Chapter XIII

CHAPTER XIII.PACIFICATION BY FIRE.[edit]
At the camp Colonel Everest and his colleagues, with a
natural impatience, anxiously abided the result of the lion-hunt.
If the chase proved successful, the light would
appear in the course of the night. The Colonel and Strux
passed the day uneasily; Palander, always engrossed,
forgot that any danger menaced his friends. It might be
said of him, as of the mathematician Bouvard, “He will
continue to calculate while he continues to live;” for
apart from his calculations life for him would have lost its
purpose.
The two chiefs certainly thought quite as much of the
accomplishment of their survey as of any danger incurred
by their companions; they would themselves have braved
any peril rather than have a physical obstacle to arrest
their operations.
At length, after a day that seemed interminable, the
night arrived. Punctually every half-hour the Colonel and
Matthew Strux silently relieved guard at the telescope,
each desiring to be the first to discover the light. But
hours passed on, and no light appeared. At last, at a
quarter to three, Colonel Everest arose, and calmly said.
“The signal!”
The Russian, although he did not utter a word, could
scarcely conceal the chagrin which he felt at chance favouring
the Colonel.
The angle was then carefully measured, and was found
to be exactly 73°58'42".413.
Colonel Everest being anxious to join his companions as
soon as possible, the camp was raised at dawn, and by midday
all the members of the Commission had met once more.
The incidents of the lion-hunt were recounted, and the
victors heartily congratulated.
During the morning Sir John, Emery, and Zorn had
proceeded to the summit of the mountain, and had thence
measured the angular distance of a new station situated a
few miles to the west of the meridian. Palander also announced
that the measurement of the second degree was
now complete.
For five weeks all went on well. The weather was fine,
and the country, being only slightly undulated, offered fair
sites for the stations. Provisions were abundant, and Sir
John's revictualling expeditions provided full many a variety
of antelopes and buffaloes. The general health was
good, and water could always be found. Even the discussions
between the Colonel and Strux were less violent, and
each seemed to vie with the other in zeal for success, when
a local difficulty occurred which for a while hindered the
work and revived hostilities.
It was the 11th of August. During the night the
caravan had passed through a wooded country, and in the
morning halted before an immense forest extending beyond
the horizon. Imposing masses of foliage formed a verdant
curtain which was of indescribable beauty. There were the
“gounda,” the “mosokoso,” and the “mokoumdon,” a
wood much sought for ship-building; great ebony trees,
their bark covering a perfectly black wood; “bauhinias,”
with fibre of iron; “buchneras,” with their orange-coloured
flowers; magnificent “roodeblatts,” with whitish trunks,
crowned with crimson foliage, and thousands of “guaiacums,”
measuring fifteen feet in circumference. There
was ever a murmur like that of the surf on a sandy coast;
it was the wind, which, passing across the branches, was
calmed on the skirts of the forest. In answer to a question
from the Colonel, Mokoum said,—
“It is the forest of Rovouma.”
“What is its size?”
“It is about forty-five miles wide, and ten long.”
“How shall we cross it?”
“Cross it we cannot,” said Mokoum. “There is but
one resource: we must go round either to the east or to
the west.”
At this intelligence the chiefs were much perplexed. In
the forest they could not establish stations; to pass round
would involve them in an additional series of perhaps ten
auxiliary triangles.
Here was a difficulty of no little magnitude. Encamping
in the shade of a magnificent grove about half a mile from
the forest, the astronomers assembled in council. The
question of surveying across the mass of trees was at once
set aside, and it now remained to determine whether they
should make the circuit to the east or the west, since the
meridian passed as nearly as possible through the centre of
the forest. On this point arose a violent discussion between
the Colonel and Strux. The two rivals recovered
their old animosity, and the discussion ended in a serious
altercation. Their colleagues attempted to interfere, but to
no purpose. The Englishman wished to turn to the right,
since that direction approached the route taken by Dr. Livingstone
in his expedition to the Zambesi Falls, and
the country would on that account be more known and
frequented. The Russian, on the contrary, insisted on
going to the left, but apparently for no other reason than
to thwart the Colonel. The quarrel went so far that a
separation between the members of the Commission seemed
imminent. Zorn, Emery, Sir John, and Palander withdrew
and left their chiefs to themselves. Such was their
obstinacy that it seemed as if the survey must continue
from this point in two oblique series of triangles.
The day passed away without any reconciliation, and the
next morning Sir John, finding matters still in the same
condition, proposed to Mokoum to beat the neighbourhood.
Perhaps meanwhile the astronomers would come to an
understanding: any way, some fresh venison would not be
despised.
Mokoum, always ready, whistled to his dog Top, and the
two hunters ventured several miles from the encampment.
The conversation naturally turned on the subject of the
difficulty.
“I expect,” said the bushman, “we shall be encamped
some time here. Our two chiefs are like ill-paired oxen,
one pulls one way and the other another, and the consequence
is that the waggon makes no headway.”
“It is all very sad,” answered Sir John, “and looks like
a separation. The interests of science are compromised,
otherwise I should be indifferent to it all. I should amuse
myself with my gun until the rivals made it up.”
“Do you think they will make it up? For my part, I
am almost afraid that our halt will be indefinitely prolonged.”
“I fear so, Mokoum,” replied Sir John. “The matter is
so trivial, and it is no question of science. Our chiefs would
doubtless have yielded to a scientific argument, but they
will never make concession in a pure matter of opinion.
How unfortunate that the meridian happens to cross this
forest!”
“Hang the forests!” exclaimed the bushman, “don't let
them stop your measuring, if you want to measure. But I
can't see the good of your getting at the length and breadth
of the earth? Who will be any better off when every thing
is reduced to feet and inches? I should just like to think
of the globe as infinite; to measure it is to make it small.
No, Sir John, if I were to live for ever, I could never understand
the use of your operations.”
Sir John could not help smiling. They had often debated
the subject, and the ignorant child of nature could evidently
not enter into the interest attached to the survey. Whenever
Sir John attempted to convince him, he answered
eloquently with arguments stamped with a genuine naturalness,
of which Sir John, half-savant and half-hunter, could
fully appreciate the charm.
Thus conversing, the hunters pursued the rock-hares, the
shrill-toned plovers, the partridges (with brown, yellow, and
black plumage), and other small game. But Sir John had
all the sport to himself. The bushman seldom fired; he
was pre-occupied. The quarrel between the two astronomers
seemed to trouble him more than it did his companion,
and the variety of game hardly attracted his notice.
In truth there was an idea floating through his brain,
which, little by little, took more definite form. Sir John
heard him talking to himself, and watched him as he quietly
let the game pass by, as engrossed as Palander himself.
Two or three times in the course of the day he drew near
Sir John and said,—
“So you really think that Colonel Everest and Mr. Strux
will not come to terms?”
Sir John invariably replied that agreement seemed unlikely,
and that he feared there would be a separation
between Englishmen and Russians. The last time Mokoum
received this answer he added,—
“Well, you may be easy; I have found a means
to satisfy both the chiefs. Before to-morrow, if the
wind is favourable, they will have nothing to quarrel
about.”
“What do you mean to do, Mokoum?”
“Never mind, Sir John.”
“Very well, I will leave it to you. You deserve to have
your name preserved in the annals of science.”
“That would be too great an honour for me. Sir John,”
answered the bushman, and then continued silently to
ponder over his project. Sir John made no further inquiries,
but could not at all guess how the bushman proposed to
re-unite the two adversaries.
Towards evening the hunters returned to camp, and
found matters even worse than before. The oft-repeated
intervention of Zorn and Emery had been of no avail, and
the quarrel had now reached such a height that reconciliation
seemed impossible. It appeared only too probable
that the survey would be continued in two separate directions.
The thought of this was sorrowful to Emery and
Zorn, who were now so nearly bound by mutual sympathy.
Sir John guessed their thoughts, and was eager to reassure
them; but however much he was secretly disposed to trust
to the bushman, he abstained from raising any hopes which
might be fallacious.
Throughout the evening Mokoum did not leave his
ordinary occupations. He arranged the sentinels, and took
the usual precautions. Sir John began to think that he
had forgotten his promise. Before going to rest he tried
to sound Colonel Everest, whom he found immovably resolved
that, unless Strux yielded, the English and Russians
must part. “There arc things,” added the Colonel, in
a tone of decision, “that cannot be borne, even from a
colleague.”
Sir John, very uneasy, retired to his bed, and being
fatigued with his day's sport, was soon asleep. Towards
eleven o'clock he was suddenly aroused by the natives
running to and fro in the camp. He quickly rose, and
found every one on their feet. The forest was on fire. In
the dark night, against the black sky, the curtain of flame
seemed to rise to the zenith; and in this incredibly short
time the fire had extended for several miles.
Sir John looked at Mokoum, who, standing near, made
no answer to his glance; but he at once understood. The
fire was designed to open a road through that forest which
had stood impervious for ages. The wind, from the south,
was favourable. The air, rushing as from a ventilator,
accelerated the conflagration, and furnished an ever fresh
supply of oxygen. It animated the flames, and kept the
kindled branches burning like a myriad brands. The scattered
fragments became new centres for fresh outbreaks of
flame; the scene of the fire became larger, and the heat
grew intense. The dead wood piled under the dark foliage
crackled, and ever and anon louder reports and a brighter
light told that the resinous trees were burning like torches.
Then followed explosions like cannonades, as the great
trunks of ironwood burst asunder with a reverberation as
of bombs. The sky reflected the glow, and the clouds
carried the rosy glare high aloft. Showers of sparks
emitted from the wreaths of smoke studded the heavens
like red-hot stars.
Then, on every side, were heard the howls, shrieks, and
bellowings of herds of bewildered hyenas, buffaloes, and
lions; elephants rushed in every direction, like huge dark
spectres, and disappeared beyond the horizon.
The fire continued throughout the following day and
night; and when day broke on the 14th a vast space,
several miles wide, had been opened across the forest. A
passage was now free for the meridian. The daring genius
of Mokoum had arrested the disaster which threatened the
survey.