Hair-Breadth Escapes: The Adventures of Three Boys in South Africa

“White boy go back Umboo,” said the Hottentot. “Umboo do as he please.”

“And what pleases him won’t please us, I guess,” muttered Gilbert. “Well, there’s no help for it. We must grin and bear it, as the saying is. You may as well untie these thongs, any way. You may see for yourself that we can’t possibly escape.”

“Omatoko no untie till get back to kraal – then untie quick.”

He chuckled as he spoke. There was some sinister meaning in his words, which the prisoners could not fathom, but which it was not pleasant to hear. But they had little time for reflection. The thongs had no sooner been securely fastened, and the guns distributed among the leaders of the Hottentots, than they set out on their way home. It appeared that the Englishmen must have followed a very circuitous path, for less than four hours’ journey brought them to the spot where the encounter with the Bushmen had taken place; and there the party rested for a couple of hours before proceeding further.

It was a horrid and revolting spectacle which met the eyes of the captives as the halt was made. The bodies of the Bushmen, as well as those of their women and children, were scattered about in all directions, the corpses having already begun to decompose in the scorching sun. Most of the men had been shot down by arrows from a distance, or pierced by assegais. But the weaker portion of the enemy (if they could be so called), had been killed by blows from clubs, or stabs delivered at close quarters; and the lads gazed with sickening disgust at the helpless and mangled figures, with which the plain for a long way round was overspread. But the slayers did not appear to feel the smallest compunction, and Lavie gathered from their conversation, that a considerable proportion of the men had effected their escape – a circumstance which had greatly provoked Umboo’s anger.

Travelling early and late, the kraal was reached about nightfall on the following day; when the prisoners were consigned to the custody of Omatoko and Leshoo; who took effectual measures to prevent their escape. Their arms and legs were secured by thongs, and a belt was passed round the waist of each, to which was attached a chain riveted to a strong post Omatoko could not be induced to answer any questions, not even the eager inquiries made after Lion. But Toboo, who was of a gentler disposition than his uncle, told them that the dog had greatly improved during the two or three days of their absence, and could now walk about tolerably well.

On the following morning a debate was held in the chief’s apartment, to which Lavie and the boys were, of course, not admitted; but the substance of which they learned afterwards. There was a considerable difference of opinion among the counsellors. Kalambo and some others were for requiring the white men to take an oath that they would make no attempt to recover their property, or punish those who had deprived them of it; and then to let them depart. Others, Omatoko among them, were for keeping them in close custody, until their friends at the Cape agreed to ransom them for a quantity of valuable goods, which were to be specified; while one or two were for allowing them to go altogether free, and take their guns with them; urging that the goodwill of the English was of more value to them than any number of guns.

This last argument was especially urged by Maroro, an old warrior, held in much esteem in the village; and his opinion might have prevailed with Umboo, if it had not been for Leshoo. The latter craftily urged that the white men would never forgive the injury already done them; and though they might take the oath proposed, they would disregard it, as soon as they were in safety. There was nothing to be hoped, he said, from the favour of the English, and nothing to be feared from their enmity. Even if they were again to become the owners of the Cape Colony, they would know nothing about these English travellers. As for ransom, they would never get anything better, they might rest assured, than the four guns, the watches, and clothes of the prisoners, which might be regarded as already their own, and which they must be fools indeed to give up.

His speech was well calculated to work on the pride and the avarice of Umboo, as well as on the fears of the others. It was resolved, by a large majority, that the strangers should not be set at liberty, either with, or without, conditions; but the danger that might arise from them should be averted by their immediate death. This point having been disposed of, the manner of their execution was the next considered, and Leshoo’s counsel was again adopted. He proposed that the white man’s presumption, in entering on a contest of skill with the chief, should be properly punished by each one of them affording, in their several persons, an evidence of the chiefs unrivalled skill in the use of arms. One of the four, he suggested, should be shot to death by an arrow, a second brained by a club, a third pierced by an assegai, while the fourth – the white medicine-man himself – should die by his own weapon; Umboo, in every instance, being the executioner.

The suggestion was too nattering to the chief’s vanity, and too well adapted to efface the mortification of his recent defeat, to be rejected. All concurred in it; and it was resolved that it should be carried out that very day. The posts had not yet been removed from the places where they had been fixed on the day of the trial of skill, and it was agreed that no fitter scene could be chosen for the execution. Omatoko, accompanied by Leshoo, was sent to announce to the prisoners their approaching doom – an office which the latter, at least, undertook con amore.

It was a terrible shock, even to Lavie, whose forebodings had been of the darkest ever since their capture. But he had not anticipated anything so barbarous, or so sudden. The tidings were communicated to him in Dutch by Omatoko, and it was his office to break it to his younger friends.

“Lads,” he said, after a few moments of inward prayer for support and counsel; “lads, I have something very grave and trying to announce to you. We have all known that our peril, ever since we left the Hooghly, has been imminent, and that we might be called upon at any moment to yield up our lives – ”

“And we are called upon to yield them now, Charles?” said Ernest, as the doctor paused. “That is what you want to tell us, is it not?”

“I am sorry to say it is, Ernest. The Hottentots have resolved on putting us all four to death this morning – in an hour from the present time – ”

“Oh, not in an hour, surely,” broke in Gilbert; “they will give us more time than that. They cannot do it.”

“They are heathens, Nick, and have never been taught better. We ought to forgive them on that account, even if our religion did not teach us to forgive all who wrong us.”

“But can nothing be done?” urged Frank passionately. “Will they not listen to our assurances that we are not their enemies; that we mean them no harm; that we will ransom our lives by giving them a dozen rifles, if they want them; that our friends will avenge our deaths; that – oh! there’s a hundred things that might be urged.” He thrust aside Lion’s head, which was resting caressingly on his knee. “Oh, Charles I let us at least try.”

“I would, Frank, if it would be of the least use. But I learn from Omatoko, that the matter was most carefully considered, and everything we could urge has already been advanced and rejected. It would but waste the time still left us for preparation, and that is short enough. Let us pray for strength and resignation; that is all now left us to do.”

All complied, and knelt on the floor of the hut, while Lion sat silent and motionless at their side, gazing from face to face with a wistful look, as though he would fain comprehend what was amiss. Then Warley, to whom all seemed instinctively to look, offered up a simple, but fervent petition, that God would be pleased to succour them, if He saw fit, in their present strait; but if it was His pleasure to take them from the world, He would pardon the sins of their past lives, strengthen them to meet their doom bravely, and receive them to Himself. He concluded with the Lord’s Prayer, in which they all joined fervently, and then relapsed into silence; which was not broken until Leshoo returned to warn them that all was in readiness.

“You, boy,” he said, turning to Frank, “you die first. Umboo shoot you through the heart with arrow. Then you he kill with club,” addressing Warley. “You he throw assegai at,” nodding to Nick. “Medicine-man, he come last. Umboo shoot him dead with own gun! Medicine-man never shoot better himself. Come now; chief ready.”

The prisoners obeyed in silence. A sharper thrill shot through Frank’s bosom as he heard he was to be the first to suffer, but the next instant it was succeeded by a feeling of thankfulness that he would not witness the murder of his friends.

“Good-bye, dear old Lion,” he said, stooping over the dog, and stroking the smooth head which looked up with such sad wonder into his face; “I hope they’ll treat you kindly. Charles,” he added, “let us say good-bye to one another here. I shouldn’t like to do it before all these fellows.”

“Good-bye, Frank,” said Lavie, throwing his arms round the lad’s neck, and kissing him on the forehead. “Good-bye, and God bless you. We will pray for each other to the last.”

“I will follow you now,” said Wilmore, when he had taken leave in like fashion of the other two. “The sooner this is over the better.”

He passed out of the hut with a firm step, looking without flinching on the cruel preparations without. Whatever sinkings of heart he might have felt when his doom was first made known to him, they had all vanished now. He was a noble English boy, reared in all manly ways, and instructed by a thousand brave examples. His life, if not faultless, had been pure; his conscience void of any deep offence; and for the rest he trusted in the God who had bade him trust in Him. The same heroism which the striplings of our race showed on the deck of the Birkenhead, and in the wild scenes of the Indian mutiny, which upbore young Herbert, the high-born and gently nurtured, in his dread ordeal among the Greek brigands, was now burning in Frank’s bosom. Let them do what they would to him, he would endure it without flinching.

Lavie and the other two lads followed closely after him, and were placed by Omatoko on the right hand of the post, to which Wilmore was about to be fastened, at a distance of some twelve feet from it. “Do not let us see his death,” said Gilbert in a low tone; “it will be too dreadful!”

“No,” said Lavie, “it will do none of us good, though I know he will meet it bravely. We will kneel down here, and pray in silence till each in his turn is summoned.”

He knelt as he spoke, and the others followed his example.

“It is not good,” exclaimed old Maroro, as he noticed the action. “The white man is praying to the white man’s God. He will be angry with us, for the white man has done no wrong.”

He spoke loud enough to be heard even by the chief, who cast a wrathful look at him in reply. If his reputation for wisdom and goodness had not stood so high with his countrymen, his boldness might have entailed serious consequences upon him. As it was, he was listened to in angry and impatient silence.

Frank had now been led to his station, and Omatoko and Leshoo were busied in binding him. Three cinctures were passed round him, one securing the neck, a second the waist, and the third the legs, to the strong upright post. They had just completed their task, and were about to retire – Umboo had already fitted the arrow to the string, and was on the point of bending it – when a loud cry of mingled surprise and alarm was raised by the spectators nearest to the prisoner, and was presently echoed by nearly all present Lavie and the two boys started up, looking hurriedly round them, half expecting to see a band of armed Englishmen, who had come up at that critical moment to their rescue. But the eyes of the Hottentots were not turned in the direction they had expected, but into the air a few feet above them. A small beetle, of the size, perhaps, of a child’s little finger, was hovering over their heads, its green back and speckled belly glittering bright in the beams of the sun. All present held their breath, and watched its motions with anxiety and awe. It gyrated awhile immediately above the post, as though seeking for some spot on which to settle. Suddenly it folded its wings, and, shooting downwards, alighted on Frank Wilmore’s head. There was a second and still louder cry, rising, in the instance of the women, into a shriek of terror at this spectacle. “The god! the god!” they cried. “The white boy is the favourite of the god. He has come to save him. Cut the thongs, set him free! Pray him to forgive us, or we shall all die. He will send drought and murrain! He will kill our flocks and herds! He will strike us dead with his lightnings! Not one will escape!”

A dozen Hottentots rushed up with their knives, and severed the bonds which held the prisoner. Then lifting him on to their shoulders they bore him in triumph through the village, the women singing and dancing round him, until the hut of the chief was reached. There Frank was placed by his supporters in the seat of honour, while all present prostrated themselves at his feet, entreating mercy.

The lad was at first too much startled and bewildered to understand what had happened. He had closed his eyes, expecting every moment to feel the fatal point, and even when he heard the shouts of the bystanders, believed it had been raised only because the arrow was on its way. But Lavie, who knew enough of Hottentot superstitions to understand what had occurred, hurried up to him, and informing him in a few words what was the true explanation of this extraordinary change, desired him to take the beetle from his forehead, where it was still resting, and retain it in his grasp, but to be extremely careful not to hurt it.

“It is the mantes, Frank,” he said, “about which I was telling Ernest the other day. They believe that it is a god, that it will do them the most terrible injuries if they offend it, and whomsoever they imagine to be its favourite, he may issue any commands he pleases, and is sure to be obeyed. Of course this wonderful deliverance is of God’s sending, and we will thank Him heartily for it; but at present you must go with them and take the mantes with you.”

“What shall I have to do, Charles?” said Frank, who, between astonishment and joy, could hardly even now understand what was passing. “What are they going to do with me?”

“They’ll want to make you chief very likely; perhaps offer sacrifices in your honour, and all sorts of extravagances of that kind. Of course you will refuse to allow any impiety of that description, and will decline to be made chief; but you had better demand that all our property should be at once restored to us, and that we should be suffered to depart without molestation.”

“How am I to make them understand?”

“Omatoko will make them understand you well enough. He is as much frightened as the rest. You can also, if you like it, require that a guide be sent with us for the first part of the journey. You may be quite sure, that whatever you ask they will agree to.”

“Won’t you stay with me?”

“I think I had better not. Their feeling of awe and reverence is personal to yourself. They don’t regard us as favourites of the god; and but for your protection of us, would be ready to put us to death this minute. We are going back to our hut. I need not tell you to offer up our thanks for this great mercy. We will wait there till you join us.”

“Well, Charles, I will do as you advise. But I wish this was over. I can hardly realise to myself what has happened. It is all like a dream! I only feel as if I could think of nothing till I had joined with you in your thanksgiving for this wonderful deliverance.”

Chapter Thirteen

Frank, Lord-Paramount – An Ant Village – Amiable Bees – A Hasty Draught – Search for Water – A Stranger

It was the second day after the narrow escape of our travellers as related in the last chapter. The boys, attended by Lion, who seemed quite strong again, were sitting under the shade of some gum trees, in the immediate neighbourhood of what appeared to be a deserted village, only that the houses were much larger and more solidly built than those described in a previous chapter. They were awaiting the arrival of the doctor, who had loitered behind to take leave of Omatoko, and make sure that he had set off on his return to the Hottentot kraal. Frank had had very great difficulty in parrying the importunity of the Hottentots, who were fully convinced that the prosperity of the tribe would be secured for ever, if he would but consent to take upon himself the chiefship, from which they were prepared to eject Umboo without further ceremony. When they found that his determination on the subject could not be overcome, their chagrin was so great, that nothing but their superstitious fears of Frank’s influence with their deity restrained them from using force to compel him to conform to their wishes. But he had, by Lavie’s advice, adopted a very curt and lofty demeanour with them, refusing to listen to any argument, and peremptorily insisting that all the arms belonging to the party should be restored, on pain of his heavy displeasure. This demand was no sooner made known, through Omatoko, than it was complied with. All the Hottentots who had possessed themselves of the guns, shot-belts, powder-flasks, watches, etc, bringing them back, and laying them at his feet with the humblest expressions of contrition. Umboo was among the suppliants, his cowering figure presenting a curious contrast to the haughty and merciless aspect he had exhibited only a few hours previously. Frank raised him up, and gravely assured him of his forgiveness; but added that all the strangers would depart on the following day, with provisions for one day’s journey, and Omatoko, as their guide, for the same space of time. But after that, he said, the tribe must make no further inquiry respecting them, under penalty, once more, of his displeasure! Umboo (who in his heart, perhaps, was not unwilling to be rid of Frank, notwithstanding the overwhelming advantages that would have attended his rule), answered submissively, that the pleasure of the “favoured one” should be fully executed; and accordingly, on the next day, the travellers had all left the village and journeyed northwards, towards the spot known as the Elephant’s Fountain. Omatoko, who had been as much terrified as his countrymen, waited on them during the journey with abject servility. His time was now up, and he had been despatched on his return homewards – Lavie (as the reader has heard) accompanying him some way, to make sure that, after all, he did not intend to follow them.

“Well, Frank, you did it well, I must say,” observed Nick, “and kept your countenance a deal better than I should have done, when you talked to them of the danger there was of your being displeased, if they failed to perform any particular of your sovereign pleasure. I wonder what they thought would have happened, if you had been angry with them!”

“Oh, they thought that there would come a murrain, and cut off the cattle; and a blight, and destroy the fruit; and a pestilence, and kill themselves. I had only to order, and I might pitch it into them any way I liked! Omatoko told me so.”

“Did he, the rascal! Well, upon my honour, Frank, if I had been you, I’d have ordered them to give him six dozen, and Umboo nine dozen, and Leshoo twelve. It is not one bit more than they deserved, and it would have been a sight to see! The Hottentots would have laid it on, and with a will too!”

“You don’t mean what you are saying, Nick, I am sure,” struck in Warley. “I wonder you don’t feel that this is not a thing to be made a joke of.”

“You’re right, Ernest,” said Frank; “we ought not to take it in that way. Indeed, I am sure I am thankful enough for the mercy shown us, and should be sorry if you thought otherwise. And so does Nick, too, I’ll answer for it.”

“Of course I’m thankful,” said Gilbert. “And I dare say I am too apt to turn things into jest. Well, we’ll drop the matter now, at all events. And by the same token, here comes the doctor. Now, I suppose, we shall hear whether this place will do for our halt for the night or not. Well, doctor, is the rascal really gone?”

“Yes, I am satisfied he is. I doubted, at first, whether Omatoko really believed in the beetle. He has lived so long among the Dutch, that I thought he might have learned better. But he hasn’t, I am persuaded. Yes, he has really gone back. He daren’t follow us.”

“That is well, at all events. Well, what do you think of this as a halting-place? It’s an abandoned kraal, I suppose, only it must have belonged to some tribe of savages, who took more pains with their house-building than those Namaquas.”

“Kraal, Nick? Do you suppose these houses, for such they may certainly be called; do you suppose these houses to be the handiwork of men?”

“To be sure I do,” returned Nick; “who but men could have built them?”

“They are nests of white ants,” said Lavie, “and if we were to stay here all night, our clothes, our knapsacks, our belts, and everything that could be devoured by them, would be gnawed to pieces!”

“Ants, doctor! You are joking, surely. What – that hut there, or whatever it is, is a good twenty feet high, and thirty, I’ll go bail for it, in diameter? Ants make that! It isn’t possible.”

“It’s true, anyhow,” said Lavie. “I know they have been found more than a hundred feet in circumference. It is the enormous number of the ants that enables them to construct such huge dwellings. And, after all, their work is nothing compared with that of the coral insect of the Pacific.”

“Don’t they sometimes build in the trunks of trees?” asked Warley.

“Very frequently,” answered the surgeon. “Their mode of going to work, when they do, is very much like their house-building. In the latter case, they heap together an immense mass of earth, which they form into innumerable galleries, all leading, inwards, to the central chamber of the structure. When they choose a tree, and they generally pitch upon one of the largest trees they can find – a baobab, perhaps, or a giant fig – they simply eat these galleries out of the wood, taking care never to disturb the outer bark. In this manner they will sometimes destroy the whole inside of a vast fruit tree so completely, that it crumbles to dust as soon as touched.”

“Well, it is very wonderful,” said Frank, “I wonder how it happens that we have seen nothing of them during the two hours or so that we have been here.”

“That is because they work only by night. It is supposed, I believe, that they are torpid by day.”

“Well, then, I suppose we must shift our quarters,” remarked Nick. “It would not be pleasant to have the clothes eaten off one’s back, certainly. We had better start, hadn’t we, or it will be late?”

“Stop a moment,” said Lavie, who had been carefully noting one particular ant-hill for some minutes. “Ay, I thought so,” he added presently, “there is a bees’ nest in yonder mound, and most likely a large accumulation of honey. If you are fond of honey, you may sup off it without difficulty.”

“I am very particularly fond of honey,” answered Nick, “but I don’t know about there being no difficulty. The last time I assisted at the taking of a hive, there was a very considerable ‘difficulty.’ I was stung, in fact, so badly, that I vowed never to go near bees again. However, if you don’t mind – ”

“None of us need mind,” said the surgeon; “these bees are different from our English bees. They never sting people. There isn’t even any necessity to smoke them.”

“Really!” returned Nick. “Now that I call the height of amiability. But are you sure, doctor? It seems too good to be possible.”

“You’ll soon see,” said Lavie, walking up to the mound he had marked. “Ay, there is the hole where the bee went in. Just hand me the knife, Ernest.” He cleared away the earth, avoiding, as much as possible, any injury to the work of the bees, and presently laid bare a great mass of comb, full of honey and pollen; of this he cut off several large pieces, as much as they could conveniently carry; the bees, in complete justification of his assurances, offering no kind of interference – a fact which drew forth a second eulogium from Nick, who only deplored, he said, that they couldn’t be conveyed to England, to instruct their brethren there.