The War of the Axe; Or, Adventures in South Africa

by J. Percy Groves

didn't; at least Ithought Richards was drawing on his imagination a good deal."

  "Not a bit of it; what he told us was true enough; Richards is not thesort of man to romance. I know him well, for he has acted as our agentat Graham's Town for the last seven years--in fact ever since he came toSouth Africa."

  "Well, at all events," yawned Tom, "I couldn't escape at this moment ifI had the chance; for I'm completely knocked up, and so are you, oldfellow; and as we have only one hour--"

  "We had better make the most of it," Frank chimed in. "That is justwhat I was about to remark, Tom. We must manage to take rest wheneverwe can, for we shall require all our strength and vigour--mental andphysical--if we want to give our guards the slip, and find our way backto the colony."

  It was about mid-day when our two friends lay down to snatch a hastyrepose after their toilsome journey; but when Frank Jamieson awoke hefound to his intense surprise that the sun had sunk below the horizon,and darkness was rapidly setting in. Tom Flinders was still asleep byhis side, and round them were gathered the five Caffres, apparently alsoasleep--two of them face downwards, with their woolly heads buried intheir arms, the other three stretched on the broad of their backs.

  "Halloa!--why, it is nearly dark!" exclaimed Frank, sitting up andrubbing his eyes to make sure that he was quite awake. "We must havebeen sleeping considerably longer than an hour! Or is it possible thatI have been dreaming?" was his mental question; but his bare limbs andswollen, bleeding feet were convincing proofs to the contrary. "Tom--Tom Flinders," he then whispered, bending over his friend and gentlyshaking him.

  "What's the row?" cried Tom, waking up with a start.

  "H'sh," whispered Frank; "don't make a noise! Waishlahla and his menhave overslept themselves, and if we mean to make a dash for freedom, itmust be now or never! We shall not get such a chance again."

  "I'm game," Tom answered. "But we had better secure their weaponsfirst, especially the chief's gun."

  "Leave that to me," said his companion, as he crept cautiously up to therecumbent figure of Waishlahla, with the intention of taking possessionof his "roer."

  The savage chief lay flat on his back, with his brawny arms extendedover his head; and when Frank leaned over him he saw that his jaw haddropped, and that his eyes were wide open and staring.

  But there "was no speculation in those eyes"--for Waishlahla was stonedead!

  In an instant it flashed across Frank's mind what had happened.

  "He must have taken the chloroform!" he exclaimed. "I left the bottlein the pocket of my blouse."

  "What?" cried Tom, looking over his shoulder, "you don't mean that!"

  "There cannot be a doubt about it," said the other. "See, the man isquite stiff and cold; he must have been dead four or five hours."

  "Then, depend upon it, they're all in the same boat!"

  And such proved to be the case.

  Waishlahla had found the bottle of chloroform in the pocket of FrankJamieson's blouse, and he and his comrades had drank the whole of thecontents--about eight ounces--between them, with, of course, fatalresults.

  "Frank," said Tom, as they stood over the chief's stiffening corpse,"I'm very glad we never thought of _giving_ the poor fellows that stuff!Still--well, it is a lucky thing for us that you didn't pitch thebottle away!"

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

  A STARLIGHT TRAMP.

  Although by a concatenation of unforeseen circumstances--that is to say,the accidental possession of a bottle of chloroform, and the Caffres'extraordinary craze for European medicaments--Tom Flinders and FrankJamieson were freed from their savage guards, they felt by no meanscertain that they would even now be able to make good their escape. Theuntimely fate of Waishlahla and his men had, so to speak, left ourfriends "prisoners at large;" and this was a step--a long step!--in theright direction; but it was no use disguising the fact that there werestill almost insurmountable difficulties to overcome, and unknown perilsto encounter, before they could consider themselves fairly out of thewood.

  They were alone in a hostile country, with only a scanty supply of foodand almost without means of procuring more when that was gone (for,situated as they were, it would be running a great risk to useWaishlahla's gun, save in self-defence), whilst between them andAlbany--the nearest British territory--lay the Amatola Mountains, whichthey knew to be swarming with their bloodthirsty foes. Moreover, FrankJamieson had grave misgivings as to whether there might not be a certainamount of truth in what their old jailer had told him--namely, thatColonel Somerset had suffered a serious reverse, and that Albany was nowoverrun by the victorious Caffres; and, lest this should be the case, hethought it better for them to keep clear of that district altogether,and endeavour to reach--by a long and circuitous route--one of the moredistant provinces, where they might reasonably hope the war had not yetspread. And so, after much anxious deliberation, he proposed to hiscompanion that they should shape their course for the Storm Bergen(which lay almost due north), and having crossed that range, shouldtravel in a westerly direction until they reached the Tarka River, andthen proceed along its banks to Cradock--a small town in Somersetprovince, 70 miles north-west of Graham's Town.

  "It will be a serious undertaking," said Frank, "and we shall have toundergo any amount of privation and hardship; but I know you will agreewith me that anything is better than running the risk of falling againinto the hands of the Caffres; for, depend upon it, we should not getoff so easily a second time! Of course," he added, "we must travel bynight, and conceal ourselves during the day--at any rate until we'reclear of the enemy's country."

  "But how are you going to find your way?" was Tom's doubtful query.

  "I shall steer by the stars," replied the other. Then, seeing that hisfriend's face still wore a dubious expression, he said, "Remember, Tom,I don't for a moment suppose that it will be all plain sailing--quitethe contrary! But I do honestly believe that in following this route,lies our best--nay, our _only_ chance of eluding the Caffres."

  "All right, old fellow," cried Tom cheerfully. "I am ready to trustmyself to your guidance, and we'll sink or swim together. Now, thesooner we're off the better. I feel fresh as possible after my longcaulk."

  Frank then resumed his clothes (which luckily for him the Caffres hadnot put on), whilst Tom despoiled the unfortunate Waishlahla of his gunand ammunition; he also took his knobkerrie, shield, and bundle ofassegais; and a bag of green mealies.

  "Are you ready, Tom?" asked Frank.

  "Ay, ay!" was the prompt reply; "quite ready."

  The air was mild and calm, and the glorious constellations of the southshone down on the young men as they started on the first stage of theirperilous journey; not knowing where that stage might end, but resolvedto keep moving forward throughout the night. Setting their faces in theproposed direction, they trudged on; now dipping into a deep hollowwhere the grass grew tall and rank, now topping a gentle rise; nowclambering over masses of rock, now forcing their way through spikymimosa jungle or tangled coppice.

  Tom Flinders was deeply impressed by the weird novelty of their firstnight march.

  Strange indeed were the noises that sounded through the still nightair--the deep hum of myriads of insects, the melancholy "croak, croak"of the bull-frog, or the shrill scream of the night bird mingling withthe moaning bark of the jackal, the laughing cry of the hyaena, or thesullen roar of some prowling leopard; stranger still the gaunt,spectre-like forms which loomed through the darkness or moved from thepath with snort of terror or angry growl.

  At length the morning dawned, and then the weary, foot-sore fugitives--their faces and limbs scratched and bleeding, their garments rent andtorn--climbed into the wide-spreading branches of a well-grown baobabtree, and sought shelter and rest amidst its dark green foliage.

  Thus--turning night into day and day into night--our friends journeyedon for a week and a day, covering on an average eight miles betwixtsundown and sunrise.

  Not very rapid travelling! True; something less t
han a mile an hour;but be it remembered that the travellers had to make their way bystarlight through an unknown country; up hill and down dale, over"bosch" and "bron," through deep, rugged, watercourses, and (twice)across rapid streams; keeping all the while a sharp lookout least any ofthe savage beasts, whose howlings and roarings made the night hideous,should spring upon them as they passed along. Of water, they happilyfound abundance; but all they had to eat during that wearisome trampwere the green mealies they had taken from the dead Caffres; theycertainly might have killed some small birds or even animals, but thenthey dared not light a fire to cook them, and had