Chapter XVII

CHAPTER XVII.AN UNEXPECTED BLIGHT.[edit]
After the oryx hunt the bushman had a long conversation
with the Colonel. He felt sure, he said, that they were
watched and followed, and that the only reason why they
had not been attacked before was because the Makololos
wished to get them farther north, where their hordes were
larger. The question thus arose whether, in presence of
this danger, they should retrace their steps; but they were
reluctant to suffer that which nature had favoured to be
interrupted by the attacks of a few African savages. The
Colonel, aware of the importance of the question, asked
the bushman to tell him all he knew about the Makololos.
Mokoum explained that they were the most northerly
branch ot the great tribe of the Bechuanas. In 1850 Dr. Livingstone,
during his first journey to the Zambesi, was
received at Sesheki, the usual residence of Sebitouani, the
chief of the Makololos. This native was a man of remarkable
intelligence, and a formidable warrior. In 1824 he
had menaced the Cape frontier, and, little by little, had
gained an ascendency over the tribes of Central Africa,
and had united them in a compact group. In the year
before the arrival of the Anglo-Russian expedition the
chief had died in Livingstone's arms, and his son Sekeleton
succeeded him.
At first Sekeleton was very friendly towards the Europeans
who visited the Zambesi, and Dr. Livingstone had no
complaint to make. But after the departure of the famous
traveller, not only strangers but the neighbouring tribes
were harassed by Sekeleton and his warriors. To these
vexations succeeded pillage on a large scale, and the
Makololos scoured the district between Lake Ngami and
the Upper Zambesi. Consequently nothing was more
dangerous than for a caravan to venture across this region
without a considerable escort, especially when its progress
had been previously known.
Such was the history given by Mokoum. He said that
he thought it right to tell the Colonel the whole truth,
adding, that for his own part (if the Colonel so wished) he
should not hesitate to continue the march.
Colonel Everest consulted with his colleagues, and it was
settled that the work, at all risks, should be continued.
Something more than half of the project was now accomplished,
and, whatever happened, the English owed it to themselves
and their country not to abandon their undertaking.
The series of triangles was resumed. On the 27th the tropic
of Capricorn was passed, and on the 3rd of November, with
the completion of the forty-first triangle, a fifth degree was
added to the meridian.
For a month the survey went on rapidly, without meeting
a single natural obstacle. Mokoum, always on the alert,
kept a constant look-out at the head and flanks of the
caravan, and forbade the hunters to venture too great a
distance away. No immediate danger, however, seemed
to threaten the little troop, and they were sanguine that the
bushman's fears might prove groundless. There was no
further trace of the native who, after eluding them at the
cromlech, had taken so strange a part in the oryx chase:
nor did any other aggressor appear. Still, at various intervals,
the bushman observed signs of trepidation among the
Bochjesmen under his command. The incidents of the
flight from the old cromlech, and the stratagem of the oryx
hunt, could not be concealed from them, and they were
perpetually expecting an attack. A deadly antipathy
existed between tribe and tribe, and, in the event of a collision,
the defeated party could entertain no hope of mercy.
The Bochjesmen were already 300 miles from their home,
and there was every prospect of their being carried 200
more. It is true that, before engaging them, Mokoum had
been careful to inform them of the length and difficulties
of the journey, and they were not men to shrink from
fatigue; but now, when to these was added the danger of
a conflict with implacable enemies, regret was mingled
with murmuring, and dissatisfaction was exhibited with
ill-humour, and although Mokoum pretended neither to
hear nor to see, he was silently conscious ot an increasing
anxiety.
On the 2nd of December a circumstance occurred which
still further increased the spirit of complaint amongst this
superstitious people, and provoked them to a kind of rebellion.
Since the previous evening the weather had become
dull. The atmosphere, saturated with vapour, gave signs of
being heavily charged with electric fluid. There was every
prospect of the recurrence of one of the storms which in this
tropical district are seldom otherwise than violent. During
the morning the sky became covered with sinister-looking
clouds, piled together like bales of down of contrasted colours,
the yellowish hue distinctly relieving the masses of dark
grey. The sun was wan, the heat was overpowering, and
the barometer fell rapidly; the air was so still that not a
leaf fluttered.
Although the astronomers had not been unconscious of
the change of weather, they had not thought it necessary
to suspend their labours. Emery, attended by two sailors
and four natives in charge of a waggon, was sent two miles
east of the meridian to establish a post for the vertex of
the next triangle. He was occupied in securing his point of
sight, when a current of cold air caused a rapid condensation,
which appeared to contribute immediately to a development
of electric matter. Instantly there fell a violent
shower of hail, and by a rare phenomenon the hailstones
were luminous, so that it seemed to be raining drops of
boiling silver. The storm increased; sparks flashed from
the ground, and jets of light gleamed from the iron settings
of the waggon. Dr. Livingstone relates that he has seen
tiles broken, and horses and antelopes killed, by the
violence of these hail-storms.
Without losing a moment, Emery left his work for the
purpose of calling his men to the waggon, which would
afford better shelter than a tree. But he had hardly left
the top of the hill, when a dazzling flash, instantly followed
by a peal of thunder, inflamed the air.
Emery was thrown down, and lay prostrate, as though
he were actually dead. The two sailors, dazzled for a
moment, were not long in rushing towards him, and were
relieved to find that the thunderbolt had spared him. He
had been enveloped by the fluid, which, collected by the
compass which he held in his hand, had been diverted in
its course, so as to leave him not seriously injured. Raised
by the sailors, he soon came to himself; but he had narrowly
escaped. Two natives, twenty paces apart, lay lifeless
at the foot of the post. One had been struck by the
full force of the thunderbolt, and was a black and shattered
corpse, while his clothes remained entire; the other had
been locally struck on the skull by the destructive fluid,
and had been killed at once. The three men had been
undeniably struck by a single flash. This trisection of a
flash of lightning is an unusual but not unknown occurrence,
and the angular division was very large. The Bochjesmen
were at first overwhelmed by the sudden death of
their comrades, but soon, in spite of the cries of the sailors
and at the risk of being struck themselves, they rushed back
to the camp. The two sailors, having first provided for the
protection of Emery, conveyed the two dead bodies to the
waggon, and then found shelter for themselves, being sorely
bruised by the hailstones, which fell like a shower of
marbles. For three quarters of an hour the storm continued
to rage; the hail then abated so as to allow the
waggon to return to camp.
The news of the death of the natives had preceded them,
and had produced a deplorable effect on the minds of the
Bochjesmen, who already looked upon the trigonometrical
operations with the terror of superstition. They assembled
in secret council, and some more timid than the rest
declared they would go no farther. The rebellious disposition
began to look serious, and it took all the bushman's
influence to arrest an actual revolt. Colonel Everest offered
the poor men an increase of pay; but contentment was not
to be restored without much trouble. It was a matter of
emergency; had the natives deserted, the position of the
caravan, without escort and without drivers, would have been
perilous in the extreme. At length, however, the difficulty
was overcome, and after the burial of the natives, the camp
was raised, and the little troop proceeded to the hill where
the two had met their death.
Emery felt the shock for some days: his left hand, which
had held the compass, was almost paralyzed; but after a
time it recovered, and he was able to resume his work.
For eighteen days no special incident occurred. The
Makololos did not appear, and Mokoum, though still distrustful,
exhibited fewer indications of alarm. They were
not more than fifty miles from the desert; and the karroo
was still verdant, and enriched by abundant water. They
thought that neither man nor beast could want for any
thing in this region so rich in game and pasturage; but
they had reckoned without the locusts, against whose
appearance there is no security in the agricultural districts
of South Africa.
On the evening of the 20th, about an hour before sunset
the camp was arranged for the night. A light northerly
breeze refreshed the atmosphere. The three Englishmen
and Mokoum, resting at the foot of a tree, discussed their
plans for the future. It was arranged that during the night
the astronomers should take the altitude of some stars, in
order accurately to find their latitude. Every thing seemed
favourable for the operations; in a cloudless sky the moon
was nearly new, and the constellations might be expected
to be clear and resplendent. Great was the disappointment,
therefore, when Emery, rising and pointing to the north,
said,—
“The horizon is overcast: I begin to fear our anticipations
of a fine night will hardly be verified.”
“Yes,” replied Sir John, “I see a cloud is rising,
and if the wind should freshen, it might overspread the
sky.”
“There is not another storm coming, I hope,” interposed
the Colonel.
“We are in the tropics,” said Emery, “and it would not
be surprising; for to-night I begin to have misgivings about
our observations.”
“What is your opinion, Mokoum?” asked the Colonel of
the bushman.
Mokoum looked attentively towards the north. The
cloud was bounded by a long clear curve, as definite as
though traced by a pair of compasses. It marked off a
section of some miles on the horizon, and its appearance,
black as smoke, seemed to excite the apprehensions of the
bushman. At times it reflected a reddish light from the
setting sun, as though it were rather a solid mass than any
collection of vapour. Without direct reply to the Colonel's
appeal, Mokoum simply said that it was strange.
In a few minutes one of the Bochjesmen announced that
the horses and cattle showed signs of agitation, and would
not be driven to the interior of the camp.
“Well, let them stay outside,” said Mokoum; and in
answer to the suggestion that there would be danger from
the wild beasts around, he added significantly, “Oh, the
wild beasts will be too much occupied to pay any attention
to them.”
After the native had gone back. Colonel Everest turned
to ask what the bushman meant; but he had moved away,
and was absorbed in watching the advance of the cloud, of
which, too accurately, he was aware of the origin.
The dark mass approached. It hung low and appeared
to be but a few hundred feet from the ground. Mingling
with the sound of the wind was heard a peculiar rustling,
which seemed to proceed from the cloud itself. At this
moment, above the cloud against the sky, appeared thousands
of black specks, fluttering up and down, plunging in
and out, and breaking the distinctness of the outline.
“What are those moving specks of black?” asked Sir
John.
“They are vultures, eagles, falcons, and kites,” answered
Mokoum, “from afar they have followed the cloud, and will
never leave it until it is destroyed or dispersed.”
“But the cloud?”
“Is not a cloud at all,” answered the bushman, extending
his hand towards the sombre mass, which by this time had
spread over a quarter of the sky. “It is a living host; to
say the truth, it is a swarm of locusts.”
The hunter was not mistaken. The Europeans were
about to witness one of those terrible invasions of grasshoppers
which are unhappily too frequent, and in one night
change the most fertile country into an arid desert. These
locusts, now arriving by millions, were the “grylli devastorii”
of the naturalists, and travellers have seen for a
distance of fifty miles the beach covered with piles of these
insects to the height of four feet.
“Yes,” continued the bushman, “these living clouds are
a true scourge to the country, and it will be lucky if we
escape without harm.”
“But we have no crops and pasturages of our own,” said
the Colonel; “what have we to fear?”
“Nothing, if they merely pass over our heads; every
thing, if they settle on the country over which we must
travel. They will not leave a leaf on the trees, nor a blade
of grass on the ground; and you forget, Colonel, that if our
own sustenance is secure, that of our animals is not. What
do you suppose will become of us in the middle of a devastated
district?”
The astronomers were silent for a time, and contemplated
the animated mass before them. The cries of the eagles
and falcons, who were devouring the insects by thousands,
sounded above the redoubled murmur.
“Do you think they will settle here?” said Emery.
“I fear so,” answered Mokoum, “the wind carries them
here direct. The sun is setting, and the fresh evening
breeze will bear them down; should they settle on the
trees, bushes, and prairies, why, then I tell you—;” but
the bushman could not finish his sentence. In an instant
the enormous cloud which overshadowed them settled on
the ground. Nothing could be seen as far as the horizon
but the thickening mass. The camp was bestrewed; waggons
and tents alike were veiled beneath the living hail.
The Englishmen, moving knee-deep in the insects, crushed
them by hundreds at every step.
Although there was no lack of agencies at work for their
destruction, their aggregate defied all check. The birds,
with hoarse cries, darted down from above, and devoured
them greedily; from below, the snakes consumed them in
enormous quantities; the horses, buffaloes, mules, and dogs
fed on them with great relish; and lions and hyenas,
elephants and rhinoceroses, swallowed them down by
bushels. The very Bochjesmen welcomed these “shrimps
of the air” like celestial manna; the insects even preyed on
each other, but their numbers still resisted all sources of
destruction.
The bushman entreated the English to taste the dainty.
Thousands of young locusts, of a green colour, an inch to an
inch and a half long, and about as thick as a quill, were
caught. Before they have deposited their eggs, they are
considered a great delicacy by connoisseurs, and are more
tender than the old insects, which are of a yellowish tinge,
and sometimes measure four inches in length. After half an
hour's boiling and seasoning with salt, pepper, and vinegar,
the bushman served up a tempting dish to the three Englishmen.
The insects, dismembered of head, legs, and skin,
were eaten just like shrimps, and were found extremely
savoury. Sir John, who ate some hundreds, recommended
his people to take advantage of the opportunity to make a
large provision.
At night they were all about to seek their usual beds;
but the interior of the waggons had not escaped the invasion.
It was impossible to enter without crushing the locusts, and
to sleep under such conditions was not an agreeable prospect.
Accordingly, as the night was clear and the stars bright,
the astronomers were rejoiced to pursue their contemplated
operations, and deemed it more pleasant than burying
themselves to the neck in a coverlet of locusts. Moreover,
they would not have had a moment's sleep, on account of
the howling of the beasts which were attracted by their
unusual prey.
The next day the sun rose in a clear horizon, and
commenced its course over a brilliant sky foreboding heat.
A dull rustling of scales among the locusts showed that
they were about to carry their devastations elsewhere; and
towards eight o'clock the mass rose like the unfurling of
an immense veil, and obscured the sun. It grew dusk as if
night were returning, and with the freshening of the wind
the whole mass was in motion. For two hours, with a
deafening noise, the cloud passed over the darkened camp,
and disappeared beyond the western horizon.
After their departure the bushman's predictions were
found to be entirely realized. All was demolished, and the
soil was brown and bare. Every branch was stripped to
utter nakedness. It was like a sudden winter settling in
the height of summer, or like the dropping of a desert into
the midst of a land of plenty. The Oriental proverb which
describes the devastating fury of the Osmanlis might justly
be applied to these locusts, “Where the Turk has passed,
the grass springs up no more.”