Richard Galbraith, Mariner; Or, Life among the Kaffirs

Emma Watts Phillips

"Richard Galbraith, Mariner"

"Life among the Kaffirs"

Chapter One.

A Word about Myself and Home.

I was born, as near as I can calculate, in the year 1801, at the time of the Equinoctial gales, a fact which made the old fisherwives present at my birth declare that I was marked out by the finger of Providence for a sailor.

To confirm them, as it seemed, on this point, when the winds, with a whirling rush, used to shriek around my parent’s cottage, that clung, limpet like to the face of the rocks which sheltered the little Cornish fishing village, I, baby as I was, used to shriek in unison, not from fear or pain, but unmitigated delight at, and sympathy with, its rough, boisterous turmoil.

Certainly as I look back to my early days and what I have heard related of them, the Breton saying, which in my voyages I have come across, “Il a de l’eau de mer autour du coeur,” appeared most true in my case, for the rough shingly beach was my home in stormy weather or fine. (He has the sea water about his heart.)

During the former I would perch on some rocky crag and, only partly sheltered from the cutting, drifting rain, cling curlew-fashion to its rugged surface, and silently, but with infinite enjoyment, watch the mountain waves, with their white dancing crests flung into myriads of flashing particles by the wind, break with a roar like thunder on the beach beneath, adding their contribution of spray to the rain which drenched me to the skin.

When the weather was fine, especially if it were warm, I used to tumble, paddle, and roll in the clear pools left by the receding tide, like some amphibious little imp of creation, often getting within dangerous proximity to the fingers of death, and being saved by a miracle, till the inmates of the fishing hamlet had some reason for their reiterated remark that I assuredly was not born to be drowned. Assuredly not, nor to be burned, boiled, nor served up for the supper of some dark-skinned Indian chief and family neither, though in due course of my adventurous life I have often fancied myself on the point of one of these pleasant finales to existence.

It may naturally be thought that I was a constant source of anxiety to my parents, and no doubt so I should have been, had not, at about the time I had attained the second year of my life, a sudden squall caught my father’s fishing smack, and, capsizing it before he could luff, sent him and his two companions into eternity. The smack was found by some fishermen much damaged, quite empty, every vestige of tackle gone, its sails rent, and my father and the others nowhere. My mother took this so much to heart that she scarcely survived her husband’s death a week, and by joining him left me an orphan on my own hands. I say “my own,” though only two years old, for I had already displayed my wandering propensities by toddling and scrambling alone among the rocks; and, notwithstanding the few pounds my parents left would have procured me the protection of many an honest, good-hearted fisherwife, I scorned all such control, and resisted every effort to prevent my perambulations among the rocks and pools, where, not unfrequently when older, and on warm moonlight evenings, I used to spend even my nights; though, at other times, I condescended to accept the shelter offered me in Jack Brunscombe’s cottage, for whose little blue-eyed daughter I had early shown a marked liking, and would speedily have talked her into being the companion of my idle hours, but for the vigilance of her mother, who valued her darling’s tender little form far too highly to trust it with so wild, daring, idle a scapegrace as I.

Idleness, however, I soon proved they had no right to lay to my charge. Hardly had I acquired the great age of five, than the fishermen began to accept very willingly little Dick Galbraith’s services in hanging out their nets to dry, in swabbing the boats, or in any other minor capacity to which they found me ever ready to lend a hand, though a baby one.

It is a true saying that “let an energetic nature once get his foot on the world’s ladder, he will never lose it again.” So with me. The willing child was found the willing boy, which soon raised me to the dignity of going on fishing expeditions with the fishermen, who out of the great kindliness of heart to be found with these people, seemed each to adopt me—an orphan and a waif—for his own. The old men, some of whom had been sailors, were never tired of talking and telling yarns, while I—as if conscious of the future before me, and of what importance the information I was drinking in would hereafter be—was never tired of listening and asking questions.

So had years passed over my head, when, on my eighteenth birthday, as Jack Brunscombe with his family and I were seated in the little cabin-like parlour, after a long and thoughtful pause, I suddenly broke silence upon a subject which for months I had been turning over in my mind.

“Brunscombe,” I said, “you have frequently told me that there is a bit of money I can lay claim to, when old enough to know what to do with it.”

“Right Dick, my bo’,” replied the old man, removing his pipe from one side of his mouth to the other, having on its passage rubbed his bristly beard with the stem, “its what yer father’s fects realised arter his death bo’, with compund interest.”

“But, Brunscombe,” I interrupted, “I don’t consider that mine at all. Have I not lived here with you ever since? That money is fairly yours.”

“If yer mean mine, to pay for your board and lodgin’ bo’, yer had better take and chuck it to the rocks and pools, for them alone ’as pervided for yer.”

I laughed, but persisted, on which he rejoined.

“No, lad, the money’s yours. Never a penny will Jack Brunscombe touch. If when a little ’un yer were any expense, you’ve more than repaid it now you’ve growed up, for you’ve been a mort o’ help to me. But come bo’, let’s to the point. What made yer put that question about the bit o’ money to-night? You’d some reason—so all fair and above board—fire your broadside. I’m prepared. What is it?”

“Why, Brunscombe, I was thinking,” I began, “that if I really had a little money I would like to carry out a plan I have been turning about in my head.”

“And that?”

“Why, to go over to Liverpool or London, and enter the merchant service.”

“You find this here place then, too circumcised for your talents,” he rejoined, with a wink at Katie.

“I certainly think it too circumscribed for a young man beginning life,” I replied. “You, yourself, Brunscombe, did not pass all your existence here, though your native place as mine.”

“Quite right, bo’, quite; and joking apart, I think what you propose is the correct thing to do. So you may go into the town to-morrow, draw out the money, and then up to Liverpool. First of all, my old woman will write yer a list of things necessary for your kit, and you’ve been your own master long enough to know how to lay out the twenty punds, for that’s about the sum it is, judiciously.”

Thus things were arranged quite to my satisfaction, and any of my readers possessed with so eager a desire after adventure as held me captive, will not wonder that I got little sleep that night. I tossed and turned, my brain busy with plans for the future; and no sooner did the faintest glimmer of light show in at the little dormer window in the roof, than I was up, dressed, and taking farewell of the dear old beach, the rugged friendly rocks, and clear silver pools, natural aquaria, bright with the beautiful delicate green ulva latissima and Porphyra laciniata, whose splendid fronds hanging in graceful festoons, formed caves and grottos where lurked the sea anemones or actinias, with their tentacles tipped with rosy red—the more splendid crass, the sly hermit crab in search for periwinkles, and the uraster rubens, or five-fingered fish.

To each and all I bade a fervent, though silent adieu, and then, though the sun was still not very much above the horizon, turned back to the cottage, feeling certain that breakfast must be ready, notwithstanding that it yet wanted over half-an-hour to the time.

On nearing home, as I rounded a sharp angle of the rock, I came suddenly upon Katie Brunscombe. She was seated on a large boulder, her small hands clasped round her knees, a bright handkerchief over her shoulders, and her little feet just peeping out from beneath her rough blue serge petticoat. Her eyes were fixed on the sea, now sparkling like molten gold, while the breeze off which tossed her yellow curls in sportive play.

The expression of Katie’s face, so sadly thoughtful, with a moisture glistening on her long lashes, was such a marked contrast to my own joyous one that involuntarily I stood still in wonder, then advancing, I placed my arm gently about her waist, for we were as brother and sister to each other, and said as I sat down by her side, “Why, Katie darling, what is the reason of so sad a countenance this morning?”

She turned her blue eyes with a start upon me, while a rosy colour rushed to her pretty cheeks as she strove to speak; but, suddenly, bending down her head, and trying to free herself from my arm, she burst into a flood of tears.

“What is the matter, Katie?” I asked, fairly puzzled at her behaviour, stupid dolt that I was. Then as the idea suddenly occurred to me, I added, “Is it Katie that you would rather I did not go away?”

She was silent, still keeping her face from me, but at last I managed to turn it round.

As if a veil had fallen both from my eyes and heart I read her secret, and—my own—she loved me, and, with the knowledge, I became conscious of my true feelings towards her.

My arm still about her waist, a familiarity she no longer resisted, I again strolled down to the beach; and this time the visit must have been far more agreeable than the former one, for I forgot all about my joy at my departure, and do not know how long our conversation would have lasted, had it not been interrupted by the voice of old Brunscombe, hulloaing for me to come in, or I should be too late for breakfast.

So we went back to the cottage, betrothed lovers; the ceremony of betrothal having taken place over a holey sixpence, which was to be suspended round Katie’s neck, and a tress of gold which reposed very comfortably in my waistcoat pocket.

One hour after, Brunscombe and I sailed round to the point of land nearest the town where he had deposited the money. This I drew out; made my necessary purchases, including a bright ribbon and work-box, for Katie. Then bidding Brunscombe a warm farewell, started for Liverpool.

Chapter Two.

My Adventures Commence.

On reaching Liverpool, the second port in Britain, the delight with which I wandered about the vast docks and quays, can be easily imagined. Here I found splendid ships—ships that were even giants to those I had so frequently built up in my imagination. As I gazed at their slender tapering masts and net-work of cordage, I despaired in my heart of ever being able to distinguish one of the myriad of ropes from another; but I did what it is the best to do in all cases—I determined to try.

It so happened that at the time of my arrival there was a demand for sailors before the mast, and with my knowledge of the sea it was not difficult for me to procure a berth. Thus on the third day I found myself enrolled as one of the crew of a splendid merchant ship—the Columbus, 2,500 tons, bound for Jamaica with full cargo.

So many accounts have been written of sailor’s first voyages and experiences that I shall pass over mine; they proved very uneventful till seven years had nearly elapsed, during which period I had made many visits home, bringing numerous curiosities for Katie, who now was my wife, and had one or two little sailors in embryo to console her during my absence.

Ten years then do I skip over, and come to the time when I shipped on board the Lively Ariel, merchantman, bound for Madras.

As it was the first time I had been in this part of the globe, I was no little delighted at the change, and promised Katie many Indian rarities, such as ivory work-boxes, etc—little dreaming what a long, long voyage I was about to take, and the vastly different things I should bring her to those I intended.

But a merciful Providence kindly hides the future from us, for the knowledge would make cowards of us all; therefore, ignorant of what was to come, I bade her an affectionate farewell, tossed the crowing babies in my arms, and started on the longest voyage I ever made.

It was a light favourable breeze with which we cleared out of the Mersey, and went down Saint George’s Channel, all sails set, and the ship flying, gliding along, over the blue waves, like a perfect beauty as she was.

With the wind thus in our favour, it was not long before we had lost sight of Cardigan Bay, passed the Scilly Islands, and entered the ocean, the broad Atlantic. We had long passed the Cape Verde Isles, which derive their names from being covered with quantities of Adansonia or baobab trees, whose stems are at times 34 feet in circumference, though they rarely exceed 60 feet in height. These trees so cover the sandy plains of the above-mentioned Islands with their umbrella-shaped tops, that approaching them they present the appearance of one vast field of green verdure. We had long passed them I say before the weather at all changed, then but for a brief space, as we had scarcely crossed the line, before the wind again chopped round to north, and so continued till we reached the Cape of Good Hope, sighting the Table Rock, and the misty cloud hanging above—its tablecloth, as it has been termed—about six a.m. Here we stayed to take in water, of which we were growing scarce, and afterwards proceeded on our course, bringing as it seemed the wind with us, for it speedily veered due south.

It was about the middle watch, which was mine, of the second night that, leaning over the side of the ship, I looked into the dark depths of ocean, and above at the splendid blue sky—a blue only to be seen in the southern hemisphere—studded with stars like gems of immense magnitude. I was looking, I repeat, upon these wondrous beauties of nature, and thinking of Katie and the little ones at home, when my reverie, which had been running as smoothly as the ship glided over the billows, was broken by the voice of Tom Grimes, the boatswain, who, coming up, and leaning over the side like myself, said, as he turned a quid in his cheek.

“Well, Dick Galbraith, this here’s stunning weather, ain’t it. My stars—I mean them at home and not those there big moons up yonder with which I’ve nothing to do—but in all my viages, I’ve never made such a run as this.”

“No, indeed,” I rejoined; “it seems almost too good to last.”

“Ah, that’s it, my boy—that’s it,” answered the old boatswain. “That’s it; we ain’t in sight of Madras yet.”

The stress on the last word made me say, “Do you expect any change, Grimes? Is bad weather brewing?”

“Rather,” he replied; “and when you have been a sailor as long as I have, and with as grey hair, you’ll think so too. Haven’t you noticed that the wind has slightly veered?”

“No,” I said, instinctively putting his words to the test by wetting the palm of my hand and holding it up to the soft night breeze. “Yes, Grimes, you are right,” I continued. “It’s Sou’-Sou’-West, and was due South but half-an-hour ago.”

“Yes, it’s been varying from South to Sou’-West and Sou’-Sou’-East for the last hour, and may chop round to East or North-East and send a perfect hurricane in our teeth. It’s my opinion that that is what it just will do.”

“Why?” I asked, for old Tom Grimes was an oracle with the crew.

“Why? my lad, why? Because—there just notice the vibration of the ship as she bounds over the waves—don’t you notice a kind of imperceptible stress in the movement, and a slight recoil?”

“Well, I certainly do; yet it is so slight.”

“Ah! A hurricane can come from a cloud only the size of a man’s hand, and that vibration shows a cross-sea running. Mark my words, Galbraith, we shan’t go many days, if one, before there is an unpleasant change of weather.”

“Well, never mind, if we can only weather it,” I laughed; and just then, the watch being changed, I went below and turned into my hammock, where, falling speedily asleep, I forgot all about old Grimes’ prophecies.

The next morning’s dawn, however, proved them only to be too true. The blue sky we had enjoyed for so long was overcast with large ominous-looking clouds, while the wind had already chopped round to East. The ship was rigged for hard weather; and just an hour after sunset, when about latitude 33 degrees 29 minutes South, longitude 42 degrees 12 minutes East, the gale struck us dead in our teeth. The heavens had suddenly become of an inky blackness; the sea rushing high, with that hollow roar as if it rose from vast caverns in its depths, frequently swept the decks; while the wind increased to such a terrific pitch that it was with the greatest difficulty we could hold our course.

Scarcely half-an-hour elapsed before we saw that the danger of the ship was imminent. In my seven years’ experience never had I witnessed such a storm, nor one which did such speedy execution. At each succeeding wave the large ship started and quivered in every one of her timbers, while sail after sail flew from the bolt ropes, and was lost in a minute’s space in the darkness to leeward. Each man that night had his full share of duty; and I noticed the Captain—a noble, brave-hearted fellow, as he stood issuing his orders, which the gale scarcely permitted to be heard—looked every moment anxiously at the rigging. Finally surrendering his speaking trumpet to the mate, he descended quickly to the cabin.

It was not many moments before he returned, and, hidden by the darkness, I heard him address the mate in a grave tone.

“Sanders, I fear we are in a bad way.”

“Where abouts are we, sir?” responded the other.

“Heaven alone knows; for the electricity in the storm has rendered the compass almost useless. But, judging from where we were before the gale struck us, and from how we have been drifting since, I fancy we are near the African coast—too near, I fear, for we cannot with certainty make for any known harbour.”

“I reckon,” said the mate, “that we are not far from the Mozambique.”

“I fancy so too. Would to Heaven I could get but one glimpse of the Southern Cross. We might then with some chance make for Natal or Delagoa Bay.”

And he turned his eyes hopelessly up at the impenetrable blackness—hopeless indeed, for there was no sign of breaking there.

Hardly had I noted this when a cry of terror escaped from the lips of the whole crew. A terrific wind, accompanied by a quick succession of mountainous waves, had carried away at one sweep the jib-boom, fore-top-mast, gallant-mast, and royal-mast, leaving them still clinging to the ship by the stays, so impeding her progress that she rolled in the deep troughs of the sea as if every moment she would plunge in to rise no more. Our peril was not, however, yet at the worst; for hardly had a little calm succeeded this last damage, and the wreck had been cleared away—at the expense of two poor fellows’ lives—than, staggering on to the deck with pallid face, came the carpenter, with the awful announcement that the ship had sprung a leak, and the water was even then some feet deep in the hold.

The order was given—“All hands to the pumps;” and men wearied beyond apparent endurance before, at this danger were animated with fresh strength, and worked like giants.

Worked!—but to what purpose? Each anxious message sent down to learn how much the water had decreased, only brought back the desponding reply of an increase,—first, so many inches; then a foot; then two; then the terrible truth that, work with the strength of fifty giants, all would be useless. The ship was doomed—was sinking, sinking rapidly into the midst of that black, boiling, awful sea. If all men’s hearts grew faint at the news, was it a matter of wonder? Even the Captain’s cheek was pale as he gave the order to lower the boats, a command rapidly obeyed, but which only disclosed fresh disasters; for it was found that the starboard lifeboat had gone. They had therefore to repair to the starboard cutter, and with difficulty was it lowered to leeward, when it was speedily filled by some of the crew.

I stood by the captain, determined not to leave him; and cutting away the ropes, we watched the cutter take its course. Not for long did it keep it; for with a terrific cry from its wretched freight, echoed by all on the doomed ship, it foundered, leaving but a struggling mass of human beings on the surface, to be quickly engulphed by the mighty waves. The captain gave one lingering look, uttered a short prayer for them and for us, then, turning, wrung my hand, saying, while, I fancy, tears stood in his eyes—

“Galbraith, my man, our time will come next—our hour is at hand. Orders, now, in the wreck my poor, my beloved ship have become useless. We must part. Her fate is sealed, and so, I believe, is ours. God help us! Let each one now look for what safety he can. Goodbye—farewell—my men! God have mercy upon us! Should any chance to survive this terrible night, let him take the last farewells of those less fortunate to the dear ones left at home.”

A sad cheer rose from the poor fellows’ throats, and solemnly the captain, raising his eyes to heaven, uttered a brief appeal to God for himself and his crew—an appeal fervently repeated by each man. Then one and all sought some spar or other to which to attach himself, and thus await death; for there was little chance that any there would survive to take home those last solemn farewells.

One by one I saw my companions borne overboard by the giant waves till I grew sick at the thought that my turn would be the next. But not yet—the brave captain went first. Then, suddenly, death seemed to seize me—the sea was all about me—its horrible rushing was in my ears, and I felt sinking—sinking to the very bottom of the ocean. I believe for the moment I lost consciousness; but when I came to, I was again on the surface of the waters, rising like a cork upon the waves.

So I floated here and there for, it appeared to me, hours—though it could not have been one—alone on the ocean—alone, for all I knew; for, as far as I could see, when on the top of some great billow, not a vestige of the fine ship, or her crew, was in sight.

Abruptly, almost as abruptly as it had risen, the hurricane began to abate. As it did so, I became aware of the sound, so well known to sailors, of breakers in the direction to which I was driving head first. In vain I strove to turn, to ascertain whether the breakers to which I was evidently hastening were created by rocks above or below the surface. If the former, with such a surf running, I must assuredly be dashed to pieces. But all I could see was a vast expanse of white boiling foam, into the midst of which the next wave flung me, to be tossed among a mass of sharp pointed rocks. Existence here would have been of short duration had not another billow, more kind than the first, raised me in its arms and thrown me over the reef into comparatively calm water. A few seconds after I fancied my feet touched land. I waited anxiously for the next wave. Yes—land it was, and oh, thank Heaven! the tide was running in.

Releasing one of my arms, I strove to aid my progress; but, as if wearied of its terrible play, the ocean at last cast me, rolling over and over, on to a sandy beach. Fearful that it might repent of its kindness, and drag me back again, I managed to free myself entirely from the spar. Then, faint and staggering—for, besides my exertions, the jagged rocks had inflicted many bruises on my person—I crawled far up the beach, till my hand, touching some plant that I knew by its fresh dryness had never been covered by the salt sea, assured me I was safe; then I sank down insensible, utterly ignorant, nor at the moment caring, upon what portion of the African coast I had been thrown.

Chapter Three.

Companions in Trouble—A Surprise.

It was, as far as I could calculate, some three hours after sunrise, before I returned to consciousness, to find myself weak and in some little pain from the bruises occasioned by the reefs, among which the sea had so unmercilessly tossed me.

My first glance rested on my clothes, only a pair of duck trousers and a red shirt, which to my no little vexation, I found had suffered but slightly better than their master, for they were rent and torn in various places.

With difficulty, rising partly up, for every limb was stiff, I in some curiosity and a great deal of anxiety, looked around.

The sea, in wonderful contrast to the phase under which I had last seen it, now lay forty yards from me beneath the tropical sun; its emerald green surface broken only by minute waves with their crests of flashing crystals, which broke with a deceitful murmur like the purring of a tiger, on the beach.

In its direction I could learn nothing of the locality in which my fate had thrown me, so turning I looked behind.

I was perfectly ignorant of Southern scenery, and as my eyes rested on it I was struck with wonder and admiration. Shelving up, gently here—with boldness there—was a sweep of land covered by forests of noble trees, many of a species with which, at that time, I was perfectly unacquainted. Beyond were gently undulating hills, clothed by a strange and splendid vegetation, intermingled—for the view was of some extent—with the rugged face of rocks, their hardness softened by masses of clinging plant.

Never had I seen a more beautiful landscape, nor one so eloquent of repose—though there was an immense drawback to a man in my position. I could not perceive a single sign of humanity. From the appearance, I might have fancied myself washed upon some terrestrial paradise, yet untrodden by the foot of man. I could not remain contemplating this Southern Eden for long, however, as nature began to assert itself, and I became aware that I was exceedingly hungry, so staggering to my feet I determined to go, cautiously, in search of something to stay it, and also to inspect the country. First, however, feeling very sorry respecting my companions, I kneeled down and fervently thanked God who had preserved me so far, and humbly beseeching Him in His mercy yet to continue with me in my trouble. Trouble truly, for I had been traveller enough in strange lands to know that, especially in this part of the world, these quiet beautiful spots of nature, not unfrequently made homes for all manner of wild animals, and tribes of men but little less savage in their disposition.

Therefore, I regarded the cool shade of the forest trees with distrust, knowing that, from the luxuriant bushes of the flowering mimosa, even at that moment the large eyes of some fierce inhabitant of the forest—the lion, tiger, or leopard, for instance—might be waiting to seize its prey. For which reason, though a tropical sun was pouring its intense rays on my head, I, being so utterly unarmed, merely skirted the forest, seeking among its numerous and varied vegetation for some kind of fruit to stay my craving. One plant I speedily recognised—that was the banana; the fruit of this tree, now so generally known, is usually from four to five inches long, shaped something like a cucumber, and grows in great bunches that weigh twelve pounds and upwards. Here, however, I was perfectly astonished at their immense size, doubling, if not trebling, those in other parts of the world. With the aid of a stick and some climbing I succeeded in procuring enough to satisfy my hunger, and in doing so startled a swarm of birds, which flew so speedily away that I could but see numerous flashes through the boughs of bright plumage, while the screaming and jabbering of monkeys in the depths of the forest assured me of those gentlemen’s presence.

My wants respecting breakfast being appeased, I determined to make for a ridge of rocks that, running into the sea, formed a small promontory, for the shore was a small secluded bay, which easily accounted for the calmness of the water when I had passed the reef. I hoped there to find shelter from the broiling sun, that was beginning most unpleasantly to blister my skin where it showed through the tatters in my clothes, while as to my brain, I believe it would have been scorched up long ago had I not gathered a small banana leaf—I say small, for they grow to two yards in length—and fastened it over my head with a piece of the stem of a beautiful parasitical plant which I found growing over nearly all the forest trees, climbing up to their topmost branches, and from thence sending a mass of slender threads, from branch to branch, in graceful festoons to the ground. The name of this beautiful creeper I learned later to be Cynanchum obtusifolium; the Dutch settlers, however, call it Bavian-tow, or baboon ropes, because by their aid baboons and monkeys climb the trees to gather the fruit. The Kaffirs also use these ropes to lash together the thatch of their huts.

It may be thought, if these creepers are strong enough to support baboons, and serve as cordage, how I could break them asunder. First, then, the commencement of the filaments are scarcely stronger than pack-thread, but grow thicker and thicker, till about the size of a man’s arm. Secondly, by a happy chance, the large clasp-knife—the sailor’s constant companion and friend—which I always carried in my pocket, yet remained there, despite the buffeting I had received.

While talking of plants, I will here mention one that particularly attracted my attention, and whose unpleasant nature I was yet to discover. It grew along the ground or hang in festoons from bush to bush, and, at the time I saw it, was one mass of splendid purple bloom; but what mostly drew my notice, was that all along its branches there were strong sharp thorns, like hooks, arranged in pairs, looking just as if they were traps extended by some bunting lion, to catch his victim and hold it till his majesty chose to dine. Fortunately for me, despite its beautiful blossoms, I was too anxious respecting my position to inspect it more closely, but hurried on eager to get to the rocks, where I resolved, if I could possibly do so, to remain, that I might ever be on the watch, and near at hand should any ship pass within sight of the shore.

On reaching the base, I began cautiously to climb to the summit—no difficult task, as the face was extremely rugged, being composed of masses, forming ledges and huge gapping crevices, covered with lichen mimosas and hard spined cacti. At the first outset, however, I was much startled by a sudden rushing among the bushes, as of some animal close by. Not knowing what it might be, I quickly drew back, but my fright speedily subsided, when I saw a little creature, bearing a close resemblance to the rabbit, dash across my path evidently as much afraid of me as I had been of him. Continuing my way, I mentally resolved that if, by dinner time, I came across another such little gentleman, or even the same, I would try to catch it for that repast.

I had nearly reached the top of the promontory when my terror was again renewed. I fancied I heard the murmur of voices above, coming in my direction. Instantly I crouched down among the bushes with suspended breath.

There were people here then, but the question was, who were they?

From the appearance of the land altogether I felt certain there could be no English settlers so near—therefore it was evident that the inhabitants must belong to the savage tribes; whether acquainted with, and friendly, or otherwise to, the white man, was to me a most unpleasant doubt. I therefore resolved, if possible, to avoid being seen, at any rate till I had inspected them further, as I had no desire to serve for the dinner of a hungry Kaffir family, or even, if not cannibals, to be tortured for their amusement. Hidden from view, I listened anxiously. All was silent, not a sound came, though once I fancied the bushes moved on the rock above, followed by a low whispering. Had they discovered my proximity, and were also watching, preparatory to making a seizure?

I knew that, bold as the Kaffirs are in a body, in a single attack they are cunning and fond of strategy. Therefore had I been perceived, they, not knowing but that others were with me, might be at that very moment stealthily encircling the bushes where I lay, which the next moment would perhaps be pierced as well as my body with a hundred arrows or spears, whichever it was their custom to use.

At this thought I crouched still lower, and cannot divine how long a time I remained there, my danger and the suspense making it, no doubt, appear far longer than it really was; when, everything remaining quiet, I grew nervous at the very silence, and at last determined, though totally unarmed, to reconnoitre the top of the promontory. I had certainly heard voices, but perhaps the speakers had passed on, really unaware of my presence; if not, it was better for me to brave it out than to die like a dog without making any resistance. Besides, if the natives were so close, the place was no safe retreat for me, unless they happened to be friendly.

Stealthily quitting the bushes, and softly climbing the intermediate space, I, reaching my hands to the ledge, pulled myself up to its level and looked over. I had hardly done so than I was so startled that I nearly let go my hold and fell back among the rocks; for the first object that met my view was a human face looking savagely into mine. My exclamation of surprise was echoed by one of no friendly character, accompanied by a round true English sounding oath, addressed to the black race in particular, as a heavy stick was poised in the air, and would have inevitably ended the career of Richard Galbraith, had I not cried out just in time.

“Good heavens! Jack Thompson, is that you and alive?”

The stick dropped from his hands, for it was indeed no other than the third mate of the wrecked ship; and with a second exclamation, seizing my arms, he pulled me on to the ledge.

“Why, Dick Galbraith! Spars and rope-yarns, but you only spoke in time. Lord forgive me! but with that there gigantic cabbage leaf over your head, I took you for some savage cannibal.”

In truth, I must have presented a strange figure, and despite our position, I could not help indulging in a laugh at Jack Thompson’s face of dismay at what he had been about to-do; but speedily checking it, I asked with much concern how he had been saved, and whether there were any others of the crew as fortunate as ourselves.

“Only one more that I know of,” replied Jack, “and that’s the young minister chap as was allus reading.”

“What, the Reverend Mr Ferguson, the missionary that we were to set ashore in Madagascar?”

“Yes, that’s him, and I must say he improves upon acquaintance. I confess I didn’t think much of him on board, with his preachifying; but dash my top-sail if, with all his pale quiet face he ain’t a jolly fellow in the moment of trouble. Ay, he’s as cheerful as a sandboy, and somehow, his little bit of scriptur now seems rather consoling than otherwise.”

“But how, Jack, in Heaven’s name, did you escape from those terrible waves?”

“Why, much about the same way you did, I guess. We lashed ourselves to spars, and after a bit of severe tossing, got pitched up on this here shore.”

“And what made you come to these rocks?”

“Why to seek shelter from that blessed furnace of a sun.”

“And,” I added eagerly, “have you seen any of the natives?”

“No, but we thought we heard one about half an hour ago,” said a voice behind me. Looking round, I saw it belonged to the young missionary, who was standing looking down upon us, for we were seated on the rock. “However,” he continued, “‘the native’ has turned out to be no other than a fellow-comrade in distress.”

The Reverend Mr Ferguson had a slim, gentlemanly figure, and a pale, thoughtful, studious face, but one which was frequently lighted up by the most pleasant, sunshiny, and kindly of smiles.

“Thank God,” he added devoutly, as he raised his eyes upward, “that there is, indeed, another of us saved.”

As Jack Thompson had said, Mr Ferguson’s “preachifying” no longer seemed out of place; and for myself, I am sure in my heart I most devoutly said Amen to the thanksgiving. Then, getting up, I asked if he could at all tell in what part of Caffraria we were—for that we were somewhere on that coast I was certain.

“From the few observations I have been able to make, I fancy this spot must be between Delagoa Bay and Natal,” he replied.

“And the natives, Sir,” put in Jack Thompson.

“Of them I know little by recent report, save that some of the tribes are friendly, while others are very hostile to the white man.”

“Pray Heaven,” I ejaculated, “that we may signal a ship before there is time to make their acquaintance.”

“If it be Heaven’s will, yes,” rejoined the missionary, fervently. “But who knows, He may have cast us on these shores as a fitting soil to plant the seeds of His religion, which alone can give eternal happiness.”

Jack and I made no answer, for as yet we were too worldly and weak of faith to feel as resigned to the ways of Providence as this self-sacrificing young minister, whose constant study was his Master’s will.

“But come,” he added cheerfully, “now we find it is an old comrade that, for the last half hour has been frightening us, let us continue our search for shelter and rest.” Instantly concurring in this proposal, we soon found an overhanging rock, which formed a species of cave, the inside being well sheltered from the view of anyone on the outside by thickly tangled mimosa, and other bushes.

Into this we crept, I first, with a skill surprising to myself, having, by the aid of a stick knocked over one of the little animals such as I had seen, and which Mr Ferguson informed us was called a hyrax, or rock rabbit, they being very plentiful on this coast.

When we all three were inside the cave, we began to prepare our dinner. Jack skinned the hyrax, while I looked about for the means to kindle the dry branches I had collected, to cook it. I had, I am sorry to say, never thought much of book-learning, but now I was to discover its immense value. While still puzzling my brains as to how to procure a spark, to no purpose, Mr Ferguson, who had quitted the cave after borrowing my knife, returned bringing two pieces of wood, one flat, the other of a different kind, sharpened to a keen point.

“Is that touchwood, Sir,” I asked eagerly.

“Well, yes,” he replied with a smile. “I will show you how the natives of Abyssinia, and I believe in this place also, procure fire when they want it. This,” he added, meaning the flat piece, “is a soft wood; this pointed one is of the hard acacia. Now be ready to help when I want you.”

So saying, he sat down, holding the flat piece of wood firmly on the ground with his feet, then, placing the pointed acacia stick vertically upon it, began twirling it rapidly between the palms of his hands.

Jack and I attentively watched the process, and soon saw the hard point make its way slowly into the other, producing a fine dust, which presently began to darken in colour, and finally to smoke; upon this, by Mr Ferguson’s orders we blew softly, and speedily after a flame springing up ignited the wood.

“Well, that’s stunning, at any rate!” cried Jack, as the flame began to kindle the heap of branches.

“Yes; but we must not let the smoke be seen, else it will warn any keen-eyed Kaffir who may be in the neighbourhood of our whereabouts.”

We now all set to work, and in this in voluntary picnic began to forget the dangers which encompassed us. A first-rate dinner we made, and, for my part, it tasted all the better for the short but earnest blessing Mr Ferguson asked for it. Afterwards he insisted upon Jack and I taking some sleep, of which we all stood in great need, saying it was necessary for one to remain awake, and that he would take the first watch, arousing one of us when our turn came.

To use an old expression, we were really dog-tired, and notwithstanding the hardness of our beds, scarcely a minute elapsed before we were sleeping soundly. Once, before falling off, I heard Mr Ferguson tell Jack that if he snored so loud he would arouse all Caffraria. I am ashamed to confess it even now, but so tired were we, that Jack and I never woke for our turn of watch, and the kind-hearted young clergyman never disturbed us, though he must have been quite as weary as we were.

We had been asleep some hours, for the sun had set, and a large, glorious-faced moon was shining down full upon this uncultivated but splendid land, when I was startled broad-awake by a hand being placed on my shoulder. At the same moment Mr Ferguson’s voice whispered in my ear—

“Richard—Richard Galbraith, get up; I believe our retreat is discovered, and the Kaffirs are upon us.”

Chapter Four.

A Visit from a Native—The Mercy of Providence.

The moon shone in over the tops of the bushes outside the cave, with a broad flood of splendid silver light, throwing fantastic shadows inside upon the minister and me, the heap of ashes left from the fire, and on Jack Thompson, still sleeping in the further corner.

The beams falling at a direct angle, the foot of the bushes, by contrast, was left in intense darkness, and in this direction it was that, as the minister aroused me, I caught the sound of a stealthy movement. With suspended breath I half raised myself on my elbow. The minister knelt by my side, his left hand clutching my arm, his face turned to the entrance of the cave, with a finger raised to his lip, commanding silence.

We felt at that moment that our lives trembled in the balance, and, scarcely permitting a nerve to stir, we watched.

The stealthy rustling among the bushes, continued, evidently coming nearer. Once I motioned towards Jack Thompson with a look that I thought he ought to be awakened, but bending to my ear Mr Ferguson whispered,—

“I fear to do so. Our presence may yet be unknown to our enemies, and Thompson makes such a noise, sleeping or waking, that for his safety, as well as ours, he had better remain quiet while he is so.”

“If not conscious of our presence,” I returned in the same low tone, “why are they here? Is it for fishing?”

The missionary shook his head, as he replied, “Scarcely. Why they are here I cannot tell, but certainly not for fishing, for the Kaffirs never eat fish; it being such an aversion to them, that they cannot even fancy other people doing so.”

A few minutes passed in silence, while still the cautious sound approached nearer—yes, up to the very mouth of the cavern in which we were—when with a great gawp, as I peered into the bushes, I ejaculated, “Heaven have mercy upon us!”

“What is it, Galbraith?” asked Mr Ferguson eagerly, bending to my level.

“See,” I whispered, “See; the lion.” And there it stood, its two red eyes of flame glaring in upon us, or rather into the cave.

I felt the tremor in my own frame spread to my companion, and I made an effort to rise so as to be on my guard, but Mr Ferguson prevented me, whispering,—

“Make no noise, Galbraith, he may pass on.”

I shook my head as I pointed to the fresh skin of the hyrax, the smell of which had no doubt attracted the animal. My sign was all eloquent, and like statues—for we felt how utterly armless, and therefore powerless, we were—we waited, our eyes fixed on our foe. Even in this terrible moment, I could not help thinking how justly the lion had been termed the king of beasts. To see him properly, if not comfortably, is to see him free in his native land. The grandness of his head, the rich tawny hue, the eyes bright as fire, the graceful, flowing mane, are beauties of nature which are lost when the fierce bold spirit is caged.

But I had little time, had I had inclination, to take a longer survey, for with his flexible yet massive paw he crushed down the remaining barrier of mimosa, then crouching prepared to spring.

As I noted the action, the twisting, quivering movement of the lithe, cat-like body, all the muscles contracted ready for the jump, the cry of terror remained frozen on my lips—I seemed, I felt as stone. The next moment, however, I was aroused by a sharp ejaculation of horror from the missionary. Starting forward he seized the heavy stick I had cut from the bush.

“Merciful Heaven! Look there, Galbraith,” he cried. “Jack Thompson! The terrible brute will have him. For God’s sake, let us save the poor fellow!”

Before the words could be uttered, the beast with a roar had sprung upon his victim. Like a flash of light his heavy body rose through the air, and the next instant its fearful teeth had fastened upon the poor mate’s shoulder.

He awoke with a terrific scream, then as he saw those fearful, relentless eyes glaring down upon him, must from fear and pain have fainted, for he lay like one dead.

In the meanwhile the minister and I were not idle. Though we felt our efforts must be futile, we yet could not see our companion thus carried off without resistance, for the lion had already begun to back out of the cave, dragging its prey after him.

Opening my knife, I bade the minister stand clear, then prepared to spring upon the animal and plunge it in his throat; but, as if conscious of my design, with a low angry growl, it kept its gleaming eyes upon mine and stopping, seemed to await my attack with disdainful contempt, never, however, letting go of poor Jack, who now with returning consciousness began to moan piteously.

“Great Heaven! have mercy on him,” I heard Mr Ferguson exclaim. “You can never help him, Galbraith; lions are not killed with pen-knives, and the beast has already read your intent. It will be your death as well as Thompson’s.”

“I will try something,” I muttered, never taking my eyes from the lion’s; for I had heard how great the power of the human glance was over these animals, and, certainly mine seemed to hold him spellbound. Suddenly, a thought struck me; I remembered the thick bushes that hung over the top of the cave, and hurriedly said to the minister—

“Our only chance, if we have any, is to make a general attack. Will you, by the help of the bushes, climb to the top of the cave—I feel he will not move yet—while I keep my eyes on his. Then at a given signal you drop on him with that pointed stick of hard acacia, while I will spring at his throat with my knife. We may at least startle him into making a retreat—only for the love of Heaven be quick! or Thompson will recover, and, by his struggles, change the animal’s position.”

In a moment, though the act was so perilous, and indeed, was likely to end in three lives being sacrificed instead of one, the young minister was climbing the bushes.

Anxiously I waited, still keeping my eyes on the lion which, at the sound of the rustling branches, began to beat his tail ominously.

By sense of hearing I tried to divine how Mr Ferguson was progressing, and was congratulating myself by the certainty that he must be near the top, when, suddenly letting go Thompson, with a warning roar, I in horror perceived that the lion intended to make me his victim instead of the mate.

My fate, I felt was sealed. Thoughts of home, of Katie, of my little ones, rushed with the speed of light to my brain, while my heart grew sick.

A prayer escaped my lips, as I saw the wide, blood-red jaws expand to seize me, and the body rise with a noiseless spring. Tottering back, in imagination I already felt the hot breath of the animal on my face—his teeth in my flesh, when a crashing noise abruptly rung in my ears, followed by a cry of fear, and a howl of agony from the lion. Then a cloud of blinding dust enveloped me, and I fell back stunned against the wall of the cave.

It was some seconds before I could clear my eyes sufficiently to look for the cause of the noise, the dust, and of my yet being untouched by the lion, whose moans I could still hear.

On looking up, I saw to my surprise that the moonlight now streamed in at the top of the cave instead of the front which was blockaded by a great mass of rock, partly covered by which was the lion, writhing in agony, and utterly powerless—his hind quarters being crushed beneath the weight.

How the rock had come there, and what was the fate of my companions were mysteries, and I was striving to get my confused senses together to make a search when the head, and then the body of Mr Ferguson appeared, climbing over the fallen rock.

“Galbraith, in mercy speak if you be yet alive!” he cried in accents of terror.

“I am all right, Sir,” I answered, “but for Heaven’s sake tell me how all this happened.”

“I scarcely know—I was climbing the rock when, as I neared the top, I fancied the bush was giving way. I should have fallen just in front of the lion’s jaws, and before I could reflect on the matter, the instinct of self-preservation innate in us all, made me spring out among the bushes beneath. No sooner had I done so, than I heard a terrific noise accompanied by a fall, and, turning, perceived there had been a landslip, the mouth of the cave being barricaded by this rock.”

“And it has saved our lives,” I ejaculated. “The hand of Providence is in it, Sir. We were helpless, and it has saved us by a miracle, for the lion is half-crushed and will be dead shortly, while I can hear Thompson, moaning, not as if in any greater pain than the lion’s teeth must have occasioned. Come in, Sir, and aid me to look.”

Mr Ferguson instantly sprang down, when I with my clasp-knife soon despatched the now powerless and fainting lion; then we groped about for Jack. We quickly discovered him, and found it was the second narrow escape from death that he had had in the last hour, for the rock was scarcely an inch from his head. Drawing him away we bound up his shoulder as well as we could with our handkerchiefs. When this was done and he had recovered consciousness I said—

“I have been thinking, Mr Ferguson, that the unpleasant visit we have had to-night may be repeated. So what do you say to trying to get down to the edge of the sea? The wild animals will hardly come there.”

“You are right, Galbraith; but I doubt if poor Thompson could manage it.”

“Yes, Sir, I think I can,” he answered. “I’m precious weak and faint, sartinly; that beggar’s teeth were rather large skewers and nearly did for me, so I would sooner try to walk to where we shall be safe than risk such another rough style of trussing.”

This being agreed upon, Mr Ferguson and I lent our aid to get Jack over the rock, from whence we began to make our way to the shore. Once the poor fellow fainted, and I thought we should have to stop where we were, but he managed to proceed after a while, and on reaching the sea was much refreshed by having his wounds bathed in the water. After which, as neither of us felt inclined to sleep, we sat down to wait for dawn, though what fresh perils it might bring us was a question we did not care to contemplate.

We had been lying on the beach for, I should imagine, nearly two hours, in silence watching the ocean alight in the trough of every wave with brilliant flashing phosphorescence and silver moonlight, and thinking of our terrible position, when Mr Ferguson, who had remained so motionless that I had believed him to be asleep, and naturally after his two nights’ fatigue, spoke—

“Galbraith,” he said, “I have been reflecting that our wisest plan after all will be to make across the country, for, unarmed as we are, we are like to find the animals about here as dangerous as the natives, who possibly might be friendly and hospitable should we fall in with them.”

I hadn’t much trust in the latter hope, for I had heard many travellers’ tales respecting the Kaffirs, but I answered—

“You know best, Sir; and I think you are right.”

“At any rate, God will be with us anywhere as He is here,” he added. “We must trust in Him, who has already saved us from one terrible danger.”

“That is true, Sir; when shall we start?”

“Not till dawn,” he rejoined. “I have been looking at the stars, also at that headland, and recalling all I have read and seen respecting this coast, and fancy Natal cannot be far off. Who knows but while we are endangering our lives here, some English or Dutch settlement may be at the other side of that headland?”

“You are right, Sir,” said Jack, joining in; “I’m blessed if you ain’t; and if the Dutch only have their schnapps with ’em, I shall be uncommonly glad, for I feel as if I want something to stir me up.”

No doubt he did, for his wounds must have sorely troubled him, though he bore them so patiently.

“I vote,” he added, “that we start at once.”

“No, Jack,” said Mr Ferguson; “there are several reasons for our not doing so first, a few hours’ rest will do us good; secondly, you must have the handkerchiefs round your shoulder wetted again and again to keep down the inflammation; and thirdly, as we must pass through the bush, we had better do so when the beasts of prey have returned to their lairs, for I suspect the visit of one has been already quite enough for you.”

“Too much, Sir, and your third reason is stronger than all the rest put together, so for another wash of these kind remembrances left me by his majesty, the King of the Hanimals, though I could well have excused him paying the compliment, then to wait for dawn.”

Wait for dawn! yes truly; but with what laggard steps it appeared to come. As the hours advanced, the beautiful Southern constellations, the Columba noachi, or Noah’s-dove, the Crux Australis, or Southern Cross—the guiding star of the southern hemisphere, appeared rather to grow brighter than more faint; and it seemed an age before the first golden streaks of the sun shot up into the sky. No sooner had it done so, than I awoke Jack, who, by our earnest entreaties had taken a little sleep, then we started for the bush.

On our way we began really to believe that the place was uninhabited by man, for in the distance we saw nothing to resemble a human being, either black or white; while our own progress, remaining so uninterrupted, proved we had not attracted observation, which we could scarcely have failed to have done, had there been any of the natives near.

On entering the bush we managed to make a breakfast off some fruits which the minister, from his book-learning, knew not to be poisonous, while from the coiled-up leaves of the plantain, we procured sufficient water to slake our burning thirst. We had not gone far, before Mr Ferguson saved me by a quick jerk backwards from the grip of one of those thorns I have before referred to. He informed us that it was a plant very plentiful in the bush, known by the name of uncaria procumbens, from its manner of trailing along the ground; and also called the hook thorn, being armed, as I had noticed, with strong hooks. Besides those on the branches, when the seed vessels break, each of the sides is covered with hooked thorns, which possess such strength and sharpness, that their grasp is with difficulty avoided by the natives, while when the unfortunate European once is caught, all his efforts serve but to fasten him the tighter; for the action of unhooking one thorn only causes him to be seized by a dozen. Indeed, without aid it is almost impossible for him to get away. There is another kind called the Karra-dorn or white thorn, found generally on the banks of rivers, whose thorns are nearly seven inches long, and of such strength and sharpness that a lion has been known to have been impaled on them, and died of the wounds inflicted.

Hearing this account of them, I loudly rejoiced at my good fortune which had kept me from too close a proximity, when first seeing them in the bush.

Mr Ferguson’s anecdotes pleasantly whiled away the time; and to our relief we came across no more savage animals than monkeys, who, as we passed, jabbered and chattered in hundreds from the trees above, which were in general, all festooned with the before-mentioned Baboon ropes. Frequently, however, the Hook thorn presented impenetrable barriers across our path, compelling us to turn out of our course; and more than once, I know the thought occurred to all of the probability of our being lost in the bush. But Mr Ferguson kept a constant watch on the sun, and encouraged Jack with comforting words when, poor fellow, his heart began to fail, for his wounds had made him weak and hopeless.

We must, I am sure, have been over ten hours in the wood before we began to find the trees grow less thickly together, when we made more rapid progress. In another hour we had got to the outskirts of the forest when, laying my hand on Jack’s arm, I said, pointing with the other to a beautifully green plain some little distance off, and slightly below our level.

“Jack, look, we have got to the natives at last. Do you see them, Mr Ferguson?”

“I do,” responded Jack, “and a rum set of outlandish niggers they are. Lor, who can expect to be understood, much less receive hospitality from them. Far more likely to give us a warmer reception than we care for. But what on earth are they about?”

“They are evidently performing some native ceremony,” said Mr Ferguson.

But the description of the tribe of Kaffirs we had come upon, and the ceremony in which they were taking part, I shall leave for the commencement of the next chapter.

Chapter Five.

Jack again in Grief—The Kaffirs!—Captured.

The stretch of country so suddenly disclosed to our view was one of surpassing loveliness. We had much diverged from our path, owing to the impervious walls of the hook thorn, and the sea was no longer visible, indeed, it might have been miles away, the country we looked upon had such an air of inland vegetation. The vast plain that lay before us slightly sloped down till near the centre, where it became flat, even, and, like the sides, covered by grass of a splendid emerald green. Around this, on our side and to the left, was the bush, the peculiar and splendid trees, and parasitical plants composing it, lending a powerful aid to the general picturesqueness of the scene.

Before us, a hill not of much altitude closed in the horizon, while to the right suddenly rose up a range of rocks, covered with trees of the cactus species, and others of quaint form, of the names of which we were ignorant. Between these, flashing red in the light of the setting sun, which was now making the blue sky aflame, was a cataract, that must have bounded from rock to rock with the roar of thunder, but which, owing to the distance, only came as a pleasant murmur to our ear as it passed under the trees, that, clinging to the rocks by their roots, seemed, as they bent over the water, ever about to plunge in, and be carried away to annihilation.

On a closer acquaintance with this cataract I found it fell into a dark gloomy ravine, dense with vegetation, whose foliage concealed the wary paths of the lion, wild cat, and tiger, the sinuous, graceful movements of the deadly serpent, and other venomous reptiles.

But as dangerous enemies as all these were, in our opinion, still nearer at hand.

In the centre of the plain were some fifty to a hundred blacks, whom the missionary instantly declared to be Kaffirs. We were too far off to distinguish features, but I know, expecting, as I did, to find the natives of the same type as the common African, or that of the Guinea coast, often in our country designated as “niggers,” I was infinitely surprised to see them of a good height, slim, gracefully yet firmly made, with an erect carriage, and an easy grace in all their movements. Nevertheless, any man, had he been perfection itself, would scarcely have looked anything but grotesque and comical when going through the antics these men were performing, which evidently was intended as a dance commemorating some triumph.

At the side further from, yet facing us, sat a Kaffir, no doubt a chief, from the authority he seemed to exercise, though certainly my above description of the race did not extend to him, for he was of the most pursy, nay, fat and unwieldy build imaginable. His dress was apparently two aprons of fur or feather, fastened round the waist, so as to fall behind as in front; several bracelets decked his pudgy arms, while his head appeared perfectly denuded of hair, but ornamented with a hard dark ring, and a large round tuft of some material fastened to the top of the forehead like that on a private soldier’s hat. By his side was a roughly made utensil, evidently containing liquid, for he drank from it continually; while extended on the ground just before him were the carcases of several recently slaughtered animals.

In front of his chiefship were nearly all the other Kaffirs, dressed in a similar fashion, but without the tuft on the forehead, and dancing the wildest dance I ever saw. Dance they did like mad, yet evidently according to some rude idea of figure, the time being perfect. Each waved in one hand a kind of spear, ornamented with a bunch of feathers, and in the other carried a large oval shield. They stood in lines, advanced and retired in perfect order, all the while shouting, singing, and working themselves apparently to the highest pitch of wild frenzy.

“I say, Galbraith,” said Thompson, as, concealed in the bush, we watched their fierce movements and listened to their horrible yelling, “they are not quite the right sort of customers to which I care to entrust my life, though I ain’t more particular about it than others are of theirs.”

I nodded acquiescence when Mr Ferguson, who had overheard Jack, spoke:

“They certainly do not look very peacefully inclined, yet we ought not to judge them from what we see of them now.”

“I can say, for myself, Sir,” put in Jack, “that I don’t care to see them again. So rather let my verdict stand.”

“No doubt,” laughed the missionary, “yet the ceremony to me seems a harmless one. I fancy it is a rejoicing after a successful hunting expedition. Look yonder how thickly the game lies.”

“By that little fat man,” said Jack. “Lor’! what a sight of good things he must have eaten to have reached such a girth.”

“What do you say, Thompson,” laughed Mr Ferguson, “shall we make a descent on them, or no?”

There was a most eloquent silence on Jack’s part, whereupon the missionary turned to me—

“Well, Galbraith, what do you say? With the few resources we have here, starvation may soon be our lot, if we are not previously devoured by some of the fierce denizens of the bush.”

“That is true, Sir,” I replied, “and I have no desire for either one nor the other. If I had but a rifle and a few rounds of powder and ball, I would not fear, Crusoe-like, living on these shores, despite the animals and those black dancers, till I could hail a ship; but the ocean is not so kind to us as to him, and has not cast up chests containing just the things we want. Still, as to joining those gentlemen in undress below there, I confess I am rather of Jack’s opinion, for those frantic movements with the spear, and demoniacal yells scarcely look friendly.”

“You are probably right, Galbraith; yet were I alone it would be my duty as a true soldier of my Master’s cross to go among them, and try to sow in these ignorant minds the seeds of His Word, and so I would do, only I will not lead others into the danger I would run myself, for if I have not read the disposition of you two wrongly, were I to go you would follow.”

“That we would,” echoed Jack, and I also responded in the affirmative.

“But see!” continued Thompson, “what are they after?”

I looked back to the spot from which my attention had been momentarily withdrawn, and perceived the chief had arisen, and with a waddling gait was moving to the hill opposite, followed by the other Kaffirs, some of whom had lifted up and were carrying the slaughtered game. As quickly as the slow pace of the fat chief would permit, they crossed the hill and vanished over the other side.

When the last black fellow had gone, Mr Ferguson said—

“They are returning to their dwellings, called here Kraals, which no doubt are pretty near at hand.”

“Which is sartain,” put in Thompson, “or that little fat man of theirs will have to be carried as well as the game.”

“Well, then, let us stay here till the sun sets, and when the night—as it does in all tropical countries—quickly follows, we will track them and reconnoitre more closely as to their vicinity.”

Agreeing upon this, the minister and I—for Jack’s arm having grown stiff and sore, would not allow him to make himself useful—set about procuring bananas, nuts, and other edible fruits to stay our hunger. Even had we come across another rock rabbit I doubt whether we should have ventured to kill it, being, as we were, in such close quarters with the natives.

Thompson once or twice argued that we should make again for the shore, and I half agreed with him till Mr Ferguson, overhearing a few of his whispered remarks, convinced me to the contrary by asking—

“If we did make directly back, and build a hut of rock as Jack proposed, how first should we catch the fish he mentions, and how should we obtain water? without which we must in this hot climate inevitably die of thirst and madness.”

This sensible reasoning convinced Jack and me also, when the minister continued—

“As certainly we have no chance of sighting a ship here, suppose we make our course as straight in advance as we can, when we shall assuredly reach the banks of some river such as the Imfolosi or Umlalaze, along whose banks we can proceed till we again reach the shore, where then, if you like, we can build a hut, for we shall have both fish and fresh water close at hand.”

There could not be a better plan proposed, and we were for instantly putting it into execution.

“We must wait till the sun has set, and then we shall not be able to go far to-night, for we must traverse the bush, not to be seen by the Kaffirs. Indeed, I do not think we shall do more than cross the plain, and wait for the moon to rise that we may each select the branches of some tree to rest in till dawn, when we must start instantly, taking the bush, and working towards the east, for the Kaffirs generally build their kraals far inland.”

Accordingly, directly the night closed in, we set out. Our “straight course” led us nearly in the same tracks the Kaffirs had gone, that is as well as we could judge in the darkness; therefore we had to proceed with much caution, and hoped to reach the crest of the hill before the moon rose, least our figures, crouch down as we would, should attract the keen glance of some Kaffir, whose kraal might be for what we knew, within a few yards of the other side.

As we went, distant sounds, such as a distant roar and creaking of branches, told us that the fierce dwellers among its luxuriance were out in search of food, and we all shuddered at the idea of what our position would have been at that moment, had we lost ourselves in the terrible bush.

We had more than half crossed the plain, and were hurrying on in silence, when my steps were suddenly arrested by a cry, partly of surprise, partly of terror from Jack Thompson who had been walking by my side. I started round, fully expecting to find ourselves once more in the presence of the King of Beasts or some other animal, though I do not think its red eyes would have astonished me more than what did indeed meet my view—which was nothing; yes, nothing. Jack Thompson had entirely vanished.

“Good heavens! Mr Ferguson,” I exclaimed, catching his arm, “where is Thompson; just now he was by my side, and see, he has gone!”

As I spoke, a voice coming up apparently from our feet addressed us—

“Shiver my top-sails, but if I ain’t in another cussed fix! Here, Galbraith lad, lend a hand to help us out.”

Looking down in surprise we discovered that we were on the very edge of what in the darkness appeared a vast chasm, the depths of which we could not penetrate. Instinctively I recoiled from my close proximity; but the next moment drew near again, for it was from this pit that Jack Thompson’s voice had proceeded.

“Jack!” I called down; “is it deep? I can’t see you; are you hurt, or can you reach me your hand?”

“I have fallen on my wounded arm and the pain’s awful,” he responded; then as if he had tried, he added, “no, I don’t think you can reach me, for it’s precious deep. But can’t you find some way to get me out of this infernal place?”

“What shall we do?” I asked, turning to Mr Ferguson, “how ever are we to help him?”

“The darkness may make him misjudge the depth,” he replied. “Let us try to reach the poor fellow.”

Lying flat on the ground, therefore, I bade him, if possible, seize my hand, but soon found he was unable to do so—being remarkably short of stature, besides which his falling on his wounded arm had rendered him faint and unfit for exertion.

“It is useless,” said Mr Ferguson, after he also had tried. “One of us must go to the bush, and get some baboon ropes.”

I was on my feet in an instant, but the next moment’s reflection made me say—

“That plan would be useless, sir, for in this vast plain, even if I got the ropes, how could I find you again in the darkness, and to call for directions would undoubtedly bring the Kaffirs upon us.”

“True; you ever have your wits about you, Galbraith, but what are we to do?”

“Why the moon will be up in less than half an hour, and whatever the danger, we must wait till then.”

Having told Jack what we were compelled to do, and bidding him rest assured we would not leave him, we took our places at the pit’s mouth to wait. We did not speak for we had no heart to. Even at the very moment, the vast plain was perhaps peopled with beasts in search of prey, which each instant they might find in our vicinity. The brave man may face a danger, however terrible, without the quiver of a nerve when he does face it; but it would require the bravest, if indeed, the one ever did exist, who could sit calmly in the midst of a strange country, which he knows to be inhabited by Kaffirs, lions and tigers, and feels that any moment the spear of the one, or the fangs of the other might be quivering in his flesh, without his being able to raise a hand in self-defence. I own, for my part it was a time of terror, and my blood even now runs chill in my veins when I recall the sensations I then experienced.

Once, Jack broke the silence in a rather loud whisper, saying,—

“I say, Dick Galbraith, old fellow just ask the minister to take a peep at that book-larning he carries in his head, and see if he can’t tell me why this cussed hole was made—if its natur or Kaffir architecture.”

“I believe, my friend,” answered the minister, “that you have fallen into a pit, dug by its depth, to catch giraffes. Ah! by the way, tell me, is there not a bank of earth left in the centre?”

“Yes,” answered Thompson, “that there is; and but for my arm, I’d climb it and be out in a jiffy, but this here member burns—saving your presence, Mr Ferguson—like blazes, and won’t move no how.”

While he was talking, an idea occurred to me, and I said,—

“If it be as Jack says, about that bank of earth, the mouth of the hole not being very large, for I have walked round it, do you not think by my getting down, I might help Thompson up?”

“That is very possible, but you being the strongest, Galbraith I think had better remain here, so that when I hoist him on to the point of earth, you can pull him out.”

“And you?” I said.

“Can afterwards very easily climb out with your aid. What a pity we did not think of this before. What time it might have saved. See yonder, in the sky is already the reflection of the moon.”

I could have said that I was not aware as to the kind of pit-fall it was, but only remarked—

“Never mind, Sir, let us set to work as quickly as we can now.”

Whereupon he, warning Jack of his coming, lowered himself into the pit, and dropped.

I waited impatiently, and so occupied were we all with our work that I did not perceive that the moon, rising higher and higher, was disclosing the outline of many dusky forms which were hovering about me. It was just as Mr Ferguson exclaimed, “Now Galbraith, he is getting on my shoulders, be ready to seize him,” that there echoed in my ears a yell as if arising from the throats of a myriad of fiends. I sprang to my feet, and gazed around.

The moon was up—from it a ray of broad silver light fell over the plain, disclosing to my terrified glance the black forms of some thirty to fifty Kaffirs ranged in a circle about the pit’s mouth, all in defiant attitudes, their spears upraised. My wisest plan would have been, I know, to have thrown myself on the ground, and let them come up quietly, but in my surprise I made a few steps backward, hastily whispering to the others to keep still, as any efforts they could make would be useless against such numbers. The action was a foolish one, and might have proved my death-warrant, for the next instant a cloud of spears whistled around me, one of which, piercing my arm, brought me to the ground. At this, with renewed yells of triumph, the Kaffirs came rushing and capering, jabbering and leaping like fiends incarnate, as if with the intention to tear my wretched body limb from limb; their eyes, their teeth gleamed down upon me, and with the belief that my last hour had indeed come, I fainted.

Chapter Six.

Metilulu—I have Faint Hopes.

I could not have remained unconscious long, indeed it seemed but a moment’s space, when I was brought to by the excruciating pain caused by the no gentle withdrawal of the spear or assagai, as I found it was called, out of my arm. But the “moment’s space” had been sufficient for them to bind my hands firmly with a strip of hide behind my back. With as little ceremony as gentleness they pulled me to my feet, when weak and giddy, for the blood was flowing fast from my shoulder, I examined my captors.

They were of the true Kaffir type—tall, well-made, noble and graceful in their bearing, patterns of manly beauty, save the face, and even here the features were far superior to most of the African dark-skinned tribes; the cheek bones were not prominent, the lips were not of the negro class, though thicker than the European. Quickly I took this inventory of my captors, and also perceived that my being a white man had created no little surprise among them—they talked and jabbered together, ever glancing at me, then turning began to march forward, myself in the midst.

What Mr Ferguson and Jack were doing I could not tell. I certainly could not see them, and therefore hoped, by keeping quiet in the pit, that they had escaped detection. I did not for an instant blame them for not having endeavoured to rescue me, for what could they have done without arms and pitted against fifteen times their numbers. It would have led to the massacre of three instead of one—and one, I felt certain, unless Providence again aided me, it would be.

Rapidly we moved along towards the hill, too rapidly for my strength. I reeled and stumbled as I went, my pain added to by the tightness of the hide about my wrists. Each moment I felt that I should fall, for the loss of blood was growing serious, when a Kaffir, evidently one in authority, who was walking by my side, seemed to become aware of my situation, for he spoke to another, who gliding swiftly off returned in a few moments bringing the leaves of some plant, cool and fresh, which the one who had sent him bound round my arm. After this we went on again, I striving to look my gratitude, hoping in my heart that the tribe into whose power I had fallen was of those friendly ones of whom Mr Ferguson had spoken.

On reaching the crest of the hill, which I had been looking forward to with some curiosity, I perceived in the centre of a plain similar to the one we had just quitted, the kraal, or home of the Kaffir, which I will here describe according to how it appeared to me, only, to give clearness to the description, using the native terms when necessary, though I did not learn them till afterwards.

The kraal then was made of two circular fences, the outer being about half-a-mile or more in diameter, the other much smaller, and enclosing what we should call a meadow, termed here the isibaya, in which are carefully kept the cows, the pride of the Kaffir. Between these two fences formed of poles, whose tops crossing make a protection like a cheveux-de-frise against an enemy, were numerous huts in the shape of half a Dutch cheese, the flat part being placed on the ground. These were composed of thatch lashed together with baboon ropes. In respect to the shape of the huts, I may as well mention here, that the Kaffirs build everything round, and have no idea of any other form. I have heard it said in jest that a tailless cat must walk in a circle—from whatever point they start from, they must return to the same. So it appears with the natives of Caffraria, for however the women, who are the chief builders, begin, they are sure to bring the construction finally to a circle.

Near the kraal a little on the outside grew a peculiar tree called the Euphorbia, which grows to forty feet high, is entirely leafless, prickly, and branches out like a candelabrum; its juice is extremely acrid and poisonous, indeed the tree is of the same species as the wart weed which grows, where weeds are permitted, in English gardens.

As we approached, my guards uttered a peculiar cry, upon which the kraal, a moment before lying so still and peaceful in the clear moonlight, became animated with numberless black figures, like a swarm of bees. Breaking into a quicker step, we soon reached the small aperture leading into the huts, and were instantly surrounded by a crowd of Kaffirs dressed similarly to those I had already seen, that is, with ropes of hides and beads coiled round their waists; the aprons of strips of fur or animals’ tails hanging in front and behind, and bracelets and anklets of hide, string, or bone round their wrists and legs. Each also bore an assagai and shield, giving them a most formidable appearance, as with much gesticulation they stared at me.

A consultation seemed to be taking place between the head men, during which the women and children, who also had turned out, took their full share of inspection, so I, having nothing better to do, returned the scrutiny, and speedily came to the opinion that, however well the men might be made, the women when passed maidenhood were positively disgustingly hideous.

The girls’ attire was little more than the men—when women or married they, on special occasions, wear a petticoat of some material, reaching to the knee, now this was absent—while their rough woolly hair was ornamented with bones, beads, and the spines of the white thorn. As for the children, they were as devoid of clothes as when they were born.

I had scarcely taken all this in, when a young Kaffir, whom I had seen sent away, returned; and no sooner had he delivered his message, than about half-a-dozen of my guards surrounding me, began to move on, the crowd falling back, yet still following and chattering like so many monkeys.

Proceeding nearly half round the kraal, we came to a hut of much larger dimensions than the others, while I observed on the thatch the skulls of several oxen to be fastened. The entrance was so low that I had to pass through on my hands and knees, preceded and followed by my guards. The first thing that struck me on putting my head in, was the exceedingly disgusting odour of the interior, most repulsive to the sensitive organs of the European.

The anxiety respecting my position, however, made me pay little heed to this; but rising to my feet I gazed round with some curiosity.

The interior walls were composed of hardened mud, the roof being supported by pillars, covered, to my surprise, by beads, and from which were hung shields, assagais, and gourds; while bunches of maize, much blackened by soot, were suspended from the roof. Around the sides of the hut were ranged rudely-made baskets, pitchers, and other culinary utensils, and on the floor, flattened to a perfect evenness and polish, were several sleeping-mats, constructed from animals’ skins.

On one of the latter, I was not surprised to see the fat Kaffir who had been present at the dance, and thinking it as well to be polite—even should they not understand the European fashion of being so—I made a most profound obeisance.

The chief having looked fixedly at me, addressed my guards who, I could tell by their manner and actions, were explaining how I had fallen into their hands. This coming to an end, with some dignity and much importance he spoke to me, whereupon, shaking my head, I gave him to understand that his language was unknown to me. Metilulu, for that I afterwards learned was his name, then gave an order to one of the attendants, who, quitting the hut, speedily returned with a young, rather good-looking Kaffir, possessing a figure like the marble statues I had seen in other lands and my own. He was indeed splendid, and I was admiringly examining this fine specimen of humanity, when I was startled by hearing myself addressed in my own tongue, though the pronunciation was queer. I found it was the young Kaffir who thus spoke. He stood between the chief and me, and said—

“The mighty Elephant, the pride of his tribe, says, are you European?”

“I am,” I answered, no little pleased to think that I could explain my position, and perhaps win their commiseration. “I am a shipwrecked sailor, who was cast on your land the evening before last.”

“You are not Boer?—you are not spy?” he continued suspiciously, after repeating my words to the chief.