Chapter XXII

CHAPTER XXII.HIDE AND SEEK.[edit]
When daylight re-appeared, the vessel was nearing the
northern shore of the lake. There was no trace of natives,
consequently the Colonel and his companions, who had
been ready armed, laid aside their guns as the “Queen and
Czar” drew up in a little bay hollowed in the rocks.
The
bushman, Sir John, and one of the sailors set out at once
to reconnoitre the neighbourhood. They could perceive no
sign of Makololos, and fortunately they found game in
abundance. Troops of antelopes grazed in the long grass
and in the shelter of the thickets, and a number of aquatic
birds frequented the shores of the lake. The hunters
returned with ample provision, and the whole party could
enjoy the savoury venison, a supply of which was now
unlikely to fail them again.
The camp was arranged under the great willows near the
lake, on the banks of a small river. The Colonel and Strux
had arranged to meet on the northern shore with the
pioneer's little party, and the rest afforded by the few days
of expectation was gratefully enjoyed by all. Palander
employed himself in rectifying and adjusting the results of
the latest observations, while Mokoum and Sir John hunted
most vigorously over the fertile, well-watered country,
abounding in game, of which the Englishman would have
been delighted, had it been in his power, to complete a
purchase on behalf of the British government.
Three days
after, on the 8th of March, some gun-shots announced the
arrival of the remainder of the party for whom they
tarried. Emery, Zorn, the two sailors, and the pioneer,
were all in perfect health. Their theodolite, the only
instrument remaining to the Commission, was safe.
The
young astronomers and their companions were received
with joyous congratulations. In a few words they related
that their journey had not been devoid of difficulty. For
two days they had lost their way in the forests that skirted
the mountainous district, and with only the vague indications
of the compass they would never have reached Mount
Volquiria, if it had not been for the shrewd intelligence of the
pioneer. The ascent of the mountain was rough, and the
delay had caused the young astronomers as much impatience
as it had their colleagues on Mount Scorzef. They
had carefully, by, barometrical observations, calculated that
the summit of Volquiria was 3200 feet above the level of
the sea. The light, increased by a strong reflector, was first
lighted on the night of the 4th; thus the observers on
Mount Scorzef had perceived it as soon as it appeared.
Emery and Zorn had easily discerned the intense fire caused
by the burning fortress, and with the theodolite had completed
the measurement of the triangle.
“And did you determine the latitude of the peak?” said
the Colonel to Emery,
“Yes, most accurately,” replied Emery; “we found it to
be 19°37'35.337".”
“Well, gentlemen,” said the Colonel, “we may say that
our task is ended. We have measured, by means of sixty-three
triangles, an arc of more than eight degrees in length;
and when we have rigidly corrected our results, we shall
know the exact value of the degree, and consequently of
the mètre, in this part of the globe.”
A cheer of satisfaction could not be repressed amongst
the others.
“And now,” added the Colonel, “we have only to descend
the Zambesi in order to reach the Indian Ocean: is it not
so, Mr. Strux.?”
“It is so,” answered Strux; “but I think we ought still to
adopt some means of testing our previous operations. Let
us continue our triangles until we find a place suitable
for the direct measurement of a base. The agreement
between the lengths of the base, obtained by the calculations
and by the direct measurement, will alone tell what degree
of accuracy we ought to attribute to our observations.”
Strux's proposition was unanimously adopted. It was
agreed to construct a series of subsidiary triangles until a
side could be measured with the platinum rods. The steamboat,
descending the affluents of the Zambesi, was to await
the travellers below the celebrated Victoria Falls.
Every
thing being arranged, the little troop, with the exception of
four sailors on board the “Queen and Czar,” started the next
day at sunrise. Some stations had been chosen to the east
and the angles measured, and along this favourable country,
they hoped easily to accomplish their auxiliary series. The
bushman had adroitly caught a quagga, of which, willing or
unwilling, he made a beast of burden to carry the theodolite,
the measuring-rods, and some other luggage of the
caravan.
The journey proceeded rapidly. The undulated country
afforded many points of sight for the small accessory triangles.
The weather was fine, and it was not needful to
have recourse to nocturnal observations. The travellers
could nearly always find shelter in the woods, and, besides,
the heat was not insufferable, since some vapours arose
from the pools and streams which tempered the sun's rays.
Every want was supplied by the hunters, and there was no
longer any thing to be feared from the natives, who seemed
to be more to the south of Lake Ngami.
Matthew Strux and the Colonel seemed to have forgotten
all their personal rivalry, and although there was no close
intimacy between them, they were on the most perfect
terms of courtesy.
Day after day, during a period of three weeks, the
observations steadily proceeded. For the measurement of
a base the astronomers required a tract of land that should
be level for several miles, and the very undulations of the
soil that were desirable for the establishment of the points
of sight were unfavourable for that observation. They
proceeded to the north-east, sometimes following the right
bank of the Cnobi, one of the principal tributaries of the
Upper Zambesi, in order to avoid Maketo, the chief settlement
of the Makololos.
They had now every reason to
anticipate that their return would be happily accomplished,
and that no further natural obstacle would occur, and they
hoped that their difficulties were all at an end. The country
which they were traversing was comparatively well known
and they could not be far from the villages of the Zambesi
which Livingstone had lately visited. They thus thought
with reason that all the most arduous part of their task was
over, when an incident, of which the consequences might
have been serious, almost compromised the result of the
whole expedition.
Nicholas Palander was the hero, or rather was nearly
being the victim, of the adventure.
The intrepid but thoughtless calculator, unwarned by his
escape from the crocodiles, had still the habit of withdrawing
himself from his companions. In an open country
there was no great danger in this, but in woods Palander's
abstraction might lead to serious consequences. Strux and
the bushman gave him many warnings, and Palander,
though much astonished at what he considered an excess of
prudence, promised to conform to their wishes.
On the 27th, some hours had passed since Strux and
Mokoum had seen any thing of Palander. The little
troop were travelling through thickets of low trees and
shrubs, extending as far as the horizon. It was important
to keep together, as it would be difficult to discover the
track of any one lost in the wood. But seeing and fearing
nothing, Palander, who had been posted, pencil in one hand,
the register in the other, on the left flank of the troop, was
not long in disappearing.
When, towards four o'clock, Strux and his companions
found that Palander was no longer with them, they became
extremely anxious. His former aberrations were still fresh
in their remembrance, and it was probably the abstracted
calculator alone by whom they had been forgotten.
The
march was stopped, and they all shouted in vain.
The
bushman and the sailors dispersed for a quarter of a mile
in each direction, beating the bushes, trampling through
the woods and long grass, firing off their guns, but yet
without success.
They became still more uneasy, especially
Matthew Strux, to whose anxiety was joined an extreme
irritation against his unlucky colleague. This was not the
first time that Palander had served them thus, and if the
Colonel had laid any blame on him, Strux would not have
known what to say.
Under the circumstances, the only
thing to be done was to encamp in the wood, and begin
a more careful search.
The Colonel and his companions had just arranged to
place their camp near a glade of considerable extent, when
a cry, unlike any thing human, resounded at some distance
to the left. Almost immediately, running at full speed,
appeared Palander. His head was bare, his hair dishevelled,
and his clothes torn in some parts almost to rags. His
companions plied him with questions; but the unhappy
man, with haggard and distended eye, whose compressed
nostrils still further hindered his short jerking respiration,
could not bring out a word.
What had happened? why had he wandered away? and
why did he appear so terrified? At last, to their repeated
questions, he gasped out, in almost unintelligible accents,
something about the registers.
The astronomers shuddered; the registers, on which was
inscribed every result of their operations, and which the
calculator had never allowed out of his possession, even when
asleep, these registers were missing. No matter whether
Palander had lost them, or whether they had been stolen
from him; they were gone, and all their labour was in vain!
While his companions, mutely terrified, only looked at
each other, Matthew Strux could no longer restrain his
anger. He burst forth into all manner of invective against
the miserable man, threatening him with the displeasure of
the Russian government, and adding, that if he did not
suffer under the knout he should linger out his life in
Siberia.
To all this Palander answered but by a movement of the
head: he seemed to acquiesce in all these condemnations,
and even thought the judgment would be too lenient.
“But perhaps he has been robbed,” said the Colonel at
last.
“What matters?” cried Strux, beside himself; “what
business had he so far away from us, after our continual
warning?”
“True,” replied Sir John, “but we ought to know whether
he has lost the registers or been robbed of them. Has any
one robbed you, Palander?” continued he, turning to the
poor man, who had sunk down with fatigue.
Palander made a sign of affirmation.
“Who?” continued Sir John. “Natives? Makololos?”
Palander shook his head.
“Well, then, Europeans?” asked Sir John.
“No,” answered Palander in a stifled voice.
“Who then?” shouted Strux, shaking his clenched fists
in Palander's face.
“They were neither natives—nor white men—but
monkeys,” stammered out Palander at last.
It was a fact that the unhappy man had been robbed by
a monkey, and if the consequences of the incident had been
less serious, the whole party would have broken out into
laughter.
Mokoum explained that what had just happened
was of frequent occurrence. Many times, to his knowledge,
had travellers been rifled by these pig-headed chacmas, a
species of baboon very common in South African forests.
The calculator had been plundered by these animals, though
not without a struggle, as his ragged garments testified.
Still, in the judgment of his companions, there was no
excuse to be made: if he had remained in his proper place
this irreparable loss would not have occurred.
“We did not take the trouble,” began Colonel Everest,
“to measure an arc of meridian in South Africa for a
blunderer like you—”
He did not finish his sentence, conscious that it was
useless to continue to abuse the unhappy man, whom
Strux had not ceased to load with every variety of vituperation.
The Europeans were, without exception, quite overpowered
by emotion; but Mokoum, who was less sensitive
to the importance of the loss, retained his self-possession.
“Perhaps even yet,” he said, “something may be done
to assist you in your perplexity. These chacmas are always
careful of their stolen goods, and if we find the robber we
shall find the registers with him. But time is precious, and
none must be lost.”
The bushman had opened a ray of hope. Palander
revived at the suggestion: he arranged his tattered clothes
as best he could, and having accepted the jacket of one
sailor and the hat of another, declared himself ready to
lead his companions to the scene of his adventure.
They all started off towards the west, and passed the
night and the ensuing day without any favourable result.
In many places, by traces on the ground and the bark of
the trees, the bushman and the pioneer recognized unmistakable
vestiges of the baboons, of which Palander affirmed
that he was sure he had seen no less than ten. The party
was soon on their track, and advanced with the utmost
precaution, the bushman affirming that he could only count
on success in his search by taking the chacmas by surprise,
since they were sagacious animals, such as could only be
approached by some device of secrecy.
Early the following morning one of the Russian sailors,
who was somewhat in front, perceived, if not the actual
thief, yet one of its associates. He prudently returned to
the little troop, who came at once to a halt. The Europeans,
who had resolved to obey Mokoum in every thing,
awaited his instructions. The bushman begged them to
remain in quietness where they were, and, taking Sir John
and the pioneer, turned towards the part of the wood
already visited by the sailor, carefully keeping under shelter
of the trees and bushwood.
In a short time the bushman and his two companions
caught sight of one chacma, and almost immediately of
nine or ten more, gambolling among the branches. Crouching
behind a tree, they attentively watched the animals,
Their long tails were continually sweeping the ground, and
their powerful muscles, sharp teeth, and pointed claws,
rendered them formidable even to the beasts of prey.
These chacmas are the terror of the Boers, whose fields of
corn and maize, and occasionally whose habitations, are
plundered by them.
Not one of the animals had as yet espied the hunters.
but they all continued their sport, yelping and barking as
though they were great ill-favoured dogs. The important
point for determination was, whether the actual purloiner
of the missing documents was there. All doubt was put
aside when the pioneer pointed out a chacma wrapped in a
rag of Palander's coat. Sir John felt that this creature
must be secured at any price, but he was obliged to act
with great circumspection, aware as he was that a single
false movement would cause the whole herd to decamp at
once.
“Stay here,” said Mokoum to the pioneer; “Sir John
and I will return to our companions, and set about surrounding
the animals; but meanwhile do not lose sight of them.”
The pioneer remained at his post, while Sir John and
the bushman returned to Colonel Everest. The only
means of securing the suspected culprit was to surround
the whole troop. To accomplish this, the Europeans
divided into separate detachments; one composed of Strux,
Emery, Zorn, and three sailors, was to join the pioneer,
and to form a semicircle around him; and the other,
comprising the Colonel, Mokoum, Sir John, Palander, and
the other three sailors, made a détour to the left, in order
to fall back upon the herd from the other side
Implicitly following the bushman's advice, they all advanced
with the utmost caution. Their guns were ready,
and it was agreed that the chacma with the rags should
be the aim for every shot.
Mokoum kept a watchful eye upon Palander, and insisted
upon his marching close to himself, lest his unguardedness
should betray him into some fresh folly. The worthy
astronomer was almost beside himself in consternation at
his loss, and evidently thought it a question of life or death.
After marching with the frequent halts which the policy
of being unobserved suggested, and continuing to diverge
for half an hour, the bushman considered that they might
now fall back. He and his companions, each about twenty
paces apart, advanced like a troop of Pawnies on a war-trail,
without a word or gesture, avoiding even the least rustling
in the branches.
Suddenly the bushman stopped; the rest
instantly followed his example, and standing with their
finger on the lock of their guns, were ready to raise them to
their shoulder.
The band of chacmas was in sight, they
were already sensible of some danger, and seemed on the
look-out. The great animal which had stolen the registers
had, to their fancy, an appearance of being especially
agitated. It had been already recognized by
Palander, who muttered something like an imprecation
between his teeth.
The chacma looked as if it was making signs to its companions:
some females, with their young ones on their shoulders,
had collected in a group, and the males went to and
fro around them.
The hunters still drew on, one and all
keeping a steady eye direct towards the ostensible thief.
All at once, by an involuntary movement, Palander's gun
went off in his hands.
Sir John broke out into an exclamation
of disgust, and instantly afterwards fired.
Ten reports
followed: three chacmas lay dead on the ground, and the
rest, with a prodigious bound, passed over the hunters' heads.
The robber baboon alone remained: it darted at the trunk
of a sycamore, which it climbed with an amazing agility,
and disappeared among the branches.
The bushman, having
keenly surveyed the spot, asserted that the registers were
there concealed, and fearing lest the chacma should escape
across the trees, he calmly aimed and fired. The animal,
wounded in the leg, fell from branch to branch. In one of
its fore-claws it was seen to clutch the registers, which it
had taken from a fork of the tree.
At the sight, Palander, with a leap like a chamois, darted
at the chacma, and a tremendous struggle ensued. The
cries of both man and beast mingled in harsh and discordant
strain, and the hunters dared not take aim at the chacma for
fear of wounding their comrade.
Strux, beside himself with
rage, shouted again and again that they should fire, and in
his furious agitation he would probably have done so, if it
had not been that he was accidentally without a cartridge
for his gun, which had been already discharged.
The combat continued; sometimes Palander, sometimes
the chacma, was uppermost. The astronomer, his shoulders
lacerated by the creature's claws, tried to strangle his
adversary. At last the bushman, seizing a favourable
moment, made a sudden dash, and killed the ape with one
blow of his hatchet.
Nicholas Palander, bleeding, exhausted, and insensible,
was picked up by his colleagues: in his last effort he had
recaptured his registers, which he was found unconsciously
grasping to his bosom.
The carcase of the chacma was conveyed with glee to
the camp. At the evening repast it furnished a delicious
meal to the hunters. To all of them, but especially to
Palander, not only had the excitement of the chase quickened
their appetite for the palatable dish, but the relish was
heightened by the gratifying knowledge that vengeance was
satisfied.