jamieson's hearty reply. "Ourescape has been little short of a miracle." Then after a pause he said,"But I fear our friends will have mourned for us as dead."
"I'm afraid so," rejoined Tom. "I only hope that Wilson hasn't writtento the _pater_, and reported me `killed in action;' it might be thedeath of my poor mother to hear such news, in her delicate state ofhealth. When do you think we shall reach Cradock?"
"That, of course, depends a great deal upon circumstances," Frankanswered; "but, barring accidents, I think we may fairly reckon on beingthere by this day week at the latest. You see, Tom, now we're able totravel during the day, we shall get over the ground much more rapidly."
"How far is Cradock from Ralfontein?" queried his friend.
"As the crow flies, something over a hundred miles; but the track,though a good one, is rather--halloa! what's that noise?"
Frank's attention was attracted by a rumbling sound, which might belikened to that made by a heavy _slow_ train passing over a bridge justwithin earshot; a sound which grew louder every second, and waspresently mingled with horrible shouts and yells that echoed andre-echoed through the valley.
"I know what _that_ noise is!" exclaimed Tom, seizing the gun andspringing to his feet.
"Caffres! we're lost," ejaculated Frank Jamieson, his face paling;"we're lost, Tom!"
But Frank quickly recovered himself, and casting a glance around in thehope of discovering some hiding-place, his eyes rested upon a hollow--orsmall cave--in the cliff almost immediately over their heads, and abouteight or nine feet above the path.
"There's our chance! let us take refuge in that hole," said he, catchingTom by the arm. "I'll help you up first and hand you the gun andassegais; then you can haul me after you. Up you go, there's not amoment to lose!"
So saying, Frank placed his body against the face of the cliff or rock,which was all but perpendicular, and Tom, without any hesitation, sprangupon his shoulders and clambered into the cave. The gun and assegaiswere next handed up, then Tom, lying down flat on his stomach, reachedover the edge of the cave as far as he dare, and seizing his friend'soutstretched hands, hauled him up. The cave was just deep and wideenough for them to turn round, and just high enough to allow of theirsquatting on their haunches like a couple of Hindoos; the entrance waspartially hidden by an overhanging bush.
Hardly had our friends concealed themselves, when--as though they haddropped from the clouds--a score of sinewy black forms appeared in thevalley, and took up a position on either side of the track, directlybeneath the cave; they were armed with assegais only, and did notpresent a very warlike appearance; in fact it was evident that they wereof quite a different race to Sandilli's dusky warriors.
"I don't believe these fellows will molest us," Frank Jamieson said witha sigh of relief. "They probably belong to one of the pastoral tribesinhabiting the country in the vicinity of Campbeldorp, and are now on ahunting expedition. Ha! I thought so."
And as he spoke a vast herd of small deer--beautiful animals, gracefulof form and of a light cinnamon colour on the back, with white belliesand legs--came leaping and bounding along the valley, pursued by anumber of savages, all yelling and shrieking at the very top of theirvoices.
"They're spring-bok," said Tom, leaning forward to get a fair view ofthe deer. "I wish I had my double-barrel! A good juicy steak off oneof those fellows wouldn't come amiss, eh, Frank?"
"No indeed," replied the other. "But, I say, old fellow, take care youdon't overbalance yourself. I wouldn't trust too much to that bush."
The leaders of the herd of deer were now almost abreast of the cave, andthe sable hunters, who were lying in wait along the path, rushed in uponthem. Then commenced a scene of slaughter; numbers of the affrightedspring-bok being slain by the assegais of the savages, whilst not a fewfell down and died from sheer terror.
This cruel and unsportsmanlike butchery was at its height when,forgetful of his friend's warning, Tom Flinders leaned forward to obtaina better view of the scene, and in order to preserve his balance hecaught hold of the bush which overhung the entrance of the cave; but, asFrank had suspected, the bush was not very firmly rooted, and so of asudden it gave way, and poor Tom pitched head first out of the cave andlanded right on the shoulders of one of the savages, who fell sprawlingamongst the spring-bok, with our hero on the top of him.
Now nine feet is not a very terrible distance to tumble (though, ofcourse, a great deal depends on how a person falls--for there's a knackin falling, as everybody should know), and Tom would probably haveescaped with a few bruises, had he not unfortunately rolled from off theprostrate savage right in front of another, who was in the very act ofspearing a spring-bok; the consequence was that his sharp weapon tookeffect in the biped instead of the quadruped; that is to say, poor Tomreceived a severe wound, the assegai-head being driven clean through hisleg from side to side, an inch or two above the knee-cap.
The sudden and startling appearance of a white man in their midst soelectrified the hunters that they stood stock-still, and allowed thespring-bok to dash onward through the valley without attempting to stopthem; thus the greater number of the herd would certainly have gallopedover Tom's body, and probably have injured him not a little, had notFrank Jamieson dropped down from the cave, and rushing forward draggedhis friend out of harm's way. Tom was indeed badly hurt, and when Frankdrew the assegai from the wound the pain was so sharp that the poorfellow fainted right away.
The blacks--to the number of fifty or sixty--now crowded round, and oneof them--who appeared to be in authority--addressed Frank in brokenEnglish, volunteering his assistance, and assuring him that he hadnothing to fear.
"My name is Ntlororo, and I am captain of a kraal," said he. "My tribeis at peace with our white brethren, and we will help you in yourtrouble."
Frank thanked the chief most warmly, and inquired how far distant hiskraal might be.
"Twelve miles," Ntlororo replied. "But my hunters shall carry yourfriend thither," he quickly added, seeing his "white brother's" facefall considerably. "We will start at once."
He then ga
ve some orders to his men, who commenced to collect thespring-bok they had slain, whilst Frank, with Ntlororo's aid, bound upTom's injured leg. As soon as the stricken deer were all collected, arough litter was formed of assegais covered with a kaross; on to thisTom was lifted, and the whole party quitted the scene of slaughter andmarched up the valley--Frank Jamieson (forgetful of his fatigue andhunger in his thankfulness and excitement) walking beside the litter.The spring-bok were carried on the shoulders of the hunters, who kept upa sort of triumphant chant as they trudged along.
They were soon clear of the mountain, and three hours' march
The ninth morning of their journey brought them to a grassy plainwatered by a clear, shallow stream, which bubbled over a pebbly bed.This plain was bounded on the north by a long range of lofty mountainsexhibiting a magnificent front, clothed with overhanging woods,diversified with hoary rocks, and steep buttresses of green turf.
"Look yonder, Tom!" cried Frank Jamieson, gazing with admiration andthankfulness on the view before; "there are the Storm Bergen! By thistime to-morrow I trust we shall be on the far side of them."
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
CROSSING THE STORM BERGEN--A SCENE OF SLAUGHTER--TOM'S LASTADVENTURE--"OUT OF THE WOOD" AT LAST!
Nearly opposite to the spot where the travellers had halted, the StormBergen were pierced by a narrow "poort" or valley, presenting a gloomyand terrific aspect of solitude. Through the "poort"--and winding inand out amongst huge boulders of moss-covered rock and beneath frowningprecipices, past wild and gorgeous hollows rank with semi-tropicalvegetation so peculiar to those regions--a rough track led to the opencountry north of the range.
Anxious to pass through the mountains before nightfall, our hero and hiscompanion--after a very short rest, and a mouthful of mealie--enteredthe "poort," and followed the tortuous path until the sun rose high inthe heavens, and its burning rays beat down into the valley with cruelforce; then, unable in their debilitated condition to stand the fierceheat, they came to a halt, and concluded to rest until the cool of theevening.
"This _has_ been a tramp!" exclaimed Tom Flinders, dropping on his kneesbeside a tiny rivulet, that bubbled and sparkled across their path, andlapping up the cool, clear water, like a thirsty hound. "'Pon my life,"he added, when he had quenched his thirst, "there's nothing to becompared to `Adam's ale,' when one is really parched! I say, Frank," hewent on in more serious tones, "we've a lot to be thankful for."
"We have that, old fellow," was Frank Jamieson's hearty reply. "Ourescape has been little short of a miracle." Then after a pause he said,"But I fear our friends will have mourned for us as dead."
"I'm afraid so," rejoined Tom. "I only hope that Wilson hasn't writtento the _pater_, and reported me `killed in action;' it might be thedeath of my poor mother to hear such news, in her delicate state ofhealth. When do you think we shall reach Cradock?"
"That, of course, depends a great deal upon circumstances," Frankanswered; "but, barring accidents, I think we may fairly reckon on beingthere by this day week at the latest. You see, Tom, now we're able totravel during the day, we shall get over the ground much more rapidly."
"How far is Cradock from Ralfontein?" queried his friend.
"As the crow flies, something over a hundred miles; but the track,though a good one, is rather--halloa! what's that noise?"
Frank's attention was attracted by a rumbling sound, which might belikened to that made by a heavy _slow_ train passing over a bridge justwithin earshot; a sound which grew louder every second, and waspresently mingled with horrible shouts and yells that echoed andre-echoed through the valley.
"I know what _that_ noise is!" exclaimed Tom, seizing the gun andspringing to his feet.
"Caffres! we're lost," ejaculated Frank Jamieson, his face paling;"we're lost, Tom!"
But Frank quickly recovered himself, and casting a glance around in thehope of discovering some hiding-place, his eyes rested upon a hollow--orsmall cave--in the cliff almost immediately over their heads, and abouteight or nine feet above the path.
"There's our chance! let us take refuge in that hole," said he, catchingTom by the arm. "I'll help you up first and hand you the gun andassegais; then you can haul me after you. Up you go, there's not amoment to lose!"
So saying, Frank placed his body against the face of the cliff or rock,which was all but perpendicular, and Tom, without any hesitation, sprangupon his shoulders and clambered into the cave. The gun and assegaiswere next handed up, then Tom, lying down flat on his stomach, reachedover the edge of the cave as far as he dare, and seizing his friend'soutstretched hands, hauled him up. The cave was just deep and wideenough for them to turn round, and just high enough to allow of theirsquatting on their haunches like a couple of Hindoos; the entrance waspartially hidden by an overhanging bush.
Hardly had our friends concealed themselves, when--as though they haddropped from the clouds--a score of sinewy black forms appeared in thevalley, and took up a position on either side of the track, directlybeneath the cave; they were armed with assegais only, and did notpresent a very warlike appearance; in fact it was evident that they wereof quite a different race to Sandilli's dusky warriors.
"I don't believe these fellows will molest us," Frank Jamieson said witha sigh of relief. "They probably belong to one of the pastoral tribesinhabiting the country in the vicinity of Campbeldorp, and are now on ahunting expedition. Ha! I thought so."
And as he spoke a vast herd of small deer--beautiful animals, gracefulof form and of a light cinnamon colour on the back, with white belliesand legs--came leaping and bounding along the valley, pursued by anumber of savages, all yelling and shrieking at the very top of theirvoices.
"They're spring-bok," said Tom, leaning forward to get a fair view ofthe deer. "I wish I had my double-barrel! A good juicy steak off oneof those fellows wouldn't come amiss, eh, Frank?"
"No indeed," replied the other. "But, I say, old fellow, take care youdon't overbalance yourself. I wouldn't trust too much to that bush."
The leaders of the herd of deer were now almost abreast of the cave, andthe sable hunters, who were lying in wait along the path, rushed in uponthem. Then commenced a scene of slaughter; numbers of the affrightedspring-bok being slain by the assegais of the savages, whilst not a fewfell down and died from sheer terror.
This cruel and unsportsmanlike butchery was at its height when,forgetful of his friend's warning, Tom Flinders leaned forward to obtaina better view of the scene, and in order to preserve his balance hecaught hold of the bush which overhung the entrance of the cave; but, asFrank had suspected, the bush was not very firmly rooted, and so of asudden it gave way, and poor Tom pitched head first out of the cave andlanded right on the shoulders of one of the savages, who fell sprawlingamongst the spring-bok, with our hero on the top of him.
Now nine feet is not a very terrible distance to tumble (though, ofcourse, a great deal depends on how a person falls--for there's a knackin falling, as everybody should know), and Tom would probably haveescaped with a few bruises, had he not unfortunately rolled from off theprostrate savage right in front of another, who was in the very act ofspearing a spring-bok; the consequence was that his sharp weapon tookeffect in the biped instead of the quadruped; that is to say, poor Tomreceived a severe wound, the assegai-head being driven clean through hisleg from side to side, an inch or two above the knee-cap.
The sudden and startling appearance of a white man in their midst soelectrified the hunters that they stood stock-still, and allowed thespring-bok to dash onward through the valley without attempting to stopthem; thus the greater number of the herd would certainly have gallopedover Tom's body, and probably have injured him not a little, had notFrank Jamieson dropped down from the cave, and rushing forward draggedhis friend out of harm's way. Tom was indeed badly hurt, and when Frankdrew the assegai from the wound the pain was so sharp that the poorfellow fainted right away.
The blacks--to the number of fifty or sixty--now crowded round, and oneof them--who appeared to be in authority--addressed Frank in brokenEnglish, volunteering his assistance, and assuring him that he hadnothing to fear.
"My name is Ntlororo, and I am captain of a kraal," said he. "My tribeis at peace with our white brethren, and we will help you in yourtrouble."
Frank thanked the chief most warmly, and inquired how far distant hiskraal might be.
"Twelve miles," Ntlororo replied. "But my hunters shall carry yourfriend thither," he quickly added, seeing his "white brother's" facefall considerably. "We will start at once."
He then ga
They were soon clear of the mountain, and three hours' march